Ima hustla, baby!

Back in 1988 when I was seven years old, I would make early morning store runs for my daddy to get his newspapers. He would want the Chicago Sun-Times, The Tribune and the Chicago Defender. On the weekend, I didn’t have to "hustle" as much, as he would put it, as I did during the week when I had school.

I would sprint all the way to the store and back again to get my daddy’s papers. I got good at controlling my breath so I wouldn’t seem tired when I returned, which caused my daddy to ask me, "how’d you get back so fast?"

The word spread amongst the women in the projects that "Lannie’s boy" was good at going to the store. My momma’s friends would generously reward me for making store runs. I would go to school with so much candy, fancy pencils and other little treats that I would share with my friends that I became a huge distraction in class!

There were a couple of boys at my school who found out that I kept a sock full of money that my daddy and the project women had given me. They made a plan to get it from me using force, if necessary. So I made a plan to take an alternate route to get around the bullies. This alternate route took a little longer for me to make my store runs. And this is when I started lying to my dad about why I was coming home late from the store. I was eight years old when I began lying, fighting and hustling just to keep the little money I made for making store runs.

When I was fourteen my family moved to Hyde Park. I still ran to the store for my daddy, but he was the only one. There were no other people in our new neighbourhood who appreciated my expediency enough to hire me for store runs!

One fateful day while on my way to a corner store for my daddy, I was approached by a gang of young guys. I was an unknown young black male, and therefore a threat to them. And unbeknownst to me at the time, this gang was in a war with another gang. I had my baseball hat cocked on the right side of my head, these guys wore their caps to the left, so in the ways of the street, I was out of bounds.

Oblivious to what was going around me, I soon understood that I was in danger when I found myself looking down the barrel of a huge revolver! I grew up in one of the most notorious neighborhoods of Chicago's ghettos and never had a gun in my face so I did not know how to react. I knew I was in danger but I can not say that I was afraid. So that's how my relationship with the Titanic Stones began, with a gun in my face.

I told the boys I live around the corner on the first floor and that they are "tweaking" over nothing. I had fourteen years of life experience growing up in the projects so I knew if I came off weak or timid that I would never be respected. One of the guys tried to knock my hat off my head but I quickly snatched my hat off and cocked it to the left, the way they wore theirs.

They asked me if I was in a gang. I answered honestly and said ‘no.’ One of the guys told me that they were ‘Stones’ and everybody around here is a Stone and I will be one too. If I could make it to the store, play ball in the park, and hang out with the little cuties in this new neighborhood unmolested, then I would have joined the Navy Seals!!

Word got around that I had a lot of energy. I used to do everything fast, walk fast, talk fast, I had quick feet and hands. The guys said that I was on that "West Side" stuff! While I was hooping, high ranking members of the gang were watching me so I was being extra quick. I was grabbing all the rebounds, diving out of bounds for the ball, sticking mass defence on everybody, getting up and down the court, strong. One of the leaders said, "who's that shorty hustling?"

After the game the leader, Peanut, took us to a deli to buy us lunch. He did not know my name so he called me the Hustler. I did not know who he was talking to but one of the guys told him that my name was Brad, so Peanut called me Brad the Hustler and that's how I got the nickname. Not from dealing drugs but for being quick and full of energy.