Catch  Catch is a collection of  controversial articles with topics ranging from crime to politics  and everything in between.

Youth Violence’s Greatest Salesman:  Writer interviews teenage criminal who loves hurting people.

It’s President Oprah Winfrey:  A fascinating, albeit fictitious  look  at Oprah’s  reign in  the  White House

Don’t Want Nothing- Don’t Expect Nothing: Take a group of  young people who do nothing but loiter and waste their lives away, and what do you get? The Grubbers, that’s what.

Don’t  Want Nothing-Don’t Expect Nothing:  Meet the Grubbers.  Happy-go-lucky  youth  who love loitering and  taking up space.

Look! It’s President Oprah Winfrey!

Impossible Dream or  Unconventional Reality?

by Peggy S.  Butler

What would happen if one of  the world’s most powerful women,  became  America’s commander-in-chief? Imagine the drama and gamut of emotions of  those who believe  the presidency is limited to individuals of the male persuasion.  Now, before you unleash your gender fury, check out  the following scenario.

The year is 2020 and  President Oprah Winfrey  is  analyzing the latest unemployment figures, when she is interrupted by a knock at the door. Opening the massive  portal, the former talk show mogul is greeted by the Attorney General who wryly  informs her; "President

Winfrey your constituents want to know when they can start capitalizing on those promises you  made  four years ago?"

Adjusting  her skirt, the president gestures  toward a stack of documents on her desk. "Exactly what promises are those," she asked. "Oh come on Madame President. Don't you remember telling your constituents  that you would put them on Easy Street?" the Attorney General stammered. "Well I reduced taxes, cut unemployment by 50% and increased the minimum

wage to $17.50," the  president explained. "What else do  they want?"

"Hey you know I've got your back Madame President. But they say if you don't solve all their problems within the next two years, they are going to run you down the road."   "They

can't run me," said the president incredulously. "This is my second term in office.  And you  know by  law I'm forbidden to seek a third term."    "Yes I know that and you know that" said the  Attorney General with a strained frown, "but they say you are not taking care of  business on

the  j-o-b."

Before she could address the Attorney General, the president heard loud voices from outside. Visibly agitated, Winfrey rose from her desk and went to the window to see what all the commotion was about. Staring out the window, the president spotted dozens of protesters carrying signs. One poster  which read "Winfrey is Funked up with the Tunkromp," caught her eye. Laughing, the president turned to the Attorney General. "You didn't hear a peep out of  voters when George W. Bush nearly  put Americans in the poorhouse. It  was as though they were invisible," she said irritably.  "Yet, they torment and rip me to shreds. What's up with

that?"

Moving toward his  friend of  15 years the Attorney General murmured, "When it comes to voters one thing is certain." "What's that?" asked the President. "No matter what  you do for them, they still find something to complain about."

Moving from the window, Oprah Winfrey began the long walk to her desk. Then the Tennessee native smiled  as she thought  about what the Attorney General said. "I hate to admit it A.G. but you are absolutely right," said the president  extending  her hand. "If  I were  a man they would not  subject me to this anguish; but since I'm a woman, they figure I'm easy pickings." 

The president, discouraged by the scene outside said patiently, "Regardless of their

behavior I refuse to let them see me sweat." Impressed by his friend's calm demeanor, the Attorney General replied, "Sounds like a plan to me."

Thirty minutes later,  President Winfrey reached into her desk, and pulled out a mug that reminded her of why she was  elected by an overwhelming margin,  over  former  Alaska governor   Sarah  Palin  in 2016.  The mug  reads: "Who else is capable of  tackling  worldly issues (war, terrorism, unemployment, etc.) and remaining calm, confident and in charge except   a WOMAN?"

Okay, allow me to play Devil's Advocate. Suppose by some miracle that 99.8% of Americans  discovered a  woman whom they feel is  the Political Savior of  the  U.S.  As expected,  they  would urge her to seek the presidency under the belief that their lives would improve drastically  if she were elected.  Of  course this is only wishful thinking.  As soon as she entered  the White House, those thoughts would quickly turn to such verbal tirade   as "She thinks just  like a woman,"  or  "She's not strong enough to handle such virile issues as war and terrorism." And at the slightest  hint of a crisis, they would denounce her  with the disclaimer: "See I told you, only a man is   capable of  wearing the presidential  mantle."

To reiterate, if  by some  miracle a woman  is elected president, her greatest crisis won't  come  from terrorists or military warfare. Rather, it will come at the  hands of people who for too long have convinced themselves that men have a monopoly on the chief executive  throne. So to

readers viewing  this commentary, Good night Madame  President, or  should I say Rock  On  Lady  P?

Don’t  Want Nothing - Don’t Expect Nothing!

A special message to people  who hang out  at  convenience stores and makeshift retreats, doing nothing, but  holding  up  the wall.  This commentary is for entertainment purposes only, and is not meant to degrade,  embarrass or ridicule anyone. However, if the characterization fits, funk  it  like boon tartae.

