A ROYAL THEATER REUNION by Larry Benicewicz

music by TOMMY HUNT

THE ROYAL THEATER REUNION

ROYAL THEATER, late 40s. Photo courtesy of Maryland Historical Society

Text and Photos by LARRY BENICEWICZ

There’s hardly anything remaining there now to remind anyone of Baltimore’s once flourishing and vibrant night life scene. I’m referring to what was called “The Avenue,” Pennsylvania Avenue, encompassing the 900 block all the way to the 2400 block and North Avenue.
Even back in the 19^th Century it, like York Road, was a major thorough-fare connecting central Baltimore to the Keystone State via Reisterstown Rd; so, Pennsylvania Ave. was always a magnet for markets, retail stores, and commercial enterprises of all varieties.
On this particular stretch, the west side Upton neighborhood with its sizeable Afro-American population was one of the first to grow about it. Especially after the repeal oåf Prohibition, this notorious strip was dotted with all manner of clubs, lounges, bars, halls, and theaters to meet the entertainment needs of this burgeoning black clientele during its heyday in the 30s, 40s and 50s.

Gone is the Bamboo Lounge at 1426 run by Ted Carver which served as the wee hours watering hole for black show business stars unwinding after fulfilling other engagements.
So, too, is Ike Dixon’s Comedy Club which opened in 1934 at 1414, which may have hosted the likes of Sammy Davis Jr., Jackie “Moms” Mabley, Baltimore born Edward “Slappy” White, and longtime Charm City resident, Red Foxx. And also long defunct are other once glorious live venues like the Moonlight in the 1600 block, Gamby’s, the Frolic at Lafayette and Pennsylvania, the Millionaire at 1029, Club Casino at 1513, managed by local black entrepreneur, “Little Willie” Adams, Charlie Tilghman’s Sphinx Club (1946-1993) in the 2100 block, and Buck’s Bar at 1100 which featured a breakfast show -- all popular hangouts to not only hear music but to see and be seen.
And if there wasn’t anything shaking in this concentration of establishments, you could go up the road a piece and take in the performance of a young, native pianist/singer, Ethel Ennis, who held court for a decade or so at the Red Fox at Fulton and Pennsylvania.
Ethel, a Douglass High graduate who would go on to record for Atco and RCA, was merely one of many homegrown talents—Cab Calloway, Tiny Tim Harris, Billie Holiday, and Chick Webb to commence their illustrious careers on this fabled promenade, not to mention vocal groups like the Orioles, Cardinals, Plants, Swallows, Magic Tones, and Four Buddies.

But there were theaters as well which not only presented first run movies but live acts as well, including the Regent and the Carver Playhouse at 1429. None of these was ever more cherished in this quarter than the Royal at 1329 Pennsylvania Avenue, which was hooked into the so-called “Chitlin’ Circuit,” a network of arenas scattered nationwide, owned and operated by white owners, and patronized almost exclusively by blacks. Among the more noted stops on this itinerary (which was almost mandatory for artists wanting to maximize the mileage of their hit records) was the Regal in Chicago, the Earl in Philadelphia, the Howard in Washington, D.C., and the Apollo in Harlem in New York City.

The Royal Theater first opened in 1922 as the Douglass, the brainchild of a group of black businessmen, but they found that they could not make a go of it during this silent film era and sold it to a Jewish German family, the Bennethums in 1926, who renovated it, renamed it, and then resold it to A.L. Lichtman the very next year. Presenting only black acts, including variety spectacles, Lichtman transformed the mammoth 1400 seat Royal into not only a major Baltimore destination but also a regional attraction as well. In fact, the venue became so popular a draw that even touring artists such as Fats Waller, Louis Jordan, Nat King Cole, Ella Fitzgerald, and Billie Holiday had to compete for rooms at the nearby Penn and York hotels which catered only to blacks. When these segregated inns were fully booked for the weekly shows, agents and promoters often had to scramble to find private accommodations in the black community for their superstar clients. And for nearly forty years (1926-1965), the Royal packed them in be it with movies or music. And why not? For as little as a dollar, you could take in a midnight appearance by a Louis Armstrong, Count Basie, or Duke Ellington.

Especially during the 50s and early 60s, on this “Chitlin’ Circuit” there would usually be several top artists traveling in a group, a caravan. Although the Royal had a most competent house band to back up such singers (they would rehearse upon their arrival), some of these aggregates would carry their own, usually a horn group, like tenors Syl Austin, Choker Campbell, and Red Prysock, or trumpeter, Joe Morris, who would already be familiar with their repertoire. Even toward the end, the Royal might be presenting a Motown Revue, consisting of the Supremes, Temptations, the Miracles, the Marvelettes, Marvin Gaye, and Mary Wells— an array of talent which would be an unheard of slate of headliners in today’s entertainment market. But during that era, such a cast of characters appearing together like a veritable black Woodstock was not uncommon. And the Royal, indeed, may have invented the expression—a lot of bang for the buck.

But despite the consistently high quality package offered weekly to the public, by the mid-60s, the Royal, due to dwindling attendance, had to forego offering live music. Drug use and crime became rampant as the surrounding district gradually deteriorated and frightened residents hardly ventured out at night. Perhaps the final nail in the coffin for the Royal was the 1968 riot which accompanied the assassination of Martin Luther King in which huge swaths of “The Avenue” were burned to the ground. In 1971, the Royal finally met its demise, demolished in what was considered then a well intentioned urban renewal program which also razed nearly the entire Pennsylvania Avenue corridor. A faux, free standing movie marquee now sadly indicates the site of the former landmark. And despite the many community initiatives (all for naught) over the years to improve or develop the property, it has been designated “The Most Neglected Monument” by the City Paper.

The principals (including promoter Bob Fountain and sponsor Winfield Parker) behind “A Royal Theater Reunion” held at the Pikesville Armory this past June 14 attempted to recreate what would have been a typical multi-artist engagement at the venerable venue circa 1963 (including emcee, J.B. Brown, a renowned radio DJ of the same vintage) and it could have been, save for one act, the Winstons, whose big hit came along in 1969, four years after live music was discontinued there. But outside the inclusion of this anachronism, you have to applaud all the backers for not only finding performers of that era still capable of delivering the goods but also rounding them up, some from rather far flung outposts, like England, where Tommy Hunt calls home.

