My memories of Sam Moore go back to a Miami church choir as kids. Boy, could he sing | Opinion

One good thing about growing up Black in Miami during the 1950s was that everybody knew everybody. I thought about that when I learned of the death of Sam Moore.

Friends called; they wanted to know if I’d heard. I had. And while the news made me sad, it brought back a flood of delightful memories from my teenage years, years that included Samuel Moore.

While my colleague and friend Howard Cohen wrote a beautiful obituary of Sam as an entertainer — he was born in Miami’s Overtown neighborhood on Oct. 12, 1935 — my memories of him go back before he was famous. Back to a tiny Triumph Holiness Church in Overtown, where Sister Wells was the junior choir director. It was time for the junior choirs of that denomination to compete, and Sister Wells recruited all of us who could halfway carry a tune, to sing in her choir.

READ MORE: ‘Soul Man’ Sam Moore, the Miami R&B legend who sang for six presidents, has died at 89

I was 13 and was friends with Sister Wells’ daughter, Dorothy Wells. While I was not a member of the church, Dorothy, who had a great voice, invited me to sing in the junior choir. It was while singing with the junior choir that I met Sam.

It seems that Sister Wells had walked the neighborhood and recruited all the youngsters she could find who’d be willing to attend long rehearsals to prepare for the competition.

I don’t know if it was Dorothy, or her mother, who asked Sam to join the choir. But there he was, standing behind me one night at rehearsal, singing in the tenor section. I remember hearing a strong tenor voice behind me and looking around to see Sam.

He was singing with all his might, shaking his head to the beat of the gospel music. Years later, I would think it fitting that after his and Dave’s recording of “Soul Man” became a hit, he’d be known by the name of that song. Even in his early years, he sang with his soul.

Sam was a couple of years older and had a sense of humor that endeared him to everyone. He was a prankster, keeping us laughing at his antics.

He was also big on giving everyone a nickname. Mine was “Cat Eyes.” And he was kind. I can’t remember ever hearing him say an unkind word about anyone.

We didn’t run in the same circle of friends and after the junior choir competition, we went our separate ways. Our love of music would cause our paths to cross again, when we both became members of Leila Williams’ concert choir at Booker T. Washington Junior/Senior High School in Overtown.

I was in the 11th grade and Sam was a senior, when we had to audition to travel with the choir to Tallahassee to compete with other Black high school choirs from throughout the state. The audition song was “April Is In My Mistress’ Face.”

I don’t know about Sam, but I practiced my alto part of the song morning, noon and night. So much so, I still remember my part. Both Sam and I made the cut.

Sam and I lost touch for a few years after he graduated in 1955. But every now and then, I would hear that he was appearing at some amateur hour, singing or serving as the emcee.

The last time I saw him before he became famous was in 1961. By that time, I was married and expecting my second son. It was a warm day, and I was visiting a mutual friend Juanita “Nita” Kilpatrick Barr (who recently passed away in New York), when Sam showed up.

We sat for hours on Nita’s front porch laughing and talking about our school days and bragging about which school was better, Booker T. or Northwestern (Nita was a Northwestern Bull).

Life got in the way. I became a young widow with two young boys, and later worked full time while attending college classes at night. Sam worked on his show business dream by singing at the King of Hearts club in Liberty City, where he met baritone David Prater.

Before I knew it, the R & B duo of Sam and Dave had become a household name. We were so happy for him and watched their climb to the top. We wanted everyone to know that we knew Sam Moore. He was the hometown boy who made good in the profession he loved.

The years passed all too swiftly. We followed Sam’s success from afar. But it would be years before I would see him again.

We met again at the Booker T. Washington High School Alumni Association’s Living Legends Banquet in April of last year. Sam was being inducted as a BTW Living Legend. I had been inducted a few years earlier.

The years had taken its toll on both of us. Sam came into the celebration on an electric scooter with his wife Joyce by his side.

I walked in supported by a cane. It took a while to get near him that night. Everyone wanted to get close to Sam. And he graciously tried to accommodate all.

Then, it was my time to say hello. At first, he looked at me with wonder in his eyes, trying to remember me. I gave him a clue and he broke out in a big smile.

We hugged and he introduced me to his wife. It was a lovely reunion. We promised to stay in touch; he said he had some ideas that he wanted to share with me.

It wasn’t to be. My friend, Sam Moore, died on Jan. 10.