The Horror of Cabrini Green

By Bruce C. Conn

This is the story of the infamous Cabrini Green, Chicago's worst public housing project; of the hate generated by quick triggered white cops; and the gangs seeking revenge. In particular it the story of Bosco, who grew up in the slime of this monolithic project; and his friends Shorty, Red, Scooter, Lil Bug and others who made up their gang,

• Language: English
• Publisher: Futurepast Publishing
• Release date: May 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9780578520391

Book preview

HORROR OF CABRINI GREEN

BY BRUCE C. CONN

CHAPTER ONE

IT was just another one of those days in Chicago, ninety-five degrees outside. I was sitting on a bench within the community I lived, on the near north side of the city.

    I peered at 502 West Oak, a high-rise building, a ghetto building, nineteen floors tall. It was rugged and made of red brick. It stood about a hundred yards directly across from where I sat. About three feet behind me stood the 1015 Larrabee building, another high-rise to whom this bench belonged.

In between 1015 and 502 Oak was a concrete vacant lot about a half acre in size. There were two small concrete playgrounds on each side of the lot consisting of broken glass and the remains of what used to be swings. The chain link fences circling them were leaning over so far that they almost touched the ground.

    Children were everywhere, running, playing, fighting. Some of the older dudes were on the first floor of 1015 wrapped up in a dice game.

    It was wonderful, the sounds that this community made—the joyful screams of a thousand children playing. Someone on the first floor of 1015 had their record player on the back porch spinning the latest soul sounds full blast. Then there was the cursing from the dice game, "Mothafucka! I did bet on da bar!"

    I got up and went into 1015, looked out the front of the buildings up and down Larrabee Street. Across the street was Del Farm, the only grocery shopping center in the neighborhood. Across from that stood Countdown Liquors, where several dudes stood begging for money to get some wine. On the side of the building was still another dice game and teenagers huddled in small bands drinking.

    I walked over to the Countdown and stood on the steps looking toward downtown Chicago. I imagined that I could touch the John Hancock building. It looked that close, but actually it was about five blocks away, about a half mile.

    I left the Countdown and headed down Larrabeee Street toward my favorite corner, Division and Larrabee. On the way there I passed the old raggedy buildings that lined the left side of the street and the high-rise project buildings, looking like ghettos in the sky, on the right. Yes, it was just another one of those days in Chicago, when suddenly I heard someone calling my name.

Bosco! Bosco! Willie just got shot!

I spun around at the sound of the unexpected voice. What you say?

        Willie just got shot, exclaimed Leroy, a brother I knew from the neighborhood. Him and Junkie Fred got into a hum-bug and Fred had his .38 with him! I just know’d Willie was dead. It looks like he caught it in the face.               

Damn, I replied disgustedly, "ain’t these niggas ever gon’ learn? Every summer the same old shit! You can’t be sure if you’ll live till winter. When did it happen?"

    Just two minutes ago, Leroy answered, by 911 Hudson."

    I turned and started to run toward 911, one of the many buildings in the Cabrini-Green Housing Development where I lived. 911 was just one of the twenty-one red brick high-rises in the neighborhood. It was a seven story building located at the southwest end of the projects at the edge of a vacant lot. It was where teenagers gathered in the basement to dance and have a good time. As I ran I thought, wow, I’d better slow it down. Leroy could be lying. I keep this up and I’ll blow my high with no more joints left. Slowing down I started walking.

    As I approached the building, I could see a large crowd standing around. Pushing through the crowd, I could see Willie’s mother kneeling over him crying, praying. Willie, Willie, she moaned. Oh lord, my baby, my baby. Willie was her last surviving son. Butch, her oldest son, was shot to death two summers ago trying to stick up a currency exchange. He was eighteen when it happened, three years older than Willie.

    Moving in for a closer look, I could see a small trickle of blood coming from Willie’s forehead. His eyes were a blank stare. I knew he was dead.

