What's Your Name?

Sept. 21, 2006 — Studies of resumes have found that people with 'black-sounding' names are less likely to get callbacks.

"20/20" put 22 pairs of names to the test, posting identical resumes except for the names at the top.

The resumes with the 'white-sounding' names were actually downloaded 17 percent more often by job recruiters than the resumes with 'black-sounding' names.

What are some of those names?

Here's a list from the book "Freakonomics," by Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner, showing the top 20 whitest- and blackest-sounding girl and boy names.

20 "Whitest" Girl Names:

Molly, Amy, Claire, Emily, Katie, Madeline, Katelyn, Emma, Abigail, Carly, Jenna, Heather, Katherine, Caitlin, Kaitlin, Holly, Allison, Kaitlyn, Hannah, Kathryn

For the record they forgot: Susie, Jill, Julie, Colleen and Sara

20 "Blackest" Girl Names:

Imani, Ebony, Shanice, Aaliyah, Precious, Nia, Deja, Diamond, Asia, Aliyah, Jada, Tierra, Tiara, Kiara, Jazmine, Jasmin, Jazmin, Jasmine, Alexus, Raven

For the record: Raven is not a 'Black sounding' name. I bugged the fuck out one day when I met a white chick named Shanice, that shit blew my mind. And oh yes, can't forget the name Nicole which is usually reserved for girls who are mixed with black and white.

20 "Whitest" Boy Names

For the record these are with the exception of the names Scott, Jacob and Garrett undoubtedly, unquestionably the most 'whitest sounding' names in this country, hit it:

Jake, Connor, Tanner, Wyatt, Cody, Dustin, Luke, Jack, Scott, Logan, Cole, Lucas, Bradley, Jacob, Garrett, Dylan, Maxwell, Hunter, Brett, Colin

20 "Blackest" Boy Names

For the record these are with the exception of Willie and Reginald undoubtedly, unquestionably the 'Blackest sounding' names in this country, there is no doubt whatsoever about these names, hit it:

DeShawn, DeAndre, Marquis, Darnell, Terrell, Malik, Trevon, Tyrone, Willie, Dominique, Demetrius, Reginald, Jamal, Maurice, Jalen, Darius, Xavier, Terrance, Andre, Darryl

Now depending on where you live I have to add the following names: Shameek, Melquan, Bilal, Jovani - you get the picture.

An Open Letter to Moazzam Begg

Dear Moazzam,

I just read an interview that detailed your account of your imprisonment and torture at the hands of my government. As an American citizen I sincerely apologize for your treatment. I will not be as so ignorant and apologize to you on behalf of all Americans because of alot of us are more ignorant today than we were at any time prior to 9/11. http://www.alternet.org/story/42182/

I fully agree with your assessment that my government has made the world less safe since 9/11, your account is but the tip of the iceberg as to why.

When I was a little boy I wrote to political prisoners in this country, one of them was a man named Martin Sostre, as I recall he was framed for a robbery he didn't committ, he was incarcerated more so for his political views (and actions) during the early 70's.

But your account is far scarier: to take you from your family and deprive you of your human rights is demonic. Especially considering the fact that they had no evidence of you having any ties to Al Qaeda.

In the news I've read that there were no terrorists in Iraq prior to 9/11 - but they've found their way there now. When 9/11 first happened I remember the headline in Newsweek magazine said: "Why do they hate us?'

George Bush said, "they hate us because we love freedom..."

If anyone believes that then I have one thousand acres of prime real estate for sale in Florida, forget about any story you've ever heard about the Everglades, this is prime real estate!

Age Ain't Nuttin But a Number

Finding someone to hook up with at any age is hard to do, from my own experiences and others around me, the older you get the harder it gets.

Believe it or not as an 18 year old my dating opportunities were pretty limited. You see I didn’t have a car and I worked at Mickey D’s, so opportunities for me were limited by my meager finances.

Back then Jimmy Crackcorn was on and poppin’, we’re talking about the era of the big drug dealers, people blingin’ back then were into some illegal shit. It wasn’t unusual to see a guy 18, 19 years old driving a BMW. Dealers back then were everywhere; some of everyone had a package on the street and crews of people working for them. These guys had pockets that literally looked like they had the mumps. Big rope chains, beepers and fresh Fila gear was everywhere. If you had all of that and a car – you could get any girl you wanted. And it seemed like all of the pretty girls wanted drug dealers back then.

If you (like me) didn’t have all of that then you had to run your game someplace else. White girls were never my thing I couldn’t rock like that. Not that there is anything wrong with white women, I just prefer black women. All of my home boys were into white girls but I couldn’t do it. So that left me with girls who ranged in age from 15 - 17.

It has taken me almost twenty years to figure out why that was. Now I know why.

Believe it or not there isn’t a whole lot of difference (maturity wise) between a 15 year old girl and an 18 year old boy. Although we’d like to think there is, there isn’t. Especially if that young man is not in college (like I wasn’t). Without the presence of girls his own age, an 18 year old has no choice but to go with young girls. Girls of 18 are more mature than boys of 18, and they are usually trying to get with older guys. Think about it, an 18 year old girl can easily get into places that an 18 year old guy can’t, like clubs. For whatever reason fake ID’s are readily available to girls of that age.

Guys at 18 aren’t usually ready to dress up and go out – but girls of that age are. To a 15 year old girl an 18 year old boy is mysterious because he is more mature than the boys at school.

My home boy Babyface told me something back then that has stuck with me to this day, Face, who was 22 at the time used to say, ‘Pussy doesn’t have an age.”

I thought (and still think) that is one of the most retarded statements ever made. But it was necessary for him to believe that because women his own age weren’t interested in him, because he didn’t have the things that a 22 year old man should have: his own place, a nice car, and a decent paying job.

I told him something like, “Sure it does, 18 months in county jail if you’re caught with the wrong girl.”

He didn’t care.

When it comes to sex we’ll make ourselves believe all kinds of crazy shit.

By the time I was in my twenties I was no longer interested in younger girls, I had more options available to me (I had a car). I wanted someone who could relate to the things I was interested in and had similar experiences (time wise) to mine.

One hot ghetto day at the long forgotten Festival at the Lake in Oakland, a girl caught my eye. She had long curly hair, chinky eyes and big hoop earrings (I don’t care what you say about big hoop earrings I like them on women, so go jump off a bridge) she would remind you of Ice T’s ex wife Darlene, yeah man, she looked like that!

Our eyes met for a couple of seconds, she looked at me and said, ‘Whassup you wanna holla or what?’

By this time I was 26 years old I was catching women left and right and to be honest with you I still liked hood rats back then.

