'Creepa' goes from gangster to gentleman

Source: The Miami Herald

Six months ago if you had told Thaddeus Martin -- nickname Creepa -- that he would soon be living the life of Eliza Doolittle, the unpolished street girl-turned-proper lady in My Fair Lady, he would have punched you out.


''Punched you the hell out,'' Martin, 24, says with a laugh one recent morning in the kitchen of the Miami Gardens house he shares with his mother and two younger siblings. ``I mean I was smart enough to know that Eliza was a woman's name. I would have figured you were insulting me.''

Martin speaks in the past tense, because he now knows the story of Doolitle and Professor Henry Higgins -- who, in Martin's words, ``snatched her out the 'hood and taught her how to act.''

His Cliff's Notes version of My Fair Lady was something he composed while in the process of defeating 13 other young men -- would-be reformed thugs, faux gangsters, or G's for short -- over the past four months to win MTV's newest reality competition, From G's to Gents.

The premise of the show: get young men who fancy themselves street toughs to walk, talk and dress like an educated, productive member of mainstream society.

Martin learned how to conduct himself in a job interview, socialize with the wine and cheese crowd, dress appropriately, suppress angry outbursts, argue without physically fighting, reduce his curse word vocabulary to just a few and simply mind his manners.

With the win -- and a completely new look -- came a check for $100,000 and a title that never before had been applied to Martin: gentleman.

But would the trappings of class he picked up in the Los Angeles mansion where From G's to Gents was taped fade away when Martin returned home to Miami-Dade County, to the neighborhood that in Martin's teen years spawned friendships and ''business'' relationships that left him once facing more than 20 years in prison?

''Everyone wants to think once a thug, always a thug, like you can't change,'' says Martin, whose grammar still reflects a bit of his street life.

RAW AND JAGGED

Martin once was raw -- about as raw and jagged as a human being can get without being a hardened criminal. And it wasn't for lack of trying that Martin didn't wear that mantle, too.

''My story ain't that different than a lot of young people's in the 'hood,'' he says matter-of-factly on a stroll through his neighborhood. ``So I don't want it to sound like I'm complaining. I'll say it right now: Anything I've done wrong, it's on me. I did it. Nobody twisted my arm.''

But there were circumstances.

When he was a toddler, Martin lost his father, he says. 'He was a hard-working man, my mother told me. And somebody shot and killed him before I even got to know him. They was robbin' him. And right away I no longer had a responsible man in my life to show me the way. I'm old school. I say every boy needs a man to guide him.''

And so, Martin says, without male guidance, by the time he was 6 he was cutting up in school to stave off bullies. Mischief turned to drug use and a little dealing by the time Martin entered Norland Senior High.

He was repeatedly arrested on cocaine possession charges but rarely charged. And when he was, the charges rarely stuck, according to the Miami-Dade State Attorney's Office.

In the fall of 2005, shortly after he turned 21, Martin was arrested and slapped with the most serious charges he had ever faced -- gun possession, attempted robbery, attempted murder and, yes, drug possession.

''I didn't do it,'' he says of the gun, robbery and murder charges. ``I know what that sounds like. But when you have been in trouble a lot and then you pick out one thing to say you didn't do it, it sounds fake. I guess it's like the boy who cried wolf. I never did that stuff.''

Sitting behind bars, Martin told himself he was tired of the failed thug life and that given one more chance he would change. Once again, the charges against him were dropped.

''He came home prayin','' Anna Martin, 48, says of her son. 'I never seen anything like it. Right away he told me, `Momma, I need new friends. I'm too young for this kind of trouble.' ''

Martin enrolled in 2006 in a Miami-Dade technical college, and when time permitted, he began recording rap songs. Friends say he is talented and even fielded collaboration queries from South Florida rap stars.

But Martin's big break came when a friend told him MTV.com had issued a casting call for thugs seeking reform.

''I decided right then I was going to apply for the show, and I was going to win it,'' Martin says. ``But to tell you the truth, I didn't think MTV would even call me back. I thought my story was too real for them. But they called, and you know the rest.''

He definitely fit the show's concept: Martin's look of choice was baggy pants whose top barely reached his bottom, braided shoulder-length hair and a mouth full of goldish grills. He wore an ironed-on scowl. And only now is he conscious enough of the scowl to try to suppress it and smile more. His eyes twinkle, but they are dark. Martin, ever the philosopher, will tell you that it's because his eyes ``have seen bad things, terrible things.''

