My Life Story
Life on the Line
by Nick C.
The story of my life is whiskey on the rocks, with a whisky back and a whisky chaser. Jack Daniels days in smoky old pool halls and Knob Creek nights in dimly lit bars filled with vagabonds, city-square-junk-bags, derelicts and street hustlers. Cigarette smoke slowly rolling and rising to neon haze, from embers burning bar tables, while inch-long grey ash falls to the sticky floor. Windowless afternoons with hard stares, alleyway brawls and the music of a lonely jukebox, watching Keno receipts stack up next to empty glasses and peanut shells.
The story of my life is driving fast and taking chances, drinking ice-cold Grey Goose from rocks glasses inside posh hotel lobby bars. Rapping quickly with fast talking women with green eyes and uncrossed legs. Carelessly running tabs, puffing a Cohiba or Monte Cristo, dressed to kill, while thick chalky cigar smoke is inhaled by ceiling fans and fat ash cylinders collect in clean crystal ashtrays.
The story of my life is white sand beaches, cabanas and tiki bars, watching white waves gently crashing on sharp reefs and soft sand. Kicking back, relaxing, wearing white on white on white, with thick dark shades, cheersing boar drinks to fallen soldiers, hoping the Devil found out they were dead a half hour after they were already in Heaven.
The story of my life is family first, old-school values and dinner at Ma’s house. Shepherds pie or beef stew with red wine and smiles all around; back together again sharing stories and catching up. Getting warm by the fire on a peaceful late night in winter, wondering if it gets any better than this.
Mi Vida Loca (My Crazy Life)
by Art Herrera
I was born June 1st, 1978. My name’s Arthur Herrera, Jr., and this is my story…
My friends and family call me Art or Artie, the streets know me as “Ese Doe Boy” from the famous Compton barrio South Side Whatever’s Clever Gang…WEC13. Doesn’t mean I lived there, but I sure did spend a lot of time there. Matter of fact, I’ma take you guys way back.
I was born in Los Angeles, CA, to a Mary Herrera, my mother, and Arturo Herrera, my father. My mother changed her name, but that comes later. Both my mom and dad were 19 years of age when they had me. I can’t say I remember too much as a baby, so I’ma talk about what I do remember. By age 3 I know I was living in Downey, CA, where I lived for about 2 years. I remember my landlord was a big ol’ fat man named Mr. Bagwell. Behind our home was a park I could see through my backyard.
My little brother (Albert) came into the scene in 1980. I remember all the furniture covered in plastic, and a big ol’ mirror in the living room. I remember going into my parents’ room and seeing their furniture. What always stood out to me about that old wooden furniture was that it was written on. Matter of fact, it was more of an etching! It said “Mary loves Art,” or “Art loves Mary,” I don’t remember too good. But it lets me know that at one point they must have been in love. By the time I was 4, Albert had become my best friend. My mom used to dress us alike so I thought we were cool.
My grandmas had always been a part of our life. I have or should I say had 2 of them, one who we’d refer to as Big Belly, and the other as Little Belly. Honestly, they were both little. My Little Belly passed away about 6-7 years ago. My Big Belly, which is my mom’s mom, she still supports me in everything I do.
My dad bought us a big house in Azusa, CA, in 1983. That’s when my sister, Jennifer, was born. If I’m not mistaken, I think my dad was only 24. That’s pretty god if you ask me, cuz I know when I was 24 I was locked up and up to no good! And here he was with a good job, a big house, motorcycles, and a shit load of cars.
When I started Kindergarten, I’d walk to the bus stop every morning. Believe it or not at that age it taught me to be independent. I used to feel cool that I did it by myself. I remember walking down the street looking back about half way and seeing my mom in her pajamas waving at me. Since we lived on a dead end street, I was always playing on the street, not to mention all the friends I had on that street. On weekends, my dad would turn on the motorcycle and take us all for rides. He’d take us to the end of the street by the railroad tracks. Honestly, it was a lot of fun.
