Read Online Autobiography of a Recovering Skinhead by Frank Meeink - Free Book Online
Authors: Frank Meeink
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take over. And I know we’re not going to take it anymore.”
“Who’s telling you this shit?” Dave asked.
“My white brothers.”
“Your white brothers are full of shit.”
“You’re full of shit!” I screamed at my uncle. “You and all the rest of the fucking dupes laying down in front of ZOG. You make me sick.”
I stormed out of the house without even saying goodbye to Nanny and Pop. I headed over to Finnegan’s Park, where I’d always spent my free time in my dad’s neighborhood. I helped myself to a beer and settled in for the night. Since I’d been gone
for nearly two months, the guys wanted to know what I’d been doing. They weren’t too interested in what I had to say about National Socialism, but they liked the story about how the skinheads had carried me into the mosh pit and I’d kicked the “long-hair” in the face. They had me re-tell it every time somebody new joined the crowd. After a while, one of the guys pulled me aside and said, “You ought to meet Louie Lacinzi.”
“Who’s he?” I asked.
“Some kid from St. I’s who’s been around this summer. He’s a skinhead.”
“He’s probably a fucking SHARP from South Street,” I replied.
“A what?”
“A SHARP. A nigger -lover.”
“Trust me, dude, Louie Lacinzi ain’t no nigger-lover.”
A few nights later I was hanging around by the baseball field drinking and bullshitting about nothing with the guys when I saw Louie Lacinzi for the first time. I tried not to look like I was watching him approach, but I was watching him, just in case he was a SHARP.
“Cool, another skinhead,” he said. “I heard youse were hanging out down here. Thought I’d come see if the rumors were true.”
“What rumors?”
His lips curled into a slight smile. “That there’s finally somebody else around here who’s sick of niggers taking over what’s ours.”
So I wasn’t the only neo-Nazi skinhead in Finnegan’s Park. Louie Lacinzi was a skinhead, too. And by the end of the night, he was my best friend.
Louie and I had only been palling around for a few days when someone told us a group of skinheads hung out most nights in the Wise Potato Chip Company’s parking lot across the street from McCreesh Playground. Since the guy who told us wasn’t a skinhead, I wasn’t sure he knew what he was talking about. The Lancaster County skinheads said there’d been a really hardcore neo-Nazi crew in Philly a few years back, but they
seemed to think it had broken up. So when Louie and I heard about the guys at Wise’s, we were skeptical. We headed over to check them out for ourselves. After we spied on them from a distance to check out their colors and make sure they weren’t actually Sharpies, we decided to introduce ourselves.
Most of the ten or twelve guys in that parking lot were in their early twenties. Most of them weren’t skinheads, but four were. And they were the real deal, the kind of neo-Nazi skinheads I hadn’t met out in Lancaster County. Louie and I didn’t have a freaking clue who we were dealing with that first night. When we asked those older skinheads what they did in Philly, they all sort of shrugged and said it’d been more than a year since they’d done any serious battling. Louie and me were too naïve to realize those guys were stonewalling us because they didn’t trust us yet. And we were too cocky to think we could learn much from our elders. We were polite-they were pretty big dudes-but we basically wrote them off as white power retirees who stood around drinking beer in a parking lot. Of course, we were more than happy to stand around drinking beer with them, especially for free.
When we came back for more free beer the next night, we got our first lesson in East Coast skinhead history. A few years earlier, back when Louie and me were still in grade school, the guys in the Wise’s parking lot had been founding members of The Uprise, the first neo-Nazi skinhead crew in Philly. The Uprise had been
“Who’s telling you this shit?” Dave asked.
“My white brothers.”
“Your white brothers are full of shit.”
“You’re full of shit!” I screamed at my uncle. “You and all the rest of the fucking dupes laying down in front of ZOG. You make me sick.”
I stormed out of the house without even saying goodbye to Nanny and Pop. I headed over to Finnegan’s Park, where I’d always spent my free time in my dad’s neighborhood. I helped myself to a beer and settled in for the night. Since I’d been gone
for nearly two months, the guys wanted to know what I’d been doing. They weren’t too interested in what I had to say about National Socialism, but they liked the story about how the skinheads had carried me into the mosh pit and I’d kicked the “long-hair” in the face. They had me re-tell it every time somebody new joined the crowd. After a while, one of the guys pulled me aside and said, “You ought to meet Louie Lacinzi.”
“Who’s he?” I asked.
“Some kid from St. I’s who’s been around this summer. He’s a skinhead.”
“He’s probably a fucking SHARP from South Street,” I replied.
“A what?”
“A SHARP. A nigger -lover.”
“Trust me, dude, Louie Lacinzi ain’t no nigger-lover.”
A few nights later I was hanging around by the baseball field drinking and bullshitting about nothing with the guys when I saw Louie Lacinzi for the first time. I tried not to look like I was watching him approach, but I was watching him, just in case he was a SHARP.
“Cool, another skinhead,” he said. “I heard youse were hanging out down here. Thought I’d come see if the rumors were true.”
“What rumors?”
His lips curled into a slight smile. “That there’s finally somebody else around here who’s sick of niggers taking over what’s ours.”
So I wasn’t the only neo-Nazi skinhead in Finnegan’s Park. Louie Lacinzi was a skinhead, too. And by the end of the night, he was my best friend.
Louie and I had only been palling around for a few days when someone told us a group of skinheads hung out most nights in the Wise Potato Chip Company’s parking lot across the street from McCreesh Playground. Since the guy who told us wasn’t a skinhead, I wasn’t sure he knew what he was talking about. The Lancaster County skinheads said there’d been a really hardcore neo-Nazi crew in Philly a few years back, but they
seemed to think it had broken up. So when Louie and I heard about the guys at Wise’s, we were skeptical. We headed over to check them out for ourselves. After we spied on them from a distance to check out their colors and make sure they weren’t actually Sharpies, we decided to introduce ourselves.
Most of the ten or twelve guys in that parking lot were in their early twenties. Most of them weren’t skinheads, but four were. And they were the real deal, the kind of neo-Nazi skinheads I hadn’t met out in Lancaster County. Louie and I didn’t have a freaking clue who we were dealing with that first night. When we asked those older skinheads what they did in Philly, they all sort of shrugged and said it’d been more than a year since they’d done any serious battling. Louie and me were too naïve to realize those guys were stonewalling us because they didn’t trust us yet. And we were too cocky to think we could learn much from our elders. We were polite-they were pretty big dudes-but we basically wrote them off as white power retirees who stood around drinking beer in a parking lot. Of course, we were more than happy to stand around drinking beer with them, especially for free.
When we came back for more free beer the next night, we got our first lesson in East Coast skinhead history. A few years earlier, back when Louie and me were still in grade school, the guys in the Wise’s parking lot had been founding members of The Uprise, the first neo-Nazi skinhead crew in Philly. The Uprise had been
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