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RABBIT IN THE JUNGLE. Copyright © 2013 by Anthony Alegrete and Holly Baker. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information, address Jump Publishing, Inc.
Rabbit in the Jungle is a registered trademark of Jump Publishing, Inc.
JUMP PUBLISHING and its logo, a silhouette of a rabbit’s profile, is a trademark of Jump Publishing, Inc.
Visit our website at www.anthonyalegrete.com
First edition published 2013
Book design by William Wong
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Algrete, Anthony.
Rabbit in the jungle / Anthony Alegrete
p.cm.
ISBN 978-0-9893529-1-8
Loriel, Anthony, Dominic, and Giana.
You are my inspiration behind everything I do.
I love you all more than life itself.
To the streets,
you chewed me up and spit me out, But you always kept me sharp. I married you when I was young and my divorce from you doesn’t mean I don’t love you anymore. It’s just time for me to move on and experience other ways of living. I will never forget our close calls, near death experiences, money we made, beautiful places you took me, and even the dark times behind bars. I will always remember the times we shared together. After all, you taught me to get my mind right and get myself up off of you.
A friend and I were walking out of his house when two gang members pulled guns on us. The guys were yelling at us in Spanish at rapid-fire speed, demanding that we answer them. Gang signs were tossed around like sign language. Tattoos covered their entire body and their guns were flashing all over the place. I tried to remain composed and listen to my gut instinct, which was screaming at me to swing for the fences and run for my life. Then my body froze. Everything turned red. I struggled to speak.
But I couldn’t. It was impossible to even breathe. I couldn’t understand the guys because they were speaking Spanish. The words were entering my brain too fast for me to attempt to translate. Every few words they shouted were in English, “Where did they go?…Don’t fuck with us!…We’ll kill you motherfuckers!” They were looking for somebody, but we just walked out of the house and knew nothing about what they wanted. Suddenly, one of them raised their gun in the air: they were getting anxious. The two guys exchanged words angrily, patience was giving way to frustration. If I didn’t do something soon, their threats would quickly turn into action and my life would be in jeopardy.
I didn’t know what to do. If I tried to reason with them, I might be able to calm them down and gain control of the situation. But could the little Spanish I knew be enough to save me? Or would it make things worse?
The other option was to close the distance between us in a desperate attempt to overcome them by force; at a closer range we would have a better chance avoiding getting shot. Fighting them might allow us to disarm them and give us time to make a run for it, but if we couldn’t gain control of the situation, then both my friend and I would end up what homicide detectives call a Ten Seven, police radio code for “out of service”.
It was a nightmare. I was sweating profusely. My heart was beating through my chest. Adrenaline filled my veins. Tunnel vision paralyzed my ability to see and panic was taking over my body. Then the gun was lowered, now pointing directly in my face. I tried to think straight, but there wasn’t time. The severity of the situation was escalating rapidly. If I didn’t act at that moment, I would be shot and killed for being at the wrong place at the wrong time.
That’s when I made up my mind: I didn’t know what they wanted or who they were looking for, but to save myself I would give them a false lead. Looking dead in their eyes I asserted they should go towards the alleyway around back. “Some guys ran that way,” I pointed with my hands up, ready to say anything to satisfy them.
They left as quickly as they came, running in the direction I gave them. Within seconds we heard shots being fired. Five unanswered rounds went off like fireworks. Everyone came rushing out of their homes to see the action. Police arrived almost instantly. A sense of relief and fear filled my lungs.
Just as I started to catch my breathe, I saw two police officers race past a man face down in the alley laying in a pool of blood–the first time I had ever seen a dead body.
The smoke eventually cleared and the questioning began. Testimony after testimony for hours on end, sitting there wondering if my cooperation with the police would come back to haunt me one day. Every second I was there talking with the cops made me wish I was never involved and for the first time I questioned the direction my life was heading in.
As much as I wanted to ask why I was still alive or how everything happened the way it did, I couldn’t help but repeat the question, “Where is my life going?” What was I doing to find myself in these situations time and time again? Twice before I was threatened with guns on separate occasions–gun to my chest during an attempted robbery and a gun wielding threat from another gang member. Was this a pattern? How could it be? Besides, each of the three occurrences involving guns were from being at the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s not like I was looking for trouble. I had never been a member of a gang. What was the cause of these close calls? Questions filled my mind and eventually I was overwhelmed with concern about my fate.
