Dream boogie: the triumph of Sam Cooke Read Online Free PDF Page A

“I know what I’m gonna do. I’m going to wash my hair, and then I’m going to tell Papa, ‘I can’t go to church ’cause I just got my hair washed, and I haven’t got it done.’” Well, she
washed
her hair, and she
told
Papa, but he just said, “That’s all right, just come right on.” So she had to go to church with her hair all a mess. Papa didn’t play. You had to either go to church or get out of his house.
     
    — Hattie, Agnes, and L.C. Cook in a spirited chorus of voices recalling their early religious training
    T HE CHICAGO HEIGHTS CHURCH, which had first been organized in 1919, grew dramatically under Reverend Cook’s stewardship. The “seventeen” previous ministers, he told gospel historian David Tenenbaum, had been able to do nothing to increase the size or fervor of a congregation made up for the most part of workers from the local Ford assembly plant, but, Reverend Cook said, “I worked up to one hundred and twenty-five, I filled the church up. You had to be sure to come there on time if you wanted a seat.”
    He was, according to his daughter Agnes, a “fire-and-brimstone country preacher” who always sang before he preached, strictly the old songs—two of his favorites were “You Can’t Hurry God” and “This Little Light of Mine.” He took his sermon from a Bible text and was known to preach standing on one leg for two minutes at a time when he got carried away by his message. The congregation was vocal in its response, shouting, occasionally speaking in tongues, with church mothers dressed in nurse’s whites prepared to attend to any of the congregation who were overcome. The Cooks didn’t shout, but Annie Mae would cry sometimes, her children could always tell when the sermon really got to her and her spirit was full by the tears streaming down her cheeks. The other ladies in the congregation were equally moved, for despite his stern demeanor, the Reverend Cook was a handsome man—and despite his numerous strictures, as his children were well aware, the Reverend Cook definitely had an eye for the ladies. Annie Mae sang in the choir, which was accompanied by a girl named Flora on piano, and different groups would come out occasionally to present spiritual and gospel music programs. One group in particular, the Progressive Moaners, became regular visitors—they always got a good response—and that is what gave the Reverend Cook the idea for the Singing Children.
    T HE COOK CHILDREN were all musical, but Charles, the next-to-oldest, was the heart and soul of the family group. He was eleven, “and I had to sing every Sunday in church, my daddy used to make me sing all the time, stop me from going out in the street and playing with my friends.” He and his big sister, Mary, sang lead in the five-member quartet. Hattie, who was eight, sang baritone; Sam, already focused on music as a career at six, sang tenor; and L.C., the baby of the group, was their four-year-old bass singer.
    They practiced at home at first but soon were “upsetting” the church on a regular basis, taking the Progressive Moaners’ place at the center of the service and in the process reflecting as much on their father, Reverend Cook, as on themselves. They sang “Precious Lord, Take My Hand” and “They Nailed Him to the Cross” with Flora accompanying them. “We just practiced our own selves and decided what songs we was going to sing,” recalled Hattie. “Every time the church doors opened we had to be there.”
    Before long they were going around to other churches and leading off their father’s out-of-town revivals in Indianapolis and Gary and Kankakee. The entire family traveled together, all nine of them, generally staying with the minister, but not infrequently having to split up among various church households due to the size of the group. Each of the Singing Children had a freshness and charm. They were a
good-looking
family, even the boys had pretty, long bangs, and the church ladies