A Jazz Singer Dies; A Memory Lives

Blues singer Etta James dies at 73.

Just read it on Yahoo. 

What memories evoked…and then flowed.  Not a tsumani-like-flow, but still more than a trickling.  Much more.

I didn’t know Etta James.  And yet, I did.

Backstory triggers my memory this day, Friday, January 20, 2012.  Allow me to share it.  Won’t be Cliff-Notes.

Some have heard it before.  But, as a wise counsel once advised, “No good story should become untold.”  Or, something like that.

Was the academic year, 1964-65.  I took a year from my seminary studies to explore the vocational option of campus ministry and university faculty.  That took me to Carbondale, Illinois, Southern Illinois University to be exact, serving in a campus ministry internship with the Student Christian Foundation.  The director, United Church of Christ pastor, Malcolm Gillespie, was better than a great minister and friend.  He knew the requirements of ministry, much more than learned in a seminary classroom.

Working with a college youth group I received a phone call from another UCC pastor, Porter French.  Porter was the Chaplain at Menard State Penitentiary, near St. Louis, but still in Illinois.  He wanted to know if our college group would be interested in leading a worship service for the inmates.  They [and I!] said, “Sure.”

We got there, were ushered into a very large auditorium, the prison guards standing in front of the stage.  The inmates came in…very orderly.

All seated, the worship bulletin indicated the prelude will be lead by Menard’s choir.

More than a rushing wind, we heard these incredible sounds from the side of the stage.  Enter about 30 inmates singing their hearts out.  Real gospel music…never heard such with the zest and joy.  Prisoners.

In the middle of the worship—think our sermon was something read from “Zoo Story,” the choir sang its anthem.  An anthem that featured a solo.

Never.  I can say this.  Never have I ever heard such a voice…loud but not rough, pitch perfect.  Oh boy.
Stunning.  Even more than that.

At lunch I asked Porter, believing the only dumb questions were those not asked, “Porter, who in the world was that soloist?”

Porter smiled.  Nodded, “Mark, that’s Ed Redding.  Goes by Bunky.”

Porter went on to say that Bunky was a jazz singer, sang with the likes of Billie Holiday and Etta James.  Was in prison for shooting heroin and cocaine, at least a couple more years of sentence.

Then without thinking…but yet, I’m sure it wasn’t totally stupid nor did it give naiveté a prominence, “Porter, might it be possible for me to visit him?”

About a month later I drove to Menard, visited Bunky for our allotted 45 minutes, separated by a glass partition, holding on to phones.

He was animated.  Even more he was grateful.  Had been in Menard for some years and in that time, no one visited him.  Until this left-handed, getting-grey-haired-guy.

Fast forward.

We exchanged letters the next year…I in seminary and he singing in the prison choir.  What I remember about his letters [circa 1965-66] was the green ink of the prison typewriter.

Got ordained and married and moved to Chicago…a rather memorable two weeks time.  Then got a call from Porter, “Mark, Bunky’s up for parole early next year.  Wanted you to know.  Chances he’ll get paroled if someone will sponsor him.”

“Sure.”

SURE?

Hey, how many things done by people not smart enough to know they might not work?

Went to the parole board…a new experience.  The parole board released Bunky…met him at the Greyhound Chicago bus station.  Took him to an apartment secured, with six months of rent paid.  Took him to a “divey” Chicago Loop restaurant for his first job—dishwashing.

A week later Bunky and I had lunch…sat at the counter, a linoleum counter with cracks and heaves to it.  And for whatever reason asked him about cocaine, how that got hold of you.  Without pause he laid out a napkin, sprinkled a small pile of sugar and leaned down, sniffing with….

“Okay, Bunky I get it.  Thanks…sort of.”

Suddenly I noticed the silence.  No one was eating.  No one was talking.  Glare.  Here is this priest [I wore a clergy collar] and this black guy and the black guy’s got cocaine!

Then got a call from Bunky, “Mark, I got a gig.”  [He explained to this novice what that was.] 

“Great, Bunky, great.”

That Friday night I went to the darkest, most drab part of south Chicago…a slimy place with a stage no larger than a phone booth.  Chairs scattered about.  Most empty.  The bartender walked over, took the mike, “Gentlemen, put your hands together for one of our most famous singers, Bunky Redding.”

Bunky emerged a smile that could melt a glacier.  Started to sing.  Off-key, the music in the background a measure or two behind him.

Had to be one of the saddest moments ever.  He no longer had it.  Suddenly from the side I saw a man wind up…and noticed it wasn’t a baseball.  It was his empty beer bottle.  Hurled it to the wall next to the stage.  Shattered.

As I could only imagine reflected Bunky’s shattered sense of I have it still.

No, he didn’t.

A couple of weeks later, think it was February something or other, Bunky and I had worked a deal.  As a way for him to say thank-you he would be the entertainment for our Frauenverein group at St. Pauls Church at the corner of Fullerton Parkway and Orchard, Chicago northside, a church founded in 1843.  Talk about history and value. 

A note here:  this was the most prominent group of ladies in the church.  They are the ones who made the Advent fruit baskets for the pastors to deliver to the homebound when serving communion.  And they were the ones who instituted the 11^th Commandment, Don’t you ever let the bananas get brown.

It was, I think this is right, their Valentine Luncheon.

Got Bunky spruced up, the torn levis and thread-bare sweatshirt didn’t have it.

Introduced him, didn’t say much about his background, but said he was a jazz singer with Etta James and Billie Holiday.  Of course, for these white women, most of whom had immigrated from Germany, that meant nothing.  But, hey, Bach and Company couldn’t make it.

And then.

I really mean it.  AND THEN.

The voice of an angel.  Gospel songs the ladies knew, “Rock of Ages,” “Jesus Calls Us,” and he ended with “Amazing Grace.” Acapella.

The ladies were so spellbound by this angel [their words later], they sat there when he finished.  A few dried their eyes.  Then one began clapping.  And none.  Not one of the ladies threw a beer bottle.

 

That was the nadir of my relationship with Bunky.  He began to not call.  I stopped in at the restaurant and he had left with no way to reach him.  He had checked out of his apartment before the next rent due.

I tried and tried, but to no avail.

Then the call came, a slurred voice, “Mark, it’s Bunky.  I’m at the Cook County Jail…got caught again…a hypodermic needle under my tongue.  Am being sent back to Menard.  Am leaving shortly.  Thanks for all you have done.  Please leave me alone.”

Click.

 

The headline about Etta James, died at 73 of leukemia flooded me today.  Never did hear again from Bunky.  Porter French said he became reclused in prison, was adamant about not singing ever again.

I had hoped he might have said something about the Frauenverein.  But, perhaps not.

A moment in my life. 

Sure.

I could have done more.  But, I didn’t.  Maybe should have.  Maybe not.

Thanks for reading this far.

My hope is this. Even though it was a brief time, I hope the time shared with Bunky was not in vain.  I hope it wasn’t.  But.  I’ll never know.  But, that’s okay. 

I’m pretty sure Bunky’s not alive.  A year or so ago I tried to google him and didn’t get anything, other than he was a jazz singer.  No date of birth.  No date of death. 

But in my lexicon, it will not be without register.  In my lexicon  “Bunky Redding.  A guy who sang to the heavens at the Menard Prison worship service.  A guy who sent green-inked letters.  A guy who washed dishes.  A guy who sang his heart out for the Frauenverein.”

That’s what I will remember.

Etta James, may you rest in peace.  And no less, wherever and however you are, Edwin Bunky Redding, may the same be for you. 

Yes, indeed.