2023/1986
“It’s important to pass these stories down, I need to tell y’all about this stuff.”
“Yeah, yeah. Stories are like heirlooms or some shit like that.”
“Exactly, once I die, that’s it, all my memories go with me. Would be a shame..”
“Now you’re gonna live forever.”
“Sure, sure. so, you might need to change some names around. I’m not sure about statute of limitations on fraud.”
“It’s probably fine just go for it.”
“I heard it was like murder, no statute of limitations.”
“That’s totally false I’m like 96% certain. You gonna tell the story or not?”
Alright alright, cool down.
Me and your Uncle Daryl moved here from Texas in October of 1986. We played with the idea of Florida but ultimately landed on Southern California. Now, what a lot of people don’t realize is that Texas is not really the South, it’s the West. I mean, look at Reagan..he was the most Texan California Republican you could imagine. Anyway, we like to be free out there and we like big land and big blue sky so me and Daryl were convinced we would find our stride quickly on the west coast.
We drove out here with nothing but the pick up truck, a couple boxes, a couple hundred bucks and moving pads. Some real comin’ out west shit. Took us a couple days to get here but when we finally hit the Inland Empire we started seeing signs for Orange County. I’d heard they had excellent beaches over there so I thought “Fuck it, Orange County it is.”
We were cruising down the 57 and I saw Angel Stadium in the distance, and I knew I wanted to live near it..I played 23 seasons of football, put me near any sports stadium and I’ll be happy. So that was settled, we exited on Ball Road in Anaheim right as the sun was setting, that California sunset, and we found the nearest park and challenged a couple guys to a pick up game of basketball, whooped their ass, smoked some weed and slept in the bed of the truck.
The next morning we went looking for an apartment. We hit up Santa Ana and Garden Grove before finally finding a spot on the south end of Anaheim on Orangewood and Harbor Blvd. and by that evening we were moved in. I went down to the store and bought two cases of beer, then your uncle ran around the complex screaming, “YOUR TWO NEW TEXAN NEIGHBORS ARE HERE. COME PARTY BY THE POOL.” Half the complex came. We partied all night, we were on top of the world.
A couple days later our friend came...let’s call him Steve.
“I don’t think name changes are necessary.”
“No, no. We’re gonna call him Steve.”
“is ‘Steve’ like…a stone cold killer or something…?”
“close, nuclear engineer.”
“word, continue.”
So Steve comes to town for a visit. We grew up with him in Houston, he was a close friend of the family. Decent athlete but never meant for professional sports. More of a book worm. At this time he was in the Navy working on a trident submarine with trident nuclear missiles. Serious shit. He had one week of leave and wanted to come see the Lee boys in SoCal so of course, we told him to get his ass down here. He gets here and the three of us are partying, I mean, living it up. We’re cruising around in the truck with the windows down, it’s a Friday night, and on the radio we hear about the weekly firework show down in Long Beach on the Queen Mary and obviously, we had to go, Texans love explosives. On the way we picked up a half gallon of Wild Turkey and a 24 pack of Bud.
The fireworks were alright, I barely remember them. We had the rock n roll blasting, all the low riders were out on the streets. It was a scene. Steve, the savior of the free world, was shot gunning the Bud. Nuclear engineer, real genius. Your Uncle Daryl had a gigantic 7/11 cup and it was filled with Wild Turkey. That guy could drink especially before he went nuts. He was huge, 6 foot 5, 235 lbs. Built like a door, like your grandpa.
So, everything was wonderful and the universe was aligned and next on our hit list was a drive-in movie up near our apartment in Santa Ana.
Now are we sure about the fraud thing?
“I can guarantee you that whatever you did is past the statute of limitations.”
“I don’t know!”
“well, dad, did anyone die? Or is there a possibility of death? Did you kill anyone? Like the interpersonal murder type shit, not the Steve’s imperialist trident missile potential war crimes beat..”