As I got closer to her I noticed a joint in her mouth, it was so small that you couldn’t call it a joint anymore, because it was smoked down to about the size of a finger nail, it was what you would call a ‘roach’. This thing was somehow lodged into the crack of her mouth; I mean this sucker was barely holding on to the corner of her lips. She must’ve been smoking that shit all day!

Anyway I sat down beside her and started talking to her, every other word was ‘nigga this’ and ‘bitches that’. “Damn”, I thought to myself, ‘what in the hell am I doing here?”
“Yo, how old are you sweetheart?” I finally asked.
‘17’, she said with confidence.
I sat there and thought about it for a second. This girl looks good as hell. But this girl has the worst attitude. And not only that she is entirely too young for me to be around.

My thoughts were interrupted by her asking me, “What, you have a problem with that or somethin’?”
“Yeah”, I told her, “no disrespect though, you got it goin’ on but…”
“It’s all good”, she said, ‘if I ain’t what you looking for then agitate the premises.”

Caught off guard by her remark I wanted to break her down with my mastery of the art and science of that other English language: Cuss words. But I refrained from that because I didn’t want to carry myself that way at 26 years old. A little voice in my head told me that not only was I too old for her, but I was too old to be there.

Open for Interpretation

Art is open to interpretation; whatever you see is what you see. There are many different ways to interpret a piece of art. For instance, the painting you see above is open to interpretation.

What do you see?

I’ll tell you what I see. I see a runaway slave in danger. It looks like that brother escaped from a plantation and hijacked a boat to get back to Africa, but it ain’t gonna happen cause the sharks are gonna eat his ass alive! Looking at this makes me wanna yell: Row nigga, row!

Ok that is one way to look at it. Here’s another.

The brother is lost at sea and is in immediate danger. There is blood in the water, the waves are high, the sharks are circling, and it looks like there is a storm coming his way. It looks like the brother doesn’t have a chicken’s chance in Colonel Sander’s backyard of making it. His rickety boat has no sail and it looks like he has nothing to steer with either. In other words: the brothers in trouble. The phrase up a creek without a paddle takes on a whole new meaning when looking at this painting.

But if you look at the painting again look off to the left and in the horizon you’ll see what looks like a boat. The picture doesn’t look as bleak now. Maybe if the brother stays focused on surviving and if he has something to steer with, maybe, just maybe he can steer his way to that ship. All that to say the brother needs to stay aware of the immediate danger and concentrate on how he can get out of it, a’la get to that ship somehow someway.

You can apply that to your life anyway you want.

How about this photo, what do you see?















Easy answer: two guys named JDL and Master Rob posing hard, chillin' out.

Ok, but let’s look deeper.

First of all let’s start with this, who are these two guys? The gentleman on the left with the short afro and pork chop sideburns is JDL (Jerry Dee Lewis) of the pioneering rap group the Cold Crush Brothers. The man next to him with the bald head and shiny white sneakers is Master Rob of another pioneering rap group called the Fantastic Romantic Five.

In their heyday the Cold Crush and the Fantastic were the hottest groups on the streets of New York. Tapes of their infamous battle circulate the streets to this day. Ask anyone who was around back then and they’ll tell you: The Cold Crush won. But then someone else with salt and pepper hair and an expanding waistline will counter: Yeah, but Fantastic took the trophy home.

In their heyday their battle was the equivalent of Jay Z vs. Nas or Kool Mo Dee vs. LL Cool J. It was a heated rivalry, they argued on the streets and in the clubs. But never once did these guys exchange blows or fire shots at each other. Their battle stayed on the stage.

But let’s look a little deeper.

Both of these men are now middle aged and judging by their clothes are incarcerated. Dig on that for a minute. Here are two men in the prime of their lives, locked up. It doesn’t really matter what they are in there for. What matters is that they are there.

Their plight is no different from the hundreds of thousands of other brothers who are incarcerated today. But what’s the root cause? I’m no sociologist or psychologist so don’t get me to talking.

But I can say this: Jail is the place that people go to when they lose sight of what’s important. When we lose focus on what really matters, much like the brother in the painting, who, it seems is focused on the impending doom rather than his salvation. In all honesty, it is much easier to focus on immediate threats than possible hope.

When I see guys like them in that situation I think of three things: One: it is good to see their alive and the others are dead dreams and unrealized potential.

Many young brothers and sisters are in pursuit of that golden dream of a career in music. That is good. But, if you have no marketable skills and education, what happens is without the hope of an opportunity to make real money; you’ll get lost drifting from menial job to menial job without any hope of doing better. When hope is lost is when we tend to lose focus. And that’s when you see grown cats behind bars for some bullshit.

Photo of Master Rob and Hut Maker JDL is from the archives of http://www.jayquan.com

Let Your Soul Glo

Here’s a trivia question for you: What do Luther Vandross, the Jackson’s, Kurtis Blow, all of the members of the groups Full Force and Ready for the World along with Eazy E, Ice Cube, Ola Ray, Babyface, Lionel Ritchie, actor Eric LaSalle and Little Richard have in common?

Answer: the ‘Jheri Curl’.












Depending on what part of the country you lived in, if you didn’t have a curl – you couldn’t a girl. I got my shit relaxed so I was alright.

Back then there wasn't a hair style more popular in Black America than the Jheri Curl. Back in those days the Jheri Curl was king, and damn near every celebrity wore one.

No one wore dreadlocks in the 80's but them 'crazy ass Rastafarians' (as we used to call them). Put it like this, if you wore dreadlocks in the early 80’s you were an oddity. I don’t know who would’ve gotten more attention back then: E.T. or a brother walking down the street wearing dreads.

"Look at that nigga, he's crazy...I never would wear my hair like that..." is what you heard when Rastas came around with their dreads and ganja smoke.

But back to the Jheri Curl.

From my own estimation there were at least a dozen different variations of the doo that a Chicago hair-stylist named Jheri Redding concocted sometime in the mid to late 70’s. Redding, is said to also be the inventor of hair conditioning. From Jheri Redding’s infamous ‘Jheri Curl’ came: the ‘Carefree Curl’, the ‘S Curl’ and the ‘California Curl’. In Black neighborhoods in damn every part of the country on Friday and Saturday morning’s barber shops were packed with people getting their hair done.

First the chemical was applied, then washed out of the hair, after which came the rollers. Although it was a good look (at least at the time) it was trouble to maintain. First of all you could bet a barbecue lunch on the fact that the collar of any shirt or jacket you wore was gonna be messed up by all of the grease – that much was a given. Pillow cases forget about it, they were fucked up by that shit too. Hats throw em out. But mostly forget about washing your hair, that was a challenge. Shampoo made your doo brittle and it would take at least 4 days of moisturizing your stuff to get back into shape.

