Every graffiti scene around the world has its share of colorful characters. It comes as no surprise that in a vagabond street culture of the sort, personalities come in all shapes and sizes. Most of the time, these people have exclusive and erratic behavior. Hey: at the end of the day, we’re all vandals or criminals, and it takes a certain character to thrive in this type of subculture.

One of Montreal’s most exclusive characters is, without a doubt, the infamous DOCK. Whenever his name comes up in any circle of writers’ conversation, there’s always an-out-of-this-world, crazy-ass story that comes with it. I first met Dock over twelve years ago. It was a time when the chaotic and vagabond vibe of the ’90s still ran hard through our city’s bloodline: the Ma 6-t va crack-er French ‘hood movie had just premiered at Le Parisien and 2-Bal 2-Negs were performing in town. It was a time when every kid still lived by the motto Vagabond ma Religion and we preferred shoplifting Colt 45s instead of imported beer. It was in this era that we had our first encounter, during the St-Jean Baptiste riots at Mont Royal. As bottles flew through the skies and landed on the cops around Parc Avenue, I ran into a crew of young hoodlums wilding out. I had a backpack full of spray paint and the rattling sound drew one of these whoadie’s attention. It turned out to be Dock himself, we introduced ourselves then quickly focused our energy on lighting fires and contributing to the Mont-Royal riots. These circumstances resumed perfectly the relationship I would have with the homie Dock. Ever since that day, I’ve lived my share of exclusive scenarios and crazy stories with this man. It’s these type of events that strengthened the bond and made us fam to this day.

For this post, Mook-Life shows respect to one of Montreal graffiti’s most notorious characters in the game. Real recognize real and the whoadie can paint his ass off, putting many years of dedication into his craft in order to perfect his style. We present to you the one and only ‘Le Prince’ Dock.

Unfinished AMT clean train done to the north of Montreal. We were about ten deep that night, with a pretty solid plan to hit some passenger cars. I’m on the end train doing my panel next to Dock and Crer when I suddenly hear someone creeping up slowly. Next thing I know, train police cars screech up and officers pop out of the bushes surrounding us. We narrowly escape and run wildly into this forest that borders the layup and somehow manage to disperse. An open field separated the forest we were hiding in from the spot where we parked our cars. We all start getting nervous as we see flashlight beams scanning the trees and the sound of barking dogs closing in on our hiding spot. As I’m cursing to myself and praying to God I won’t spend the next few days in a holding cell, I suddenly hear police yelling and scrambling in the open field that borders the forest. To my disbelief, I see Dock pulling some NFL football moves with about 10 police officers. Homeboy is out in the open doing 360′s while running and dodging a whole unit of cops trying to tackle him down. No word of a lie, I can’t believe my eyes as cops are flying left and right trying to pin him down but all fall flat on their face while Dock jumps around like a ninja on crack. I take advantage of the situation and run deeper into the forest without being seen in order to get the fuck out of dodge. After about five hours of running through bushes, swimming in rivers and sneaking on highway routes, I managed to make it back safely to the city.

As the adrenaline wears down, all I can think about is Dock playing John Madden football with the whole train police unit. Turns out that most of the people got caught that night, but Dock was one of the only ones that made it out alive. At one point his legs even gave in and he had to roll around underneath the trains non-stop while the cops were still chasing him by foot. An escape story worthy of Harrison Ford in ‘The Fugitive’. Real ninjas do real things.

Dock and Star were definitely a troublemaking tag-team. These guys would go to dépanneurs and run out with the entire rack of cigarette cartons. Every time I’d bump into them they’d be with a crew of vagabonds drinking forties, bumrushing stores, writing graffiti and causing all types of wonderful trouble. Shout outs to the other mooks in the squad: Stone, Keiz, Kemt, Bear, JR, Bust, Tork, etc… I see y’all!

Dock and Star near Dark’s crib. Legendary shit has gone down at that crib, which served as a home base for all the racking missions’ big scores and nighttime drinking sessions. People abused of Dark’s crib. I remember someone taking a shit in the built-in skylight that would come down from his ceiling. People kept tagging sentences like “J’veux du cash pour ma dope” in his hallway and no matter how many times he’d buff it tags in different color kept popping back up.

