# The Curry Empire: Power, Cocaine, and the Fall of Detroit's Most Dangerous Twins

## Part One: The Streets That Made Them

The Detroit of the late 1970s was a city in flux—economically devastated, racially fractured, and brimming with the kind of desperation that breeds opportunity for those willing to seize it. On the east side, seven miles from downtown's decaying skyline, the neighborhoods sprawled in checkerboard patterns of modest homes and corner markets, predominantly African-American communities where legitimate paths to wealth seemed increasingly impossible. It was into this world that Johnny and Leonard Curry were born in 1959, twin brothers who would eventually build one of Detroit's most formidable criminal empires.

The Curry household existed in the lower-middle-class stratum of society, respectable enough on the surface but marked by the same constraints that limited opportunities for thousands of families around them. Yet the Curry twins possessed something that many of their peers lacked: ambition coupled with an almost preternatural understanding of business mechanics. Johnny, the quieter and more introspective of the pair, developed into a chess player—someone who thought several moves ahead, calculated risks with precision, and maintained control through measured decision-making. Leonard, by contrast, was his inverse: extroverted, flashy, the kind of personality that drew attention and commanded respect through sheer force of presence. Together, they were complementary, and when their younger brother Rudell—known to everyone as "Boo"—rounded out the family dynamic, the three formed a unit that would eventually terrorize and dominate Detroit's criminal underworld.

The Curry twins had earned street nicknames that reflected their partnership: Johnny was "Little Man" and Leonard was "Big Man," titles that stuck with them as they navigated the dangerous world they were about to enter.

In 1978, their father—Samuel "Sammy Mack" Curry—provided the seed money that would launch their enterprise. It was a modest investment by some standards, but in the hands of young men with the Curry brothers' ambition and acumen, it would multiply exponentially. They began, as most dealers do, with marijuana—a lower-risk entry point into the drug trade that required less capital, less sophisticated distribution networks, and less violent competition. But the Curry twins were not interested in remaining small-time operators. They possessed a vision that extended far beyond street-corner hustling.

By the early 1980s, they had made their decisive move: abandoning marijuana for heroin, and then pivoting once more to the drug that would define their era and cement their legacy—cocaine, particularly the newly emerged crack cocaine that would devastate urban America throughout the decade.

## Part Two: The Architecture of an Empire

What distinguished the Curry operation from other drug enterprises was its organizational sophistication. This was not a chaotic enterprise run by violence and intimidation alone, though both certainly played their part. Instead, the Curry brothers constructed what amounted to a functioning corporation, complete with distribution networks, supply chains, middle management, and accounting systems. At their peak, they operated twenty-four distinct "dope houses"—retail outlets strategically positioned throughout Detroit's east side, each stocked with a full inventory of products: marijuana for the budget-conscious customer, heroin for the desperate, powdered cocaine for the affluent, and crack for those seeking the most intense high at the lowest price point.

The logistics of this operation required a central hub, a place where vast quantities of cash could be securely stored and processed. The Curry brothers identified the perfect location: the Marathon station auto garage operated by Alan Hill Senior at 10901 East Warren Avenue. This nondescript automotive shop served as the financial nerve center of their enterprise. One of the brothers—typically Johnny, given his more cautious nature—would make regular collections, arriving to gather the day's or week's earnings and transport them to secure storage. The cash flow was prodigious. On their best days, the money came in faster than could be easily counted, stacks of bills that represented the addictions and desperation of tens of thousands of Detroiters.

But supply was critical. The Curry operation's success depended entirely on maintaining access to cocaine shipments at competitive wholesale prices. Two suppliers stood paramount in their network: Sam "Doc" Curry, a relative who could provide consistent supply, and Art Derrick, a figure whose legend in Detroit crime circles was almost mythological.

Art Derrick represented a different tier of the drug trade entirely. While the Curry twins were retail and mid-level distributors, Derrick was an international cocaine smuggler with resources that seemed almost limitless. He owned an aviation fleet—four aircraft in total, including two planes he had allegedly purchased from the Rolling Stones when the legendary rock band sold off assets. With this aerial capability, Derrick could transport cocaine directly from Miami to Detroit, circumventing the standard distribution networks and maintaining control over the supply chain from source to street. At the height of his operations, Derrick's daily profits reached $100,000—an astronomical figure for the 1980s, representing financial power that rivaled legitimate corporations.