    The next morning I laid back in bed smoking a cigarette. I began to think back on my life and how I ended up in Cabrini-Green. I thought back six or seven years to the time when I lived on the west side, huh I thought, that was when Pop was still living with us. I kinda missed him. He had cut out on Mom and me when I was about eight or nine years old. I hadn’t seen him since. He and Mom wasn’t hitting it off too swell, so he decided to cut out and that’s what he did. I never did hold a grudge against him for it, even though I felt that life was harder without him. It was harder because I never had a man to show or tell me how to be a man. I always had to create my own images of what a man should be or adopt one from television or the movies.

    Mom always said that we were better off without him and she was happy that she got away from him. They never did have much in common. I thought back to the last fight that they had. It was about two o’clock in the morning, I was in bed asleep. All of a sudden I was awakened by screams and shouts. They were in the living room of our shabby apartment cussing each other out. Pop got mad and went storming out the door. I never saw him again. After a couple of months when he didn’t show back up, Mom packed our stuff and we moved into the Cabrini-Green.

    It was pretty nice around here when we first moved in because the buildings were practically new. All of the projects hadn’t been completed yet. Why, there was even a few white people living around here then. After a while it turned all black and started going down fast.

    I got out of bed and walked down the hall to the bathroom. I looked into the mirror at myself thinking, Bosco, you are one handsome dude. I looked pretty good; to me anyway. I had chocolate brown skin and medium length hair. I was a pretty good weight for my five-foot-nine-inch frame. Yeahhh Bosco, I told myself, "you are a sho’nuff good looking dude!

    I left the bathroom and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. I looked around the kitchen at the door. Our apartment, like all the rest in Cabrini-Green, had only one door and it was always in the kitchen. All the walls in the house were large brick and the floors were covered with cheap tile. I peered into our living room. The only thing that distinguished it from the kitchen was the fact that there was a sink and stove in the kitchen area and a sofa and chairs in the living room. There was nothing else dividing the two spaces.

    I walked through the living room, down the hall to the bedroom and laid back down. Lighting up another cigarette, I said to myself, "wow—Willie’s dead. Only fifteen years old. Damn, I ain’t but sixteen myself. Maybe this life is getting too fast for me. Just last week Chester got killed."

Wow, I thought, life’s uh bitch.

    Finally, I got up out of bed and walked over to the closet, put on a pair of pleated slacks and a knit shirt, and walked into the living room. There was Mom and two other mothers sitting on the couch crying hysterically.

I asked, Hey, what’s wrong with y’all?

They responded, Willie’s dead! Willie’s dead!

    "Aw, I know it. I know it. But you know the dude was kinda violent. The way I got it he was ripping off this old cat thirty-five years old. Willie was always bothering somebody. I knew he was gonna get his sooner or later."

    The ladies reacted suddenly. "Ah! You dirty little nigger. How can you talk bad about somebody who’s dead! Get outta here! Gon’! Get da hell out!" Damn, I thought as they started throwing shoes at me. I grabbed my head and ran out of the room. They slammed the door behind me. Huh-women!

    I ran down the stairs, out onto the ramp of the project building where I lived. There was Bro Lynn smoking a joint. I walked over toward him. Hey, what’s up Lynn?

    Hey, what’s happening Bosco? he replied. I heard yo’ boy got murdered last night.

    Yeah man. He got killed over there fuck’n around with somebody too rough for him to deal with.

    You know Bosco, came Lynn, "y’all lil’ nigga’s better be cool, ‘cause ain’t nobody out here playing no mo’. Anybody will kill yo’ ass these days."

    "Hey, Bro Lynn, you right. You never know who it will be. You know, I really felt bad to see my man get killed. Hey, gimme some of that joint!"

    He took another hit and passed it to me. "Here ya go Bosco. Dis some baddd herb too. You needs uh hit behind dem actions, I know."

    Yeah, I do Bro Lynn, thanks. I took a long draw off the joint. Oh, wow, it felt mellow, it felt real mellow; sun shining, eighty degree weather out here, it felt real mellow. I took another draw and passed the joint back to Lynn. Yeah man, um fixing to go over to the other end of the projects and check out my partner.

