This is the cover story from EBONY magazine April 1972. It is reproduced here without explicit permission of the copyright holder(s).
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Title of EBONY April 1972

Two Cities Pay
Tribute To
Mahalia Jackson


Death ends 45-year career of 'world´s greatest gospel singer'


Mahalia Jackson, 60, died January 27, 1972, in Chicago where she lived 45 years and became the greatest single success in gospel music.

IN CHICAGO, on a bitterly cold January day, the lines formed early outside Greater Salem Baptist Church and 50,000 of the people who had known and loved Mahalia Jackson filed silently past her mahogany, glass-topped coffin in final tribute to the queen of gospel song. The next day, as many as cou1d — 6,000 or more — filled every seat and stood along the walls of the city's public concert hall, the Arie Crown Theater of McCormick Place, for a two-hour funeral service marked not by grief but by joyous song and eulogies which reminded that Mahalia's great talent had been one that evoked happiness, not tears.

More than 6,000 Chicagoans, led by Mayor Richard Daley, Mahalia's pastor, the Rev. Leon Jenkins, and other dignitaries paid final tribute in city's Arie Crown Theater.
Three days later, a thousand miles away, the scene repeated itself: again the long lines, again the silent tribute, again the thousands filling, this time, the great hall of the Rivergate Convention Center in downtown New Orleans. In Chicago, the plain people and the famous (Mayor Richard J. Daley, Aretha Franklin, Mrs. Coretta King, Sammy Davis, Ella Fitzgerald) had paid their respects. And so it was in New Orleans: Mayor Moon Landrieu and Louisiana Gov. John J. McKeithen joined with the poor blacks from Mahalia's old neighborhood; Dick Gregory, Lou Rawls and gospel singer Bessie Griffin made their way to the stage through a crowd which included school children, whites from the rich suburbs and the poor of Rampart and Dryades streets. Missing from the Rivergate thousands which emptied into New Orleans' streets were the traditional marching bands.

Aretha Franklln, formerly a gospel star and reportedly one of Mahalia's favorite artists, closes Chicago rites with moving rendition of Precious Lord, Take My Hand.

The funera1 cortege passes Mahalia's childhood church, Mt. Moriah Baptist, in New Orleans, where she was baptized 48 years ago and started singing in its gospel choir.
Mahalia, a woman of great dignity and simple tastes, had always said she wanted "no big fanfare when I'm gone." Instead, the funeral cortege of 24 limousines drove slowly past her childhood place of worship, Mt. Moriah Baptist Church, where her recordings played through loudspeakers, then made its way to Providence Memorial Park in Metairie, La., where, finally, Mahalia was entombed.

Throughout the week of homage there was the reminder always that Mahalia's life had been one during which she celebrated not so much the greatness of her extraordinary career but the humbleness of her birth, her great love for the church, the strength she drew from faith in what she often referred to as "a Him that's higher than I." Sixty years old ( she was born on Oct. 26, 1911) at the time of her January 27th death, of a heart condition in Chicago's Little Company of Mary Hospital, Mahalia was born in poverty in a three-room "shot-gun" shack between railroad tracks and the Mississippi River levee in New Orleans.

Dr. Joseph H. Jackson, president of the National Baptist Convention, U.S.A., Inc., of which Mahalia was Official Soloist, delivers the eulogy at Chicago funeral.

Mrs. Martin Luther King Jr. eulogizes Mahalia during Chicago funeral as "a friend - proud, black and beautiful." Mahalia was also a close friend and financial supporter of Mrs. King's late husband, who once lauded Mahalia's great voice as "one heard once in a millennium."
Her father, John A. Jackson, was a stevedore, barber and preacher. Her mother, Charity Clark, died at 25 when Mahalia was only four. Mahalia was raised by her mother's sisters, beginning with Mrs. Mahalia "Aunt Duke" Paul for whom Mahalia was named. Another aunt, Mrs. Bessie Kimble, of New Orleans, remembers Mahalia as "a serious, obedient, religious child" who started singing in Mt. Moriah Church and "shouting its members" even before she was baptized. Then one Friday night, 48 years ago, 12-year-old Mahalia "came off the mourner's bench during a revival, and with tears in her eyes she confessed Christ." She was baptized in the Mississippi by Mt. Moriah's pastor, the Rev. E. D. Lawrence, then went back to the church to "receive the right hand of fellowship." Later, Mahalia would often say, "Ever since that day, I promised the Lord that I'd dedicate my life to Him in song."