“War crimes? Not that I know of. Murder? No, no murder.”
“Interesting. alright, well spit it out.”
Fine, fine.
So, we’re heading north on Main Street in Santa Ana and your uncle, the responsible elder, has his massive cup of Wild Turkey and he’s chuggin’ away and the Savior of the Free World is shotgun and I’m sitting in the middle. That song Take Me Home Tonight is on the radio, that tune by Eddie Money, and we’ve got it totally cranked. It is as loud as it can go. We’re singing we’re screaming.
TAKE ME HOME TONIGHT
I DON’T WANT TO LET YOU GO TIL YOU SEE THE LIGHT
Or whatever the lyrics are…
and out of nowhere your uncle, who hadn’t lost his mind yet, splashes his cup of Wild Turkey right in my face. Right between my eyes. Then he jerks the steering wheel to the right and yells, “oops!”
I was furious, my blood was boiling. We are going 50 down a main boulevard. It’s ridiculous. Then, in typical Daryl Lee fashion, he does it again.
Splash, jerk to the right, “oops!”
I’m not one to back down from a fight, I taught you that, so I calmly took my right hand jammed it under his jaw and shoved his big thick head up into the top corner of the window and the frame of the truck. Busted his shit in. He wobbles a little, gets control of the truck and I can feel the rage comin’ off him. His neck was turning red. We’re goin’ 55-60 miles per hour and his drunk ass slowly turns his head to the right, towards me, and he is so mad that he doesn’t realize that he is pulling the wheel to the right as well.
We veer over into the right lane and I try to grab the wheel to get control of the vehicle but then BOOM we hit the curb and the front tires explode and my hand loses the wheel. Now we are barreling headlong into a 10 foot tall cinder block wall that is situated between a palm tree and a one story house. I look over at Daryl and he’s laughing, this mother fucker is laughing. I whip my head back towards the windshield and that wall is right fuckin there. I put my right arm up to shield my face just in time. Just in time man.
When we hit it was the loudest sound I had ever heard in my life. Piercing, it could rupture your eardrums. It was atomic. I mean, we blasted through that thing at 50. The whole front of the truck was totally smashed in and the cab was full of cinder blocks. We missed the palm tree and the house by two feet on either side. My arm was dripping in blood, it was cut up. Deep cuts, gashes, dripping blood. My adrenaline was pumping so I couldn’t feel shit but there was a lot of blood. Daryl and the Savior of the Free World had to kick open the doors to get out. They were crushed in…like a coke can.
Once we got out of the truck we saw we were rammed up on top of a pile of cinder blocks. It’s blocks and blocks everywhere. People are starting to come out of their houses, I can’t stress enough how loud that hit was. They’re looking at us like they had seen the second coming of Christ. Families, ladies in nightgowns. It’s 10:45 or so. They’re all peeking out the windows and coming out to rubberneck on their lawns. A whole crowd, a mass of them is starting to form and in that instant, in the blink of an eye, I had to make a choice.
My new California life and all the sacrifices and our new apartment and my dreams and the nuclear submarines and the trident missiles and the giant cup of Wild Turkey..all of it is flashing in front of my eyes and I feel my big brother beside me and I look dead in the eyes of the Savior of the Free World …and I scream…RUN.
We start running through the hole we made in the block wall and within 3 seconds fuckin Nuclear Boy…Steve…trips on some debris and rolls his ankle. He’s seriously injured, I can tell by the way he’s grabbing it that he won’t be able to run. He lets out a scream and I just really cannot believe this shit but I’m hopped up on adrenaline and I pick his ass up, put him on my back and we keep running. I’ve just finished what ended up being my last season of football so I’m in the best shape of my life.
“Holy fucking shit. You carried a grown ass man on your back while running from the scene of a crime? And where is Uncle Daryl?”
“Not just any grown ass man. ‘Steve’ the navy brat and nuclear engineer. Daryl was in great shape too, he had no problems following right behind me.”
