Yo what's good to the evil streets family, y'all already know we back at it with another one, big shout to all my members and subscribers for locking in on the daily, y'all the whole reason this channel stays growing and popping. Anybody trying to promote they music, brand or business, hit me at evil streets media at gmail.com, we can work something out. Mad love for all the cash app donations too, and if anybody wanna support the channel they can do that at evil streets tv on cash app, all donations go right back into the channel. Aight y'all, let's dive into this gangster shit. You probably heard mad stories about drug crews, how they held they corners down, moved product and made they name ring in the streets. But not too many tales get told about the ones who got rich just off being the landlords of the game, straight taxing dealers for moving work on they turf. This the story of two ruthless gangsters and they crews who had the South Bronx on smash and ran the drug trade like a business empire, one built on fear, blood and bodies. They reign over the neighborhood was as violent as it was profitable. George Nelson Calderon Junior came into this world on June 12th, 1956 in Carolina, Puerto Rico. Life wasn't sweet from the jump, his moms dipped on his pops when George was still just a little man. She packed up him and his two siblings and brought them to the concrete jungle, New York City. They touched down in the South Bronx in a small furnished room on East 137th Street in the heart of Mott Haven, an area thick with Puerto Rican families trying to make it in a city that didn't offer much. But by the early 60s, Mott Haven was already falling apart, the projects started going up all over, bringing in waves of broke and struggling folks. The neighborhood turned fast into a poverty-stricken war zone full of dope, stick ups and broken dreams. Moms got on welfare to try and hold it down, eventually remarried and had more mouths to feed. But George, George took to the streets like he was born for it. He was deep in the game before he even hit his teens. He started small, pickpocketing, running scams, whatever he could do to get a dollar. His sister said that by the time he was ten, some older dudes had already introduced him to heroin. His twelve year old brother Frank, he started using too. When they step pops found out, he beat both of them with a belt until they were bleeding. That ass whooping scared Frankie straight. But George? Nah, he just got colder. George barely went to school, the streets was his classroom. He was out here hitting freight trains in the rail yards, stealing whatever loot he could find and flipping it for cash. His stepfather tried different ways to keep him off the block, even hid his sneakers to stop him from going outside. But George was wild, he'd step out barefoot just to chase a dollar and he'd come back with pockets full of cash. Eventually the family stopped asking where the money came from, they knew it wasn't legal. But at the end of the day, that money was helping keep the lights on and food on the table. And in a neighborhood like Mott Haven, sometimes survival came before morals. By fourteen, George was already knee deep in the streets, caught boosting jewelry just to cop some dope. And by fifteen he was full blown strung out on that dog food. Eventually he tried to flip the script and switched over to coke, but that only led to him getting tossed around a bunch of drug treatment spots. Still the streets kept calling. George Calderon stayed locked in with a wild young Puerto Rican cat named George Gomez, a few years younger but already making noise in the hood. They families were tight so they'd been around each other since young. Even as a shorty, Gomez had a rep in the neighborhood. Once they linked up for real, it was on. They were out there sticking folks up, running up in cribs, doing whatever it took to get fast cash. But in 1973, the grind got paused, Calderon got bagged. Word on the street is he was caught driving a whip with a whole body in the trunk. Whether or not that's true, he ended up getting hit with burglary and robbery charges and was sentenced to a six to eighteen year bid. Meanwhile the South Bronx in the 70s, that joint was falling apart. Crime and gangs were everywhere. Mott Haven in particular was looking like a war zone, stacked with projects, barely any legit income coming in, just welfare and struggle. The Diego Beekman houses had the worst rep out of all of them, dope everywhere, barely anybody working, just survival mode. While Calderon was locked up at Elmira upstate, his homie Gomez, now known in the streets as Money George, was making moves. He'd go up to visit Calderon, but back in the Bronx he was rising up. He started leading a crew called the Cypress Boys, which had his brothers in it along with a local young cat named Ishmael. They were out there wilding, robberies, break-ins, whatever, and the hood started fearing them. When Calderon finally touched down after doing a little over seven years, he linked right back up with Money George and got locked in with the Cypress Boys. By then, under Money's leadership, they had clout and respect in Mott Haven. Calderon and Money George, they bond was tight. Even though Calderon was older, he looked up to Money's game and sharp street instincts. Now going by just Calderon or Cal for short, he jumped right back in the mix, collecting debts, jacking folks and putting in work as the squad's enforcer. Cal was cold with it, straight savage