The first time I experienced culture shock was when I moved from New York to California in the early 80’s. New Yorkers were simple about hair back then: short with a part on the side or a Caesar. Californian’s were on some other shit: finger waves, perms, texturizers, Shirley Temple Curls and a style called the ‘Lord Jesus’ were all over the place. But it was the Jheri Curl and its entire offspring that was the most popular.

Like I say it depended upon where you lived if the Jheri Curl was popular or not. For instance: California and anywhere in the Mid-West and the South, the curl was everywhere. However, DC, NY, NJ, PA Connecticut, Boston and anywhere else in the northeast, if you wore a curl, you stood out - way out. And not in a good way either.

Sometime in the late 80’s the Curl rapidly became un-cool. Northeastern tastes started taking over and the first thing people took aim at was the Jheri Curl. Quickly you saw the transformation happen; Jheri Curls were being replaced by fades and flat tops. It was as if someone said: "...And no more pretty mother fuckers with curly hair."

















However, it is hard to separate some brothers from their doo. Eazy E was the perfect example, that dude died in ’96 still wearing a Jheri Curl. And he wasn’t alone.

I just recently found out about a gang of Dominicans called the ‘Jheri Curls’, these idiots had fades with Jheri Curls on top. They were a ruthless gang from what I hear. And oh yeah, what about that baseball player from the Dominican Republic, what kind of time warp is he caught in?Every one of us has a relative or friend somewhere that represents that tiny minority of holdouts, in mine, it’s my brother in-law Michael, I love him to death, but he ain’t lettin’ that curl go!

I'm All Late and Shit

I dunno maybe I've been sleeping under a rock for a few years or somethin', but I never heard of this Katt Williams guy until this weekend when he did his HBO special: "The Pimp Chronicles Part One".

I laughed my ass off. This dude has got pimps down pat. I mean, if you've ever been around a pimp and listened to them talk, you'll see that, these brothers aren't dumb, it's just the way they express themselves is 100% street. Every sentence is 'bitch this', 'hoe that', 'mother fucker this', 'nigga that', shit, shit, shit with a few regular words of English thrown in for good measure.

I hear he's been in one of the 'Fridays' movies, see that's one reason I wouldn't know who he is because those movies annoy me. They are more buffoonish than Flavor Flav could ever be. Those movies and those damn gospel plays that tour the country every year like: "Baby Momma Drama', 'Young Man, Older Woman', 'Is that Man Your Husband' or 'He Say...She Say...But What Does God Say..." Those plays are buffoonish - nice messages though, but buffoonish!

I also hear he's on Nick Cannon's show 'Wild and Out', since I ain't a 19 year old I haven't watched that show. Nick Cannon is probably a good dude and all, it's just that his show doesn't appeal to me.

Katt Williams is a smart guy though. I say that, because when you compare him with the rest of the bunch (pick damn near any comic from BET), forget it. He's an original like Paul Mooney, Rodney Dangerfield, Robin Harris, Andrew Dice Clay and Sam Kinison.

What really makes me feel bad about not being up on duke is that he lived in Oakland for quite some time, hell he performed in clubs I've been in - just not on the nights I was there.

Only In Oakland

Everything I will tell you in this story is the truth. Even the parts that are hard to believe are the truth – the gospel truth.

Right up the street from the Oakland airport is Hegenberger Ave. it’s a long street that runs right into the heart of East Oakland. One side of Hegenberger is dotted with restaurants, banks, hotels, gas stations, fast food spots and the entrance to the Oakland Coliseum. Just over the hill is where things get residential. That’s where the hood starts.

But back down toward the airport on the corner of Hegenberger and Edgewater is a motel that has seen better days.

In the 70’s and ‘80’s the Lucky Lion was a notorious underworld hangout spot. Every pimp, player, mack, hustler, drug dealer and anyone else into something crooked could be found in there right beside the hard working everyday man. Jheri Curls, finger waves and ‘Lord Jesus’ hairstyles dotted the clubs interior, while the flashing lights from the disco ball illuminated the shadows of people sipping champagne and secretly snorting cocaine.

At one table could be the gentlemen drug kingpin Felix Mitchell, head of the then infamous 69 Mob, surrounded by his people. Somewhere else in the house on the same night seated at another table could be Rhythm and Blues musician turned cocaine cowboy Mickey Mo, head of a rival organization called ‘The Family’. Across from them could be members of the notorious Ward Brothers (Ted, Frank and Jimmy) ever see the 70’s flick ‘The Mack’? All three of the brothers were in it – they were pimps. Somewhere in between the clouds of cigar smoke and whatever else would no doubt be undercover law enforcement.

Besides cocaine Oakland was more so famous at that time for being the birthplace of the Black Panther Party. But by the ‘70’s and 80’s the Panther Party was over. Huey Newton had a raging cocaine addiction. Sometime during the fall of the Panthers, Huey took to extorting drug dealers. Pushers had to pay a tax to the party in order to operate in the city. However, like any other group of Americans, Black drug dealers took serious exception to paying tax to anyone. Therefore they went to war.

According to legend, Huey Newton, high or sober didn’t mind a good fight. In fact from what I hear he went looking for fights. As crowded as the Lucky Lion would be with pimps and drug dealers (who couldn’t stand him) Huey would go there with a gentleman in tow named Big Hurd – 6’8 and strong. So dig this atmosphere: Felix Mitchell at one table, Mickey Mo at another and Huey across from them.

Now like I said, Huey was extorting drug dealers back then, not just any drug dealers mind you, but those drug dealers. Guns were pulled, tables were turned over, shots were fired it was like the Wild West.

Right next door to the Lucky Lion was an establishment called the Edgewater Motel. Now you can only imagine with all the pimps, drug dealers and gangsters right next door what was going on at the Edgewater, right?

Oh really.

Fast forward to late October early November of 1989. I was a twenty-year-old security guard. One night I got a call from the company I worked for – ABC Security, to go work at the Edgewater.

“What does a motel need security for?” I asked.
“I don’t know but their regular guard Muhammad is unable to make it, can you go?”

When I got there I thought the place looked familiar. At that time there was a Crab Shack restaurant in place of the Lucky Lion. When I opened the front door there was a lobby full of impatient East Indians.

“Where is Muhammad?” Asked a man with a thick Punjabi accent.
“I dunno.” I responded. ‘Who’s Muhammad?”
“Go away we only want Muhammad.” They said.
“Hey, Muhammad couldn’t make it so you get me. Mind you, I don’t want to be here either, so let me do my job.”

They congregated for a minute and then came back to me with a beeper and a key.

“Here is a key to a room, you can take your breaks there, please patrol the pool area and make sure no one breaks into the rooms.”

“Ok you got it.”