Growing up we’d always take trips to Rosarito, Mexico with all of my cousins on my dad’s side of the family. It became tradition to go every year, 4th of July, Memorial weekend, Spring Break, whatever. Anything just to go out there. My mom didn’t like camping, so she’d never go.
I remember the backyard of that house being so big. I had toys everywhere, and I mean everywhere! A slip and slide, a grape vine, my own lemon tree! My own dog! Those were the best years of my life. I lived there until I was 10 years old. I remember looking out my sliding door at night and seeing my dad in the garage working on his cars or other peoples cars. The point is I wanted to be out there. Then I’d see some nights he’d be with my older cousin Tony out there and I’d think to myself, why can’t I be out there? I used to love the way that garage smelled. It smelled like sandpaper, Bondo, and paint.
Me and my brother used to hide from my dad every night when we’d hear him pull up. Back then, we thought he’d never find us. But now that I’m grown, and my own son does it to me, I now realize he was just pretending not to find us.
I was born with asthma, so I also have a lot of memories of my mom taking me to the ER because I couldn’t breathe. I practically grew up at Kaiser Permanente. Until this day, if I were to walk into a Kaiser hospital, I immediately go back to that time when I would spend those late nights there. I love my mom for that cuz she always took care of me health wise, financial wise. She got the job done!
I’m not gonna lie or sugar coat it. But when I was young growing up, I thought she was so mean to me! And me being the oldest, I think I got it the worst. If it wasn’t the belt it’d be an extension cord, dishes, anything in her reach. If I didn’t finish my dinner I’d stay at the table for hours and right when I was about to throw up I’d get smacked in the head and sent to my room! It’s funny now, but believe me, at that age it’s the last thing funny on your mind. If it wasn’t a slap to the face, or a whipping, it’d be one of those pinches you feel throughout your whole body. I don’t hate her for that at all. Matter of fact, I love her to death
I think in every family there’s the good parent and the bad parent. Actually, let me rephrase that: the fun parent and the strict parent. My mom was the strict one. In my family, as for me, I’m the cool one and my wife’s the strict one. I think that’s why my son loves me so much! I do realize it can backfire on me, so I’ma do my best to balance it out. I once had a conversation with my cousin Tony as an adult and he told me my mom was kinda mean to him too! You see, we kinda raised him for a little while. He told me when he would do his math homework, she’d check it for him, and if he got any wrong, she’d smack him. When I heard that, I felt so relieved to know that I wasn’t the only one!
I’m grateful for her and everything she taught me. She taught me to be tough and take shit from no one, to do things right. Because of her, I learned to hustle and make money because of her, “math” became my favorite subject in school. She taught me to be one step ahead at all times, and she taught me to never give up! My mom is the strongest woman I’ve ever met in my life. When it comes to survival, she wrote the book! As far as I go, I just read it.
When I was 10, my parents separated. I really don’t know why. But I do know it felt like an overnight decision. I remember my dad taking me to Disneyland on my 10th birthday and then almost immediately not seeing him at all it went from hot to cold. Heaven to hell over night. I’m 31 years old and have never asked neither one of them why they left each other. I know she used to drink a lot, so I think alcohol might have played a role, but I’m not sure.
I do know we left to go live with my grandma and with my mom working 2 jobs just to support us we’d hardly see her. I missed her a lot. Not to mention only seeing my dad maybe 2 times a month for like 3 to 4 years. I know I got real close to my grandma; we all did. She treats us like babies to this day. She used to spoil us; bought me my first car—an ’88 Cadillac--. However, if my mom was yelling at me or any of us, my grandma would step in and then they’d start fighting! So that kinda put a lot of tension on me.
When I hit 5th grade my mom worked as the secretary in my elementary school, so every time I’d get in trouble she was the first to know. That caused a lot of whoop-asses, but hey, by then I was used to them!