    Okay, Lynn replied. You take it easy.

    I walked on down the street. Today seemed strangely quiet. I passed the spot where Willie got killed, walked on past the center, through the vacant lot to 1150, where my partner Dirty Red lived. Everybody called him Dirty Red because of his kinky red hair and complexion. When I got there, Red was sitting in the middle of the floor with a pint of Wild Irish Rose wine beside him. In his hand was a six inch joint he had rolled by piecing together some Zigzags. Hey Red, you heard about Willie?

    Nawl, Red answered. What happened?

    "They say Junkie Fred caught him stealing his dope and killed him.

    "So motherfuck’n what! shot Red. Why you telling me this shit? Ain’t nothing I can do. Here, smoke some of this joint. Man, it-is-fire. Hey, did I hip you ta what um into now, bro’ Bosco?"

    Nawl, what?

    I bull shitted the Janitor; told him that I couldn’t get into the crib. He gave me the pass key, so I ran and got a copy made.

    Oh yeahhh, I responded, let me see. He showed me the key. Yeah yeah yeah; so you gotta key made. What’s that supposed ta mean?

    "It means, I can get into everybody’s house ‘round here."

    Aw yeah, so what is you gonna do man?

    Hey, come back here, motioned Red. "Check dis out."

    We walked back to Red’s room. Dis here is my stash. He showed me a small box tucked away in a corner with three hundred dollars in it. One day’s haul man; one day’s haul.

    "Awl, hell nawl; c’mon now Red—you bullshitting me? I said in disbelief. If you ain’t, why don’t you take me with you next time?"

    Okay, okay, I’ll take you. Come by here tomorrow at nine in the morning. Most grownups be gon’ somewhere and the kids are in school.

    Hellll, yeah! I replied excitingly. "I’ll be here man. I willll be here!"

    Dirty Red and I never went to school. We figured that was for squares. We had to be out in the streets playing the hustle. If my mother ever found out she would kill me. She spent her hard earned money she made as a waitress to send me, but I’d be out here with the boys getting high, blowing my lunch money when I had it on wine and reefer. But that’s all right for right now. I figured that I would make a fortune one day and repay her for all this. Yeah, all this, I thought. I left Dirty Red’s crib and went over on the corner to rap and get high some.

    The next morning I got up out of bed and dressed very carefully. You know I am very particular about how I put on my clothes. I had very few, but kept them very clean. I put on my shoes, brushed them off and went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth. I went into Mom’s room, kissed her on the forehead and said, Mom, um gonna make you rich one day, turned and walked out the door.

    Mom said, "Boy, you stay out of trouble, you hear?"

    There wasn’t any school today, for me anyway. Mom never knew that. I walked out the door and grabbed my books as though I was going to school, and went straight to Dirty Red’s crib. Red lived in 1150 n. Sedgwick, a nineteen story building at the northeast end of the projects. When I got there, Red was waiting anxiously.

See ya ready, I noted.

    Yeah man, um ready when you is, replied Red.

    Hold tight, let me throw these books into yo’ closet. I put my books in Red’s closet where I usually put them and walked out the door.

As we walked Red rapped, You know my new bitch Donna; the one I pulled from 365? 365 Oak was a seven-story south of 1150.

    Yeah man, I replied. What about her?

    Dig this, Red said smiling. She told me that her mother had four hundred and fifty dollars left to her by a dead uncle, and it’s hid in her bedroom. Her mother is at work and Donna went to school. This key can open any door in the projects. If it’s uh good tip, then you got two twenty-five.

    Deal, I said, thinking only of what I could buy with two hundred and twenty-five dollars. Why, I’d be the cleanest nigga in the projects. Damn right, let’s go!

    We walked over to Donnas’ building and took the elevator up. I hated to ride the elevators because usually the lights were broke and they always smelled like piss. But today, I had to ride the elevator to stick it so that nobody could come up before we could get inside Donnas’ house. When we got to the sixth floor where she lived, I held the elevator while Red looked up and down