Picture this: A convenience store  of   mid proportions with  peeling paint and narrow  concrete, stands in a  residential district, where the average taxpayer  has an annual income of  $35,000 and below.

Inside the 1800- square- foot  market, the shelves are packed with bread  and other items. A few feet away is  the reach- in- cooler stocked  with beer, cold cuts and soft drinks.  Nothing  wrong with this scenario, right?  Wrong. Outside a storm is brewing. Please be patient as  I  introduce the Grubbers.

Meet the Grubbers

You can find them on street corners in small towns, major cities and rural areas. Young people  hustling and hanging out. They are part of a growing group dubbed the “We Want Money, But We Don’t Wanna Work Generation.”  The time is mid-afternoon, and this spectacle is repeated daily in cities from  Miami to Chicago. 

Exactly what are these people doing? And why in the name of  competency  can’t they get their act together? If  lack of education or marketable skills  prevent them  from seeking employment, then let  them  request  assistance from  agencies that have training programs available, at least make an effort to do something productive.

Two weeks ago I read  an article, in which a 23-year-old- mother of  two was quoted as saying, “If people would give us decent jobs we wouldn’t be hangin’ on the corners."  Oh  boy here we go again, using  defensive tactics as an excuse for not doing and not having. Now who’s the real enemy? Is it the individual whom you let defeat you, because you continue to play this cat and mouse game? Is it he who causes you to  wake up each morning and say to yourself “Well, I know  other people control  my destiny, so I’ll put another feather in  society’s  cap by blaming others, instead of  helping myself.

Do you see a pattern developing? Yes indeed, and you see it too. Excuses, that’s all they are.  “The We Want Money, But We Don’t Wanna Work Generation” feel they need a reason to explain why they can’t and won’t work. Well, there is an old saying that goes,  excuses are like rear ends, everyone  has one, which  certainly applies in this case.

You who are  hangin'  out at  stores and abandoned buildings at  7 o’clock in the morning, what excuse do you have? Doesn't   it  bother  you  that  you  are described as empty chardboards? Doesn’t it bother you that no one, with the exception of your fellow grubbers, wants to be associated with you?

Doesn’t it bother you that you spend your days loitering and watching traffic?  Hey, if you’re going to count cars, at least get paid for it.  Honestly folks, doesn’t  it bother you to beg for money to  purchase  a  6  pack? What am I saying? The question should be, do you even care? How can you watch as  life passes you by, while others  make a bona fide effort to improve their circumstances?

Such wretched creatures these grubbers. What a shallow existence to do nothing, but wallow in their pathetic state of  gloom and decay. What a waste of humanity. You have robbed yourself by not doing your absolute best. Truly, you have  committed  a grave  injustice by not cherishing the most wonderful person God ever created, yourself.

Pssst. Hey come closer, no, no,  closer.  Has this editorial made an impact on  any of  you  street urchins? If I have, all you have to do is stand up, brush off  your crumbs of emptiness and begin the awesome  task  of  re-creating yourself. It’s not too late. All you have to do is take one step at a time. 

With that said, let’s see if you can stand up and salute the new you. Hold on now. Oops take it easy. All you have to do is rise up slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y. Now let go of  the wall. Wait a minute!  Now, put  down the beer can. There you go. Now get  to steppin. And why  you’re  out  there, get a job. Damn  I’m  good. Next! 

Meet Youth Violence's Greatest Salesman!

What happens when a writer comes face-to-face with a  young  criminal, who loves boasting about his  illicit  antics? Plenty, as two people from different  backgrounds, try to reach  an understanding, with interesting results.

by Peggy Butler

Slamming his brother's head against the steel  door, the boy, eyes flashing and sweating profusely, dared his hapless opponent to get up. Teeth clinched, fist drawn, the first punch caught  the frightened teen on the left side of his face, creating a bruise. The next punch landed on his stomach, causing him to tumble to the floor. It was then that he  lost consciousness. Fifteen minutes later, the teen was transported to the hospital. Luckily, he would survive, but would forever be branded a victim of what law enforcement officials call juvenile violence gone wild.

The perpetrator in this case is  *Leddy "Mad dog" Crawford, 17.  Standing 6'3"  and weighing  227  pounds,  he is the persona of  youth  rebellion  gone awry. Moreover, since the Florida native has been in and out of  juvenile detention centers since he was 13, experts contend, Leddy  is one of  juvenile violence's greatest salesmen.

As a writer who has interviewed dozens of  juveniles,  Leddy's mom asked me to talk to him, in an attempt to get her violent offspring to change his criminal behavior.

Thoroughly convinced he was among violence's greatest salesmen, based on his reputation and braggadocio attitude, I  wanted to see if this knife- wielding, gun-toting- hoodlum was tough enough to go one-on-one with this veteran writer.

Getting inside this young man's head, I told myself, would perpetuate me into another dominion, and make me a legend among the thugs who prowl the streets at night looking for a reason to commit a crime. In other words, I was scared to death, but determined to get my story.

