Whatever You Say I Am_ The Life and Times of Eminem - Anthony Bozza [107]
Detroit has exercised a dualistic influence in Eminem’s life. It both nurtured and hurt him; it provided hard times and material to mine from. It held him down creatively, forcing him to innovate to be noticed. He was alienated on both sides of the racial divide and then made race as it relates to his music irrelevant locally and nationally through his talent. Detroit taught Eminem to be humble, but it also fostered a fuck-it attitude. It is the place where he leases a Mercedes but owns a Ford, and where America’s most controversial rapper is beloved by his neighbors in the upper-class, gated community that he now calls home. Detroit is where, when he was arrested for weapons possession in 2000, Eminem found himself signing autographs in jail.
“I’m in the fucking precinct getting booked, and these cops are askin’ me for autographs while they’re fuckin’ booking me,” Eminem says. “I’m doing it, but I’m like, ‘My life is in fucking shambles right now,’ and they’re looking at me, literally, like I am not a fucking person. I am a walking spectacle.”
What’s most telling about Detroit—and Eminem—is that for all the bad times, the probation, the boos, the marriage, the divorce, the whuppings, the tears, and the scars, he’ll never leave. “I have a love-hate relationship with Detroit,” he says, “but all my friends are here. I’m used to the pace here, it’s so relaxed. There’s no hustle and bustle. That whole city atmosphere in New York and L.A., I only like to visit it. This is where I’m from.” Eminem can’t leave Detroit, he isn’t that kind. Detroit is in him; in many ways, it is him. Detroit is the creative well that feeds him—mud, blood, and all.
The only lady he adores, Hailie: Eminem displays his daughter’s portrait on his upper right arm, 2002.
chapter 7
if i’m a criminal, how can i raise a little girl? moms, marriage, and the morals of marshall mathers
Ladies and gentlemen, their story has been told in many ways. In verse, in print, in film, on television, in government papers and judicial transcripts. The two parties adhere to opposing points of view. Through a series of events, I, Anthony Bozza, was privy to said testimony. I present it now to you. My opinion is of no consequence, let the following inform you as it will: Bear witness to the statements and judge, convict, or dismiss as you see fit, governed only by the tenets of your individual law. The court is now in session, all rise. In the matter of Mathers v. Mathers. I enter into evidence exhibits A through D. It is for you to decide if he is a moral man or a monster, a perpetrator or a product.
Exhibit A: testimony of Marshall Mathers
DATED MARCH 1999:
I was born in Kansas City. My mother tells me I was six months old when my father left. He lives in L.A. now. He tried to get in touch with me when I first blew up. I told my mother to tell him to go fuck himself. Fuck that motherfucker, man, not one letter. Not one, all these years. Nothing. I never even saw a picture of my father. I don’t know what he looks like. I don’t even think my mother has one. She probably has pictures, she probably just doesn’t show me and shit. Actually, I saw one picture of him. He was about nineteen but I couldn’t really tell if I look like him or not. The picture was kinda cracked and fucked up.
My mother had a different boyfriend every day of the week. She used to get her fuckin’ boyfriends to move in with her and bring all their shit. Then she’d kick them out and keep all their shit—couches, TVs, beds, everything. Hardly anything we ever had in our house was ours, ever. My mother never had a job. The only one I can remember her having was at some candy store when I was a little boy. And she was a nursing assistant for a week and a half. She said it hurt her fucking back too much. My mother was lawsuit-happy. She would say she slipped and fell in Kmart, then fake a neck injury and shit. She did whatever she could do to get money that way without fucking working. My mother never had a job, that