Not a lot of people know about it, but this past summer, Carl Winslow was murdered just a few minutes away from his home in downtown Los Angeles. He had lived a dishonest life of murder, drugs, and money and it eventually caught up to him. This post is dedicated to the one and only, the legend, the Wild Stallion, the god among men, Carl Winslow.
Carl was born on August 16, 1951 in Raleigh, North Carolina. He was a healthy tike weighing 15 pounds, three ounces. His parents, Darla and Carlos Winslow, were undoubtably thankful to have this new bundle of joy, as Carlos' minuscule unmentionables were well below average in the size department, making it a struggle to successfully copulate. After hundreds of failed attempts at trying to have a child, Darla finally became pregnant and spawned the only child she and Carlos would ever have.
Carl had a bit of a tough childhood. When he was just an infant, his father left him and his mom for seemingly no reason. Feeling overwhelmed, Darla decided to put her beloved son up for adoption. From infancy through his pre-teen years, Carl spent his time moving from foster home to foster home. One fateful day, on the 22nd of December, 1962, a white family adopted Carl.
An 11-year-old, 200 pound, 3'11 black kid with a bushy moustache just didn't fit in with an upper-middle class white family in a predominantly white neighborhood. Carl was tortured daily with verbal and physical abuse from his peers and step-siblings, ultimately causing him to make the decision to run away from home. It took him an hour to waddle just a few blocks, so he decided to hitch a ride with a man named Julius Brenner, who drove him all the way to Baltimore, Maryland.
Carl Winslow had two passions in life: Law enforcement and dancing. He moved in with Julius and started taking dance lessons in Dundalk, Maryland. His dream was to one day be a famous dancer on Broadway, so he neglected any form of public education and focused on his dancing. It seemed it wasn't destined to be, as Carl was kicked out of the dance school when he was fourteen for soiling his leotard.
Julius Brenner was not a cop, he just pretended he was. You see, Julius was a con man who murdered a guy and took his identity as a police officer for the Baltimore Police Department. Julius' real name was actually Benny Washington. Carl looked up to the 'father' who was the first to really love him as a son. Benny showed him the ropes of police work and gave him a policeman's hat. Carl wore it everywhere he went, even in the shower and when he was sleeping.
When Carl was twenty-one, he became a part-time male stripper in a gay bar while working for his police license. It was the only way he could pursue dancing, plus they allowed him to wear his cop hat on stage. In the fall of '73, Benny's little game was discovered and he was arrested. Instead of going to prison for the rest of his life, he chose the easy way out and hanged himself. Old enough to be on his own, Carl moved to Chicago and landed a job as the chief of police.
Carl eventually found the love of his life, Harriette, and they bought a house together. The genes of his father's package were unfortunately passed down to Carl, and he and Harriette had trouble procreating. The couple chose to have artificial insemination and Harriette gave birth to a slew of kids.
There was a boy who lived in the neighborhood who took a liking to Carl's oldest daughter, Laura. He went by the name Urkel. Carl never particularly liked the kid, and he had fantasies about the ways he could kill him, almost daily. Laura always turned him down and played hard to get, but one day Carl caught them having unprotected anal sex in the basement. That was when he lost it. Carl let out all his anger and rage that had accumulated over the years and unleashed a beating on the boy one tenth his size. After ten minutes of straight punching, Urkel ceased to breath and he lay on the basement floor in a bloody heap, face undistinguishable. Laura had been screaming for her father to stop, but he never listened. Carl looked at his worn-down bloody knuckles and then to the mangled body that used to be Urkel.
"No... no... what have I done!" screamed Carl. He immediately grabbed Urkel, threw him in the trunk of his car, and took a trip to Lake Michigan, where he dumped the body. He returned to his family and informed them that he had to leave and never return. He had made a mistake, a mistake that was unforgivable. He had murdered someone and it was impossible to take it back. Carl hung up his policeman's hat for good and changed his name to Reginald VelJohnson.
Reginald moved to New York, and took up his passion of dancing once more. He became a famous Broadway dancer and even starred as an extra in a few straight to video movies. In the winter of 2001, Reginald retired from dancing and moved across the country, out to California. By the time he arrived to LA, he realized he had no money. Reginald entered himself into a radio contest and won $50,000 for having the biggest breasts on the West Coast.
He used the money to get into the drug business. Reginald only had a fifth grade education, so there was no real job he was qualified for. He could've became a police officer again, but he'd lose his cover easily. Within three years, Reginald VelJohnson became one of the top drug lords and a notorious cocaine dealer. He had millions of dollars and lived in a mansion with dozens of beautiful women. If only all the people who ever doubted or ridiculed me could see me now, he thought.
On the fateful day of August 19, 2004, right after his 53rd birthday, he was gunned down on the sidewalk next to a McDonald's.
"This one's for Steve Urkel, motherfucker," said the masked assailant before unloading an uzi clip into the enormous target that is Carl Winslow.