 To bolster my credentials,  I vowed that under no circumstances would I let Leddy  intimidate me, no matter what he did or said. Convinced that I was ready to do battle,  I  prepared to meet the infamous  Leddy Crawford.

The meeting was set for Friday, my favorite day of the week. And although it was three days away, I was beginning to feel like a lion in the jungle, fearless and ready for battle.  As Friday drew near and the hours ticked away, at 6:18 p.m., I found myself standing on a corner, famous for its  criminal activity.

Staring  at a broken bottle, I  heard footsteps. Seconds later I turned and peered into the reddest pair of  eyes, I've ever had the displeasure of looking into. It was Leddy, and the rest of him was just as intimidating. Taking note of  his demeanor, I knew that one wrong move could tick this boy off. Exhibiting no outward signs of  being frightened, I felt a slight queasiness in the pit of my stomach.

Extending my hand to Leddy, he declined to shake it, instead he brushed against me. Realizing he was testing me to see if I was afraid of him, it was then that I realized  that he was just a boy, albeit a violent one. Looking at his head covered by a blue bandana I  said inwardly, "This is a child of whom I am no more afraid of than a puppy."

As Leddy stared me down, never once did I flinch, instead I maintained my composure. Realizing I was not afraid of him, Leddy unclenched his fist. Delighted that I had broken the tension, it was time to find out why this hulking was one of  violence's greatest salesmen. It didn't take long.

Reaching into his pocket, I waited, anticipating what he would pull out. Expecting to see a gun, imagine my surprise when a pack of cigarettes appeared  in his left hand. "Leddie," I began, "why do you insist on hurting people? I mean what's your problem? What does crime do for you?"  Wearing a frown as wide as the Mississippi River he proceeded to answer.  "It ain't all about that. It's about survival. Out here on the streets you gotta be tough. That's how you survive."

 Feeling I should get the chance to know him better, I then asked about his parents. "Hey lady, I made a deal with my moms and pops."  " What's that?" I asked, looking him straight in the eye. "I told them that if they didn't bother me, I wouldn't bother them. If they mess in my business, I'll take em out," he says almost apologetically. "It's like that uh?" I said  nodding my head.  "Yeah, it's like that" he says laughing.

 At that moment I wanted to delve into Leddy's mind, with the intent of learning as much about this walking advertisement for violence as possible. Flinching, Leddy reached under his shirt and began rubbing his chest. With a look on his face signifying pain, I asked him what was wrong. Pulling his shirt over his head, it was then that I noticed the puncture marks, which resembled bullet wounds.

"How many times have you been shot?" At first he didn't answer, then moving his hand over his chest he shouted, "Why you wanna know?" Reiterating that my purpose in talking to him was to find out what made him tick, I replied, "Calm down  Leddy, I'm just doing my job."

He calmed down long enough to answer.  "I've been shot five times." Expecting me to be surprised, he then concluded I was not there to attack him, but to uncover the truth regarding his behavior.

As he began to open up, I learned that he had seen it all and did it all. The first time he did crack he was 11, now he sells it. As for his penchant for violence, he says that was ignited when he saw blood streaming from a transient's face, after beating the man with a baseball bat. "Why would you beat someone with a bat?" I asked, not bothering to hide my revulsion.  "Because  he tried to make a punk out of me. And  I ain't down with being no man's bed  mattress," he says, lighting a cigarette.

Having lived on the streets for the past ten months; where he robs, sells drugs and terrorizes people, I asked Leddy if he ever thought about returning to school. "Hell no," he  says matter-of-factly. "Besides, what can school teach me  that I don't already know?"  Pointing to a syringe on the ground he says, "This here is the streets. No what I'm saying? I don't need a diploma to teach me how to survive out here."

Surrounded by sex, drugs and violence; I asked Leddy if he anticipated on having a normal life. "For me this is normal," he says. "Getting high is normal. Robbing is normal. Stabbing is normal. Looking for someone to attack is normal." Noting the quivering in his voice he concluded, "You may not like it, but this is all I know."

With the jagged  scar on his throat, glistening like gold, Leddy told me he's been doing wrong so long, he wouldn't know right if it bit him in the butt. "I get off on hurting people."  When asked if he was afraid of dying he just laughed. "Dying doesn't scare me, but living does."  Asked  to explain his offbeat comment, he responded, "You see if I die I don't know nothing about it. Because I'm dead, I'm outta here. That's why I'm gonna live until I die. And that's why I'm warning everybody out there, that I live to hurt people."

"How about prison, are you afraid of that?" I asked.   "No, if I go, I go," he says vehemently.  "Besides, I'm too smart to get caught up in that  racket."  Not believing what I was hearing, I reminded him that thousands of people thought they were too smart to get caught, only to end up in jail and/or prison.  However Leddy was convinced he was different. Maybe he is, but I don't think so.

With the meeting over, I stood up and extended my hand. This time he took it. And as I watch him walk away, I  couldn't help thinking, somewhere a mother prays for her child to abandon his violent lifestyle and come home. However,  for Leddy's mom, it's another night of hoping, praying and waiting.

* Not the subject’s real name