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Baby Insane and the Buddha
An account of the undoing of a San Diego street gang describes how a once well-respected gang member eager to do the right thing helped a charismatic detective infiltrate the Crips. 25,000 first printing. $25,000 ad/promo. Tour.
370 pages, Hardcover
First published December 1, 1992
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May 20, 2024
A CHRONICLE OF STREET GANGS, AND HOW ONE WAS STOPPED
Journalist Bob Sipchen wrote in the ‘Author’s Note’ section of this 1993 book, “The events in [this book] were reconstructed, based on information obtained from thousands of pages of court records, other official documents and media accounts, and from extensive interviews with more than one hundred sources. The people who appear in this book are all real. I have changed some names, and in some instances, I’ve used only the street names of gang members mentioned. There are no composites and no ‘characters’ are invented. Many of the conversations in the book occurred when I was not present. In places, the dialogue comes directly from transcripts or recordings. Elsewhere, however, I’ve reconstructed what was said, attempting to make it true to the circumstances as described by those who were there. Both cop patois and gang slang are fluid, changing day by day. Some of the terminology I attempted to approximate in this book has already been replaced. I use dialect selectively. Readers should be advised that while FBI agents were helpful in some aspects of this story, the agency in San Diego refused to discuss their involvement with Kevin Glass, and the U.S. Marshals Service, as a matter of policy, does not discuss those who are accepted into the witness security program.”
He explains, “Los Angeles’s earliest black gangs… evolved from the criminal subculture of the urban East. In the 1920s, members of a family … that lived near … Central Avenue in Los Angeles, began calling themselves the Boozie gang, and… began committing crimes… in the early seventies---so one story goes---a young man named Raymond Washington---aka ‘Pookie’---pulled together a loosely knit group of young inner-city blacks from Washington High School. How they got the name Crips is lost in the haze of oral history… By most accounts, the Crips launched their criminal careers by jack-rolling students at their high school for lunch money, and … rat-packing them---for fun. Soon though, they began branching out… The new black gang decided its members would wear blue… Ruthlessness became a binding value, demonstrated by one original member who used a butcher knife to carve the word CRIPS into the stomach of a rival.” (Pg. 32-33)
He recounts, “Kevin [Glass, aka ‘Baby Insane’] first heard stories about YA [Youth Authority]---‘the gladiator school’---from older Hoodsters. ‘Say you’ve got twenty … there in your unit… Out of those twenty, you gotta figure eight of them is in for murder.. They’s as cold-blooded killas as anyone you ever meet in Quentin or the ‘Dad… Another ten of those twenty probably [hurt] someone up real bad, just didn’t quite push ‘em over the edge… Young and wild and stupid, and nothing means more to them than their reputation.” (Pg. 80)
A police officer told him, “One thing you should know... a lot of cops, a lot of sheriffs, think it’s a waste of time to look into biker-versus-biker crimes. They figure, ‘another scumbag dusted, one less we have to bust.’” (Pg. 107)
He explains, “California’s prison gangs, like its street gangs, rose from the barrios. The first-known gang emerged when thirteen gang members from Southern California joined forces at Deuel Vocational Institution… On the streets of east Los Angeles, the gang bangers had been enemies. But within the institution, where most racial tension was life-threatening, the cholos decided to stick together for La Raza, the race. They called themselves the Mexican Mafia… In 1965, Northern California Latinos in Soledad created a second Hispanic gang, Nuestra Familia. About the same time, black inmates…came together under the name of the Black Guerilla Family, and the Aryan Brotherhood… also congealed… Each of the organizations became well organized, and developed a hierarchy and a violent code of enforcement spread throughout the penal system. Gang members used graffiti to assert power just as they used it to assert turf claims on the outside.” (Pg. 146-147)
He notes, “At first, rock spread through the ‘Hood as a social phenomenon. If someone had a few hits, he’d share it, if not, everyone would chip in and pick up a stash, and the homies would party, Crippin’ and smoking through the night. But rock was as pleasant an experience as some people in the Southeast had every known, and it didn’t take long for someone to elevate its brief euphoria to a central place in their daily concerns. As the rock-cocaine trade continued to flourish, the old loyalties were often lost to an almost corporate-style Machiavellianism, the gangster ideal of ‘having heart’ was gradually subjugated to the bottom line.” (Pg.194-195)
He records, “For several months after she met Kevin, Wendy continued to catch glimpses of his gangsta life. The guilty thrill tantalized the budding rebel within her. She liked the way people would subtly back away as they passed on the sidewalk. It gave her a peculiar sense of power to see women clutch their purses and look away when they walked into a McDonald’s.” (Pg. 235-236)
