unfettered access to the gangs operations as long as J. T. retained veto power over any information that, if published, might prove harmful. When the yellow-gray buildings on the lakefront were demol- ished, shortly after Venkateshs first visit, the gang relocated to an- other housing project even deeper in Chicagos south side. For the next six years, Venkatesh practically lived there. Under J. T.s protec- tion he watched the gang members up close, at work and at home. He asked endless questions. Sometimes the gangsters were annoyed by his curiosity; more often they took advantage of his willingness to lis- ten. "Its a war out here, man," one dealer told him. "I mean, every day people struggling to survive, so you know, we just do what we can. We aint got no choice, and if that means getting killed, well shit, its what niggers do around here to feed their family." Venkatesh would move from one family to the next, washing their dinner dishes and sleeping on the floor. He bought toys for their   children; he once watched a woman use her babys bib to sop up the blood of a teenaged drug dealer who was shot to death in front of Venkatesh. William Julius Wilson, back at the U. of C., was having regular nightmares on Venkateshs behalf. Over the years the gang endured bloody turf wars and, eventually, a federal indictment. A member named Booty, who was one rank be- neath J. T., came to Venkatesh with a story. Booty was being blamed by the rest of the gang for bringing about the indictment, he told Venkatesh, and therefore suspected that he would soon be killed. (He was right.) But first Booty wanted to do a little atoning. For all the gangs talk about how crack dealing didnt do any harm-they even liked to brag that it kept black money in the black community- Booty was feeling guilty. He wanted to leave behind something that might somehow benefit the next generation. He handed Venkatesh a stack of well-worn spiral notebooks-blue and black, the gangs col-