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There’s a few things that I should clear up with you when we talk about the youth collective that I joined when I was in high school. Mainstream media outlets during that time said that we were a “Brooklyn gang”. The truth will always be this… We were NOT a gang, but a citywide collective of disaffected young peoples. The generation that should have been the bridge for us into our adulthood was sabotaged by OLIVER NORTH and the CIA vis-a-vi the crack cocaine drug trade. Our parents were present, this is true, but there has to be a communal bridge for young people to be transformed into adults. Can you imagine walking to lower Manhattan when there aren’t any bridges? I say all this not to absolve myself or my brothers of any wrongdoing on our parts, but if you can’t recognize that the war on drugs is actually the war on the poor and the Black then you are a Supremacy apologist.

The reason I give Megatron so much credit is that he had the foresight to enlist help from every boro in the city. There were brothers in the collective from Staten Island and Manhattan. My satellite crew was from Queens and FRANK NITTY and the STONE brothers lived in the shadow of Yankee Stadium on the Bronx’ Grand Concourse. You would have to look at BAMBAATAA’s Zulu Nation to find a similiar group of geographically diverse urban kids. It was like taking a snapshot of the NYC subway map. Even the heads that lived in Brooklyn came from every end. Brownsville, Farragut, East New York, Flatbush, Crown Heights and Canarsie. We shattered the idea of representing just one square city block and chose to represent each other. “It ain’t where your from, it’s where your at!” Truer words were never spoken when it came to defining how the collective viewed themselves. Where we were at during that time was living completely in the moment.

Allow me to put all of this in perspective…

TIM STONE was in my homeroom class which Brooklyn Tech. This is where we took attendance and received school news. The class was named ‘prefect’. TIM was a tall skinny kid who always seemed to be growing out of his clothes. He was a practical joker at heart. TIM was quietly a math wiz also. I remember having difficulty with Pre-Calculus formulas as a freshman and TIM would offer me pointers and tips. Your homeroom classmates remain the same as you ascend through high school and TIM always seemed to know what was going on within the school beforehand. He knew about my beef with the five-percenters even before I did.

On that fateful afternoon that I was supposed to fight with this five-percenter my homie TIM STONE let me know that he was holding down my back. STONE actually met me and my dude GREG outside of my last period technical drawing class. When we walked downstairs and arrived at the front of the building we were met up with TIM’s brother JOHN, FRANK NITTY, ALDEN, GEORGE, and KELVIN. When we walked up to the corner of Fulton Street and Fort Greene Place we were joined by Megatron and his brothers, including MANDELLO and V’ILL. Half the school has walked up the block with us and at this point I can’t tell who is who since I am focused on not getting my azz handed to me. The melee then ensues on the steps of the Brooklyn Academy of Music and spills into the street alonside BAM I was pinned under the wheel of a car. Just before I was stomped out, TIM STONE flys in to knock down this 5%’er. TIM said he would have my back and that was always the case. Even when shit got extra thick.

From that afternoon forward there was a flareup like everyday at school between TIM, JOHN, GEORGE, ALDEN and myself with the 5%’ers. The flareups were escalating to the point that we knew there was going to be a major fight pretty soon and the perfect time would be after the home basketball game at Tech. The basketball team’s opponents were Erasmus Hall. The Hall wouldn’t be a problem because Tech had a budding young superstar playing center named Conrad McRae, but the Hall’s follower’s were from the same Flatbush area as were the 5%’ers TIM and rest of us were now embroiled in battle with. After the game on the street is where the shit was about to be set off.

This was the Jets vs. the Sharks in 1987 or you might call it the fuzzy Kangols vs. the Pro Model fitted caps. It was UltraMagnetic pushing Run-DMC off the stage, but the Kangoled 5%’ers weren’t going quietly or without a fight. I don’t know this dude’s name because he was definitely older than any high school kid, but he was the one who pulled the gun. It was a .357 revolver all chunky and scuffed matte. I was paralyzed when he pointed the gun in my direction. That’s when TIM STONE barked out, “You can’t shoot all of us, and as soon as you miss you gonna die!” Oddly enough, that cry empowered us into thinking we could overcome the 5%’ers and this dude with a gun in his hand. How crazy must it be to exist inside a teenager’s body, unwittingly carefree to consequences? We had forced a stalemate that night when we were outnumbered and outgunned because TIM STONE could not be outwitted.

TIM STONE was both ferocious and fearless. Occasionally TIM could be a bit foolish. But even in this circumstance he was no fool. Click on the top entry. Those court proceedings documents are harsh, and real. Maybe TIM was being prosecuted also for a past that had finally caught up to him? No matter what this brother remains hard as STONE.