Carl Weathers, actor, professional football player, and the only subject I could talk to my father about for more than fifteen seconds without trying to fight each other, passed away in his Los Angeles home at the age of 76.
Weathers found his star turn in “Rocky,” a film that my dad would often watch while lying on the couch when he was supposed to be keeping an eye on me. My unexpected shared interest in the film provided my father a brief hope that I would grow into the type of person to whom he could relate. Weathers reprised the role in three of the franchise’s sequels, giving years of fuel to a budding father-son relationship that was doomed to die on the vine.
1987 saw Weathers join the cast of the blockbuster action movie “Predator.” The R-rated film initially proved a barrier between my father and I, as my mother forbade me from watching any movies rated above PG-13. As I drifted closer to science fiction and fantasy rather than sports, it seemed as though our father-son bond might soon be permanently severed. Luckily, my mom took a job that required her to travel. This offered the perfect opportunity for my dad to secretly share with me the glory of Weathers’ severed arm falling to the ground, never loosening its grip on the trigger.
Before his acting career, Weathers played football as a linebacker both in college and professionally. I can’t tell you much more than that, but my father would often speak about it at length. I feigned interest and scrolled Reddit on my phone, never daring to interrupt these brief periods when I felt as though he respected me as a man.
Weathers showed off his comedy chops in Adam Sandler’s “Happy Gilmore,” a film that my friends and I would watch in my family’s living room while my dad stood silently in the doorway shaking his head. My father would later admit to “catching some” of the movie, saying it was, “pretty funny.” He did not initially extend the same praise to the television series “Arrested Development,” a show that I enjoyed and that my dad made fun of me for enjoying. His opinion changed suddenly when Weathers appeared as a recurring guest star, portraying a fictionalized version of himself. Subsequently, whenever he saw me watching an episode, he would ask me whether or not “this one [had] Carl Weathers in it.” If it did, he would sit down and watch it with me, laughing hysterically at all of Weathers’ lines. If it did not, he would make fun of me again and walk away.
Weathers leaves behind his wife, two sons, and my last chance of getting my father interested in Star Wars.
We tried making small talk by asking Uncle Hewlit about his boat. His reply: “When you’re out there in that hell hole and you run afoul of those Tremont Orphans, just make yourself big and scare ’em off. They’re hungry, but those motherfuckers are green.” So, not only was his nonsequitur response advice on how to handle a fictitious ’70s street gang, but he also seems to have confused them with bears? This man is not well.
An old man complaining about city punks is nothing out of the ordinary. Still, we asked a few follow-up questions, and sure enough, Uncle Hewlit was referring to The Punks street gang from the film “The Warriors” specifically. They do control The Bowery, but the similarities sort of end there. According to him, this nefarious gang’s only weakness is the fact that they wear impractical roller skates all the time and can easily be pushed over, but that’s a pretty big weakness in a street situation so his fear of them is minimal.
Cool logo and jackets notwithstanding, Uncle Hewlit isn’t shook by The Moonrunners. According to him, they aren’t even the most dangerous group to watch out for in the Pelham trainyard area. He went on to describe a nameless, far better-organized group of international thieves known for hijacking trains. We suspected he was confusing reality with the movie “The Taking of Pelham123” So we showed him a picture of Robert Shaw and sure enough, he said, “That’s the guy!”
Uncle Hewlit has more respect and admiration than fear for The Hurricanes of Spanish Harlem on the grounds that “At least they’re family,” and they rock some “sharp” fedoras, a look he’s tried to pull off countless times to no success.
While we disagree with Uncle Hewlit on New York City being a dangerous hellscape and on the events from the 1979 film “The Warriors” having actually happened, we found common ground in agreeing that any street gang who actually pays subway fair instead of hopping the turnstile can’t be all that dangerous. We hop that thing all the time truth be told.
“Typical SoHo, even the street gangs go for some artsy-fartsy pretentious mime schtick.” The man may be confusing a 1979 Walter Hill exploitation movie for current-day real life, but he has a point.
Uncle Hewlit gives The Satan’s Mothers a pass because “At least they ride.” He’s never actually been on a motorcycle, but he’s had his eye on a Harley for like 40 years.
We tried multiple times to change the subject as it became frighteningly clear that Uncle Hewlit believed the film “The Warriors” to be a recent documentary of some kind accurately portraying modern-day New York City. When we asked him who he liked for the Super Bowl this year he cut us off with a warning about The Jones Street Boys. “Don’t sleep on those cats, they may not be big time but they’re hungry to make a name for themselves.” Then he asked what kind of gun we carry. Not if we carry a gun, what kind.
Uncle Hewlit told us that the reason the Van Cortlandt Rangers wear stripes is so that when they go to prison they don’t have to change! Then he laughed really loud at his own joke for like a minute and a half straight, and followed with “Cool hats though, loyalty.”
