Epilogue

The purpose of sharing my life story is so that the younger generations can have some insight as to where my music came from. Life was completely different. I put a lot of thought into telling certain stories and paid close attention to the people from my past that were involved in certain situations. Some people were not comfortable with sharing their truths.

There was a time in the early ’80s when I took a garbage can and I threw it through a McDonald’s window in broad daylight just to rail against the system. I was a stupid, violent, live-fast-die-young kid. I didn’t think there were any consequences for my actions even after I went to prison. I did things that I am embarrassed about.

Today, I think differently. I have kids. I don’t want to live too fast and I’m too old to die young. I dream about living to see my grandchildren. I love to see my kids in a stable, loving environment, and it fills me with warmth to see them enjoy the simple pleasures in life that my siblings and I never had growing up. If I never shared these stories, my children would have no idea what struggle is like. My children have a beautiful, safe life. My children don’t have fear, they don’t have uncertainty and they don’t have struggle like I had. My wife and I both had very hard childhoods, but she didn’t live on the streets and raise herself like I did. Some of my stories are difficult for her to hear, but we are honest and open about everything we have lived through. I want to teach my children that, yes, I made some bad choices, I had the potential to ruin my life and I had to take extra steps to change my life because of it. It took a lot to become the man that I am today.

But inside, I’m still that rebel. I still think a little bit differently. If I really wanted to take a stand against McDonald’s or make a political statement today, I wouldn’t throw a garbage can through a window. I’d approach it differently. I’d wait until the evening, put a little glue in the lock of the front door and put a toothpick in the key hole. That would prevent people from using the door, and it’s as far as I would go to upset the system these days. A real anarchist would think that’s pretty lame. They’d be right. I’m not out to destroy the system anymore. I’ve done that crime and done the time, and now I’m free.

Looking back at all the fights, riots, fires, arrests and brushes with the law I’ve had over the years, it’s amazing I lived long enough to see the death of cassette tapes, let alone the resurrection of vinyl. I probably won’t be back in prison, and I’m not likely to plant roots in Alphabet City again. That’s because, just like I say in my lyrics, if you look at the Lower East Side today it just doesn’t add up—at least not for someone like me.

Those were different times. When we ran the streets, there were no rules. Chaos reigned. I lived fast and many of my friends died young. But it’s no longer my party. It’s someone else’s party and their time to live in the bowels of New York City. Without the element of danger, the nihilistic bliss and the abundant creativity that were as strong as the smell of burning tires, I can’t see why kids today would want to commit themselves to life on the streets. It’s impossible to squat on the Lower East Side now when every building is worth millions and even kids with decent jobs have to share tiny apartments to afford the rent. It’s another world out there now—one I didn’t grow up in and can’t begin to relate to. So I won’t even try.

When I walked out of that prison gate, I vowed never to return. I haven’t. I vowed to be a better person. I have. If you met me today, you would never think I lived through such a wild time and relished every hazard along the way. I can honestly say that the crazy life I led and all my mistakes made me who I am today. A baby needs to fall to learn how to walk. I’ve taken my falls and gotten back up. I’ve talked the talk and I’ve walked the walk, and it has taken me to where I am today. And now I’m just gonna put one foot in front of the other and keep walking.