Derrick's wealth was displayed with the kind of brazenness that characterized the era. His Detroit residence was a palatial estate complete with marble flooring in the basement and a swimming pool—the ultimate symbol of suburban American success—that bore his initials in decorative tiles. This was a man who had transcended the neighborhood dealer archetype entirely; he existed in a realm of private aviation, real estate holdings, and wealth accumulation that few in Detroit's criminal history ever achieved.

## Part Three: The Peacocks of Detroit

The Curry twins understood that in their world, perception was currency. Respect came not just from violent capability—though they possessed that—but from visible, undeniable proof of success. Success needed to be worn, driven, and displayed in spaces where it could be witnessed and acknowledged by their peers, their rivals, and the broader criminal community.

Johnny and Leonard acquired matching burgundy Ford Broncos, the SUV of choice for the era's drug kingpins. But these were not ordinary vehicles. Each was equipped with luxurious Eddie Bauer leather interiors—the premium option that cost significantly more than standard seating. These identical vehicles served as a visual representation of their twin bond, a rolling advertisement of their unified operation and power. Rudell, their younger brother, refused to be outdone, acquiring his own Ford Bronco, though his was painted blue, creating a blue-and-burgundy fleet that announced the Curry presence wherever they traveled through Detroit's streets.

Johnny, ever the individualist beneath his twin bond with Leonard, commissioned a customized Berlina—a luxury vehicle that further showcased his refined taste and accessible wealth. Unlike some kingpins who seemed intent on converting every dollar into ostentatious display, Johnny maintained a certain restraint, a careful calibration that suggested someone who understood the dangers of excessive visibility.

When weather permitted, the Curry organization would congregate at Belle Isle Park, the verdant recreational area situated on the Detroit River. These gatherings were ostensibly leisure activities—picnics, socializing, enjoying the river breezes. But they were simultaneously something far more calculated: public displays of dominance, opportunities to see and be seen, to reinforce their position in Detroit's criminal hierarchy. The Curry brothers, their associates, and their hangers-on formed an almost royal court, surrounded by beautiful women, abundant resources, and the protective aura of genuine power. Their presence at Belle Isle Park transformed the recreational space into a stage upon which their empire could be showcased.

## Part Four: Nightlife as Empire

The Curry twins recognized that their operation existed within a broader social and cultural ecosystem. Money meant nothing if it couldn't be enjoyed, and more importantly, if it couldn't be displayed in social spaces where status was determined by access and influence. They became fixtures of Detroit's nightlife, kingpins who didn't merely operate within the city's entertainment venues but essentially colonized them, transforming establishments into extensions of their criminal enterprise.

Royal Skateland became one of their preferred haunts, a roller-skating venue where the Curry organization would throw elaborate late-night parties that attracted hundreds of people. These events were legendary within Detroit's street circles—elaborate productions that showcased the Curry wealth, drew beautiful women, allowed the brothers to reinforce their status among their crew, and created opportunities for recruitment, networking, and the kind of social currency that undergirded criminal enterprises. To be invited to a Curry party at Royal Skateland was to be acknowledged as someone of consequence.

For a more sophisticated clientele, the Curry twins frequented the Lady Night Club, a venue that catered to those seeking a slightly elevated experience—good music, cocktails, attractive women, and an atmosphere that suggested a step up from street-level hustling. And when they craved entertainment with a more primal edge, they migrated to Stokes, an establishment featuring strippers and topless waitresses, a venue where masculine power and female objectification merged in the kind of space that existed at the precise intersection of sexuality and violence that characterized much of 1980s drug culture.

These nightclubs and recreational venues functioned as outposts of the Curry empire, places where Johnny and Leonard could exercise dominion, where their presence guaranteed them the best tables, the fastest service, and the most obsequious treatment from staff and management. They were not merely customers in these spaces; they were rulers.

## Part Five: Love, Politics, and Dangerous Proximity to Power

Johnny Curry's personal romantic life would introduce a dimension to his story that transcended typical drug dealer narratives. He became involved with—and eventually married—Kathy Germaine Voulson, a woman whose family connections extended into the very highest levels of Detroit's political establishment.

Kathy was the niece of Coleman A. Young, who in 1974 had become Detroit's first African-American mayor, a position he would hold for twenty years. Young was not merely a politician; he was a transformative figure in Detroit history, a man who wielded immense power over municipal resources, police departments, and the city's political apparatus. Having family ties to Mayor Young provided access to spheres of influence that most criminals could never penetrate.

