People in my Life

This New Year's day of 2021 will mark the 30th anniversary of the violent murder of my brother, Joseph Vincent Hulse. Around 12:15 am, January 1st, 1991, a coward brought a gun to a fist fight. He also brought along a couple carloads of friends armed with golf clubs and baseball bats. My brother was only 20 when he died but he had an old soul and I always viewed him as an adult. He was only 6 years older than me but light years more mature.

Joey was well known in the neighborhood I began hanging out in the year or two before his untimely death. He had forbid me to go over there, unless I was with him, so when I finally made some friends from around there he would punch me in the arm when he saw me and tell me to, "Get the fuck back on the other side of Frankford Ave! Now!" And I'd run off and hide for a few minutes and then go find my friends.

I can remember one of my first times walking down Amber street with a friend and one of the legends of A+Y, (most of the guys that hung at Amber and all had reputations and one was as tough as the next, some tougher), he comes out of a house just as we're walking by and I hear the guy yell to us, "You young bucks are lucky by boys little brother is with you or I'd kick your fucking asses." It took me a minute to realize that he was referring to me! It meant a lot to me that I was "Hulse's little brother" (they pronounced his nickname Hultz or Hultzy). I grew up initially having a few friends at a time. As I got older, I would find a best friend and we'd hang out. But we were always loners. Being in a small community and being the younger brother of Joey Hulse felt like a second home and a permanent village. One memory that is tattooed into my brain is the sight of seeing Joey and his girlfriend, Dawn, walking towards me with my 2 year old niece walking with them and my infant nephew in a coach. I wish I had a camera. The picture was perfect. I hadn't seen Joey in a while because he went to live with relatives in Delaware as an attempt to get his life straightened out. He had come home to be with his children. That was autumn of 1990. Another is seeing him riding a four wheeler in the snow and asking him if was coming to our house for the family party. He said he was but he never did. We'll leave here for a bit and I will go backwards to the end.

Joey was in Delaware because he had always been troubled and was also the cause of major trouble. He was a nefarious gold chain snatcher. He never backed down from a fight. He fought 5 people at the same time more than once. He didn't win them all but that's the type of heart Joey possessed. Crack cocaine was at its height and my brother was not immune. He had his daughter but was away for her birth, which was a miracle in itself. Alicia was born with double pneumonia and it was touch and go for at least a week. To be fair, I was a snot nosed brat at the time and was more of the fair haired child. Anyway, Joey is released, meets his daughter and is presented with an opportunity to move to Delaware, get a job, make a spot for his family and bring them there. I believe he knew that that place in Kensington is fraught with peril and I believe he wanted a different life for his family, but what do I know. Dawn and Alicia go to visit him and Dawn gets pregnant with baby Joe. She returns to Philadelphia and after giving birth to baby Joe, she refuses to go back to Delaware. She had sisters and brothers and friends and she apparently didn't like Delaware. She was a city girl, and she was young, and there was a lot of excitement back in Kensington.

So, September 28th, 1990, baby Joe was born and my brother Joey decided to move back to Philadelphia. At this point, Joey is estranged from my mom and dad, Joey's stepfather. I won't divulge family secrets but I will say that Joey wore out his welcome at his own home.

My best educated guess is my brother felt betrayed by his own father and at some point he made friends with kids that were also acting out for whatever reason. These friends turn out to be the Amber and York boys and for whatever reason, Joey becomes not only a juvenile delinquent but a thief as well. There were also allegations of posing as male prostitutes only to rob the John blind. Any time I asked Joey why he went to jail he would tell me that it was for fighting. So, to me, he fought a lot! He was definitely feared by some. The phrase, "I'll get my brother Joey Hulse to kick your ass became my biggest threat as a child".

My brother went Juvey Hall and various disciplinary detention facilities for various crimes. Joey also had to do Vision Quest, which is like the next step to jail for a teenager because he can't follow rules or whatever. Vision Quest is a wagon train for young men in trouble with the law. They wagon train up and down the East coast, from Maine to Florida. Summer in Maine, winter in Florida. Back and forth. Sounds nice, doesn't it. Well, not for them. The kids in the program were responsible for everything, from pitching large teepees for lodging, to digging latrines, caring for the horses, meals, all of it. The adults taught them then stood back and supervised.

Joey mastered Vision Quest and was sent onto Ocean Quest, where he learned to be a deck man. The kid had it all. He was good looking, smart, tough. For most of my life with him I viewed him as an adult.

I remember one time that I was on a Septa bus on my way to school and my cousin through marriage, Brandon Mullen, (another amazing soul gone too soon but his story is being written), gets on the bus to head to school. I went to Mastbaum high school at the time and Brandon attended North Catholic high school, both schools right off of Frankford ave but a few miles apart. We start talking and he says to me, "On the way to the bus I saw a homeless guy sleeping in a car in front of Patti Green's house on Huntington Avenue. I was about to knock on the window and tell the dude to beat it!" Well, later that day I leave school for lunch and Joey was living with my Aunt close to my school. So I knock up and Joey answers. We're sitting there just talking and he says to me, "Man, I can smell Vodka coming out of my pores! I got so drunk last night I passed out in a car in front of Patti Green's house." I started laughing and I told him about Brandon and what he said and Joey got a good laugh out of it.

