Dark Path of a Champion: The Keith Holmes Story

By Keith Holmes

Dark Path of a Champion, The Keith Holmes Story is a story about one man's journey down a dark path fighting through trials and tribulations to get to the road of success. Drugs, suicide, and living a hard life are just some of the obstacles he had to face.
From banging in the streets to boxing in the ring, Keith Holmes fought his way to the ultimate win...becoming a 2 Time Middleweight World Boxing Champion.

If you never thought or imagined there was no way to fight your way out of hell, ...this book is a MUST READ!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tablo Publishing
• Release date: Mar 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685833251

Book preview

Preface

You'll be dead in two years...those were the words that a District of Columbia MPD Officer told me back in 1987, I'd say around the age of 17-years old.

No, I wasn't the modeled honor roll, never getting into trouble type of kid, but I wasn't an off the chain, out of control bad ass that deserved to hear those types of words either. I mean, who tells a kid that? An officer who always followed, harassed, and took money out of my pockets every chance he got, that's who.

1995 was when I signed a multi-year deal with the biggest, most successful, and legendary promoter, Don King Productions. Me, Keith Holmes, a kid that grew up in some of the most dire, notorious, drug-ridden neighborhoods in Washington, DC. No one would've ever thought that I'd become a World Champion coming from where I'm from, but we'll get back to that!

We lived in a small, third floor, two-bedroom apartment. Myself, my mom Althea, and my older brother Dion. It may not have been much to some, but to us it was home...nestled in the Southeast section of the city, Sheridan Terrace; that was our home. After being kicked out of two elementary schools in southeast, Birney and Savoy, I had to transition to living with my grandmother. I spent most of my young life going back and forth from the southeast projects of Sheridan Terrace, to what became the very lucrative, drug infested northeast projects called Paradise; It was far from paradise though. In fact, it was much closer to living hell here on earth.

After a tragic incident that occurred in southeast, I would leave the southeast projects temporarily, to take Paradise by storm. I would then return to southeast with a not so positive investment plan that would give a few of my friends the opportunity that could possibly eliminate the struggles at least, in their lives. They knew that this could come with consequences, but I meant them no harm at all. I went through a lot as a kid and I just wanted to help them, just like I want to help you.

This isn't just a story about a dark path, but rather how I turned tragedy into triumph. How, no matter what obstacles that I created or came my way, no matter how many battles I had to fight both inside and outside of the ring, I still persevered. Listen, I faced situations where I had to decide whether to stop or go, live or let live, bang or box. The ultimate decision came when I was facing life in jail and like the matrix, it was red or green pill...

ROUND 1

The Darkness Begins

Baby Keith

A four-year old boy was hit by a off duty police car in the northeast part of Washington DC. It was said by multiple witnesses that the police officer was speeding through the small narrow street in a community of small-town homes when this child was hit. No one knew what was hit until people started screaming at the end of the street OH MY GOD. THAT POLICE CAR JUST HIT A LITTLE CHILD. People started to run from the crowded field where children on this day were celebrating Halloween. The neighborhood was packed with parents and their children, leaving a trick or treat party when this travesty occurred.

It was said that when the mom reached her child that was hit, she was a nervous wreck and with a look of disbelief on her face, she would bend to comfort her child. Screaming not my baby praying and shaking like a leaf while holding her baby boy in her arms. That baby boy was me Keith Holmes, born at DC general hospital and raised in the southeast and northeast parts of Washington.

It was Halloween day, Wednesday October 31st, 1973, I would experience a day that could never ever be forgotten.

I was the youngest of my mom's two boys; and by Dion (my big brother) being the oldest, my mother would always give him the responsibility of watching over me. He was six and I was four. Now what in the world did it look like, a six-year-old taking care of a four-year-old. Let me tell it, at four I could take care of myself! Dion wasn't much bigger than me and most of the time I was the ringleader anyway! My mom trusted that he could handle adult responsibilities and back in those days it wasn't uncommon; it's just how families were raised. That's how we were taught the definition of respecting your elder, even if he was just six years old! My mother would always tell my brother, Take Keith to the ice cream truck or, "take Keith to wash his hands or, make sure your brother takes his bath." This was a big responsibility for another child at that age, but I must say, he did a good job up until one particular day. I remember my brother and I waiting on my mom to come and take us trick or treating. At this time, my mom hadn't gotten her own place yet, so we were living with my grandmother in Northeast. We were very excited and when she finally arrived, she had some good news for Dion and me and we couldn't wait! There was a party at the recreation center for the kids on the next street over and she was going to take us there so we could play games and win prizes. At my age, trick or treating, a party, games, and winning prizes...I was siced! NOTHING could've broken my happiness this day, or so I thought.