And although the organizers couldn’t charge the customary dollar for midnight show, they made it quite reasonable ($35 a head). And the audience, many of whom were sexagenarians and septuagenarians with walkers and canes and who were seated in rows upon rows of tables perpendicular to the main stage, showed their appreciation by turning out by the hundreds to see their heroes. And it was all worth it, even if the cavernous hanger that is the Pikesville Armory seemed to absorb and muddle the sound substantially. After all, how often do you get a chance to rub elbows with R&B royalty of this magnitude, all gathered together again for one magical evening?

First on tonight’s agenda was the spirited trio, the Jewels, who are of late making the rounds at all the area oldies shows. They, too, were no strangers to the “Chitlin’ Circuit.” These three women, Sandra Bears, Margie Clark, and Grace Ruffin, now all in their sixties, had been classmates with another original member, Carrie Mingo, at Roosevelt High in Washington, D.C. in the early 60s. Despite their age, these “senior citizens” proved to a delighted audience that they could still shake in unison their proverbial tail feathers, as they executed to perfection their well choreographed dance routines. I had to admit that their energy level onstage would put a lot of youngsters to shame. And, to say the least, their enthusiasm was infectious.

As one of the recently late Bo Diddley’s major finds, including Marvin Gaye and Billy Stewart, when he lived in D.C. from 1958-66, they first recorded in his basement studio for the Chess subsidiary, Checker, as the Impalas in 1961, after which they made three disks for producer Bob E. Lee’s Start label in the Nation’s Capital as the Four Jewels. During this same time frame, they backed up Stewart on the Chess label and another Start label mate, Jimmy “D,” as the “D”-lites. Checker (Bo’s label) in 1963 picked up one of these releases, “Loaded With Goodies” (#1039), which proved to be a moderate hit, and they later recorded “Time for Love,” which hardly made an impact, as did a remake of the Spaniels’ “Baby It’s You” on the T.E.C. logo. However, their next attempt, recorded at Dimension records in New York, “Opportunity” (#1034), and produced by Gene Redd, charted nationally. And their second, “Smokey Joe” (written by the dynamic duo, Ashford & Simpson) bw “But I Do” (#1048, written by Bobby Charles), was also a strong seller in the golden age of girl groups---the Supremes, Chiffons, Ronettes, Royalettes, Marvelettes, Shangri-Las, Crystals, etc. The public acceptance of these latter platters prompted a tour which included a stop at the aforementioned Apollo where they were approached by James Brown, who at the time was seeking a tight quartet of backup singers. In short, they fit the bill and after going on the road with Brown for a year and at his urging, they recorded “This Is My Story” on Federal (#12541), a King auxiliary label run by Ralph Bass, a famed producer who had jump started Brown’s own career. Their last single came as the reconfigured Brownettes on King in 1968, James Brown’s longtime trademark.

Since that time, the Jewels have managed to stick together and are currently celebrating 48 years in the entertainment game. Their bread and butter engagements recently have been R&B themed concerts aboard cruise ships. “It’s the best way to mix business with pleasure,” answered Marjorie Clark. And, if anything, these women know how to have a good time. In fact, when they weren’t supporting, as backups, other artists in the show, they were singing along like teenagers at their own memorabilia table.

Following the Jewels in this good time groove was the next outfit to the bandstand, the Winstons, now led by vocalist, Joe Phillips, who was not a charter member but was associated with them just before they disbanded in the very early 70s. He resurrected the name again (without any of the erstwhile participants) about a dozen years ago and since has performed at a slew of D.C. area shindigs, including Lamont’s Entertainment Complex in Indian Head, MD. Throughout the night, the Winstons would serve as the house band and were more than up to the task of tackling with aplomb the diversified play lists of all the other performers.

The first incarnation of the Winstons was formed and fronted in the mid-60s by tenor Richard L. Spencer, who now is a high school teacher and published author (The Molasses Tree: A Southern Love Story) residing in Wadesboro, NC. This versatile band worked its way up to prominence by playing back up to a succession of soul stars, both local and national, including Leroy Taylor & the Four Kays (of D.C.’s fabled Shrine records), Otis Redding, and Curtis Mayfield and the Impressions, the latter with whom they cut their first record on Mayfield’s Curtom label in 1968, the rollicking “Need A Replacement” (#8546). In 1969 came the Winstons’ smash “Color Him Father” (Metromedia #117), a song with Viet Nam War implications, which reached #4 on the Billboard Hot 100. Although the Winstons went on to issue no less than three more singles for Metromedia, they could not manage to duplicate the phenomenon which was “Father.” After the disk had run its course, Spencer saw the handwriting on the wall and commenced the dissolution of the ensemble.

Nonetheless, there is an interesting footnote to the brief history of the Winstons in that the flip of this blockbuster is “Amen, Brother,” which contains a drum break by the late G.C. Coleman, a syncopated riff credited (along with James Brown’s “Funky Drummer,” King # 6290) as providing the rhythmical underpinnings for modern hip-hop music. These two instrumental passages continue to be among the most sampled passages on the Internet by prospective rap artists.

The third act of the evening, Maxine Brown, resplendent in a yellow gown, is seldom seen in these parts and was a most pleasant surprise, not only for her still radiant beauty and winning personality but also for her magnificent instrument of a voice which had not lost one iota of luster in the four decades since she had last sung at the Royal. And she was immediately embraced by the crowd as she revisited all her indelible tunes of yesteryear.

