Deadly Lessons by Andrew Anderson

Deadly Lessons

Andrew Anderson

The ConTextos Authors Circle was developed in collaboration with young people at-risk of, victims of, or perpetrators of violence in El Salvador. In 2017 this innovative program expanded into Chicago to create tangible, high quality opportunities that nourish the minds,,expand the voices and share the personal truths of individuals who have long been underserved and underestimated. Through the process of drafting, revising and publishing memoirs, participants develop self-reflection, critical thinking, camaraderie and positive selfprojection to author new life narratives.

Since January 2017 ConTextos has partnered with Cook County Sheriff's Office to implement Authors Circle in Cook County Department of Corrections as part of a vision for reform that recognizes the value of mental health, rehabilitation and reflection. These powerful memoirs complicate the narratives of violence and peace building, and help author a hopeful future for human beings behind walls, their families and our collective communities.

While each author’s text is solely the work of the Author, the image used to create this book’s illustrations have been sourced by various print publications. Authors curate these images and then, using only their hands, manipulate the images through tearing, folding, layering and careful positioning. By applying these collage techniques, Authors transform their written memoirs into illustrated books.

This project is being supported, in whole or in part, by federal award number ALN 21.027 awarded to Cook County by the U.S. Department of the Treasury.

Deadly Lessons Andrew Anderson

February 4, 2006, I murdered somebody I loved. Life is crazy. I remember the fear I felt the night I pulled the trigga. Then as I got a little older, I began to question that fear. I mean like was Troy really going to kill me? At seventeen, the answer was yes. In my mid-twenties, it went from yes to “I don’t know, maybe.” To my thirties where the answer is Hell no. We both meant too much, not just to each other, but to the guys. We needed each other. That’s why if I’m going to write a memoir it has to be about the most memorable night of my life. One full of questions.

Troy came of age when Marcy and Frankie J were both murdered in cold blood. I was ten, maybe eleven but to this day I can still hear Marcy calling me nephew and I can feel Frankie J’s smile.

I came of age when Bobby and G-Twan were murdered in cold blood. These losses hurt just as much to us as losing Marcy A and Frankie J. But it hit different because Bobby and GTwan were killed in the Projects. That meant if we weren’t safe in the Projects we weren’t safe anywhere. Where I’m from the police didn’t protect us so that responsibility fell to Troy.

Who was a twenty year old kid at the time. But the only one willing to step up and say, enough is enough.

Just as the murders of Marcy, Frankie J, Bobby and G-Twan affected Troy, they had an impact on me as well. I didn’t know why but it was obvious that if you were from the Projects you can be killed just because. These incidents echoed those sentiments for me. 1) My cousin was shot. 2) My brother was shot. 3) Our truck was shot up on 147th on our way to the crib. Inside that truck was my brother, stepdad, me and a one month old baby girl. At that moment a freshman in high school, I accepted that same responsibility that fell to Troy. I too, felt like enough was enough.

This is what connected us. Our relationship was organic for lack of a better word. It wasn’t about what we could do for each other, but it was about what can we do to protect the people we love.

The difference between Troy and I was that Troy was already proven. I, on the other hand, was no street nigga. Yeah, I come from the Projects and the Trailor courts.

Yeah, I repped with every breath I took. But I wasn't in the streets. The most I did was sell weed in school to get by. So I had to prove myself. To do that I had to show that I was willing to do what needed to be done.

Troy's mind-state after Bobby and G-Twan deaths was that if you weren’t from the Projects, sides had to be chosen because lives depended on it. How serious it was became clear when this guy “P” was chilling in the Projects like everything was cool. And it would have been if he didn’t have ties to all those people who we blamed for the murders of our fallen brothers.

Troy gave me a .32 pistol and told me to move him around. It was my first time holding a gun and it sent a power surge through my body. I didn’t even think. Troy gave me the order, and I knew it had to be completed.

Lives depended on it. I walked up to him, pulled the gun out, and aimed it right at his face. His eyes widened in fear.

Keep in mind that it was around 6 o’clock in the Projects on a warm day. In other words, everybody who was anybody was out. I had arrived. And nobody felt like I did anything wrong. This dude P wasn’t supposed to be there but nobody had the courage to move him around. It took a high school student athlete to step up.