“And you were sprinting? Like dead sprint?”
Yup, dead sprint. So, now we are booking it through a residential block in Santa Ana and I can hear the sirens and the tires screeching. The cops are on to us and we had only ran about 700 feet from the crash site. We post up in someone’s side yard and hide behind their A/C condenser and a half second later there is a cop car right in front of the house. I’ve got my finger to my lips and I’m telling these two freaks to shut the fuck up and this is the first moment I see Daryl’s face. It is covered in blood, like he’s got a red latex mask on and he flashes this cooky smile at me and his teeth are bright white against all that deep red blood. It is horrific, like Carrie except with a big ass crazy white boy.
Then BOOM. The cop flashes his search lights right at the house. At this point I’m thinking we’re fucked, the three of us are freaked. The light stays there for 30 seconds and then it flashes on the house to our left. Then back to the house we’re at. Then to the house on our right. Then back to us. Then to the house to the left. Then back to us and he is idling there for a minute, lights still shining on the house. And I’m thinking he saw us or saw some movement..and then he dims his lights but he’s still sitting there. It felt like an hour had passed, it was torture.
Then, this was a miracle from god I swear it, the cop moves on down the block.
We all let out a sigh of relief, but we knew the chase was still on. Steve looks at me and he’s like I can’t run and I’m like yeah no fuckin shit Sherlock. Back in those days I had dog ears, I could pick up anything and, in the distance, behind the house, I hear a freeway. It had to have been the 5. I told Savior of the Free World, “Listen mother fucker. We won’t make it if we don’t split up. I can’t carry your ass. What you’re gonna do is you are gonna hop these fences til you hit the 5, you’re gonna stay as close to that freeway as humanly possible until you get near our apartment and then we are meeting there. Good luck and get the fuck out of here.” Then he went limping into the night.
“Jesus fuckin Christ. Was he scared?”
“Oh, we haven’t gotten to the Jesus part.”
“Goddamn this is nuts maybe you will go to jail once this is out. Was he scared?”
“Don’t take the lords name in vain.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m serious kiddo, we wouldn’t have made it through this without the Holy Spirit.”
“whatever you say, big shot.”
Alright. Now your Uncle Daryl and I hear multiple cop cars and sirens and there is a helicopter looking for us. We knew we had to put some distance between us and the scene of the crime, so we take off running in the opposite direction of Steve. I was in track and field, I could jump and run and climb and all that shit. So we start running up a side yard, hop the fence into the backyard, run through the backyard, hop the fence of the backyard, hit the backyard of the next house, run through the side yard, hop that fence, down the driveway and into the next street until we run up the next side yard and so on and so on. We repeat that pattern about 6 times and definitely clear some distance, at this point we had been sprinting for 9 minutes straight and needed a breather. We hid up in some bushes and shrubs and I’m getting my gyro recalibrated and then I see it…hovering out in the distance over the house across the street…I see it. I see the glowing cross of the Crystal Cathedral.
I knew which way we had to run. That was salvation. I mean, I knew our house was near it, but it was still salvation. It was the Holy Spirit guiding us.
The helicopters were still hovering over the neighborhood near the crime scene so we had to keep a jogging pace up but there was enough room between us and them to stop sprinting. We’re jogging on the sidewalk and I’m thinking “follow the cross and we’re in the clear” and your uncle pushes me into a tree. I’m like what the fuck man. I really ran right into it, it hurt. And remember, he’s not crazy yet. This is before he threatened to kill the cops in ’88. This is pre-crazy Daryl.
I shake it off and catch up to him, I’m pissed but give him the benefit of the doubt. Probably just an accident. Then, about 2 minutes later, he pushes me into a bush, a really hard push. It’s clearly not an accident. I hop out of that bush run him down and look him in the eye and say, “I will fucking kill you.”
