Post by artraveler on Dec 26, 2019 19:58:37 GMT -8
Stories from the Front
In the early 1980s I was assigned to work for Church’s Fried Chicken. The agency had made a deal for contractors to work undercover as managers in restaurants, 7-11 and the like. Salaries were paid from operations discretionary funds directly to the company. Contractor payments were paid directly into a 401K for the contractor. Church’s business plan called for most restaurants to be in low-income, primarily Black neighborhoods, thus I ended up in the most poverty-stricken area of Sacramento, Stockton Blvd. and 14th street.
The area was full of bars, strip clubs, liquor stores, drug dealers, pimps, prostitutes and criminals on the make. I suppose the folks in Church’s management must have thought, let the CIA guy deal with the pimps, whores, drug dealers and criminals in this neighborhood and had a good laugh over it.
My first action was to chat with the local police patrol and get their promise that they would actually come when called. I assured them that if I made a 911 call there was real danger of harm to innocents. I asked them to roll through the parking lot on Friday and Saturday nights if possible. I also had a chat with some of the pimps and their girls. After some persuasion, (free chicken dinners) we agreed that Church’s was neutral territory. No tricking or dealing on property. My last, but most important conversation was with the president of the local motorcycle gang, whose clubhouse was across the street.
In return for their cooperation with security, (free boxes of chicken) they would see to the commitment of no dealing and no tricking on site. I felt that I had done everything a white man could do to protect the business, customers, and myself. I soon learned that the relationship with the Blackhawks MC was the most valuable.
It was a hot early summer night in Sacramento. The bars on Stockton Blvd were going hard, the prostitutes were working their asses off and there were hundreds of people on the street, cruising, dealing and tricking. It was 02:00 the bars were closed, and we had a line of cars around the building and a full lobby. We would be very busy for at least an hour.
In the middle of the morning chaos a tall Black man came into the store. I noticed him right away and kept an eye on him. He had an aura of trouble. He started by complaining about waiting in line and it progressed to racist remarks about “whitie”, since I was the only white person in the building, he could not mean anyone but me. He got louder and more profane and was attempting to incite others. I quietly went into my office and called the Blackhawks. Tiny said he would be right over.
Tiny was not tiny. He was about six foot 4 and 350 lbs. He came through the door and it seemed like the world stopped. Everyone in the restaurant knew who he was. The noisy crowd got silent, all he said was, “whose messing with my chicken place?” The guy giving me crap slid out the door and we never saw him again. Tiny would come over for chicken about once a week. His presence and reputation kept the peace and enforced an acceptance of neutrality for this Church’s. It allowed me to tend to other business.
I was not witness to this story, but the area manager told it. He was driving by a restaurant in the north area of Sacramento and noticed the lights still on in a store that should have been closed two hours earlier. He drove in, parked and used his master key to open the door.
Church’s marinates their chicken in 125-gallon vats most units have two some three. In the back area he found one vat filled with hot water and the naked bodies of the manager, male and assistant manager, female enjoying an after hours soak and mutual marinating session. Needless to say, he fired them on the spot. When HR asked for the reason for termination he wrote in, “misuse of company equipment”
My last day with Church’s was a Sunday. We had just opened, and the street was quiet. I was doing paperwork and one of my staff called me to the front. Standing in the middle of the intersection was a man with a rock about the size of his head. He was throwing the rock in the air and standing under it until it almost hit him. We watched this show for a few minutes, and I called 911. I figured if he didn’t get out of the way fast enough, he was just as likely to be hit by a car.
He walked up the drive and got closer to the plate glass windows around the restaurant. He stood looking at the rock and then at the windows back and forth. I knew he could see me, and I just shook my head back and forth to signal NO. He moved closer just as the police showed and they stopped him, made him put down the rock, which seemed to upset him a great deal. My guess was PCP, but it could have been something else. My shift ended without further adventure and I waved goodbye to the pimps, drug dealers, whores and criminals in Sacramento’s worst neighborhood.
Nothing ever lasts forever. That area of Stockton Blvd. has been rezoned, and redeveloped. The pimps, drug dealers, whores, and others have gone to more profitable locations. However, some of the color has also gone. I wonder where Tiny and Blackhawks went. He was a force of nature in that neighborhood, and by area standards an honorable man.
