Unofficial Fan Page
"Sooner of later, a thug will tell his tale. We all want to go on record. So let's hear it for all the hoods. The Jews out of
Brownsville. The Blacks on Lenox Avenue. The Italians from Mulberry street. Like that. Meanwhile, the Puerto Ricans been gettin'
jammed since the forties and ain't nobody said nothin'. We been laid, relayed, and waylaid and nobody wants to hear about it.
Well, I'm gonna lay it on you one time, for the record.
Who these people? Puerto Ricans. They come from an island a hundred long by thirty-five miles wide. They come in all sizes,
colors, and shapes. They got a little of everybody. Heart like the Jews, soul like the Blacks, balls like the Italians. They
hit New York in the 1940's, the wrong time. But like when is it right, when your face don't help, your accent ain't French, and
your clothes don't fit?They hung in anyway-most of the tickets were one way. So they filed into the roach stables in Harlem and
the South Bronx. The sat behind the sewing machines and stood behind the steam tables. In other words, they busted their ass,
they went for the Dream. Most of them.
A handful couldn't handle the weight at the bottom of the totem pole. They wouldn't squat, couldn't bend. Had to take their shot.
Them was the hodedore, hoodlums. Hard nose. And like the thugs from any group they went for the coin of the realm, head on.
I'm talking from the far shore looking back on thirty years. At least I made it to the other side. Most of my crew got washed on
the way. And if survivors don't talk about it, who's gonna know we was here, right? So here's how it went down for one P.R., me,
Carlito Brigante.
