An Interview With Andrew “Boo Boo” Taylor, Jr. a.k.a. “Boo Boo The Fool” [FAKE NEWS x Ryan K. Smith

We’ve all heard or said it before. “The fuck I look like, Boo Boo The Fool?” More than likely, if you’ve pulled this out, someone has mistaken you for the type who will believe any old thing they say. However, have you ever thought about the root of the aforementioned question posed? Who is “Boo Boo The Fool?” All we know is that nobody seems to resemble him and that they are not gullible like him. The mystery is now over. I caught up with Andrew “Boo Boo” Taylor, Jr., better known as “Boo Boo The Fool” to his generation in the streets. These days, the 68-year-old Taylor is an animal rights activist in Boulder, CO, but in the late ‘70s and early ‘80s the name Boo Boo Taylor rang out in streets up and down the east coast as one of the most successful and unique cocaine plugs the game has ever seen. We caught up with Taylor after he helped lead a demonstration at local pet shop Nice N’ Tame. “I’ve had my highs and lows, but I’m still here,” said Taylor in his affordable housing unit as he poured out food for his four pet Labradors with a ‘Stop Deciding Animals’ Destinies’ sign in view. “It’s high time I told my story to clear up any misconceptions about me,” said the disgraced former kingpin.

Boo Boo Taylor’s life began on January 31, 1953, in North Philadelphia, PA. He was born the eldest child of Maureen and Andrew Taylor, Sr.. His mother started affectionately calling him “Boo Boo” from the moment he was born and the name stuck, though Taylor never took too kindly to outsiders calling him by his family moniker. “I used to fight,” said Taylor. “That’s like white folks trying to say ‘nigga’ casually around you. Big no no. That’s my family’s nickname for me. Coming from you, it sounds like you’re trying to belittle me or get too familiar. Dudes used to beat the hell out of me, but I stood up for what’s mine every time.” 

The Taylor family was initially very poor and living in a one-bedroom apartment in the towering, tan and brown eyesore that was the Absalom Jones tenement building. Maureen worked as a beloved crossing guard in the neighborhood who would break up fights between young students and give them trusted advice. Andrew Sr. was a largely failed gambler and alcoholic who would win big every once in a blue moon which provided the basics for his growing family coupled with his wife’s meager earnings. The elder Andrew Taylor’s gambling took on all forms from dice to sports betting. Regardless, the parents managed to put some type of food on the table for their son and his three siblings-- two brothers (Jeremy and Clyde) and sister (Yvonne)-- who joined the family in the years after Taylor’s birth. “We struggled, but there’s beauty in struggle,” Taylor reminisced. “Like 2Pac said, ‘Mama made miracles’ and we were happy for the most part. Dad was out doing what he did, but we never went to bed hungry. We passed down clothes and shoes from the Salvation Army, but it was enough.”

Tragedy would strike the Taylor family in 1969 when Andrew Sr. was shot dead after ass betting during a dice game. Maureen’s world was rocked by the loss of her high school sweetheart, but she stayed strong for her family. She ended up enrolling locally into Fairmount College-- the once-prestigious, now-defunct historically Black college/university (HBCU)-- the following year to become a teacher. She was able to move with the kids into her mother’s house in the Philadelphia suburb of Yeadon, where she received all the support she needed. “I was so proud of her,” Taylor remembered with a faint grin. “She really buckled down and took her education seriously. I think she was on the dean’s list every year until her graduation. Accolades out the wazoo.”

Taylor, then 16, felt responsible as the man of the family. “Mama was doing her thing on the school front, but those crossing guard checks just weren’t cutting it. Nana was able to contribute a little, but not much. I wanted to provide my mom some cushion by at least taking care of myself. I couldn’t help but feel an obligation to my little brothers and baby sis, too. I had to make a move.” 

In hopes of a financial boon, Taylor hooked up with local legend Ahmad “Notes” Muhammad. Muhammad was well-known for introducing fragrant Muslim oils to the Philadelphia region and making a tax-free fortune on the underground. He took a liking to Taylor due to his consistency. “Boo Boo always had that ‘it’ factor,” said the 85-year-old Muhammad in a phone interview. “He always wanted it and I respected that. He was annoying at first. I had to fuck with him so he’d stop bugging me, but it ended up being a beautiful working relationship...for a time, at least.”