Born August 18, 1939 in Kingstree, SC, she sang as child in a church choir and, as a result, later was invited as a teen to join up with two New York-headquartered gospel groups. This association in turn led her to a small Manhattan-based label, Nomar, where she in 1960 proffered two of her own secular compositions, both soulful, bittersweet ballads. The first, “All in my Mind” (#103), created a sensation, zooming up to #2 on the R&B survey and then crossing over to the pop Top 100 at #19. The second, “Funny” (#106), was nearly as successful, climbing to #3 on the R&B hit parade. After basking in the triumph of her two initial trials, Maxine Brown signed a contract with a major, ABC-Paramount, which tried to transform her into a pop artist but with nothing substantial to show for the eight singles she recorded from 1961-2. The next year, she inked an agreement with Scepter/Wand records headed by Florence Greenberg at 1674 Broadway in New York. Recognizing her gifts as a soul artist and accommodating her with arrangements which better suited her, the label rewarded her with no less than a dozen solo efforts and seven duets with roster mate, Chuck Jackson. Among her noteworthy individual titles for Wand was “Oh No Not My Baby” (#162), which was penned by Carole King and husband Jerry Goffin and went to #24 on the pop charts in 1964 and the follow up in the next year was the equally well received “It’s Gonna Be Alright” (#173). Her collaborations with Chuck Jackson produced at least three winners, all which ascribed to the formula of new interpretations of soul classics---“Something You Got” (#181), “Hold On I’m Comin’” (#1148), and “Daddy’s Home” (#1155). In 1969, Wand chose not pick up her option and Maxine thereafter decided to try her luck with a small up-and-coming New York label, Commonwealth United, which also managed during that time frame to corral such soul luminaries as Cissy Houston and Lenny Welch. With this latter company, she issued two moderately selling singles, “We’ll Cry Together” (#3001) and “I Can’t Get Along Without You” (#3008). After Commonwealth United folded, she hooked up with Avco records in 1971, releasing three numbers which hardly made a splash. Maxine Brown never really was able to make the transition to disco diva and faded from the spotlight by the late 70s. Nonetheless, at the end of her set, she was besieged for autographs by her adoring fans.

Following Maxine Brown and no less a crowd pleaser was Tommy Hunt. I had seen Tommy the year before at the Patapsco Arena R& B show and the outpouring of affection for him was of such a scale that the powers that be concluded that he should be accorded an encore performance for this year’s festivities as well. In fact, it was a mutual admiration society between him and the audience, and as his set wore on, he gained strength and vitality from their enthusiastic response to each number. As always, Tommy, the old pro of the old school, came dressed to the nines, a paragon of sartorial splendor. And at 75, it was amazing how his pipes revealed no appreciable diminution with age.

Born in Pittsburgh in 1933, Tommy Hunt endured the typical hard scrabble, hard knock life of a Depression child which included brushes with the law and stretches in reform school. But music seemed always to be his salvation. After having relocated to Chicago in the early 50s, he formed with Johnny Taylor and Earl Lewis the vocal group, the Five Echoes, who recorded for Sabre and Vee-Jay in the Windy City. The four obscure disks between the two labels are considered the quintessence of doo-whop by aficionados of this genre of music; so much so, that no single issued by this quintet is worth less than a thousand dollars. By the late 50s, Tommy accepted an invitation to join yet another legendary vocal group, the Flamingos, which by then had moved to New York from Chicago, having signed with George Goldner and his End label at 1650 Broadway. According to Tommy, he was an active participant in all of the many hit records released by the Flamingos during that period, many of which have become standards, including “Lovers Never Say Goodbye” (#1035), “Your Other Love” (# 1081), “Mio Amore” (#1065), and the million selling “I Only Have Eyes for You” (#1046). After he had a falling out with the Flamingos in 1960, A&R man of Scepter records (the Shirelles, Lenny Miles, the Rocky Fellers, Dionne Warwick, etc.), Luther Dixon, offered Hunt a solo contract and thereafter he was to enjoy his best selling 45 rpm for this label, the plaintive “Human” (#1219), which became his signature song. And its follow up, a Burt Bacharach composition, “I Just Don’t Know What to Do With Myself” (#1231) rocketed up the charts as well. On the durability of these two smashes, Tommy became a fixture on many of the R&B caravans of that time and, needless to say, touched all the bases, all the hot spots, as far as the “Chitlin’ Circuit” was concerned. During his set, he recalled fondly the warm reception with which he was always greeted at the Royal Theater whenever he paid a call to Baltimore.

Later in the 60s, Tommy recorded some fine soul tunes for the Capitol and Dynamo labels but a 1969 excursion was to change his life profoundly. After having entertained the U.S. troops stationed in Germany during a U.S.O. sponsored tour, he decided to stay in Europe to take advantage of the “Northern Soul” craze which was especially sweeping England, where he eventually landed. And he’s been there since, although he did issue some songs from abroad on the Private Stock label in the 70s.

Onstage, Tommy would introduce each song with an anecdote or a reflection and I remember one particular soliloquy having to do with growing old. “No, I don’t have any regrets. I can stand here and tell you proudly that we’re the last generation to create love songs. And that’s what is missing in the world today,” he said emphatically. And it was a notion that was met with a thunderous applause. After having held the audience in the palm of his hand, he obviously had a great deal of difficulty surrendering his place to the next performer. But being the gentleman that he was, he made a graceful exit.

The career of Jeannette “Baby” Washington closely paralleled that of Maxine Brown. And she is not to be mistaken for another funk vocalist, Jeannette Washington, who sang with Parliament in the 70s and often provided backup to James Brown during the same decade. In fact, though, there is still much confusion concerning Baby Washington in that she also recorded as Justine Washington, her given name.

She, too, was born in South Carolina (in Bamberg) on November 13, 1940 and was raised in Harlem in New York City. And like Maxine Brown, she had experience in a church choir as so many soul singers of her day. She began her professional career as a member of the Hearts vocal group which recorded for Baton and J&S, the latter headed by Zell Sanders at 1754 Anthony Ave. in the Bronx. Only one of Baby Washington’s half-dozen, rather undistinguished solo efforts for J&S warranted a leasing arrangement with a national distributor—“I Hate to See You Go”--which became Checker #918 in 1959. And as in Brown’s case, she possessed some songwriting abilities, penning many of the sides of her second label, Neptune, also a small affair and operated by Donald Shaw at 1650 Broadway in New York City. Her first composition for Neptune, “The Time” (#101), was an R&B hit at #30 in 1959 (and also covered by the doo-whop group, the Del Pris on Varbee #2003); her second release (not her own), “The Bells” (#104), proved even bigger at #20 in 1959; and her last chart maker for Neptune among her eight releases was her “Nobody Cares For Me” (#122), which again reached #20 on the R&B survey in 1961. Similar to Maxine Brown, Baby Washington’s success early on also culminated in a recording contract for the same major, ABC-Paramount (Ray Charles, the Impressions, Lloyd Price). And like Maxine Brown, her two singles fared considerably less than the expected spectacular outcomes for the logo.

