News (Media Awareness Project) - US MD: Heroin Dealer Turns Around His Life And Lives Of Others |
| Title: | US MD: Heroin Dealer Turns Around His Life And Lives Of Others |
| Published On: | 2007-01-22 |
| Source: | Baltimore Examiner (MD) |
| Fetched On: | 2008-01-12 17:09:14 |
HEROIN DEALER TURNS AROUND HIS LIFE AND LIVES OF OTHERS
BALTIMORE - The old man in the Sinai Hospital bed is Benjamin Davis,
who was informally known as Eggy when he sold heroin in the city for
half a century. The man at his bedside the other evening was Leonard
Hamm, who is formally known as the police commissioner of Baltimore.
Davis is here for back surgery after a bad fall he took last week. He
wears a neck brace and carries a history involving aoeeight or
ninea prison stretches for drug conspiracy. Hamm is here to wish him
well. For the last few years, he has helped turn DavisaTM life into
a tale of personal redemption.
But their stories intertwine across generations: Two men whose
families were close friends for years, who grew up in what Hamm calls
aoea commonality of people, places and culturea in South Baltimore
a" but who chose distinctly separate life paths, along which Davis
became one of the areaaTMs legendary criminals and Hamm made a
career out of locking up such people.
Two years ago, Hamm sat down with DavisaTM wife of 47 years,
Adrienne, and the two of them finally prevailed upon Davis to retire
from the narcotics trade and use his smarts and his experience to
assist others by working for the Baltimore Police DepartmentaTMs Get
Out of the Game program, assisting those whose lives have been
wrecked by drug and alcohol abuse to find new houses, jobs, health
care a" and new direction.
aoeDavis,a Hamm says, aoeis now a great man.a
aoeA great man a'nowaTM? a says Davis, smiling knowingly.
aoeNot before?a
No, not before.
Davis nods his head. He knows, he knows. He came out of a generation
of the cityaTMs first big wave of heroin dealers. He says there were
aoemany times when I told myself it was wrong a" but where else was
I gonna make $20,000 in a day?a He is 75 now, and he was 18 years
old and living in South Baltimore when a street guy named Small Fry
recruited him into the business.
Small FryaTMs full name has been lost to time, but others with whom
Davis dealt through the years a" whose names and dealings formed the
cityaTMs narcotics narrative a" have not, including Melvin (Little
Melvin) Williams, John (Liddie) Jones, James Wesley (Big Head
Brother) Carter, Big Lucille Logan Wescott and James A. (Turk) Scott,
the state delegate charged with smuggling $10 million in heroin in
one of BaltimoreaTMs most legendary and unsolved criminal cases.
aoeOh, sure, Turk,a Eggy Davis says. The two men were connected,
and Davis has kept his silence through the ensuing three decades. Now
he acknowledges he was ScottaTMs aoepickup man,a traveling to New
York to meet with Frankie (Pee Wee) Matthews, who was the Southeast
Asia connection for heroin.
But Turk Scott was simultaneously working two trades: heroin and
politics. He was so well-connected that Gov. Marvin Mandel, unaware
of ScottaTMs drug connections, appointed him to an open seat in the
House of Delegates. Within months, Scott was indicted. Then, weeks
before federal trial, with rumors swirling that Scott might squeal on
dealers such as Matthews, he was caught in a murderous shotgun
crossfire in the basement garage at the Sutton Place Apartments.
By then, Leonard Hamm was just beginning his career in the Baltimore
Police Department. Eggy Davis, rattled by the killing of Scott,
nevertheless went on with his drug business for another three decades
a" until there was a chance meeting with Hamm and a decision to turn
his life around.
Tomorrow: the redemption of a life.
BALTIMORE - The old man in the Sinai Hospital bed is Benjamin Davis,
who was informally known as Eggy when he sold heroin in the city for
half a century. The man at his bedside the other evening was Leonard
Hamm, who is formally known as the police commissioner of Baltimore.
Davis is here for back surgery after a bad fall he took last week. He
wears a neck brace and carries a history involving aoeeight or
ninea prison stretches for drug conspiracy. Hamm is here to wish him
well. For the last few years, he has helped turn DavisaTM life into
a tale of personal redemption.
But their stories intertwine across generations: Two men whose
families were close friends for years, who grew up in what Hamm calls
aoea commonality of people, places and culturea in South Baltimore
a" but who chose distinctly separate life paths, along which Davis
became one of the areaaTMs legendary criminals and Hamm made a
career out of locking up such people.
Two years ago, Hamm sat down with DavisaTM wife of 47 years,
Adrienne, and the two of them finally prevailed upon Davis to retire
from the narcotics trade and use his smarts and his experience to
assist others by working for the Baltimore Police DepartmentaTMs Get
Out of the Game program, assisting those whose lives have been
wrecked by drug and alcohol abuse to find new houses, jobs, health
care a" and new direction.
aoeDavis,a Hamm says, aoeis now a great man.a
aoeA great man a'nowaTM? a says Davis, smiling knowingly.
aoeNot before?a
No, not before.
Davis nods his head. He knows, he knows. He came out of a generation
of the cityaTMs first big wave of heroin dealers. He says there were
aoemany times when I told myself it was wrong a" but where else was
I gonna make $20,000 in a day?a He is 75 now, and he was 18 years
old and living in South Baltimore when a street guy named Small Fry
recruited him into the business.
Small FryaTMs full name has been lost to time, but others with whom
Davis dealt through the years a" whose names and dealings formed the
cityaTMs narcotics narrative a" have not, including Melvin (Little
Melvin) Williams, John (Liddie) Jones, James Wesley (Big Head
Brother) Carter, Big Lucille Logan Wescott and James A. (Turk) Scott,
the state delegate charged with smuggling $10 million in heroin in
one of BaltimoreaTMs most legendary and unsolved criminal cases.
aoeOh, sure, Turk,a Eggy Davis says. The two men were connected,
and Davis has kept his silence through the ensuing three decades. Now
he acknowledges he was ScottaTMs aoepickup man,a traveling to New
York to meet with Frankie (Pee Wee) Matthews, who was the Southeast
Asia connection for heroin.
But Turk Scott was simultaneously working two trades: heroin and
politics. He was so well-connected that Gov. Marvin Mandel, unaware
of ScottaTMs drug connections, appointed him to an open seat in the
House of Delegates. Within months, Scott was indicted. Then, weeks
before federal trial, with rumors swirling that Scott might squeal on
dealers such as Matthews, he was caught in a murderous shotgun
crossfire in the basement garage at the Sutton Place Apartments.
By then, Leonard Hamm was just beginning his career in the Baltimore
Police Department. Eggy Davis, rattled by the killing of Scott,
nevertheless went on with his drug business for another three decades
a" until there was a chance meeting with Hamm and a decision to turn
his life around.
Tomorrow: the redemption of a life.
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