the Stones’ favourite inhabitants of the underworld applied pressure

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More disturbing, though, was the incident at a family party when a young mother asked him to keep an eye on her child who was sitting on a potty, while she left the room to take a telephone call. As soon as she’d gone Litvinoff took the potty to the lavatory, where he sat on it himself and released a huge bowel movement before nipping back to seat the child in place again. When the mother returned to find what her toddler had apparently produced she was beside herself. In later years he would complain to friends of a lack of support from his family but if some relatives began to keep their distance, one can understand why.

you are prime vegetable for every piece of meat that wants to beat you

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Vice is a strange part of the job. It's basically a lot of people doing what they want to do. But you have to draw the line somewhere and it's not really my job to draw the line. Somebody is going to draw the line for me and then I go out and try to keep everybody in line. I hate to think that's my job in life, to go around telling guys to cover their buns and girls that they can't show their boobs and that you can't go out and get a friendly handjob now and then. But the line has to be drawn somewhere. I go into this massage parlor, I got undressed and laid down on the bed. She massaged my shoulders and then rolls me over and grabs on. I'm embarrassed, and there's basic physiological responses that you can't stop. You can't consummate the act, because then you are a willing participant. You lose your case. So I'm laying there and she gets me turned on and she grabs ahold and I push her off and walk over and start getting dressed.  I go outside to get my partner and my badge so we can come back in and arrest them. But I found out that it is entirely ludicrous to stand there with a raging hard-on and try to convince somebody that "I'm really serious and you're under arrest." 

"Here is courage, despair, hope, sacrifice, sex gone crazy, and the most violent kind of brutality ... in COPS, Mark Baker has given us the most readable, riveting, and memorable book ever written about law enforcement."

- Harry Crews

"I want you to get on your knees, eat my pussy like a rat eat cheese."

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Eddie was committed to partying and "acting crazy" as a way of life. Attempts to get him to "clean up his place" (translation: "get rid of the niggers") were greeted by him with total contempt. He antagonized police, other club owners, and anyone else he considered "square," and reveled in his own defiant stance. After two in the morning, when bars are supposed to be clear of patrons, he would lock the door, draw the curtains, and party with the players, laughing, loud-talking, snorting cocaine, and serving drinks after hours. "Ready Eddie," as he was known, presided over what he proudly dubbed "the Toilet of the Street." He had no intention of running a square or respectable joint and was furious at the predictable official attempts to force him into compliance. "They just want to get my friends out of here," he would bellow, "they don't want no niggers on their street. Well, fuck them punks in the asshole!" This attitude was well appreciated and respected.

"I don't want you to do your own thing, I want you to do MY thing!"

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I asked Jim [Kweskin] what his new act was like. Did he sermonize or what?
"We don't sermonize; but we don't always do what they think they want. I mean we demand that the audience get personally involved in what's happening, and a lot of times they just don't want to. We've been known to sit up on stage for hours and not do a thing. Sometimes you have to create an embarrassing or painful or angry situation just so that everybody's in the same place at the same time."
Wasn't this the sort of intimidation that people often associated with the Jesus freaks?
"Peace and love!" he said scornfully. "I mean, I walk down the street and I talk to some of the Jesus freaks or some of the peace and love people, you know? And they're dead. They're sound asleep. They feel absolutely nothing. All they do is spout out words. I mean, it's obvious we're not spouting out a bunch of words that somebody taught us how to say."

"outrageous coddling of cold-blooded killers sentenced to long terms.”

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“Some inmates set a trap to knock me off, they tried to electrocute me one time, they had it fixed, this room, and I’m getting ready to open the door to go iron my clothes and a guy named Curly knocked my hand out of the way. He said, ‘Johnny, you’re supposed to be dead.’ I said, ‘What are you talking about?’ He picked something up and said, ‘Watch this.’ He threw it against the door and [he makes the sound of an explosion]. A lot of guards didn’t like the idea that the niggers were going out singing ... a lot of people wanted to kills us ... fellow prisoners and the guards wanted to set it up, the guards set up for a lot of people to get killed in those days. They wanted Johnny bad, they wanted to kill that nigger.”

There's always something going on at Gertrude's.

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the voices bellowing in her head, the voices that knew Sylvia for a bitch and demon and a slut, the little cunt that would not learn, the pug-nosed brat who must be shoved along until broken into that white rag stretched on a mattress, its putrid skin mocking the clean, damn it, brand clean outfit they gave her. And this fool thinks it's a young lady he saw. She knows better, she's seen that little runt snivel and beg, cry and scream and wet and shit and live down there with the dogs, begging, yes begging, and what relish to hear her plead, damn right, plead, just for soda crackers and water. Tears all over her face but she'd do it. The board if she didn't. No more of that fighting back. She'd learn. And crawl. Make her crawl all over the basement floor. For hours. Get tired and tell Ricky to watch her. Keep her moving. On all fours like the dog. No better than them two dogs. Worse really, would you see a dog shove a Coke bottle up its you know what, would you see that ever? Young lady? Poor fool sure don't know nothing about life.

the "inside dope" of outsiders was a one-way ticket to stupidity.

