City Safari: Bobbitt undercover
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Bobbitt Book Cover, Amazon Books
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Wed, Nov 07, 2018
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I wasn’t going to write an update on homeless vet Johnny Bobbitt but since so many Bobbitt-related events have been happening in my neighborhood I decided to file this report.
As most readers are aware, the Shirley Temple version of the story goes like this (this was actually reported by 6ABC): “Bobbitt gave up his last $20 to help Kate McClure, who had run out of gas off of I-95. McClure was so moved she and her boyfriend, D’Amico, started the GoFundMe account for Bobbitt, a man who was also struggling with addiction.”
If only life was as simple as that!
This new report concerns a twenty-something man named Vinny, a smart and streetwise semi-homeless guy with penetrating eyes who likes to bury his body in sweat pants and a hoody. The word ‘semi-homeless’ is appropriate here because Vinny has resources, family and friends, who will sometimes offer him shelter. When this doesn’t happen, one of the places Vinny might spend the night is in Bobbitt’s old encampment under I-95.
For the last month or so, Vinny has been my point of contact on all things Johnny Bobbitt. At this point, as far as I can tell, Vinny is the only guy on the street with any connection to Bobbitt. All of Bobbitt’s other friends have disappeared, died, moved on to other parts of the city, or committed themselves to long-term rehab. Bobbitt’s closest street friend, RJ, for instance, hasn’t been seen for almost half a year.
The news media of late has been mum on all things Johnny Bobbitt. The last we heard (and this was from Bobbitt’s lawyer, Chris Fallon,) was that Bobbitt was going away to an extensive 45-day rehab in preparation for the ‘fleshing out’ of his civil law suit against Kate McClure and Mark D’Amico. That lawsuit accuses McClure and D’Amico of mismanaging (and spending) the funds raised for Bobbitt via Go Fund Me in 2017. After the announcement that Bobbitt was going into some kind of rehab, press coverage of the case seemed to stop. Prior to this, there were reports that McClure and D’Amico lied to their own lawyer about how much Go Fund Me money was left. McClure and D’Amico kept changing the numbers: first they claimed $200,000, then $150,000, and finally they said zero. Some people speculated that indictments were just around the corner but that hasn’t happened yet.
Big media, which used to be a never-ending Ticker Tape parade of Bobbittmania, has now taken a vow of silence. Bobbitt news updates have died like millions of hold out withered autumn leaves.
But along comes…Vinny.
Inconspicuous sweat pants wearing Vinny, with his I Phone obsession and curb sitting, told me barely two weeks ago that Bobbitt was back in the area making runs to Kensington for drugs and sleeping once again under I-95. So what happened to that 45-day rehab?
The front of the Dollar Tree store in the Port Richmond Shopping Center where Bobbitt used to sit with his books and Big Gulp WAWA cup for contributions. Where I initially met Bobbitt.
Vinny told me that he had spent three nights with Bobbitt in Bobbitt’s old encampment under 95. He said that Bobbitt had walked out of rehab-- that 45 day rehab-- after only two days, and that he was making daily excursions with his brother Joshua into Kensington for (what else) drugs. For a second, I played devil’s advocate and told Vinny that it was odd that with all the walking I do that I have never once bumped into Bobbitt. I added that listening to him right now was a little bit like listening to someone claiming to have seen a UFO, even if Bobbitt might be said to be more real than a silver disc in the sky.
“I really hung out with him for three nights,” Vinny said. “He slept where I slept for three nights and then after the third night he went off with his brother Josh to score in Kensington.” Vinny pointed to the vast cluttered construction lot behind Dollar Tree where Johnny slept over a year ago.
Vinny became my source-man, so I took his number and said I’d be in touch if I had any questions. I urged him to call me if he saw Bobbitt. He had also given me permission to mention his name to Inquirer reporter Barbara Boyer, the author of two lengthy Bobbitt articles and who was probably working on a third. Boyer and I had had a long telephone conversation about Bobbitt after the publication of her first piece, so an email to her was in order. I told Boyer that I had met a friend of Bobbitt’s who said that Bobbitt was back under 95. Boyer seemed grateful for the tip so when I offered to show her the area around 95 where Johnny used to hang out, she said it sounded like a good idea.