This book is about asking the right questions. It is about close calls and near death experiences. It is about the moment, right before a life-changing event, where you make a choice about who you are and who you want to be. It’s about rough neighborhoods, family, high school romance, stealing, dealing, snitches, prison, business, education, community, and how each of those things can be intertwined. If there is a unified theme in life, it is the fact that the decisions you make are what determine your fate. This book is about deciding your fate.
When I looked at my life while sitting on the edge of the curb, only feet away from a homicide victim, I made a decision to change. I knew I was going down the wrong path. I knew that I could be the guy ending up laying in a pool of my own blood. If I were to have the life I wanted, I would have to make some changes and become the person I wanted to be.
Throughout this book you will encounter experiences Anthony has gone through in his life from his upbringing, his first crime, prison, traveling the world, as an entrepreneur, and even stories about who he is now and what is coming next. We’ll venture out into the rough neighborhoods of Los Angeles, to interactions with gang violence, to police chases, and prison riots. He’ll also take you through stories about sacrifice, loyalty, family, and honor. You’ll explore the depths of drug dealing, and the repercussions of street snitches. You’ll meet rap artists, CEO’s, and celebrities who have helped shape who the author is today. Anthony will show you how he learned to make better decisions, face life’s challenges, and rewrite his destiny. The goal of this book is to challenge you to ask yourself the questions that most people have difficulty asking, from church pastors to college professors, from drug dealers to drug addicts and everyone in between: Where is my life going? And what am I doing to make my life better?
William Wong is the Director of Development for the Jump for Joy Foundation in Las Vegas, NV. He has used his story to motivate and encourage young people throughout the Clark County School District from high school to college and alumni. He is also the author of Get Ahead At 18!, a book about making life choices as a young adult. You can find him at www.willwong.me.
How do you begin to think about calculus and biology when your stomach is growling from hunger or you’re hearing bullets from your bedroom window? The unfortunate truth: ghettos, bad neighborhoods, and lower classes exist in the United States of America. Many of us are born into poverty and some levels are deeper than others, but struggle is struggle—it’s relative to the person experiencing it. I was fortunate to have grown up in the upper levels of the lower class, so it wasn’t as if I was in the super ghetto or anything. My neighborhoods were rough and poor but not destitute. Nevertheless, the struggle comes in all shapes and sizes. It’s what you do that makes you who you are. These struggles are never excuses to be complacent and just do nothing about your circumstances. Get out there and make life happen! Don’t sit around idly hoping for change. An arrow can only be shot after it’s first pulled backward. When life is dragging you back with difficulties, it means it’s going to launch you into something great. Just focus, and keep aiming.
Every now and then, we wake and get the urge to just do something. Whatever it is, something suddenly turns your light bulb on. The deep passion that resides in your gut gets ignited like a forest fire. That light bulb came on for me during a morning in Winter 2012. I wanted to write a book about my experiences and struggles. I had to let the world know who Anthony Alegrete truly is and the situations I’ve gone through and continue to experience. With everything that I’ve lived, I felt I had a compelling-enough story and a blueprint for success. Even with my close calls and prison experiences, I knew, at the very minimum, I could tell the story of how I survived it and have turned negative into positive.
The sad reality is that many great individuals get sucked into the system. They allow it to overtake them and control their lives. If only we all had a guide, a drawing, a road map on how to live successfully. Our education system is so fragmented; it’s no wonder America has the highest population of prison inmates of any country in the world.
Growing up on the streets of Los Angeles, California, I’ve had my fair share of life lessons. My parents divorced when I was five years old. I became a rebellious youth and got into trouble that I couldn’t get out of. As a teenager, I started breaking the law and going to jail. I graduated to committing full-out crime as a young adult and ended up in and out of prison. After an extremely vulnerable moment inside the penitentiary, I realized I needed to make a change. Immediately following my second prison sentence, I moved from Los Angeles, California to Las Vegas, Nevada, and started over. In doing so, I knew I had to commit to a lifestyle change, so I entered the academic arena and enrolled in the University of Nevada, Las Vegas. Pledging myself to a four-year commitment would show the world that I had genuinely made a change.
Since 2007, I have dedicated my life to health and fitness through The Jump for Joy Foundation, a nonprofit organization focused on childhood obesity prevention, and Real Results Fitness, a fitness brand serving the downtown Las Vegas community. I’ve also earned a Bachelor’s of Science degree in Business Administration with an emphasis in Marketing, one of my proudest achievements.