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When Ulysses S. Grant lay dying in 1885 in upstate New York, he was treated with injections of good brandy and morphine as well as cocaine. Down in New York City, his treatment was other people's pleasure. Opium to be smoked. Absinthe and laudanum to be drunk. Morphine to be drunk or shot. Cocaine to be shot, snorted, or drunk from bottles of infused Bordeaux or the vials of liquid cocaine extract that Parke-Davis manufactured. And, except for those Chinese opium dens, it was legal, all of it. Some indulged, many didn't. They called it freedom, and they called the bars dives. Now everything's illegal, and they call it freedom.

Vince Taylor was ordered to shave off his sideburns before appearing

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Hardcore Teds hated skiffle, the acceptable face of youth, patronized by vicars, teachers and youth club leaders. After playing at a community hall the West Side Skifflers from the Methodist Church were ambushed by twenty Teds. 'We want rock 'n' roll not skiffle' they shouted as they beat the group with their own instruments … the demand for rock 'n' roll never went away. DJ Tony Blackburn was sent a razor-blade sandwich through the post, accompanied by a message threatening to shove it down his throat if he didn't play a rocking record ... The arrival of rock 'n' roll changed the atmosphere of the dance halls. The music was a dangerous and destructive force that worked the listener into a mindless frenzy. The very term 'rock 'n' roll' was slang for sexual intercourse ... During a disturbance at a dance, girls began chanting 'We want sex, we want sex'. The dance ended in chaos as fireworks were let off ... 

"He had come to hate the world before he was 17 years old."

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The highlight is "Incident on Avenue P" about the 1972 "Dog Day Afternoon" case. John Wojtowicz was quite a piece of work. A Vietnam vet, he was gay, recently divorced, unemployed, and convinced he was dying of cancer. And to top it all off, his boyfriend was badgering him for to fund a sex change operation. Wojtowicz decided crime was the answer. With two inexperienced accomplices, he inaugurated his criminal career by holding up the Bensonhurst branch of Chase Manhattan Bank. Things don't go according to plan. Within minutes they found themselves with nine hostages, trapped in a bank surrounded by 50 million cops, reporters, and spectators. After a 12 hour standoff, during which John answered the phone and talked to cops, reporters, relatives, and cranks (one repeat caller kept advising him to "Kill them all"), the cops lured them out with the promise of a plane at JFK. The police thoughtfully provided John & the crew with a limousine, complete with FBI agent for a chauffeur. The drive to JFK was uneventful. And there it was, the promised plane, all ready to go. Unfortunately, this sight made John and accomplice Sal Naturile relax just enough for the driver to pull out a carefully hidden gun and blow Sal away while agents outside grabbed John.

the ultimate summit of the international freak scene

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Charles and Guy sat looking across a chaotic vista of jeans and khaki shorts with splashes of jade and ivory and a tangle of shoulder-length hair. Signs hung on the walls warning of the dangers of getting caught with hashish. For Guy, this was a bizarre environment.

‘So, this is your trip - hippies.’

‘No, not really. I work mainly in the big hotels, but anywhere people have a lot of cash and no routine is good. Every day travellers deal with new faces, and so it’s natural for them to make friends with strangers. Once they decide you’re their friend, the guard drops. In this business you never turn down a chance to meet anyone. A contact is a resource; if not now, then later. And with the hippies it’s quick. It takes about ten minutes to take a wallet and a passport.’

‘But what’s inside a hippie’s wallet?’

‘You’d be surprised. A lot of these kids are carrying $1,000 in travellers’ cheques; the drug dealers, more. Don’t judge by appearances.’

‘But all these - they must be junkies. So many of them are so thin and sick looking.’ 

‘That’s what I used to think. Actually, most of them are just nice young students having their last fling before they settle down. Their resistance is lowered from smoking hashish. Then they get sick, and go down with dysentery. After a few months on the road diarrhoea is just about their only topic of conversation.’

forget all this 'Pizza Connection' nonsense, all this 'Godfather' shit.

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His was a darker and more terrifying tale. The Vatican scandal, the Mafia executions, the multi million dollar wheelings and dealings, the strange deaths and disappearances - these were only the whitecaps, the stormy surface of his tale. Revelations of greater evil lay beneath - revelations of international terrorism, political blackmail, money laundering schemes beyond the grasp of any government agency, vendettas on the grandest, deadliest scale, and even secret nuclear technology deals that have invested the most dangerous and unlikely hands with the power to destroy the world.

Charlie Parker is the squarest thing on the jukebox

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The intersection of beat and "ethnic" circles can be seen at its warm-weather wildest in the hundreds of people who on Sunday afternoons gather round the children's wading pool in Washington Square Park.The inner circle consists of people who arrive by 1:00 P.M. and thus get seats on the rim of the pool and on the steps leading down into it; this circle is a mixture of early-rising square Villagers, many of whom have brought their children to wade, and beats who get there early because they've been up all night. (The beats used to get high and roll around in the pool with the kiddies, fully clothed, until the Park Department enforced the rule restricting the pool's use to those under 12 years of age.) Surrounding this is a second, standing circle of clusters of folk and hillbilly performers and their listeners: uptown tourists and new-style rich Villagers, "ethnic" teenagers, Italians, a few beats. Around this is a third circle, also quite mixed but consisting mostly of beats asking each other what's happening, tourists with cameras trying to elbow their way into the second circle for a good shot, and tight-trousered Village homosexuals walking their dogs and cruising each other.