Booker T: From Prison to Promise: Life Before the Squared Circle (10 page)

However, I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. I was seventeen, broke, and had no prospects. My newfound freedom led to an all-time low. For the first time in my life, I decided to find a legitimate job. I looked around for a week or two and found myself working at a Fiesta Mart in South Park, hating every second of it.

Fiesta Mart was one of those one-stop-shop kind of places like Walmart or Target. It stocked clothes, boots, records, tapes, and every type of food product imaginable. As usual, it did not take me long to get some ideas. I was doing all the mundane tasks—stocking shelves, bagging groceries—and I was also stealing.

Believing I could get away with anything, I walked out in a brand-new pair of cowboy boots one day. Another time, it was some sneakers. Then I would have a steak tucked under my shirt. Within a few weeks on the job, my closet at Vallia’s looked like a cross between Cowtown Boots and Foot Locker, and the Huffs’ refrigerator looked like the meat locker at a Sizzler steak house. It was great.

Best of all, the theft kept my street credibility intact even while I worked such a lame job. I felt like a grocery store mastermind giving the proverbial middle finger to the store security at every turn. It was open season in that place for a young criminal like me, and I had myself a field day. Free was free—and if it was free, it was for Booker T.

One day I just did not want to go to work. I preferred to sit around and smoke, so I called up the manager.

In a lame attempt at a high-pitched woman’s voice, I said, “Yes, hello, Mr. Napier? This is Billie Jean Huffman, Booker’s sister. I’m calling on his behalf because he’s not feeling well today and won’t be able to make it in. Have a good day, sir.”

“Well, then you tell Booker when he’s feeling better he can come in and pick up his last check. He’s fired.”

I was so rattled that I almost lost it and went back to my regular voice, but I stayed in character and stammered something incoherent before the dial tone interrupted me.

What? Damn,
I thought.
I just got shit-canned for impersonating a woman.
I was so embarrassed.

With my head down, I quickly crept into Fiesta Mart to pick up that check. As soon as I had grabbed it, I rushed out of there, kissing my grocery store career good-bye.

My fledgling career in the retail industry was over, and I was still living on Vallia’s goodwill. I thought more and more about earning something of my own instead of relying on others. Having dropped out of school and knowing Angela was out there pregnant brought me to a personal crossroads. I thought of the old hustle game I’d seen at Carolyn’s and Billie’s. I decided to reconnect and see if I had other options.

I called Carolyn, who had moved into a house in the north side of town, and asked if I could stay with her yet again. It felt like some weird, unnecessary game of ghetto musical chairs or something. She said I could, and I started mentally preparing for yet another unknown venture in my confused life.

During dinner with Vallia, Isaac, and Fran, I explained my decision to move to Carolyn’s. I could tell by Vallia’s reaction that it was a welcome idea. I am sure my unpredictable lifestyle, Angela’s pregnancy, my obvious drug use, and my being fired from Fiesta were too much for her. Besides, she and Isaac clearly would not want Fran to take any cues from me. I loved the Huffs for taking me in, and I would never forget the love and the roof they had given me, yet for all our sakes it was time to part ways.

Now that I was a seasoned man of nearly eighteen, I was more aware of the steady stream of weird dudes coming in and out of the house to see Carolyn. She had many friends with benefits, who no doubt helped take care of her financially.

In a foolhardy move, I decided to confront my sister about it. “Why are all these guys constantly coming in here? They’re just taking up space and it’s getting annoying.”

Big mistake.

Carolyn went ballistic on me, saying that what she did was none of my business. We went back and forth pretty hard, and it was really ugly. Finally, she cut loose and shouted, “Junior, pack up all your shit and get out of my house. I don’t care what you have to do or where you go, but get the fuck out.”

I was devastated. I sat against the curb with my stuff in garbage bags, racking my brain for a solution. Here I was, completely abandoned all over again. Panic set in as I weighed my options. I did not want to go back to the craziness of Billie’s. I could not crawl back to Aunt Vallia’s. Bonita was in Dallas. Only one conceivable solution surfaced: Lash.

