I will never forget the first time I heard Hazel Johnson sing “Midnight Train to Georgia.” Her sound was rich and soulful, her interpretation more riveting than the one that topped the record charts at the time, her voice so powerful she needed no microphone; it so filled – not a club, not a recording studio, but her front porch.
I simply had to go across the lawn and sit with her to hear the rest of it!
Hazel lived in a brick house next door to me on an idyllic, inner-city street called Watson Road. It was Indianapolis in the late 60’s and early 70’s – before David Letterman made Broad Ripple famous. Our neighborhood was integrated, and her mom, who owned the house, had a good job, and we thought we had the world by the tail.
We became close friends even though we were years apart.
She was like a bonus Auntie to me and helped to shape my dreams and ambitions; my belief that I could do anything and be anything. She was right.
But she worked harder to get there than I ever had to. She grew up Black in the segregation era. She was a single mom supporting a family on a local jazz singer’s income. In spite of working until 3 or 4 in the morning, she would be up in time to see her kids and everyone else’s off to school, and she waited for us all to get home. She kept us busy on muggy, summer days. She’s the reason so many of us went to church, got babysitting jobs and stayed out of trouble.
I fell in love with her butter cake, as did most of the neighborhood. You could smell it when it was in the oven. It beckoned you to come over, just as her voice did. What I did not realize then was that it was probably made with 3 or 4 sticks of butter. I saw no problem back then with having seconds, even knowing her little brothers would want some! Much as I treasured our afternoons together, I did not know until later in life what an impact she’d have on my life. It was a gift she shared with many, many others as well.
Hazel sang with many of the greats back in the day, including Wes Montgomery. But there was no American Idol, no internet, and no way to make yourself famous with self posted videos that could go viral in 15 minutes. It was a tough road and there was a lot of competition.
She never complained about where she’d come from or about how hard it was to get there. She talked a lot about a dream she had that she’d be able to give back. She’s one of the few people I know who lived the dream.
Decades after I grew up, Hazel married her dream guy, Mack Strong. His career took them away then brought them home again. In 2005 they founded the Inner City Music School. They raised money and convinced music greats to come in and teach children to play instruments, to sing and to appreciate jazz. It was all free. She also founded the Indy Women’s Jazz Festival to give voice to talented ladies who otherwise were not being recognized or celebrated.
It was sad to hear that Miss Hazel lost her long war to cancer this weekend.
The war she won was giving voice to so many others.
Thank you, Miss Hazel.
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