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The 9 lives of 50 Cent: rap star survives shootings, stabbing and death threats
Ebony, August, 2003 by Zondra Hughes
SOME cunning people live two lives, but 26-year-old Curtis (50 Cent) Jackson has lived nine and is working on his tenth.
1st life
There is, to begin with, Curtis Jackson, the only son of 15-year-old Sabrina Jackson, one of the biggest, most feared drug dealers in Queens. "My mother was tough," he says. But she also spoiled him rotten. Being Sabrina's offspring earned him a ferocious street credibility from birth and a bevy of riches that rivaled that of some of the wealthiest blueblood children in faraway suburbia.
2nd life
There's Curtis, the halo-wearing tyke who was the apple of his grandmother's eye--"I was my grandmother's baby," he jokes--who was forced to live with his grandparents after his mother was drugged and killed when he was 8 years old.
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3rd life
There's Curtis the wayward 10th grader, who found himself on juvenile probation after he was busted for dealing drugs. Curtis, who had been dealing since he was 12 years old, would later drop out of high school.
4th life
There's Curtis, aka Boo-Boo, the 18-year-old amateur boxer (who earned his GED behind bars) and later emerged as the Southside Queens-area Scarface. Boo Boo operated profitable drug houses that netted him $150,000 a month, and true to gangster form, he wore priceless jewelry, drove a fleet of expensive cars, and systematically set up and/or robbed his crack-dealing competitors without breaking a sweat. "I'm not ashamed of that," he says now. "[At the time] hustling seemed like the only option."
5th life
There's Curtis, the doting father of his 6-year-old son, Marquise, who made a life-altering decision to leave drugs alone for good and to focus instead on making music. "50 Cent is a metaphor for change," he explains. 50 Cent is determined not to let anything come between him and his son--a determination that stems from the fact that he never knew his own father. (For the record, 50 Cent says that he wants to keep it that way.)
6th life
There's Curtis aka 50 Cent, the up-and-coming rap artist who learned how to construct a song at the feet of one of the most respected DJs in hip-hop history, the late Jam Master Jay.
7th life
There's rap superstar 50 Cent, public enemy No. 1 of conservative watchdogs who are blaming him for the recent resurgence of gangsta rap. 50 Cent answers his critics in his poem, Courage Under Fire. "Like most humans I fall short of perfection ... I believe in God ... But I curse to express how I feel ... The things I've been through made me the way I am today."
8th life
There's rap superstar 50 Cent, currently embroiled in a heated dispute with rap superstar Ja Rule. The beef between the two has spilled from the confines of the recording studio to the streets, resulting in at least two physical confrontations. The feud has ominous implications in the hip-hop community, of course, and many are holding their breath, hoping against hope that it cools down immediately. As one high-level New York-area producer puts it, "We don't need any more dead rappers."
9th life
All of these lives, past and present, have culminated in the vast and sudden glory of superstardom, his ninth life. The 26-year-old rapper, beating on his body the scars of his first eight lives, is practically everywhere, and fans, Black and White, have flocked to him for all of the 'hood-righteous reasons: He's from the 'hood, and thus has been knee-deep in the gritty game that he raps about so fervently. Fans know that the mayhem he raps about is his truth, and he delivers it from the depths of his soul without apology. With the help of Dr. Dre and others, his rap lyrics have been set to the hypnotic beats that provide just the fight ummph that Blacks, Whites, Hispanics and everyone else in between can bump to on the dance floor, in their cars and on the hot summer street.
And women, Black and White, young and old, upscale and lowbrow, love him for all the 'hood-righteous reasons as well. For starters, he's drop-dead gorgeous. His rippled, tattooed body, his slanted, cocoa-colored eyes, the intoxicating twang of his gritty words, and the fact that he's quick to dismiss any invitation to a long-term relationship makes him the ultimate bad boy that women want to tame.
Yet in the nooks and crannies of his raps, he gives hints that perhaps, just maybe, he'll be a nice guy for that one special woman. To wit, his perfectly shaped mouth--so adept at spewing sordid street tales--can in an instant become the blinding choirboy smile that his grandmother adores so very much.
And that tiny out-of-place dimple on the left side of his cheek is especially endearing.
Until you realize that that's no dimple--it's a bullet wound, a not-so-subtle reminder of one of 50 Cent's past lives, and a not-so-subtle reminder that his balancing act has never been easy.
In fact, fighting off his past lives and demons has been downright messy.
In 1999, for example, Columbia Records took notice of 50 Cent after sampling his various underground mix tapes. 50 Cent went into the studio and churned out 36 tunes that later resulted in his first underground (not widely released) album, The Power of a Dollar. But just months before the album was to be released, enemies of 50 Cent's alter-ego, Boo Boo the drug pusher, shot him nine times (at close range) as he sat in a friend's car in front of his grandmother's house. While he recuperated in the hospital, Columbia Records dropped him from the label.
