How the Green Giant Lost His Jolly

I don’t remember if I knew JP had his snub-nose .38 with him that day. I can’t say I was surprised he was carrying; I’d seen him do it before. I knew one thing, if he pulled his gun he would use it. No doubt.

JP operated a wholesale dry cleaning plant, and Heidi Williams, owner of Williams Dry Cleaner on Ridge Avenue in North Philly had been a demanding but good paying customer.

I drive JP’s truck and Williams is my stop. There’s a new sign, ‘Green Giant Cleaners’ over the store and a young girl behind the counter tells me that Ms. Williams has retired and her nephew, Herschel, was the new owner.

That Friday, I hand the young girl the weekly invoice which was due upon receipt. She said she had to give it to Mr. Williams for his review. A week passes, no payment. On the next Friday, armed with a second invoice, the young girl is not alone; there are three guys in the store, straight out of Black Mafia Central Casting. One of them, dressed in shades of green, was at least 6’8’’, and clearly the boss.

“Give me that paper, white boy.” He reads it, crumbles it into a ball and tosses it into a wastepaper basket ten feet away. Nice shot. The two guys hand him $20 each, and then the Green Giant turns his attention to me.

 “I owe you $120.18. You tell that fat dago m************ he can kiss my m************ n***** ass!” The two sidekicks are howling, “You tell ‘em, Jolly.” “You hear me, white boy, tell him my exact words, I’ll repeat them so you don’t forget: that fat dago m************ can kiss my n***** ass before he gets his $120.18.”

JP is in his office. I tell him what happened, delivering the Green Giant’s message, verbatim. He doesn’t say anything at first. He lights a soggy stogie from the ashtray. 

“How many guys?” “Two plus him.”

“Alright, go get my car, maybe he just doesn’t understand.”

We drive to North Philly, and JP isn’t saying much. In front of the cleaners is a new pimped out lime green Cadillac. “That’s his car.”

The young girl is not behind the counter. Now, there are four guys and the Green Giant. They look surprised to see us. “Jolly Green Giant Cleaners, I like that, catchy. I had a small statue of a black lawn jockey out front of my house, I painted him white. You should paint the Green Giant black. It pays to advertise. And speaking of pay, is there a problem with the invoice? I figure you’re new to the business, and maybe my driver got it wrong when he told me that you didn’t want to pay me.”

Nobody says nothing. I hear somebody swallow hard, probably me.

“Nah, the white boy got it right, you fat dago motherfucker. I ain’t paying you shit. Get the fuck outta my store before I take $120.18 out of your fat ass,” spits out the Green Giant turning toward his posse and his back to JP. Mistake.

What happens next was mostly a blur then but is remarkably clear all these years later. At 5’9”, JP raises his arm a foot to lay the blue steel barrel of his snub-nose .38 against the Green Giant’s temple. The Green Giant has lost his jolly.

.

“You owe me money!” JP is shouting.The four hoods in the store reach for their guns.

“I’ll blow this m************* head off. Go ahead, go ahead!” Everybody freezes. The gangsters, me, the Green Giant, JP, the fly on the wall, even the dust floating on the sunbeams stops moving.

“Put your guns on the floor, or your boss is one dead n*****”

“Do it!” The Green Giant winces as JP jabs the snub-nose into his temple. The gangsters comply laying their guns on the floor.

“Pick ‘em up,” JP tells me. I hesitate. “Pick ‘em the fuck up!”

I collect the guns at the gangster’s feet, their eyes focused on JP. “Now, give me your gun,” says JP almost in a whisper.

You can see Jolly thinking. So could JP.Cocking the snub-nose, JP smiles, “Go ahead, go for it, I might miss your fucking head at this distance, but I doubt it.”The Green Giant ever so slowly reaches inside his jacket for a shoulder holster and carefully hands JP a silver-plated cannon.

“Ho, ho, ho, Green Giant. Nice piece, thanks.”

We back out onto Ridge Avenue, JP gun in hand, me holding four others. I don’t remember much about the ride home. We get back to the plant when JP realizes he didn’t get paid. “Stop there next week.” And I can’t believe I did just that. The young girl was alone behind the counter, she informs me that Mr. Williams will no longer require our services, handing me an envelope asks, “Will you please sign a receipt?”

On November 5th, 1975, Philly Black Mafia enforcer and hitman Herschel (The Jolly Green Giant) Williams is shot gunned to death over an alleged dispute with his brother-in-law fellow PBM member, Big Phil Blair with the hit carried out by PBM strong arm, Jo Jo Rhone.