澳彩开奖

As a teenager, Brian Patterson was on a fast track to hell. The product of a ruptured home and a racist father, Patterson in the late 1980s fell in with neo-Nazi skinheads, including a period in Alabama with notorious Aryan Youth Front leader Bill Riccio. When he was homeless, alone, angry and abusing drugs and booze at age 18, a mysterious stranger stepped into Patterson鈥檚 life and rescued him: a self-avowed black Muslim named Alfred. Several months after their encounter, the older man and the teenager parted ways 鈥� but the crossing of their paths made an indelible impression on Patterson, who has fully rejected racism and hate. Now 38, Patterson, who contacted the Intelligence Report because he felt the world needed to hear his story, still is haunted by the memory of a terrible crime he committed while in the thrall of hate. Several times as he spoke of his youth and the pain he caused, he repeated, 鈥淭hat鈥檚 something I鈥檒l have to live with,鈥� as if he were describing a sentence imposed by a court. Today, Patterson still is struggling to make a living and build a life 鈥� he is unemployed and living on the Mississippi Gulf coast 鈥� but he is at peace knowing his days of hate are behind him. He鈥檇 like to find Alfred and thank him 鈥� but no one knows what happened to Patterson鈥檚 dark angel.

Where were you reared and where did this story start?

Brian Patterson

I was born in Tupelo, Miss., and I lived there until I was 8 years old. This is Tupelo in the 鈥�70s. My dad was racist, very racist. All of his friends and everybody that I was around was racist.

Was he a member of organizations or was it just racist talk?
He was in the Klan. So was my grandfather and pretty much everybody I grew up knowing. [My father] wasn鈥檛 mean to us, but he was violent. He liked to fight. One of my oldest memories is 鈥� I don鈥檛 know if, back then, they were Mexicans or if they were just Hispanics or what, but they had moved into an area that dad was living in and they got into a brawl. A knife fight. That鈥檚 one of my earliest memories.

You witnessed his violence, then?
Oh, yeah. I witnessed it. Then, of course, through the years, they鈥檇 get drunk and retell the story. I really don鈥檛 remember [my parents鈥橾 divorce, but I know that they were not together because [my mother] went on a date one time, and I have the memory of my dad beating the hell out of this guy, you know, right in front of us.

So violence was a part of life?
Yeah, it was routine. We were raised to be tough. Not to each other, but to outsiders and what [we] didn鈥檛 agree with. We were raised to do violence against it. Around age 9, me and my brother and my mother moved to Pensacola, Fla. Mama said she moved to get away from my father. My mother got remarried. This guy, my stepdad, was kind of violent towards us. I don鈥檛 know if you want to call it violent 鈥� he enjoyed discipline, put it that way.

So I wound up going back to Tupelo at 11. I went and lived with my father until I was 15. That鈥檚 where [the hate] really took root. During that time I really got indoctrinated. All of the kids in the area were indoctrinated into that way of thinking. We went to Klan rallies, and we loved it. We thought it was great. I mean, there鈥檚 this big group of family and friends. As teenagers, as kids, they鈥檙e not going to let us see the bad side of it.

These Klan rallies were just like campfire parties to you?
Exactly. I hate to compare it to kind of a youth program, but that鈥檚 really what it was. I think they took the idea from Hitler Youth-type shit, you know. Get them while they鈥檙e young.

Why did you leave Tupelo the second time?
Well, at 15, I went through what every teenager in the world probably goes through: rebellion. I started experimenting, doing a little drugs and drinking. My dad, he was real strict. I knew that mom was lenient, so I threw a fit until I got to go back to live with her. You see a pattern develop here, jumping back and forth. I wound up back in Florida, and from the time I got there, my step-dad and I don鈥檛 get along.

So I鈥檓 basically on the streets from 15 to 18. You got the punk rock scene and the skinhead scene and that鈥檚 where I wound up. I moved back and forth from Pensacola to Mobile, Ala. A couple of months here, a couple of months there, just drifting back and forth with the crowd. The skinhead scene was pretty big in Mobile. I don鈥檛 know if a lot of people know that, but we had National White Resistance and WAR, White Aryan Resistance. The Klan was real big there, too.

We鈥檙e talking about the late 鈥�80s?

