Finding success in this thing called “life” can be complicated. Sometimes we’re driven by an insatiable hunger; other times, we drift in life aimlessly looking for purpose. Yet, what appears to be circumstances meant to bury us can become the foundation from which we grow. In life, we grow strong and resilient simply because of our courage to continue through seemingly insurmountable obstacles.
This book is an example of what happens when perseverance becomes less of an admirable quality and more of a way of life. Starvin’ Artist: Hunger for Success is a truly inspirational story of how poverty, violence, and drug abuse ran rampant in underserved minority communities and how those experiences shaped a young Black boy into a successful husband, father, and business owner. Anthony found peace and solace in art. Despite many challenges, Anthony used the adversity of his reality to fuel his hunger for success.
Starvin’ Artist: Hunger for Success is a reminder that everything—every win, every loss, every obstacle, and every mishap—can be a stepping stone to success. This book is a guide for taking life experiences and finding lessons in them and using those lessons to change the trajectory of your life.
Finding success in this thing called “life” can be complicated. Sometimes we’re driven by an insatiable hunger; other times, we drift in life aimlessly looking for purpose. Yet, what appears to be circumstances meant to bury us can become the foundation from which we grow. In life, we grow strong and resilient simply because of our courage to continue through seemingly insurmountable obstacles.
This book is an example of what happens when perseverance becomes less of an admirable quality and more of a way of life. Starvin’ Artist: Hunger for Success is a truly inspirational story of how poverty, violence, and drug abuse ran rampant in underserved minority communities and how those experiences shaped a young Black boy into a successful husband, father, and business owner. Anthony found peace and solace in art. Despite many challenges, Anthony used the adversity of his reality to fuel his hunger for success.
Starvin’ Artist: Hunger for Success is a reminder that everything—every win, every loss, every obstacle, and every mishap—can be a stepping stone to success. This book is a guide for taking life experiences and finding lessons in them and using those lessons to change the trajectory of your life.
I didn’t sleep well. I regularly heard gunshots and other activities outside my bedroom window during the wee hours. Sometimes the air conditioning didn’t work in our apartment, so I’d be uncomfortable in my bed.
As I’d lay there, my heart would race. I’d feel my skin crawling as I gazed at the ceiling. I wasn’t scared of the monsters under my bed like most nine-year-olds. I was afraid of dying. At night, I’d lay there with my dark thoughts, thinking about whether I’d get shot for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’d sweat at night and think I’d die from heat stroke because someone had told me that was possible.
In the early hours when I went to the bathroom, roaches would fall from the ceiling, crawling everywhere when I turned on the lights. I sometimes peed in my sheets as a child because I didn’t want to get out of bed to go to the bathroom. As I sweated into my pillow, I’d imagine the rodents having a field day running through the kitchen. I often found dead mice in our traps, which I would throw out. I wasn’t afraid of the mice; I was afraid that one day, just like this unfortunate pest, I, myself, would cease to exist.
The uncertainty of change can be a heavy burden for anyone, especially for a child.
Lessons Learned From The Wrong Side
Nineteen ninety—coincidentally, the year Nelson Mandela was released after twenty-seven years of imprisonment in South Africa—marked one of the biggest changes in my life.
That summer, my big brother, mother, and I were reunited with my father. We moved to the Washington Heights Apartments in Landover, Maryland. Washington Heights was an inner-city building complex near a large field we called “Farmer Joe’s Field.” That field we used to play in is now known as FedEx Field, and it’s where the team, formally known as the Washington Redskins, plays. I still remember the loud noises the work trucks would make each morning when building the stadium. The loud sounds of the metal pinging together would excite me. It gave me a feeling that things were changing. According to The Washington Post, my building complex in Landover was a maze of federally subsidized units that police said was host to one of Prince George’s County’s most prominent drug markets. The main street leading to the entrance was across from National Harmony Cemetery. Passing by the cemetery so often, on bus rides to and from school, was a constant reminder of how life was all but one fleeting glance.