In the early 1980s I was assigned to work for Church’s Fried Chicken. The agency had made a deal for contractors to work undercover as managers in restaurants, 7-11 and the like. Salaries were paid from operations discretionary funds directly to the company. Contractor payments were paid directly into a 401K for the contractor. Church’s business plan called for most restaurants to be in low-income, primarily Black neighborhoods, thus I ended up in the most poverty-stricken area of Sacramento, Stockton Blvd. and 14th street.
The area was full of bars, strip clubs, liquor stores, drug dealers, pimps, prostitutes and criminals on the make. I suppose the folks in Church’s management must have thought, let the CIA guy deal with the pimps, whores, drug dealers and criminals in this neighborhood and had a good laugh over it.
My first action was to chat with the local police patrol and get their promise that they would actually come when called. I assured them that if I made a 911 call there was real danger of harm to innocents. I asked them to roll through the parking lot on Friday and Saturday nights if possible. I also had a chat with some of the pimps and their girls. After some persuasion, (free chicken dinners) we agreed that Church’s was neutral territory. No tricking or dealing on property. My last, but most important conversation was with the president of the local motorcycle gang, whose clubhouse was across the street.
In return for their cooperation with security, (free boxes of chicken) they would see to the commitment of no dealing and no tricking on site. I felt that I had done everything a white man could do to protect the business, customers, and myself. I soon learned that the relationship with the Blackhawks MC was the most valuable.
It was a hot early summer night in Sacramento. The bars on Stockton Blvd were going hard, the prostitutes were working their asses off and there were hundreds of people on the street, cruising, dealing and tricking. It was 02:00 the bars were closed, and we had a line of cars around the building and a full lobby. We would be very busy for at least an hour.
In the middle of the morning chaos a tall Black man came into the store. I noticed him right away and kept an eye on him. He had an aura of trouble. He started by complaining about waiting in line and it progressed to racist remarks about “whitie”, since I was the only white person in the building, he could not mean anyone but me. He got louder and more profane and was attempting to incite others. I quietly went into my office and called the Blackhawks. Tiny said he would be right over.
Tiny was not tiny. He was about six foot 4 and 350 lbs. He came through the door and it seemed like the world stopped. Everyone in the restaurant knew who he was. The noisy crowd got silent, all he said was, “whose messing with my chicken place?” The guy giving me crap slid out the door and we never saw him again. Tiny would come over for chicken about once a week. His presence and reputation kept the peace and enforced an acceptance of neutrality for this Church’s. It allowed me to tend to other business.
I was not witness to this story, but the area manager told it. He was driving by a restaurant in the north area of Sacramento and noticed the lights still on in a store that should have been closed two hours earlier. He drove in, parked and used his master key to open the door.
Church’s marinates their chicken in 125-gallon vats most units have two some three. In the back area he found one vat filled with hot water and the naked bodies of the manager, male and assistant manager, female enjoying an after hours soak and mutual marinating session. Needless to say, he fired them on the spot. When HR asked for the reason for termination he wrote in, “misuse of company equipment”
My last day with Church’s was a Sunday. We had just opened, and the street was quiet. I was doing paperwork and one of my staff called me to the front. Standing in the middle of the intersection was a man with a rock about the size of his head. He was throwing the rock in the air and standing under it until it almost hit him. We watched this show for a few minutes, and I called 911. I figured if he didn’t get out of the way fast enough, he was just as likely to be hit by a car.
He walked up the drive and got closer to the plate glass windows around the restaurant. He stood looking at the rock and then at the windows back and forth. I knew he could see me, and I just shook my head back and forth to signal NO. He moved closer just as the police showed and they stopped him, made him put down the rock, which seemed to upset him a great deal. My guess was PCP, but it could have been something else. My shift ended without further adventure and I waved goodbye to the pimps, drug dealers, whores and criminals in Sacramento’s worst neighborhood.
Nothing ever lasts forever. That area of Stockton Blvd. has been rezoned, and redeveloped. The pimps, drug dealers, whores, and others have gone to more profitable locations. However, some of the color has also gone. I wonder where Tiny and Blackhawks went. He was a force of nature in that neighborhood, and by area standards an honorable man.