I walked out into the night air. Mind you I’m wearing a thick jacket. I hear the music from the Crab Shack. I was too young to go to the Lucky Lion when it was open, so I got my stories about the place second and third hand. There is a sliding glass door in the back of every room that faces the pool area. From what I could see all of the lights were on in every room. They told me to patrol the pool area so I did. Mind you there wasn’t that much to patrol.

I sat there listening to the music for a while thinking about the stories I heard about the fights and champagne and cocaine. I remember the pictures in people’s houses of groups of guys with finger waves and heavy-lidded eyes, posing while flashing their jewelry and fat stacks of money. Photos of Felix Mitchell and his crew of lieutenants seated at a table smiling for the camera while holding up glasses of bubbly. It must’ve been a good life.

Now all of that is over.

While rounding the corner on my first patrol I heard some finger snaps: pop, pop, pop to the beat of the music. As I’m approaching the room I notice the lights are on and the curtains are open. As I get to where I can see into the room I notice a light- skinned black woman somewhere in her mid-30’s, she wasn’t obese, she was plump, or as they like to say she had some 'meat on her bones'. She was dancing in front of a mirror in the center of the room wearing a mans dress shirt. Well, as I get to where I’m parallel with the mirror I notice that the shirt she is wearing is open. And not only that but she ain’t wearing a bra or drawers. I quickly looked away, because I didn’t want to be accused of peeping in anyone’s room.

So there I was bewildered by what I saw, when just then as I’m approaching the sauna area, I see a brother standing there with a towel around his neck. As custom I greet the brother with ‘Hey what’s happenin’ bro…”

As I’m passing the brother I notice something…this fool ain’t got on no drawers!

It was damn near winter, I was wearing a heavy jacket and this guy was standing outside at night while the cool breeze was blowing with nothing on! “What the hell is going on here?” I thought to myself.

I immediately went to the management office, but gone was the East Indian family and there in the lobby behind the desk was an Asian gentleman – watching a porno with the volume on full blast.

‘What the fuck?” I thought.

Now you and I when we watch porn we ain’t trying to have that shit so loud that anyone could hear it. You wanna be discrete when you view that shit. But not this guy. Here he was – at work mind you, watching porn, this chick had a mouthful of dick and all the sounds and whatever have you, and he acted like I disturbed him!

“Hey man, what kind of place is this?” I yelled.
“What do you mean?’ He replied without turning his back to see who I was.
‘Hey man, I’ve been seeing people walk around out here without clothes on and shit man, what the fuck are y’all doing out here?’

He turned around and looked at me while grabbing his remote control.

“You don’t understand”, he said to me calmly while only slightly adjusting the volume, ‘this is an adult motel, we let our patrons do as they please.”

‘Huh?’

“Tell you what this what I want you to do. Go sit by the pool and watch. Just make sure no one breaks into the rooms.”

“Ok.” Outside I went. And back to full blast the porn went as the door swung open.

I took a seat by the pool and was shocked by what I saw that night. It turns out the Edgewater Motel was a swingers motel. People had sex in the rooms with the lights on and curtains open. There were mirrors on the walls and on the ceilings. People would gather round and watch couples engaged in the act. Often times the people would join in. That was the craziest shit I ever saw in my life.

To be honest with you after that experience, I could never be involved in swinging. First of all your typical ‘swinging couple’ – for the most part, ain’t the most attractive people. Like people in nude beaches, it’s never someone that looks like Buffie the Body; they usually look like Broom Hilda or something like that. And besides the idea of having sex while a bunch of morons stand and watch just doesn’t sit right with me.

Sometime around three in the morning I called into the headquarters and told them what was going on there. They had no idea what kind of establishment this place had been. Thirty minutes later a lieutenant and two field sergeants showed up, they couldn’t believe what they had heard over the walkie-talkie. They needed to see for themselves.

I went back there a few more times, I finally stopped going when on one slow night this dude decided he wanted somebody to watch him wack off. ‘Oh hell no’ I said to myself, this fool would start wacking off everytime I walked by. Nope, I ain’t into no homo shit. To make matters worse there was these two guys hanging outside their room in their bath robes – I dunno about you, but that wasn’t a good sign to me. I left there and never went back.

Why Is He the Most Hated Man in Black America?

He's been called a hip-hop version of Stepin Fetchit and a buffoon. Paul Mooney said that Briggette Nielson traded in Rambo for Sambo (in reference to Flav). His show has been called the most ghetto series ever broadcast on television. Is he just doing his thing? Why is his show so compelling to watch? And what does it say about us as a culture?

THE MOST POWERFUL SEASON YET

HBO's hard- to- top-can't-be-stopped drama 'The Wire' returned on September 10th. As usual it started off slow. But that's ok, I have HBO on DEMAND and have already seen episode 39, and I can tell you that this season is gonna be the best yet.

This season they not only follow the cops and drug dealers but they examine the roles that the school system and local politicians play in nurturing kids.







If only these stories were the works of someone's imagination, we all would be able to rest comfortably in our beds at night. But these are real stories, well written and well acted by both professional actors and real street people.

The character that most people are trippin off of is is a hit woman named 'Snoop'. At first glance 'Snoop' looks like a young boy. She has short braids, wears baggy jeans, and over-sized white T Shirts, and boots. But she is rock hard! She really is from the street. Just listen to her talk and you immediately know: That ain't no actor!

Marlo the new cocaine cowboy on the scene is ruthless and smart. Can't wait to see how he and Omar (a hard core stick up man who happens to also be a homo thug) get along. Slim Charles - the last of Avon Barksdale's crew to be on the street, I wonder what will become of his character.

The Prophet

The Prophet

During the late ‘80’s and early ‘90’s I saw the signs advertising the shows all over Oakland, but didn’t know who in the hell the groups were:

ALL THE WAY LIVE FROM LAGOS:
FELA RANSOM KUTI
KING SUNNY ADE

Being African American I had no idea who those people were, as a matter of fact I really didn’t know where Lagos was.

I started deejaying for a dancehall sound system in the late 90’s. My uncle and friend DJ Ibi Judah recruited me to spin with him. He spun early rockers, ska, rock steady and roots and culture. I spun R&B and hip hop. I had fun doing it too. One night at a bar called the Oasis in downtown Oakland I went into my thing. I broke out the Mary Jane Girls, Rick James and Michael Jackson, stuff we call classics. Anyway, the club was half empty (as usual) except for some brothers from Nigeria. These guys were really diggin’ those records. One brother asked me ‘Hey brudda, ya got any Fela?’

“Fe what, who?”
‘Fela” He said, as if I should know.
“No, what’s that?”

Come to find out Fela was the king of Afro beat, he was to African funk what James Brown is to American funk: the be all to end all.

I made a mental note to keep an eye and ear out for this Fela character.

