Joe Friesen - The Ballad of Danny Wolfe: Life of a Modern Outlaw

Copyright 2016 by Joe Friesen

Cloth edition published 2016

Signal is an imprint of McClelland & Stewart, a division of Penguin Random House Canada Limited, a Penguin Random House Company

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Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Friesen, Joe, author

The ballad of Danny Wolfe : life of a modern outlaw / Joe Friesen.

ISBN 978-0-7710-3023-9 (bound).ISBN 978-0-7710-3031-4 (epub)

1. Wolfe, Danny, 1976-2010. 2. Indian Posse (Gang). 3. Gang membersCanadaBiography. 4. Indian gangsCanadaHistory. I. Title.

HV6248.W64F75 2016 j364.1092 C2014-904602-2

C2014-904603-0

Library of Congress Control Number is available upon request

Published by Signal, an imprint of McClelland & Stewart, a division of Penguin Random House Canada Limited a Penguin Random House Company

www.penguinrandomhouse.ca

v3.1

To my parents

This book would not have been possible without the assistance of Danny Wolfe, Richard Wolfe, and their mother Susan Creeley, as well as their many friends and family members who agreed to help me. I am very grateful to them for being so open and patient. They sat with me for countless interviews over many years and accepted all my phone calls and visits.

Delving into the world of prison and street gangs was made much easier thanks to the many current and former gang members who were willing to share what they knew. In a few cases, names have been changed to protect those who feared for their safety, or were not authorized to speak publicly.

This work is based on dozens of interviews, thousands of pages of Dannys private prison records and psychological reports, extensive court records, government documents obtained through access to information laws, publicly commissioned reports, and several hundred pages of Dannys personal letters.

Here is how it came about.

One night, around midnight, the phone rang and I ran to answer it. I didnt recognize the number.

Hey, its Danny, said a voice.

I paused. Danny , I said, trying to jog my memory.

Danny Wolfe, he replied, slightly annoyed that I hadnt twigged. Im calling from Regina. I got a letter from you. You said you wanted to talk to me.

Ah, the most wanted man in the country, the one who had just been put back in jail. That Danny. Id written letters to people in jail before, as a journalist chasing a story, but no one had ever responded. This time was different. I had told Danny in my letter that I wanted to write about the history and origins of the Indian Posse, the street gang that he co-founded, and he was enthusiastic.

I know exactly what you mean. Exactly. Ive had the same idea. I wanted to do a documentary like that myself for a long time, he said on the phone that night.

Danny said he would arrange the visiting forms so I could meet with him in prison, and he would also help me get in contact with other members of the gang to hear their stories.

Theres a lot of good bros inside that would talk to you, he said.

Six months later, the visiting forms arrived with a letter. Sorry it took so damn long to get back to you, Danny wrote. Im interested in helping with the history of IP.

I know theres more members that would like to have an interview as well, old school brothers that are still in the game. Theres been dramatic changes in the gang, or gangs in Canada, and thats what I would like to express. We agreed that since he had a major trial coming up, it would be wiser to delay the interview until after. He signed off, saying he hoped to see me soon.

Two years later, I found myself driving through a snowstorm in Saskatchewan with Dannys brother Richard, whom Id just met. The snow was so thick that I couldnt see the highway, nor could I see the semi-trucks barreling past in the other lane. I felt certain that if we advanced even a few more feet we would plummet off the road into the QuAppelle Valley. Richard, heavily tattooed and fresh out of prison after fifteen years, just laughed. Keep going, he said. What else can you do?

Over the next four years I kept going, always fascinated by what I discovered. Susan Creeley was also extremely helpful, describing her own role in Dannys life in a frank and open way, and always willing to confront difficult topics. She provided me with all of Dannys voluminous court files, his personal effects, and hundreds of letters and photos, which helped me paint what I hope is a detailed portrait of a complex and controversial man.

Any errors or omissions are my own.

Joe Friesen

Toronto, 2016

The opening was small but it would do.

Danny knelt on the cement floor and peered out to get his bearings. He could see a narrow ledge running just outside the hole and the interior prison yard down below. He looked behind him, along the corridor toward the guard station. All was quiet. A half-dozen inmates crowded round in anticipation, waiting for Danny to decide. He tied his long, black hair into a bun on the top of his head and took a deep breath.

Im gonna go, he said.

He pushed a leg through the hole and then twisted his upper body behind it, with his head and trailing leg coming last. His heart was pounding and he tried to steady himself to keep his breathing in check. He was outside now, standing on a ledge that ran along the interior of the recreation yard about ten feet above the ground. He could feel the warm evening air and smell the prairie grass. Directly above him was a surveillance camera that kept watch on the yard. Below the ledge and across the yard were large windows; patrolling guards could pass them at any moment and see Danny if they looked up. The late summer sun was fading into a dark sky and the prison floodlights had not yet come on. Preston, Dannys little brother, knelt down and passed a jacket and some blankets through the hole.

Hurry up, Preston whispered.

Danny draped the blankets over the razor wire coiled on top of the wall and began his climb. It was only five feet up from where he stood. He scrambled over the bricks, gripping the metal bars on the windows to pull himself up. Then he picked his way through the razor wire, doing his best to use the blankets to protect himself. In seconds hed reached the top of the wall. On the other side, the ground was about fifteen to twenty feet down, but he didnt hesitate. He leapt, tumbling and sprawling on the grass upon landing. He stood up, gingerly testing his feet and ankles. Not broken, still able to run. He glanced quickly around. No sign of the guards.

Inside, Preston was next. A hundred thoughts were running through his mind. What if he climbed the wall and then got stuck? What if he was shot? The plan was to turn back if he had to, but would he be able get back down? His heart was racing.