In 1962, Baby Washington was approached by Henry “Juggy” Murray, a black music producer who ran Sue records (Ike & Tina Turner, Barbara George, Jimmy McGriff, Ernestine Anderson, Wilbert Harrison, etc.) in her Harlem stomping grounds at 271 W. 125^th St., merely a stone’s throw from the Apollo theater. As in the case of Wand with Maxine Brown, at Sue, Baby Washington (who did write some tunes) was handed a lot of material by its staff writers like Ben Raleigh, Billy Myles, and Jerry Ragavoy. In her tenure with the label from 1962-68, she issued fifteen 45 rpms, including the monster 1963 crossover phenomenon, “That’s How Heartaches Are Made” (#783, #40 Billboard) and the R&B Top Ten blockbuster, “Only Those In Love” (#129, 1965). Nonetheless, at the end of the 60s, she seemed finished as a soul singer after brief flirtations with the Veep, Chess, and Cotillion labels, the latter an Atlantic affiliate.

However, she briefly revived her career in 1972 by coming aboard Master Five records managed by Clarence Lawton at 250 Ivy Lane in Teaneck, NJ. Although only one of her half-dozen individual singles for Master Five reached the charts—“I’ve Got To Break Away” (#9107, # 73, 1973)--her six duets (like Maxine Brown) with Don Gardner (of Don Gardner & Dee Dee Ford fame) seemed to click with the buying public, especially the remake of the Marvellettes’ “Forever” (#9103) which landed at #30 on the R&B hit parade. Finally, like her counterpart Maxine Brown, she, too, was not quite up to the challenge of reinventing herself as a disco queen, although she tried repeatedly in the late 70s and early 80s with a succession of labels catering to this genre of music, including AVI, 7L, and Lawton.

As far as Baby Washington’s performance was concerned, I thought it was lackluster, a perfunctory glossing over her hits and in all honesty she was outshone by Maxine Brown, not only in enthusiasm but also vocal abilities. And I’m going to venture a reason for her seeming lack of conviction for her material---I think she, whose name appeared at the very top of the program’s poster, was at the eleventh hour snubbed as the headliner in deference to Winfield Parker, a sponsor of the event, who went on last. Although she graciously signed an autograph for me, she was obviously both irritated and agitated, wanting to hastily return to the dressing room after leaving the stage. Well, so much for speculation. But still it was an odd, unexpected reshuffling of tonight’s schedule.

The diminutive Winfield Parker, a local celebrity, cannot compare his life in music to the scope and breadth of the career of his predecessor, having authored only a few minor hits. And it may not have been a wise decision on his part to conclude the show. But to his credit, he eschewed completely his religious related repertoire (he currently fronts the spiritual ensemble, Praise) in favor of presenting his own R&B play list. And he did so with a lot of verve and spirit; so much so, maybe all that transpired immediately before his time on the stage was both forgotten and forgiven by the soon gratified audience. He’s been in this position before and like a true professional, he pulled it off.

Winfield Parker was born in 1942 in Howard County and learned to play the saxophone at Harriet Tubman, the county’s only segregated high school located in Clarksville. As a teen, he joined up with Sammy Fitzhugh and the Moroccans, who would go on to record for the Poplar (run in New York by Baltimore’s Lou Krefetz, who managed D.C.’s legendary Clovers vocal group) and Atco labels, an Atlantic auxiliary. After forming his own band, the Imperial Thrillers, Parker came to the attention of the late Rufus Mitchell, a booking agent for Carr’s Beach in Annapolis (another mandatory summer sojourn for R&B outfits on the “Chitlin’ Circuit”) and operator of Ru-Jac records out of his own house at 427 Laurens St. in west Baltimore. It was Mitchell who would go on to record area soul stars such as Jimmy Dotson, Arthur “Sweet Soul Music” Conley, and Tiny Tim Harris and give Parker his first shot in the studio as Little Winfield Parker in 1965, “My Love For You” (#45006). It was to be the first of his several singles for Ru-Jac, including the local wonder, “She’s So Pretty” (#0022). Several of Winfield Parker’s efforts for Ru-Jac were produced by the late Bill Boskent, who founded KRC (Lloyd Price) and later Bee Bee records at 913 “U” St. N.W. in Washington, D.C. During this time frame, Boskent had under contract an artist, Little Sonny Warner, who had in 1959 teamed up with Big Jay McNeely to author one of R&B’s greatest sensations, “There Is Something on Your Mind” (Swingin’ #614). And when Warner and Parker happened to tour in tandem, Boskent also agreed to mentor the latter, who became his protégée.

Through the intercession of both Boskent and Mitchell, Parker was able to come to terms with the major R&B company, Atco. And by 1969, like another regional soul crooner, Kenny Hamber, he signed a contract with Jimmy Bishop of Arctic records (Barbara Mason, Kenny Gamble, Harold Melvin, Honey & the Bees, and the Ambassadors) of Philadelphia, but his one single, “Brand New Start” (#151), failed to catch on. Managing to stay active throughout the disco era of the 70s, Winfield tried his hand at a whole host of labels, including New York’s Wand, Spring (Joe Simon, Little Eva, Millie Jackson), GSF, and the short-lived P&L. By the mid-70s, he joined up with several Baltimore natives and formed the group, Both Worlds, which recorded an LP, I Want the World to Know, for the hot, independent soul venture, Calla records (J.J. Jackson, Betty Lavette, Jean Wells, the Sandpebbles, the Persuaders, Bird Rollins), at 1631 Broadway in New York. But, evidently, the executives at Calla decided against promoting the project, as the envisioned single was never released. After a hiatus in recording in the early 80s, Winfield Parker inaugurated the gospel group, Praise, in 1985 with whom he still performs.

Well, as they say, a good time was had by all. And for this one special occasion, you could just imagine how it was to partake of an R&B extravaganza of that bygone era. Yes, the Royal Theater is gone but it will live on, at least as long as the memory of this assembled multitude.