when it came to violence, and it didn't take long for his name to ring out across Mott Haven. His presence in the Cypress Boys made them even more feared. Now they weren't just a crew, they were a gang of certified problem makers. Calderon's half brother Alberto Garcia, better known in the streets as Easy Ow, was on the come up as a rapper. Back in 1980 he dropped a single called The Rapping Spree with his group The Jazzy 3. One of the other members, none other than Busy B, Money George's younger brother. Fonzi, the streets had talent too, and these dudes were trying to make noise on wax. In January of 82, Cal had a son, George Calderon the third. But heartbreak hit quick because by June the next year, the baby passed away. No details ever surfaced on how, but it was a heavy loss that left Cal with pain he rarely spoke on. By this time the Cypress Boys weren't no little street kids no more, they were in they twenties now, seasoned in the game and certified vets by South Bronx standards. Money George and his squad had Cypress Avenue locked down and were getting it by any means necessary, armed robberies, extortion, you name it. One of Money George's main hustles was taxing local businesses, bodegas had to pay up just to stay open on his turf. That was the cost of doing business when the block belonged to him. But the more dirt they did, the more opps they created. Enemies were stacking and somebody out there was ready to even the score. On the morning of September 12th, 1983, Money George was chilling in a car by St. Mark's Park in Mott Haven with his man Ishmael and a shorty named Melinda. Out of nowhere a gunman ran up with a machine gun and sprayed the whip with bullets. It was a straight up ambush. Money George and Melinda were gone instantly. Ishmael held on in the hospital for a few days before he passed too. They laid Money George to rest in St. Raymond's out in the Bronx. That hit shook Calderon to his core. Losing his right hand man, the one he rode with, bled with, cut deep. But the way Money George moved through the game then got taken out in a blaze of bullets, that cemented his legacy. To Cal, he wasn't just a fallen soldier, he was a street legend. As Calderon shifted his focus to his own grind, he leveled up fast in the underworld real quick. His name started ringing bells. He got heavy into the drug game and built up a small squad to move weight and keep the whole operation running smooth. The early 80s brought a few setbacks though, he caught some short bids here and there for parole violations, but nothing major enough to slow him down for long. When crack hit NYC in 85, the South Bronx and Washington Heights got hit the hardest, damn near turned into the epicenter of the epidemic. Hustlers flooded the streets trying to get their cut of the new gold rush. Calderon saw the opportunity and moved fast. He positioned himself as a major distributor, moving weight through the neighborhood and taxing every dealer that wanted to operate on his block. Cal wasn't just a kingpin anymore, he was becoming a shadow that controlled the entire South Bronx drug trade. His crew grew bigger, more organized, more ruthless. Nobody was moving product without paying tribute to George Calderon. He had money stacked higher than ever before, but he also had enemies multiplying every single day. Between 1985 and 1991, Calderon was unstoppable. He had his fingers in everything from small time corner hustles to major distribution networks. He was making moves that had the feds and local law enforcement paying close attention. But Cal wasn't worried about no cops, he was worried about the streets. In 1991, federal agents finally made their move. They'd been building a case on Calderon for years, wiretaps, informants, surveillance all added up. When they came for him, they came heavy. Calderon got arrested and hit with serious federal charges. This time wasn't no six to eighteen. This was the real deal. He was facing decades in prison for his role in the crack epidemic that had devastated the South Bronx. In court, the government laid out their case against him. Witness after witness testified about his operations, his violence, his control over the neighborhood. Calderon was convicted and sentenced to a lengthy prison bid that would keep him locked down for the rest of his natural life. George Calderon, the cold blooded enforcer who'd risen from nothing to control everything, was going away for good. But his story don't end there. Even locked up, Calderon remained a powerful figure in the South Bronx underworld. Younger hustlers still whispered his name with respect and fear. His legacy shaped an entire generation of dealers and made him a cautionary tale for everybody in the game. George Calderon's story is a testament to the dark underbelly of the drug trade. He started as a desperate kid looking for survival and evolved into one of the most feared and ruthless kingpins the South Bronx has ever seen. His rise and fall shows what the streets really about – power, violence, and eventually incarceration or death. Calderon brought his brand of terror to Mott Haven and changed the neighborhood forever. Whether you see him as a victim of circumstance or a cold blooded criminal, one thing is for certain: George Calderon's name will always be remembered in South Bronx history as the man who controlled the game with an iron fist. His legacy is etched in the pavement, the blocks he owned, and the lives he destroyed in his pursuit of power and respect in the streets.