# The Rise and Fall of Kenneth "Supreme" McGriff: A Harlem Dynasty Built on Blood and Cocaine

## The Making of a King

The story of Kenneth "Supreme" McGriff begins not in the criminal underworld, but in the modest neighborhoods of South Jamaica, Queens—a place where ambition and opportunity collided with poverty and desperation. Born on September 19th, 1959, McGriff came from a family that embodied the working-class values of New York City. Both of his parents worked for the city's transit department, honest laborers striving to provide stability in an increasingly unstable world. Young Kenneth attended P.S. 140 Edward K. Ellington for his elementary education before advancing to France Louis High School in Fresh Meadows, the kind of educational trajectory that suggested a conventional future.

But fate had other plans.

It was at Catherine and Count Basie Junior High School in Rochdale Village where McGriff's life took an irreversible turn. Here, in the hallways of an institution meant to shape young minds toward productive citizenship, he was introduced to the Five Percent Nation—a quasi-religious organization that blended Islamic teachings with street philosophy, offering disillusioned youth an alternative identity and community. By 1971, at just twelve years old, McGriff had already been granted his Five Percenter name: "Supreme." That single word—chosen to reflect his perceived divine nature within the group's cosmology—would define his entire existence and echo through the criminal underworld for decades to come.

What began as a spiritual quest quickly transformed into something far more sinister. The Five Percenters' emphasis on strength, knowledge, and brotherhood provided the philosophical framework for what would eventually become one of the most formidable drug organizations in New York City history. McGriff and his associates initially called themselves the "Peace Gods," a name derived from the traditional Five Percenter greeting. The crew operated as a tight-knit collective, and McGriff's natural leadership qualities quickly established him as the group's central figure.

## The Architect of Empire

Among McGriff's earliest and most crucial relationship was with his nephew, Gerald "Prince" Miller. Though separated by only two years in age, the two grew up as brothers rather than uncle and nephew, a bond forged by proximity and shared circumstances. Miller would become McGriff's second-in-command, his enforcer, and ultimately, his closest confidant. Together, they assembled a crew that read like a roster of street royalty: David "Bing" Robinson, Troy "Baby Wise" Jones, Ernesto "Puerto Rican" Righteous Piniella, Melson "Godby" Serious, Philip "Dalu" Banks, Demetrius "Demo" Mitchell, and Nathan "Green Eyes" Johnson.

Initially, the Supreme Team—as they would eventually be known—didn't focus exclusively on narcotics. These young men were opportunists, engaging in whatever criminal enterprise promised quick returns: burglaries, bank robberies, and street robberies. They were, in essence, thieves with ambition, looking for the next score, the next payday. But as the 1970s progressed and territorial conflicts intensified throughout Queens, McGriff recognized an essential truth about street power: wealth alone wasn't enough. You needed numbers. You needed organization. You needed alliances.

This realization led McGriff to forge a strategic partnership with the Seven Crowns, an established gang with deep roots in South Jamaica. Within this coalition operated future kingpins like Lorenzo "Fat Cat" Nickels and Anthony "Pretty Tony" Firtado—men who understood the structural possibilities of the emerging crack cocaine epidemic. Through these connections, McGriff was introduced to Ronald "Ronnie Bumps" Bassit, a Hollis-based heroin kingpin who would serve as his crucial mentor in the drug trade. McGriff's apprenticeship began modestly: he worked as a stash house guard, a position that gave him invaluable insight into the mechanics of large-scale narcotics operations. But by 1983, as McGriff gained knowledge and connections, the Peace Gods fully transitioned into the Supreme Team, abandoning the last vestiges of street burglary for the infinitely more lucrative cocaine and heroin markets.

## Building the Fortress

Their first significant operation was established at the corner of Suttfin Boulevard and 150th Street—a small corner spot in Queens that served as the foundation for something far greater. What made this operation different from countless other street-level drug dealers wasn't just McGriff's organizational acumen, though he possessed that in abundance. It was his vision. While the Queens drug trade was dominated by established players like Fat Cat Nickels, the Firtado Brothers, Tommy "Tony Montana" Mickens, the Corley Brothers, and Claude "Clawed" Skinner, each controlling their own isolated territories, McGriff understood that the future belonged to those who could consolidate power and present a unified front.

