FAT JOE - The Book of Jose

THE STREETS CROWNED ME The Realest Walking the Earth. I earned it! Muthafuckas have been trying to kill me my entire life in one way or another. Ive been shot multiple times in front of my mother. When I was just ten, a grown man named Papi Loco wrongfully accused me of trying to kill his infant daughter by throwing batteries from the roof of Forest Houses projects in the Bronx, and then pummeled me until I was bloody and had a concussion. When I was a young teen, a street don tried to scare me to death by threatening to stick my entire arm in a meat grinder. The police have done their best to beat me into oblivion. When that didnt work, crooked cops tried to frame me for murder so I could do life in prison. Through it all, though, I never folded.

People said it was a suicide mission when I went head-to-head with a gangster known for butchering adults and setting infants on fire. I squared up with the Feds when they stepped to me, and just when I thought shit was sweet, some of my best friends and family died or went to jail or betrayed me.

My name is Fat Joe, aka Joey Crack, aka JoPrah, aka The Don Cartagena. But on August 19, 1970, I was born Joseph Antonio Cartagena at Bronx-Lebanon Hospital. The South Bronx to be exact, an auspicious and ominous birthplace.

Life in the South Bronx could feel like a movie. What kind of movie? Heres an emblematic South Bronx tale: Sixteen years after I was born, right across the street from Lebanon Hospital in the Fulton Avenue tenement projects, a twenty-year-old named Larry Davis got into a shoot-out with damn near the whole police force. Not only did Davis get out of there alive, he left six cops filled with lead.

He was like a hood superhero. Nobody could believe his story. He was eventually caught after a seventeen-day manhunt, but in court, his lawyers defense was that corrupt police were trying to frame Larry for the murders of some drug dealers, and when they stormed his sisters apartment, they were trying to kill Larry, not apprehend him. The defense worked. Larry Davis was acquitted of all charges except illegal gun possession. God bless the dead, Davis was eventually killed in prison in 2008, where he was doing time for a case unrelated to his famous shoot-out.

Me? By the time Larry Davis made his mark, Id already been earning my own stripes as a shorty. My history with violence started almost as soon as I got out of the womb.

Im the youngest of four kids, the baby of the family. My mother, Ruby, had two sons and a daughter before me: Angel Jr., Raymond, and our sister, Lisa. Ruby got married to their father, Angel Cartagena Sr., when she was still very young.

Angel was a bad guy who intimidated everyone around him. He was in jail when my mother met my father. Ernesto Delgado had just moved to the U.S. from Cuba. Ernesto, or Ernest, as he was called in this country, was a little guy; he had a big heart though. My father busted his ass to provide for us. He was a baker; he was a carpenter. In the summertime he would sell Icees and pastelillos in Crotona Park. He taught me what it meant to be relentless.

Ernesto always worked hard, but he went extra hard in pursuing Ruby. My mom is a beautiful Puerto Rican woman. Both her parents are from the island but her dad is Taino, one of the indigenous people of Puerto Rico. My grandparents migrated from PR to the BX when they were still teenagers and thats where they raised my mother. Whenever my grandfathers family would come from Puerto Rico and visit us in the Bronxwhich would only be about every five or ten yearstheyd come dressed in traditional garb. My great aunts and them wore moccasins and reminded me of images Id seen of Native Americans. Ironically, my grandfather was nicknamed Cowboy.

My mother and her family all lived in the same building as my fathers sister Esther. Yes, I had a real life Aunt Esther before that name became famous via the classic sitcom Sanford and Son. My aunt was nothing like LaWanda Pages outrageous Bible-totin character though. God bless them both.

Once, when my father was hanging out with Esther, he laid eyes on my mom and it was love at first sight for him. He would see my mother all the time and go try to rap to her. He didnt care that she had three kids already. Shit, he had nine himself. They were back in Cuba with his wife. Stay tuned for that story down the line.

Ruby and Ernest started spending time together and next thing you know, she became his girl. They moved in together with my moms kids in the Bronxs Forest Houses projects on E 165th Street and Trinity Avenue1000 Trinity Ave to be exact. They lived in apartment 5E, which had two very small bedrooms and one bathroom. Soon after, Ruby got pregnant with me. All this time, Angel Sr. was in jail. My mother had moved on, but she was still married to my brothers and sisters father. When I was born, I was given the name Joseph Cartagena because mommy was still legally a Cartagena. She actually still is. My mom and Angel Sr. never officially got divorced.

Angel got out of jail damn near right after they cut my umbilical cord. Back on the streets he caught wind of my birth and made a beeline to the PJs. He started yelling in front of the building, threatening to kill my mom. Then he threatened to kill my dad. Finally, he declared he was going to kill the baby. What the hell did I do? I wasnt even a full two months old yet and already in the mix.