One night at a club called Island Paradise in Alameda it was Nigerian Independence Day. Let me tell you something about this spot first. At a reggae club other black ethnic groups will come out and drink and soak up the vibe. So of course dancehall/reggae nights the crowd will be predominately West Indian: Jamaican, Barbadian, Trinidadian and African American. If there a lot of Trinidadians and Barbadians in the house you better play some soca.

Now of course Africans come out too Nigerians, Ghanians, Senegalese they come out and soak up the vibes, if there are a lot of Africans in the house, you’d better play some zouk.

Now the funny thing is each of these groups of people will front on the others music if it is played too much. West Indians will suck their teeth “Mi na wanna hear any bumbleclot zouk, mi youth, now gwan an kill dat ya know.”

Let’s put it like this on this particular Nigerian Independence Day, there was a lot of teeth suckin. I went to the club with my Uncle Mark from Belize and my Uncle Ibi. There is a cloud of herb smoke above my head and it is hot and crowded like a slave ship. All of a sudden the deejay puts on a record that didn’t sound African to me. Nor did it sound like any reggae I had ever heard. I turned around to my Uncle Ibi and asked him, ‘Yo what is this?’

“This is Fela”, he said, “In Nigeria he is Malcolm X, Bob Marley and James Brown all wrapped up in one.”

It sounded like James Brown but with more of a jazz influence. The funky chicken like scratch sound of the guitars gave hint of the fact that this was a man that liked American soul music in the 70’s. But the percussion was straight up African.

Ibi, who is from Nigeria, translated every word of a song called ‘Lady’. I was hooked.

I later found plenty of Fela records at Dusty Groove Records. The saddest thing for me as an African American is that I feel like I should’ve been hipped to Fela a long time ago. But I was failed. I was failed by the music and cultural institutions of my community, namely black radio. Black radio virtually ignored the first 5 years of rap music. It’s the same black radio that never gave Bob Marley a break. And is the same institution that never gave Jimi Hendrix any love at all. And is the same institution that damn sure never whispered the name Fela on the radio. They failed the Black community.

THE BOOGIE MAN IS GONNA GET YOU
By Mark Skillz

Black on black crime, drug abuse, HIV, promiscuity, materialism, greed and ignorance, what do these things have in common: Hip-hop. Or so they say.

It looks as if the boogieman for the first part of the 21st century will be hip-hop. Why is HIV spreading so fast in the black community? Blame hip-hop. Teen-age pregnancy is out of control…Blame hip-hop. Hurricane Katrina. Blame hip-hop. Those guys are killing each other…Blame hip-hop. You can almost blame hip-hop for anything you want.

Here I have another one: Erectile dysfunction. What? You mean you can blame that on hip-hop too? Sure. Use this as the reason: Because of the proliferation of pornographic based material that draws an indirect and oftentimes direct influence from the hip-hop culture, it is reasonable to presume that the viewing of such material over a period of time can cause the viewer to distort reality and to manipulate his male sex organ more frequently than is recommended by the office of the surgeon general.

Ghetto translation: Son you been wackin off so much to them Trina videos that yo shit won’t move no mo.

It’s a liberating feeling to be able to blame something for our problems. Violence in schools…Goddamn rappers, they did it. Somebody shot up a church. Lawd Jesus help us, look at what the rappers have made our kids do. You can blame hip-hop for almost anything now.

Like this person…

Dear Mark Skillz,
I am writing to you because you are the only person that I feel I can talk to. I am short and was born Black and poor. If it wasn’t for the rappers I feel like I would have had a better life. Maybe I could’ve done something really meaningful with my life if it wasn’t for rap music.

Signed,
Po and Ugly.

Here’s my response:

Dear Po and Ugly,

Tough break bro.

Signed
Your pal,
Mark Skillz

George Bush had Willie Horton, remember that goddamn nigga? I say it like that because everywhere you went during that election year, every brother was some sort of equivalent of Willie Horton. He was what was wrong with the ‘criminal justice’ system. And as I recall the first George Bush promised to deal with those ‘types’ with a much heavier hand than the previous administration (of which he was a part of). Nowadays every politician and preacher has a new scapegoat: Hip-hop.

My son is on the DL…umm, ummm, ummm. Lord it’s the music these kids listen to. My daughter is a stripper. All them rap videos made your daughter want to be a stripper.

Let’s get real here: Black on black crime – who shot Malcolm X and Patrice Lumumba? That was Black on Black crime and there was no hip-hop to blame for that. The reasons brothers are killing each other are a lot bigger than hip-hop. Like: Lack of education, lack of home training, lack of direction, lack of love and respect for self and others, poor job prospects and no motivation to see beyond the block they live on.

Drug abuse: Hmmmm, what were y’all doing in the 60’s and 70’s? I know I know, smoking grass (as you like to call it). Real innocent ‘Leave it to Beaver’ type shit, huh? Nah, y’all weren’t all up in clubs til the break of dawn doing reckless shit, nah, not y’all. Y’all was on some real wholesome, family-friendly Mike Brady type shit back then, right?

HIV: Hmmmm, that shit has been around for twenty-five years.

Promiscuity: What? White folks don’t swap partners, have multiple partners and engage in bi-sexuality? Hmmmm… Men (and not just Black men either) have been sleeping with multiple partners (and enjoying the hell out of it) since that first warm summer breeze first blew across his naked Johnson hundreds and thousands of years ago.

Materialism: Hmmmm…ever watch ‘Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous’? What’s that all about?

Greed and ignorance: Hip-hop does not make people ignorant – you either are or you’re not.

Has hip-hop as a culture helped to elevate our civilization? Since we’re keeping it real. No, not really. Like any other movement or culture it’s had its moments of beauty, but as a whole, nah. Is it supposed to? I thought it was music.

If your daughter would rather buy a thong than a book, don’t blame hip-hop: Blame yourself. If your daughter believes her destiny is to be bent over on stage at 3 o’clock in the morning making her ass clap, don’t blame hip-hop: BLAME YOURSELF.

A Stalker in the Age of the 24 Hour News Cycle

John Mark Karr is either really guilty or really weird. I'm leaning more so toward the latter - really weird.

Here's a guy who has publicly apologized for the murder of Jon Benet Ramsey, has related an account of the killing and corresponded for 4 years with a journalism professor regarding the case. The professor alarmed at what he was reading contacted the cops. As well he should've. At first they dismissed him and then they changed their minds.

I don't doubt that this guy did something to some child - but I doubt it was Jon Benet.

Ya know in the age of a twenty four hour news cycle weird people will do all kinds of weird shit for attention.

His ex-wife says that on December 25th 1996 he was at home with her - in Georgia. The murder took place in Colorado. He said he drugged her and raped her. There were no signs of drugs found in her body during the autopsy.