>>>> Larry Benicewicz, BBS

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music by TOMMY HUNT		THE ROYAL THEATER REUNION ROYAL THEATER, late 40s. Photo courtesy of Maryland Historical Society

Text and Photos by LARRY BENICEWICZ

		There’s hardly anything remaining there now to remind anyone of Baltimore’s once flourishing and vibrant night life scene. I’m referring to what was called “The Avenue,” Pennsylvania Avenue, encompassing the 900 block all the way to the 2400 block and North Avenue. Even back in the 19^th Century it, like York Road, was a major thorough-fare connecting central Baltimore to the Keystone State via Reisterstown Rd; so, Pennsylvania Ave. was always a magnet for markets, retail stores, and commercial enterprises of all varieties. On this particular stretch, the west side Upton neighborhood with its sizeable Afro-American population was one of the first to grow about it. Especially after the repeal oåf Prohibition, this notorious strip was dotted with all manner of clubs, lounges, bars, halls, and theaters to meet the entertainment needs of this burgeoning black clientele during its heyday in the 30s, 40s and 50s.
Gone is the Bamboo Lounge at 1426 run by Ted Carver which served as the wee hours watering hole for black show business stars unwinding after fulfilling other engagements. So, too, is Ike Dixon’s Comedy Club which opened in 1934 at 1414, which may have hosted the likes of Sammy Davis Jr., Jackie “Moms” Mabley, Baltimore born Edward “Slappy” White, and longtime Charm City resident, Red Foxx. And also long defunct are other once glorious live venues like the Moonlight in the 1600 block, Gamby’s, the Frolic at Lafayette and Pennsylvania, the Millionaire at 1029, Club Casino at 1513, managed by local black entrepreneur, “Little Willie” Adams, Charlie Tilghman’s Sphinx Club (1946-1993) in the 2100 block, and Buck’s Bar at 1100 which featured a breakfast show -- all popular hangouts to not only hear music but to see and be seen. And if there wasn’t anything shaking in this concentration of establishments, you could go up the road a piece and take in the performance of a young, native pianist/singer, Ethel Ennis, who held court for a decade or so at the Red Fox at Fulton and Pennsylvania. Ethel, a Douglass High graduate who would go on to record for Atco and RCA, was merely one of many homegrown talents—Cab Calloway, Tiny Tim Harris, Billie Holiday, and Chick Webb to commence their illustrious careers on this fabled promenade, not to mention vocal groups like the Orioles, Cardinals, Plants, Swallows, Magic Tones, and Four Buddies.
		But there were theaters as well which not only presented first run movies but live acts as well, including the Regent and the Carver Playhouse at 1429. None of these was ever more cherished in this quarter than the Royal at 1329 Pennsylvania Avenue, which was hooked into the so-called “Chitlin’ Circuit,” a network of arenas scattered nationwide, owned and operated by white owners, and patronized almost exclusively by blacks. Among the more noted stops on this itinerary (which was almost mandatory for artists wanting to maximize the mileage of their hit records) was the Regal in Chicago, the Earl in Philadelphia, the Howard in Washington, D.C., and the Apollo in Harlem in New York City.
		The Royal Theater first opened in 1922 as the Douglass, the brainchild of a group of black businessmen, but they found that they could not make a go of it during this silent film era and sold it to a Jewish German family, the Bennethums in 1926, who renovated it, renamed it, and then resold it to A.L. Lichtman the very next year. Presenting only black acts, including variety spectacles, Lichtman transformed the mammoth 1400 seat Royal into not only a major Baltimore destination but also a regional attraction as well. In fact, the venue became so popular a draw that even touring artists such as Fats Waller, Louis Jordan, Nat King Cole, Ella Fitzgerald, and Billie Holiday had to compete for rooms at the nearby Penn and York hotels which catered only to blacks. When these segregated inns were fully booked for the weekly shows, agents and promoters often had to scramble to find private accommodations in the black community for their superstar clients. And for nearly forty years (1926-1965), the Royal packed them in be it with movies or music. And why not? For as little as a dollar, you could take in a midnight appearance by a Louis Armstrong, Count Basie, or Duke Ellington. Especially during the 50s and early 60s, on this “Chitlin’ Circuit” there would usually be several top artists traveling in a group, a caravan. Although the Royal had a most competent house band to back up such singers (they would rehearse upon their arrival), some of these aggregates would carry their own, usually a horn group, like tenors Syl Austin, Choker Campbell, and Red Prysock, or trumpeter, Joe Morris, who would already be familiar with their repertoire. Even toward the end, the Royal might be presenting a Motown Revue, consisting of the Supremes, Temptations, the Miracles, the Marvelettes, Marvin Gaye, and Mary Wells— an array of talent which would be an unheard of slate of headliners in today’s entertainment market. But during that era, such a cast of characters appearing together like a veritable black Woodstock was not uncommon. And the Royal, indeed, may have invented the expression—a lot of bang for the buck. But despite the consistently high quality package offered weekly to the public, by the mid-60s, the Royal, due to dwindling attendance, had to forego offering live music. Drug use and crime became rampant as the surrounding district gradually deteriorated and frightened residents hardly ventured out at night. Perhaps the final nail in the coffin for the Royal was the 1968 riot which accompanied the assassination of Martin Luther King in which huge swaths of “The Avenue” were burned to the ground. In 1971, the Royal finally met its demise, demolished in what was considered then a well intentioned urban renewal program which also razed nearly the entire Pennsylvania Avenue corridor. A faux, free standing movie marquee now sadly indicates the site of the former landmark. And despite the many community initiatives (all for naught) over the years to improve or develop the property, it has been designated “The Most Neglected Monument” by the City Paper.
The principals (including promoter Bob Fountain and sponsor Winfield Parker) behind “A Royal Theater Reunion” held at the Pikesville Armory this past June 14 attempted to recreate what would have been a typical multi-artist engagement at the venerable venue circa 1963 (including emcee, J.B. Brown, a renowned radio DJ of the same vintage) and it could have been, save for one act, the Winstons, whose big hit came along in 1969, four years after live music was discontinued there. But outside the inclusion of this anachronism, you have to applaud all the backers for not only finding performers of that era still capable of delivering the goods but also rounding them up, some from rather far flung outposts, like England, where Tommy Hunt calls home. And although the organizers couldn’t charge the customary dollar for midnight show, they made it quite reasonable ($35 a head). And the audience, many of whom were sexagenarians and septuagenarians with walkers and canes and who were seated in rows upon rows of tables perpendicular to the main stage, showed their appreciation by turning out by the hundreds to see their heroes. And it was all worth it, even if the cavernous hanger that is the Pikesville Armory seemed to absorb and muddle the sound substantially. After all, how often do you get a chance to rub elbows with R&B royalty of this magnitude, all gathered together again for one magical evening?

