Sunwalker7
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Al Sharpton tells how he found out he lost his father figure: 'James Brown, your dad, is dead. You’re not having a nightmare. He’s gone'
In new book, shares how Michael Jackson re-combed Godfather of Soul's hair in the funeral home
When he was just a teenager, Alfred Sharpton was invited out on the road with the Godfather of Soul, James Brown. The young preacher styled his hair after Brown, and shortened his name to Al at Brown’s advice. Brown became his surrogate dad. In these excerpts from his new book, “The Rejected Stone,” Sharpton describes losing that father figure — and dealing with a surprise guest at his funeral.
BY REVEREND AL SHARPTON
---
At three in the morning, while I was asleep in an Augusta hotel room, my phone rang, another wee-hour summoning to jar me from my dreams. This time it was the mortician, Charlie Reid.
“Rev. Sharpton?” he said, his deep Southern accent slowly oozing through my phone.
“Yeah, Mr. Reid. Please don’t tell me something’s wrong now. We done got through the worst of it,” I said.
“Nah, nothing’s wrong, Rev. Sharpton,” he said. “I just wanted you to give me authorization. I just got a call from Michael Jackson.”
I could still hear the wonder in his voice.
“He’s in town and he wants to come by the funeral home and see the body,” he said.
“Michael Jackson? But Michael is in Bahrain.”
“Nah, he’s here. He wants to come by and see Mr. Brown,” Mr. Reid said. “I didn’t want to wake the girls up.”
I was shaking my head, shocked again by one of Michael’s moves. “Yeah, he’s authorized. But tell Michael to call me.”
“All right, I will, Rev. Sharpton.”
I sat there waiting, not able to get back to sleep. An hour passed with no call. An hour and a half. So I called back Mr. Reid.
“Mr. Reid, did Michael come?”
“Yeah, he came,” Mr. Reid said. “He sat here a whole hour. He told me I combed James’s hair wrong. He took a comb and he recombed it.”
“Wait a minute — he recombed the hair?”
“Yeah, he redid it,” Mr. Reed said. “Said I did it wrong. He sat here with the body for an hour.”
“Did you tell him to call me?”
“Yeah, he said he was going to call you.”
So I called Michael myself and told him he shouldn’t leave. I knew Michael well — he’d come and sit with the body and then get out of town.
“One day you’re going to have to reappear in public,” I told him.
He had not been in the States and had not been seen in public since the trial, which had ended a year and a half earlier.
“What better time to do it? You came to show your respect to your idol,” I continued.
“I’ll think about it,” he said and hung up.
Word got out that Michael had been in town, but everyone assumed he was gone. However, the next day, halfway through the funeral at the James Brown Arena, Michael walked in. He came over and sat next to me and the family. The band broke into a memorial tribute to James, playing some of his biggest songs. The band members started motioning for Michael to come join them on the stage.
“Sit there — don’t go,” I said into Michael’s ear.
“What do you mean?” he asked me.
“Don’t move,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t want the first time you come back and are in public and the picture everybody sees is you on the stage boogying and dancing and moonwalking. You came to mourn James. Don’t get up there with the band.”
“OK,” he said, nodding his head. “But I want to see the body one more time.”
So we stood up and walked over to the casket. The family all gathered around. Michael leaned over and gave James a tender kiss, saying his final good-bye.
When I got up to do the eulogy, I talked in the beginning about Michael, how much he looked up to James and the standard of music they had created. Then I asked Michael to say a few words. This was the statement that went around the world, Michael’s reintroduction to the public.
“James Brown is my greatest inspiration,” Michael said. “Ever since I was a small child, no more than six years old, my mother would wake me no matter what time it was, if I was sleeping, no matter what I was doing, to watch the television to see the master at work. And when I saw him move, I was mesmerized. I never saw a performer perform like James Brown. And right then and there, I knew that was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, because of James Brown. James Brown, I shall miss you, and I love you so much and thank you for everything.”