But Kathy's lineage in Detroit's underworld was equally significant. Her father, Willie Clyde Voulson Jr., had built his own criminal legacy throughout the 1970s and 1980s. Voulson had initially made his mark in illegal gambling operations before pivoting to heroin distribution, and eventually establishing himself as a significant player in Detroit's cocaine trade. The Voulson name carried weight in criminal circles, suggesting that Kathy's romantic history was deeply intertwined with the city's drug culture.

Before becoming involved with Johnny Curry, Kathy had been romantically linked to Vinnie "The Microwave" Johnson, a Detroit Pistons basketball star. Johnson earned his nickname for his ability to rapidly heat up during games, becoming an explosive scorer. This prior relationship illuminated Kathy's unique position in Detroit society—she moved between worlds, maintaining connections to both the city's sports elite and its criminal kingpins, suggesting someone who possessed rare social currency and access across multiple strata of society.

When Johnny and Kathy's relationship resulted in pregnancy, the couple held their baby shower at the Manougian Mansion, the official residence of Mayor Coleman A. Young. This event became symbolic of something profound: the collision of Detroit's political elite and its criminal underworld. A drug kingpin and his pregnant girlfriend, celebrating their impending child in the mayor's own home, represented the kind of corruption, proximity, and intertwining of legitimate and illegitimate power that defined urban politics in certain American cities during this era.

That Kathy could access the mayor's mansion wasn't merely a social anomaly; it was a window into deeper realities about power in Detroit. Kathy leveraged her family connection to Uncle Coleman to gather intelligence about the city's law enforcement activities. She reportedly gained access to sensitive police information regarding active investigations into her husband's operations—the Curry cocaine empire itself. In a game where information and surprise provided decisive advantages, Kathy Voulson Curry had transformed her family connection into an intelligence asset that gave Johnny an almost unfair advantage against law enforcement trying to dismantle his organization.

## Part Six: Federal Heat and the Informant

By 1984, the Curry organization had become too large, too visible, and too profitable to escape federal attention. The FBI and Detroit Police Department launched comprehensive investigations into the Curry brothers' operations, dedicating significant resources to penetrating what had become the most dominant drug enterprise on the east side.

Federal agents, recognizing that they could not easily cultivate informants within the Curry circle—loyalty among the organization's core members appeared genuine and fear of retaliation was substantial—resorted to more invasive tactics. In what would later be acknowledged as controversial, federal agents conducted a clandestine break-in of Johnny Curry's residence specifically to plant electronic listening devices. These were sophisticated surveillance operations that reflected the FBI's determination to penetrate the organization's operations and communications. Such tactics underscored the government's recognition that they were confronting a sophisticated, well-organized, and dangerous enterprise that would not yield to standard investigative methods.

It was during this period of federal scrutiny that Rudell "Boo" Curry, the younger brother, formed a close personal bond with a teenager from their east side neighborhood named Richard Wershe. Wershe was in his early teens, still in that liminal space between childhood and adulthood, when a connection to powerful, wealthy older brothers-like figures could seem thrilling and life-affirming. Rudell and young Richard would cruise the streets in Rudell's distinctive blue Ford Bronco—identical to his brothers' burgundy versions in every respect except color—picking up girls, driving through neighborhoods where their presence commanded respect, and attending the legendary parties at Royal Skateland and other venues where the Curry organization held court.

What Rudell did not know—what none of the Curry brothers fully grasped—was that fourteen-year-old Richard Wershe had been recruited as an informant by the FBI. The Bureau, unable to penetrate the core of the Curry organization through conventional informants or surveillance, had recognized in the young Wershe something valuable: proximity and access. As Rudell's friend and associate, Richard was invited into spaces and conversations where the organization's secrets lived. His youth, his apparent harmlessness, his integration into the Curry circle—all made him an invaluable intelligence asset.

Wershe's recruitment represented a fateful turning point, though no one could have anticipated it at the time. The information this teenager would provide to federal agents would eventually contribute to the unraveling of the Curry empire, setting in motion events that would lead to indictments, convictions, and the dissolution of what had seemed like an unshakeable criminal organization.

This was the beginning of one of Detroit's most infamous tales of betrayal—a story that would demonstrate how federal law enforcement could manipulate youth, exploit proximity, and use a teenager as a tool against powerful criminals. It was a narrative that would haunt Detroit for decades, raising questions about justice, morality, and the cost of federal investigative tactics.

The Curry twins had built their empire with sophistication and care, but they had failed to account for one variable: the willingness of federal agencies to recruit and utilize a child as an informant against them.