Rabbit in the Jungle is my first attempt as an author. Please understand, I’m not a professional writer. I’m just a guy who wanted to tell his story and relate to the people reading it.
Now, buckle up for a ride through a journey of trials and tribulations, ups and downs, successes and failures, good and bad, and even the ugly.
“A small body of determined spirits fired by an unquenchable faith in their mission can alter the course of history.”
— Mahatma Gandhi
“Violence is essentially wordless and it can begin only where thought and rational communication have broken down.”
— THOMAS MERTON, Anglo-American Catholic writer and mystic
Chow was over, and everybody was filing back into the dorms. The area didn’t have many solid walls, so the men could see through all four dorms enclosed within our pod. This open design allowed the conspirators to flash signs across the room to each other. It was time. The forty to fifty Mexican inmates moved so quickly their targets — twenty black prisoners — hardly had time to react. The weapons were crude but effective. Padlocks from storage lockers were dropped into socks and swung through the air like maces. Chairs, both broken and whole, served as clubs. Portable locker cases were launched like miniature bombs. The use of weapons wasn’t even necessary. The perpetrators could have overwhelmed their prey with nothing more than the imbalance in their numbers, but their goal wasn’t to merely defeat their enemy — it was to annihilate them. Racial tensions, boredom, and frustration had been pent up for too long and now found release in a storm of emotion and violence designed to destroy whoever stood in its path. War was breaking loose around me, and I was standing in the middle of the danger zone.
At the time, I was several months into my second stint in prison. I made careful choices when it came to friends and tried to focus my time, thoughts, and energy in productive ways. A private company ran the minimum-security facility, and it hadn’t felt especially dangerous when I arrived. I’m the type of guy who gets along with everyone. I had white friends, a few Mexican friends, and a few black friends, and a few people knew I was half of an interracial marriage. Because of the politics of prison, I primarily hung out with the whites and ran with them, but there weren’t enough of us to amount to a big, distinct group. I hadn’t thought any of this was a reason to worry until that day in February.
When the waves of fury broke loose, a quick stream of thoughts ran through my head in the split second I had to make a decision. One choice was to try and protect friends on both sides, but I didn’t have enough leverage or time for that to be workable. Another option was to choose a side and jump in. I rejected that choice because I had friends on both sides, and the whites weren’t really expected to play a part. Not to mention, one wrong move on my end, and all my white homies would have had to get involved. You see, in prison, if one of your kind jumps, you’re all expected to jump. It’s the only way groups can survive. You shoot first and ask questions later. If you make a dumb choice and get a lot of people hurt or in trouble, then you get dealt with when the time is right. In the heat of the moment, it’s war, and you protect your own.
Afinal concern was that I might get caught in the current, whether I wanted to or not, because of my wife’s race. My lightning-quick assessment brought me to the conclusion that heading for cover was the best plan. I shouted to anybody who hadn’t sorted it out for themselves yet, and we took shelter in the back of the dorm the best we could.
The storm raged for a full twenty minutes. It was horrible. Noise echoed everywhere. I watched the Mexicans beat the shit out of the black prisoners. Equal parts anger and fear loaded the air around us with adrenaline so thick you could almost feel it. A fair fight would have had different results, but fair wasn’t part of the forecast for that day. The guards on duty were privately trained security, not state-trained and state-sanctioned correctional officers. They were reluctant to put themselves in the path of the typhoon, so they tried to minimize the damage and waited for reinforcements. It was obvious that they had lost all authority. I remember the guards opened a door and grabbed a black dude’s arms trying to pull him to safety. The Mexicans grabbed the black prisoner by the legs and pulled him back. Eventually, the blacks all managed to get out through one of the doors; the last guy almost didn’t make it. The victory celebration included looting the entire place. By the time help arrived, our block was a disaster area. Obviously, there were physical injuries, some of them really serious, but the damage went beyond that. Throughout the whole pod, everything had been completely ransacked. It looked like a hurricane had hit our dorm. In minimum security, residents tend to accumulate quite a few personal possessions. The rioters thundered through the bunks, stealing what they wanted and trashing the rest. They ripped, smashed, and tossed everything they could get their hands on. They picked up entire lockers and shook whatever was inside out onto the floor, breaking bottles open and scattering pictures. To this day, I have no idea where all the liquids came from or even what some of them were, but I have a very distinct memory of everything being soggy and wet as if a tsunami really had washed through.