Source: http://www.nydailynews.com/news/politics/al-sharpton-book-excerpts-article-1.1468720#ixzz2gtLVFGO0
In new book, shares how Michael Jackson re-combed Godfather of Soul's hair in the funeral home
When he was just a teenager, Alfred Sharpton was invited out on the road with the Godfather of Soul, James Brown. The young preacher styled his hair after Brown, and shortened his name to Al at Brown’s advice. Brown became his surrogate dad. In these excerpts from his new book, “The Rejected Stone,” Sharpton describes losing that father figure — and dealing with a surprise guest at his funeral.
BY REVEREND AL SHARPTON
---
At three in the morning, while I was asleep in an Augusta hotel room, my phone rang, another wee-hour summoning to jar me from my dreams. This time it was the mortician, Charlie Reid.
“Rev. Sharpton?” he said, his deep Southern accent slowly oozing through my phone.
“Yeah, Mr. Reid. Please don’t tell me something’s wrong now. We done got through the worst of it,” I said.
“Nah, nothing’s wrong, Rev. Sharpton,” he said. “I just wanted you to give me authorization. I just got a call from Michael Jackson.”
I could still hear the wonder in his voice.
“He’s in town and he wants to come by the funeral home and see the body,” he said.
“Michael Jackson? But Michael is in Bahrain.”
“Nah, he’s here. He wants to come by and see Mr. Brown,” Mr. Reid said. “I didn’t want to wake the girls up.”
I was shaking my head, shocked again by one of Michael’s moves. “Yeah, he’s authorized. But tell Michael to call me.”
“All right, I will, Rev. Sharpton.”
I sat there waiting, not able to get back to sleep. An hour passed with no call. An hour and a half. So I called back Mr. Reid.
“Mr. Reid, did Michael come?”
“Yeah, he came,” Mr. Reid said. “He sat here a whole hour. He told me I combed James’s hair wrong. He took a comb and he recombed it.”
“Wait a minute — he recombed the hair?”
“Yeah, he redid it,” Mr. Reed said. “Said I did it wrong. He sat here with the body for an hour.”
“Did you tell him to call me?”
“Yeah, he said he was going to call you.”
So I called Michael myself and told him he shouldn’t leave. I knew Michael well — he’d come and sit with the body and then get out of town.
“One day you’re going to have to reappear in public,” I told him.
He had not been in the States and had not been seen in public since the trial, which had ended a year and a half earlier.
“What better time to do it? You came to show your respect to your idol,” I continued.
“I’ll think about it,” he said and hung up.
Word got out that Michael had been in town, but everyone assumed he was gone. However, the next day, halfway through the funeral at the James Brown Arena, Michael walked in. He came over and sat next to me and the family. The band broke into a memorial tribute to James, playing some of his biggest songs. The band members started motioning for Michael to come join them on the stage.
“Sit there — don’t go,” I said into Michael’s ear.
“What do you mean?” he asked me.
“Don’t move,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t want the first time you come back and are in public and the picture everybody sees is you on the stage boogying and dancing and moonwalking. You came to mourn James. Don’t get up there with the band.”
“OK,” he said, nodding his head. “But I want to see the body one more time.”
So we stood up and walked over to the casket. The family all gathered around. Michael leaned over and gave James a tender kiss, saying his final good-bye.
When I got up to do the eulogy, I talked in the beginning about Michael, how much he looked up to James and the standard of music they had created. Then I asked Michael to say a few words. This was the statement that went around the world, Michael’s reintroduction to the public.
“James Brown is my greatest inspiration,” Michael said. “Ever since I was a small child, no more than six years old, my mother would wake me no matter what time it was, if I was sleeping, no matter what I was doing, to watch the television to see the master at work. And when I saw him move, I was mesmerized. I never saw a performer perform like James Brown. And right then and there, I knew that was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, because of James Brown. James Brown, I shall miss you, and I love you so much and thank you for everything.”
Source: http://www.nydailynews.com/news/politics/al-sharpton-book-excerpts-article-1.1468720#ixzz2gtLVFGO0
*big sigh*