My childhood with my brother was not too bad. Our parents and aunts and uncles on my mom's side of the family would go on vacation for a week at Wildwood, NJ. I can't remember exactly when but I remember my dad nicknaming Joey, 'Hap', short for happy, because he always seemed unhappy.

We moved to the Kensington area of Philadelphia around 1980. Before that, we lived in a little neighborhood so Joey would take me out to play with all the kids in that little area. They were remarkable days. I wasn't yet 5 years old but I was allowed to run the lay of the land. Me and Joey used to buy wrestling magazines and him and his friends dubbed me little Bob Backlund because I looked almost exactly like his miniature. He taught me how to play sports, something we shared a love of, especially football. We'd quiz each other late at night on the head coach and quarterback of the NFL teams poster we had hanging between his Blizzard of Oz and Diary of a Madman spooky posters. He'd tell me that Ozzy was in the closet and that he was going to get me. Joey aslo had the Kiss action figures. The kid transcended coolness. I would listen to his Bad Company cassette. We had a lot of fun as kids. Sucks that we had to grow up. But I guess that's life.

After we moved to Kensington, Joey got tired of dragging his little brother around with him. I took solace in TV, playing with The Cumberland street crew and just being a kid. Joey did take me with him and showed me how to sell fresh pretzels. One dollar would get you ten fresh pretzels. You wrap them in a towel and hustle to sell them for a quarter a piece. Sell all ten, a dollar fifty profit and another buck for 10 more pretzels and repeat.

He never really gave me lessons about how to fight except to beat the shit out of me now and then. He loved to torture me. Joey once came outside of our house to call me from up the street to tell me that our mom was on the phone. I run all the way down the block and into the house to see the receiver of the phone still on its post. I said, " I thought mommy was on the phone?" He replied that he lied, that he wanted me to make him a sandwich. Even as a kid I had the common sense to know that the energy that he just put into calling me from the other end of the block could have been used to make himself the actual fucking sandwich! I told him so and he chased me out of the house only to me making him stumble in public therefore intensifying the beating. As I stood in the kitchen, crying and bleeding and making my brother a friend ham and cheese, I realized that he was my idol. Funny how those things happen.

And so, we come back to a foul deed of cowardice. The story I'm bout to tell is never an easy one to tell, and I say to myself that it has been a long time, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that it kills me to share. But share it I shall. Because there needs to be a record of it somewhere. This story comes from direct testimony, obviously paraphrased, but I am telling it from my memory of the key witness that convicted my brother's murderer.

Here we go. So it's December 31st, 1990, about 11PM or so. As I previously stated, the crack epidemic was at its peak. The Amber and York guys were not immune. The story goes as such: Joey and a couple of his buddies were heading over to what we referred to "the land" or "the badlands " to score and ring in the new year. At Coral and Hagert, what used to be Bru's Bar, they ran into some friends of the family. It turns out that a friend of our aunt was in the bar and she asked her boyfriend, Ray, whose sister Missy also hung in that neighborhood, to give the guys a ride to save them a slightly dangerous walking trip. Ray agrees and they all pile on his car.

Apparently, Ray and his girlfriend were arguing the whole trip. When they get to the land, Joey and another go to buy the drugs. As they return to the car, they first hear and then see Ray and his girlfriend screaming at each other!! Smack dab in the middle of the badlands!! Joey and his friends start telling them to cut this shit out before they get them all robbed, shot or arrested. So they return to the car but now Ray is really angry. He starts mumbling about nobody tells him what to do with his own car and my brother, ever the antagonizer and giddy from scoring, he starts teasing Ray and smacking him in the back of the head. (This was an annoyance that he practiced on me for years.) He had served his purpose so Joey and company felt comfortable messing with him because they were basically annoyed and done with this dude.

Ray pulls the car over a few blocks from Kensington high school and tells everyone to get out. They exchange words but as Joey and company walk away a few steps they realize that Ray is back on foot coming up behind them holding a baseball bat behind his back. They easily took his bat from him and smashed his car windows with it. He jumps back and the car and takes off.

Joey and company laugh and screw around as they walk to Kensington high school. They did what they went to do and then headed up to Amber and York as midnight approaches. They make it their just as the ball drops and its 1991. Everybody is celebrating and hugging one another. Just as this community's showing of love is finishing up, two or three car loads of guys with weapons skid up and jump out, out of nowhere. Amber and York boys scatter. One of my good friends got caught and was beaten half to death. Mikey Conway's life almost ended and left him crippled.

Meanwhile, Ray and his sister chase Joey west down York street. The witness stated that he was hiding across the street behind a car when he saw my brother on the other side stop running, turned to face his pursuers and put his fists in the air. He told Ray to put the gun down and settle it like a man. Ray answers by shooting him in his leg, dropping him to the pavement. He then walked over to where he just cowardly shot a man. He blasts another round into my brother's ass. And to top it all off, he blasts a round into his head, point blank range.