He’s always warning us not to get on the wrong bus “less you wanna wind up turning tricks for those Turnbull ACs you got in the city!” Not only does he believe them to be real, but he thinks we might honestly mistake their bus for an MTA bus. Thanks, Uncle Hewlit, but the graffiti, general decrepitness, and the fact that it is packed to the rafters with gang members are all dead giveaways. Also, you’re once again mistaking reality with the 1979 Walter Hill cult classic “The Warriors.”
When Uncle Hewlit learned we were living in Astoria Queens, he immediately grilled us on whether or not we knew how to handle ourselves if we ever ran into those Boyle Avenue Runners, and showed us how to use a set of car keys as a jabbing weapon, he ended up hurting his shoulder during the demonstration. In reality, the most dangerous element in our neighborhood is open mic comedians, so we actually paid attention and took notes on the jabbing demo.
This gang was actually only featured in The Warriors video game, and considering Uncle Hewlit thinks Pac-Man promotes devil worship and contains hidden globalist messages, we’re really not sure how he’s even heard about them. Anyway, he recommends we carry a roll of quarters in our pocket if we ever find ourselves in the Coney Island area, lest we wander into the middle of a turf battle between The Destroyer and The Warriors. He went on about pressure points for a while before nodding off.
At a certain point, we straight-up confronted Uncle Hewlit with the fact that he was confusing a ’70s exploitation movie with real life. He said, “If that’s true, then why did I see a YouTube of The Saracens causing a ruckus downtown just this morning?” He played us the video, and it was a dance troupe.
We struggled with where to place The Lizzies on this list because Uncle Hewlit seemed to simultaneously think they were hopelessly incompetent and extremely threatening at the same time. He had a similar reaction to the 2016 “Ghostbusters” reboot. It’s unclear if he thinks “Ghostbusters” is also real or not, frankly we don’t even want to unpack that.
“I don’t know how the hell you kids hack it in a warzone like New York City. Aren’t you afraid of those jack-booted Panzers? The guys wear military fatigues for Christ’s sake!” When we pointed out that Uncle Hewlit himself was wearing a camo jacket at the time, he gave us an earful about how the only thing that can stop a bad guy with a… well you know the rest.
Apparently the Riffs, “The scourge of The Gramercy” as our uncle calls them while shaking his fist contemptuously, are a big part of the reason he’s never left the small town of Haverhill, Massachusetts. To be fair, they are the largest and most powerful gang in the fictional universe of “The Warriors,” and if they choose to amass their forces against you, you’ll have nowhere to run to, baby. The operative words there however are “fictional universe.” Uncle Hewlit has warned us to steer clear of these “bad customers” numerous times, especially if they are wearing black because that means their leader was recently assassinated and they are out for blood.
Combining Uncle Hewlit’s two greatest fears in life, stylized fictional inner city street gangs and labor unions, The Electric Eliminators are “not to be fucked with.”
We find The Savage Huns to be the most problematic gang in the film “The Warriors,” and in what appeared to be a rare moment of acknowledging both racial stereotyping and reality, Uncle Hewlit said he agreed with us. It was short-lived, as he clarified the “problem” as he saw it was that these guys are so good at karate, that we would never make it out of Chinatown alive.
Despite murdering Cyrus, a man Uncle Hewlit seems to think is a real political figure of some kind and despises, he condemns The Rogues above most street gangs because “They have no loyalty.” Then he waxed poetic about the importance of loyalty for like 40 minutes.
We really don’t want to repeat what our white conservative sundowning Uncle had to say about the Boppers, we’ll just leave it at he thinks they are real and he thinks they are very, VERY scary.
The old man is more afraid of The Baseball Furies than MS-13 and ANTIFA combined, and when we tried to tell him only one of those is real he just cracked another Yuengling and put his “Let me learn you something” face on. “You walk down the wrong Riverside street and you hear those jackals laughing and dragging those clubs around, you’re in trouble. But if you don’t hear anything, that means you’re in more trouble, Jack. The furies are silent when they wear their warpaint.”
So, who’s the toughest gang in all of ole’ New York? According to Uncle Hewlit, none other than The Warriors, who are of course the titular street gang from Walter Hill’s film “The Warriors.” He regaled us with a legend he had heard of a time The Warriors successfully made it from the north end of the Bronx to their home turf on Coney Island with every rival gang in the city after them, beat for beat the events from the film “The Warriors.” As “his” tale progressed, his fear seemed to turn toward respect, even admiration for the gang. We said, “Wow, those Warriors sound damn good.” He stared at the neck of his Yuengling and nodded for a while before responding “The best.” He really needs to see a doctor.
