The Lost Boys

I went out hoping to talk with one of the Lost Boys of the Bronx, but no luck. I saw plenty of them on street corners, hanging outside of barbershops, chugging cold beers in the park, sitting in the hallways of courthouses?but none of them wanted to converse. To them an adult with questions is nothing but trouble. These are young men no one wants to deal with until you pick up the paper one morning and read how one of them shot a kid, or raped an old lady or jumped off the roof of a housing project.

I'm not just talking about the poor or criminals?although most Lost Boys eventually fall into that. Nor are they just black or Hispanic kids; hit the poorer suburbs or some forgotten avenues in the outer boroughs and you'll find white Lost Boys, too. They're the kids with no family, or a family that just doesn't care what happens to them. They graduate high school alone, grabbing their diplomas, or GED certificates, and ducking their heads as they flee off the stage. They go to movies alone. Some of them stand alone before judges, not even bothering to look behind them because they know no one is there. They wander the city and no one has their back but other Lost Boys.

I almost gave up my Lost Boy search, but then I got lucky. A friend of mine works in a drug program in the Bronx and told me he had found the template for Lost Boys everywhere. Through this friend I met the young man I'll call Lamar?he asked that his full name not be used. Lamar is 21 and had been living at the facility for a month when he agreed to talk with me. I sat down in a large conference room and shook his hand. He had a strong grip, and India ink tats on his large hands. He's dark-skinned, with wary eyes and a rangy body, about 6 feet and 175 pounds.

Lamar looked at me and with a small smile said, "So what you want to know?"

"Everything, anything, just tell me about yourself."

Lamar told me that in 1981 his mother gave birth to him and then sneaked out of the hospital and allowed the city to deal with his development. After a few weeks he was sent to a foster home.

"Them people took me in for the money, not out of love or concern. They got like, I don't know, 600 or 800 bucks a month to raise me. I didn't see too much of that."

I asked Lamar if he ever saw his mother or father when he was a kid.

"Yeah, I saw both of them a few times. I don't remember what for. They didn't seem to want me." So Lamar lived in the South Bronx with his foster family and was exposed to excessive drinking and drugging. "I was six years old the first time I got drunk. It wasn't no thing. I saw all them peoples drinking and laughing whenever they took the whiskey, so I did like them. I snuck and got some cola and poured in some rum and drank it down. I liked it right away. I liked how the room spun around."

Lamar would get drunk like that once or twice a week. He was going to second grade with hangovers. By nine he learned where they hid the marijuana and took that up. When he was 11 his foster parents sent him back and had him placed in a group home.

"My whole life I've been institutionalized. Even when I was in foster care it felt like a group home. I was just there. Ain't nobody really cared about me. No one checked my homework or even asked if I had any. I could go to school or stay home. No one cared so I didn't care either."

By 14 Lamar had run through a number of group homes, until he wore out his welcome and was asked to leave the last one. He walked out and at 14 was homeless. "I had my friends," is all he'll say when asked where he lived.

Lamar is a member of the Bloods, and his gang fellows took turns putting him up. By 16 his gang activities and a cocaine problem led him to the law. "My rap sheet is like four feet long. I got like 30 arrests or something. I did a bunch of skid bids, like 30 days or a month or two. Never been upstate."

I almost said, "Not yet," but held my tongue. Instead, I asked Lamar what he was arrested for.

"Ah, I just did some small-time shit like possession, vagrancy, assault. They were all misdemeanors. I never had a felony arrest."

Lamar dropped out of school in the ninth grade, yet if you ask him about stocks or politics he has some answers and knowledge.

"Yo, I always told them that at school, but they always wanted to put me on Ritalin, saying I had that ADHD shit. What I had was no home. I spent a lot of time in the library reading. I read a lot and I know a lot. I wish I knew how to use that. One thing I'm going to get out of this program is my GED. I know I can do that test."

We talked about New York for a few minutes; I asked Lamar how he felt about race relations in the city.

"What, you mean like black and white? I'll tell you this?I ain't got too much of a problem with white people, seeing as they the only ones that ever tried to help me. It's been niggers that have held me down. Who got me into drinking? Niggers. Who got me into coke? Niggers. Who left me in a fuckin' hospital when I was a baby? Niggers."

I asked Lamar if he knew where his parents are now. His dark eyes go cold as he shrugs, then smirks. "Yeah, I know where they are. I've seen 'em on the street. They act like they don't know me, and I act the same way. I got aunts and uncles do the same shit. Like I don't exist to them. They don't exist to me either. Fuck 'em."

I asked if he ever thought about hurting his parents.

"Maybe. Used to. Nah...I don't care anymore. It's done. I got my own fam now."

Lamar has no children or steady girl. The "fam" he refers to is his crew of Bloods, who are becoming legion in the Bronx. I wished Lamar all the best and we shook hands. After talking with him I couldn't get him out of my mind. A week ago I called my friend to see how Lamar was doing with that GED test he wanted to pass.

"Lamar split a few days ago. Said he wouldn't be back."

Today Lamar is probably out walking the streets of the Bronx. I hope he's also sitting in some library reading. Go easy, brother, go easy.

[sullivan@nypress.com](mailto:sullivan@nypress.com)