Years before she was known for classic R&B tunes like “Young Hearts Run Free,” “You Got the Love,” and “Nights on Broadway”; the GRAMMY® Award nominated soul singer Candi Staton literally had a driver’s seat view to civil rights history. She was a 24-year-old mom of two toddlers on September 15, 1963, when members of the Klu Klux Klan blew up the historic 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, AL with 19 sticks of dynamite. The explosion killed four young girls, injured two dozen others, and ignited an angry backlash that was felt around the globe.
“I know I speak on behalf of all Americans in expressing a deep sense of outrage and grief over the killing of the children yesterday in Birmingham, Alabama,” President John F. Kennedy said in a White House statement the following day. “It is regrettable that public disparagement of law and order has encouraged violence which has fallen on the innocent. If these cruel and tragic events can only awaken that city and State--if they can only awaken this entire Nation--to a realization of the folly of racial injustice and hatred and violence, then it is not too late for all concerned to unite in steps toward peaceful progress before more lives are lost.”
Staton saw the madness and mayhem first-hand. The 83-year-old singer has recorded a coffeehouse-styled soul soliloquy, “1963” (Beracah Records), to commemorate the 60th anniversary of that day and to draw a parallel to today’s issues. “I never experienced anything like that before,” she says. “We had gone to a little church a few blocks away from the 16th Street Baptist Church. The choir had sung and suddenly, somebody burst through the front door and started screaming that 16th Street Church was bombed and people were rioting. So, he told everybody to rush home to get safety. Black people were turning over the cars of every white person they saw. White people and black people were throwing things at each other in the streets. Police were shooting guns into the air to scare people. It was just one of the worst days ever.”
Staton grew up in rural Hanceville, Alabama, about 40 minutes outside of Birmingham where Jim Crow segregation was a way of life. As a teenager, she toured the deep south as a member of The Jewell Gospel Trio. “We used to be on the road with Sam Cooke, The Soul Stirrers, Mahalia Jackson, and we traveled in a caravan of cars,” she says. “We did that because the police would stop anybody and harass them. If we were in a caravan, they had witnesses, so they were less likely to do something crazy. I remember one night; the police made the Fairfield Four quartet get out of the car and start singing. The police said that if they don’t sound good, they would shoot them. So, while they were singing, they shot their guns at the ground near their feet. We had to stay at boarding houses because no hotels would welcome us. We had to get food at the side door of a restaurant. It was so dehumanizing.”
The Jewel Trio opened for actor-activist Paul Robeson during some of his political concerts and the group used to play in the yard of civil rights leader, Dr. Mary McLeod Bethune. “She used to make us bologna sandwiches,” Staton recalls. It’s against this tableau that she decided to make a song about that day. “I rarely hear anyone call out the names of those girls,” Staton says. “I wanted to call their names like people call George Floyd’s name. I also didn’t want to act like this was just a thing of the past. These kinds of tragedies are still happening. All the school shootings we’ve seen in recent years, reminded me that what happened in 1963 is still happening in 2023.”
A seasoned group of musicians provided the backdrop. Staton’s eldest sons, Marcel, and Marcus Williams, who were with her that Sunday in 1963, laid the music. Marcel played bass and Marcus (Isaac Hayes, Peabo Bryson) played drums and produced the track. Myra Butler (Pop Staples, Dionne Warwick) played the keyboards, and Steve “Lfthnd” Lewis, who is known throughout the Atlanta, Georgia Jazz community for his left-handed guitar skills. added some lite guitar. Staton joined her daughter Cassandra Hightower, and Butler on the background vocals. Listeners can hear the emotion in Staton’s voice as she tells the story in the song that she recorded in a single tape. “I could only do that one time,” she says. “I was reliving it and started to cry.”
1963
Hmmm
Lord, Lord, Lord
Oh, Lord have mercy, hmmm
September 15, 1963
It was a Sunday morning in 1963
We were guests at a church in Birmingham, Alabama
To share our ministry
All of a sudden, the deacon burst through the door
Filled with anger as everybody could see
Shouting loudly: Get up, Get out quickly
There’s been a catastrophe
They just bombed the 16th Street Baptist Church
And four little girls just died
People are rioting down the street
Oh, I’ve never seen such an angry crowd
As we headed right through Birmingham
Right through Birmingham downtown
Oh, what a sight to see
I’ll never forget it
Cars pushed over
Bricks thrown through windows
It was frightening and dangerous
Oh, my God, people running
People screaming, people cursing
People crying, trying to get to safety
With the help of God on our side
We prayed all the way through
We made it through the crowd unharmed
My two little boys were with me
I was 24 on that bloody Sunday in 1963
Four little girls lost their lives
Little Cynthia Wesley
Little Carol Robinson
Little Denise McNair
And Little Addie Mae Collins
Between the ages of 11 and 14
They never made it that day
Lord , have mercy
Oh God, uh uh uh
When will this madness ever end?
Will we ever be free?
We find ourselves once again in 1963
I’m calling for freedom
I’m calling for peace
I’m calling for victory
Lord, I’m calling on you
To bring peace and harmony
There still killing and stealing our children
One by one
You can’t feel our hurt?
You can’t feel our pain?
You can’t feel our misery?
I don’t ever want you to forget
Don’t you ever forget
Remember that bloody Sunday in 1963
Oh , enough is enough save our children
Save our children
Have mercy on the children
No more Sandy Hook
No more Uvalde
No more East Point
No more South side
Why we so angry?