6th grade came and I started growing up. My dad would pick us up every other weekend so I didn’t get to see him that much, but I was old enough to know he was partying his ass off while my mom was playing both the role of father and mother or at least tried to. I was a 6th grader the first time I was asked “where I was from.” I remember I was at Southgate park kicking it and some older fools came up to me and said, “Hey ese, where the fuck you from?” I was like, “What?! Where you from?” and then I got stabbed in my chest with an ice pick. I was so scared to let my mom know what happened that I never told her. I was in pain for like 2 weeks. I thought if she’d find out she’d beat the fuck out of me or kick me out. Later on when I grew up I ended up running into that guy and ended up shooting him. I thought it would make me feel better, but instead all it did was bring me bad nightmares.
In 7th grade (Southgate Junior High) is where everything started changing for me. My mom started partying a lot with her cousins and friends and my dad, well, I was still seeing him every other weekend. At that age, my brother and me were pretty close, but my brother for some reason would like fighting with my sister a lot and I started backing her up because she’s a girl and she’s younger! I started to change the way I dress; I started wearing baggy clothes. I wanted to be a gangster! My mom’s friends started noticing, so obviously my mom tried to put a stop to it. I remember having to sneak a separate set of clothing into my backpack just to wear what I wanted. Not to mention pay for it myself, or steal it, since she wasn’t gonna buy what I wanted!
In that year she met a man who happened to be the mayor of commerce, not to mention an ex-sheriff. She ended up marrying him. Personally, I couldn’t stand the vato. Keep in mind I’m a little wannabe gangster at the time, and here’s this ex-pig! In my house! I was like, “Fuck huddas!” So I would give him a hard time, but for the most part we’d all stay in our rooms.
One day I couldn’t take it no more and woke up Albert in the middle of the night and told him, “I’m leaving, dog. I’ma go to pop’s house. Fuck this shit!” I got a backpack, spray can, my walkman, jumped on my bike and rode it all the way to my dad’s house. At the time, my cousin Tony was living there, and they weren’t expecting my arrival. I crashed their party. The next day, outta curiosity, I looked under my cousin’s bed and found a shit load of week! I was like, “Orale!!!” I took that shit to school and started selling.
I never really talked to my mom that much after that. I left her in 7th grade. The next time me and her spoke I was an official gang member.
My cousin and his homeboys used to pick me up from 8th grade. I remember two of them in particular were these big muthafuckers—big at the time; I later out grew them. My cousin Krook (Tony), Ramos, and Saul. I thought they were gangsters. I knew then a gangster is what I wanted to be when I grew up.
In 10th grade I got kicked out of school for trafficking and vandalism. No school wanted me. So I was forced to go to private school. That meant money. My mom put me in a private school called Pius-X. $300 a month just to go. I went for only a semester then I ran away back to my dad’s. I had home studies for about a year and a half. I went to school once a week, picked up a packet, did it all in one day, and had the rest of the week to gang bang and get in trouble. After home studies I went back to my original high school for the final semester to graduate. By the time I went back, all my old homies were gone, so I kicked it with my brother. Before you knew it, he was banging my barrio (WEC13).
I ended up graduating and proving the world wrong with an official diploma. I hadn’t talked to my mom, let alone seen her in awhile, but that day she showed up and made me very happy to see her there. She ended up divorcing that pig and hooked up with a paisa.
By that age I had advanced in the rankings in my neighborhood. I ended up becoming the hood recruiting all-star. I was a parent’s worst nightmare! I’d turn their good kids into gangster ass hoodlums. I’d take them on missions, to get tatted—you know, I laced them up. Put it like this: I hope to God my son never meets that guy. Well, I used to be that guy, and I enforced like no other. I was in and out of jail from ’96-’99 at least 10 times. In May of ’99 I caught a robbery charge, which led to my first strike in California. I picked up car jacking, burglaries, home invasion. I once got my dad’s house raided and they found over a million dollars in payroll checks, income tax returns, etc. That was a close call; thank God I beat that case.