Taylor took to the street oil salesman game like a fish to water. He developed sales pitches that would at least get people to stop and smell his wares, many of them grabbing a vial or two from him. Before he knew it, Taylor was trading in his Salvation Army threads for duds from the city’s premier clothiers.He was also able to help his mom with groceries and other necessities for his younger siblings.  It was normal for Taylor to move hundreds of vials of fragrance in a week which far outpaced anyone else under Muhammad. “Notes had a great product and I learned everything there is to learn about it. He even let me sit in on the production process,” recalled Taylor. “Matter of fact, I ended up making my own cash scented oil with some cotton and other stuff, which shall remain a secret. The streets were loving that one.” Taylor’s cash-scented oil was so popular that he even started selling large orders to Philly professional basketball legends Percy “The Plane” Connor and Stanley “Bounce” Thomas. “Dudes couldn’t get enough of the cash oil. The ladies love it when you smell like money.” After a few years of rousing success, Taylor eventually saved up enough for a small studio apartment on his own in the close-by town of Collingdale. He also bought his first car, a run-down 1960 Crysler DeSoto that was in constant need of repair.

Maureen Taylor graduated from Fairmount with full honors in 1974 and immediately took a job teaching 5th Grade at Add B. Anderson Elementary School in West Philadelphia. She moved with her remaining children into a three-room house a block away from the school and thrived in her new role. Boo Boo Taylor saw continued success with his oil sales. Eventually, in 1978, he fell in love with Deborah “Debbie” Clemenza, a young, pretty Italian woman from South Philadelphia. “At the time, people didn’t take too kindly to us being together. Black and white alike. My mother and grandmother were pissed. Keep in mind that we were fresh out of Jim Crow and attitudes hadn’t changed that much,” said Taylor. “During the ‘60s, I was heavy into the Panthers and the Black Power movement and all that. Back then, I’d never imagine myself without a Black queen. I met Debbie while I was out partying one night, though. She introduced me to cocaine and I was hooked on her. The same night, she came over, gave me some ungodly head, then we sniffed coke and fucked raw all night. I was smitten.”

Taylor’s introduction to Clemenza was the start of his long relationship with cocaine. His substantial oil sales started to provide less of a cushion as he funded binges for himself and his lady love. The drug made him a much more aggressive salesman, which started to rub people the wrong way. His clientele base seemed to shrink with every noseful of powder he consumed. It got so bad that Muhammad had to threaten to take Taylor off the hustle if he didn’t shape up. “It was getting out of hand,” said Muhammad. “He had even started open hand smacking people for not buying oils from him. He got his ass whooped every time, but I didn’t need that kind of energy around the empire I had built.”

Muhammad’s warning virtually fell on deaf ears. “Notes was getting pissed with me, but I didn’t need him for too much longer,” said Taylor. Shortly after the admonishment, Clemenza wanted to take Taylor away from the stressors of the oil game for a spell. She convinced him to take a ride out to Amish Country for some shoofly pie. In addition to the coveted desert, Taylor had been curious about Amish Country since Clemenza started telling him about how the Amish could grow and produce their own cocaine from scratch. There was a big drought from Massachusetts to Florida after the eradication of Juan Castillo and his Colombian cartel which was the region’s top supplier of quality product. There was some garbage coke around, but Taylor and Clamenza had high standards and were down to their last 8-ball with no promise of replenishing their stash any time soon. “[Clemenza] used to always tell me [The Amish] had centuries-old growing practices that could yield bountiful coca plants in a quick time and they could turn the plant into powder even more rapidly. I needed that. I believed her and I was glad I did.”

Taylor and Clemenza snorted up some coke to get wired before their trek to Amish Country in the DeSoto. When they arrived, they went around taking in the attractions until they settled on a small establishment with a sign for shoofly pie in the window. Taylor noted that he was most intrigued by seeing people piloting horse-drawn buggies around the area. When they entered the place, it was empty save for one bearded gentleman in overalls who ate shepherd’s pie as he appeared to be winding down from a taxing day. The couple ordered their slices of pie and enjoyed it as they conversed about nothing. After a period of senseless banter, Clemenza chided Taylor to ask the Amish man seated in the eatery about the cocaine. After feigning refusal in order to build a playful, whispered disagreement, Taylor obliged. “I went over to him and asked his name. He said it was Sheamus. I said, ‘Alright, Shea Shea. Tell me something. Do y’all be making cocaine out here?’ He looked me up and down and invited us back to his farm.” 