The day was supposed to be a game playing, prize winning, fun-filled day and for the most part it was. It was under a large tent of some sort, that was in the back of a school on a large field. Before we knew it, time had flown by. Where the party was ending, it felt like we'd just gotten there and if ya'll remember kid parties back in the day, they always turned into adult parties! Those were the magic words for my mom. That lady loved a good party. She loved to dance with the biggest smile on her face, and what did all moms do when they were in their jam? Grab their baby to come dance with them! For the most part I didn't mind, I loved dancing with my mom, except when she had those damn short shorts on, you know the ones that looked like the cheeks was hanging out from the bottom. Yeah, those.

I HATED them shorts. I would always say, you got your mink hanging out ma, with my thumb in my mouth mad as I don't know what and she ain't pay me no mind.  I just didn't like the fact that they drew too much attention from the wrong men that wanted nothing but what was in those shorts but I was a kid so what did I know? Now once she heard that news about the adult party, she gave Dion the task of making sure we got home safely. She watched us as far as she could see us from where she was, and then it was on. As we were walking across the field, I had gotten in front of Dion and reached the two parked cars first. My brother always held my hand when we walked but this day he didn’t so, I proceeded to walk between the two cars and once I got through the cars, BAMMMMM something had hit me so hard that I flew up in the air and it was like a dream where I didn't want to land.

I could clearly remember being hit and landing so hard and then things went blank. I must have been knocked unconscious because I only remember waking up with blurred vision in the back of the ambulance, blood rolling down my face into my eyes and I heard my mom leaning over me crying. I was told that people were screaming OH MY GOD THAT POLICE CAR JUST HIT THAT LITTLE BOY! They said that people were running across the field to see what the commotion was about and one of those persons was my mom. They said that my mom cradled me in her arms crying and shaking badly saying, PLEASE HELP MY BABY. I remember lying down in the back of the ambulance where the door was still opened, and my mom right there beside me. The lights were so bright in the ambulance that when I opened them, I felt a terrible pain rush through my head. I tried to get up and that's when I felt pain in my arm and my mom looking at me with tears running down her face. I eventually passed out again and when I woke up, I had been operated on and I was in a large room that had a lot of beds. I was in so much pain that I didn’t want to even open my eyes any longer, so I guess I went out again.

I ended up with thirty-six stitches inside of my left eyebrow and a fractured right wrist. Thirty-six stitches and I was only four years old. Those stitches probably covered my whole forehead. I was just a baby, and I was hit by a speeding police car that slid sixty feet after hitting me. Can you imagine how devastating that must have been for my mom? Her baby, hit by a police car, in the hospital fighting for his life. Well, this is just the beginning of my fight. My stay in the hospital was six weeks.

ROUND 2

Single-Parent Home Brought Struggles

Not long after my accident, my mom thought it was best for us to move into our own apartment, so she found a place in southeast. It was there that my brother and I was forced to grow up fast. Don't get me wrong, my mom was a great, loving, caring mother, but she also loved the street life. It was also there that all the trouble began. This is when I started to really see the struggles in single-parent homes in the projects, even as a little kid. Our house was no different. Majority of the homes in the projects had only one parent, the mom and in our house my mom struggled to feed us.

The apartment complex where we lived was in a very small neighborhood and the apartment itself wasn't that big at all. We only had two-bedrooms, one television and when we wanted to watch it, we had to go into my mother’s room and get the TV and bring into our room. Our room wasn't that big at all, but we managed to squeeze a bunkbed and a small dresser that was given to us by my cousin Antwan. Antwan and my mom were close, like sisters, and she treated us as if we were her own. Even though her daughter Terri didn't like the fact that she was giving us her stuff, she did it anyway. Terri was just a spoiled brat and didn’t understand that situation. We were kids and I understand why she felt that way. I mean, what child was cool with their mom giving their things away? That's just how she is, always so loving and kind.

The apartment sat at the bottom of Pomeroy Road and the hallway that we lived in was an easy access for people to take the short cut to Sheridan terrace. But before exiting our building, some people would relieve themselves in the basement and that left the whole hallway with a pissy smelling odor. Neighbors would also steal the light bulbs from the hallways when their lights blew out. They didn't care that they left the hallways pitched dark. My mom when she was home, would have to come downstairs with a candle to make sure we got in the house safely. It was repugnant and we had to deal with it every day.

