# NEW YORK HOOD JOURNALISTIC REWRITE
The city hit different back then, you feel me? The blocks were ruthless, straight cutthroat. Johnny Curry and his twin Leo rolled into this world in '59, coming up in a working-class Black neighborhood on Detroit's east side, seven miles from the heart of downtown. That environment? That's what molded them into major players in Detroit's underworld through the '80s. Johnny was the quiet one, the thinker, the strategist. Leo? He was all flash, all personality, the brother who loved the spotlight. Their youngest brother Rudell, who everybody called Boo, completed the family circle. Going by Little Man and Big Man, Johnny and Leo jumped into the game late '70s, starting off pushing weed. Word is their pops, Samuel Sammy Mack Curry, gave them the seed money in '78 to get things rolling. The Curry organization moved quick, yo. They graduated from marijuana to heroin, then took over Detroit's east side with powder cocaine and crack through the '80s. The Curry's set up shop with 24 dope spots scattered across the city, serving up a full menu—weed, boy, powder, and rock to anybody with cash. Their operation ran like clockwork. Alan Hill Senior's Marathon gas station and auto garage over on 10901 East Warren in Detroit? That was the vault, the spot where they stashed the paper. One of the brothers would swing through regularly to collect the earnings, keeping that money flowing steady and secure. The Curry's cocaine connect came through two major suppliers—Sam Doc Curry, family blood, and Art Derrick, a heavyweight Detroit figure known for high-level drug smuggling operations. Derrick owned a fleet of four planes, and rumor had it two of them joints came straight from the Rolling Stones. He was the one flying that white girl up from Miami. At his peak, Derrick was clearing a hundred thousand dollars daily. Dude lived like royalty in his Detroit mansion, complete with marble floors in the basement and a custom pool with his initials embedded in it. The Curry's success showed in how they moved. Johnny and Leo both whipped matching burgundy Ford Broncos with that luxury Eddie Bauer leather interior, symbolizing that twin connection and their wealth. Even their younger brother Rudell got in on it, pushing a similar blue Ford Bronco. Johnny, always the low-key boss, also kept a customized Berlina in rotation, showing his taste for exclusive whips. When the sun was out, the Curry's and their whole crew would post up at Belle Isle Park, that popular spot along the Detroit River. These weren't just casual hangouts—this was a show of force, a public display of their power and unity, flexing on the whole city's social and criminal landscape. The Curry's represented that perfect blend of style, money, and that raw Detroit street life in the '80s, leaving a permanent stamp on the city's underworld. The Curry twins weren't just moving weight—they owned Detroit's nightlife scene too. They transformed spots like Royal Skateland into their personal territories, throwing late-night functions that pulled massive crowds and attention. When they wanted something more refined, they hit the Lady Night Club. For that wild energy, they rolled to Stokes, a spot featuring strippers and topless waitresses. These venues became extensions of their empire, places where power and influence were impossible to ignore. Johnny Curry's personal situation added another dimension to his story. He got with Kathy Germaine Voulson, who happened to be Detroit Mayor Coleman A. Young's niece. This connection put Johnny in proximity to real power, something most street dudes could only dream about. Kathy's father, Willie Clyde Voulson Jr., had his own legacy in the underworld, building his name as a kingpin through the '70s and '80s. After running illegal gambling operations, Voulson switched to heroin, then cocaine, cementing the Voulson name in Detroit's criminal history. Before linking up with Johnny, Kathy had been romantically involved with Detroit Pistons star Vinnie "The Microwave" Johnson, a connection that showed her ties to both professional sports and street culture. When Kathy got pregnant with Johnny's child, the baby shower went down at the Manoogian Mansion, the official residence of Mayor Young. This event represented the intersection of Detroit's political elite and its criminal underground, with Johnny Curry standing right at the center of it all. During Coleman A. Young's historic run as Detroit's first Black mayor, he controlled massive political influence, and his niece Kathy Voulson used her family connections to navigate the city's power structures. Word is Kathy tapped into this connection to access confidential police intelligence about investigations targeting her and the Curry organization—a major advantage in a deadly game. By 1984, the Curry Brothers were under federal surveillance. The FBI and Detroit police launched a comprehensive investigation into their operations, with federal agents secretly breaking into Johnny Curry's residence to install listening devices. These tactics showed the mounting pressure on the Curry empire. During this time, Rudell "Boo" Curry formed a tight bond with Richard "White Boy Rick" Wershe, a local teenager from their East Side neighborhood. The two would cruise the streets in Rudell's blue Ford Bronco, picking up women and hitting up the Curry Brothers' legendary parties at Royal Skateland. What the Curry's didn't know was that fourteen-year-old Wershe had been recruited as an FBI informant. His close access to the Curry circle made him an invaluable asset in the federal investigation, feeding insights into their operations. Wershe's role would later become one of Detroit's most notorious stories of betrayal, exposing that volatile mix of youth, crime, and federal intervention during the city's chaotic drug era. Johnny Curry's marriage to Kathy Voulson in 1985 strengthened his connections to Detroit's political elite even more. Kathy's status as Mayor Coleman A. Young's niece came with privileges, including a Detroit Police Department