Why I missed the Purple Rain Concert in April of 1985

The Monday Musings!

Early last week, my social media timelines were abuzz with news that Earth, Wind & Fire, one of the greatest groups in R&B History, will perform at the Tallahassee amphitheater this coming September! Lord willing (and Covid cooperating), I look forward to watching a group that I've admired ever since my little five-year-old self used to sing along to Fantasy, Getaway, and my favorite, I'll Write a Song, as my mother spun the records in our family room back in the late 70's. 

Cognizant that I will be turning 50-years-old in four weeks, I realize that even if I am blessed to live an additional 50 years, that most of the artists that created the soundtrack of my youth will be long gone—or physically unable to perform, by the year 2072. Thus, the fierce urgency I feel to see Earth, Wind & Fire in person now before it's too late!

While I've been fortunate to see most of my favorite artists in person, I strongly regret never seizing the chance to watch the late Luther Vandross, Whitney Houston, Michael Jackson, or Prince live and in concert before they passed away. What's worse is that I had second row tickets in 1985 to see the last named legend, Prince, but I missed that concert due to circumstances that spiraled way out of control that April.

Lest we forget that in 1985, Prince was dazzling crowds worldwide during his Purple Rain tour, and as a serious fan of not only his music, but affiliated acts like The Time (featuring Morris Day) and Sheila E., I literally was counting down the days from February, when momma bought the tickets, until the "Minneapolis Sound" would descend upon Tallahassee that April!

1985 also was my 7th grade year at FAMU High School, and while I was a really good student and quiz bowl player, I was one of those kids who never quite understood why our teachers frowned upon socializing while doing busy work; to us, if we got the work done with high grades, why couldn't we chat and crack jokes among ourselves? Thus, it was not unusual to see my report cards featuring A's and B's for coursework, and N's (needs improvement) and U's (unsatisfactory) for conduct marks. 

My very first year as a quiz bowl player was back in '84-85; I became one of the Big Bend area’s leading scorers while playing for a FAMU High Middle School team that was coached by a future collegiate quiz bowl coaching legend—Dr. Vivian Hobbs….

That year, our initial math teacher was Dr. Betsey Whitman, a professor at FAMU who wanted to observe the impact of her teaching methodologies on a middle school aged population. Sadly, Dr. Whitman, a middle aged white woman, clearly was not ready for the behavioral burden that 12 and 13-year-old brilliant—but boisterous—Black boys can pose and by January of that year, we heard that she had suffered a slight nervous breakdown and would not be returning to teach our class. When my parents asked me about it over the holidays, I played like a dummy, knowing fully well that "The Fellas," as we called ourselves, ignored her "SIT DOWN AND BE QUIET" screams on nearly a daily basis. 

When we returned from Christmas break, on that first bitterly cold January morning, in strode the legendary Dr. Osiefield Anderson, the long time chairman of the mathematics department at FAMU who decided that he would replace Dr. Whitman that Spring.

Dr. Anderson (center) lecturing at FAMU in the 1960s.

Now, we ALL knew Dr. Anderson personally, either through the fact that he was the father of our good friend Gregory Anderson (who was a year behind us), and/or because he had taught most of our parents during their undergraduate days at FAMU—including both of my parents!

Indeed, Dr. Anderson was the epitome of old school and while a brilliant instructor, he was a really stern disciplinarian who wasn't going to put up with our foolishness the way that poor Dr. Whitman had suffered. 

Though retired, Dr. Anderson is still an active lecturer in the Tallahassee area!

In time, while our collective behavior improved that second semester, being 12-13 years old, we were far from perfect; there were times that Dr. Anderson either had to hit us with that metal pointer that he used while lecturing, or forced us to come forward and explain how to solve the problem on the chalkboard since we just "loved to talk so much." For “The Fellas” who stumbled out of the gate or missed a step while solving for “x” in front of the class, Dr. Anderson would crack: "see, that's why you need to hush your mouth and learn something." Or, his other favorite quip, "if you were my child, I'd lock you in the room with nothing but bread, water, and those math problems." 😆

Unsurprisingly, my conduct grades actually got better under Dr. Anderson, because I knew that he was close to both my mom and dad and I didn't want to catch too much heat at home. Nevertheless, on the day of the Prince concert that year, I was “on one” as the kids say today, and Anderson grew tired of the chatter in the background; after hearing me cracking jokes while taking notes in the back of the classroom, in that deep baritone of his, he said, "Chuckie Hobbs, I have told you repeatedly to hush your mouth—I'm calling the Colonel as soon as class ends."