		First on tonight’s agenda was the spirited trio, the Jewels, who are of late making the rounds at all the area oldies shows. They, too, were no strangers to the “Chitlin’ Circuit.” These three women, Sandra Bears, Margie Clark, and Grace Ruffin, now all in their sixties, had been classmates with another original member, Carrie Mingo, at Roosevelt High in Washington, D.C. in the early 60s. Despite their age, these “senior citizens” proved to a delighted audience that they could still shake in unison their proverbial tail feathers, as they executed to perfection their well choreographed dance routines. I had to admit that their energy level onstage would put a lot of youngsters to shame. And, to say the least, their enthusiasm was infectious. As one of the recently late Bo Diddley’s major finds, including Marvin Gaye and Billy Stewart, when he lived in D.C. from 1958-66, they first recorded in his basement studio for the Chess subsidiary, Checker, as the Impalas in 1961, after which they made three disks for producer Bob E. Lee’s Start label in the Nation’s Capital as the Four Jewels. During this same time frame, they backed up Stewart on the Chess label and another Start label mate, Jimmy “D,” as the “D”-lites. Checker (Bo’s label) in 1963 picked up one of these releases, “Loaded With Goodies” (#1039), which proved to be a moderate hit, and they later recorded “Time for Love,” which hardly made an impact, as did a remake of the Spaniels’ “Baby It’s You” on the T.E.C. logo. However, their next attempt, recorded at Dimension records in New York, “Opportunity” (#1034), and produced by Gene Redd, charted nationally. And their second, “Smokey Joe” (written by the dynamic duo, Ashford & Simpson) bw “But I Do” (#1048, written by Bobby Charles), was also a strong seller in the golden age of girl groups---the Supremes, Chiffons, Ronettes, Royalettes, Marvelettes, Shangri-Las, Crystals, etc. The public acceptance of these latter platters prompted a tour which included a stop at the aforementioned Apollo where they were approached by James Brown, who at the time was seeking a tight quartet of backup singers. In short, they fit the bill and after going on the road with Brown for a year and at his urging, they recorded “This Is My Story” on Federal (#12541), a King auxiliary label run by Ralph Bass, a famed producer who had jump started Brown’s own career. Their last single came as the reconfigured Brownettes on King in 1968, James Brown’s longtime trademark. Since that time, the Jewels have managed to stick together and are currently celebrating 48 years in the entertainment game. Their bread and butter engagements recently have been R&B themed concerts aboard cruise ships. “It’s the best way to mix business with pleasure,” answered Marjorie Clark. And, if anything, these women know how to have a good time. In fact, when they weren’t supporting, as backups, other artists in the show, they were singing along like teenagers at their own memorabilia table.
		Following the Jewels in this good time groove was the next outfit to the bandstand, the Winstons, now led by vocalist, Joe Phillips, who was not a charter member but was associated with them just before they disbanded in the very early 70s. He resurrected the name again (without any of the erstwhile participants) about a dozen years ago and since has performed at a slew of D.C. area shindigs, including Lamont’s Entertainment Complex in Indian Head, MD. Throughout the night, the Winstons would serve as the house band and were more than up to the task of tackling with aplomb the diversified play lists of all the other performers. The first incarnation of the Winstons was formed and fronted in the mid-60s by tenor Richard L. Spencer, who now is a high school teacher and published author (The Molasses Tree: A Southern Love Story) residing in Wadesboro, NC. This versatile band worked its way up to prominence by playing back up to a succession of soul stars, both local and national, including Leroy Taylor & the Four Kays (of D.C.’s fabled Shrine records), Otis Redding, and Curtis Mayfield and the Impressions, the latter with whom they cut their first record on Mayfield’s Curtom label in 1968, the rollicking “Need A Replacement” (#8546). In 1969 came the Winstons’ smash “Color Him Father” (Metromedia #117), a song with Viet Nam War implications, which reached #4 on the Billboard Hot 100. Although the Winstons went on to issue no less than three more singles for Metromedia, they could not manage to duplicate the phenomenon which was “Father.” After the disk had run its course, Spencer saw the handwriting on the wall and commenced the dissolution of the ensemble. Nonetheless, there is an interesting footnote to the brief history of the Winstons in that the flip of this blockbuster is “Amen, Brother,” which contains a drum break by the late G.C. Coleman, a syncopated riff credited (along with James Brown’s “Funky Drummer,” King # 6290) as providing the rhythmical underpinnings for modern hip-hop music. These two instrumental passages continue to be among the most sampled passages on the Internet by prospective rap artists. The third act of the evening, Maxine Brown, resplendent in a yellow gown, is seldom seen in these parts and was a most pleasant surprise, not only for her still radiant beauty and winning personality but also for her magnificent instrument of a voice which had not lost one iota of luster in the four decades since she had last sung at the Royal. And she was immediately embraced by the crowd as she revisited all her indelible tunes of yesteryear. Born August 18, 1939 in Kingstree, SC, she sang as child in a church choir and, as a result, later was invited as a teen to join up with two New York-headquartered gospel groups. This association in turn led her to a small Manhattan-based label, Nomar, where she in 1960 proffered two of her own