Some say that singers live on through their music. Hearing a Patsy Cline song, an Etta James tune, the crooning of Nina Simone, they say, brings something of them back to this world. I do not know if that is true. What I do know is that some people live in such a way that they are loved and cherished long after they leave this world, long after they have ceased air time on the radio stations of their genre.
That, I believe, is who Charlie Pride was and is.
Charlie was born into a family with little wealth. His father was a sharecropper in Sledge, Mississippi. He was born in the era of actual institutional racism. The Governor, for instance, of Mississippi when Charlie began his life was a five foot, two inch Ku Klux Klan member and hardline Democrat by the name of Theodore Bilbo (no, that is not a joke). This kind of bigoted structure stifled progress and successes for black Americans. Charlie Pride, however, saw potential where others dared not dream. He wanted to play baseball and make a name for himself in the sport. True to form, he did. In the Negro American League Charlie played until an injury in his pitching arm benched him.
Charlie Pride would not let that keep him down. He had been practicing with a guitar since his early teens and sang with a voice that was as distinct as any in country music. He faced an uphill battle, not with the country singers, many of whom backed Charlie but with venue owners and managers. The venues feared racist Democrats would retaliate against them for daring to allow a black American singer to perform in Democrat territory.
It never slowed him down. Charlie would sell out venues and bring in numbers that baffled hardline Democrat bigots. People that had only heard Charlie on the radio came to concerts expecting a white singer in a suit and cowboy hat. Instead, they saw a black man of just over six feet tall, with a stage presence that made theatrical lighting seem unnecessary. Most importantly, they heard him sing. Charlie pride could sing with the power of conviction and passion because he loved singing stories. On stage he told stories through his music and that made a concert more than just a concert.
I know this because I was privileged to both meet Charlie Frank Pride and to see him doing what he loved most of all.
Charlie was loved by most who knew him. He was an honest man, by all accounts. He loved his family, his home, and his country. He was a Christian that sang Gospel songs with a feeling one might get in an old church house. That may not sell tickets but it always brings a smile to my heart.
Is this a simple eulogy? No. This is a story about a man that found success when violent, bigoted, corrupt Democrats held control by any means and targeted people that looked like him with ferocity. He found success doing what he loved and loving his fans enough to give them his all until he stepped into that next phase he sang about in Gospel songs.
Maybe there is still a chance for bigger things in troubled times. That Mississippi Sledge Hammer broke down countless walls with a smile and a song. What can we do?
Thank you Charlie Pride, may God guide your way.
P.S. Yes, sir, I made it out of the den.