The Legendary Life of James Brown

By George E. Curry

I was headed to spend several days with my mother over the holidays when I heard the news that James Brown had died of congestive heart failure caused by pneumonia early Christmas morning at an Atlanta hospital. My first reaction was one of disbelief: “Please, Please, Please,” I kept singing. “Don’t go, I love you so.” Yes, I love me some J-a-m-e-s B-r-o-w-n. Since recording “Please, Please, Please” in 1956, he has been at the top of my hit list. He sang, “Try Me,” and now, 800 hits later, I am still doing just that.
At the improvised home talent shows in the early 1960’s with my three younger sisters - Charlotte, Chris and Sue - we would try to make one another laugh by imitating famous entertainers. Chris could always crack me up with her rendition of Ray Charles. Between the sunglasses, broom stick and side-to-side rocking, Chris could always make me laugh until I cried. When it was my turn, Big Brother No. 1 had to, in classic James Brown fashion, put on a show. With my right foot firmly planted, my left one slightly off the floor, I would suddenly drop the left one and glide across the floor. I would slide to the right, glide backward on the “Good Foot” and then drop to my knees and burst into, “Please, Please, Please.” By then, I would have broken into a “Cold Sweat” and one of my sisters, playing the part of Bobby Byrd, would drape a shirt, towel or whatever was nearby that could serve as a cape and comfort me until I could rise to my feet. By the time I stood upright, I would throw the cape off and resume my James Brown routine. In short, we had a “Funky Good Time.”

In the late 1960’s, while spending a few months with Hiram Crawford, a cousin in New York City, I went to the Apollo Theater almost every week. Whenever “the Hardest Working Man in Show business” appeared at the Apollo, lines would extend along 125th Street in Harlem and wrap around the block. One night was raining and I, like hundreds of others, stood in the rain in order to see JB. Waiting in line one night, I developed a friendship with Steve Woods and his sister. We talked about how insane it was for us to be standing in the rain, but neither of us left our place in line. We laughed and joked until the long line finally inched up to the ticket window. We eagerly moved inside, took our seats, and waited for the star of the show to make his grand entrance.

After the warm-up acts, Danny Ray, the announcer would say, “It’s Star Time” and then tick off a list of James Brown hits: Please, Please, Please; Try Me; Night Train; Prisoner of Love; Papa’s Got Brand New Bag; I Got The Feeling; Cold Sweat; It’s a Man’s World; Say It Loud - I’m Black and I'm Proud; Give It Up Or Turn It Lose; Popcorn; Hot Pants; The Big Payback...After the big buildup, Ray would say, “ Ladies and Gentlemen, Jaaa-aaaaames Brownnnnnnnnnnnn, James Brown, James Brown.” By then, we’d all be mesmerized, standing, yelling and screaming to the top of our voices.

James Brown was energy in motion, the ultimate showman. He was a singer, dancer, songwriter, and bandleader, all rolled into one. It was hard to determine where one role began and the other ended. His official biography in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame notes, “This much is certain: what became known as soul music in the Sixties, funk music in the Seventies and rap music in the Eighties is directly attributable to James Brown.”

He was the superstars’ superstar. Elvis Presley, Mick Jagger, David Bowie and Michael Jackson all mimicked James Brown, some more successful than others. Even his various run-ins with police were entertaining. In 1988, Brown, armed with a shotgun and said to be high on drugs, entered an insurance seminar next to his Augusta office and accused some of the participants of using his private restroom. Police chased James Brown for 30 minutes from Augusta, across the South Carolina line, and back into Georgia. The drama ended when cops shot out the tires on JB’s truck. That escapade cost him 15 months in prison and 10 months in a work release program.

My favorite James Brown story involves not the entertainer, but Adrienne, his third wife. Fighting several traffic tickets, her lawyer filed a petition in court claiming she should be extended diplomatic immunity because her husband was the official ambassador of soul. The petition was later withdrawn before a judge could rule against it. Because diplomatic immunity shields only visiting diplomats from criminal prosecution in a host country - and James Brown was in his native land - if a judge had considered the petition, he would have been left, “Bewildered.”

But that’s not how JB left his rabid fans. I hate to confess this, but I once got carried away on the dance floor at a national convention of the National Association of Black Journalists. In that instance, Kenneth Walker, then a White House correspondent for ABC-TV, served as my Bobby Byrd. Years later, after I had almost forgotten that performance, a journalist came up to me and said he had been present at the convention in Atlanta and he'd never forget my James Brown imitation. I told him that I didn’t know, from my standpoint, if that was good or bad.

I won't get a chance to see him perform live anymore, but at least I'll have his music as a reliable travel companion. And as long as I can have that, “I Feel Good.”