For Florida's sole remaining sex surrogate, love is a many splintered thing.
It's not just giant companies cashing in on America's defense industry.
How a throwaway idea at the Barkley ad agency became the "Sonic Guys."
A diner's guide to Texas's oldest Mexican restaurants.
Raw knew he couldn't do it alone, so he turned to Omar Islam for help. The toughly built, five-foot-nine-inch fortysomething-year-old Colombian was a founder of Zulu Nation, Florida Chapter. He had met Raw in 1992 at a party he threw called Hip-Hop Delight.
"The saying 'Each one, teach one,' that's hip-hop," Islam states. "It shows the ghetto youths that there are different avenues in life besides selling dope on the corner. Hip-hop was never about bling this and bitch that; that's what corporate America created. Hip-hop is an outlet and a guide to living a good and respectable life. And that's what Hoodstock promoted — hip-hop can change the world."
Kurage was in charge of Hoodstock's entertainment. "We had no idea what we were doing," he remembers. "Raw just wanted to throw a free jam in Wynwood!" The all-day event showcased 26 local talents and featured live graffiti painting, break dancing, and several hourlong seminars on the music business.
Mostly Wynwood residents attended that first year, and not one altercation broke out. Even Miami Police Lt. Mario Garcia was quoted as saying "It was quiet; not one problem."
Raw was inspired to make Hoodstock a longtime annual event, but the '95 edition brought him into conflict with the organizers of a competing conference, How Can I Be Down?, which was held around the same time. The Down conference took place at the glamorous Shore Club on South Beach, where registrants paid up to $500 to hobnob with Puff Daddy and Mase. Ten miles west, Hoodstock was a free outdoor shindig held in the ghetto.
Ironically, How Can I Be Down? was marred by violence, shootings, and street brawls, while Hoodstock was peaceful. While the attendees of the Down conference sipped mojitos by the pool, Hoodstock served no alcohol, even rejecting sponsorship deals with Budweiser and Presidente beer. "We had a different agenda than Peter Thomas [founder of How Can I Be Down?]. We did Hoodstock for the youth, and they were more for the adults," recalls Price, who did marketing. "We weren't asking for [trouble], 'cause, quite frankly, it was two different festivals. Yet ultimately, if it was a competition, Hoodstock won."
Hoodstock and How Can I Be Down? organizers soon settled their differences, and in 1996 the two conferences worked together on Columbus Day weekend. That year more than 10,000 people from as far away as Japan attended. The Miami Herald ran a story about Raw and his KOP members titled "Hip-Hop Acts Give Peace a Chance." And Miami New Times made him a Personal Best in the "Best of Miami" issue.
Raw says he had hoped to use Hoodstock's success to go straight. "We was making dope money to eventually get out of the ghetto, to become legit, you know." By then he was a father of three (one biological son and two legally adopted children from his marriage to Maria Casañas, a.k.a. Yaggi).
"He'd always tell me to do good in school," recalls Raw's son Raul Jr., a.k.a. Lil' Raw. "He was strict when it came to that kinda stuff."
In 1996, Raw even sponsored the Northwest Miami Boys and Girls Clubs basketball team, the Falcons, and coached a baseball team for the Miami Shores Optimist Club.
A 29-year-old Wynwood resident who goes by the nickname Felony says he considered Raw a Robin Hood of the neighborhood. "He would, like, come through one day with go-carts and have all the kids drive them around the block," he says. "He had an open-door policy to his crib. Kids would come in and play pool, fix themselves something to eat — it was like we lived there!"
Felony recalls Raw telling kids to stay in school, finish homework, and stay away from drugs and violence. "He was like our dad. If you needed anything, Raw would get it for you, no questions asked — clothes, food, rent money, anything. If he saw the local ice-cream truck come around, he'd give him $100 so the kids could go wild on ice cream."
Another Wynwood local, 33-year-old Pastor Sergio, grew up and still resides in a quaint yellow fenced-in two-bedroom home across from Roberto Clemente Park. His life before he became a man of faith included drugs and violence. Raw, Sergio says, "brought Hoodstock to Wynwood, and that's a beautiful thing. There needs to be more positive events like that in every hood."