I always lived in apartments growing up, and almost everyone I knew did as well. The only people I knew who lived in a house were one of my aunts, along with her husband and children. In the summer, my family would go over to their house after crabbing and fishing all day at Sandy Point Beach in the eastern region of Maryland. At their house, we would eat succulent crabmeat, with music playing in the background. Then my cousins and I would play in the backyard as the sun was setting, casting a golden glow around us. It felt like paradise. The adults would play spades, drink beer, and listen to oldies but goodies until an argument erupted about who underbid in spades. Earth, Wind & Fire, and The Temptations would croon as the sound of playing cards clattered against the hardwood table.
It was at my aunt’s house that I saw a computer for the first time in real life, but they wouldn’t let the younger children use it regularly. On rare occasions when I used their computer, I loved to play solitaire, Wheel of Fortune, and Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? What I loved most on their computer was Microsoft Paint. I was highly intrigued with their PC and wanted one of my own. I wouldn’t get my own computer until about ten years later. Sometimes, seeing the potential can fuel aspiration.
In Washington Heights, my brother, my parents, and I lived in a two-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment on the top floor of a small three-story apartment building. It was building 1129 and apartment number 1531. The building’s scent was stale, like old bread. The steps leading up to our apartment were dirty with grime, dust, and dead bugs. Sometimes there were bullet holes in the glass of the front entrance. This was the first time I had my own bedroom. I felt liberated. Before that, I slept on the floor at my grandmother’s apartment, so this was a step up. I was free. Well, kind of. My brother and I sort of shared the room. In other words, it was my room, but he slept there from time to time. The room was small. There was just enough space for a full-size bed and a tiny dresser, on which my fourteen-inch TV sat.
My brother Curtis was ten years older than me, and he seemed never to be home. He’d be out late with friends. After frequently getting in trouble for hustling drugs and barely graduating high school, he took a stint of night school classes and vowed to avoid trouble. Living in Washington Heights, also known as “Bawscow,” made him struggle with his promise. It was hard for him to keep his nose clean with so much temptation around him.
My brother has always been good at math. He’s always been a people person and a natural when it came to selling anything. Curtis could sell water to a well or a whale, for that matter. He’s charismatic, extremely outgoing, and always knows how to drag a laugh out of everyone. My big brother is the type of person who makes a new friend everywhere he goes. Curt has passion. He’s good at networking and has a strong work ethic. Ever since he was young age, he’s always been a self-starter. These are all excellent traits for any businessman and came in handy for my brother when selling drugs.
With a crack house just downstairs from where we lived, he quickly built a network of people and grew clientele for his drug operation. He immediately became popular around the way. My peers respected me just because of who my brother was. My mom would often ask him if he was selling drugs, and he would refuse to tell the truth, but I knew it all along. Under the bed, I would find scales and razor blades, which he used to cut and measure his product. He worked tirelessly at his manager position at McDonald’s, as well as his job in the streets. His motivation to become a successful hustler eventually led him to move out and build upon his small empire.
It was always ironic to me how the neighborhood we lived in looked so poor from the outside. In reality, there was money everywhere. Crackheads can always find money to feed their addictions. There’s also irony in selling drugs because the dealers are substance abusers as well. They become addicted to the life- style. They become dependent on the nice shoes and fancy cars that come from the temporary wealth of dealing drugs. These dealers become hooked on these substances. They also rely on the substances they sell for the basics of survival, like a roof over their head and food for their families.
These hustlers are from where I learned entrepreneurship.
Step one: Find a supplier.
Step two: Buy product.
Step three: Manage inventory.
Step four: Distribute.
Step five: Re-up, then repeat the necessary steps.
I understand that some of you don’t know what a “re-up” is, so I’ll explain in the next chapter. The hustlers in Bawscow were the first real entrepreneurs I saw. They made me believe commerce was available for someone independently.
My brother sold drugs in the new neighborhood and effortlessly made new friends, whereas I initially struggled with fitting in. My first time going outside to play, some kids took my handheld football video game. Not only did I get in trouble for letting someone take it, but I also got in trouble for not fighting for it. My father taught me to fight for what was mine. Conflict became a large part of growing up. My closest friends and I lived up the hill in the neighborhood and would clash with the kids from the bottom.
We would even play football and other sports against the kids down the hill. I learned from my friends, whom I tussled with almost every day, that I was heavy-handed. This was my so-called advantage when it came to fist-fighting. It wasn’t much of an advantage, though, because I won brawls and lost battles all the same as my counterparts. There were always more lessons learned in the lost scuffles than the wins.
