hall. After the pigs were beaten and one temporarily detained for questioning, the rebels went after the trustees, the faithful servants of the pigs, who were notorious for shorting everyone on food. The trustees had also jacked up the price of donuts, which they stole from the main kitchen and sold to general population, from the established price of two dollars a bag. All were beaten and ran from the chow hall. Then the doors were barricaded and the demands began.
During the five-hour siege, the misinformation agents in the sheriff’s department told the media that the “riot” was only due to overcrowding and the breakdown of the air-conditioning system. While the pigs videotaped those in the chow hall from an elevated Plexiglas tower, acting sympathetic to the righteous complaints of the resisters, other pigs were busy evacuating the module adjacent to the chow hall—4800.
For five hours the resisters demanded to be “treated as men” and to be given “better food” and some protection from the “Nazi police”; for five hours they heard “Okay, gentlemen, you’re right,” and “Of course we are all men.” Then the resisters were made to leave the chow hall naked, walk through a gauntlet of pigs in full riot- repression gear for their well-deserved whack with the P-24 baton, and directed into 4800. The seventeen stayed naked, with no bedclothes, no visits, no showers, for three days. After that they were given bedclothes, visits, and gray jumpsuits.
The other eleven thousand prisoners wore blue jumpsuits, but the Crips had to wear gray. Every time they went to court, on a visit (under heavy escort) to the doctor, anywhere, they were subjected to the abuse of sadistic pigs who were looking for revenge. The Bloods, camouflaged in blue like the general population, also took liberty and attacked gray suits when they were caught alone or in isolated pairs.
Directly across the hall from 4800 the pigs set up the O.S.S. interdepartmental office. Ironically—or perhaps not at all—this was around the same time that the F.B.I. released a study on Crips that stated “one out of every four Crips is in jail for murder, or has done time for murder. And three out of four Crips have been arrested for weapons-related charges.” The counterintelligence of the Crips was kicked into full swing, and 4800 became the “Crip Module.”
It’s quite clear to me now what was taking place at that time. But then, in 1984, I was deaf, dumb, and blind. We helped the pigs gather intelligence on us and had no idea we were doing so. Instead of 4800 being a module to contain us and keep the general population safe, it became an intelligence satellite for law enforcement—probably the true purpose for which it was originally designed. For us, it became the ’hood, a place to call ours—another testing ground. The most astonishing thing I remember about 4800 was that there weren’t any books in the entire module, and we weren’t allowed access to the library. The decibel level was so high that when I didn’t have a headache, I felt funny.
Every set desperately tried to get their own set deep, because a deep set wielded power and could protect itself. Whenever, on our way to see a visitor or the doctor, we’d see one of our homies in blue out in the G.P. (general public), we’d tell the escort pig that the homie was a Crip, and the pig would get his name and booking number. That same night the homie would be moved to 4800, doomed like the rest of us. G.P. was smoother, much better than 4800. You could walk around unattended to visits, other modules, practically anywhere. Many Crips shunned the module for this reason. Some didn’t want to be labeled as Crip, and others couldn’t stand the stress. There were also those with dirt on them who had to dodge their homies for fear of a beating or stabbing. But when we’d see a homie in G.P., we felt like “Yo, man, bring yo’ ass home, to Cripville.”
The process of getting into 4800 was overwhelming, so cats tended to circumvent it for this reason, as well. You were made to stand and hold a placard with your name, your set name, and your ’hood on it for a series of pictures. The pictures were no doubt distributed among the pig population for intelligence. A lot of cats just didn’t want to deal with that. Inside the module were Crips ranging in age from eighteen to forty. The deepest sets were the Hoovers and the East Coasts, a deadly mixture of power. In the beginning, all the sets tried to get along, each individual making an effort to suppress his disdain for enemies that he was now face-to-face with—sometimes in the same cell.
