The Forty Year

Spann Of WVON 

 By Pervis Spann with Linda C. Walker  
 

Chapter One 

Sitting in The Soul Queen, a popular restaurant on the south side of Chicago, Pervis Spann, affectionately known as “The Blues Man” put another fork full of greens in his mouth. He thought back over his long career in radio, “I could’ve been at the bottom of Lake Michigan if I had not taken special care of my actions”, he said out loud, but to himself, a habit he had picked up lately. He finished his peach cobbler, gathered his hat and keys, paid the bill, and got in his 1950 Chevy. It was a cold night and the Windy City was living up to its name, a lot different from the night he drove into the parking lot of WVON for the first time some 40 years ago. Mentally, he took that same drive again.

April 1, 1963, to Pervis, was just another day. The one thing different though, was that this was his first day at WVON, the Voice of the Negro, a new radio station with a Black format, the first of its kind in Chicago. A day of firsts. He was the first disc jockey to kick off the programming that day since he started at midnight. It was a new gig, but the same duties. He was a disc jockey at station WOPA in Oak Park spinning the blues. In fact, that’s how he came to know the new owners of WVON. Pervis thought back on a revelation Leonard recounted to him some time ago. 

Leonard Chess walked into the junk yard he owned with his brother on 29^th and State Street in Chicago.  “Hey Phil, what’s going on”? Leonard asked, entering the office they shared as he pulled up a chair.  “Oh nothing much. I was thinking about going across the street to that church over there”, Phil answered.  “Church? Since when did you become religious”? Leonard inquired in amazement. From the time their parents brought them over from Poland as immigrants, he had never known Phil to have any interest in church.

“Every since I got an ear full of that choir. It’s amazing”, Phil answered. “Why don’t you come with me and see, I mean hear for yourself”.  “In this all Black neighborhood, do you think they’d welcome a couple of Jewish guys”? Leonard questioned.  “Yes. I’ve been over there a few times already. They’re very friendly”, Phil replied as he stood to leave.  “Okay, I think I will join you”.

They strolled across the street to the Baptist church, took a seat in the pew and settled down to become divinely inspired.  Two and a half hours later, as they walked back to their junk yard, Leonard said, “you know Phil, you were right. That choir sang beautifully, and you know what else? I had an inspiration while I was there—“, Leonard suddenly stopped talking, and stood still.

“What kind of—“  “Shhh”, Leonard whispered, “ be quiet”. He placed a hand on Phil’s arm and didn’t move.   “What is it”? Phil asked, sotto voiced.  “That singing, where is it coming from”? Leonard whispered back.  They stood there silent as the Sunday afternoon breeze, like a magic carpet, carried a harmony so sweet throughout the stratosphere, that both me smiled unconsciously as one of their senses tingled.  “Come on, Phil”, Leonard said just as abruptly as he requested silence a few minutes ago, and grabbed his brother’s arm.  “Where are we going”? Phil asked as he was being ushered non too gently down the sidewalk.  “Follow that voice”, Leonard replied as his ears, like a Doberman listening to a possible intruder, zeroed in on the music’s direction.

Just around the corner from their shop, a group of young men stood, crooning in the sunshine.  “Doo wap woo . . .”, came from the trio.  As Leonard and Phil joined a gathering crowd, the men continued their impromptu concert. They stood out there at least 45 minutes listening as a different singer took the lead. At one point, somebody broke out a harmonica and added a bluesy flavor to the music.

After the wild applause that followed the sad but soothing scene, Leonard walked up to one of the performers.  “Hello, I’m Leonard Chess. You guys have really got something going on here. This is my brother Phil”, he said as he held out a hand in greeting and motioned to his brother standing by his side.  “What it is, man”. The gentleman speaking slapped five on Leonard’s outstretched hand and continued, “I’m Willie Dixon. This here cat is known as Howlin’ Wolf, and over there is Lil’ Walter”.

“I’m pleased to meet you gentlemen”, Leonard responded. He went on to say, “here’s my card, Willie. My brother and I own a liquor store on 39^th and Cottage Grove, Chess Liquors, with a bar in the back. Why don’t you guys stop by tomorrow. I could use some good acts in the bar area”.  “Dig it”, Willie answered in the affirmative, and turned to talk to a lady tugging at his sleeve.  Leonard and Phil left the group, and headed back to the junk yard. As they walked, Leonard filled his brother in on his inspiration.  “It came to me as we sat in church, then it was confirmed as we left. Let’s form a record company”.  “A what? Are you crazy. We don’t know how to run a record company”, Phil protested, but he felt excitement building nevertheless.  “So we’ll learn. We already have that lounge in the back of the store on Cottage, and you and I both have an ear for music. Let’s use some of that money we have invested in the stock market that Dad left us, and let others have the opportunity to hear what we just heard, and be able buy it”.  “You know, Leonard, I think you’re on to something”, Phil said.  From that point on, things began to happen fast. At first, Phil and Leonard began to have Black artists perform at their lounge right behind the store. Then they formed Chess Records, a big Blues label, sprinkled with Jazz.