When the state correctional officers arrived, they brought their own kind of crazy with them. They showed up in full riot gear, well stocked with tear gas, shouting every obscenity you’ve ever heard until they had the place back under command.
“GET THE FUCK DOWN! Get your asses down! On the ground, now! I don’t wanna’ see your mothafuckin’ faces!” BOOM, BOOM! Tear gas canisters scattered through the area. BANG! An ornery inmate was slammed to the ground. “Shut the hell up! Everyone on your fucking faces. Hands out!” It was World War III, and the supposed peace-keepers came barging in and took us down with tremendous force.
For weeks we were on heightened security, spending some of that time confined strictly to our bunks. Anyone who was involved was shipped out so that alliances could be broken and retaliation wouldn’t be possible. I lost some friends on both sides. It was crazy to see a gang take power and then abuse it like that. Witnessing the total breakdown of the system made me feel so vulnerable. When people become a mob, they lose some of their humanity and their ability to think and function independently, and they become very unpredictable and dangerous.
Prison doesn’t really foster interracial bonds. It’s all good when the wind isn’t blowing. But when turbulence hits, you’re forced to side with your kind. Friendships get lost in the squall. In prison, as in the military, you stand with your own kind for protection. That riot was maybe the scariest situation I’ve ever found myself in. When you completely lose power over your own safety, it changes you. If you’re not accustomed to this kind of fierce lifestyle, an incident like this makes you realize you want absolutely nothing to do with it. I knew right then and there I had to get out of this place. Education looked like the perfect way to get out and stay out. I had to fill my brain with knowledge, so I wouldn’t have to hustle anymore. I refused to come back to this hellhole.
Vulnerability
We all experience times in our lives when we feel vulnerable. This is okay. No one person has complete control over his or her life. When you drive to the store, you run the risk of getting into a car accident, even if you follow all traffic rules. Don’t let the unknown stop you from following your dreams. Even in times of extreme distress, like the riot I described, always do your best to accept your current reality. It won’t always be easy, but if you understand that a rainbow comes after the storm, then you can weather any turbulent situation. The hope of future success is a strong feeling. If you keep yourself grounded and focused, you’ll be able to achieve whatever it is you are meant to achieve.
Being vulnerable and open to others is the ultimate form of flattery. It lets the other parties involved know that you completely trust them. So, use vulnerability to your advantage, but please don’t mistake being vulnerable for being capricious. You don’t want to drift wherever the wind blows. Be strong and stout, but leave yourself open enough so that others trust you.
“Many a serious thinker has been produced in prisons, where we have nothing to do but think.”
— ROBERT GREENE, The 48 Laws of Power
The prison system isn’t working. Theoretically, prisons deter and reform criminals. However, given the high number of repeat visitors in the country’s prisons, this theory doesn’t hold up very well. According to the Commission on Safety and Abuse in America’s Prisons, approximately two million people are incarcerated, and if you look at statistics for the number of inmates cycled through over the course of a year, that number climbs to 13.5 million. Of the prisoners released, 67 percent will be arrested again, of which 52 percent will serve another sentence.
The unfortunate truth is that prison often becomes a training ground and network that actually encourages further criminal pursuits. Prisoners become hardened and desensitized by the brutal setting. Inmates come in contact with types of people they might not ever have encountered in the outside world. New opportunities present themselves. Obviously, none of these entrepreneurs want to be locked up again. Some think the risk is worth it; some think the risk is part of the appeal. Others adapt so completely to the lifestyle they come to see incarceration as standard procedure, an inevitable phase in their career. They develop a certain mentality that comes from being institutionalized.
My experience with the system compares to being in the military in many ways. There’s a definite hierarchy within both the staff and the inmates. Even an outsider can recognize and understand the position and experience of the guards and other staff. Usually however, only those on the inside can make sense of all the distinct groups and individuals who have accumulated enough power and status among the inmates to control their environment. For those on the inside, keeping it all straight is a survival skill.
Race and ethnicity are major factors in determining status on the inside. Not being black or Hispanic is a disadvantage. My white European-Italian heritage made me a distinct minority, and I felt like a rabbit in the jungle. There were people in there who wanted to take my head off just because I was Caucasian. Because I couldn’t rely on ethnic connections, and I didn’t have the physical size and presence to intimidate anyone, I developed skills I’d first discovered in school. Intelligence, humor, and tolerance are tools that can be used to build solid relationships. Once the predators decided I had something to offer, I became an asset and didn’t have to worry about becoming prey. Make no mistake. I’m no punk, and no one took advantage of me. I fought for respect. After all, if you back a rabbit into a corner, he’ll bite his way out.