The smile on Troy’s face was priceless. Strangely enough I am only recently learning what that smile meant. It meant Troy knew he wasn’t alone anymore. He now had someone willing and able to share the burden of protecting the guys. At the moment I had no idea it was a test.

Nor did I know I passed with flying colors.

I was changing and didn’t even realize it. One day we were chilling in the front of the Projects and a van pulled into the back alley. Doors slid open and everybody ran. My first thought was to run but I saw Troy get active and I followed his lead.

Bullets were coming our way and we were sending shots back their way until the van skirted off. Nobody died that night. Troy deserved all the credit.

Though I did receive some as well.

This shootout took place at about twelve or one in the morning. By 7:30 am I was at school in Hammond, Indiana. My third period auto mechanics teacher Mr. Snow noticed the change in me. He sat me down and asked me what was going on. My grades weren’t good. I quit cross country and I went from a freshman wrestling varsity to complete trash overnight. And I was always high.

Mr. Snow would talk about graduation and all the other opportunities I could have. I wanted to say I just was in a shootout a few hours ago but instead I said, “You don’t have to worry about me graduating. I’ll probably be dead by then.” Obviously I’m still alive, but in my Junior year of high school I was charged with murder.

The day I fell in love with Troy was when we had come off a mission. We had just shown the days of coming to the Projects to shoot and kill with no repercussion were over. Now it was time to take the fight to the enemy. Troy wanted them to live with the feeling of not being safe. To let them know we could bring the war to them.

When we made it back to the Projects the gun was still cocked back. I thought I broke it but Troy showed me that it was only D-cocked. He showed me how to do it. Then told me to never empty my clip on a mission because I would need some bullets to make sure I got back safe. In case niggas got on my heels. As he was teaching me this, the guns were still smoking when we got the call from one of the guys that Tub and some other niggas had entered the Projects. Tub’s name speaks for itself. Which is why folks ran to us. We stepped out. I had a Kel Tech but Tub didn’t show any fear. Back then it was certain niggas who couldn’t be touched and Tub was on of them niggas. He came to lay a lick down.

Troy’s exact words were “This a A-1 motherfucking war going on. If you don’t want no parts stay in the house or turn that nigga over.” The nigga he as referring to was the same nigga who shot my brother and cousin. Troy’s courage to stand toe to toe with real killers gave me courage to do the same. It was like the NBA, either you had Lebron James or you didn’t. Troy was our Lebron James and I would his D Wade, Kyrie Irving or Anthony Davis. Whoever he needed me to be to win.

“One of the guys happened to be my cousin.” He began to talk crazy “like what would happen if niggas came back down there shooting again.” Lil G on the BOS, don’t let that nigga get in the car talking crazy.” I wasted no time leveling my kel tech at his forehead and pressing the green beam. I was just waiting on the order to shoot.

“Damn Lil cuz. We family.” I said, “Family ain’t got shit to do with this.” And it didn’t. I had put the Projects and GD before everything that wasn’t the Projects and GD. But I didn’t realize it.

That was another battle won. Niggas were use to the guys folding under their pressure. Those days were no more. We had Troy. Shit was different. You can say alot of shit about Troy. You can call him a bully. You can challenge his methods but just make sure you say we didn’t lose any GD under Troy’s watch. Nobody can say that before Troy or after Troy.

Even though I was putting in work, I still hadn’t sold any drugs in the Projects. Troy didn’t like that. He said I was making it saf e for other folks to get money so I should be getting money too. And it made sense to me. And just like he taught me abo ut guns, Troy taught me how to cut up and bag up cra ck. And he fronted me my first eig htball.

My first day on the set as a crack dealer was maybe ten of us on the big end. We had established that we were taking turns. Seeing somebody run ahead of me to serve a customer infuriated Troy. I didn’t get it. “How many of these niggas take turns with you when its time to put in work. How many of these niggas shoot back when niggas come through this bitch shooting?”

