“Juneteenth, a holiday—I’ll take it. Why do we have to celebrate these people being freed? We never got freed—we have paid their way since I was a child. Everything you encounter in the work place and on the news, you end up finding it out to be a lie in the long run. Every military guy I know—and smart kooks like you—they look at 9/11 and say that was a controlled demo, that things don’t “blow up” like that. They found this out after they went to war because our own government killed 3,000 of us. Hell, they probably held us like slaves just like the blacks, and just lied about it so our guilt would feed the blacks. We are the second race—blacks are preferred in all ways. That is painfully obvious. I always knew it in my bones, that I was trash and the government loved blacks.
Exactly fifty years ago I went to school, my first day of Hamilton Middle School. It was the Seventh Grade Annex on the third floor. My sister Debbie drops me off. Our father died when I was a little girl. So Debbie, Bruce—who was a total bad ass that no one fucked with—Mike—who got robbed by Niցցers on Edison Highway before we moved up to the Northeast—and Cheryl, took care of Paul and me, we were so little. [1]
Debbie drops me off and I’m walking around the building in my little pink jacket and this big black bitch, a man-sized woman, named Charity, says, with her stupid golden teeth, a grill, “You have any money?”
I say, in my petite way, “Oh no,” embarrassed, because I didn’t have any lunch money, a poor Pollack with a brown bag lunch. So she punches me right in the face. I was afraid, knew better than to go to the office and snitch.
I get in the car after school and Debbie looks at me and sees that my jaw, right here on the left side, is swollen. I tell her what happened and she went OFF! She takes me upstairs and the secretary is a nice black lady and says, “We can have your sister point out who did this so they can be disciplined.”
Debbie grabbed me and said, “Bitch, do you think we’re stupid!”
The Principal comes out of his office and it was terrible. I kept saying, “Please, Debbie, no Debbie. I was so embarrassed.”
All she called him was, “You bald motherfucker,” and must have said niցցer, monkey and cοοn a hundred times. She then walks me out to the lineup, where all the busses are loading up with the blacks to go back to their neighborhoods after they get done beating and robbing us after school. This was before you had to live with them so they could beat you and rob you in front of your house. We had just been chased by them out of East Baltimore up into Hamilton, and the government were bringing bus loads of them to finish the job. You remember what it looked like, five city buses lined up next to the school, all full of cοοns?
[The author recalls this from the 80s and 90s when living and working in Hamilton. My oldest son was repeatedly robbed and beaten there. Big Ron, in the same grade, recounts his tales in Let The World Fend For Itself.]
Debbie takes me by the hand and walks me to every bus, walks me up into the bus and tells them, “Niggers, cοοns, monkeys—this is my sister. Lay a hand on my sister and I will fucking kill you you black motherfuckers.”
Not a one of those cοοns said a thing. Overall, the black girls would attack the white girls. We all had our earrings ripped out of our ears. One niցցer bitch asked me about the ring my grandmother gave me and told me to take it off and give it to her. But I wouldn’t. That was after Charity. The black boys would attack the white boys, but groups of them singling out one boy. The black girls were so much bigger than the white girls and nastier than the cοοn men, that they just went for it.
So, Bruce talks to me after school. For him, beating up cοοns was a sport. He says to me, “You come home crying again, you get beat up by some cοοn again, then I’m whopping your ass. They are nothing but monkeys. They don’t have a soul, no guts—you go after them. They hit you, you hit them all day long. They grab you, you bite, claw. They beat you, then you fucking stab them with a knife—you understand—Pollacks roll over niցցers one time with nothing left over.”
I miss Bruce so much. He took no shit from anyone, not cops or cοοns and they were all afraid of him. But God takes the best of us first.
The next day, after school, I go outside—Charity had not messed with me after the scene Debbie had made—and there were bikers everywhere, surrounding the buses. It was all of the Chosen Sons and a lot of Independents. I don’t know how it got triggered. But the area was still all white and none of the white girls had earrings left. These black bitches knew that some hard biker bitches would be coming down on them. And this was back when black men just didn’t drive—the government had to bring them in on buses. So we had the numbers and I didn’t get punched any more.
I saw Charity years later. She didn’t remember me. Maybe black girls are so much meaner than their men because they know how ugly they will be. No wonder the black men want white women—there women are terrible.
…
Notes
-1. In various Harm City books I told tales of Mike’s home in Northeast Baltimore being placed under siege. His grandson, Joe, was stabbed in the chest by two blacks and nearly died in East Baltimore, at Ponca and Eastern, so moved in with Mike in the northeast, one block from the County line at Harford and Taylor. When returning from the store one night, he was robbed by two blacks at gun point on the front lawn. One night, while walking home the back way from the bar, he stopped and pissed behind the dumpster, was spotted by police helicopter and arrested, jailed and charged by a gang of thug cops in Mike’s back yard. That same year, a black man was kicking in the old lady’s door two houses down and old Mike went to the rescue, chasing off the gro. When the cop came, he reluctantly made a police report, and wrote it up as “destruction of property.” Mike and Cheryl were both killed during the mass medical murder spree unleashed in late 2019 and still ongoing. Bruce passed many years ago from a stroke. Megan is in bad health but still working.