Late 鈥�80s, early 鈥�90s. By the time I was 18, I had burned bridges with my family. My family didn鈥檛 want anything to do with me. I had fallen in with a violent group of skinheads. There were things that I did that I鈥檓 not proud of and I鈥檒l have to carry with me for the rest of my life. I never killed anybody; I never robbed a store or anything like that. But there was fighting. There was a lot of fighting, a lot of beatings.

Beatings of strangers?
Gang violence. Mostly gang confrontations. You could call them turf wars, I guess. You know, trying to keep blacks out of the neighborhoods that were predominantly white.

So it was white gang against non-white gang? Not between the white gangs?
Right. We tried to get along with the other white kids, and of course, indoctrinate them. There鈥檚 where I met Bill Riccio. There was a documentary on him. I helped him set up that camp that he had in Alabama. I was part of that group.[Editor鈥檚 note: Bill Riccio, a former Klan chaplain and neo-Nazi, was the head of a听racist skinhead听group called the Aryan Youth Front in the late 1980s and early 鈥�90s. Riccio around that time set up a backwoods camp he called 鈥渢he WAR House鈥� 鈥� for White Aryan Resistance. It was equal parts skinhead recruiting station, clubhouse and crash pad. It was home base for Riccio鈥檚 鈥渢oy soldiers,鈥� white teenaged boys, many of them runaways, whom he plied with beer while indoctrinating them in racial hatred and Hitler worship. In 1992, Riccio was the subject of an HBO documentary 鈥淪kinheads, U.S.A.鈥� that detailed life inside the Aryan Youth Front.]

Did you personally do things that you now regret having done?
Just mainly fighting. Hurting people. Beating black kids. We would go into a black neighborhood, or a neighborhood that was being encroached upon by black gangs. If we attacked somebody in a certain area, they wouldn鈥檛 see it coming. We鈥檇 ambush them. We鈥檇 make sure not to take on too large a group. That way, they didn鈥檛 see who we were.

Doing that tends to hurt somebody pretty bad. And I did. On one occasion, I hurt somebody pretty bad. I cracked his head open pretty good. He never saw it coming.

Did you use a weapon?
It was the end of an axe handle. I mean, that鈥檚 something that I鈥檒l have to live with, you know.

Do you still have memories of that? Does it come back to you sometimes?
I think about it all the time. Every time I see a young kid, I think about it. It鈥檚 not that I can鈥檛 live with it. It鈥檚 just 鈥� I mean, it鈥檚 a terrible thing to have to think about that you did to somebody. I鈥檓 not proud of it, but that鈥檚 something I have to live with.

Tell me about your time with Riccio.
He set up this camp in Alabama. He had these homeless kids, and they got indoctrinated into the skinhead thing. He had a little Nazi camp, or whatever, set up out there, and he was teaching them how to shoot guns and teaching them how to be little Nazi f------. We basically helped him do that. We helped him clean the place up and set it up so he could accommodate more people.

But then you found yourself alone. How did that happen?
I was in Pensacola one time and I got stuck there with some of my so-called friends 鈥� basically wound up by myself and stuck on Pensacola Beach. They left me there. I鈥檓 assuming we got into it, and they left me.

You had no transportation?
Right. I鈥檓 footin鈥� it. No money, no food. This goes on for a while. I鈥檓 just kind of drifting around and getting food stamps, whatnot, getting a little help downtown at the shelter. I was afraid to stay in the city because there I am, a racist sporting Doc Martens [boots, much favored by skinheads] and suspenders and dirty clothes and little Nazi patches. Man, I got out of the city. I went to the country. I went to where there were some woods. I wound up north of the city in the country area. I鈥檓 still in Pensacola, but I鈥檓 kind of on the outskirts.

Were the Nazi insignia on your clothing or did you have tattoos?
No, I don鈥檛 have any Nazi tattoos. It was just on my clothes. I had a little patch. You know the little armband? When I had people around, I liked to sport that. I thought I was big shit. I found out real quickly I wasn鈥檛. When you鈥檙e all alone, you find out real quick what you鈥檙e made of.

Did you consider going back to your family?
By this time, I鈥檓 at the end of my rope. I had burned bridges with my family, I couldn鈥檛 go back to them. There were a lot of fights between my family and me and in my mind there was no going back.

So I鈥檓 just wandering. I鈥檓 homeless and wandering at 18 years old. I got no food; I got no money; it鈥檚 cold. I got no winter clothes, no blanket. So I鈥檓 sleeping in this patch of woods by this lodge. There鈥檚 a lodge and a baseball field and a little concession stand. I鈥檓 like, 鈥淥kay, nobody鈥檚 going to see me here.鈥� And honestly, I鈥檓 thinking, 鈥淚鈥檓 going to break in this place and find some food.鈥� That鈥檚 why I bedded down there.

