Roy Watson
Memoir
My name is Roy. I want to tell my story. If I could, I would be talking to myself as a kid, years ago.
I started using drugs at 12. Hard drugs. Actually started smoking marijuana at around 10. But alcohol had always been a part of my life. Come from a family of alcoholics. My father and 3 of his brothers were alcoholics. My father was a weekend warrior, the others drank every day. And my mother’s two brothers were alcoholics and one of my aunts on her side. In 1979, a 26 year-old uncle had a stroke and died. They found him locked in his apartment. The dog went crazy and ate part of him. A younger uncle stopped drinking after that. He had PTSD from the Korean War.
My first bad experience with alcohol was at age 2. My father gave me a sip of beer, gave me a glass to return to the sink. I tripped on a step and the glass broke. I had to have stitches, and lost the ability to bend my index finger on my left hand.
Other than that I had a pretty normal childhood. I was mostly with my older sister afternoons because my mother worked as an LPN from 3-11 at St. Barnabas in the Bronx. Later she worked at the Manhattan State Hospital on Ward’s Island. Dad had a 5th grade education and got an educational release to complete his GED. He went from being a porter to captain of Fire Safety at the Manhattan State Hospital on Ward’s Island.
I was born in 1954 during Hurricane Connie, in Harlem, NYC. By age 10, I was cashing in bottles with friends. On 145th street we knew a beatnik who would let us smoke and drink with him. I went to Frederick Douglass JHS.
When I was 12, I went to Georgia over the summer to stay with family. When I got back, my parents had bought a house in East Elmhurst, Queens, where the well-to-do Blacks lived: Ella Fitzgerald, Judge Booth, Frankie Crocker, Judge Kenneth Brown (the first Black ADA for Queens County & and then the first Black in the NY State Supreme Court). The school was predominantly white and I couldn’t keep up with the different style of learning.
Because of racism I got involved with gangs. City Council Helen Marshall was aware of the problem and had a library and a swimming pool built in the Black neighborhood. Blacks had their own society. Margarita Mays had Margarita’s Dugout across the street from Bruno’s and the whites only country club. Integration policies at the time did more harm than good because Black people abandoned their own institutions. At age 13, I was in my first gang fight: 13 of us versus 50 of them.
By age 15, I was ‘getto rich’, selling drugs, armed robbery: tailor-made clothes; leather coats, faux Persian; alligator, snake or turtle shoes - ‘Playboys’, ‘British Walkers’. I had more money than I knew what to do with. I developed a dealer’s habit of snorting heroin. During the ‘PANIC’ drug busts of the late 60’s and early 70’s I realized I had drug habit that was difficult to maintain. 1971 I was arrested for the first time.
My parents were stressed out, waiting every night for that call to identify the body. I went way out of my way one time to look for drugs after a blizzard. I would disappear 3-4 days on a cocaine binge. Under the old Rockefeller Law - civil commitment for drug addiction - I was sent to a facility in Queens, then to Arthur Kill Correctional facility on Staten Island when I was 16. Arthur Kill had a prefab swimming pool, billiard tables, a music room and PB & J sandwiches, even though, technically, it still was jail. After discharge, you had an Arthur Kill after care officer.
I was transferred to Woodburn Correctional facility after I tried to escape. Once I got released, I took a job as a stock boy in the Sloane Supermarket on 54th and 1st, a community job that earned good tips. I lost my job around Christmastime of that year and in January, 1973, I enlisted with a friend. We were sent to Fort Hamilton then Fort Dix for basic training.
I was stationed in Germany for a year and when I got back, I found out my wife had been carrying on with my best friend. When I confronted her I found out that she had a troubled history: she’d been molested by her father, run away from home and had a history of prostitution. That was one of the times I wished I had listened to my father, who had told me to wait before getting married. The only time my father showed he cared was when he came down on me, trying to get me straight. I was a rebellious kid, thought my father hated me. My mother was a caretaker, an enabler.
I was a ‘bouncing ball’ for a while; US Army retraining in Kansas and a whole lot of prarie. The Army mistakenly sent me to Alabama, then they sent me to Fort Jackson in South Carolina to work in the supply depot. I worked in the pastry kitchen making deliveries. I went AWOL and committed armed robbery. I stayed with my wife’s family for a while and then went back to NYC to my family. Bank robbery put a $100K price on my head. I went back to Fort Dix to turn myself in. They put me in the stockade. The Captain recommended court martial with the option of undesirable discharge. A sergeant with 35 years in the service said my attitude was so bad that “30 days after you leave you’ll be in jail.” He was right.
The sentence included a 5 year probation conditional on entering a drug program. I got bored, committed armed robbery again, and received 0-7 years concurrent. I went to Queens House of detention. Too many prisoners to transfer. Peter Pan buses hired to take prisoners to Sing Sing, Dannamora, Clinton Correctional.
By 1980, I’d been in prison 3 and a half years, clean. I was at A. Merrill school for computers, 1 year sober. I got ‘recycled’ into the school because there were no classes where I had been. “Idle hands are devil’s workshop.” Worst company is yourself because even if it’s negative, it’s familiar. In youth you have ‘euphoric recall’ and want to go out. In AA they say to call someone or stay still. I gravitated around people, places, things. Here’s the problem: when an addict is clean he wants to show everyone how well he’s doing. AA says you need to find new friends. One friend of mine had made 3 attempts at sobriety.
In 1990 I was shot. I slipped and the bullet shattered my bone instead of killing me. I had surgery, a metal plate inserted into my right arm. After that, I moved down to Georgia to open a business - chicken and fish, what people want to eat when they drink. The richest Black guy in the area owned lots of real estate, a 60 acre plantation, storefronts, clubs near the projects, grocery store, cleaners. South side Albany, GA. He was a multimillionaire. The mortgage on the place was $342/month. My cousin was a partner in the business and “smoked up the profits”. My mother had to pay 2 mortages now.
I had started using again; my house turned into a hell house and a crack den. Later, I was given a diagnosis of depression and anxiety along with drug addiction. I came back to NYC in May of 1994. By September, I was locked up. In 2001, my family cut me off. I only have one nephew who still keeps in touch.
Benjamin Franklin said: “Insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly, trying to get a different result” The insanity of drug addiction led to bad decisions. AA tells you clarity comes with abstinence. I’ve been in enough treatment in programs I could be the director.
Recently, we spoke at the request of the police station at projects in East Harlem. The people were afraid to come out of their apartments because of people selling and doing drugs on the stairwell, shootings and muggings. That used to be me. I used to be part of the problem, now I try to be part of the solution. I told them: “Do not follow other people. By all means possible, instill this in your children.” I’m the only one of my group who’s been a gang member. You do things you don’t want to do to show you have heart.
An old school friend - “a goody-two-shoes” - came to visit at one point, back when I was using. I was snorting heroine and offered him some. He declined, then said he had to step out. He left and never came back. That was 45y ago. If I ever see him, I’m going to apologize to have put him in that situation.