secular compositions, both soulful, bittersweet ballads. The first, “All in my Mind” (#103), created a sensation, zooming up to #2 on the R&B survey and then crossing over to the pop Top 100 at #19. The second, “Funny” (#106), was nearly as successful, climbing to #3 on the R&B hit parade. After basking in the triumph of her two initial trials, Maxine Brown signed a contract with a major, ABC-Paramount, which tried to transform her into a pop artist but with nothing substantial to show for the eight singles she recorded from 1961-2. The next year, she inked an agreement with Scepter/Wand records headed by Florence Greenberg at 1674 Broadway in New York. Recognizing her gifts as a soul artist and accommodating her with arrangements which better suited her, the label rewarded her with no less than a dozen solo efforts and seven duets with roster mate, Chuck Jackson. Among her noteworthy individual titles for Wand was “Oh No Not My Baby” (#162), which was penned by Carole King and husband Jerry Goffin and went to #24 on the pop charts in 1964 and the follow up in the next year was the equally well received “It’s Gonna Be Alright” (#173). Her collaborations with Chuck Jackson produced at least three winners, all which ascribed to the formula of new interpretations of soul classics---“Something You Got” (#181), “Hold On I’m Comin’” (#1148), and “Daddy’s Home” (#1155). In 1969, Wand chose not pick up her option and Maxine thereafter decided to try her luck with a small up-and-coming New York label, Commonwealth United, which also managed during that time frame to corral such soul luminaries as Cissy Houston and Lenny Welch. With this latter company, she issued two moderately selling singles, “We’ll Cry Together” (#3001) and “I Can’t Get Along Without You” (#3008). After Commonwealth United folded, she hooked up with Avco records in 1971, releasing three numbers which hardly made a splash. Maxine Brown never really was able to make the transition to disco diva and faded from the spotlight by the late 70s. Nonetheless, at the end of her set, she was besieged for autographs by her adoring fans.
Following Maxine Brown and no less a crowd pleaser was Tommy Hunt. I had seen Tommy the year before at the Patapsco Arena R& B show and the outpouring of affection for him was of such a scale that the powers that be concluded that he should be accorded an encore performance for this year’s festivities as well. In fact, it was a mutual admiration society between him and the audience, and as his set wore on, he gained strength and vitality from their enthusiastic response to each number. As always, Tommy, the old pro of the old school, came dressed to the nines, a paragon of sartorial splendor. And at 75, it was amazing how his pipes revealed no appreciable diminution with age. Born in Pittsburgh in 1933, Tommy Hunt endured the typical hard scrabble, hard knock life of a Depression child which included brushes with the law and stretches in reform school. But music seemed always to be his salvation. After having relocated to Chicago in the early 50s, he formed with Johnny Taylor and Earl Lewis the vocal group, the Five Echoes, who recorded for Sabre and Vee-Jay in the Windy City. The four obscure disks between the two labels are considered the quintessence of doo-whop by aficionados of this genre of music; so much so, that no single issued by this quintet is worth less than a thousand dollars. By the late 50s, Tommy accepted an invitation to join yet another legendary vocal group, the Flamingos, which by then had moved to New York from Chicago, having signed with George Goldner and his End label at 1650 Broadway. According to Tommy, he was an active participant in all of the many hit records released by the Flamingos during that period, many of which have become standards, including “Lovers Never Say Goodbye” (#1035), “Your Other Love” (# 1081), “Mio Amore” (#1065), and the million selling “I Only Have Eyes for You” (#1046). After he had a falling out with the Flamingos in 1960, A&R man of Scepter records (the Shirelles, Lenny Miles, the Rocky Fellers, Dionne Warwick, etc.), Luther Dixon, offered Hunt a solo contract and thereafter he was to enjoy his best selling 45 rpm for this label, the plaintive “Human” (#1219), which became his signature song. And its follow up, a Burt Bacharach composition, “I Just Don’t Know What to Do With Myself” (#1231) rocketed up the charts as well. On the durability of these two smashes, Tommy became a fixture on many of the R&B caravans of that time and, needless to say, touched all the bases, all the hot spots, as far as the “Chitlin’ Circuit” was concerned. During his set, he recalled fondly the warm reception with which he was always greeted at the Royal Theater whenever he paid a call to Baltimore.
		Later in the 60s, Tommy recorded some fine soul tunes for the Capitol and Dynamo labels but a 1969 excursion was to change his life profoundly. After having entertained the U.S. troops stationed in Germany during a U.S.O. sponsored tour, he decided to stay in Europe to take advantage of the “Northern Soul” craze which was especially sweeping England, where he eventually landed. And he’s been there since, although he did issue some songs from abroad on the Private Stock label in the 70s. Onstage, Tommy would introduce each song with an anecdote or a reflection and I remember one particular soliloquy having to do with growing old. “No, I don’t have any regrets. I can stand here and tell you proudly that we’re the last generation to create love songs. And that’s what is missing in the world today,” he said emphatically. And it was a notion that was met with a thunderous applause. After having held the audience in the palm of his hand, he obviously had a great deal of difficulty surrendering his place to the next performer. But being the gentleman that he was, he made a graceful exit.

