By OBBM Network Editorial Staff

Derived from an episode of Locked In With Ian Bick.

“I was the first one in every fight,” Joshua Bentz says, his voice a mix of defiance and weary reflection. The words echo the brutal reality of a life that began in a broken home in Torrington, Connecticut, and spiraled into the violent underworld of the Crips and federal prisons.

Early Roots: Family Fracture and the Lure of the Streets

Bentz grew up in a fractured family. His father left when he was one year old, and his mother later founded Valley Energy Oil Company in Canton, amassing wealth that he never shared. “I didn’t get that silver spoon,” he recalls, underscoring the emotional distance that pushed him toward the streets.

At age twelve, after a confusing phone call about his mother’s sudden death, Bentz fled his home, “smoking weed, smoking cigarettes,” and quickly fell in with local gangs. He describes the early 1990s as a time of baggy clothes, “Banana Republic jeans and Levi’s,” and a constant battle for respect among peers.

Gang Life and the First Violent Encounter

One vivid memory involves a white kid who bullied him while they were building model rockets. After the kid slammed a can into Bentz’s chest, Bentz retaliated, launching the can at the boy’s forehead. The strike caused a severe concussion and a broken nose, marking Bentz’s first blood‑filled fight. “That was the first fight you’ve ever been in? Yeah, one of the real first fights, where there was blood,” he says, recalling the chaotic scene with police and ambulances arriving.

The incident cemented his reputation as a “gopher” – the first to act, whether in a fight or a gang task. He later joined the Rollin’ 30 Crip set, later known as “Mob City Crib,” before the set dissolved while he was incarcerated.

From State Prison to Federal Lockup

Throughout his teenage years, Bentz cycled through juvenile detention, state prisons, and ultimately the federal system. He notes that white Crips are now common in prisons, “people don’t even realize it,” highlighting how gang affiliation follows inmates beyond the walls of a local jail.

In prison, Bentz describes a relentless labeling process: “once you go into prison and people know you, now you are a label.” The label dictated where he could sit, eat, and even how he was treated after release. Despite the hardships, he and a close friend chose to leave the gang life, a decision he admits felt “dishonorable” at the time.

Reflection and the Search for Meaning

Now, looking back, Bentz calls his former lifestyle “corny,” recognizing he was taken advantage of and used as a “gopher.” He admits he never joined gangs for protection but because of the allure of belonging and the thrill of the street life. “I was the first one in, win, lose, draw, it didn’t matter,” he says, emphasizing the relentless pressure to prove himself.

His story underscores a broader issue: the cycle of youth entering gangs, the prison system reinforcing those identities, and the difficulty of breaking free. Bentz’s candid recounting offers a stark reminder of the human cost behind statistics on gang violence and incarceration.

In a society grappling with rising youth crime and prison overcrowding, Bentz’s journey illustrates the importance of early intervention, family support, and community resources to steer at‑risk youth away from the path he once walked.

The full episode of Locked In With Ian Bick is available on OBBM Network TV.