Well, I was a high-ranking member of a South Philadelphia skinhead gang. I've seen almost every part of the movement, and while I do hate Edward Furlong (you don't just forgive something like almost ruining Terminator 2 ), things do look a little different from the inside. And the scariest part is how easy it is to get sucked in.

If you're like most people, your only exposure to modern neo-Nazis is the movie American History X , which means you probably think that white supremacy is all about working out a lot and getting Edward Furlong shot.

5 We All Start Out as Scared Kids

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The first thing to understand is that it's not about racism. Yes, hatred of other races is what binds a skinhead gang together, but it could just as easily be something else as long as it binds us. If the skinheads hadn't found me, some other gang would have, and I'd have gone along with whatever they were into. It could have been that gang of mimes from The Warriors.

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If it had been the Boppers, you'd be reading a way different and way more stylish article.

I remember the night I joined. A bunch of local skinheads invited me out to a club and made me feel like part of the group. After we got kicked out (because we were fighting everyone within punching distance), we picked some guy on the street and immediately got in his face. "You got something to say?" one of us asked. "No," he said. And, like any person would be after being surrounded by a bunch of angry-looking kids at night, he was scared. That detail was important to me. I can see his face, clear as day, right now. I can see the fear in his eyes, and I can remember loving it.

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Understand that up to that point, I had grown up scared of everything -- but when I was with these other kids, I was a source of fear. This guy was afraid of me. And I loved it.

So no, it had nothing to do with race. I didn't grow up thinking the white race was hot shit; I was taught that I was just normal, room-temperature shit. My stepdad spent most of his time telling me I was so stupid that if I spoke at the dinner table, I'd ruin his appetite. I spent my childhood absolutely terrified of everything: some of the black gangs at my new school, running out of money, clowns ... In short, I was a textbook case for a kid who ends up an addict, ready to fall into any stupid thing that would give me purpose.

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Decoupage, for example.

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So, we beat the shit out of that guy outside the club, and afterward one of my new friends told me, "Frank, we gotta cut your fucking hair." And then I was in.