Standing Tall in Times Square

He came over to me, smacked me in the face, and told me never to lie on a fellow police officer. That made me more confused. If I wasn’t with the housing officer and the other four guys, then it had to be the other Wednesday, when I went to the bank and withdrew $40 so that I could purchase a bike a friend was selling. The detectives didn’t want to believe anything I had to say. The only thing they were concerned with was finding evidence to use against me when I went to court. After they questioned me, they called in the assistant district attorney (ADA) to question me about the murder. I believe his name was Gallo. He gave me a little more information about what was going on. Gallo first asked me the same questions the detectives asked me. Then he asked me if I knew Joseph Hartman. Wow, Joseph Hartman! I knew him as Jo Jo. We grew up together. He knew my whole family, and I knew his. We went to public school together. Jo Jo was a little older than I; he was in the same age group as my brother. When I was sixteen, Jo Jo and I and four others were arrested for a small-time robbery on school grounds. The court gave each of us five years’ probation. That crime took place in 1974 but played a big role in why I was being charged with murder. At that time, none of this made any sense. I was twenty-one years old, but mentally I may have been on a third-grade level. I couldn’t read or write. I was so scared and confused I didn’t know what to do. ADA Gallo said Jo Jo supposedly claimed I was with him on the day of the murder. I told the ADA if Jo Jo told him that, he was a liar. ADA Gallo was confusing me even more. I was sure he was trying to intimidate me so I would cooperate with him. He was trying to get me to incriminate myself, so he could use everything I said against me in court. He was a smooth guy. The only thing he was concerned with was getting a conviction when he took me in front of the judge. As I mentioned before, I had to remember what I was doing two Wednesdays before. When I told ADA Gallo about the two stories, he tried to use it against me. He kept telling me I was lying, but I stuck to my story. Finally, he charged me with murder in the second degree. The detectives took me to central booking, where I was fingerprinted. They took my picture and did the paperwork so I could appear in court the next day. The detectives then took me to the Brooklyn House of Detention, where I was locked up for a murder I did not commit. As soon as I got the opportunity, I called my friend, the housing police officer. He told me no detective called him and verified I was with him and the others on June 13, 1979. I was so mad! Let me back up little. ADA Gallo told me this was a drug-related murder. Jo Jo and I were allegedly looking for drugs and ran into a guy named Marty, who was selling us drugs. I guess Marty said Jo Jo didn’t have enough money, and Jo Jo told Marty he would be back. A half hour later, Jo Jo and I allegedly came back to buy the drugs. I later learned Jo Jo was hanging out with my brother that day. After the murder, someone identified Jo Jo at the scene of the crime. This witness said he knew Jo Jo and gave a description of the other person he saw with him that day. But I had stopped hanging out with Jo Jo back in 1974, after we were arrested as teenagers.

My Upbringing I grew up in one the roughest neighborhoods in New York City—Fort Greene, Brooklyn. My mother had seven boys and five girls. Hamilton was my mother’s married name, and Murray was my mother’s maiden name. Carolyn, Barbara, Debra, Michael, Anthony, and Jerome were Hamiltons. Calvin, Darlene, Steve, Cathy, Joseph, and I were Murrays. Everyone in the neighborhood knew my family, especially my brothers, because they were all fighters. My mother was a very strong woman. To raise seven boys and five girls, she had to be. I remember my mother in the kitchen all day long. Everything was going, all the eyes on the stove burning and gospel music playing. She would be singing one minute and yelling at us the next. Everyone had to be home by the time the streetlights came on. If you weren’t home by then, you wouldn’t eat for the night. Yes, we all tried sneaking in the kitchen when we thought Mama was sleeping. Her room was right below the kitchen and the floors were squeaky, so she heard everything that went on in there. She got out of her bed to enforce the no-kitchen rule, it was that important. My mother didn’t take mess from any of us. Everybody was scared of her, because she was a no-nonsense person. She didn’t play games. She would pick up the closest thing to her and bust you in the head with it. I remember one day when I spoke back to Mama. I guess I was trying her because I thought I was grown. She picked up a broom and knocked me upside my head. That was the last time I spoke back to Mama in that tone. Mama was really hard on me, because she thought I was the slick one who got away with a lot. My brother Steve and I looked so much alike growing up that Mama used to mistake him for me. Steve used to take my beatings, because I switched beds with him when I knew Mama was going to come after me when I did something wrong. Sure enough, Mama would try to sneak up those stairs. I always knew when she was coming up those stairs, because I heard those squeaky stairs. I immediately hid in the bathroom. The next thing I heard was Steve crying, because Mama beat him instead of me. Steve and I laugh about that all the time now. My mother was a beautiful woman and my role model. Even if she wasn’t my mother, I would have picked her as one by a long shot. She was my mother and father. I learned so such from her. She taught all of us how to cook, iron, wash clothes, and clean. Cleaning wasn’t just my sisters’ chore. The boys cleaned whatever Mama told us to clean. We washed dishes, went to the Laundromat, and ironed our clothes for school. But the worse chore was picking up the welfare food. No one wanted to pick up that food because it was embarrassing. The whole neighborhood would know you were on welfare. So when it was time to pick up the food, we hooked the cart like we were going to the Laundromat. We really thought people didn’t know we were going to pick up the welfare food. Yes, Mama taught me well. I didn’t understand it growing up. But I certainly understand her teachings now. She was a determined, hardworking, and strong woman. I never saw Mama weak or cry in any situation. She was something else. Mama saw I had that same strength, because I never gave up. I didn’t get into the drugs so many guys my age were involved in at that time.