We square off in a random front yard, I go to grab his face but can’t grip it because of the blood and sweat and fluids. Then he punches me in the ribs. We start fist fighting, really going for it. We’re grunting, cursing, covered in blood. And then, inevitably, the porch light comes on and a Mexican guy comes out. His jaw dropped when he saw us and I look at Daryl and I scream…RUN.
We haul ass towards the Crystal Cathedral and I look over my shoulder and I see the helicopter and it’s heading towards us. The guy called the cops. So we start in on our fence hopping routine. I run up the driveway of a house and jump over the side fence and right when I land a massive dog is there. Big nasty mutt, I scream at Daryl, “KEEP RUNNING DO NOT STOP.” That dog is barking, he is right on our asses. We barely make it over the backyard fence and then the second we land in the next backyard; another big ass dog is waiting. It is the stuff of nightmares, I scream at Daryl, “KEEP RUNNING DO NOT STOP.” I’m charging forward and I’m 240 pounds of muscle and when we get to that next gate, this one was made of wood, I didn’t climb it or hop it, I ran through it. Ripped it off its hinges Wile E Coyote style. I’m keeping my eyes on the cross, eyes on salvation and we are hitting these fences and yards and every single one had a dog. I’m not exaggerating. Mutts, Pitts, Rottweilers, big mean dogs. But we do not stop. Of course, Daryl finds this thrilling and he’s laughing hysterically.
“Sounds like Uncle Daryl was pretty far gone at this point.”
“Oh no, this is calm Daryl.”
“Calm Daryl?
“Again, this is before the death threats to police in ’88 and when he stole my identity in ’89.”
“right, right. Continue.”
So after the dog debacle we finally find refuge and salvation, we finally get to the Crystal Cathedral and it was beautiful. This was my first time ever going, I’d seen it on TV but in person it was astounding. A miracle. We’re standing up on top of this hill inside the church grounds, discussing strategy and catching our breath, I’m exhausted. It’s been about an hour since the crash, I’m pretty spent..and then BOOM. Cop shines his lights on us from about 100 yards away. We drop to the ground and roll down to the bottom of that hill and take off sprinting. We cut through the entire church, through a neighborhood or two and we hit the Santa Ana River bed.
I look down at Daryl’s feet and see that he has no shoes on. This mother fucker is barefoot and has been the entire time. All that running, the fence hopping, everything. Barefoot. I can’t believe that guy man.
Anyway, once we hit the Santa Ana I clean his face up a little and I tell him we gotta split up. I pointed him in the right direction and said, good luck man. I kept up a steady pace and kept on the side streets and got to the apartment about an hour later, it’s about 2am at this point. Savior of the Free World is there at the top of the stairs. He ended up hitching a ride at one of the freeway exits off the 5, he had been waiting at the apartment for hours. Daryl got back an hour after me. His head was covered in lacerations. I pulled 30-40 shards of glass out of his skull with a pair of tweezers. It was grizzly.
The next morning, this is when the fraud comes in, I call the cops and report the truck stolen. I tell Daryl and Steve to take a long walk, the cops show up and interrogate me and eventually decide that the car was stolen.
“Gonna go ahead and call that white privilege.”
“Well, I don’t know, I also kept the faith and was in great shape and all that.”
“It’s white privilege..funny phrase in the context of police chases and fraudulent grand theft auto but yeah, it’s white privilege.”
You kids have all these different phrases now. Call it whatever you want.
Later that day I went to the impound lot where the totaled truck was parked to gather whatever belongings were in the vehicle and as I was walking out with the guy who worked there he said to me, “If it makes you feel any better, the guy who stole it got what he deserved…the whole cab is covered in blood.”
“So you really fucking got away with it?”
“Well…not quite. We bought a brand-new truck with cash; it didn’t have insurance on it yet and a week after buying it, it actually got stolen by a member of MS13. At the recommendation of neighbors we didn’t go after restitution. Karma innit?”
True story , y'all