{"id":3882,"date":"2023-08-26T19:00:31","date_gmt":"2023-08-26T23:00:31","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/newyorkcitygangs.com\/?page_id=3882"},"modified":"2023-08-28T07:37:39","modified_gmt":"2023-08-28T11:37:39","slug":"how-can-you-be-a-good-boy-when-you-dont-have-a-father","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/newyorkcitygangs.com\/?page_id=3882","title":{"rendered":"“How Can You Be a Good Boy When You Don’t Have a Father?”"},"content":{"rendered":"

This is the story of John, also known as “Daffy Duck.”\u00a0 I won’t use his nickname here because it’s too flippant to use on a serious topic.\u00a0 Cheapening or trivializing his story and the crimes he committed is a kick in the teeth to him and his victims.
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

From 1957-1959, John was a member of a Brooklyn gang called the Stompers. There were at least two Stompers gangs from Brooklyn that I’m aware of and the one John was in had its turf in Bedford-Stuyvesant.\u00a0 At different times in his stint with the gang, he held the position of war counselor, vice-president, and president. He accepted the gang code and was called a “blind follower,” notwithstanding the fact that he climbed the leadership ladder and occupied all three ruling positions at one time or another.\u00a0 John said he participated in “about six rumbles,” but in my opinion, it was many more than that.\u00a0 John felt “prestige and acceptance” as a member of the gang and spoke about his experiences in the Stompers with pleasure. He joined the gang because he didn’t have a proper father figure in his life.\u00a0 His father abandoned his wife and son John when he was a baby.\u00a0 His mother left him with her parents in South Carolina while she worked as a hairstylist in New York City.\u00a0 John lived with his grandparents on Highway 4 in Orangeburg, South Carolina, from 1945 until 1953, when he became too difficult for them to handle at the tender age of 9 years old.
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

\"John<\/a>

John of the Stompers<\/p><\/div>\n

John was sent to an institution for stealing a car in 1962, which is how I came across his case in my research.\u00a0 However, before we look at what happened there, let’s look at his run-ins with the law prior to this.\u00a0 Here’s what John was up to:\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

\u2022 First arrested on October 7, 1958, with another juvenile for punching an 11-year-old and taking 15 cents from him. He was put on probation for this.
\n\u2022 Arrested on February 21, 1959, with another person for assaulting Mrs. Florence Steiger and stealing her pocketbook.
\n\u2022 On March 7, 1959, while waiting for disposition on the pocketbook snatch, John was arrested again.\u00a0 This time it was for threatening a 12-year-old with a razor and taking $3.98 cash from him and a pair of swim fins.
\n\u2022 Despite this violation, he was continued on parole but was arrested again on April 9, 1959, for breaking and entering 213 Marion Street, forcing a rear window open on the fire escape.<\/p>\n

\"213<\/a>

213 Marion Street Today<\/p><\/div>\n

The break-in is what did John in, and he was packed off to a juvenile reformatory in Warwick, a place called New York State Training School for Boys.<\/p>\n

After serving eight months there, John was released on parole on December 18, 1959, and moved to South Carolina to live with his grandma.\u00a0 Most likely the move to South Carolina was to get away from the jungle that some New York City neighborhoods (like Bed-Stuy) had become to teenagers.\u00a0 However, if John’s grandma had a difficult time controlling her grandson at 9 years old, imagine dealing with him as a teenager…\u00a0 While living with granny, John was discharged from parole on October 16, 1961.\u00a0 A good thing, and a solid stepping stone to turn his life around.\u00a0 Right?\u00a0 However, that was one year and 10 months into the future, and before that could happen, the here and the now had to first wallop John in the face.\u00a0 Dreams of rehabilitation were dashed into smithereens because… John was arrested for auto theft in 1960.<\/p>\n

This arrest was strange.\u00a0 The way it went down felt wrong.\u00a0 At the time, John attended school with his cousin and she kindly told him he was welcome to drive her car.\u00a0 He refused, but then later reconsidered.\u00a0 So he took her car for a ride but… didn’t tell her.\u00a0 Classic teenage behavior, not thinking through a decision properly, but with just barely<\/em> enough justification on the ledge of common sense to adequately explain yourself if something bad happened.\u00a0 Well, something bad did happen.\u00a0 Finding her automobile gone, and not realizing John had taken her up on her offer, she reported it to the police. As all good cousins must do in situations like this, she tried to have the charges dropped when she found out that it was John who took her car.\u00a0 However, because he drove the car off school grounds, the police didn’t allow the charges to be dropped.\u00a0 This was flimsy reasoning.\u00a0 Yes, it was a foolish thing for John to take the car without letting his cousin know, especially if he didn’t have his license.\u00a0 However, anyone in a position of authority with an ounce of common sense could see it wasn’t a crime.\u00a0 Unfortunately, nobody of that description could be found anywhere, and John was sent to a reformatory called the John G. Richards School for Negro Boys, a place that John later said felt like prison. And just like that, John had the ignominious achievement of being sentenced to his second reformatory, but in a different state.\u00a0 He remained incarcerated there until he was released in May 1961, having served his time before he was off parole from his break-and-enter in New York City.<\/p>\n