My favorite was vandalism. I used to love graffiti. I would sneak out at least twice a week to go hit the streets from the LA freeways to billboards to the sickest landmarks you could think of. That was my life. I looked up to the streets to the point where I used to say, “I am the streets!” Nothing could stop me. I was on top of the world. So I thought. I met my soul mate in ’99. Went to jail for a year, but we kept in touch.
In that year, my little brother had his first baby and so did my sister! I remember my sister coming to visit me once and behind the glass I seen her big ol’ panza. I couldn’t believe it. I felt partly responsible as being the oldest I wasn’t there for her. I remember feeling so mad at myself that I started gangbanging even harder! I love my sister so much. She’s my pride and joy. So is my brother, but my brother’s a man, and I felt he was capable of walking his own steps. Besides, he had proven it to me already! But Jenny, I felt I had neglected being there for her at that point in her life. She was young, still in high school. I felt disappointed in myself as an older brother and as a role model. Come to find out I had heard rumors that Albert was getting strung out. That also hit me hard. So I told him during a visit once, “You better not be fucking around,” but who am I kidding—I’m locked up, and he’s gonna do what he does. When I got out, I made it to see my sister graduate at 9 months pregnant. I was proud of her. My brother never graduated, but then again, what’s that piece of paper prove? He ended up more successful than me and her! I’m proud of you G!
Albert and me were roll-dogs until he met his wife. That left me back on the streets, in and out of jail. I managed to patch up my relationship with my mom throughout that time. I was already in my 20’s, but she had no idea what I’d been through.
I once called her for help when I didn’t know what to do! I was driving home from Inglewood one day drunker than fuck. I had just finished getting tatted. I’m on the 105 Freeway. I must’ve been driving slow, but this Suburban pulls up next to me and yells at me, “Pull over!” It was about 3am and I’m drunk, bumping my system. At the time I had about $2 thousand invested in my audio system, so I knew they were gonna try to jack me. I slow down, see a shotgun, and immediately punch it! They catch up to me, and me being drunk, you know how “beer-balls” go—when you’re drinking everything’s easier to do. So I pull out my cuete and I let them have it. The whole clip! And I mean the whole clip, and punch it to the point where my little steering wheel is shaking. I’m in a Honda Accord going 110 mph, the fastest it can go, when I pass a highway patrol. Now I’m fucked! I’m thinking, if I get caught, I’m done. So upon exiting at probably 80 mph, I smash the wall and roll over a couple of times.
I remember hearing, “Hey! Are you alive in there?”
I was like, “Yeah! Help me out!” Not realizing I was upside down, I fell from my seat belt.
He tells me, “Don’t move, the ambulance is coming,” and I immediately remember that’s not an ambulance, that’s a cop! So I tell him, “I need a ride!”
He tells me, “No! Stay here!”
I go back inside my car, pull my stereo out, my book of CD’s, and get my gun, point it to his head and tell him, “Dog, I need a ride now!!” He ended up taking me to a safe location. I gave him some money and thanked him. I walked all the way home after that. Walked into my apartment and my lady was like, “What the fuck!” I must have been bleeding everywhere.
Anyhow, I didn’t know what to do. But my mom did, so she reported the car stolen. Thank God everything went ok! Mom, thank you for always helping me in serious situations. I love you mom!
I been with my lady going on 10 years. The first 6 she had to share me with the hood, cuz I was well connected and way too involved. I’m sorry for that, mija, but you met me that way!
There’s still so much to say, yet I wanna keep it short:
My sister and me grew real close after Albert got married.
There was a point where my dad started going to church a lot, and I mean a lot. Bible studies and everything. I remember my mom used to make fun of him. So did some of my uncles (his brothers). But I wasn’t trippin’. I thought it was cool! He later backslid and started partying again.
My mom also, believe it or not, gave up drinking years later and started to go to church. She’s now a born again Christian and I’m so very proud of her.