Lou Rawls (above, left) and Dick Gregory were in New Orleans crowd paying last respects. Rawls sang Just A Closer Walk With Thee while Gregory praised 'Mahalia's "moral force" as main reason for her success."

Mahalia kept that promise throughout her life – during the lean days of work in the South as a laundress and maid, and as a laborer in a logging camp, as well as during the glory days of being an international celebrity and, toward the end, living in a sprawling condominium 27 stories above Lake Michigan in Chicago. Mahalia, who was the third of six children, was taken to Chicago when she was 16 to live with another aunt, Mrs. Hannah Robinson. It was in that city that her professional career began – as a member of a gospel quintet, the Johnson Singers, at Greater Salem Baptist Church.. After seven years with the group, she "went solo" in 1941. Four years later she recorded Move On Up A Little Higher, the song which catapulted her toward stardom. More than eight million recordings of it on the old Apollo label were eventually sold.

Louisiana governor John McKeithen (at lectern ) and New Orleans mayor Moon Landrieu (extreme 1.) presented offcial condolences from state and city during wake in New Orleans' Rivergate Convention Center Auditorium.

In his Famous Negro Music Makers, black writer Langston Hughes said of the recording: "Its slow, syncopated rhythms caught the fancy of jazz fans..., who bought it, not for religious reasons, but as a fine example of a new kind of rhythmical Negro singing. The gospel song began to reach a public for whom it was not intended at all..."
Mahalia's other multi-million sellers included Upper Room, Didn't It Rain, Even Me and Silent Night. She recorded about 30 albums (mostly for Columbia Records) during her career, and her 45 rpm records included a dozen "golds"—million-sellers. Movies in which she appeared were Imitation Of Life, St. Louis Blues, The Best Man and I Remember Chicago. In 1954 she became the first gospel singer to have a regular show on network radio.

THE strong faith in God which Mahalia often talked about made her believe, she said, that she was "ordained to sing the gospel" "Anybody that sings the Blues is in a deep pit, yelling for help," she once said. Mahalia also believed that her singing was a "ransom of gratitude for God delivering me from trials." Among those "trials" was her search for love-a search which ended in divorces from Isaac Hockenhull and Sigmund Galloway. Another "trial" was one which involved the influence of numerous persons who urged her to abandon her commitment to gospel music and switch to the nightclub circuit. She was offered as much as $25,000 per performance in Las Vegas clubs. All such offers were turned down because, Mahalia explained, "I'd rather sing about 'old man Jesus' than about some old man some woman has lost." Such faith and commitment made Mahalia, says humorist Dick Gregory, "a true moral force in the world. You see, soldiers draw soldiers; entertainers draw entertainers, and politicians draw politicians. But a moral force draws all people and that's why so many people all over the world were attracted to Mahalia Jackson."

In Chicago, the Arie Crown Theater is packed with more than 6,000 persons paying city's final tribute to Mahalia Jackson. Services were scheduled to be held on Greater Salem Baptist Church in Chicago and in Mt. Moriah Baptist Church in New Orleans, but larger halls were needed in both cities to accomodate the capacity crowds.
Perhaps they were attracted to her also because of the simplicity of her ways. She was, she sometimes said, "just a good strong Louisiana woman who can cook rice so every grain stands by itself." Her Chicago home usually was open to all kinds of persons the numerous preachers at whose churches she had sung, young gospel singers seeking her advice, writers from all over the world, persons involved in various civil rights crusades. Although she was seldom identified with militant civil rights crusades, Mahalia supported the liberation fight by singing at fund-raising rallies, by strongly supporting the work of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., and by quietly slipping money to leaders whom she believed were "for real." One of her major concerns was education for poor youngsters. An eighth-grade dropout, she set-up the Mahalia Jackson Scholarship Fund and reportedly helped about 50 youths obtain college educations. A dream she never realized was that of building a huge temple so that young people of all races could "come together and communicate as brothers and sisters and worship the Lord just like one great big family." Connected with the temple would have been an interracial school of music because, Mahalia said, "I never did learn nothing about reading and writing music. All I ever learned was just to sing the way I feel." Sometimes her "way" was, she would laugh, "off-beat, on the beat, between beats however the Lord lets it come out."