The "Colonel," of course, was my father and while I figured that Dr. Anderson might forget because I was quiet the rest of the class session, sure enough, he called Pop and told him that I had been “running my mouth” and "acting a fool" in class. 

That afternoon, I was at home anxiously awaiting the concert—so anxious that I couldn't hardly eat due to the excitement! My excitement was mixed with slight apprehension that perhaps…just maybe…Dr. Anderson did call Pop and tell him how he had to get me straight earlier that morning.

As a drummer who had a major crush on drummer Sheila-E, I remember my tears fell hard when I realized I would not get to see her up close and personal 😠

Well, the mystery soon ended; I heard the keys jingling around 4:30 p.m. and in walks my father—far earlier than his usual 6 p.m. arrival. I walked out of my room and met him in the hallway with a "hey Pop," and his instant reply was "don't hey Pop, me—Dr. Anderson called me on my job today and told me that you're acting an ass again out to that school house..."

Sigh...

At that point, my 12-year-old fear was that my dad was gonna get a belt and whip me, but the punishment he had planned was far more severe as he said, "since you don't know how to act like you got some sense, you're not going to that concert tonight, young man…”

Young Hobbs, circa ‘86, near the pencil sharpener as our then English intern, Ms. Vicky Alderman, looked on…

If you knew my father, then you already know that his commands were non-negotiable, so I just stood there in that hallway stunned for a moment. With the injury for my misbehaviors affixed, Pop then added the insult: "call your Cousin Tawanna and tell her that she can have your ticket to go see Prince with your sister Traci..."

Now I wasn’t just sad, I was livid because I knew that Traci 'nem didn’t even hardly like Prince, Sheila, or The Time—not like I did! But I don't think that the anger of a 7th grader meant much to a Vietnam vet who was still a half a foot taller and at least 150 pounds heavier at that time, so I fixed my face and headed back to my room.  

After calling my cousin, I cried briefly for the first time since I was eight years old because my stereo was tuned to WANM, and our legendary local DJ, Joe Bullard, was spinning every single hit from Prince and Morris Day 'nem. I knew better than to let Pop hear me cry as he had drilled in me that such was not “manly” (one of his few poor teachings), but the insult got even worse when he opened my room door all unannounced and told me to come ride with him to drop off my Sister and Cousin to the concert 😠.

It gets worse…

Several hours later, I was sound asleep when the lights came on in my room with Pop standing there saying, "boy, get your clothes on so we can go pick your sister and cousin up from that concert…"

Truly, even 37 years later, I can safely say that up to that point in my life, that was my worst day ever and even when my father was terminally ill with cancer many years later in 1999, as we sat chatting about any number of things in those last days, I once asked him did he remember keeping me from seeing that concert in 1985? He laughingly said that he did, and that I should be glad that he didn’t come out to the school with a belt in hand 😆.

Point taken…

Yep, I missed out on Morris Day and The Time, too, in ‘85

Digressing, life, of course, would go on after the Purple Rain tour and to keep it real, I can't say that I stopped talking or cracking jokes completely—such was my nature! After awhile, my folks began to realize that perhaps, just maybe, that their son’s then very extroverted nature would parlay into multiple professional pursuits some day where communication skills were useful!

Still, I regret that I never took the time to attend a Prince concert even as an adult because like many folks, I figured that there would be some other time to enjoy "His Royal Badness." But alas, time ran out when he died in April of 2016, which is why I will do my part to see "The Elements," Earth, Wind, & Fire, before it is too late!

Thank you for subscribing to the Hobbservation Point—have a great Monday evening!