Boyer, being a good reporter, also played devil’s advocate and suggested that Vinny may have mistaken Joshua Bobbitt for Johnny Bobbitt, so when I asked Vinny about this he said, “Oh no. Joshua has a ponytail. They look completely different!”
Boyer and I made tentative plans for the following Monday. She would call me in the morning, arrange a meeting time, and then I’d meet her and show her the beginnings of the Heroin Trail that led into Kensington near the Huntingdon and Somerset El stations. We had a good rapport. I even quipped, “Don’t wear your stilettos, because the terrain, especially near the shopping center as it goes under 95, can be pretty messy.” As far as I know, Boyer does not wear stilettos but a little levity is always fun.
Bobbitt's mattress under I-95 just before he was arrested in an apartment in Fishtown.
I wanted Boyer to see the Dollar Tree store where Johnny used to sit with his plastic cup and homeless vet sign. I also wanted to show her Johnny’s original encampment, the spot where he had his mattress and where his comrades had their mattresses and piles of found items, from BBQ grills to shopping carts to kids’ bicycles. A reporter should see this stuff.
I also wanted to introduce her to Vinny, and I wanted to watch as Vinny told her that he had seen and talked with Bobbitt, that Bobbitt wasn’t in rehab and had in fact had gone full circle and was on the street again.
The encampment under I-95.
I was happy that Boyer was willing to put on her Jane Goodall shoes and do some exploring. But Monday came and went without a call, and then on Tuesday I received an apology and an offer of an expedition that day (but I was unhappily ensconced in a dentist’s chair), so we left it open for Wednesday but Wednesday was not good for Boyer and so Thursday was considered briefly before being scratched out for a definite Friday excursion. In between, there were various email updates (usually concerning what Vinny was saying). As the back and forth accelerated I increasingly felt that Friday was a sitting duck. My instincts were correct when Boyer, whom I genuinely like, suggested that maybe I should just give her Vinny’s phone number and tell him that she’d give him a shout out sometime in the afternoon. So, there would be no under I-95 City Safari, but as the poet Robert Burns said, “The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”
In the evenings during my jaunts around the neighborhood, I’d always run into Vinny. He’d be sitting curbside in front of Rite Aid or standing in front of WAWA, a rare thing these days since WAWA has more security guards than a Center City bank.
I organized my own expedition, camera in hand, to Bobbitt’s old sleeping space at the extreme end of the 95 overpass. When Bobbitt was a regular here in 2017 there were no small tents but that’s all changed now. I found three or four tents and a mattress where Bobbitt’s mattress used to be. Could this new mattress be Bobbitt’s sleeping area? Coincidentally I noticed a book on the ground beside the mattress. This was pure Bobbittmania, since Johnny was always reading and always had a book nearby.
I took some pictures, aware that at any moment someone could come out of one of the tents and scold me (or worse) for invading their privacy.
The poor girl is a victim.
Nobody surfaced.
I ran into Vinny later that evening.
I asked him to tell me again what Johnny told him about the original gas can incident way back in the fall of 2017. At that time Johnny told him that the story did not happen the way the news media reported it.
“Johnny didn’t give anybody any money,” Vinny said. “When she [McClure] spotted Johnny after [presumably] running out of gas, she gave Johnny ten dollars to go get gas. When Johnny came back she had already contacted D’Amico who was at Sugar House and D’Amico got involved and then the twenty dollar-rescue story was concocted.”
So, it’s McClure and D’Amico vs. Vinny when it comes to the gas can story!
A few days later I got a phone call from Vinny who said that he had just talked to Bobbitt and that he was even meeting him later in the day and if I wanted he could try to get him to give me a call.
The day came and went without any Bobbitt rings.