Lash and I had been pretty disconnected for the last four years. Since he had left Bonita and me at our abandoned house to stay with his friend, we had not spent much quality time together. Other than my few visits, we had gone to some local professional wrestling matches, but that was about it.

Beyond desperate, I called my brother and told him what had happened.

To my surprise, he said, “You can stay at my apartment for a while. We’ll figure it out.”

During such a dark and hopeless moment in my life, his invitation filled my heart with much-needed encouragement.

In the last few years, Lash had been doing respectably well for himself. He had a place of his own in southeast Houston and a pest control job. During his work hours, he drove around in a truck designed to look like a mouse, complete with giant ears attached to the roof and a little tail hanging from the rear doors. I almost fell over laughing when I saw it, but I held it in. I mean, at least he had a job and was supporting himself, which was way more than I could say for myself.

Lash was living in a place called Willow Creek Apartments. Moving in with him after all that time was interesting, to say the least. We might have been brothers, but we were in completely different frames of mind. We did not see eye to eye on much of anything, but for some reason we both loved boxing and could always have a blast watching the fights on television. Otherwise, we struggled to find common ground.

One difference I saw in Lash after not having visited him for a while was how big he’d gotten. His chest and arms were thick, and he was almost six foot five. For whatever reason, whether his size, his Chevy El Camino or his charming personality, the dude always had girlfriends coming and going. All I knew was that I wanted what he had.

Thankfully, he was willing to help me work out. He started me at the apartment just doing things like push-ups and crunches. I was sore as hell after each workout, but after a few weeks I saw a real difference in my body. I was hooked. When Lash saw I had been sticking with it and was working hard, he brought me to the gym to take it to the next level.

Lash was also serious about making me earn my way. “If you want to stay here with me for a while longer, you need to find a job and chip in.”

Yeah, that was fair, so I looked around. Before I knew it, I was flipping burgers and serving one Frosty after another at Wendy’s. Since it was only about a mile and a half from the apartment, I could walk to work. It may have been slightly demoralizing to wear the little red shirt and black cap, but to tell you the truth, working fast food was not that bad at all. Things were really looking up for me.

I went to work at Wendy’s every day and followed it up with a trip to the gym. Going to work out all the time also helped me break a nasty habit I had recently picked up. Over the last couple of years while I’d spent time with Carolyn and Billie Jean, they were always smoking cigarettes. It hadn’t been long till I was bumming one here and there and eventually finding myself with a pack at all times. Now that I was working out, I was smoking right up to the gym door as I walked in and then lighting up as soon as I was finished. The strain on my body was becoming apparent.

One day after nearly coughing up a lung after a set on the bench, I had a moment of realization.
What the hell am I doing smoking these things? I’m trying to improve myself, not go downhill.
That was all it took. I went outside, grabbed my full pack of cigarettes, crushed it, and quit cold turkey just like that.

My confidence as a strong-willed young man grew by the day. For the first time it felt like I was building the foundation of my own life brick by brick. It had started with working out, then had increased when I’d gotten the Wendy’s gig to pay rent to Lash, and now I was making healthy choices. I was convinced that if things continued the way they were going, I could be somebody. And that was something I had never imagined before.

It’s not like I thought there was a long-term future for me at Wendy’s or anything, especially without a diploma, but there was just the persistent feeling that I was on the right path for once. After all those years without my big brother around, his positive influence was there for me when I needed it most.

Now that I had some extra spending money in my pocket, Lash took me out to the clubs at night and I got to see him in action as he did some DJ work. Every door to every club opened when he came rolling up.

I thought,
Man, look at him go! My brother’s the shit.
I watched with wonder as he smoothly navigated from table to table and person to person like a slick diplomat. He had ladies hugging on him, and he shook hands with every dude who walked up to him. Everyone seemed to gravitate toward him. The response was electric. Now more than ever, I wanted to be like my big brother. I knew deep down that if Lash could achieve such a cool life, I could too. He was a positive role model who motivated me to keep pushing on to something better.