Perhaps disillusioned with South Carolina and the bungled situation with his cousin’s car, John moved back to New York City.\u00a0 However, the Arrow of Discretion was absent from John’s quiver, and on January 12, 1962, he stole a car parked in front of 555 Halsey Street.\u00a0 Eight other thrill-seekers jammed into the car with John, bringing the grand caravan to a total of nine.\u00a0 How they all fit into the car is a mystery.\u00a0 Three of them were girls, and there is no doubt in my mind that youthful bravado and a powerful need to impress them greased this mad caper.\u00a0 Anyhow, the car was stopped by suspicious Nassau County police on Peninsula Blvd in North Lawrence, Long Island.\u00a0 John told police that he took the car when he discovered the door wasn’t locked.\u00a0 He simply crossed the wires under the dashboard and drove away, picking up the other eight at various street corners, eventually driving all the way out to Long Island.\u00a0 Cases against the other eight were dismissed but John was convicted for stealing the car.\u00a0 He was only 17 years old and already onto his third reformatory.\u00a0 To put this in sharper perspective, John was more familiar with reformatories (3) than total held jobs (2).
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

\"John's<\/a>

John’s Fingerprint Card<\/p><\/div>\n

During his incarceration, John spoke with a psychiatrist several times.\u00a0 In his first meeting, John declared, “I knew the car was stolen, but I didn’t steal it.\u00a0 I was riding in it and they put the blame on me.”\u00a0 Why take the blame for everyone else?\u00a0 “I don’t know,” John replied.\u00a0 “That was foolish.”\u00a0\u00a0 <\/span><\/p>\n

His family life was discussed and intense feelings of hatred for his father bubbled up into the conversation, front and center like bold type-face on the front page of a newspaper.\u00a0 These feelings came up in each of his appointments with the psychiatrist and John struggled with them even in his last meeting when he said, “I built up a hate in me because of my father.\u00a0 He left me when I was a child.”\u00a0 John’s hatred wasn’t exactly a shocker.\u00a0 It’s understandable when you give yourself permission to stand in his shoes.\u00a0 Would your emotions bring you down the same path?\u00a0 Probably.\u00a0 After all, his father never admitted that John was even his son.\u00a0 It’s true that everyone has or had a mother and father.\u00a0 But it’s also equally true that not everyone has or had a mother or father.\u00a0 Physical propinquity is not the same as emotional closeness.\u00a0 It was like John’s mere existence was in question with his father’s denial.\u00a0 Almost like John didn’t matter.\u00a0 Just another street corner kid, a loser with no future.<\/span><\/p>\n

John wanted nothing at all to do with his father.\u00a0 He felt he never would have been in the reformatory if his father lived with his mother.\u00a0 “How can you be a good boy when you don’t have a father?\u00a0 A mother cannot bring up a boy.\u00a0 You have to be a man.” Indeed.\u00a0 And here, in one insightful statement from a Brooklyn street kid named John, we see the importance of a father in the home.\u00a0 Not just a father taking up space in the family home, but an engaged father.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

John blamed himself too:\u00a0 “Of course, I blame myself for it and I did these things because I didn’t think in the right way.”\u00a0 There was nothing wrong with his mind \u2013 “but,” he said, “at that time I was not thinking what I was doing.\u00a0 I am no crazy.”\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

John had vehement feelings about parole and brazenly told the psychiatrist that he would break parole the very day he was released: “I don’t give a damn whether I will serve 18 months or 3 years.”\u00a0 He was willing to serve his max because he didn’t want any restrictions while out on parole.\u00a0 John knew he could serve his max time; “take it easily” was the way he put it.\u00a0 The institution had no wiggle room to work with John and kept him for the entire sentence.\u00a0 John served his entire sentence, or rather he was released one week before his max, leaving on January 11, 1965.\u00a0 It was unlikely his father-hatred improved by the time he was released.\u00a0 In 1964, he was still mired deep in those feelings: “How can you love people when your own father left you when you were a baby?”\u00a0 Excellent question.
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

It is here that we leave John simmering in a stew of hatred that would gladly bring him to his last breath as quickly as possible if he couldn’t overcome it.\u00a0 How he would conduct the stereotactic process of healing his brain is anyone’s guess. <\/span>However, I want to leave on a good note, and before closing this short story, I think there is something positive to hold onto.<\/p>\n

When John spoke to the chaplain while he was incarcerated, he naturally expressed bitterness towards his father. But if we look closely enough through the impenetrable thicket of hate, defiance and anger in John’s thinking, there was a glimmer of hope, a beam that, faint as it was, outshone the darkness.\u00a0\u00a0 John would not make the same mistake his father did, saying he would “not abandon his son if I get married.” What an illustration for the choices we have in life when experiencing family trauma like John’s.\u00a0 We can, and sometimes do continue the trend that some terrible parents model.\u00a0 Or, we harden our resolve to go down a better path, a route that refuses to allow suffering that we can<\/em> control from happening to those who come after us.
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

I hope John made good on his promise of not abandoning a future son and became the loving father he never had.
\n<\/span><\/p>\n

Copyright \u00a9 2023 David Van Pelt<\/p>\n

All rights reserved. This article or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means \u2013 electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise \u2013 without prior written permission of the author. For permission requests contact:<\/p>\n

newyorkcitygangs at mail dot com<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This is the story of John, also known as “Daffy Duck.”\u00a0 I won’t use his nickname here because it’s too flippant to use on a serious topic.\u00a0 Cheapening or trivializing his story and the crimes he committed is a kick … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":2250,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"aioseo_notices":[],"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/Pdrj3O-10C","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/newyorkcitygangs.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/3882"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/newyorkcitygangs.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/newyorkcitygangs.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/newyorkcitygangs.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/newyorkcitygangs.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3882"}],"version-history":[{"count":45,"href":"https:\/\/newyorkcitygangs.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/3882\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3933,"href":"https:\/\/newyorkcitygangs.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/3882\/revisions\/3933"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/newyorkcitygangs.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/2250"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/newyorkcitygangs.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3882"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}