Hard Head Humbled Harshly

Curtis Taylor Sr., single father of two rambunctious young men, struggled to raise his sons in 1970's Stamford Connecticut. The blue collar town was going through a huge transformation, big business had come to the small city, bringing big money and a more seedier element with it. When the bulldozers rolled in, so did the NY mob. Many a mom and pop shop, local business, the staples of the community, were demolished and replaced with high rises. The Taylor family neighborhood store was one of the historic businesses leveled in the pursuit of progress. Over Twelve- hundred families were displaced to make room for New York bankers and corporate raiders. Curtis and the rest of the business owners were low balled and forced out, before their businesses were demolished. His parents built that business with their bare hands, blood, sweat and tears, working sixty hours a week. Curtis was devastated after losing his wife to cancer five years earlier when the boys were eleven and twelve. She was a God fearing, church going, praying type of girl from birth. When courting her, Curtis knew that to love her meant he had to serve and worship with her too. Eventually he became a devout Christian also, prior to marriage and the birth of their first son, Curtis Jr.. Curtis was glad that his parents and wife weren't alive to see what the town was becoming. The sense of community was being lost to a pile of money, crime and drugs. The local residents didn't share much in the money, but they got all the crime and drugs that they could stomach. It's hard to keep law and order when those charged with upholding the law were causing all of the disorder. The mob had corrupted the local law enforcement and it was rotten to the core. With all of the local businesses gone, jobs dried up. Corporate America wasn't hiring many blue collar workers, lacking in higher learning and credentials. The drug trade offered occupational opportunities for outlaws and outcasts alike. The boys in blue got a chance to play too, moving weight and running their own crew.

There was a murder mystery in 1976; a young lady was tied to a tree and shot with a hunting arrow in a cemetery. Her body was thrown into a shallow grave that left her exposed. Days later, someone visiting the cemetery smelled an awful stench and reported it to the authorities. Her Black drug dealing, abusive boyfriend was the first suspect, coincidentally, he was also a bow hunter. Weeks later, he was killed in a botched robbery attempt. The murder of the young lady went unsolved and rumor has it that she was made an example of. The girl was making a stink about the lack of proceeds she was receiving for drugs sold and threatened to go to the FBI with what she knew. Her boyfriend was in bed with crooked cops and the mob. The young lady's threats of going to the FBI put her at risk and made her boyfriend expendable. It is thought that he was a patsy in her death and eventually set up and eliminated in a fake robbery scheme and scene. Her murder stoked racial tensions in the community, as well as racial profiling, leading to many arrests of young Blacks in Stamford.

Curtis fully understood the transformation his beloved hometown was undergoing and he warned his sons about the dangers. He used the unsolved murder as a cautionary tale and example of what can happen when you get involved in crime and drugs. Sixteen year old Chris was receptive, but his older brother, now eighteen, had always been obtusely belligerent. Curtis Jr. was a defiant boy who lacked in wits, refusing to accept the morals, faith and beliefs given him by his loving parents. They prayed for him nightly, he failed them daily, with a scowl, then sinister smile. Susan Taylor prayed for her husband's strength in her absence, as she lay in hospice care. She understood what harm she caused by never offering her son tough love, instead she coddled him and shielded him from his father's masculine discipline. Sometimes the love of a mother can smother, inhibiting growth, trying to shelter baby from life. Curtis attempted to be stern, offering the boys structure and boundaries. Curtis proudly served in his love's place as an elder in their home church, once she returned home to be with our Father. He insisted that his sons attend church every Sunday that he attended. Chris enjoyed Sunday service. After graduating from Sunday School, he joined the church choir and was eventually asked to sing solos. The boy was Blessed with a beautiful voice; the congregation was moved and the spirit flowed.

Curtis Jr. didn't care for church and he ducked out whenever he could, he'd leave early with friends and beat his father home. Caught and exposed by younger sibling, smoking with his buddies in the backyard. Curtis Sr., thoroughly disappointed and distraught, prayed for guidance on how to deal with his wayward son. He found the words, the boy was receptive, a change was soon to come. Father and son drove to a local fast food restaurant the next day for lunch, and son left with an application. A week later he was employed and proud to make his father happy. Father was happy to have a reason to be proud of his eldest son. Two and a half years later, Curtis Jr. became a manager at age twenty-one. Again, father was extremely proud. Curtis Jr. served in the church, side by side with his father, eventually becoming a deacon. It would seem that he had truly turned his life around.

Chris was growing up too, unfortunately, he was growing out of the God fearing, sweet kid he used to be. Now, a community college drop out, he formed a band and was playing local gigs at night clubs and dive bars. Some of these venues were known for drug transactions and general criminal activity. One in particular, Barratos, was especially violent. Barratos was owned by the mob; Curtis urged Chris to never go to that dangerous place. Chris laughed, and said that his father was paranoid. An hour later, he was off with his “band mates”. The night life, Chris had grown to love, and all of the treats that it offered, sex drugs and rock and roll. Chris no longer wanted to simply sing; he wanted to party like a rock star! Curtis Jr., fully aware of his brother's descent into debauchery, offered him cautionary words of wisdom. Chris mocked his brother, just as he did his father, refusing their instruction, never responding to their rebuke. Father and son arrived at Barratos to retrieve their youngest and deliver him to safety, from himself. They learned that Chris wasn't performing, his band broke up months earlier. He was just hanging out, getting high, his brother thought that he was just drinking and smoking. Chris had unfortunately fallen for the same vice as many musicians before him, eventually destroying his band. In a dingy back room, slumped on a filthy floor, they found him, needle still in arm. The golden boy with the golden voice, sang no more. So quickly had this all happened, a dozen months of destruction and Chris was now done. Two brothers, rolls reversed, now one sits in a pew, another driven away in a hearse. God Bless his soul.