Here’s the thing, though. Not everyone worked through the system the same way I did. I knew enough to study my surroundings and use that information to improve the status quo. What came naturally to me never occurred to others, so I want to share my experiences to help my brothers behind bars help themselves. The way the system runs now, no one else is looking out for these guys. There aren’t enough opportunities for real change. If even a few can make use of what I figured out and rehabilitate themselves, then it’s worth it, for the individual and for society.
The penal system is a mechanism. It uses up the people who get sucked into it and traps them there as fuel for the machine. Men who aren’t strong minded get eaten alive. Drugs, bad habits, and gang activity will overtake you if you aren’t solid and powerful. Darwin had it right: only the strong survive. It’s not enough to have physical strength. Mental muscles have to be ready for battle too. This book is meant to give hope and understanding — no matter what jungle you’re in, you can survive it and make the best of your circumstances.
Rehabilitation
The unfortunate truth about America’s prison systems is that there is zero rehabilitation for a locked-up inmate. Many times, these prisons become breeding grounds for criminals to become better criminals. Although it’s advertised that there are prison work industries and that these programs are a great way for inmates to utilize their time, it’s a complete fabrication. Prison work programs are slave camps. They make inmates work hard for hours on end, all for pay of twelve cents an hour. And, if you’re lucky and work your way up, which you never do because the lifers usually get the better paying jobs, you can make one dollar an hour. This system is not designed to keep inmates out of prison; it’s designed to keep them trapped in a continuous cycle, going in and out of prison.
The key to rehabilitation is investing in yourself. While in prison, you have to be mentally strong and find your passion. You have to seek and obtain knowledge. Any educational programs that the prison may have, I highly encourage you to join. Reading is another way to educate yourself. Read, read, read! It will allow your mind to wander and possibly get creative. Reading is what saved me. After reading hundreds of books, I was able to find my true passion. You never know what may come of something you read. Remember, a forest fire was once a spark of flame. Nothing happens instantly, but if you work daily at bettering yourself, you can rehabilitate your life.
Another way to rehabilitate is to exercise daily. A strong body produces a strong mind. While in prison, and even while out in society, I highly recommend you get into a fitness routine. When you’re healthy, you make healthy decisions.
“All art is autobiographical. The pearl is the oyster’s autobiography.”
— Federico Fellini
“Open your minds, my friends. We all fear what we do not understand.”
— DAN BROWN, Author of The Lost Symbol
The first time I went to prison was in 2004. They charged me with conspiracy to commit access device fraud. I wasn’t creating the documents or using them for criminal purposes myself. My job was distribution. In the eyes of the law, this is viewed as conspiracy because of the setup required to produce and distribute the identification cards (IDs) and other items, which are then used to commit further criminal acts. Another participant in the scam got caught, and to protect himself, he wore a wire for the police and set me up. My personal sense of honor prevented me from accepting a similar offer. I did it; I was caught; no point in taking anybody else down with me. Besides, I ain’t a snitch. It’s not worth it. Where I come from, a snitch is the lowest kind of maggot.
Guests of the federal prison system frequently get shuffled around, and I made stops in California, Oklahoma, and Texas. The constant moving sharpened my powers of observation and forced me to adapt. Boredom and loneliness were also constant challenges. The established routines for each day only filled so much time. The rest of the day felt very empty.
One of the main things I did to fill the time was read. Early on, I read The 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene. Like Machiavelli and Sun-Tzu before him, Greene adopts a very ruthless, martial view of leadership and power. Over the course of 452 pages, he not only made history real but also gave me the outline of a plan for my future. Prisons are essentially military systems. Just as Greene used moments in history to illustrate the ways in which power is gained and manipulated, I used his work to negotiate my way through the minefield I had landed in. Greene’s confrontational, almost malicious style seemed tailor-made for my surroundings. I couldn’t soak his words in fast enough.
Up to that point, my reading experience consisted of thumbing through magazines and completing school assignments. The idea that I could read something in a book and immediately apply it to improve my own position revolutionized my thinking. My encounter with Greene’s book was a defining moment.
Another influential work for me was Scar Tissue