security detail assigned to protect her, led by Sergeant James Harris. This connection created an aura of protection around Johnny and his organization, allowing him to operate with a sense of immunity in the city's criminal landscape. Johnny's social circle extended beyond Detroit's boundaries. He regularly networked with prominent figures, sometimes bringing Richard "White Boy Rick" Wershe along. Wershe, despite being just a teenager, became a regular presence in Johnny's glamorous lifestyle. Johnny took Wershe to Detroit Tigers games and even brought him to major events like the legendary World Middleweight Boxing Championship between Marvelous Marvin Hagler and Detroit's own Thomas "The Hitman" Hearns. The fight, held April 15, 1985 in Las Vegas, was an iconic sports moment, and Wershe's presence in the Curry entourage showed the teenager's deep integration into their circle. The drive-by on April 29 that killed thirteen-year-old Damien Lucas remains one of the darkest episodes in the Curry organization's history. This tragic incident highlighted the violent and reckless nature of Detroit's drug underworld during the '80s. Damien Lucas, an orphan living with his uncle Leon Lucas in Northwest Detroit, was fatally shot in the chest while watching TV with his younger brother Frankie. The shooting wasn't meant for Damien—it was a message to Leon Lucas, a heroin dealer connected to the Curry Brothers. Leon had allegedly failed to secure tickets for the Curry's Las Vegas trip to the Marvin Hagler versus Thomas Hearns fight, escalating tensions that were already high because of a debt owed for cash and heroin seized during a previous police raid. According to FBI intelligence, Leo Curry ordered the hit, directing Wyman Jenkins to coordinate the attack. Sydney "Wack" Goodwin and Walter "Waldo" Owens were recruited as shooters and supplied with Mac-10 and Mac-11 machine pistols. Kevin "Weasel" Colbert handled driving duties. The hit squad targeted two locations that night—Robert Walton's house, where a parked vehicle was sprayed with bullets, and Leon Lucas's residence, where at least ten shots were fired into the house, killing Damien. Leon Lucas later stated in an interview that Leo Curry and Wyman Jenkins had directly threatened him the morning of the shooting, warning about the drive-by. Despite this, a man with no connection to the Curry organization, LaQuies Davis, was initially charged with Damien's murder. However, FBI Agent Herman Groman, who was also one of Richard "White Boy Rick" Wershe's handlers, presented wiretap evidence proving Davis's innocence. The charges against Davis were dropped. Damien Lucas's murder brought intense scrutiny on the brutality of Detroit's drug trade and the Curry organization's readiness to use violence to resolve disputes. The senseless killing of an innocent child exposed the collateral damage of the cocaine wars ravaging Detroit's neighborhoods.
The federal heat intensified after the Lucas murder. The walls were closing in on Johnny and Leo, even with their political connections and police protection. White Boy Rick's intelligence fed straight to the feds, painting a detailed picture of the Curry operation's structure, methods, and violent tendencies. By 1987, the dominoes started falling. Federal prosecutors built an airtight case, using wiretaps, informant testimony, and surveillance footage to construct a narrative of organized drug trafficking. Johnny Curry and his brother Leo were arrested and charged with major drug distribution, racketeering, and conspiracy. The trial exposed the full scope of their empire—the 24 dope houses, the Miami connections, the political protections they thought were untouchable. Leo Curry received a life sentence. Johnny, despite his quieter demeanor and strategic acumen, also faced decades in federal prison. Their glamorous lifestyle, the matching Broncos, the nightclub appearances, the basketball games—all of it became evidence of their criminal enterprise. The Curry Brothers' fall marked the beginning of the end for Detroit's dominant cocaine organizations in the late '80s. Their imprisonment sent shockwaves through the city's underworld, proving that even connections to Detroit's political elite couldn't save you from federal prosecution when the feds decided to move.
The legacy of the Curry Brothers represents one of the most complex and cautionary tales in Detroit's criminal history. They rose from the east side streets to become one of the most powerful drug organizations in America, controlling the flow of narcotics through a major metropolitan area with calculated precision and ruthless efficiency. Yet their downfall was equally swift and devastating, brought down not just by law enforcement but by the very system of informants and federal surveillance that exposed their operations from within. The Curry Brothers left behind a twisted inheritance—immense wealth accumulated through the suffering of thousands addicted to their product, a body count that extended from hardened criminals to innocent children like Damien Lucas, and a blueprint for organized drug trafficking that would influence Detroit's underworld for decades to come. But more importantly, the Curry story revealed the dangerous intersection of political power and street crime, showing how even the deepest connections to Detroit's political establishment couldn't protect you when federal prosecutors decided to take you down. Their reign over Detroit's east side lasted less than a decade, but the impact of their organization—the violence, the addiction, the broken families, the prison sentences that followed—echoed through Detroit's communities for generations. The Curry Brothers became symbols of the cocaine era's ultimate tragedy: immense power built on destruction, wielded by men too young and too ruthless to understand the human cost of their ambitions. In the annals of Detroit street history, they remain unforgettable figures—brilliant operators who controlled an empire, yet ultimately just two brothers who played a game they couldn't win.