The place? Brooklyn, New York City. The Year? 1958.
He wasn’t supposed to survive. Not the beatings, not the rituals, not the streets.
Nicky Cruz was born into hell.
In the hills of Puerto Rico, in a small shack crawling with superstition and spiritual darkness, Nicky entered a world that would twist his soul before he even learned to speak. His mother was a witch. His father, a high priest in Santería. From the time he could walk, curses were spoken over him. His mother called him “Son of Satan.” Not in anger—but in belief. She meant it.
At night, he watched blood rituals. Animal sacrifice. Possession. Screaming. Darkness. He was beaten with sticks and wires. Emotionally starved. Spiritually cursed. By age 9, Nicky decided that love wasn’t real. Only pain was.
He ran through the jungle, angry, lost, empty.
By age 15, his parents sent him to New York. They thought the city might change him. Instead, it ignited the demon inside.
The Rise of a Street Killer
The Brooklyn streets were a different jungle. Nicky wandered them alone, angry and wild-eyed, unable to speak much English. He was laughed at, spit on, threatened. But pain was familiar—it sharpened him.
Within months, Nicky Cruz had found his tribe: the Mau Maus, one of New York’s most feared gangs. He didn’t just join—he rose. Fast.
Fighting became his identity. Blood his language. By 16, he was the warlord—strategizing attacks, leading turf wars, slashing faces with razors, crushing skulls with pipes. Violence was his oxygen. And hate? Hate was the only thing that kept his heart beating.
He beat people unconscious for fun. Robbed for power. Smiled when his enemies fell. Love? That was a myth—something fools believed in.
Then one day, a preacher showed up.
The Street Preacher With No Fear
David Wilkerson was the opposite of everything Nicky respected. A skinny white man. Soft-spoken. Carrying a Bible like it was a weapon. He looked out of place in Brooklyn like a lamb in a pit of wolves.
But Wilkerson wasn’t afraid. He walked straight into the Mau Maus’ territory—no backup, no police, no weapons. Just boldness and a strange, haunting peace.
He walked up to Nicky and said, “Jesus loves you, Nicky.”
Nicky slapped him. Hard.
“You come near me again,” he growled, “I’ll kill you.”
Wilkerson didn’t flinch. “You could cut me into a thousand pieces and lay them in the street. Every piece would still say, ‘Jesus loves you.’”
Breaking the War Lord
That haunted Nicky. At night, those words crawled into his skull. He started to feel again—something he hadn’t done in years. Not joy. Not peace. But guilt. Shame. Fear.
He told himself he wasn’t scared.
But when Wilkerson invited the gang to a church rally at St. Nicholas Arena, something broke.
The gang came with weapons. Nicky came with pride.
Then Wilkerson began to preach. Not about religion. Not about rules. But about love—pure, relentless, dangerous love. The kind that hunts you down even when you spit in its face.
Something inside Nicky—something buried under years of rage and witchcraft—started to crack.
When Wilkerson invited them to come forward, Nicky did the unthinkable. He walked down. Fell to his knees. And sobbed.
A warlord. A killer. A Satanist child. Weeping like a baby. In public.
He gave his life to Christ that night.
Redemption Ain’t Soft
People think that’s where the story ends.
But Nicky Cruz’s conversion wasn’t a Hallmark moment—it was a war.
The very next day, his gang laughed in his face. His old rage boiled up. But something held him back. Something inside had shifted. He wasn’t alone anymore.
He walked into the police station and turned in his switchblades and chains. Officers didn’t understand it. He didn’t either.
But he was done.
He enrolled in Bible school. He learned English. He learned Scripture. He studied theology. And he came back to the same streets he used to terrorize—this time with a Bible in his hand and a fire in his spirit.
The Preacher in the Trenches
For decades now, Nicky Cruz has preached the same message that saved him:
“Jesus is greater than your darkness.”
He’s walked into prisons, ghettos, drug houses, nightclubs, and riot zones—not to judge, but to rescue. He has stared down gang leaders, addicts, Satanists, witches, traffickers—because he once was all of them.
He founded Nicky Cruz Outreach, a global ministry focused on reaching the “unreachable.” He’s not interested in church walls. He’s chasing down the people that religion forgot.
In April 2025, at 86 years old, he preached in Texas to hundreds of young people. He’s not slowing down. Because he knows the enemy doesn’t sleep. And neither does grace.
The Book That Changed Millions
His story is immortalized in Run Baby Run, his bestselling autobiography written with Jamie Buckingham. First published in 1968, it has since sold over 12 million copies and been translated into more than 40 languages.
It’s raw. Brutal. Real.
It doesn’t sugar-coat his past. It walks through the streets of Brooklyn, the bloodstains, the fear, the rage—and then shows what happens when one man dares to love the unlovable.
Run Baby Run is required reading in schools, recovery centers, and prisons. It’s shattered hardened hearts. Saved suicides. Inspired rebels. Not because Nicky is the hero—but because Jesus is.
From Son of Satan to Son of God
Nicky Cruz now lives in Colorado Springs with his wife Gloria. He’s a father, grandfather, and still on fire.
He often says, “If God can change Nicky Cruz, He can change anybody.”
He’s right.
Because this isn’t a story about a gang leader. Or a preacher. Or a book.
This is a story about the kind of love that walks into darkness, doesn’t flinch, and refuses to leave without you.
This is the Gospel—raw, fearless, and real.
📘 Want to read more?
Grab Run Baby Run and experience Nicky’s full journey—from satanic rituals and street warfare to salvation and global impact.
🌐 Ministry Today:
Visit nickycruz.org to support or learn more about Nicky Cruz Outreach—where the mission is still to bring hope to the hopeless and light to the darkest corners of the world.