Dock:

One night, me and Bear were dead drunk. We snuck into Dark’s backyard and painted a huge-ass blockbuster right on his terrace. We didn’t want him to know it was us so we painted a gigantic “OMO” blockbuster over the windows, door, walls… everything! It was filled in silver, black outline, white highlights, 3D blue… gigantic and super-clean all over his terrace. The neighbor even came out while we were doing it! The next day we were back at his crib chilling and he was complaining to us about how these guys “OMO” had bombed his house while we were laughing our asses off.

Another legendary tag-team is without a doubt Dock and Fomer. From street-level fill-ins to gigantic blockbusters dispersed throughout the city, these two have definitely given Mayor Tremblay his money’s worth when it comes to clean-up.

Nixon:

We went to do these autoracks this summer. I wanted to paint on the side of the train where the trees would hide us, but Dock wanted a good flick and insisted that we paint on the other side. After arguing for ten minutes and getting dissed by him, we came to an understanding that we’d paint in the plain view side but only for 30 minutes. Soon as we got started, a passenger train passes right next to us. As we keep painting, about three more pass by while we’re doing our pieces. I did a complicated piece with a bunch of tubes and borrowed his camera to take flicks while he was finishing up. Dock is taking his time re-cutting the snow clouds on his letters and I keep telling him to hurry up, but he wasn’t having it. I suddenly see two feet between the trains right next to him and I yell at him that 5-0 is there. I bolt down the line and as I look back I see no trace of Dock but I can hear a bunch of cops yelling. I hop on a bus and get the fuck out of there. I kept trying to call him with no answer and came to the conclusion that he got locked up. By the time I get home, Le Prince Dock gives me a call and it turns out he got out of there safe by hiding in a bush for 2 hours in the rain. I’m happy he got out safe, but next time I’m insisting on painting on the side of the forest… ‘cuz I ain’t goin’ back to jail, mayne! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LUq5D6-W8x4

When graffiti becomes an everyday expense and a diehard addiction, shoplifting becomes second nature to writers. A lot of us go on missions by pushing carts or doing bag tricks, but Dock only believes in the art of crotching, sleeving and pocketing. Three cans in the front belt, two in the back, a couple more in the jacket pockets and some down the pants. Here are a few flicks from his one-day runs. Notice that his racking scores not only consist of graffiti material but also includes everything from Speed Sticks, hairgel, Walkmen and toothpaste. Mook Life, for life.

Dock:

I used to rack a bunch of shit with DIJON. We’d both be armed with Uniprix plastic bags and would go to Ailes de la Mode where they kept the Hugo Boss and Polo clothes. One time, while we were filling up our bags with clothing, I spotted this fresh-ass Polo suit on a mannequin: a vest, beige shirt, button-up… everything! The only problem was all the clothing was strapped and padlocked tightly onto the mannequin, so you couldn’t really remove them. I wanted that suit so bad that I took the whole mannequin and split it on my knee in the middle of the store. I put everything in my bag and ended up walking out of there with the torso of a mannequin with the suit still on it. We did this so often that I can guarantee that we’re responsible for the cameras and undercovers they have now at Ailes de la Mode.

You can’t look like a criminal if you’re going to commit a crime. Sometimes a fitted hat, hooded sweater and timboots just don’t cut it on the subtle tip. I’ve ran into Dock a few times at random hardware stores back in the day when we were both deep in the racking game. I wouldn’t recognize him immediately at first, ‘cuz dude always had costumes on. Sometimes he’d dress up as a construction worker with a notepad, pretending to shop for job tools…

On the real, not many writers I know are as perfectionist and thorough as my homie. From sketch calculations to color coordination, the man takes his craft seriously and plans his pieces to the slightest detail. This is definitely one of my favorite pieces to have been done in the city, that old-school Montreal flavor still runs deep in his blood. Fuck hipster bubble styles or unreadable letters… what y’all know ’bout style?

The Fresh Prince of Mile-End.

