“F.E.A.R. has two meanings…face everything and run, or face everything and rise.”
“Fake friends are like four (4) quarters, they change for a dollar.”
“Death is most likely the single best invention of life. It is life’s change agent, [it] clears out the old to make way for the new!”
These were some of Craig Hatchett Jr.’s affirmations, which he chose to circulate on social media or scrawl in his private journals. All are Googleable, including the last one, which is virtually identical to a quote from former Apple co-founder Steve Jobs.
Craig, a North Philadelphia native, also secretly penned his own poetry in simple spiral-bound notebooks, along with raps, his lunch orders, every single family member’s birth date, and three pages of phone numbers (he kept losing his phone and was too paranoid to save them to the cloud.)
“He could be really deep and he could be really dark,” his mother, Marcia, recalled. “There were many layers to Craig and some of them I’m just realizing.”
On July 21, 2021, Craig was fatally shot in the 1800 block of North 26th St. in North Philadelphia, within walking distance of his mother’s home where he lived. Police found him all alone on the street with multiple gunshot wounds. No arrests have been made, but Marcia is convinced that he was targeted while helping a friend.
Craig is Marcia’s youngest. He left behind his brother, Joshua, and four sisters—Rasheedah, Rhonda, Nena, and Marcia. He also had four children, ages 14 to 17 — Craig Jr., Co’ran, Ci’yana, and Azyriah.
Craig’s niece, Kyleah Johnson, will miss his corny pranks — piling pillows on top of the door frame so that they would pummel an unsuspecting visitor, or attaching a rubber band to a kitchen sink sprayer to soak the person who got stuck doing the dishes.
Other times, Craig was tenderhearted, the self-appointed protector of family and friends. He called relatives in tears if he thought he forgot their birthdays. When his family departed the house with leftovers, he insisted on carrying all the bags to the car. He then stood guard on the street, a gentleman with an overbearing streak, waiting for the tail lights to disappear around the corner.
“He really cared about people more than himself,” said Kyleah, who received a check-in text from her uncle every day.
Born on September 21, 1983, Craig moved with his family to Germany, then Baltimore, since his father, Craig Sr., was a communications specialist in the Army. After his parents divorced when Craig was a teenager, Craig’s father relocated to Georgia and they mostly communicated by phone. Craig and his mother moved from South Philadelphia back to North Philadelphia, where Craig attended Benjamin Franklin High School.
He dropped out his junior year, after having difficulty adjusting to the new school environment, Marcia said. Without a high school diploma, Craig’s career prospects were limited to washing windows, construction and warehouse work.
Despite having no training with clippers and a shiny head that resembled George Jefferson’s, Craig fantasized about opening up a unisex barbershop with a giant pool table to entertain those waiting their turn.
He began losing his hair in his twenties — earlier than the other men in his family — and he was so self-conscious that he refused go outside without a baseball cap, Marcia remembered. The team emblazoned on the front was irrelevant as long as the hat was large enough to hang low on his forehead. He steered clear of mirrors and cameras.
Besides the cap, Craig wore his trademark black Helcor Timberland boots, even on the basketball court. When Timberland had the gall to discontinue the model, Craig hunted obsessively on eBay for replacements (he is buried in a black suede pair.) He also had a penchant for ironed jeans and plaid shirts buttoned up so high that they pinched his neck. Friends dubbed him “Bob the builder.”
Although he could pass for a smaller, goateed lumberjack, Craig was a sucker for the movie “Titanic” and turned up Billy Joel, Elton John and John Tesh (pretending it was for his mother’s benefit).
“You might as well fess up. You’re a nerd,” Marcia teased him.
Craig was introspective and curious about the world, dabbling in word games, mind games and card games. He gobbled up the Discovery Channel, especially segments on ancient aliens and paranormal investigations. He was convinced that his grandmother’s house was haunted, after feeling the former occupants (rumored to be murdered) flitting around.
He argued through the screen with ESPN personality Stephen A. Smith on the regular, admonished Marcia for forgetting to fill the ice cube tray, and got booted off Facebook for “inappropriate content” more than once.
“Craig, you should preface what you say with, ‘in my opinion,’” Marcia suggested.
He blew off that advice, along with his mom’s commentary on his fashion sense. Craig was an individual, peppering conversation with “tomfoolery” and “top o’ the morning.”
He was known for other lingo, such as “cheesy bread” (a little money), “figga deal me” (you feel me?) and “take down my math” (take my phone number).
But his all-time favorite catchphrase was “chill regular” (relax).
“How do you chill irregularly?” Marcia quipped.
Craig even instructed his great-grandfather, 100-year-old Sumter Johnson, to “chill regular” when the fiercely independent World War II and Korean War veteran grew frustrated that he could no longer tie his shoelaces. “Soldier up,” Craig encouraged, when Sumter entertained a rare moment of self-pity.
The pair had a special bond, since Craig moved back in with his mother and great-grandfather seven years ago after a long-term romantic relationship soured. Determined that his great-grandfather would not be shipped off to a nursing home, Craig stepped in as his primary caregiver. He memorized Sumter’s medications, diet and TV schedule.
Occasionally, Marcia would find both men sitting together, the movie, “Friday,” blaring in the background.
“They said my house is not gonna be lit anymore because he’s not here,” she said of her son. “He was extra. He always had something to say, no matter who came in.”
Craig was less vocal when the topic turned to religion. According to his Facebook reviews, he “doesn’t recommend” God or Buffalo, New York. Yet the profile picture on his cash app featured Jesus in the clouds.
He struggled with alcoholism but he saw every day as a fresh start, like the crisp new pages of a journal.
Craig’s family found at least three of his notebooks since the incognito poet’s death, including one crammed behind books in a china cabinet.
His final entry on July 20, the day before he was killed: “I’d rather lose my way, rather than win somebody else’s way.”
A reward of up to $20,000 is available to anyone that comes forward with information that leads to the arrest and conviction of the persons responsible for Craig’s murder. Anonymous calls can be submitted by calling the Citizens Crime Commission at 215-546-TIPS or the Philadelphia Homicide Unit at 215-686-3334.
Resources are available for people and communities that have endured gun violence in Philadelphia. Click here for more information.
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