When they reached the farm, Sheamus revealed to the lovers that he was, indeed, a veritable cocaine plug. He showed them his vast coca crops (telling them he had the ability to grow coca in the Pennsylvania climate year-round), his processing lab and his powder room which was filled from top to bottom with wrapped kilos ranging in hue from white to varying pastel colors and even some tie-dye designs. “I couldn’t believe what I was seeing,” said Taylor. “I had never seen anything close to that amount of cocaine and the colors. There had to be tons in that room. Shea Shea explained to us that he made so much coke because growing it, making it and innovating with it was his hobby. He’d snort some, but he was just doing it for the love of the practice. Others in his community weren’t really tripping on it too hard.” 

The cocaine bounty was colorful because Sheamus had devised a way to flavor and color the powder with a variety of tastes/scents from vanilla to lemon to blueberry to coconut and everything in between. The cocaine he grew was chemically configured in such a way that it was highly potent, but one could pound flavored snorts all night without overdosing. Of course, when the host offered his guests some samples, they enthusiastically accepted the offer, snorting their hearts’ desire. “We were in paradise,” said Taylor with a chuckle. “Shea Shea’s shit was so good. Oh my God. And the flavors made it a very pleasurable experience. Clearly, nothing we or anyone we knew was used to.”

After a few hours of snorting and talking, Sheamus took Taylor and Clemenza to another barn on his property. Inside was a large collection of caged dogs of all ages, some familiar-looking and others appearing to be new breeds. “Shea Shea was a so-called master dog breeder. He breeded all different types of dogs,” recalled Taylor. “I wasn’t digging it because I had heard about Amish puppy mills before and I didn’t think it was ethical. Those dogs were probably coming out retarded and shit. They were constantly rolling around in their own shit in their little cages. It was no way to humanely house and breed those dogs. Debbie loved it, though.”

After showing them the dogs, Taylor asked if they could have a little more of the coke to try all of the flavors available. Sheamus obliged. “I was trying to get him tuned up a bit for the dive into the deep end I was about to take,” said Taylor. As they snorted and laughed together, Taylor brought up the drought back in civilization, with Clemenza adding her reinforcement for effect. Taylor then went for it and asked if there would be any way he could take Sheamus’ cocaine back home so he could supply folks with their fixes. Sheamus was hesitant at first, but Taylor was persistent. “He was bucking me, but I told him about how happy cocaine made people. I described the dancing and energy that coke-fueled nights produced. I embellished a lot to make him feel sorry for us (chuckles). I explained to him that darkness had descended on the east coast after the powder dried up and I could help him be a beacon of light.  I didn’t go to Lancaster that day planning on leaving a kingin, but I was very much intent on becoming the plug in that moment.” 

After Taylor’s trumped-up lamentations, Sheamus agreed to supply him with enough weight to flood the eastern seaboard with his flavored coke for as long as it took to restore happiness. Sheamus was so moved that he agreed to sell loads to Taylor on consignment for a mere $1,000 per kilo since he thought Boo Boo’s attempt at spreading joy was so noble and pure. They made arrangements to get a pickup truck to haul the loads from Amish Country to the Philly suburbs. The kilos were to be concealed to appear as the padding in some old couches that Sheamus had on his property. Sheamus tried to offer his new friends a free dog, but Taylor declined much to Clemenza’s chagrin. “Debbie was pissed, but I wasn’t taking one of those questionable ass dogs,” Taylor explained. “Shea Shea was way more proud of his dogs than his coke. Selling the dogs was his lifeblood since he grew the coke for pleasure. I think he thought giving me one would bond us permanently, but fuck that. I don’t know what to expect out of dogs bred that way. Not tryna get my face bit off on some random shit.”

After about three trips, Taylor’s apartment was cluttered with colorful cocaine bricks. Immediately, Clemenza busted open the plastic on one of the kilos and filled her change purse to the top with powder, then took it to one of their regular hangouts where fellow coke fiends hung out. She gave out samples to an appreciative crowd who was tired of snorting low-quality, stepped-on coke. Clemenza then spread her gospel to a few more haunts throughout the city. “She really went crazy telling folks that we had the coke. That same night, folks were beating my door down. I didn’t even have any way to package it for them.”

