Everybody who came of age in the '80s has a Run-DMC story, but upon the death of Jam Master Jay, this one seems to say it all. From a friend:
In 1984 I'd been in the US for two years and I was going to a local Tae Kwon Do school where I had a lot of friends. I used to hang aroung with two of them, Ecuadorian brothers (not black), and the older one drove us to martial arts tournaments, etc. I remember driving around when it was cold outside and listening to "Hard Times," "Rock Box," "Wake Up." Rap in its infancy, martial arts, and three hispanic teenagers driving erratically in suburban Virginia, it doesn't get any better than that.