USA TODAY US Edition

ETERNAL RESPECT

- Rochelle Riley Detroit Free Press | USA TODAY NETWORK

Death knocked on Aretha Franklin’s door numerous times over the past few years. And she shut the door in its face. ❚ She had too much to do. ❚ Some people might have thought it was the supper club she planned to open downtown, not far from where she lived privately and quietly in Riverfront Towers on the Detroit River. ❚ Some might have thought it was because she had that last album to finish, the one she talked to me about last year, the one that would feature her friend Stevie Wonder, who visited her Tuesday. ❚ But many folks might not know that Aretha Franklin persevered, survived and stayed because she was needed in a civil rights struggle that her

father, the Rev. C.L. Franklin, helped lead, that his fellow soldiers such as Martin Luther King Jr. and Ralph David Abernathy knew would last longer than their lives – and that she quietly and anonymousl­y helped fund for decades.

The Queen whose gospel-tinged voice made her a household name died of pancreatic cancer Thursday in Detroit. She was 76.

“When Dr. King was alive, several times she helped us make payroll,” said Jesse Jackson, her friend of more than

60 years. “On one occasion, we took an

11-city tour with her as Aretha Franklin and Harry Belafonte … and they put gas in the vans. She did 11 concerts for free and hosted us at her home and did a fundraiser for my campaign. Aretha has always been a very socially conscious artist, an inspiratio­n, not just an entertaine­r.

“She has shared her points of view from the stage for challenged people, to register to vote, to stand up for decency,” said Jackson, who said he visited with her nearly a dozen times in the past “two or three years during the course of her illness.”

“I was with her a few weeks ago,” he said. “I was at one of her last Christmas parties, the one she throws every year.”

Jackson and I speak of Ms. Franklin in the present, not discussing obituaries but tribute. Not sadness but triumph. Anyone but God saying when the Queen will leave the throne is talking above their station.

Still, Jackson said, “I’m very sad. I’m very sad.”

Other ministers and civil rights activists concurred with Jackson’s assessment of the socially conscious singer’s contributi­ons to the movement and to helping others, something she did nationally for decades without credit and something she did locally through New Bethel Baptist Church, without fanfare.

“First of all, she was very philosophi­c, not only in terms of the movement, but she also put her resources where the movement’s needs were,” said the Rev. Jim Holley, pastor of Little Rock Baptist Church and a friend of Ms. Franklin’s for 45 years.

“Whenever there was a tragedy with families, any civil rights family, she was always giving,” Holley said. “I wish I had the words to express it. She’s a very special person in a sense that she sung the blues, but she never lost her roots with the church and her relationsh­ip with God. She used her talent and what God gave her to basically move the race forward. A lot of people do the talking, but they don’t do the walking. She used her talent and her resources. She was that kind of person, a giving person.

“Obviously, her father was very much with the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., and her generation was with the Rev. Jesse Jackson,” he said. “I think that’s how she helped Jesse. He was more relevant to her generation in terms of what he was doing economical­ly and with entertainm­ent, making sure entertaine­rs were represente­d in what we call this justice movement.”

Jackson and other ministers watched Ms. Franklin grow up in the church, becoming an internatio­nal star while never leaving the church. He said he watched her rise from gospel to rhythm and blues to soul – all while continuing her father’s work.

“She was the fountain of love, partic- ularly on giving,” he said, treating fellow activists like family and young singers like younger brothers and sisters who just needed a platform.

The family friends who came to her house as a child – and who visited her apartment in recent weeks to pray and reminisce – weren’t just family friends. They were human rights soldiers and civil rights generals and dedicated ministers across the country, some of whose names weren’t on the nightly news.

For decades, Ms. Franklin helped the ministers and activists in the streets, doing everything from providing support for the families of jailed patriarchs to bridging the gaps between a rally planned and a rally happening.

She easily stepped into the very large shoes her father wore as one of the northern tent poles of a movement that was largely based in the South but spread nationwide thanks to C.L. Franklin and others.

Ms. Franklin talked to me about it five years ago, explaining how the Detroit Walk to Freedom in June 1963, the precursor for the March on Washington two months later, almost didn’t happen.

“Many pastors whom he invited to our home to discuss it were not on board,” she said in the interview in 2013. “They didn’t think it was a good idea.”

The singer was living in New York, working in the third year of her contract with Columbia Records, but she kept up with what her father was doing back in Detroit. She watched him pull off the largest civil rights demonstrat­ion in U.S. history until the March on Washington.

Detroit’s traditiona­l leadership didn’t come on board until Martin Luther King Jr. – Franklin’s friend and the rising star of the movement – convinced them.

“He had his vision, and yes, it was under his control,” Ms. Franklin said. “It was his vision of what he wanted it to be, and of course, it set the stage for the march (on Washington).”

While her entertainm­ent star was rising publicly, something else was happening privately: Her father’s mission lit a fire under the young singer, who began living parallel lives as global star and private civil rights activist.

Holley, who visited and prayed with Ms. Franklin last week, said they had a great conversati­on about life. He said Ms. Franklin was particular­ly helpful to black ministers in the movement across the country. “She really helped people who didn’t have that notoriety, but neverthele­ss were very involved in the struggle. You wouldn’t know,” he said. “All you (would) know is you could always depend on her, and she gave so much to black preachers. I wish I could tell you by name, but I don’t want to embarrass anyone.”

He said, “A lot of times in this civil rights movement, you’ll have tragedy or death. She was always there. She was always giving.”

Shahida Mausi is a concert promoter who met Ms. Franklin when Mausi was an appointee of Mayor Coleman Young and executive-produced the celebratio­n at Tiger Stadium during Nelson Mandela’s visit to Detroit in 1990 after he was released from prison. Ms. Franklin performed in a concert that raised $1 million for the African National Congress.

“She called for respect, as a woman, as a businesspe­rson, as an artist of excellence, as a reliable stalwart in human and civil rights,” Mausi said. “Sometimes, you need a Queen. If the cause is just, the Queen answers the call and always has. And she never told a soul. She never said ‘I did this’ or ‘I did that.’ She just did.”

 ?? JIM WELLS/AP ?? From left, Betty Shabazz, widow of Malcolm X; Jesse Jackson; Tom Todd, vice president of PUSH; Aretha Franklin; Miriam Makeba; and Louis Stokes, rear right, hold a Soul Picnic for Operation PUSH in New York in 1972.
JIM WELLS/AP From left, Betty Shabazz, widow of Malcolm X; Jesse Jackson; Tom Todd, vice president of PUSH; Aretha Franklin; Miriam Makeba; and Louis Stokes, rear right, hold a Soul Picnic for Operation PUSH in New York in 1972.

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