 It didn't take long for me and Dion to adjust to the new environment and meeting new friends. We were around five and seven when we moved to the neighborhood, and I can't say who I met first, but we all became tight in time. You had the Hams brothers, Greg, Michael, and Robert who were older than we were, then you had Tank and Reds who were brothers, Marlon Cook, Lil Brian, Lil Neal, Paul, Eric Miles, Kevin Grover, Arnold Hudson, Vernell, Lil Dave and not long after, we had a big white boy to come along, and he shared the same name as me, so they called him big Keith. They all had different roles in my life, and I believe this was why we were all so close in some way or another. Robert and I were the closes; he was more like a brother to me. There were times when he would just have me walk to the store with him and it wasn't until a time when I told him that I was hungry that he stepped to the plate and fed me. This became an ongoing thing and he started to call me his little brother. When you saw Robert, most of the times you saw me.

As I said my mom loved the street life. She loved partying and hanging out with her friends, and just loved people. My mother had the type of energy and aura that would naturally draw people to her. She was liked so much by everyone in our neighborhood, that they gave my mom the nick name Al Monday. Every Monday morning while the neighbors were dreading going to work or whatever it is they had to do, my mom would be on the balcony pepping the whole neighborhood up with positive messages! That's just who she was and who people came to love.

Anyway, being a single parent, especially of two boys I'm sure wasn't easy, but my mother did the best she could with all she had. Her lifestyle sometimes left us home alone, and those times we had to fend for ourselves. She was young and full of life, and I guess didn't really grasp the concept, or better yet understand the old saying, when you have kids, 99% percent of your life is gone. Nope, not my mother. Kids or not, she lived her life to the fullest and on her own terms, but her street life left us home without food to eat many of times. We had to find a way, in hopes of not getting in trouble.

While we were home alone, sometimes Dion and I got into so much stuff, I mean stuff on top of stuff. We had to entertain ourselves and it wasn't a lot of options, so we came up with our own. I remember one time this fool convinced me that a cat really had nine lives! He took me on the balcony, along with one of the neighborhood cats and said, alright, I'm going to show you that this cat has nine lives; throw him up against the wall 9 times. Guess what, my dumb ass did it, what's the worst that could happen? I thought. I threw the cat up against the wall while Dion counted and I'm sure I didn't throw the cat nine times. Well, I can't say what the count was but when the cat landed awkwardly and didn't move, Dion said, oh, I must've missed counted. I looked at Dion, he looks at me… IDIOT! I'm telling ya'll, crazy ain't have nothing on us! No, I didn't miss count, you did, or cats don't have nine lives, I said. The craziest thing that happened after this, was when I was trying to take the cat outside and place it by the trash can; I was approached by white boy Keith.

Now this white boy and his family had millions of cats, so he was the wrong person to run into. He asked me what was I throwing away? And before I could answer him, he unwrapped the newspaper that I had the cat in and went off. YOU KILLED THIS CAT? I SHOULD BEAT YOUR LITTLE ASS! I was looking at him, thinking in my mind, Ima bust you in your head with something too. I wasn't afraid of him. I just didn't want him to call the police or tell my mother. So, to my surprise, he started giving the cat mouth to mouth resuscitation and the cat moved. With a look on my face like that's some shit I couldn't believe my eyes. So, the cat wasn't dead, well from the looks of it. I walked away and went and told Dion and he had the nerve to ask me why I didn’t get the cat back. I looked at him and said, "it's his cat now" and I was done with it.

Music was Dion's thing, and he was making a name for himself, not just in southeast, but northeast also. Dion played songs by ear, and it would sound just like the original song. I remember when I wanted to learn how to play the guitar, he was the one that taught me how to play it. The first song that he taught me how to play was Herbie Hancock. It was only one tone and I killed it. When people asked me to play something for them, it would always be the same ole tone, Herbie Hancock lol, because was just not my thing. I believe I just wanted the attention that he was getting so as time went on, I left it alone for a short while.

Outside of entertaining ourselves, we were also left with feeding ourselves many times and the way our house was set up, it wasn't much. Yes, we were on welfare and them food stamps ain't last us no time, so when the first of the month came, boy oh boy! My mom would fill the refrigerator with all the goodies and by the middle of the month, you could yell once in the refrigerator, and it would yell back at you multiple times. There were many times when it was just water, ketchup, and baking soda in the frig and after seeing that, I would put my thumb in my mouth and walk away mad as hell. Now ya'll know that most houses in the projects had that one box of baking soda that we were told kept that food fresh. But most of the time, we didn't have food to keep fresh. So that baking soda was working for itself. When you looked in our pantry, you might've seen that big bag of rice that the government gave out and boxes of Jiffy cornbread. Yes, we kept that but without eggs, that was worthless. This wasn't a meal at all, but we made the best of it.