Even though he was right I was beginning to see the ill sentiment Troy had toward the guys. It derived from him risking his life every day to make sure other people got to feed their families. Troy had a growing family of his own. Two boys, a baby girl and his girl was pregnant. It took a toll on him. It was also taking a toll on me. It was just that my teenage mind couldn’t comprehend it.

Troy was the number one and somehow I had made it to the second spot on the list of; wanted dead. Troy gave me his bullet proof vest to protect me. Shortly after that he was shot in the stomach. I felt bad because I had on the vest that was supposed to protect Troy. At that moment, we were hit with a stark reality. We were protecting the guys but nobody was protecting us. Nobody stepped up for Troy but me. It was bad but we accepted it.

Troy took that moment of being shot and turned it into another life lesson for me. That lesson was to always shoot first. He was shot because he didn’t have anyone to teach him that valuable lesson. Now I didn’t have that excuse.

Minutes later when I saw Troy he was pissed. “Lil G what the fuck did I tell you. Didn’t I tell you to always shoot first?” My young mind was confused. Here it is I thought he was mad because I almost shot him. But he was mad that I didn’t shoot him. How am I to digest that.

Being young the gravity of what he was instilling in me hadn’t sunk in yet. It took one night where I was doing security around the Projects. I was in the back alley when a car speeding swerved into the Projects. I upped my gun but before I shot I noticed it was Troy driving.

“I saw it was you, folks,” I replied. “What if it wasn’t though?” he asked, making his point. More than that, he knew he was in the wrong. We were in a A-1 war as Troy called it, so he should have known better than to drive crazy like that while entering the Projects.

One night we were out and Troy needed money to pay for the extended stay I believe. I remember it baffling me that his family was struggling where other niggas in the Projects were living good. And Troy was a good father. He was a present father. I knew that that’s why on that night I stood on his security as he made money needed to keep a roof over his ol lady and kid’s head.

But I was still young and stupid which meant I was lacking. I was tired. With no warning Troy grabbed me up and pinned me to the brick and just like that shots began to ring out. They were so close the brick behind me were chipping off. Then Troy began to shoot back.

With my ears ringing from the gunshots. With gun powder filling my nose, I felt safe.

Being pressed against that brick I felt protected. I needed that.

When Troy would choke one of the guys up and take their money out their pockets, at first I felt some type of way about it. But seeing how he was struggling to take care of his family I understood. He deserved a paycheck for his service so he took it. His actions began to garner hate around the projects.

When B-nice was killed, everything started to change. The guys began to plant the seed in my head that Troy killed B. Then it went from Troy was here saying he would kill my two best friends because they saw him kill somebody. Then it went to Troy was going to kill my brother. I didn’t know what was true or what was a lie. I didn’t see the manipulation and I wasn’t man enough to bring it to Troy. Instead I began to keep my distance. I didn’t realize they were trying to drive a wedge between try and I.

y a gu n e e Is it h h en w so w e r , y s a u d fic c io al o rm u sp i o b e O f s n s a t s wa o ut It wa odie. It d . e s t n ho t tu r o je c e P r k w it h a m a n d i h t in c hi n t. was l b la a c h e d l I a tme r y g a a o n r p d i r p e O n e a s w e a n d I a p o l ic e D P a w h in s w h o n in m y ob b R u e m y g o n o f th es Ja m

“Troy killed B-nice.” Those were the exact words to come out of his mouth. “I can prove it. The car we pulled over had a .357 Magnum in it. B was killed with a nine millimeter.” I still didn’t want to believe it. “Get me the gun and I can prove it.”

Those are Officer Jameson’s words verbatim. We had this conversation while I had a forty five automatic on me. An eightball and an ounce of weed on me. I knew Jameson saw the gun because I never took my hand off it while I spoke to him.

After that conversation I went straight to the spot where we kept our guns because I could see there was one gun missing. I mean I couldn’t believe Troy killed B-nice, that he would kill my best two friends. That meant I also had to believe that he would kill my brother.

Now during this time everybody didn’t have guns. The only people who had guns were the guys putting in work. So I knew who had the guns. But nobody had Charles Manson. At the time that still didn’t mean shit. At least I thought it didn’t.