As far as me and my own family goes, I had my first son when I was 25. I was the last one of us 3 to have children.
My mom married the paisa. He’s cool!
My dad, well, he’s still pimpin' it. He parties a lot (Whudup G!)!
My brother is happily married and well into “the Word”. My sister, she does tattoos, goes by the name “Tattoo Chick. 3 kids, doing the family thang.
As for me, let me continue where I left off. When I had my first son I was so amazed, so proud. It was and is probably the best day of my life. Let me tell you a little bit about his mother. I met her at a backyard boogie at a homeboy’s house. When I met her I had a lady already, but I lied to her and told her I didn’t. I liked her that much. She was beautiful and still is to this day. Upon meeting her, I went to jail for a year, but learned more about her through her letters. She wrote me quite a bit. I got out, hooked up with her, and fell in love with her. At that time I had a lot of women. To be honest I’ve always had a lot of female friends. But I cut them all off for her. She meant that much to me that it happened naturally.
She ran away from her house to come live with me at my dad’s house. A little bit later we moved in with one of her homegirls in Paramount. I ended up taking over that house, living there. I was madly in love with my neighborhood, as weird as that sounds. So let’s just say I left her home a lot. One day I came home and all her stuff was gone. That hit me pretty hard.
You see, I’m the type of guy that will go way out of his way to help you out. I’m a true friend; in need, I’m dependable. Like the 1st and the 15th. Believe that. But when someone does me wrong or takes my kindness for weakness, I am so quick to send you to hell and take you off this world. Anyhow, I felt at the time taken advantage of, so me having my own apartment now alone, I hit the streets again. Went out to the deep end. My apartment became the hood house. Parties lasted for weeks there. Drugs came, homies came. Good times, bad times. But when the smoke’s all gone, so is everyone else. I ended up moving in with my in-laws for a good minute!
My lady’s name is Stephanie. I love that woman. I met her a young girl, 17 years old. Now she’s my lady and she’s all grown up. I fell in love with her like never before. She made me feel something I’ve never felt. The way she talks to me, looks at me, kisses me, it makes me feel so special, like a little kid. I can be myself around her. We’ve gone through so much it’s crazy we’re together. Actually, it’s not crazy, it’s real love, dedication, and a lot of hard work. A lot of laughs and smiles, frowns and tears. But we made it. Yeah, we’ve separated here and there, but in return it taught us so much. So many hard lessons learned through our mistakes. It’s shown us both the importance in love and never giving up on each other. It took a lot of patience, understanding, and the value on how important we are to each other, and how no one can nor will ever replace us. Our love today is probably the strongest it’s ever, ever been in 10 years. It wasn’t easy, and I don’t think we could have done it alone. With God, anything’s possible. She’s currently in my life, and is waiting for my arrival. 10 years is a long time, and a whole other story. She’s my best friend. The one I really wanna grow old with, and I can’t wait to do it. We’re getting married next year, and look forward to spending the rest of my life with her. In all honesty, meeting her was the best thing that ever happened to me. If it wasn’t for her, I’d probably be in prison doing life or dead. She’s never steered me in the wrong direction, and constantly makes me wanna be a better person. I love you mija. Thank you for being my friend.
My daughter was born while I was incarcerated this past August, something I’m gonna have to live with for the rest of my life. I’m here this time for aggravated assault on a peace officer, and aggravated fleeing. A very bad decision I made. On the serio, I’m still learning, but I can honestly say I’ve come a long way. From a young kid when I was asked what did I wanna be when I grew up, I never really had an answer. The only thing, and I mean the only thing, I was ever really sure of was that I wanted to be a veterano one day.
