A teenage gang comes of age in the 1960s Bronx. Written when the author was twenty-four, this story was the basis for a major feature film. The Wanderers A Novel By Richard Price Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company Copyright © 1974 Richard Price All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-0-395-97774-3 Contents Title Page, Contents, Copyright, Dedication, Epigraph, The Warlord, The Party, The Game, The Roof, The Love Song of Buddy Borsalino, Super Stud, The Death of Hang On Sloopy, Perry — Days of Rage, The Funeral, The Hustlers, Buddy Borsalino's Wedding Day, Coda: The Rape, About the Author, CHAPTER 1 The Warlord There he was in Big Playground. Richie Gennaro. Seventeen. High Warlord of the Wanderers. Surrounded by the Warlords of the Rays, Pharaohs, and the Executioners. Touchy allies. Tense convention. Issue at hand — "We gotta stop them niggers." "Do you think the Fordham Baldies would fight wit' us?" "Man, if we get them Baldies it's all over." "Yeah, but don't forget them Wongs. Them Chinks know judo." "No Chink judo chop can stop this!" "Hey, put that back! Jeez, you wanna get us busted!" "Hey — how about them Lester Avenue guys?" "Nah, they're fuckin' killers." "They jus' as soon kill one a us as a nigger." "I heard the Del-Bombers is comin' in wit' the Pips 'cause Clinton Stitch got a cousin in the Bombers." "Ever notice how spades got two million cousins all over the country?" "Del-Bombers ... shit ... that's bad." "Now we gotta get the Baldies." "Antone — you know Joey DiMassi, doncha?" "Yeah." "Whyncha go over to Fordham tonight with Gennaro an' see if you can get to talk wit' the Baldies." "Awright." Richie felt uneasy with Antone. The Wanderers and the Pharaohs often rumbled, and this emergency peace was only temporary. What if Antone, tonight, while they were waiting for the train pushed Richie on the el tracks? The Pharaohs knew that Richie was the vital spark, the cold logical mind behind the Wanderer war machine. Richie knew that if he was a Pharaoh and he had the chance he would surely push the Wanderer Warlord into the path of an oncoming train. Maybe they should take a cab. The meeting was adjourned. "So you wanna go wit' me to see DiMassi tonight?" "Awright." "I'll meet you here about ten, O.K.?" "Sure, you wanna hop a cab?" Antone shrugged, he eyed Richie suspiciously. "Ah look ... I dunno if I got the dough for a cab." "Awright, we'll see." "Later." "Later." After everyone had gone back to their candy stores, deserted lots, or playgrounds, Richie sat down on a bench and scribbled out a score sheet. US THEM WANDERERS (GINNY) 27 PIPS (NIGGER)50 PHARAOHS (GINNY) 28 CAVALIERS (NIGGER) 30 RAYS (IRISH) 42 DELBOMBERS (NIGGER) 36 EXECUTIONERS (POLACK) 30 MAUMAU(NIGGER) 40 FORDHAM BALDIES (MIXED) 40 WONGS (CHINK)27 LESTER AVE. (VERY GINNY) 50 Except for the Lester Avenue boys it was pretty even. Richie had to figure out how to get them involved without having them turn on the allies. They hated the niggers but they also hated everybody else. The Lester Avenue gang was older. Maybe twenty-one on the average. Comparing the other North Bronx gangs to the Lester Avenue boys was like comparing the Coast Guard to the marines. The other gangs had a few rumbles; every once in a while some guy would have his jaw busted or need a couple of stitches, but the guys on Lester Avenue were all ex-cons or Mob punks. Last year the heads of their gang, Louie and Jackie Palaya, were up on murder raps but had Mob lawyers fix a deal. The only other gang worth being scared of was the Fordham Baldies, who were so fucking insane that they shaved their heads so their hair wouldn't get in their eyes in a fight. They were older too. About eighteen on the average. The toughest guy in the Baldies was Terror, a huge cross-eyed monster who even beat up on his own gang when they weren't fighting anyone else. But even he knew better than to fuck with the puniest guy on Lester Avenue. They'd come down like vigilantes and tear up the whole Fordham area, and they'd go down like that night after night until Terror gave himself up. Then a kangaroo court in some basement and even money Terror would be found in the trunk of a deserted car out in Hunt's Point the next week. Richie thought about the opposition. Most of the time he couldn't figure niggers out. He once took a prejudice quiz in a comic book, and he had all the right answers except for the question, "Do Negroes smell different?" He checked yes, and the upside-down answer key said the answer was no. But that was bullshit because he knew they did. As long as he could remember his mother had warned him about coons and razors and knives and going into empty elevators with niggers because niggers would just as soon cut your balls off and pawn them for dope or booze as look at you. One fact that he knew was true was that if you go into a building where most of the tenants are niggers, either the hallway or the e