I learned to brawl from my friends and family. My father once taught me that sometimes, run-ins aren’t fair. If I’m scrapping with someone bigger than me, it’s okay to grab some dirt and throw it in their eyes. It’s okay to grab a chair and throw it at someone’s head. “You fight to win,” Pops said.
Everyone in the neighborhood was very aggressive, so I became belligerent as well. You often pick up tendencies from people you see regularly. That’s why it’s essential to surround yourself with people who you want to be like. You’re a sum total of the five people you’re around most. We don’t get to pick our families, so my advice is to choose your friends wisely. You become who you hang out with.
The next year, things were more or less the same. My friends from up the hill would play tackle football in the street. One curb, near the fire hydrant, was an end zone, and to the other side of the street where the dirty old white car—or whatever car was there at the time— was the other end zone. We would play until the stars peeked from behind the clouds overhead. Most of the time, the streetlights didn’t work. With so much poverty around me, I still stared into the starry sky and counted my blessings. We played until it got too dark to see—or, of course, until a car came. That’s when we would momentarily pause. We were always wary of the cars driving by, not knowing who was driving them or what they were up to. We would look to confirm if the people in the car lived in our neighborhood. When the car drove by, we would continue to play.
I had never been the cursing type, but around the way, we all did. This was part of my regular vocabulary. I’ve always felt that if you use certain words, they begin to lose their value, especially foul language reserved for certain situations. Why the fuck would I think otherwise? See what I mean? How powerful is the word fuck if it’s being used all throughout this book? On the other end, swearing is natural. Though it’s regarded as lacking civility or limited vocabulary skills, research reveals that profanity has many positive virtues. According to studies, it can promote trust, increase pain tolerance, and honesty. We’re taught as kids that cuss words are bad. We even punish kids for saying them, so essentially, we’re taught early on that these words have power. However, when you’re raised in an environment like the ones I grew up in, those words begin to lose their power because they’re used all the time. That’s why years later, I vowed to control my language to preserve the power still left in words, and I am very selective about when I wield this power.
Actions always speak louder than words because words lose effectiveness when they’re just thrown around frivolously. Though I spoke a certain way to fit in, I never lost my principle about the value of words. In Washington Heights, I had many neighbors, and one of them—let’s call him “Jimmy”—he spoke with actions and not just words. Jimmy was a savage! Jimmy was not only a hustler, but he also suffered from drug abuse. I say it that way because drug abuse is a disease, and people suffer from it. People knew Jimmy sold mattresses, amongst other things. He was the type of person you didn’t want to know what you had at home. If Jimmy knew, he would run up in your house and hit a lick or, in other words, steal your sh... you get the picture. Nevertheless, many of our neighbors bought mattresses from him.
On a cold, stormy night with a light misty rain pouring down on us, my friend Buddha and I went with Jimmy to pick up mattresses. Jimmy was one of Buddha’s uncles. Buddha was my next-door neighbor, and we were around the same age. He lived in the apartment next to mine with his mom and two younger brothers. My parents thought I was spending the night over at Buddha’s house, but instead, we were lookouts for Jimmy. I was naïve. I didn’t really know what was going on until we got there. My parents didn’t drive during this period, and I was always will- ing to take a ride somewhere when it was offered. So, when Jimmy offered to take us out with him, I jumped at the opportunity.
We sat in the truck as Jimmy ‘picked up’ (or, in other words, stole) a few mattresses from the warehouse. I said to myself, peoples’ beds are gonna be wet. But I don’t think Jimmy cared. He grabbed the mattresses and hauled them into his truck like he worked for the company. Jimmy would grab two at a time if they were twin mattresses. He was a strong dude, and he did whatever it took to feed his addiction. Jimmy shot, robbed, killed, stole, lied, cheated, and sold drugs for his own addiction. He wasn’t the smartest guy. He read on a rudimentary reading level, and my brother would joke with him about how he couldn’t spell apple. It was funny at the time, yet sad. It was years later when I discovered how important reading is to the development of the mind. Despite his lack of formal education, he never went without drugs, and he always found a way to get the drugs he wanted. He was ambitious to score when it came to getting high, and that ambition fueled his hustle. Jimmy made the most of what he had to work with. He was probably one of the most driven people I ever met. I learned from Jimmy.