He reports, “A while back a sergeant from the Compton police department spoke to a meeting of detectives. Someone asked him what went wrong up here. How did a modern city get to the point where several hundred people were being gunned down a year in gang violence? He said, ‘We waited twenty years too long to do anything.’ Now street gangs are everywhere. And the violence is going to get worse. Much worse. To capture criminals, you’ve got to understand them. Once you do, you’ve got a valuable weapon.’” (Pg. 241)
He states, “Now Kevin reminded Wendy of that night. ‘Those records made me think… What Aunty Katherine said’s true---in one way or another all black people here are brothers. All this gang-banging… it makes you think, ‘Damn, why am I killing my brothers?’” (Pg. 265)
Two police officers say of the Buddha [Detective Patrick Flannigan Birse], “Buddha’s great at making you feel good about yourself.’ … ‘But that kind of pitch really works with these ghetto guys, these guys who have never had a break. Cops always think, in cases like this, that you’re gotta have something hanging over the guy’s head. But… You can’t force a guy. You can’t. He may do something for you, snitch off someone to get a favor or a break, but he’s not going to do a great project. Kevin absolutely loves that stroking Buddha gives him. He’s succeeding in something. His whole life, he's had probation officers, psychologists, judges, prosecutors, telling him he’s a hopeless case, a nobody, a loser, with no future. Now he’s got guys saying, ‘You’re great. You’re so good at this. You’re the center of the team. We can’t do it without you. You teach us something every day.’ That kind of thing. The Buddha gives him two hours of cassettes a night. He loves it.” … “He’s sincere… You can’t fake sincerity.” (Pg. 315)
This book will be of keen interest to those studying street gangs.
Journalist Bob Sipchen wrote in the ‘Author’s Note’ section of this 1993 book, “The events in [this book] were reconstructed, based on information obtained from thousands of pages of court records, other official documents and media accounts, and from extensive interviews with more than one hundred sources. The people who appear in this book are all real. I have changed some names, and in some instances, I’ve used only the street names of gang members mentioned. There are no composites and no ‘characters’ are invented. Many of the conversations in the book occurred when I was not present. In places, the dialogue comes directly from transcripts or recordings. Elsewhere, however, I’ve reconstructed what was said, attempting to make it true to the circumstances as described by those who were there. Both cop patois and gang slang are fluid, changing day by day. Some of the terminology I attempted to approximate in this book has already been replaced. I use dialect selectively. Readers should be advised that while FBI agents were helpful in some aspects of this story, the agency in San Diego refused to discuss their involvement with Kevin Glass, and the U.S. Marshals Service, as a matter of policy, does not discuss those who are accepted into the witness security program.”
He explains, “Los Angeles’s earliest black gangs… evolved from the criminal subculture of the urban East. In the 1920s, members of a family … that lived near … Central Avenue in Los Angeles, began calling themselves the Boozie gang, and… began committing crimes… in the early seventies---so one story goes---a young man named Raymond Washington---aka ‘Pookie’---pulled together a loosely knit group of young inner-city blacks from Washington High School. How they got the name Crips is lost in the haze of oral history… By most accounts, the Crips launched their criminal careers by jack-rolling students at their high school for lunch money, and … rat-packing them---for fun. Soon though, they began branching out… The new black gang decided its members would wear blue… Ruthlessness became a binding value, demonstrated by one original member who used a butcher knife to carve the word CRIPS into the stomach of a rival.” (Pg. 32-33)
He recounts, “Kevin [Glass, aka ‘Baby Insane’] first heard stories about YA [Youth Authority]---‘the gladiator school’---from older Hoodsters. ‘Say you’ve got twenty … there in your unit… Out of those twenty, you gotta figure eight of them is in for murder.. They’s as cold-blooded killas as anyone you ever meet in Quentin or the ‘Dad… Another ten of those twenty probably [hurt] someone up real bad, just didn’t quite push ‘em over the edge… Young and wild and stupid, and nothing means more to them than their reputation.” (Pg. 80)
A police officer told him, “One thing you should know... a lot of cops, a lot of sheriffs, think it’s a waste of time to look into biker-versus-biker crimes. They figure, ‘another scumbag dusted, one less we have to bust.’” (Pg. 107)
He explains, “California’s prison gangs, like its street gangs, rose from the barrios. The first-known gang emerged when thirteen gang members from Southern California joined forces at Deuel Vocational Institution… On the streets of east Los Angeles, the gang bangers had been enemies. But within the institution, where most racial tension was life-threatening, the cholos decided to stick together for La Raza, the race. They called themselves the Mexican Mafia… In 1965, Northern California Latinos in Soledad created a second Hispanic gang, Nuestra Familia. About the same time, black inmates…came together under the name of the Black Guerilla Family, and the Aryan Brotherhood… also congealed… Each of the organizations became well organized, and developed a hierarchy and a violent code of enforcement spread throughout the penal system. Gang members used graffiti to assert power just as they used it to assert turf claims on the outside.” (Pg. 146-147)