Enormous Dock blockbuster where Parc Ave and Des Pins used to intersect. A lot of you might remember when there was an interchange on Des Pins street, separating the mountain from the downtown core. Many summers ago, some random mook spread the word that all the viaducts and walls at this interchange had become legal. In the matter of hours the whole city was painting blockbusters, productions, street level silvers smack in the middle of one of downtown’s busiest intersections. Little did they know that this ‘legal’ business was just a rumor and all the viaducts were completely illegal. Shit was like an illegit version of Under Pressure. The daytime painting was so flagrant and in-your-face that passersby would think it was authorized. People would even put Vaseline on their pieces so that they wouldn’t get gone over. After a few days of a complete free-for-all, kids started getting chased by the police; I remember Loes and I running away from a mountain cop riding a horse! Miscommunication and rumors resulted in some mooked-out times at this spot, but this lead to one of the biggest illegal graffiti bumrushes in Montreal history. Nowadays, the viaduct interchange has been demolished and replaced with a boring boulevard, but this flick will definitely bring back a smile to those who lived that moment.

May I add that this freight was done with stolen Krylons from the early 2000′s when Rona was still dumb enough to leave those unlocked in the paint section. Forget fancy euro paint and futuristic graffiti tools, we still use Rusto fat caps and NY skinny tips on our warehouse paint out here, son.

Dock’s first piece in the mid-’90s on the Parc Extension railways. In that era he literally had a piece on every wall of those train tracks and on the ones extending to Outremont.

Some124:

My man Dock “Le Prince”, as he likes to be called, is not to be fucked with. Me and him share a friendship based on respect. He has been through rough situations and has always remained real cool with me, but throw a young French kid like Crer in the mix and Dock’s short fuse blows up real fast. About ten summers ago Dock had his mind on the corner spot of the huge Parc Jeanne Mance wall to do his fill-in on. When you’re bombing with eight other half-drunken young mooks loaded with stolen goods, the situation can easily get out of control. When Crer started his outline on the corner, Dock exploded: Yo, qu’est-ce tu fais, G? Tu fuck avec mon graff and sprayed him in the face with the Rusto can. Me and Nesar started laughing and went for the clean white truck instead. Let the seven other writers fight for it. I’m sure Loes and Kemt remember that story and are also laughing about it as they read this post. Them Franchise Bomber’s know, Big Up Le Prince.

Dock:

One day I was chilling with Crer and he wouldn’t stop talking, so I took a block of cement and smashed it on him. He got all mad and was crying about how he would stop chilling with me, but I told him to sit back down and keep chilling. He sat back down and we kept chilling.

While most writers settle for the TA wall or the handful of permission spots around the city to paint daytime pieces, Dock and Wonder keep it illegal in the new millennium. From parking lots and alleyways to rooftops and virgin warehouses, they still manage to find untouched spots in the city while y’all are debating on which of the same three walls you’re going to paint this weekend. In order to safely paint the alleyway production above, they cut down a bunch of trees and built a wall made of trunks and branches shielding their spot from the view of the street.

Sewk:

Before I get into the chunky stuff, first lemme say that my man Dock is passionnate and takes things to heart. As much as this is one of the most respectable qualities one can have, it calls for sometimes funny, sometimes fucked up stories.
Back in the Mile-End days, on a regular summer night, my boy Crer and Dock had made plans to go out bombing. This was a very frequent and normal thing to do, but Dock knew how to take it to the next level. So Crer shows up at Dock’s crib, just in time to down a couple drinks before getting out for some action. When he got there, Crer found Dock had laid a map of Montreal on his wall, had pinpointed a few very specific spots with metal pins, and had connected each pin in a specific order with a piece of string. “Yo, this is our mission” explained Dock, showing the path the string made. We all know we have our serious moments when it comes to doing fills, but never have I met another writer who lays out his field on a map with pins and strings before going out to rock some fume tags. Thats how Dock rolls.

Dock:

We used to rob a lot of trains, too. I got my hands on everything from Versace Suits to music instruments. I remember once KOS had found some freights full of Jim Beam bourbon. He had told Certs and word got around so quick that the whole ‘hood came down and were robbing the trains like if it was the Wild West; mad goons were stealing everything and putting it in their trucks. KOS and I weren’t in a car so we took some for the day and decided to hide the rest along the trackside. We came back later that night to retrieve the hidden bottles and an army of CN supercops ambushed us with spotlights and everything. We ran like crazy and managed to barely get away. After hiding under a balcony we went back to the bottle hiding spots and they were all gone.

Pas besoin d’aller au metro Place-d’Armes, j’ai ma propre place d’armes.

Je casse une bouteille de champagne sur ta tete, ça coute cher mais ça vaut la peine.