He then runs off, get on the elevated train, shoots a round into the ceiling in celebration and then goes on the run for the next 10 months. When the cops do find him, he's hiding in a clothes chest and jumped up with a knife until the Philadelphia police put 12 bullets into him. And of course he lives. He threatens the main witness, in court, showed bo remorse but was found guilty to murder in the 3rd degree and weapons violation and is sentenced to 17½-35 years. I won't get into how fucked up that sentence and conviction was. It was clearly premeditated, he showed no remorse afterwards, the evidence being him shooting the el train roof and then hiding. He also didn't surrender but tried to assault the arresting officers. His sister, who stood next to her brother while he murdered mine, received a not guilty for aiding and abetting. A family member makes it to every parole hearing except the one they forgot to notify us about and he received work release after 18 years.

Word is that jail wasn't kind to Ray. I don't know details but I heard that he had to use a colostomy bag for most of his time there after running into one of Joey's friends upstate. He told the state's main witness that he still has a bullet for him but he somehow receives leniency from the judge.

Well, he is awarded work release and goes home to hug his family again, working to become an upstanding citizen. Then, couldn't have been 90 days out, Ray, the destroyer of a family, overdoses and dies, can I get an Amen? I am sorry, Lord, if that offends, but that's how I felt. I used to fantasize about exacting justice, many ways, but it never occurred to me until that incident that God settles all bets. I was literally dumbfounded. I forgave Ray for his destruction but I will never forget.

In another part of the world, just a few blocks away, my mom and dad were hosting what would become one of the last New Years parties, the last at my house. Two of Joey's friends showed up around 12:45 am, two guys that I knew and were tough dudes, but they were hysterically crying as they broke the news to our family.

We all went to the hospital but my mom and dad identified him and that was that, or so they say. I just remember being in a fog. I went to bed and woke up a few hours later. I could still hear the crying from down stairs so I got dressed and went out. I walked to Amber and York and to the pavement where the stains were made by my brother's killer. I broke down crying hysterically and my friends found me and nursed me. I believed that by having lost my one brother by blood that I received 100 or more brothers and sisters.

Joey would be 50 years old this year. I often wonder what it would have been like if this, that or the other happened. I wonder how different I would be, or his kids, or his parents. Who knows? I sure don't. My life took a dark turn following the trauma of losing my hero. I went to a varsity starter offensive lineman for Mastbaum to a juvenile delinquent within the year. I used every excuse I could, too. I blamed everyone else and thought by destroying myself that I'd punish Whoever was at fault. It took me quite a while to see the man in the mirror creating all this ruckus.

I went on to start a family only to overwhelm myself while burying my grief deep inside. But I came out the other side. For that, I am grateful. I'm still not where I'd like to be but I suppose I am right where I should be. I'm not the man I want to be either. Bitterness threatens my peace of mind. I struggle with jealousy, tolerance and being social, although I crave it. But that's my dilemma. Maybe the trauma of my youth wasn't the main cause for my mental health issues but that's just the selfishness in me trying to put me at the center of the universe.

Every year people gather at the wall after midnight to toast my brother. He was definitely a memorable person who will stay forever young. I'm going to do my best to visit his wall this New Year's eve. As you can imagine, celebrating a new year becomes difficult when that's the reminder of a great loss. I didn't mention that my brother and my father butted heads more than once during our youth. That bothered me for so long until I realized that we are all just doing the best we can in any given situation. They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I believe that. Differences aside, my father passed away in 2007. He passed on my brother's birthday, June 19th, and, they share the same burial plot, for all of eternity.

I'll end this with another true story. I did an 18 month stint in Delaware county jail for probation violations. I was picked up on January 23rd, 2006 one day after my dad's 61st birthday. I wound up getting my max out (release date) for June 29th, 2007. So, I was in jail when I lost my dad. Just as important, I heard the song, Three Little Birds, by Bob Marley for the first time ever that morning when I turned on the radio. I listened and cried and took it as a coincidence. I went back into my hut a few hours later, turned the radio on, and it was like I pushed play or just dropped the needle onto the vinyl, Three Little Birds, begins to play from the beginning. Now I start to think there's something more going on. The song ends and I'm called to the counselor's office to hear my mom tell me what I already knew in my heart. I never felt so low. I couldn't even be a comfort to my mom. I go back to my cell and sit in silence for who knows how long. I decide to put the radio on. And guess what? Three little friggin birds were sitting beside the fellow's door step, their melodies pure and true, singing, this my message to you-hoo-hoo. Don't worry about a thing. Everything little thing was going to be alright. Never heard the song in my life and I hear it beginning to end three times on the same day that my brother was born in 1970 and my father had passed in 2007. Most of the people I tell that to just nod politely. But it was so profound to me.

I only spent less than 14 years, counting from my birth to his death, with my living brother, but the imprint he left behind could never be filled or forgotten. I have had very vivid dreams of him, and when I am in dream or wake from it feeling like he never really left. I'm pretty sure he gave me a Benny Hill or ten during the first few dreams because I couldn't stop crying and he would say something to the effect of knock it off, I didn't go anywhere so stop crying like a baby. That was my brother.