On the way back to America, flying business class and sipping champagne all the while under the watchful eye of FBI agents but more importantly the media, Karr posed for pictures and supposedly clinked glasses of champagne with passengers. Homicide experts think the guy is enjoying the attention. I think everyone wants to be famous for something.

Night Falls on the Black Athlete

Jack Johnson is turning in his grave now, and so are Sugar Ray Robinson and Joe Louis. For at least four decades the heavyweight championship had been held by a brother. But not any more.

Oleg Maskaev stopped Hasim Rahman in the 12th round of their rematch Saturday night. Hasim could’ve done better. Could’ve. Should’ve. But didn’t. But hey, really, two big 250 pound dudes slugging it out for 12 rounds - that's some hard shit.

Now all four belts are being held by Eastern Europeans. So, basically, Communists – or should I say former Communists, own the division now. How did this happen? Used to be a time when you could put a pair of gloves on a brother, put him in the ring and say “Go get him…” And a mother fucker was done. But not no mo. Night has fallen on the Black athlete.

And we can’t blame Don King for the current state of affairs either; one man did not wreck a whole division. Hell, La Cosa Nostra did worse by boxers in the 40’s, 50’s and 60’s than Don King ever did. You wanna talk about fight fixing…? Them mother fuckers did some shit!

What we need now is a new energy in the heavyweight division. We need a brother with the speed of Ali, the heart and determination of Evander Holyfield (when he was much younger), the sheer knockout power of Mike Tyson, who is a gentleman like Joe Louis and Lennox Lewis, has a jab like Larry Holmes (1980 Larry Holmes not that old fat dude that gets in the ring nowadays) but at the same time can a scare a mother fucker like George Foreman (1972 George Foreman not the hamburger salesman now) or Sonny Liston.

So in essence brothers and sister and anyone else reading this: We need a new Black champion.

The Executive Playhouse: Revisited

So while I was doing research for my article about the 1977 battle between Kool Herc and Pete Jones, a piece by the way which was about the clash of two mighty titans in the dawn before rap records, no one remembered who owned the club.

I always assumed places like the Hevalo and the Executive Playhouse were formally “social clubs” that were owned by Italian and or Irish residents of those neighborhoods.

Before I go any further, you have to understand that way back in the day; neighborhoods that are now African American/Latino at one time had been strongholds of Italian-Americans or Irish Americans. They rented out little spots and put a jukebox in it, a refrigerator, some tables and chairs to play cards on and called it a social club. Except one thing smack dab on the door or in the window would read a sign: MEMBERS ONLY. Meaning if you weren’t white – you’d better get out of there.

As Blacks and Latinos moved into these neighborhoods ‘white flight’ was in effect. Meaning: Let the niggers have it.

So that’s what I thought those early clubs had been. How wrong I was.

After the article was published a gentleman named Dave contacted me, turns out he had been one of eight guys that owned the Executive Playhouse. Check this out.

So these Eight Executives who were in their mid’ 30’s at the time all worked at the GM plant in New Jersey, all went in on the club, they named after their organization or group and called it the Executive Playhouse.

According to Dave the house capacity was 600 people. They served food and drinks and had bands come out to play for entertainment. One of the bands that performed there was called the New York Players, who would later gain fame as Cameo – yes, the group that would later do Shake Your Pants, Flirt, Alligator Woman, She’s Strange and the list goes on, yes, they played at the Executive Playhouse. But according to Dave “Running the business like this was costly and profit was at a minimum.”

That was until a gentleman named Kool Herc came by with his loyal following. But before Kool Herc, spun there a guy named the Amazing Dr. Burt was the house deejay. He spun disco and R&B and according to Dave had a system even Kool Herc envied. That must’ve been some sound system.

Anyway Kool Herc pops up and at first the older crowd loved him that was until more of Herc’s crowd started coming around. “Kool Herc rocked the older crowd and they loved him, but on the nights that Herc collected and ran the door the older crowd was not aware and didn't like hanging out with the younger folks. We eventually gave up on Live Entertainment and went completely Disco which the younger people loved, the older crowd loved it also, but when Kool Herc played the older folks were out numbered 5 to 1. That was not a pretty picture. The 25 and above crowd came dressed up and mostly couples, while the 20 and below came as packs of young men and young girls sometimes causing problems.”

Which means we couldn’t have shit back then either.

The biggest name on the deejay scene at that time was Pete DJ Jones; this guys name was on WBLS all the time, he spun at whatever events they had. For the 25 and over crowd Pete DJ Jones was El Negro.

Anyway back to the story…

“We didn't have a dress code at the Playhouse but our crowd for the most part wore Jackets and/or nice shirts from Mel Greens and shoes. No one ever came with their pants below their butts with underwear showing.”

That came later. Much later.

“Pete DJ Jones was well known in the mid town disco's and we always heard his name mentioned on WBLS. We knew it would be a sell out if we could hook these two DJ's up, we did. Kool Herc and Pete decided to split the money made from the door and we would again keep the Bar and Kitchen. Our club held Max Cap was 600; we broke the law that night. This was a night I will never forget.”

Five Things I Miss About the Bay Area

YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT YA GOT TIL IT’S GONE


Ok so I’m diggin’ the South and all but there are certain things I miss about Oakland and the Bay Area in general:

First: 76 degree temperatures all year round – you really can’t beat that. This is the first time in my adult life that I have ever NEEDED air conditioning.

Second: Downtown Oakland – the skyline, when you come into downtown from off 880 the first big structure you see is the courthouse. I spent a lot of time there for traffic cases. The other place down the street and around the corner is the Alameda County Courthouse that is the place where that legendary picture of the Black Panthers was taken at.

Jack London Square has some good clubs and restaraunts, heading in the other direction is where I worked for many years, places like the Kaiser Center which is right across from Lake Merritt. The SBC buildiing on 14th and Franklin (used to hit up a spot called Pat's after work sometimes - when there wasn't a shootout. The Black Muslim Bakery - Honey Carrot Pie is off the hook. I've taken many people in there who were very skeptical about honey carrot pie, after one taste - they were believers.

Lake Merrit was the place that the Festival at the Lake was held for many years, until folks forgot how to act! Now its the Art and Soul Festival which is held more so downtown near the Federal Buidling.

Third: Thanh Long – I love the South but I sure do miss Vietnamese food. I knew before moving out here that I would be giving up certain things for a more affordable lifestyle, but man, giving up places like Pho 84 and Thanh Long is giving up a lot!