In January 1985 this thin line of love and hate evaporated in the face of unfolding developments in the street. The first major eruption of violence occurred on a slow day, a day that looked and felt like any other day. I was in Denver-8 and my cellmates were Oldman from Nine-Deuce Hoover, Kenny Mitchel from the Sixties (he was arrested in the 1970s for robbing the Commodores), and Joe Dee from Atlantic Drive Compton Crips. We had just finished making a batch of pruno—jail-made wine—and were preparing to get drunk when we heard a voice.
“Cuz, who is that down there from East Coast?”
“Marstien,” the voice replied. I had seen Marstien at the street races on Florence and Main before the shoot-out with Li’l Fee and his crew.
“Eh, Marstien, what up, nigga? This Li’l Sad, cuz. I’m gonna come down there later and rap with you, homie.”
“Awright, cuz.”
Li’l Sad was on Denver row and Marstien was on Baker row below us. I was going to send my regards, but decided to wait until later, as I was enjoying my drink. Everyone had heard about Lajoy (Li’l Hoov) being killed days before, supposedly by East Coasts as he drove through his ’hood. So when Marstien came in, along with Vamp, for murder, it was believed that he must be in for killing Lajoy. Marstien now had two murders, as he was already in for killing a Swan.
There were at least eighteen Hoovers in 4800 at that time, and equally as many East Coasts. There were four tiers in the module, each housing sixteen cells. Those on Able and Baker were six-man cells, while those on Charlie and Denver row were four-man cells. We were not allowed in the chow hall any more as a result of the rebellion, so we ate in the dayroom. Each tier had its own dayroom, and the inhabitants ate there respectfully. Of course, every cell was full.
When Able row was let out to chow, the East Coasts fell into a tight circle around Marstien and Vamp, creating a group eight deep. The largest contingency of Hoovers in the module was also housed on Able row, so no sooner did everyone get into the dayroom than the violence erupted.
“HOOVA!” someone shrieked, sounding like a deadman’s charge.
Crudely constructed knives were drawn and the Hoovers proceeded to stab and beat the East Coasts. The Coasts resisted, but were no match for the fanatical Hoovers’ aggression. From my cell I could see the battle. Some Hoovers had two knives in hand and were making daring dives into the crowd of retreating East Coasts, who looked more terrified than hurt. Other Hoovers had whole bars of county soap in socks and were swinging them into the heads and bodies of the reachable East Coasts. One East Coast—Snake, from Seven-Six—was armed with an ice pick, but in his attempt to strike at the charging Hoovers he slipped and stabbed his homie Vamp.
The battle was quick and decisive. When the pigs rode down, the Hoovers stood on one side of the dayroom, victorious, proud, and, as usual, arrogant, some still holding weapons. The East Coasts were crumpled in the opposite corner, wrecked, beaten, and shamed. Six were stabbed and all sustained bruises. The other Crips in the dayroom stepped back to let the inevitable take place.
O.S.S.’s response was a devastating blow to the Crip Module and gave some of us a glimpse at the type of control they really exercised. Marstien and Vamp were sent to the more constricting, High Power 1750 module. The Hoovers went to the Hole. But the real twist was that all West Side Crips were moved to Able and Charlie row and all East Side Crips were put on Baker and Denver row. Although the conflict did involve the West Side Hoovers and the East Side East Coasts, it was not an issue of East vs. West, but rather that these two sets—mere chapters of their respective sides—were at war. Their conflict entailed nothing else. But when O.S.S. split up the Crips, it gave the Hoovers and the East Coasts the opportunity to agitate each side into a war between East and West. And that’s exactly what happened.
At night the chanting began, with everyone from both sides participating.
“EAST SIDE!” Baker and Denver row would chant, repeating it three times and finishing with a set roll call.
“East Coasts, Avalon, Main Streets, Grape Street, Eight-Seven, PJ Watts, Fo’ Tray, Five Tray…”
And in response the West Side would chant, “west side! Hoova, Eight Tray, Sixties, Shot Gun, Raymond, Playboy, West Boulevard…”
The threat of the East Side became real. So real, in fact, that East and West Side sets that had never clashed began to do so under these conditions. All the while O.S.S. was conducting “interviews”—actually interrogations—to find out who was trying to bring about the long-lost unity of old.