The Supreme Team's stronghold became the Baisley Park Houses, a sprawling public housing complex home to over one thousand residents. This wasn't a coincidence. McGriff deliberately chose to dominate a concentrated area, transforming the Baisley Park Houses into a vertically integrated drug empire. Every corner, every stairwell, every rooftop became part of a larger ecosystem of commerce and control. The housing project became his fortress, his laboratory, and his showcase.

What emerged from Baisley Park was something unprecedented in scope and scale. McGriff divided his operation into four distinct crews, each led by a lieutenant who reported directly to him. James "Bimmy" Antney, who had begun his street career as a stick-up kid before recognizing the superior earning potential of organized drug dealing, commanded one faction. Troy "Baby Wise" Jones, McGriff's longtime associate, led another. Gerald "Prince" Miller, having returned from prison in July 1984 after serving time for burglary, assumed control of a third crew and quickly proved why McGriff had made him his right hand—his ruthlessness and organizational skills were unmatched. Colbert "Black Justice" Johnson, who had risen through the ranks under Troy Baby Wise Jones, controlled the fourth crew.

Each crew maintained its own identity, its own territory, and its own operational protocols. The crews were distinguished by the color of their vial tops—the plastic containers that held their product. Troy Baby Wise Jones' crew used red tops. Black Justice Johnson's crew used orange. James Bimmy Antney's operation distributed blue-topped vials. And Gerald Prince Miller's crew was marked by yellow tops. This color-coding system wasn't merely aesthetic; it was a branding strategy decades ahead of its time, allowing customers to identify quality, consistency, and which crew to approach for business.

## The Business of Power

By 1984, McGriff and his organization made a pivotal strategic decision: they would enter the crack cocaine market. At a moment when crack was beginning its explosive proliferation through American cities, the Supreme Team was positioned perfectly to capitalize on the opportunity. They branded their product with names designed to appeal to the market: "Thriller" and "Ghost Buster"—names drawn from popular culture that promised an experience, a journey, a transcendence. The names worked. Demand was insatiable, and by the end of 1985, the Supreme Team had expanded far beyond South Jamaica, consolidating control of the drug trade in Springfield Gardens and Saint Albans. Kenneth McGriff was no longer simply a local dealer; he was the architect of a veritable drug empire.

The organization McGriff built operated with a discipline and structure that rivaled legitimate corporate enterprises. Workers on the street corners followed strict protocols. The refrain "No singles, no shorts" was constant—a clear message that there were no discounts, no negotiations, no small-time transactions. The operation demanded respect and adherence to rules. Security was paramount. The Supreme Team employed rooftop lookouts positioned throughout Baisley Park, maintaining constant communication via walkie-talkies. Police scanners were monitored continuously. Coded language protected operations from law enforcement surveillance. Vehicles were reinforced with bulletproof plating. Headquarters were fortified.

The visual presentation of the organization was as calculated as every other aspect. Members wore distinctive red jackets emblazoned with the word "SUPREME" across the back—a statement of identity and dominance. Many also wore military fatigues, creating a paramilitary aesthetic that suggested discipline, organization, and unified purpose. They were, in many ways, an army occupying territory.

The arsenal matched this military presentation. The Supreme Team had access to AR-15 rifles, MAC-10s, Tech-9s, and an array of handguns including .45s, .357 Magnums, and 9-millimeter pistols. Beyond weapons, McGriff ensured his organization had access to tactical manuals, point-blank body armor, silencer handbooks, and detailed guides to improvised sabotage devices. They moved like a trained militia because McGriff understood that in the streets of 1980s New York, supremacy wasn't maintained through commerce alone—it was maintained through the credible threat of overwhelming force.

## The Inevitable Descent

Yet with power came complications that no amount of organization could entirely manage. In early July 1985, the organization suffered a significant blow when a stash house containing eighty thousand dollars was robbed. This violation represented far more than a financial loss; it represented a breach in McGriff's carefully constructed security apparatus, a suggestion that the Supreme Team was vulnerable, that their dominion was not absolute.

This incident marked the beginning of the end—though few recognized it at the time. McGriff had built something magnificent and terrible, a structure so dominant that it could not help but attract the attention of forces far more powerful than any street rival. The federal government had taken notice. Law enforcement was mobilizing. And the very success that had defined McGriff's rise would ultimately become the architect of his destruction.

The empire that Kenneth "Supreme" McGriff had constructed with such precision and vision would not survive the decade. But before its collapse, it would cement his legacy as one of the most significant and dangerous drug lords in New York City history.