If you have never had Vietnamese food, by all means man, the next time you are in a major city, seek some out. Thanh Long is expensive but it is truly worth every dollar you spend. They are world famous for roasted crab and garlic noodles. Lemme tell you something about this place, it is the only place I have ever been where you can find couples on dates, families, pimps, playas, gangsters and business executives all in one place and ain’t nobody concerned with anybody else. The food is so Goddamn good people go there just to enjoy themselves. For real.

And oh yeah one more thing, they are a family owned business, their recipes are their lifeblood, so they don’t give out any info on that tip. They have two kitchens: one that the waiting staff gets the food from, and the other is where the family prepares the food. Waiters, waitresses, hosts and hostesses are not allowed in the family kitchen!

Fourth: I love the food in South Carolina, but ain’t no barbecue like Everett and Jones out here. I can safely say that I haven’t come across a barbecue spot yet, that gets down like Everett and Jones – and I’ve looked! I miss Everett and Jones, man.

I'll never forget the time when I worked for the James River Corp on 300 Lakeside Dr, every holiday we'd have food catered it was always Chinese food. One day someone said, "Hey, we're having some Black peoples food this year!" We got a place called 'Soul Brothers Kitchen' to cater our Christmas lunch. Boy, was that funny! White folks will eat Chinese food, Japanese food, Korean food, Italian food, and Greek food but when you put a plate of grits in front of them: HA HA HA HA AH HA, they ain't goin' for it. At least not any white folks in New York and California! Southern Whites are a different story, they will pile their plates UP.

Fifth: Real Hip Hop radio: College and Community radio the Bay Area has plenty of it, like: KZSU – my man and fellow Queens native, Kevvy Kev Cool Breeze has been holding things down at Stanford U since the summer of 1984, thank God for the internet cause I get to listen online sometimes. He has the longest running hip hop show in the known universe and anywhere else! Sundays 6-9 for 22 years…

KPFA: Peja Peja rockin’ reggae late into the twilight, Lawd o Mercy!
Hard Knock Radio: Community issues and world issue from a progressive POV.

And last but not least…
Record Stores: My man Joe Quixx is the hip hop buyer for Amoeba in Berkeley, whether its crate digging music, independent hip hop, old school, whatever they have it there.
Rasputin Records: Good place to go get up on DVD’s and local acts as well as used records.

Funky Soul Stop: My man Ed digs everywhere for the funk, he used to have a small space in an office building and you had to set an appointment with him to buy records, now he has a full store.

Cue’s: For serious deejays

Groove Yard, Record Man, Record Finder and Groove Merchant: Strictly for serious beat diggers and producers

THE WIRE: NO CORNER LEFT BEHIND

'The Wire' returns on September 10th - it is by far one of the best dramatic shows ever produced for television. This season they take a look at the way the school system has failed our kids.

My four year old starts pre-Kindergarten next week, as a parent, nothing concerns me more than the quality of my children's education. I can give a damn about my sons wearing brand new Nike's or Sean John or any of that other garbage, I'm concerned about what happens in the classroom and schoolyard.

Earlier this week I took my son TJ to get tested for a pre-K program, one of the little boys (he couldn't have been older than 5) had a gold chain with a Jesus medallion! I sat there and saw that and said to myself: 'Getdafuckouttahere'. What kind of values are being passed down to that child?

Although there were only 20 spots available my son got in. I couldn't be happier. They made the program available to the neediest children: Those on Medicaid, welfare, etc - of which my family does not receive. We got the call today that he will be in one of the best Montessouri programs in the city! I love it - it's FREE. The school has an orchestra from what I understand.

The other day I was thinking about Christmas time: My sons have more toys and DVD's than I ever had. I'm going to buy them musical instruments. One day I took them to Sam Ash with me, they had a field day messing with the drums and keyboards. After twenty years of buying equipment and records guess what? I'm going to buy my sons drums, drum machines, keyboards and if they want them, guitars. They are going to start off with keyboards cause I don't have a room for them to practice drums in. When we buy a house all of their instruments will go in the garage!

Culture Shock: Southern Style

So here I am: Damn near 40 years old and a product of New York and California, now living in the Deep South. Never would’ve thought I would’ve ended up here, but hey, I’m not complaining. It’s been a real cool experience.

Now to be honest with you the biggest shock to my system ain’t the slow pace. Nah, I’m damn near 40 with a wife and kids. What the hell do I look like hanging out every night going to clubs and shit like that? Nah, that ain’t my style no more.

Nightclubs are no big thang on me. But do you wanna know what really shocks me out here? Every time I go to a restaurant or I’m in a hotel or an office building, do you know what I see? I see Black and White people doing menial labor. Yep, uh huh, I sure do. Whether it’s McDonald’s, Burger King, I Hop, Denny’s – you name it, you see Black and White waiters and waitresses. No shit. Bugs me the fuck out every time I see it.

Now you ask, “Why do such things bug you out, Mark?”
Well now, where I do I start?

Before I go there let me take you back to a moment of revelation, if you will. The year was 1992. I was working as a security officer for Pacific Bell (yes, that’s how long ago it was, they were called Pacific Bell and not SBC) in Oakland on 14th and Franklin St. There I was doing my usual thing at work: talking on the phone, sleeping, reading the paper, etc., when the janitorial staff arrived. Now, I had been working there for probably a year by this time. So I’m standing there watching the janitorial staff sign in when it dawns on me to look at the names. Hernandez, Mendez, Gomez and Rodriguez. And that’s when it hit me: ‘Hey what happened to all of the black janitors?”

When I was growing up in the 70’s and 80’s, all of the janitors I ever saw were Black. If you saw a mop and a bucket, you could count on a cat named Roscoe or Jessie or something like that to be the one pushing it. But here it was 1992 and I hadn’t seen a brother with a mop and a bucket in a minute.

So I asked the owner of the janitorial company, ‘Hey, how come you don’t have any brothers working for you?”

“I don’t know”, he said shrugging his shoulders.

It perplexed me that brothers weren’t janitors anymore. You know for the longest time in this country, if a brother was out of a job and he needed a gig, he could always do janitorial work to make ends meet.

But not, no mo.

So fast-forward the tape to 2005, the scene changes this time it’s Columbia, South Carolina. I’m working in a building that houses a janitorial company. All of a sudden I see a large group of White folks enter the building. “Hmmmmm”, I wonder out loud, “What are they doing here?’
“Those are the janitors.”
“The what?”
“The janitors.”
“Say what? Those people are janitors?”
“Yes.”
“Getdafuckouttahere!”
“What’s wrong?’
“They’re White, that’s what’s wrong.”
“And?”
“And? And White folks aren’t janitors!”

You have to understand something – where I’ve been I have never, ever, not once in damn near 40 years, seen a White janitor. Since 1992 I have seen nothing but Mexicans doing janitorial work. But there they were clear as day: White janitors.

