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Read excerpt from our book club pick: ‘The Gangs of Zion: A Black Cop’s Crusade in Mormon Country’ by Ron Stallworth Read an excerpt from Ron Stallworth’s book ‘The Gangs of Zion’- El Paso Matters [1]

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Date: 2024-09-18

El Pasoan Ron Stallworth’s latest book was published Tuesday, Sept. 17. It explores his efforts as a member of the Utah Department of Public Safety to respond to growing gang problems in the state.

Excerpted from the book “The Gangs of Zion: A Black Cop’s Crusade in Mormon Country,” by Ron Stallworth. Copyright © 2024 by Ron Stallworth. Reprinted with permission of Legacy Lit, an imprint of Grand Central Publishing.

“The Gangs of Zion: A Black Cop’s Crusade in Mormon Country”

Ron Stallworth

Utahns have a reputation for being exceedingly polite, and law enforcement is no exception. In sharp contrast with the LAPD, Utah police treated gangs with such softness and kindness, it was easy for them to do their business. And they were brazen about it, like a fourteen-year-old Crip whom Kevin and I busted at the mall for shoplifting. We handcuffed him and brought him to the security office. As I processed him, he sneered at the gun on my hip. “Is that a 9mm?” he asked. Before I could respond, the young Crip said, “We got those. We got .357s, we got .38s, we got .45s, we got MAC-10s, we got AK-47s, we got Uzis…And what do you all have? Just a 9mm and a shotgun. You can’t keep up with us.”

The kid pissed me off to no end because he was telling the truth. These gang members looked at us as a joke. Utah was such fertile ground for them, another Crip told me that coming to Salt Lake City was like going to Disneyland.

That set me on a mission to change that perception.

So when word on the street got back to me that a PJ Watts Crip had been bragging that he had kicked my ass, I couldn’t let it slide. In the gang world, this was a clear sign of disrespect and warranted one of two responses: a physical beatdown or an outright homicide. As a cop, I was legally prohibited from even threatening a civilian with a beatdown. But as a gang expert, I knew that if this Crip got away with disrespecting me—and implicitly Kevin as well—we would have a whole lot of trouble with other gang members. I could not invite the challenges that certainly would come from allowing this Crip’s behavior to fly.

Even if standing my ground meant crossing a professional line.

Kevin and I arrived at the PJ Watts Crip’s house, and I told him to wait for me in the yard. I knocked on the door, and all six-foot-two and 240 pounds of him answered with a smile. My five-foot-nine and 190-pound self demanded that he step outside and take the ass whipping he had coming for lying about me.

“Aw, Stallworth, I was just jokin’,” he said sheepishly. “That’s not how I joke around.”

Kevin called from the yard. “Ron, are you sure this is what you want to do?” Neither of us knew how far I’d actually go, but we both understood that I was not allowed to beat him up, Crip or no Crip.

Presuming he had an ally in Kevin, the Crip stepped into the yard. “Yeah, Stallworth, why you so angry, man? Why don’t we just forget about it, and you go on about your business?”

“Nope,” I said. “You’ve been telling people you kicked my ass, and now you’re going to pay for it.”

Although visibly amused by the stunt I was pulling, Kevin managed to stay in character and play along with my ruse. “What do you want me to do?” he said, putting his hand on the butt of his gun.

Ron Stallworth in the 1990s while working for the Utah Department of Public Safety. (Photo courtesy Ron Stallworth)

I walked over to Kevin as I removed my gun. “Hang on to this for me,” I said as I handed my weapon to him. “And under no circumstances are you to intervene.”

The Crip slowly approached me as he tried to talk me out of our pending confrontation. “Come on, Stallworth, you know I was just joking.” I started circling him, and he mirrored my movement. “Don’t be like this, man.”

“I’d go easy on him if I were you, Ron,” Kevin said.

Realizing that Kevin was not going to intervene, the entreaties of the “big, bad” PJ Watts Crip grew more desperate. “I don’t want no problems with you, Stallworth,” he said. “I was just talking smack to some friends.”

“I don’t talk smack,” I said, putting up my hands like I was ready to box. When I stole a look at Kevin, who was trying to hold back his laughter, it was all I could do to not laugh myself. “Apologize!” I advanced on the Crip, and he took a couple of steps back. “And don’t you ever tell anyone or even imply that you kicked my ass.”

“Okay, I’m sorry!”

“If you do, I promise you, I’m going to tell all your boys that you punked out right now.”

Now smiling again, the Crip approached me. “We cool now?” “I’ll kick your ass another day,” I said.

Kevin and I went back into our car where we had a good laugh over our performance. Then he asked, “What would you have done if he had called your bluff?”

I thought for a moment. “We will never know.” I winked at him, and we cracked up.

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