He notes, “At first, rock spread through the ‘Hood as a social phenomenon. If someone had a few hits, he’d share it, if not, everyone would chip in and pick up a stash, and the homies would party, Crippin’ and smoking through the night. But rock was as pleasant an experience as some people in the Southeast had every known, and it didn’t take long for someone to elevate its brief euphoria to a central place in their daily concerns. As the rock-cocaine trade continued to flourish, the old loyalties were often lost to an almost corporate-style Machiavellianism, the gangster ideal of ‘having heart’ was gradually subjugated to the bottom line.” (Pg.194-195)
He records, “For several months after she met Kevin, Wendy continued to catch glimpses of his gangsta life. The guilty thrill tantalized the budding rebel within her. She liked the way people would subtly back away as they passed on the sidewalk. It gave her a peculiar sense of power to see women clutch their purses and look away when they walked into a McDonald’s.” (Pg. 235-236)
He reports, “A while back a sergeant from the Compton police department spoke to a meeting of detectives. Someone asked him what went wrong up here. How did a modern city get to the point where several hundred people were being gunned down a year in gang violence? He said, ‘We waited twenty years too long to do anything.’ Now street gangs are everywhere. And the violence is going to get worse. Much worse. To capture criminals, you’ve got to understand them. Once you do, you’ve got a valuable weapon.’” (Pg. 241)
He states, “Now Kevin reminded Wendy of that night. ‘Those records made me think… What Aunty Katherine said’s true---in one way or another all black people here are brothers. All this gang-banging… it makes you think, ‘Damn, why am I killing my brothers?’” (Pg. 265)
Two police officers say of the Buddha [Detective Patrick Flannigan Birse], “Buddha’s great at making you feel good about yourself.’ … ‘But that kind of pitch really works with these ghetto guys, these guys who have never had a break. Cops always think, in cases like this, that you’re gotta have something hanging over the guy’s head. But… You can’t force a guy. You can’t. He may do something for you, snitch off someone to get a favor or a break, but he’s not going to do a great project. Kevin absolutely loves that stroking Buddha gives him. He’s succeeding in something. His whole life, he's had probation officers, psychologists, judges, prosecutors, telling him he’s a hopeless case, a nobody, a loser, with no future. Now he’s got guys saying, ‘You’re great. You’re so good at this. You’re the center of the team. We can’t do it without you. You teach us something every day.’ That kind of thing. The Buddha gives him two hours of cassettes a night. He loves it.” … “He’s sincere… You can’t fake sincerity.” (Pg. 315)
This book will be of keen interest to those studying street gangs.
October 31, 2019
I enjoyed reading this book though I am probably biased because I lived in San Diego and knew a lot of the places and people.Interesting though from a standpoint of how police and criminal informants work and the dynamic between the two.
May 22, 2019
Interesting book that is pretty flawed. Not well written with CONSTANT digressions, that may or not make sense.
October 27, 2014
This is a "guy" book.
First, "Baby Insane"'s name is Keven Glass and the "Buddha"s name is Patrick Birse, named for his stomach. They operate out of San Diego. At least that's what Bob Sipchen writes. "How a Crip and a Cop Joined Forces to Shut Down a Street Gang."
Since his entire life is filled with pointless maneuvering for status, Kevin is unable, ultimately, to fit in to society, though, Pat works to help him. Whether San Diego is clear of Crips now, well, I doubt it.
To me, San Diego's (and other jails) are revolving doors, with thieves entering and leaving until they turn around 40 years old, when they wise up, (most kids get it when they're around 23) or get killed. Kevin got into the witness protection program (I guess?) but couldn't keep a job, had at least three children that someone else had to support, and was in general, a loser. So were all the guys he hung out with. Losers. Sorry I feel that way. I suppose we need guys like Pat.
First, "Baby Insane"'s name is Keven Glass and the "Buddha"s name is Patrick Birse, named for his stomach. They operate out of San Diego. At least that's what Bob Sipchen writes. "How a Crip and a Cop Joined Forces to Shut Down a Street Gang."
Since his entire life is filled with pointless maneuvering for status, Kevin is unable, ultimately, to fit in to society, though, Pat works to help him. Whether San Diego is clear of Crips now, well, I doubt it.
To me, San Diego's (and other jails) are revolving doors, with thieves entering and leaving until they turn around 40 years old, when they wise up, (most kids get it when they're around 23) or get killed. Kevin got into the witness protection program (I guess?) but couldn't keep a job, had at least three children that someone else had to support, and was in general, a loser. So were all the guys he hung out with. Losers. Sorry I feel that way. I suppose we need guys like Pat.
Displaying 1 - 4 of 4 reviews