VIDEO: Dana Bostic Final W.mov

REWRITTEN: 2026-05-12 11:56:41

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Yo, these streets ain't no joke, you feel me? Dana Bostic, came into this world 1979 on Chicago's grimy West Side, caught nothing but pain from jump. His pops got locked down when Bostic was only three years old, and by the time he hit seven, his moms had his half-brother Curtis Ellis with Bostic's stepdad, who ended up getting murdered in some savage attack. At eight years old, Bostic's world got flipped again when his mother, strung out on that heroin, lost custody of him and his siblings, Curtis and Tiffany. Child services stepped in, threw them with their grandmother, who died less than a year later. Coming up broke as hell, Bostic caught the eye of local drug hustlers who'd throw him some food and slip him cash. Before long, he was gravitating toward that life. He linked up with the new breeds, a branch of Chicago's black gangsters that started in the 1960s and split off from the black gangster disciples. By age 12, Bostic was pushing marijuana on corners. A year later, he started working lookout for heroin dealers, pulling in eight dollars an hour, which was serious bread for a kid in his situation. By 14, Bostic's chaotic life landed him in a group home where he bailed on school. His run-ins with the law started stacking up, with multiple trips to juvenile detention for car theft and weapons possession. Despite the rough start, he became known in his hood, earning street names like Bird, Mellow and Freak, which showed his growing status on the block. By 2000, Dana Bostic, now standing six foot two, had kept building his name even though his arrest record kept growing. Arrests for disorderly conduct, unlawful use of a weapon and gambling showed his constant beef with the law. That year, police caught Bostic moving a bag of crack. Though he got convicted of possession with intent to distribute, he dodged prison and only got hit with one year probation. By then, Bostic had climbed to lieutenant in the operation run by El Azer Buldro Alves, a major force in the local drug game. Rolling with him were his brother Curtis Ellis and childhood homies Maurice Capone Davis, who dropped out of school in ninth grade, Ladonta Bam Gill his cousin, and Brandon Smooth Richards. These tight-knit soldiers worked for the gang, often as lookouts. Tragedy hit on Father's Day 2001 when Alves got shot and killed at a neighborhood block party. With Alves gone, Bostic saw his shot to fill the power vacuum and take over the operation. Now the boss of his faction of the new breeds, Bostic locked in his position as a major player in the local drug trade. Even though word on the street was that Bostic might have set up Alves' murder, he made a public display of respect for his former boss. Every Father's Day after Alves' death, Bostic threw an annual barbecue in his honor, a move that both paid tribute to Alves' legacy and reinforced Bostic's own presence in the neighborhood. Dana Bostic quickly locked down his leadership by making Curtis Ellis his brother his second in command. Ellis' childhood homies who had already proven their loyalty and skills got promoted to key positions in the operation. Maurice Capone Davis, Ladonta Bam Gill, Tommy Little Tommy Moore, Dandre D. Mack London, Raynard Bowser, and Cornelius Bunny Thomas took on roles as street supervisors running the daily heroin sales. Their job included passing heroin to street dealers, collecting money and keeping the operation flowing smooth. The street dealers under their watch were a mix of trusted associates including Derek Buld Thomas, Tommy Adams, Ramone Truck McLean, Parrish Mitchell, and Norman Thompson. Bostic was dead set that his operation focused strictly on heroin, a strategic move to dominate a profitable market with steady demand. Bostic set up his headquarters at Moore's apartment on West Van Buren Street, positioning his base of operations strategically in a 12-block territory bounded by Polaski Road, Costner Avenue, Congress Parkway, and Jackson Street. This area, located near the I-290 Eisenhower Expressway, locally known as the heroin highway for its direct connection between Chicago's West Side and the Western suburbs, was a perfect location for trafficking. The new breeds controlled multiple high-traffic drug spots in this area, including a Citgo gas station on the 4,000 block of West Van Buren Street. Other strategic points included locations near a Save-A-Lot grocery store and along the Chicago Transit Authority's Blue Line, which provided a steady flow of commuters and potential customers. The 24-hour operation of the Blue Line's trains offered a continuous stream of foot traffic, making it one of the most profitable territories in the West Side's drug trade. Dana Bostic ran his drug operation with military-like precision, using a well-organized system for sourcing, processing, and distributing heroin. He would routinely rent a car, accompanied by his second-in-command Curtis Ellis, to pick up 100 grams of heroin from a supplier two to four times a week. The heroin was transported to a designated apartment, known within the organization as the table, where it would be processed and prepared for