Autobiography of a Recovering Skinhead: The Frank Meeink Story as Told to Jody M. Roy, Ph.D.
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National Socialism as any skinhead in town. Whenever any of the guys got in her sweet pudgy face even a little bit about her being “just” a skinchick , she’d word-whip them something fierce. Lauren wielded quotations like Jimmy wielded cafeteria trays. Another girl around the scene was Rachel’s best friend, Amy. She was eighteen, same as Rachel. She was a true anarchist punk, opposed to anything that looked like conformity, and you can’t get much more conformist than Nazism. I had a hell of a
were the only arguments my PD had to work with. I hadn’t spoken to my mom since before I’d left Philadelphia, but she knew I was in jail. Jessica had called her for me, which made me love that girl even more. What a fucking call to have to make: “Hello, ma’am, my name is Jessica. I’m dating your son. I thought I’d call to introduce myself and fill you in on what Frankie’s been doing in the six months or so since you saw him. Basically, he fled his outstanding warrants by moving to Indiana where
became even more convinced she was cheating. But Little G and Jello always talked me off the ledge. And I returned the favor whenever their girlfriends hung up on them. We were three pretty typical teenage boys, obsessed with girls and sports. But we were inmates, so we had a few other things on our minds, like keeping safe and doing business. Our friendship bent the rules, but didn’t break the rules: we were all on the right side of the People versus Folk line. THE CIVIL RIGHTS Movement
me drinks on their tabs and patting me on the back and saying shit like, “Our little Frankie’s all grown up.” As I had my whole life, I followed my dad and his boys out into The Boneyard; this time they offered me a hit off their joint. It was another moment of truth: was I a skinhead or just another South Philly druggie? I passed. I spent a long time in the bathroom the next morning. When I was done, I called Jimmy. “Yo guess what? I shaved it.” “Fucking A! Now you’re really back.” “Like
closing down shop when a large group of Italian guys, all dressed super-sharp, started filing through the door. “Cool, more business,” I thought. Then I damn near fainted. The third guy in their line looked like he’d just jumped down off the cover of GQ , but I recognized him anyhow. “What’s up, dude?” I screamed across the room. Louie Lacinzi’s thin lips curled into a smile. He pointed at me and declared to his entourage, “This dude’s closer to me than a brother.” We threw our arms around