(3 of 3)
"Look. Pete," said the boy, "you know how it is, man. This is Little Ray's fault. He pulled out his piece." After long argument, the desired meeting was arranged for Vaus's place at Tarrytown. Pete arranged to pick up the Turban chieftains; another Y.D.I. worker collected the Senators. In Vaus's basement meeting room, the gang leaders began arguing: "You come into our block and burned us . . ." "Look, man, I ain't no punk, you know! . . ." Suddenly, Pete crashed his fist down on the table: "All right, you guys, you've been yakking for half an hour! Willy, look! This guy already told you he made a mistake. They admit they done something wrong. Will you accept?" "No. man," said Willy. "I told you one of our boys got hurt." Cried a Turban: "We ain't punks! You don't accept it that way. we burn—that's all."
Interjected Pete Thomas: "Look, Willy, what do you say when a guy says you're punk? That's what you're askin' them to do—give in, lose all dignity, all manhood, make punks out of them." That somehow hit home. Minutes later the Sen ators moved into another room to caucus about continuing the feud. When they returned, one shrugged: "It's off." And so it was.
From Y.D.I, headquarters in East Harlem last week came the sounds of a Christmas carol rehearsal (40 boys, eight girls). The Unreachables were, to be sure, a little short on harmony, but anybody who watched and listened could sense that Jim Vaus and Pete Thomas were infusing the lives of the tough kids with something very much like puro corazon.