Today, as an entrepreneur in graphic design, I speak with other business owners all the time and rarely meet the hunger of the drug dealers I grew up with. Whether it was my brother or Jimmy, all other energy pales in comparison. Napoleon Bonaparte, a French statesman and military leader, once said, ‘Great ambition is the passion of a great character. Those endowed with it may perform very good or very bad acts. All depends on the principals which direct them.’
I am not the first person who had gleaned inspiration from the lessons I learned on the wrong side of the law when I was growing up. Today, Shawn Corey Carter (or Jay-Z, as most of us know him) is a husband and father, a rapper, songwriter, producer, entrepreneur, and record executive. Before he was an adult, Jay-Z attended two high schools, and he didn’t graduate from either one. He shot his brother for stealing his jewelry, then became a drug dealer. For fourteen years, Jay-Z learned the ways of business by selling crack on Brooklyn corners. The husband/ father/businessman that he has become is an inspiration for so many. But Jay-Z wouldn’t be Jay-Z if he’d never sold drugs. He would not be the smart, shrewd investor he has become if the streets didn’t teach him how to make and manage money.
The streets taught Jay-Z about entrepreneurship, in much the same way I learned—minus the fact that I only observed hustlers and was never one myself. At least not in the drug dealing way. He learned how to corner his competition and how to run a business. He took the skills he learned on the streets and used them to build an empire.
We always glorify people we consider successful but turn up our noses at how they achieved this success. Everybody has to start somewhere, and not every success story has glamorous or admirable beginnings. I learned how to run a business by watch- ing the businessmen I was exposed to. These businessmen just so happened to be drug abusers. They taught me how to hustle. They taught me about the desire and ambition that is necessary for entrepreneurship. I have watched so many people start businesses and fail because they lack the hunger that it takes to maintain and grow a business. This hunger was what I saw growing up, so it became what I patterned myself on. Ambition is a desire and much-needed willpower to achieve success, and no hustler is more ambitious than an addict trying to satisfy his addiction.
This is what I know—my brother always had money, and Jimmy always had drugs. Both of them learned how to avoid possible pitfalls. Our neighborhood offered many challenges for hustlers, from undercover police like the ones that got King, to thieves like Jimmy, to being gunned down like Slim, and every- thing else in between. My brother and Jimmy knew how to navi- gate obstacles, survive the lifestyle they lived and be successful in what they did. I’m thankful I have an opportunity to tell my story because the man I am today—the husband, father, artist, business owner, and now author—is a totally different person from the kid who was living in Washington Heights. My surroundings weren’t always positive as a kid, but I learned to find the silver lining in every cloud. I knew (and still know) that even the most negative situations teach us lessons, so I learned from each experience in my life. I am not condoning what Jimmy and my brother did, but I do appreciate the lessons they taught me.
Success is not final, but neither is failure.
Starvin' Artist is a memoir that follows Anthony S Walden from the beginnings of his life in a troubled neighbourhood, being raised with his parents and his brother, finding a passion in art, through his stint in art college, to setting up his own business and all the setbacks and motivators along the way. Although this book focuses strongly on the author's journey in life and art, it doesn't feel like a simple narration of events. It is an interactively written book throughout, and it feels as if the author is directly speaking to the reader and not simply at them. The style of writing draws you in and it feels personal. While you learn a lot about Anthony Walden and who he is as a person, the reader is also welcomed into the lessons that have helped Walden in his success in his business and life. Perhaps one of the most poignant lessons in this book is to look beyond the box in which you may be in.
Early in this book, Walden establishes that he grew up in a troubled neighbourhood in the DMV area of the US, and yet, he didn't necessarily recognise this until he looked back. Essentially, it's hard to look outside of the box when you don't know you're in one. As a reader, this is one of the most striking points as it promotes an opportunity for self-awareness and critical self-reflection. How often are we in boxes and not able to recognise that? The author discusses that lessons don't just come from the positive experiences we have in life, but also the negative. It's easy to focus on those negatives, but often it's not easy to learn from them, and Walden recognises this but encourages the reader to look for lessons in all experiences, which felt particularly poignant to me as a reader. This book is filled with important lessons which I believe can be relevant to many people from many different walks of life no matter their background or career paths.