February 9th 2006 was a normal day for me. I had left some of the guys who tricked me into drinking a couple of Hennessy which I hate. When Troy pulled up, the guys walked off which had become a normal thing. They feared he would go into their pockets or worse. He wanted to go get some weed from the Gardens. I declined. He must have felt the energy because he asked why I was being distant lately. To avoid answering the question I agreed to go.

In the car Troy had a black nine millimeter on his lap. It instantly made me think about B-nice.

“You know Charles Manson wasn’t in the spot earlier,” I said. “I sold it. Troy’s response was the last one I expected. “I thought you said we never sell guns. We out here, we need all the guns we can get.”

Troy with a gun didn’t scare me. I’ve seen Troy with guns plenty of times and he always used them to protect me. To make me feel safe. He was my Lebron and I was his Kyrie.

But at the moment he wasn’t Troy. He wasn't the father I knew him to be or the brother or the son that I knew him as. He was the nigga who killed B-nice, who wanted to kill my best friend. Who said he will kill my brother. That’s who he was when he reached to pick his gun up off the floor board. Before I could question any of that, I remembered one thing. Always shoot first.

At Menard Correctional Center, in 2016, I was diagnosed with PTSD results from childhood traumas. Later, while in Western Illinois Correctional Center, my psychiatrist went even further and called it Complex Trauma from experiencing countless traumatic experiences. I was also able to learn the significance of the stages of brain development.

Many nights I wanted to take the easy way out. Living with the reality of killing someone I love was unbearable. It was the consistency of me —-----with my mental health plans that allowed me to be able to cope with what I did.

Why am I sharing this story? Because it has to be told. How else will America’s Justice System prevent the next Troy for the next Andrew? I was a student athlete with goals of one day wrestling in the Olympics. Instead I ended up with a 60-year prison sentence.

The hardest part of my 60-year sentence in Menard Correctional Center was steadily seeing the young faces coming in after me. Like Troy and I, there were one or two situations that pushed them to the streets. That led them to pick up a gun.

That made them feel like they had to kill to survive.

The only intentions I had was to kill the person who shot my cousin, my brother and our truck as we were driving home. After that I planned to return to my life as a student athlete.

But life doesn't work like that.

The streets had consumed me and before I realized it I was serving a 60-year sentence for killing a father, a son, a brother, and for me, a mentor.

Troy became the person who he was because that's who he thought he had to be. I became the person I was because that's who I thought I had to be. The truth is we were both wrong. Troy died too young to realize this truth. And I had to receive a 60-year prison sentence to understand it. In the hoods like ours, dying at 24 like Troy did and going to jail at 17 as I did seems too normal now. If Troy's death and My life time prison sentence could serve a purpose. I pray that the purpose is to stop the killings. When we murder we take away fathers, sons, brothers, mothers, sisters, and daughters.

Why am I sharing this story? It's not because I want to. I would love to share the story of how I met an amazing woman who I plan to marry. I am sharing it because I owe it to Troy, to his family and to the community. The debt I owe all of these people can never be paid but I have a responsibility to try. This book is the beginning.

Andrew Anderson I Am From I’m from where we throw up pitchforks to show love Where we lost Legends like Marcy AL and Tub I’m from where the flowers of scummy and Frankie J didn't get to bloom Where we mourn good niggaz who died too soon I’m from where Quache died in front of a building where niggaz made a living Where Bobby and G Twan died in the same way, different days, But they died in the same place Eddie Cain, Big Mike, G-Sweat, and Greski walked my streets I’m from where if you didn't like them you still say rest in peace I’m from rest in peace Lamar, TIP, and Weezy, Tiffany, Turbo, Lil Steve and Keithy I’m from where the Good Die Young so BJ, EJ, Thirty and Darius All had to die young I’m from where we honor Larry Hoover, But we don't live in the vision of Larry Hoover I’m from the Brothers of the Struggle, where the nigga who kill you Probably still love you I’m from the projects where B-Nice took his last breath I'm from 139th and Grace, where Troy took his last steps I'm from a small town but look at all this death Oh yeah, Big Munch and Vel Damn this shit got me thinking hard as hell I'm still not done I'm from rest in peace Man, Raymond and Big Rome, my cousin

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