Now working out took center stage of my priorities. After just a few months banging out the weights at the gym with Lash, I went from 165 to 195 pounds, and it felt great.

Lash was excited about our little training duo and came in one day with two matching leather weight belts. “I’ve got a great idea.” He beamed. “We’ll be like a rasslin’ tag team. Check these out.”

The back of my belt said Mr. Ebony II. Of course, his said Mr. Ebony I. As little kids, we had watched a masked black wrestler named Mr. Ebony on the local
Houston Wrestling
show. Of course, this would be our homage to him. It was a real kick.

Lash had always wanted to be a professional wrestler and constantly said we should give it a try someday. I guess to him the belts made that goal seem one step closer. We would come in with our matching weight belts, and people would stare, trying to figure it out. It was great. The extra motivation helped us both make great gains in the gym.

I had grown over the last year or so, reaching around six foot one, and now it seemed my body was reaching a pinnacle. I instinctively knew that somehow all this training was going to be a ticket out of this common life and into something special. It was just a matter of time and self-discovery.

I began training with one of Lash’s best friends Darryl Bates. Much like Lash, he was an inspiration. He worked for the local fire department and had this amazing physique, with biceps that just burst out of his sleeves and screamed strength. He also had a really hot girlfriend and a new car. Darryl seemed to have everyone’s respect for all the right reasons. Man, to me, it just did not get any better than that. What more could a person want?

While Lash was the one who first took me to the gym, Darryl taught me how to train at another level. He showed me all his techniques and how to use different machines to develop a routine that would optimize every workout. He was like another big brother.

I was so completely happy to have these positively charged people around me. I had a new brotherhood, a family that protected me and had my best interests at heart. My self-confidence skyrocketed, and I took pride in the hard work I was putting in at the gym. I even made sure my Wendy’s shirt was pressed so I could roll up the sleeves and show off my developing biceps. Although it might have been somewhat ridiculous to display my fledgling muscles, it sure seemed to work. Girls everywhere were taking notice.

One in particular also lived in Willow Creek Apartments. Her name was Michelle, and we started seeing each other on a regular basis. Things progressed so quickly between us that she asked me to move in with her. It was a big prospect for a young guy like me, especially considering the fact that Michelle was white and came from an affluent family.

It was an interesting experience, to say the least, the day she decided to take me to meet her parents at their home, which looked more like the White House, in the upper-class Houston suburb of Clear Lake.

“Mom, Daddy, I want you to meet Booker,” she said with a smile. “We’ve been dating for a little while now.”

“Oh, so nice to meet you, Booker,” her father said as he casually glanced at Michelle and then his wife.

Sure, her parents were nice enough, so cordial and polite, but I could sense the cardiac arrest erupting in both of their chests.

Looking back now, I know Michelle was parading me around to shove the king daddy of all rebellion in her parents’ faces. At the time, though, I was just happy to be there. All smiles, I put my best foot forward and tried to be a gentleman.

I have to admit there was something elitist about dating Michelle. I had this rich white girl as arm candy, and a touch of what I’ll call trophy syndrome came over me. If all that sounds sort of snobbish, that’s probably because it was. Hey, life is life, and I was trying to elevate myself from the deflated existence I’d experienced for way too long. If going out with a white chick made me feel better about myself, a white chick it was gonna be. It sure beat the insufferable drudgery I had been crawling through just months before.

With all that in mind, it was an easy decision to move in with her at Willow Creek. I’m not going to say I was in love with her, but we were definitely in a serious relationship. We were committed to each other and did everything together, like getting ice cream or going to the movies, and it felt good. It felt right.

Up until then, I had never experienced a relationship with a girl at that level. We shared everything, listened to each other’s problems, and were completely there for one another. I was really enjoying the intimacy and trust Michelle and I had.