		The career of Jeannette “Baby” Washington closely paralleled that of Maxine Brown. And she is not to be mistaken for another funk vocalist, Jeannette Washington, who sang with Parliament in the 70s and often provided backup to James Brown during the same decade. In fact, though, there is still much confusion concerning Baby Washington in that she also recorded as Justine Washington, her given name. She, too, was born in South Carolina (in Bamberg) on November 13, 1940 and was raised in Harlem in New York City. And like Maxine Brown, she had experience in a church choir as so many soul singers of her day. She began her professional career as a member of the Hearts vocal group which recorded for Baton and J&S, the latter headed by Zell Sanders at 1754 Anthony Ave. in the Bronx. Only one of Baby Washington’s half-dozen, rather undistinguished solo efforts for J&S warranted a leasing arrangement with a national distributor—“I Hate to See You Go”--which became Checker #918 in 1959. And as in Brown’s case, she possessed some songwriting abilities, penning many of the sides of her second label, Neptune, also a small affair and operated by Donald Shaw at 1650 Broadway in New York City. Her first composition for Neptune, “The Time” (#101), was an R&B hit at #30 in 1959 (and also covered by the doo-whop group, the Del Pris on Varbee #2003); her second release (not her own), “The Bells” (#104), proved even bigger at #20 in 1959; and her last chart maker for Neptune among her eight releases was her “Nobody Cares For Me” (#122), which again reached #20 on the R&B survey in 1961. Similar to Maxine Brown, Baby Washington’s success early on also culminated in a recording contract for the same major, ABC-Paramount (Ray Charles, the Impressions, Lloyd Price). And like Maxine Brown, her two singles fared considerably less than the expected spectacular outcomes for the logo. In 1962, Baby Washington was approached by Henry “Juggy” Murray, a black music producer who ran Sue records (Ike & Tina Turner, Barbara George, Jimmy McGriff, Ernestine Anderson, Wilbert Harrison, etc.) in her Harlem stomping grounds at 271 W. 125^th St., merely a stone’s throw from the Apollo theater. As in the case of Wand with Maxine Brown, at Sue, Baby Washington (who did write some tunes) was handed a lot of material by its staff writers like Ben Raleigh, Billy Myles, and Jerry Ragavoy. In her tenure with the label from 1962-68, she issued fifteen 45 rpms, including the monster 1963 crossover phenomenon, “That’s How Heartaches Are Made” (#783, #40 Billboard) and the R&B Top Ten blockbuster, “Only Those In Love” (#129, 1965). Nonetheless, at the end of the 60s, she seemed finished as a soul singer after brief flirtations with the Veep, Chess, and Cotillion labels, the latter an Atlantic affiliate. However, she briefly revived her career in 1972 by coming aboard Master Five records managed by Clarence Lawton at 250 Ivy Lane in Teaneck, NJ. Although only one of her half-dozen individual singles for Master Five reached the charts—“I’ve Got To Break Away” (#9107, # 73, 1973)--her six duets (like Maxine Brown) with Don Gardner (of Don Gardner & Dee Dee Ford fame) seemed to click with the buying public, especially the remake of the Marvellettes’ “Forever” (#9103) which landed at #30 on the R&B hit parade. Finally, like her counterpart Maxine Brown, she, too, was not quite up to the challenge of reinventing herself as a disco queen, although she tried repeatedly in the late 70s and early 80s with a succession of labels catering to this genre of music, including AVI, 7L, and Lawton.
		As far as Baby Washington’s performance was concerned, I thought it was lackluster, a perfunctory glossing over her hits and in all honesty she was outshone by Maxine Brown, not only in enthusiasm but also vocal abilities. And I’m going to venture a reason for her seeming lack of conviction for her material---I think she, whose name appeared at the very top of the program’s poster, was at the eleventh hour snubbed as the headliner in deference to Winfield Parker, a sponsor of the event, who went on last. Although she graciously signed an autograph for me, she was obviously both irritated and agitated, wanting to hastily return to the dressing room after leaving the stage. Well, so much for speculation. But still it was an odd, unexpected reshuffling of tonight’s schedule. The diminutive Winfield Parker, a local celebrity, cannot compare his life in music to the scope and breadth of the career of his predecessor, having authored only a few minor hits. And it may not have been a wise decision on his part to conclude the show. But to his credit, he eschewed completely his religious related repertoire (he currently fronts the spiritual ensemble, Praise) in favor of presenting his own R&B play list. And he did so with a lot of verve and spirit; so much so, maybe all that transpired immediately before his time on the stage was both forgotten and forgiven by the soon gratified audience. He’s been in this position before and like a true professional, he pulled it off. Winfield Parker was born in 1942 in Howard County and learned to play the saxophone at Harriet Tubman, the county’s only segregated high school located in Clarksville. As a teen, he joined up with Sammy Fitzhugh and the Moroccans, who would go on to record for the Poplar (run in New York by Baltimore’s Lou Krefetz, who managed D.C.’s legendary Clovers vocal group) and Atco labels, an Atlantic auxiliary. After forming his own band, the Imperial Thrillers, Parker came to the attention of the late Rufus Mitchell, a booking agent for Carr’s Beach in Annapolis (another mandatory summer sojourn for R&B outfits on the “Chitlin’ Circuit”) and operator of Ru-Jac records out of his own house at 427 Laurens St. in west Baltimore. It was Mitchell who would go on to record area soul stars such as Jimmy Dotson, Arthur “Sweet Soul Music” Conley, and Tiny Tim Harris and give Parker his first shot in the studio as Little Winfield Parker in 1965, “My Love For You” (#45006). It was to be the first of his several singles for Ru-Jac, including the local wonder, “She’s So Pretty” (#0022). Several of Winfield Parker’s efforts for Ru-Jac were produced by the late Bill Boskent, who founded KRC (Lloyd Price) and later Bee Bee records at 913 “U” St. N.W. in Washington, D.C. During this time frame, Boskent had under contract an artist, Little Sonny Warner, who had in 1959 teamed up with Big Jay McNeely to author one of R&B’s greatest sensations, “There Is Something on Your Mind” (Swingin’ #614). And when Warner and Parker happened to tour in tandem, Boskent also agreed to mentor the latter, who became his protégée. Through the intercession of both Boskent and Mitchell, Parker was able to come to terms with the major R&B company, Atco. And by 1969, like another regional soul crooner, Kenny Hamber, he signed a contract with Jimmy Bishop of Arctic records (Barbara Mason, Kenny Gamble, Harold Melvin, Honey & the Bees, and the Ambassadors) of Philadelphia, but his one single, “Brand New Start” (#151), failed to catch on. Managing to stay active throughout the disco era of the 70s, Winfield tried his hand at a whole host of labels, including New York’s Wand, Spring (Joe Simon, Little Eva, Millie Jackson), GSF, and the short-lived P&L. By the mid-70s, he joined up with several Baltimore natives and formed the group, Both Worlds, which recorded an LP, I Want the World to Know, for the hot, independent soul venture, Calla records (J.J. Jackson, Betty Lavette, Jean Wells, the Sandpebbles, the Persuaders, Bird Rollins), at 1631 Broadway in New York. But, evidently, the executives at Calla decided against promoting the project, as the envisioned single was never released. After a hiatus in recording in the early 80s, Winfield Parker inaugurated the gospel group, Praise, in 1985 with whom he still performs. Well, as they say, a good time was had by all. And for this one special occasion, you could just imagine how it was to partake of an R&B extravaganza of that bygone era. Yes, the Royal Theater is gone but it will live on, at least as long as the memory of this assembled multitude. ***>>>>* Larry Benicewicz, BBS**

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