On Thursday morning, Oct. 31, just after 8:30, I was passing through a security checkpoint in Norfolk, Virginia and a bag screener was sweeping my check-in bag for a bomb.

What neither of us knew was that he was going to blow my mind. 

I was coming back from a trip onboard an aircraft carrier getting ready for deployment to the Persian Gulf.

It was one of those rare reporter trips that makes you feel good about what you’re doing with your work. 

The screener looked at the bag with our tri-pod in it and then looked at my jacket.  His face lit up . . . he was from New York and despite now living in Virginia, he kept up with Big Apple news everyday.

After he loaded my bags on to the conveyor belt, he pulled out his Personal Digital Assistant to show me that he could pull up headlines from the New York Times and the first one he and I could make out he blurted out loud “Run-DMC DJ Shot And Killed.” 

I grabbed his hand to pull it closer. I couldn’t believe what I just heard. I felt like I had been hit with a baseball bat and I spent the next several hours in shock. 

Jam Master Jay was gone.  My friend was dead.

I’ve known Jason Mizell since we were runny nosed, edgy pre-teenagers, slipping and sliding through the hallways of Junior High School 192. 

He came into focus in my life as a human being during an assembly in the late 70s. 

It was about a day or so after then President Jimmy Carter gave his State of the Union address by a fireplace, dressed in what looked like an uncomfortable sweater. 

Jason’s class was lined up right behind mine, and he was sitting right behind me. 

I don’t know who started but I “Broke” on him about the sweater he was wearing. 

I went on with my short-lived comedy routine amid the laughter of some of the other kids around us. 

Since they rarely laughed at my jokes, I felt pretty good about myself right then, but that wouldn’t last very long. 

Jason fired back. 

His calm, rhythmic but derogatory rebuttal was so hysterical that even I had to laugh. 

I reached over the back of the chair to give him five; he put out his hand, smirked with a look of “Yeah that’s what you get.”

The Jason Mizell I knew in school was smart, but funny and tough. 

He once told an interviewer that he was smart enough to hang with the “nerds” but he was tough enough to keep his lunch money.   That was very, very true. 

The Jason Mizell I knew could have been a success at anything he wanted to, but he “chose” rap music.  Let me say that again. 

The Jason Mizell I knew could have been a success at anything he wanted to, but he “chose” rap music. 

He didn’t use rap as an escape from some dire situation in the projects.  Jason came from a hard working family and grew up in a house.

Through the years whenever and wherever I saw him across the country, he extended his friendship and courtesy.  

His music was the kind that I could always say good things about.  It never promoted violence or conspicuous consumption. 

It was great stuff and I played it loud.  I may have even lost some of my hearing from “King of Rock.”

Regardless of what people may speculate, I believe Jason was not the type of person who would bring something like this on himself, like some of his collegeus who met the same fate.

Any comparison of his life to that of Biggie’s or Tupac’s is unacceptable.

I have many memories and impressions of Jason as an adult, but the most enduring characteristic I will carry with me will be his warmth. 

Although we didn’t hang very often, I was guaranteed to get a phone call, an email or a forwarded message from another reporter who had interviewed him, every six months or so. 

When we did see each other, he made it seem like we had just talked yesterday and he couldn’t wait to see me again. 

I always got a big hug, a flash of that billion dollar smile and a sincere “ How is your family?” inquiry.

As a journalist I have been privileged to see many historical things, but I was honored to know Jason Mizell who made history with his life.  

I am a broadcaster in part due to him.  He inspired me to become a DJ in college.   That led to a radio station job and the rest, as they say, is history.

He has always been an example to me of not living a “woulda, coulda, shoulda” life, and working hard to live the life you have imagined. 

That is legacy of Jam Master Jay to me behind and beyond the music. 

I’ll miss you man.