Taylor and Clemenza got the hang of it after a high volume of patronage. Within a week, they made close to a million dollars. It got to be too much for Taylor to handle at his small apartment. He took the money he had and got a shabby safehouse in Southwest Philly to store coke in and do business. He enlisted the services of his little brothers and some of his former peers on the oil circuit to handle sales for him. Though he was now a target for wolves after helming a future multi-million drug enterprise, Taylor never got a gun to protect himself. “I never trusted myself with a gun,” he explained. “I’m liable to put one in my leg or somebody else. I’m too clumsy. Plus, handling an instrument of death never sat well with me no matter how much it protected me. In fact, I never wanted any guns around me.”

After the Philly spot was established and started popping, Taylor and Clemenza took their show on the road, hitting up high-profile dealers in desperate need of a good plug in New York City, Buffalo, Boston, Newark, Miami, Baltimore and Washington, DC. The salesmanship that Taylor honed under Notes Muhammad still shined through and he won over the dealers in other cities easily, especially since he offered to front them weight, allowing them to pay him back and re-up when they were ready. “It wasn’t so much me. Shea Shea’s coke was so good it sold itself. There was no way anybody living that lifestyle could deny me with that level of product,” said Taylor. “Me and those guys became friends instantly. I was saving them and they were grateful...for a time, anyways.” By the end of the first year, Taylor and the others were multi-millionaires with cash continuing to flow in due to the never-ending feeding frenzy. Taylor was able to open several legitimate businesses including a custom clothing boutique, a nightclub, a soul food restaurant and several convenience stores. Taylor was even able to fund Notes Muhammad’s business so that he could become legit and put his oils in stores nationwide. 

The dealer that Taylor made the tightest friendship with was Larry “Dip” May out of DC. Taylor would make trips down to the District frequently with Clemenza to hang with May over the years. “We would go to the club and pop bottles together. We’d go shopping for gear and jewelry together. We even copped matching cars from time to time. [We] went on excursions out of the country together. Dip was my man. We were joined at the hip. We called our tandem TayMay and embroidered it on our clothes and on the seats of our cars,” said Taylor who would even leave Clemenza in DC with May for some weekends until she learned she was pregnant. 

The news of the coming bundle of joy ignited Taylor who immediately started using his growing wealth to take care of baby needs. He bought a house in the Mt. Airy section for Philadelphia to make room for their new arrival. Alas, tragedy struck months later when Clemenza learned that she had lost the child due to her unabated, heavy use of cocaine. Taylor was dismayed by the loss, something from which he never really recovered. “That was going to be my legacy. I really should’ve made her quit snorting, but life was so big at the moment, I didn’t think much of it,” said a regretful Taylor. May came down immediately to seemingly console his friends and be a support in their time of grief. “I thought it was all love,” said Taylor. “Dip saw that I was vulnerable, though, and he was there to take advantage.”

Take advantage he did. May stayed with Taylor and Clemenza for a few weeks. Along the line, May convinced Taylor to reveal who Sheamus was and take him to meet the mysterious farmer. Two days later, May shook hands with Sheamus for the first time. Sheamus gave them the tour as he did when Taylor came the first time and May took it all in. After some time on the farm snorting and picking Sheamus’ brain, May offered to buy three dogs, which delighted the Amish man. “I didn’t think much of it besides Dip must like bullshit dogs. Little did I know his master plan was playing out in front of me.”

After a few months, Taylor stopped hearing from May as much and had a hard time getting ahold of him. On top of that, his Miami client, Duane “Sugar” Yates, was out of pocket and late on paying for his re-up with no one knowing what was up. Taylor flew down to Miami with Clemenza to confront Yates at his headquarters in Little Haiti. When Taylor finally got face to face with Yates, his former client went off on him, yelling in his face about how he wasn’t going to pay Taylor back what he was owed because he was “a pussy.” “I told Sugar he was weak for not being a man of his word. That didn’t mean anything to him and he told me I shouldn’t believe everybody’s word. Can you believe that? He spit in my face and dared me to do something, knowing I didn’t carry a gun,” said Taylor. “I swung on him. I wanted to knock him the fuck out so bad, but he dipped it and hooked me square on the jaw. I fell and before I knew it, he was pistol-whipping me all over my body until I shit myself. When he was done, he told Debbie to clean me up and find a real man. I just got up, body-aching, and went out held by my lady while everybody laughed.”