We had some good days too. The days when my mom would bake cakes for us and would let us lick the bowl. Those were the days right there and when I was done, I would have cake mix all over my forehead. Me and Dion would fight over the bowl and my mom would take the bowl from us, put it in the sink and run water in it. She would then say, neither one of ya'll asses can have it since ya'll fighting over it. I would be pissed at Dion for always messing things up, because more than likely, it was his fault. Well, my mom created a monster because her allowing us to taste that cake mix, caused me to eat it when we were hungry and home alone. There came a time when I was craving for something sweet and I looked into the pantry and saw a box of Betty Crocker cake mix and I came up with an idea that I didn't even tell Dion about, but he would find out later.

 My idea was to open the cake mix box, pour a lot into a tall Tupper Ware cup, and if you're from the seventies and eighties, you knew about those cups. I then would tape or glue the box shut so that my mom wouldn't know it was opened. I would then sit in front of the TV and eat the cake mix with a spoon like it was sweets from the ice cream truck. She would find out later when she decided to bake a cake and the cake would fall while it was in the oven. She could not figure out why the cake wouldn't rise until she realized that the box had been opened from the bottom. When she looked at me, I knew she knew, and if I lied when she asked me, the punishment would be worse. So, I just said that I ate some of it because I was hungry and she would yell at me saying, YOU COULD'VE EATEN SOMETHING ELSE. I SHOULD BEAT YOUR ASS. She felt like I had no excuse for eating dried cake mix like I had other choices. I would just stand there with my thumb in my mouth once again, until she made me go to my room.

Being on welfare was a blessing in one way and in another way, it made it hard on us even though most of the neighborhood was in the same boat. I went through a lot with the older boys in the neighborhood because they would always tease me about being on public assistance, That's why your mother's on welfare they'd always say. They all knew who was on welfare because as soon as the first of the month came around, they would be on their balconies looking at everyone that went to the mailbox. Robert would come out of nowhere and say, "leave youngin alone and pick on somebody your size nigga," to the bigger boys. He was like a guardian angel and when the younger boys that were my size and age would disrespect him, I would fend for him the same way. Dion didn't play either, even though he wasn't that much bigger than I was, Dion would bust you in your head with something in a minute. We, being Dion and I would create ways to make money at times. Like creating a small carnival in the woods and the only ride we had was that same little wagon that I would use in the future to commit crimes to eat. We cleared paths in the woods so that we could pull kids in the wagon. This was a disaster because the wagon flipped kids out into the bushes many times and they would get up out of the bushes and get right back in the wagon to finish their ride. I mean these kids paid us a quarter to fifty cents for those rides and this was one way that we ate.

When my grandmother would find out that we were home alone she would hit the roof! She would either have my Aunt Deborah to bring her over to our house with food or she would have her pick us up and bring us to her house. Us being home alone would happen a lot and it became so regular that when my mom would come home and we weren't there, she knew just where to look. My grandmother would curse her out so bad that my mom would fuss at us because we told her that we were home alone with no food. My mom had to stop leaving us home alone without food so she started bringing the outside in and it had gotten to the point that I would rather have been alone than to deal with that.

 Most kids were often left home alone, and trouble was their nick name, or maybe just mine! I STAYED getting in trouble for doing dumb stuff. I remember I almost died, and this was a time when I was lucky that my mom was home. Ya'll remember the old Rock Creek soda bottles with the aluminum twist-off caps? I had one of those and wanted to see what would happen if I shook it up so guess what I did? My dumb self-shook the bottled up and tried to twist off the cap with my teeth. The dumbest thing I could've done. When I started to twist it, the acid from the soda forced that cap off and all I heard was POW! The top exploded and lodged in the back of my throat like a gun shot. I immediately dropped that bottle with no hesitation. The top was so far in my throat that I couldn't reach it, but I could breathe a little so, I was trying to swallow it but it wouldn’t go down. That top was stuck in one place and by the grace of God, my mom just happened to be walking to her room when she saw me struggling. I could see the look on her face while yelling out, BOY WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU? I tried to tell her, top, top in a choking voice but, it just wouldn't come out. I guess it was either God or her instincts that made her do what she did. This small-framed woman gained strength by grabbing me and flipping me upside down…she stuck her two fingers in my mouth and snatched the top out, ripping flesh from the back of my throat. I promise it felt like that lady snatched my tonsils out along with the top. That's just how bad it was. I guess when they say a mother would do anything to save their child, they weren’t lying! I sure needed saving that day, and not just from the top!  That was just another one of the stupid things I did. I wouldn't say that I stayed in trouble but just maybe I was accident prone.

ROUND 3

Good Idea/Bad Idea

    Remember I said trouble used to always find me?  I think my mother had gotten to the point where she started to think the same because almost everywhere she went, she made sure I was with her. It was almost like I was her my buddy doll...remember those dolls and the song wherever I go you're gonna go? Yep, from that point on, that was us! I really didn't mind though, any time with my mom was a good time! I was out of the house, spending time with her and she was satisfied because she didn't have to come home to something I