Now that I’m older and youngsters call me “OG” or refer to me as “veterano,” I think about it. Was it worth it? All the pain I went through all the nights I spent locked up and away from my family. A youngster approached me the other day and asked me, “Hey homie, since you the OG here, tell me, should I get the “South Side” tatted on the back of my head, or on my face. I paused for a good 2 minutes. I then told him, “Don’t do it. Trust me, you’ll regret it later, and after having no luck on getting a job, you’ll just go out even deeper.” Part of me shocked myself, but the bigger part was proud. Very proud. Some people would say that I’m showing a sign of weakness, that I’m not the same person anymore, and honestly, they’re right! I’m not. I’ve grown up! I steer the youngsters of today to stay away from the needle and the lifestyle. At the end of the day, all you got is your family! Your homies fade away, others get married, do you dirty, or die. The sold ones end up in prison doing many years for a cause that the rest were not serious about to begin with. Me, I’m solid, but I’m a little bit wiser. After all the funerals and back stabbings that come with the lifestyle, your tears run out, and your heart hardens.
I got mad love for my family: all the Herreras, all of you. Mad love for my homies and all of you locked away. But overall, family comes first. Something I never practiced growing up.
On that note, I wanna give a special thank you from the bottom of my heart to my in-laws, Frank Fonseca and Sally Fonseca, for taking me in and showing me so much love when I needed it. For teaching me about family values and showing me a better way. For always having patience and giving me respect, regardless of my flaws. I love you guys, both of you, for taking me fishing and showing me a good example.
Stephanie, my baby girl, I’ll be home soon! Thank you for everything you’ve ever done for me, and for never giving up on me.
Lil’ Artie, Serenity, I love you guys!
“Mom,” thank you for everything you’ve ever done for me. For always fighting for me, and backing me up when needed. For digging me out of holes I dug myself in, for every band-aid you put on me, to letting me use your Jag or the Saturn! It meant a lot to me for hugging me when I needed it. For all the tears I’ve brought your way. I’m sincerely sorry. Forgive me, cuz I love you to death!
“Pop,” thank you for being the fun parent and always making me laugh. For helping me with my cars, trucks, bikes, everything. For taking me to work when I was little, to getting me a job with Tio David for the summer! For taking me to car shows and just being my friend. You the best dad I could have ever asked for, for all the advice you ever gave me, to trying to get me into church. It really did help, and made me a little smarter than the rest of ‘em. Because of your advice, I always held back a little. Thank you!
“Jenny,” my other best friend. I love you G! Thank you for never talking down on me, nor judging me. For having my back, and supporting me in everything I do. For all your sisterly advice, and love you show me. You and me are go-getters! The world ain’t ready for us! I love you!
“Albert,” whudup G?! Thank you for always having my back growing up. For making my childhood so much fun. Remember that time we decided to go cruising to Warren High School in my Cadillac, and we decided to hot box the bong?! The undercover got behind us by the time I did pull over and we got out, all the smoke came out. We started laughing so hard, both of us, we started crying. Every time the cop asked us something, we’d start laughing even harder. Remember, to the point where our sides started hurting?! We both went to jail! Good times! Bro! Funnier than fuck! I’ll never forget that day! I love you G! Stay up, homie!
“Belly,” Thank you for your love and all of your food.
“Eddie, Cynthia, all of you.” If I never said it, I love all of you guys and am very sorry if I ever let you down.
To everybody locked up: keep your head up, ese!
My name's Arthur Herrera, Jr. aka “Ese Doe Boy.” And this is my story…
My Story
As a young kid I was a delinquent,
breaking all the rules, doing dumb shit,
by the age of 14 I learned to do my own thing,
hanging on the corner serving dope fiends.
I made enough money to bag my first whip,
turned 17, did a year commit.
got out on parole and decided to dip.
I went to a party wit some fine chicks,
one became the girl that I'm now wit.
After 3 months I met this new chick,
I didn't know who to choose, and it was tuff to pick
between you and you, now I'm locked up in MDC
and I know who to choose,
she fucked up my life, now I'm facing 52.
They came at me wit pleas, but I don't know what to do,
it's a tuff situation, that I have to go thru