The word quickly spread about the Miami confrontation. After word got out that Taylor got punked like that, his other clients in other cities started following Yates’ example and refusing to pay Taylor for the weight they were fronted. “I thought I was just going to have to give them a moment to get their minds right before they needed some coke again. I was the plug after all. Little did I know…”

Unbeknownst to Taylor, May had made several trips back to Lancaster to meet with Sheamus. He convinced Sheamus that he was better suited to handle the product than Taylor and cut him out with a promise of $5,000 per kilo sealing the deal. May expanded the ring out West, raking in a much more substantial fortune than Taylor had. To really gain Sheamus’ favor, May agreed to help the breeder sell dogs to buyers all along the east coast and beyond. To add insult to injury, Clemenza left Taylor’s house in the middle of the night one night to be with May as her new beau. It turned out that she had been pregnant by May all along. “I was cut deep at this time,” Taylor said briefly. “That wouldn’t be the end of it, though.”

Now, plugless and without companions, Taylor was on an island by himself. He tried to focus on his legitimate businesses, but they were fronts and there was no cash to lubricate them for too long besides Note Muhammad’s flourishing fragrance business. People up and down the east coast were now familiar with the situation and hence started referring to Taylor as “Boo Boo The Fool,” using him as a cautionary tale for being a sucker. Left with few other options, Taylor took on the role of activist, organizing protest groups to demonstrate at random pet shops and the zoo with signs and chants for animal liberation. Sometimes he would demonstrate all by his lonesome. Nevertheless, his life had now become that of an animal rights evangelist. “It’s a good thing I didn’t have a gun, because it was very dark for me. I didn’t even want to go outside, but the activism gave me new life,” explained Taylor. He did have one weapon at his disposal, though. One so dastardly that it was against the rules of the game he once played. One day while demonstrating on Broad Street with a sign and bullhorn, Taylor was approached by federal officers. They told him that they knew all about his cocaine exploits and he needed to cooperate with them if he didn’t want to be locked up. Taylor took the bait and gave up the goods on May, Sheamus, Yates and all of his former dealer friends. Taylor’s younger brothers ended up siding with him becoming informants, too. They served as the star witnesses in over 20 trials. They didn’t even know all of the people that they told on who were being tried from smaller towns. “I wanted to sink all of them. They were enjoying a great life based on something they wouldn’t have without me and now they all ridicule me. Fuck ‘em,” he said. 

The federal agents’ word was not bond because Taylor and his brothers still ended up being convicted and sentenced to ten years in prison each in 1984. They also had to forfeit all of their assets and pay millions in fines, for which Taylor is still in the hole. All of the people the Taylor brothers snitched on ended up being sentenced to 30-to-life except for May who fled the country with Clemenza, never to be heard from again. 

Taylor was released from prison early in 1990 after serving his entire sentence in protective custody. He was relocated to Colorado where he has kept a low profile besides his activism. In his free time, he makes cash-scented candles (utilizing his old formula) which he plans to sell online once he gets better acquainted with the Internet and builds a website. His only surviving family is his sister Yvonne who followed in their mother’s footsteps by becoming a teacher and retiring a high-ranking member of the Philadelphia School District. She disowned her brothers after they turned informant, unable to respect their decision to rat. Nevertheless. even today, Taylor enjoys a line or two of cocaine with a shot of Old Granddad. “All I want is for animals to live freely and without the constraints of human customs and expectations,” he said of his life now between nose treats and lighting one of his candles. When asked why he owns four dogs when he believes all animals should be free, he replied, “These dogs are not being held against their will. I didn’t even name them. I took them in because they deserve a good home. On a daily basis, I make it very clear to them that they are free to leave and pursue their destiny whenever they want. They stay, though.” 

When asked if he had any regrets about his life, Taylor said, “Yes. I regret trusting anybody outside of my family. At one point in my life, I trusted everything everybody told me to my own detriment. I can only hope that God is pleased when my time comes.” As a final lesson for everyone, Taylor said, “I am absolutely Boo Boo The Fool in all of this. I deserve the insult. What do I have to show for my storied life? Nothing but jokes. I can’t even go where I want because there’s still money on my head. Don’t be like me.”

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