When was the last time you had a reason to cry? I could swim in a river of tears if I was strong enough to let them go. My good friend and more then part time mentor speaks often of crying as if it was a body function so regular as eating or using the bathroom. I am not in tune with myself well enough to allow an emotion or two to be so physically present unless its selfish or foolish behavior like rage or anger. It’s much easier to harm someone or break something or say something loud or hurtful then it is to relax and allow the emotions swelling within to manifest in tears. I caught myself a few times today losing my cool and tears began to well up. It was right in front of Jake, who was my best friend for the kind years of 11 and 12. He knew me well and it feels good to be close in relation to one another for how much distance has come between us in the last 13 odd years. I am unable to give in or man up as the Man would say and just let go, yet I am devastated by the rational the hardest dude from my hood died because a punk couldn’t beat him in a fair one. Over the course of the past 20 or so years not many people could ever beat Ogre. He was the kind of guy who lived in rage and violence. Some scream loud and walk proud of not giving a fuck about jail but he just lived it without ever having to mention it. I can say that he is one of the first people to give me the strength to fight and lose. Lose with the notion that in fighting you’ve proved your worth. It’s a simple concept lost to the era of the drive by, the gang initiation and the thug mentality. “Respect through Fear” as they say. He was not a saint by his actions but I will say that his sense of right and wrong were aligned to what and who was closest to him. Outsiders got nothing more then respect he wanted in return. Not a bitch by any means, hardly a bully and the kind of guy who was fearless in the face of an asswhooping if it meant at the end of the day his point got across to the guy on the other end. 32 years old, shot dead a block from where we once lived. In fact we didn’t make the best impression when we moved to our first real house on the “other” Brill Street, as we’re now known to say from time to time. The local thugs were white kids known as GBC or Get Blunted Crew. Not the toughest and actually in hindsight never more then wiggers who ran from the real fights down the street from Red Brick. Either way after an altercation that led to our window getting broke and a fist fight with the guys in the street, a congregation of Kensington and Frankford cousins stormed into the small corridor blocks looking for vengeance. I remember being told to stay inside and could hear the beatings taking place across the street in the cemetery. As legend and time holds it, the last to get the beating was one of the Grossman twins. Known for their mouth and bravado more for their quick hands and solid street cred, Brian Grossman tried stabbing Ogre with a screwdriver in the initial sweep of the 5 x 5 blocks we called home. Making the trip from our house to his house one night he caught up with Brian and leveled him with a single shot. Brian fell to his knees and his head and neck tilted back. Its been said that the sudden rush of blood in his mouth would have choked him to death if he hadn’t been knocked onto his side by a friend. Rash and severe at times, but never without righteousness it felt good to know there was someone who could come down and be there for you when you were in over your head. To think that I stood over him today and say the hardest man from Frankford lying dead today is crushing my heart. One of my first “champions”, the kind of guy who inspired me to be more then what I was is dead for doing the right thing. I could waste time and talk of useless notions such as revenge and how that guy should be found and get the chair, but really what is worth fighting for is already gone. Depleted.
As a lifelong friend spoke at the eulogy today, we never had anything but each other and to be without someone like Ogre is to know there is one less person by your side. As I grew to adulthood and began my own legacy I never felt the need to call on him but I know that he would have been there for any of it. In fact the last we spoke he was the one telling me about how the worst part is the wait between being out on bail and being told whether you’re doing time or you’re out Scott free. There are so many things that I think of now that in my reminiscence of our times can be attributed to him that I want to cry. I want to feel the physical relief of that sorrow knowing someone who’s life impacted yours so greatly is no longer alive because his deeds were struck down by a weaker man. I think of my old excuse for not showing sorrow as “Thugs Don’t Cry” mimicking the over the top B movie at Blockbuster that Samantha would never want to rent. I want to be pitiful and say these words are my tears. I am crying to the world in my grief and hopefully venting this anguish. I walked down Frankford Ave and up the cemetery hill yesterday looking for where he was struck down. I couldn’t find the spot. Later I was told it was a block away from our old house. I wanted to throw up. As I mentioned earlier we had issues there and in fact it got to the point where once my mom found a better spot out of the hood we moved. That was the closure of one chapter and the beginning of the end of my Frankford days. He got us through that rough patch between the apartment on Griscom that was our salvation from the Fonze to the first real house we lived in. It seems as though tragedy strikes all of history’s greatest heroes, Ogre was on his path towards getting a spot out of the hood and getting wifed up with the mother of his children. This tale has no wisdom or lesson to be taught. His actions spoke for him time and time again and I will not relegate this tragedy to the pitfalls of living in a shot ass neighborhood. This was the new way of life, the reason this city and this hood has gone to hell. Damien and I laughed the other day at Mike’s lyric “I’m from the era of the One on One, punching niggas for fun”. Then I think of Ogre being shot dead for being of the caliber of dude to stand up for the small and “shield the weak” as Darius would say.

Mike old buddy, I guess I’m from that era too, and if it wasn’t for my man Ogre I never would have lived past it.

May He Finally Be Granted Peace...and his Killer be shown True Justice.

David Howarth, 32, of Penn Street near Dyre, was found shot once in the chest on Brill Street near Frankford Avenue in the Northeast shortly after 4:30 a.m. yesterday. He was pronounced dead at Frankford-Torresdale Hospital at 5:30 a.m. Detectives were interviewing a possible suspect, but no charges had been filed, said Homicide Sgt. Ron McClane.