Everything started out with sweaters. From the sweaters we went to a shirt, and from the shirt we finally got to patches. There was always some guy who got beat up and they took the sweater and we had to go find out who took it and get it back. We started saying, “Why don’t we make patches?” And finally we did.
It was like one big family. We all got along. We never had problems against each other, because we grew up in the same neighborhood. We went to the same school and we were all young. My brother Alex started wearing patches when he was hanging out with this other club, the Dirty Ones. Then he became the President of the Majestics. When he died, my brother Carlos took over. And then he died.
We had a clubhouse. We were always there. Rainy days, we’d be inside watching TV. It was an abandoned building. We had the apartment on the first floor and even the old guys from the neighborhood would come in and play cards and dominoes. Some of the cops knew us too.
Yeah, it was nice. Actually, I wish I could go back a couple years. We had fun. The 70s was real nice. In the summer we were always out there, like 15 or 20 of us, sitting on the steps in summer, drinking beer, and bullshitting.
Problem-wise, you know, we had a few here and there. Ducking from shootouts and things like that. We didn’t mess with the people from the neighborhood. If anything, we’d protect them. I knew so many people that everybody would open their doors for me. People from the neighborhood never called the cops on us because we were never troublemakers. That was our block, so we had to protect everybody from other people who would come in and mess up the block. We never went crazy in our neighborhood, and whoever did, they would hear about it from us the next day. The last thing we wanted was heat on the block. Because then you can’t be in your own neighborhood carrying a pistol.
I had a very bad temper back then. I didn’t take no shit from nobody. If I had to stick you, I would stick you. I used to walk around with a gun every day. I carried a .25, then later a 9 mm. I was always aware. I never let anybody get close to me or walk behind me. One time, something had happened so I went looking for this guy to get him. I saw him on the corner at South 10th and Bedford, and I started shooting. I think I shot two or three times with my .25 before it jammed. He didn’t see where I was shooting from, so I ran like two or three cars up and hid under the last one. I think I was under that car for half an hour, until I heard my guys yelling my name.
When we were on Lee Avenue there was this black guy. He was from the Marcy Projects and he would always come down with a gun. This guy was always strapped. Every time he came by the block there was a shootout, so everybody was always aware when he was passing by. Everybody kept their eyes open. I heard that he was like that because his mother was killed. She used to be a dispatcher for a car service. There was a shootout and it so happens that she was working at that time, and she got killed. So this guy started going off with everybody. Nobody ever bothered to call the cops, because everybody wanted to just take care of him. He must have had a vest, cause let me tell you, this guy had fucking balls. He was invincible. I used to hide sometimes on the corner and wait for him, just hoping to get him. But I never did. I think he got arrested. That was the end of him.
I never robbed anybody. It feels bad. Somebody else could come and rob your mother and you wouldn’t like it. But I stole. I used to steal a lot from factories. Every Friday and Saturday night I would go to factories on Bedford Avenue, Wythe Avenue, and Flushing Avenue. I would go anywhere Jews worked because on Fridays, they can’t put on the light, the air conditioning, nothing. That was my opportunity. I would break into the sweater factory, the clothes factory, the pillow factory… I even broke into a coffin factory one day. I got in, it was dark, and then when I put on the light all I saw was coffins, so I ran out. But yeah, I broke into every factory. That’s how I used to get my money. I also had a guy who used to bring me cars for parts. Or somebody would tell me, “Listen, I got a van, brand new, and I wanna collect insurance.” So he would tell me where he parked it. The guys and I would go and take it and strip the parts off and he’d get his insurance.
I got locked up in ’80 and came out in ’83. At that point, all everybody wanted to do was sell drugs. That’s where the money was. My brothers were making money selling drugs but I didn’t want to get into it. I was already scared by being in jail. Lots of guys were fucking up, but all I wanted was to have our club, and for everybody to have bikes and go places together and ride. That’s all I ever wanted to do. I always used to buy magazines just to check out the bikes. I’m 46 now and I’m still with this thing. Now, everybody else has a bike. Me and my brother are probably the only ones that don’t have a bike.
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