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TIME: Almanac 1995
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<text id=89TT0507>
<title>
Feb. 20, 1989: Soul Brother No. 155413
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1989
Feb. 20, 1989 Betrayal:Marine Spy Scandal
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
NATION, Page 40
Soul Brother No. 155413
</hdr><body>
<p>A legendary singer winds up in the slammer
</p>
<p>By Alessandra Stanley
</p>
<p> I Feel Good pounds in the background of a TV commercial for
spark plugs. Papa's Got a Brand New Bag sells a brand of rice.
It's been a long time since the raw, driving soul music of
James Brown sounded dangerous to mainstream white America. The
rhythm-and-blues man, who says he is 55, belonged to a
presidential task force and is in the Rock and Roll Hall of
Fame. He has won two Grammy Awards and has had an audience with
the Pope. When the phone rings in his office in Augusta, Ga., a
receptionist crisply answers, "Godfather of Soul." But the boss
can't come to the phone right now. James Brown, the self-styled
Hardest-Working Man in Show Business, is 70 miles away in South
Carolina's State Park Correctional Center, serving a six-year
sentence.
</p>
<p> There he is listed as James J. Brown, No. 155413. "I'm just
sitting quiet, not saying a thing, serving my time," says Brown
from a pay phone inside the minimum-security facility. Every day
he rises at 5:15 to dish out breakfast in the cafeteria, wearing
a cook's white uniform and cap, embellished by purple wraparound
sunglasses and a matching purple foulard scarf. He directs the
chapel choir, and attendance has doubled since he got there. On
Saturdays, his wife Adrienne, a former hair stylist with the
television show Solid Gold, brings a dryer and a bag of salon
products to primp his curly coiffure.
</p>
<p> Brown's fall from the top of the charts to a four-man prison
cell has been going on for several years. In 1985 the IRS
slapped a lien on his 62-acre spread on rural Beech Island,
about ten miles outside Augusta, and he was forced to auction it
off. His eight-year marriage to Adrienne, his third wife, has
been tempestuous. Last April she filed suit against him for
assault, then dropped the charge. (Among other things, he
allegedly ventilated her $35,000 black mink coat with bullets.)
</p>
<p> About a year ago, rumors that Brown had a drug problem began
to surface. He was arrested last summer for possession of PCP
(he claimed his wife had planted the drug on him), illegally
carrying a firearm and resisting arrest. He was given a $1,200
fine and ordered to stage a benefit concert for abused
children. In September, Brown stormed into an insurance company
next door to his office, waving a gun and complaining that
strangers were using his bathroom. When the police arrived,
Brown sped away in his pickup truck, touching off a high-speed
chase through Georgia and South Carolina that ended only after
the cops shot out his tires. The city of Augusta, which had
honored him three years ago with a James Brown Appreciation Day,
turned on him. "Enough was enough," says Mayor Charles DeVaney.
</p>
<p> It is not Brown's first stint in the slammer. Born in a
shack in rural South Carolina, Brown grew up dirt poor, shining
shoes and dancing for pennies. At 15 he was sentenced to eight
years for breaking into cars. He sang in the prison choir (his
nickname was "Music Box") and, on his release after three
years, started a band. Brown's pioneering rhythm and blues soon
had black audiences up on their feet dancing to funky drums,
taut horn riffs and sweat-drenched lyrics that sometimes rose
to the level of pungent urban poetry. A 1968 hit gave a slogan
to an era: "Say it loud, I'm black and I'm proud."
</p>
<p> Before he started to slide, Brown racked up 15 No. 1
R.-and-B. hits; amassed a personal empire that included radio
stations in Augusta, Knoxville and Baltimore; and inspired
later generations of rock 'n' rollers, including Mick Jagger
and Michael Jackson. So great was his influence with young
blacks that he was summoned to Boston and Washington to cool off
race riots during 1968. He eagerly ticks off the Presidents he
has met and supported, including George Bush. "I've been the
American Dream," Brown plaintively notes. "When you say Old
Glory, I'm a part of it. It's just very bad that sometimes the
country forgets."
</p>
<p> These days, Brown feels abandoned by the black and white
musicians who became famous by copying his style and gyrating
dance techniques. He says, "The only two people who have shown
love and respect for James Brown are Little Richard and Al
Sharpton," the New York City preacher who stirred up a storm
over the purported rape of Tawana Brawley and is now organizing a
campaign to gain Brown's early release. Complains Sharpton, who
sports a Brown-style hairdo: "The country would never have done
this to Elvis."
</p>
<p> Brown is not eligible for parole until 1992. His lawyers,
who are working on an appeal, may seek a form of work release.
Brown says what he misses most are his fans, touring overseas
and fooling around until 3 or 4 in the morning with friends.
"I'm well rested now," says the Hardest-Working Man in Show
Business, "but I miss being tired."
</p>
</body></article>
</text>