Color guard stands at Mahalia's coffin in New Orleans.

Among principal heirs to her estimated million dollar estate are relatives, including her half-brother John Johnson (2nd from l.) and aunt Hannah Robinson (4th from l.)
The Mahalia voice was a very special one. Though classified as contralto, it was, Mahalia would say, "just real strong and clear." It was so strong that she often sang without a microphone but still filled the largest of halls with her great bell-like tone. Her "singing weight" was 200 pounds but sometimes, she complained, "my good Louisiana cooking makes it shoot up to something like 240, you see."

Mahalia thrills some 250,000 persons gathered at Lincoln Memorial during 1963 March on Washington as she sings black spiritual I'VE BEEN BUKED AND I'VE BEEN SCORNED. She was a quiet but strong supporter of many civil rights causes.

"When Mahalia sang," says one of her fans, Mrs. Dora J. Brown of New Orleans, "her voice gave me goose pimples. She not only had the voice, but she had a certain feeling in her voice and you couldn't help believing that she was sincere. You could just see God in her eyes and feel His spirit in her singing." Others have described that "feeling" as "something you just couldn't put your finger on a very special thing which some singers have and which moves people so emotionally."

Gospel Queen meets King and Queen of Denmark at 1960 receprion hosted by Chicago Mayor Richard Daley above. She later sang for royal hosts in Denmark.

Below, she sings at rally she held in Chicago for Dr. King.

For years, a Mahalia Jackson concert assured promoters of "sell-out" crowds—at Carnegie Hall in New York where she was a favorite ("Now you all remember that we're here in Carnegie Hall," she'd announce from the stage, "so you'd best not cut up too much or they might put us out") or at, say, Berlin's Sportspalast, where Hitler once rallied for war but where, said Mahalia, "I'm gonna sing about the goodness of the Lord." She preferred singing to a small church congregation ("I like to see folks get happy and jump up and shout") rather than to millions of television viewers. "You go to these TV studios," she complained, "and they've got all these mechanical and scientific things looking down your throat while you're trying to praise the Lord. That bothers me. Then you've got these fellows there running around shouting 'Cut' right when the Holy Ghost is taking charge and setting your soul on fire. TV and I just don't see eye to eye. I'm used to singing in church until the Lord comes, not by no clock or some director cutting your song short."

Countless honorary degrees and other awards were presented to Mahalia during her 45-year career. Although hospitalized (below) in Chicago for heart ailment as early as 1964, she later gave as many as 200 concerts a year.

Says gospel singer Cleophus Robinson: "There never was any pretense, no sham about her. Wherever you met her it was like receiving a letter from home. She was a warm, carefree personality who gave you the feeling that you could relax and let your hair down whenever you were around her—backstage with her or in her home where she'd cook up some good gumbo for you whenever she had the time. A lot of people tried to make Mahalia act 'proper,' and they'd tell her about her diction and such things but she paid them no mind. She never denied her background and she never lost her 'down home' sincerity." IT IS reported that Mahalia's estate is "more than a million dollars," and some estimate that record royalties, TV and movie residuals, and various investments make it worth much more than that The bulk of the estate was left to a number of relatives—many of whom cared for Mahalia during those lean years when she was just another young black girl in the South—one consigned to a life of scrubbing floors and washing clothes.

Isaac Hockenhull, Mahlia's first husband (1936-41), pays last respects to former wife. A graduate of Fisk University and Tuskegee Institute, he shared lean days with Mahalia before she was a star. He is presently a racing handicapper.

Minters Sigmund Galloway, Mahalia's second husband (1964-67), is interviewed by newsman at Chicago church where wake was held. He is a musician. "She was a highly talented singer," he says, "one who'll be hard to replace." Neither ex-husband was in her will.



Mahalia's coffin is placed in tomb that may become a memorial similar to that of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. Funeral procession was without marching band and quiet interment was at Providence Memorial Park in Metairie, La.


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