I can’t tell you what that first night down at Willie Mitchell’s nightclub on Beale Street was like for me back in 19881994 (ed note: thanks Archie), the night Charley Burch first took me in to meet the man himself. I couldn’t tell you because, well, I was young and unscrupulous back then and, not to mention, so much fun was being had, I felt like I was spending a New Year’s with my own family.

At the time, I was a very young man and I couldn’t tell you Willie Mitchell from Willie Stargell. I had no idea who the man was, his legacy or what he had done for Memphis music. I only knew he had a club, that he was exceptionally kind to me, and we took a mutual liking to one another that New Year’s Eve. He and his wife Anna Barbara, his family … they treated me as if I was part of their family, that I was welcome to be where they were. I was immediately taken with his daughters, Von and Lorrain, and his grandchildren, Archie and Boo. I felt like I had come home to Memphis for the first time. That night, I saw myself reflected. I felt, for the first time in my life, really, truly at home in Memphis.

In the days, weeks and years which followed, though, I grew to become intimately familiar with the life’s work of the legendary Willie Mitchell. From time to time I would catch myself in an awestruck moment when I thought about him and, often, sat speechless at having been so blessed to meet and know this great, great man. I was often fearful to speak up in his presence which, if you know me, is a rare feat in anyone’s presence.

Around Pops I always felt, as I do with people whom I hold in such admiration, the need to quietly listen and learn what I could, recognizing that time was indeed a precious commodity.

Tuesday morning, when I heard the news of Pops’ death, I became very still. For a long time, I knew this day would come, and in my mind I had tried to prepare so much for what I would say when it did. I knew that Pops had been ill for many months, that he had broken his hip back in September and was struggling to recover from cardiac arrest several weeks ago. At first, I was wrought with distress but, somehow, a kind of calm came over me.

I knew that Pops was at peace, that he didn’t have to struggle with the pain any longer.

When I think of Pops, I think of a man who was among a core group of people whom we refer to as “the winners” in the world of entertainment. He was as real as it gets, a visionary who could pick a hit record as easily as he could see through a situation, call bullshit on it, and move on without blinking or waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I can still hear Pops telling a joke, cutting on someone in a playful way for not doing something, or telling the most fascinating stories about entertainment that I’ve ever heard to this day to a slack-jawed room of listeners. I see Pops waiting for the playback with his trumpet in hand, or giving someone in the studio some quick vocal guidance to improve their range. I see him sitting at his desk, or adjusting the levels from behind the console, or on the phone in his office handling business at his studio. This is how I have him emblazoned in my mind: a man so dedicated to the craft of making records, the image is inseparable from the man himself.

Here is a man who, even at 81 years of age, was at the controls of his studio every single day of his life that he was physically able. You might be surprised to know: that was quite often. He gave and gave to the point where some might have given up. Instead, he approached the recording process with enthusiasm. Willie Mitchell exuded qualities that seem so lacking in others: elegance, dignity, strength, compassion, and an ear for music that was keen to the very end.

The term “legend” is a word we throw around far too much these days. We call people legends who have had three or four hit records. We call people legends who have done one or two great things. There are very few among those who are truly deserving of the title “legend”, whose body of work so thoroughly embodies the spirit of the term. Willie Mitchell lived a long and fascinating life, continuing to make his mark through 60 years of music, recording, performing and songwriting.

Without Willie Mitchell, we would never know the works of Syl Johnson, O.V. Wright, Ann Peebles, Otis Clay, Denise LaSalle or enjoyed the extensive body of work (which he was instrumental in crafting) by the Reverend Al Green. We would never have gotten to know Hi Records or the steady stable of brilliant soul, gospel, blues, rock and R&B performers whose work was recorded at Royal Studios, whose records appeared on that much-loved, independently-operated label during the many years he sat at it’s helm. At a time in the world where we focus on the power of the independent producer, performer or record label, Willie Mitchell wore all of these hats successfully and graciously, long before it was a point of fashion.

And you out there who call to mind words like “genius” to describe yourself or others, I challenge you to place your own legacy against that of Willie Mitchell. Few would begin to stand up to measurement, and none would have the impact that Pops did.

The Pops I knew was not a showy person, not a person who flaunted or was extravagant in an overbearing, blinged-out haze. Pops struck me always as a ferociously private person and, truth be told, I don’t see it as my duty to break that covenant with him. His life and his legacy exists in the sounds that we still sing and enjoy today from the many artists whose lives he has impacted. People that have recorded at Royal Studios in just this decade include Anthony Hamilton, Buddy Guy, John Mayer, Solomon Burke, Rod Stewart … the list goes on and on.

Much of the music Pops himself put into this world as an R&B performer of the 1950′s and 1960′s is long out-of-print, sadly. But like a cooling breeze whistling it’s way across South Lauderdale and Trigg on a blisteringly hot Memphis summer’s day, the music that Pops put his signature sound on can be heard everywhere in both classic and modern soul, blues, gospel, hip-hop, R&B and pop music. To call his impact “far reaching” fails, it seems to me, to make room for the impact his work will continue to have on generations to come.

The street that is named for him, in the neighborhood he made the home of Royal Studios for nearly 55 years, seems small but fitting tribute.  I want that people should wander back and forth down this street, any street bearing his name, and call to mind the plethora of great works Pops was a part of. I want them to think of the lasting joy Pops brought to Memphis and to the world through the gift of music.  If any of us should live to be 81 years old, we should all be so lucky to live a life so fulfilled and transition to the next world with such dignity.

Rest in peace, Pops. I’ll see you again someday. Thank you for being here for me in this world, being here for all of the children that your life’s work helped to inspire, and thank you for the many gifts you bestowed upon us.

We who were always unfit to walk in your shoes have much to learn from what you taught.

Willie Mitchell – “Reachin’ Out”

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