What people see today is a young man in waist-high jeans, a polo shirt, a close cropped haircut and plain teeth. ``I'm changed now, Martin says. ``Ever since I met Mr. Bentley.''

MAJOR-DOMO

That is Bentley as in Fonzworth Bentley, former umbrella-toting, bow tie-wearing major-domo to hip-hop mogul Sean ''Diddy'' Combs, and host of From G's to Gents.

''My goal was to help a group of young men whom no one else wanted to help,'' Bentley, born Derek Watkins 34 years ago in Atlanta, says of From G's to Gents. ``Let's face it. While we love being entertained by crass people in this country, we do not like being around those people. It's only fun or funny from a distance.

``In the case of the show, we found young men who . . . were the stereotypical societal castoffs. If anyone needed coaching on how to instill some manners and civility and responsibility into their lives, it was these guys.''

Four years ago, Bentley created waves in the global hip-hop community by declaring war on all things thuggish: too-saggy pants; too-salty attitudes; too-raunchy language. He called it the ``Hip-hop Gentleman's Movement.''

''Some people didn't go for it right away,'' he says, chuckling. ``Other people scratched their heads and tried to figure out how a guy in a suit playing classical violin had anything to say about hip-hop. But it started to catch on.

'I can't tell you how many letters I get saying `Fonz, I just wanted you to know that seeing your example, I've cleaned up my look. And I'm taking more pride and showing more concern in how I present myself to people.' ''

From the start, Bentley says, he knew Martin would be a tough nut to crack.

''They were all tough,'' he says of the men who made the final cut of 14 for From G's to Gents. ``I mean, some of these guys had been in trouble with the law. Some were deadbeat dads. Some were just out there. And then there was [Martin]. He was something. He just had this chip on his shoulder that no one believed he could improve himself.''

Martin would wear dark glasses, braids swinging about his face, bragging he was a proud ``goon.''

Halfway through the series, Martin had a breakthrough.

''It was the challenge where we had to talk to the counselor lady and pretend she was our mom,'' he says. 'That got me. It all just came floodin' out, and I wasn't concerned anymore about holdin' on to the rest of my thug image.''

Indeed, the persona of Creepa broke down in tears and Thaddeus Martin emerged. ''Ultimately, that kind of sincerity is why he won,'' Bentley says.

It has been two months since From G's to Gents concluded. In a recent interview with MTV, Martin admitted he still has swagger, but he insists it's refined and better managed.

''I'm still a G,'' he says mischievously, and adds that he's learned ''less is more sometimes,'' and ``it's not what you do; it's how you do it.''

Bentley, who lives in Los Angeles, calls Martin nearly every day. And on days he doesn't call, Martin calls him.

''I want to make sure he stays focused,'' Bentley says. ``I need to make sure he doesn't let temptations like a fast life get him, especially now that he has that money in his pocket. I hired a financial manager for him. I want to keep him serious.''

For his part, Martin says he's still trying to figure out how his life has changed or will change. He was able to help his mother save her house, which went into foreclosure shortly before Martin left for Los Angeles, he says.

''That was a good feeling, but I've still had to struggle -- you know good angel, bad angel on my shoulders,'' he says.

When he got home, Martin illegally reconnected the family's cable television (before later paying the bill), he says, so that he could see himself on MTV, but, 'it was wrong. I'm changing. When you do big stuff wrong for a long time, it takes a lot of remindin' to remember that the littler stuff is wrong, too.''

Martin says he has turned enemies, who told him he'd never change, into fans, but that a few relatives and former friends have become ''frienemies,'' calling him a ``sellout.''

''It's like that,'' Martin says, laughing himself. ``You try to clean up and people act like you're putting them down. See, people think the money has changed me. But I know better. That's not a lot of money. I still have dreams I want to pursue.''

RECORD LABEL

For now those dreams are an indie record label Martin just launched called Born to Shine Entertainment and a nonprofit organization he started called A-plus Kids, through which he lectures urban school children on the coolness of a good education and proper carriage.

Several weeks ago, Martin was in his car when his cellphone rang. It was someone from his alma mater, Norland Senior High. They wanted to let Martin know that students intended to honor his MTV win by having a ''Creepa Day,'' he says. As part of the celebration some students would skip class.

''I turned the car around, and headed straight to the school,'' Martin says. ``What kind of fool would I be if I said I was cool with that? Praise me by skipping school? That's how most of the G's I know started getting in trouble -- by skipping school.

``So I got there and talked them out of it. If they wanted to have a Creepa Day that was nice, but if they wanted to really celebrate me, then keep everybody in class -- where they belong.''