distribution. To avoid detection, Bostic's crew relied on coded language during conversations about their operations. He paid between $8,500 and $9,000 for each 100-gram batch, ensuring a steady supply for his enterprise. Processing and packaging were carried out at the homes of trusted gang members like Ladonta Bam Gill in Cicero Illinois and James Jigga Kirkendall. Both locations also served as stash houses, with freezers holding large amounts of heroin, sometimes as much as $8,000 worth. To secure these locations, Bostic covered Gill's and Kirkendall's rent, ensuring their loyalty and discretion. The preparation process involved Bostic, Ellis, Christopher Chris Rockhunter, Kirkendall and Gill, mixing the raw heroin with the over-the-counter antihistamine diphenhydramine, commonly sold as Dormant. This cutting process reduced the drug's potency while increasing its volume, maximizing profits. The heroin was then packaged in one-tenth-gram portions, wrapped in foil, and placed in blue or pink bags called blows. To distinguish their product, the bags were stamped with a gold crown insignia, a branding strategy that ensured repeat business from loyal customers. Once packaged, Ellis and Hunter distributed the product to runners in bundles of 13 bags known as Jabs. These Jabs were further grouped into larger quantities called PAX, stored in sandwich bags for easy transport. Aaron Little One Bagley played a crucial role in logistics, delivering the PAX and Jabs to street supervisors like Maurice Capone Davis and Dandre D. Mac London. These supervisors oversaw the final stage of distribution, handing the product off to street dealers who sold individual bags directly to heroin users. Dana Bostic's drug operation was as ruthless as it was organized. Bags of heroin sold for $10 each generated thousands of dollars in daily revenue. Dealers working under Bostic were required to hand over $110 for each Jabs, a bundle of 13 bags. This arrangement gave the dealers an option. Sell all 13 bags and pocket a $20 profit or keep two bags for personal use. But failure to return the heroin or the money, whether due to robbery or arrest, came with harsh consequences. In such cases, dealers were forced to sell what was known as a happy pack, a jab they had to move without any chance of making a profit. When it came to enforcing discipline, Bostic wasn't above using violence. In one instance, he broke Ladonta Bam Gill's arm with a baseball bat after Gill turned in less money than expected. Despite the brutality, Bostic's organization thrived, pulling in an average of $5,000 daily. Profit skyrocketed to $10,000 on the first day of each month, coinciding with the issuance of government assistance checks. For higher end clients, referred to as peas for preferred customers, the organization offered bulk purchases with transactions ranging from $50 to $500 worth of heroin. These deals were arranged through a special cell phone carried by Aaron Little One Bagley, designated exclusively for peas. Communication within the organization relied heavily on coded language, with firearms referred to as toys or gym shoes and bullets as shoe strings. By 2002, the new breeds reputation for violence was as notorious as their drug trade. That year an incident involving Bostic escalated tensions in the streets. It began with Christopher Chris Rockhunter, a fellow new breeds member, getting shot in the leg. Later that night, a rival dealer from a competing faction paid the price for Rockhunter's blood. Bostic orchestrated a swift retaliation, sending a clear message that any move against his crew would be answered with extreme prejudice. This tit-for-tat violence became the rhythm of the West Side streets, a deadly dance between competing organizations fighting for control and respect. But Bostic's reign wouldn't last forever. Federal authorities had been watching him for years, building a case that was about to change everything. By 2006, the DEA and FBI had compiled enough evidence through wiretaps, informants, and surveillance to bring down the entire operation. Dana Bostic was arrested alongside Curtis Ellis, Maurice Capone Davis, and over a dozen other members of his crew. The indictment spelled out years of drug trafficking, money laundering, and violent crime. In the end, Bostic faced a federal sentence that would keep him locked down for decades. He was convicted on multiple counts including conspiracy to distribute heroin, money laundering, and racketeering. The man who had built an empire on the West Side streets, who had controlled drug operations worth millions, would spend his best years behind bars. The legacy of Dana Bostic is one that Chicago won't forget—a cautionary tale of how ambition and ruthlessness on the streets lead not to lasting power, but to prison cells and lost decades. His name became synonymous with the West Side's bloodiest era, a period when young men died over territory and dollars, when neighborhoods were ravaged by the very heroin Bostic sold. In the end, the streets that raised him consumed him, leaving behind a trail of addiction, death, and broken families that would haunt Chicago's West Side for generations to come. Dana Bostic's final win wasn't victory—it was a life sentence.