They Got Sammy

He was a street philosopher, a crusader, a gambler, and the unofficial mayor of Hialeah's black ghetto. Now he's gone to prison, and he's not coming back.

A A A Comments By Tristram Korten Thursday, Mar 29 2001

...continued from page 5

In the days leading up to his incarceration, Wilson becomes more reclusive than ever. "Aw, fuck it, I'd rather die and be reincarnated as a goddamn white French poodle in Coral Gables than come back as a nigger," he fumes. "Ain't nothing but a world of trouble for a nigger." He hasn't been able to pay for his radiation treatments for some time. He has no insurance and sporadically was using his credit card, incurring a tremendous debt. Now, depending on the pain, he'll stay in his chair or in bed most of the day. "Right at this moment," he says, "I need $20,000 worth of medical treatment. That's the biggest change. I don't have to worry about my medical bills." [Governor] Bush is going to have to pay for it now."

He hasn't told his family yet. He plans to call them from jail. "My problems are my problems. I don't want to be a burden on nobody," he explains. "They know wherever I go I'll be okay. I'm a survivor wherever I go."

More About

Like this Story?

Sign up for the Weekly Newsletter: Our weekly feature stories, movie reviews, calendar picks and more - minus the newsprint and sent directly to your inbox.

It's hot on Toby's porch this late afternoon. Sweetcakes, in shorts and a floppy hat, has taken refuge in the shade. "This community is vanishing, drifting away. We don't have a plan. We don't have a community leader. We desperately need one."

No, he says, Sammy Wilson was not thought of as a community leader. Maybe he could have been. "Sammy spoke for his self," Sweetcakes says. "Sammy's thing was if he saw someone wronged, he'd step in and tell them they was being wronged. When they come around here with those gung-ho Jim Crow tactics, Sammy was going to speak up. He wasn't really a leader. He was a good friend. I'm going to miss him. If I could do some of his time for him, I would. He'd never turn his back on you."

As if on cue, Sweetcakes turns his back, and slouches down West Fifth, his hat low over his eyes to fight the glare of the slowly setting Seminola sun.