The second thing that shocked the shit outta me was one morning at work, I heard a leaf-blower roaring away. I thought to myself, ok, now I’m gonna see some Mexicans. I was shocked. I had to stand there and stare out the window and watch for myself cause I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was a White man with a leaf-blowing machine. I couldn’t believe it.

“Where are the Mexicans?” I asked.
“On the other side of town”, someone shouted from an office.

In California when you go to restaurants, car washes, motels and places like that – odds are that the person that is going to help you will be Latino. I don’t know how it happened.
In California if you go into a McDonald’s, there is a pretty good chance that the person behind the counter doesn’t speak English. It’s happened to me a number of times. Out here ain’t nuttin’ but Whites and Blacks working fast food.

I wonder how long that will last.

Take A Toke

To hell with 'Desperate Housewives' the shit you wanna see is "Weeds".

Here's the story: Widowed suburban soccer mom becomes the Weed Baronness of a fictional Southern California town called Agrestic.

It is hard to not like this show, there's the suburban housewife Celia Hodes: Queen of gossip, cancer survivor and bitch you don't want for a mother; Andy Botwin: Slacker brother in-law with nowhere else to go; Conrad and Halia: Halia is Conrad's aunt (and like my aunt) is the loud mouth, gotta have the last word, always be right and gotta let a nigga know it too type. They are the suppliers (and also the only Black people on the show).

Since there ain't sugar, honey, ice tea on TV nowadays do yourself a favor and check Weeds out.

The Return of Flavor Flav

Tune into VH1 for an hour of fist-fights, cuss out sessions, booty-clappin' and cat fights - no Jerry Springer hasn't moved to VH1, Flavor of Love is back for its second season and this time they're keepin' it really real. How real you ask? Doo-doo on the floor real, is that real enough for your ass?

Yes, some ugly child named 'Somethin' dropped somethin' out of her ass and onto the floor. Yep, it happened. I don't know about you, but I would've quit the show right then and there, BAM, I'm gone. I would've left the country for good after that and became a preacher of the gospel somewhere in Antigua. It would be my luck that someone would recognize me: 'Hey mon, aren't you da one dat shit pon da floor?"

Within one minute of the new season there was a fight in the mansion - over a bed! Now you all can talk all the shit you want about me for my next statement, but, fuck it: I would've kept that big-titty havin', $800 weave wearin', 54th and Crenshaw hood rat over that skinny White chick! If he wants to get rid of someone start with the 'Wigga'; then get 'Somethin' a free plane ticket back to somewhere and then settle down with 'Deelicious' who has an azz like ....

Oops, I've gotten too far ahead of myself.

This season 20 more girls vie for the affections of the greatest hype man ever. Some of them are good looking girls. But, beware, there are some others that make Broom Hilda look like Janet Jackson. But let's be honest here, Flav is no catch either.

I recently ran into fellow PE alum Professor Griff of Public Enemy, let's just say he isn't exactly pleased with Flavor nowadays. He says Flavor has done a dis-service to the legacy of Public Enemy with his reality show antics, ie; his buffoonery and his extra-cirrucular activities with White women.

I hear where he's coming from, but its as I told him: If it was Chuck or Griff on those shows messing with White women and clowning around and whatnot, I would be shocked. But, it's Flavor, he's always been the class clown.

Here's a guy that showed up to the American Music Awards waaaaaaaaaay back in the day wearing a top hat and tails - everyone else in the group was wearing their FOI uniform. Here's a guy that did a video shoot in a devil costume. Here's guy who has always had a grill, that nigro has been wearing gold teeth for 20 years! We don't expect much from Flav.

Is Flavor Flav a buffoon? Yeah. Is he a sell out? No. Flavor is being himself, he isn't trying to represent himself as something other than what he is: class clown.

Pound for Pound

In his time he was called 'pound for pound the best boxer ever'. He had the speed of fighters twenty pounds lighter and the strength of fighters twenty pounds heavier. But it was his technical boxing skills that earned him the right to rank himself with the immortals of boxing: Sugar Ray Robinson, Marvin Hagler, Muhammad Ali, Pernell Whitaker and Floyd Patterson.

He was the first middleweight champion in over one hundred years to capture the heavyweight title. He beat John Ruiz for the heavyweight crown - not with his strength, but with his mastery of the fine art of the sweet science. "Every time I saw him lean forward to throw that big right, I used my left jab to keep him off balance", he said after winning an unanimous decision over Ruiz, "He had to get on the ball of his foot in order to throw that punch, and I knew a jab to his forehead every time he started to get on that toe would be the perfect punch."

Roy Jones was lightning fast, arrogant and supremely talented. He fought at a time when there were no fighters of his division with equal talent. In order for a champ to really be called the best he has to fight the best - in his defense there were no great fighters in the light heavyweight division. He walked through Virgil Hill, David Telesco, Montell Griffin, James Toney and many others.

So bored was he with his competition that he joined a semi-pro basketball team and played basketball games the same day as a fight.

And then there were the forays into music: He should've stuck with boxing, but you know how rich men are, they believe they can do anything and be successful at it. Whatever.

So bored was Roy Jones with his competition that he took on any fight he could just to make a buck and show his skills. He fought bartenders, garbage men, phone guys, cops and mechanics. Jones wanted to give the people their monies worth. He'd lay on the ropes and invite his opponent to hit him. He'd dance in the ring. He took rounds off to allow his opponents to catch up with him. He'd have a concert before the fight and once, he rapped his way down the aisle to the ring.

That all changed one night when a man that many thought didn't have a snowballs chance in Satan's kitchen, of really beating Roy. But this man wasn't like any opponent Roy had ever faced: He was the same age and from the same state as Roy, but had been overlooked for all of his professional career.

Referee: Do you have any questions before the fight starts?
Tarver: Yeah, I have one. What excuse are you gonna use tonight, Roy?

And with that said, the Titan was about to be revealed as a mere mortal. BAM to the canvas Jones went in their second fight. The world of boxing was flipped on its axis. The giant is no more.

And then the same thing happened again with a man named Glenn Johnson: BAM to the canvas he went again, this time he was out like a pair of parachute pants.

What happened to Roy Jones Jr? Was it age? Or was it an accumulation of lackluster ambition and performances that dulled his sharp skillz? Roy Jones will go down in the history books as technically the greatest boxer ever. Not the greatest boxer ever, or one of the greatest boxers ever , but the greatest technical boxer ever.

Why?

He had no great fights to measure him by. Ali had Frazier, Foreman, Liston, Patterson, Shavers and Norton. Sugar Ray Robinson had more epic battles with Jake Lamotta than most fighters have in a lifetime. Joe Louis had Schmelling and Baer. Hagler had Hearns, Leonard and Mugabe. Who did Jones fight?