How close to the edge were you that night?

I was thinking heavy thoughts by that time, brother. I was thinking, 鈥淚鈥檓 going to do whatever it takes from this point on to feed myself and I鈥檓 cold, I鈥檓 hungry, I鈥檓 tired. The next motherf----- I come across is going to get it.鈥� That鈥檚 pretty much what I was thinking. That was like the crossroads right there.

What happened when morning arrived?
I wake up, and I smell food. And there鈥檚 a blanket on me. I look up, and I鈥檓 like, 鈥淲hat in the f--- is going on here?鈥� I look up, and there鈥檚 this black guy over there. He鈥檚 not homeless, by the way. He鈥檚 got a fire built. This dude has done throwed a blanket on me. He sees my bald head. He sees my red suspenders and my red shoelaces in my boots and my Nazi patch. This dude sees this. He still goes back to his house and gets a blanket and some food and brings it back to me, covers me up with this blanket. Builds a fire and heats up some stew.

He鈥檚 a country-ass black dude, mind you, but he was a Muslim. He wasn鈥檛 a Black Muslim like the Black Panther Muslims. He was a real Muslim. I didn鈥檛 know this until later, of course. But I wake up and he鈥檚 sitting there cooking me something to eat.

Who was the man?
His name was Alfred. I don鈥檛 remember his last name. I think it was a typically Muslim name. You know how they change their names? I think that he had changed his last name.

He was determined to help me. He helped me build a little shelter and I stayed in that for a couple of months. He helped me out with food and gave me some clothes and I got rid of all that other shit. He tried to get me in on the Muslim thing, but I鈥檝e never been real religious. I鈥檓 still not to this day.

But it wasn鈥檛 the religion that won me over; it was his kindness. It was the way this man helped me despite what I was. It probably saved my life. Had he not been there, there鈥檚 no telling what I would have done to put food in my stomach or to get money in my pocket. He saved my life. I know he changed my life. And, quite possibly, somebody else鈥檚 life, too.

Somebody that you didn鈥檛 beat up or take advantage of.
Right.

How long were you with Alfred?
I stayed there with him a couple of months. When winter broke and it got warmer, I wanted to get back in touch with my family and he helped me. I used his phone and his mailbox and stuff. He let me come around and work. He鈥檇 give me a few bucks. I piddled around on his little place there and worked enough to get a bus ticket to Mobile. My family had moved to Mobile at that time.

How did your life change?
I got a job and started going to school. I got my GED and went to college for about a year and a half. Of course, I still had a little problem with drugs at that time. But the racism, man, that was gone. I mean, it just melted it right away when I met that guy. It just changed my world.

Did you run into any of your old pals in Mobile?
Yeah. Once they knew I was in town, some of them found me. It was tense, because you don鈥檛 get out of those groups. They abandoned me, too, so the way I looked at it was, 鈥淵鈥檃ll turned your back on me. And there鈥檚 this guy I don鈥檛 even know, a black guy. He鈥檚 supposed to be my enemy and this dude is feeding me and taking care of me and showing me kindness, so y鈥檃ll can just f--- off. You want to do something to me, bring it.鈥�

I didn鈥檛 have any trouble with them physically, but there were a lot of threats, typical threats and empty threats. They鈥檙e some real paper tigers when it comes to dealing with one of their own. Skinheads are very violent. I鈥檝e seen them hurt people. I鈥檝e helped them hurt people and I鈥檓 ashamed of it. I really am. I鈥檒l tell anybody. I鈥檓 not afraid to tell people that I did that because I鈥檓 living proof that it can be done and people need to know what to look out for. Keep your kids close and don鈥檛 let them fall into that trap because that鈥檚 who they鈥檙e after 鈥� little white kids that feel like they don鈥檛 belong to anything.

Postscript: Moose Lodge No. 557 in Pensacola, Fla., has a ball field alongside it where a concession stand once stood. A representative of the lodge told theIntelligence Reportthat he recalled a black handyman named Alfred who occasionally worked cutting grass and burning trash for the lodge. The lodge member said Alfred used to live in a house near the Lodge grounds, a structure that now houses a day care center. He said that no one has seen Alfred since about 2003. Further efforts to track down the man named Alfred were unsuccessful.