Why must the children die
I can’t legislate love
I can’t wish away hate
Let justice roll down like waters
And righteousness like a stream
Until then my friend
Keep up the good fight
Until love, until love
Until love really wins
Ah, Let love win
Oooh, Let love, Let Love win
One day and it won’t be long
Love is gonna win, hmmm
Oooh, 1963
Stop repeating 1963
“I know I speak on behalf of all Americans in expressing a deep sense of outrage and grief over the killing of the children yesterday in Birmingham, Alabama,” President John F. Kennedy said in a White House statement the following day. “It is regrettable that public disparagement of law and order has encouraged violence which has fallen on the innocent. If these cruel and tragic events can only awaken that city and State--if they can only awaken this entire Nation--to a realization of the folly of racial injustice and hatred and violence, then it is not too late for all concerned to unite in steps toward peaceful progress before more lives are lost.”
Staton saw the madness and mayhem first-hand. The 83-year-old singer has recorded a coffeehouse-styled soul soliloquy, “1963” (Beracah Records), to commemorate the 60th anniversary of that day and to draw a parallel to today’s issues. “I never experienced anything like that before,” she says. “We had gone to a little church a few blocks away from the 16th Street Baptist Church. The choir had sung and suddenly, somebody burst through the front door and started screaming that 16th Street Church was bombed and people were rioting. So, he told everybody to rush home to get safety. Black people were turning over the cars of every white person they saw. White people and black people were throwing things at each other in the streets. Police were shooting guns into the air to scare people. It was just one of the worst days ever.”
Staton grew up in rural Hanceville, Alabama, about 40 minutes outside of Birmingham where Jim Crow segregation was a way of life. As a teenager, she toured the deep south as a member of The Jewell Gospel Trio. “We used to be on the road with Sam Cooke, The Soul Stirrers, Mahalia Jackson, and we traveled in a caravan of cars,” she says. “We did that because the police would stop anybody and harass them. If we were in a caravan, they had witnesses, so they were less likely to do something crazy. I remember one night; the police made the Fairfield Four quartet get out of the car and start singing. The police said that if they don’t sound good, they would shoot them. So, while they were singing, they shot their guns at the ground near their feet. We had to stay at boarding houses because no hotels would welcome us. We had to get food at the side door of a restaurant. It was so dehumanizing.”
The Jewel Trio opened for actor-activist Paul Robeson during some of his political concerts and the group used to play in the yard of civil rights leader, Dr. Mary McLeod Bethune. “She used to make us bologna sandwiches,” Staton recalls. It’s against this tableau that she decided to make a song about that day. “I rarely hear anyone call out the names of those girls,” Staton says. “I wanted to call their names like people call George Floyd’s name. I also didn’t want to act like this was just a thing of the past. These kinds of tragedies are still happening. All the school shootings we’ve seen in recent years, reminded me that what happened in 1963 is still happening in 2023.”
A seasoned group of musicians provided the backdrop. Staton’s eldest sons, Marcel, and Marcus Williams, who were with her that Sunday in 1963, laid the music. Marcel played bass and Marcus (Isaac Hayes, Peabo Bryson) played drums and produced the track. Myra Butler (Pop Staples, Dionne Warwick) played the keyboards, and Steve “Lfthnd” Lewis, who is known throughout the Atlanta, Georgia Jazz community for his left-handed guitar skills. added some lite guitar. Staton joined her daughter Cassandra Hightower, and Butler on the background vocals. Listeners can hear the emotion in Staton’s voice as she tells the story in the song that she recorded in a single tape. “I could only do that one time,” she says. “I was reliving it and started to cry.”
1963
Hmmm
Lord, Lord, Lord
Oh, Lord have mercy, hmmm
September 15, 1963
It was a Sunday morning in 1963
We were guests at a church in Birmingham, Alabama
To share our ministry
All of a sudden, the deacon burst through the door
Filled with anger as everybody could see
Shouting loudly: Get up, Get out quickly
There’s been a catastrophe
They just bombed the 16th Street Baptist Church
And four little girls just died
People are rioting down the street
Oh, I’ve never seen such an angry crowd
As we headed right through Birmingham
Right through Birmingham downtown
Oh, what a sight to see
I’ll never forget it
Cars pushed over
Bricks thrown through windows
It was frightening and dangerous
Oh, my God, people running
People screaming, people cursing
People crying, trying to get to safety
With the help of God on our side
We prayed all the way through
We made it through the crowd unharmed
My two little boys were with me
I was 24 on that bloody Sunday in 1963
Four little girls lost their lives
Little Cynthia Wesley
Little Carol Robinson
Little Denise McNair
And Little Addie Mae Collins
Between the ages of 11 and 14
They never made it that day
Lord , have mercy
Oh God, uh uh uh
When will this madness ever end?
Will we ever be free?
We find ourselves once again in 1963
I’m calling for freedom
I’m calling for peace
I’m calling for victory
Lord, I’m calling on you
To bring peace and harmony
There still killing and stealing our children
One by one
You can’t feel our hurt?
You can’t feel our pain?
You can’t feel our misery?
I don’t ever want you to forget
Don’t you ever forget
Remember that bloody Sunday in 1963
Oh , enough is enough save our children
Save our children
Have mercy on the children
No more Sandy Hook
No more Uvalde
No more East Point
No more South side
Why we so angry?
Why must the children die
I can’t legislate love
I can’t wish away hate
Let justice roll down like waters
And righteousness like a stream
Until then my friend
Keep up the good fight
Until love, until love
Until love really wins
Ah, Let love win
Oooh, Let love, Let Love win
One day and it won’t be long
Love is gonna win, hmmm
Oooh, 1963
Stop repeating 1963
