Rock-N-Roll Victims, the Story of a Band Called Death - My Story of Growing up in Detroit, My Family, and Rock-N-Roll

6. 1968: The Year of Music and Tragedy

After the 1967 Riot, it was clear that Detroit would never be the same again. The inner-city neighborhoods were starting to take on the shape and make-up of what would later become known as "ghetto streets." By late 1967, the neighborhood around Lillibridge Street was predominantly Black; most of the White neighbors had moved or were in the process of moving.

1968 started with an eerie air of uncertainty: change was on the horizon. The Civil Rights Movement was at a fever high pitch, Martin Luther King was receiving death threats reported on the nightly news on a daily basis, and the conflict in Vietnam had escalated to a full-scale war. The popular and outspoken critic of the war movement, Senator Bobby Kennedy, announced his bid to run for the presidency, and the social revolution known as the "Hippie Movement" was in full gear. The Beatles were now all wearing their hair long and seeking transcendental meditation in the Far East.

Music had started to take on a more politically and socially active vibe around the country. Soul singer James Brown released a song that became an anthem of sorts for Black communities across the country entitled "Say It Loud - I'm Black and I'm Proud", and it was clear that the attitude and social conscience of young Black America was changing, as it was with young White America as well, upset with civil injustice, war in Vietnam, and a stubborn and narrow-minded Government. No matter what color your skin was, or what social background you came from, the resounding theme for young people between 1967 and 1968 was an echo of unity that could be summed up in one simple slogan: "Power to the People".

For the Hackney family, 1968 brought about a tremendous change in just about every aspect of our life. On television there was a musical variety program that broadcasted from Windsor, Ontario in Canada called "Robin Seymour's Swinging Time". It came on once a week on Saturdays and it featured Motown acts such as Smokey Robinson and The Miracles, The Four Tops, Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell, and Edwin Starr, to name a few. The show also featured great Rock acts like The Rationals, The MC5, The Young Rascals, as well as Paul Revere and The Raiders. On occasion, the host, Robin Seymour, would show a recorded film clip of a prominent or up-and-coming act from England, that is, bands like The Rolling Stones or the Who. The music industry was always on the lookout for the next Beatle-like invasion.

It was on one of these particular Saturdays that David saw something on Robin Seymour's Swinging Time that would influence him and affect the nature of his guitar playing for the rest of his musical life. As David was watching the television program, Robin Seymour introduced a new up-and-coming artist that he said was from London, England by the name of Jimi Hendrix; he played a film clip of the band "The Jimi Hendrix Experience" performing "Foxy Lady" with psychedelic backgrounds and Rock-n-Roll guitar playing like no one had ever seen or heard before. Jimi Hendrix and his band were dressed like mod-rockers, and no one had ever seen a Black musical artist play Rock music like they did. David watched the whole performance in a state of awe. After being exposed to the sight and sound of Jimi Hendrix, David now had a guitar icon that he – and probably the rest of aspiring guitar players around the country and around the world – would spend a great deal of their careers trying to measure up to. After Jimi Hendrix's introduction to America, the mod-hippie rocker movement exploded in full force in White America and – thanks to Hendrix – had penetrated the Black communities as well. On its way out were "dos" and two or three-piece suits. On their way in were big Afros, bell-bottom pants, colorful shirts, and peace signs promoting anti-war, anti-violence, and anti-establishment causes.

In the early spring of 1968, we Hackney brothers were dealing with the growing pains (and joys) of becoming young men. Earl Jr. had handed over the paper routes to us. After the 1967 Riots, we were forced to give up the nighttime Mack Street paper route. David and Dannis left the paper route business for better paying "teenage" jobs. I, however, continued on in the paper route business with an afternoon, after-school two- block neighborhood paper route closer to home on Montclair Street, which was three blocks away from Lillibridge Street. During previous summer vacations, Dannis had spent the majority of his time in Cleveland, Ohio visiting Majora's sister and brother-in-law, Laverne and Lawrence Shanklin, and playing with their only son, Anthony – or as we used to call him, "Buster". But as for the other three seasons of the year, David spent his time acquiring the majority of his education on the streets of Detroit after having decided to drop out of high school. While on the streets, he had the chance to hang out with old Blues guitar players and learn various musical styles.

By the beginning of the spring of 1968, it was clear that the year would be a very challenging one. The new so- called "Hippie Movement" was in full swing, the Vietnam War was the focus of protest in every sector of society, and riots were sporadically breaking out in various inner-city Black communities throughout the country. The Civil Rights Movement had taken a new twist as Martin Luther King, Jr. was crying out non-violence to the Black communities across the country and Malcolm X, a rival Black leader who had affiliated himself with the Black Muslim Movement, was crying out to the same ears to obtain and take rights "by any means necessary". Malcolm X's message resonated strongly with young radicals, who were disgruntled with the government, and especially the President, Lyndon Johnson.

But for us Hackney boys and three Hackney girls, life was about to take a drastic turn that would change the course and direction of our lives forever. Two distinct events were about to happen to our family in the spring of 1968. The first event would be collectively felt not only by every American, but also by every person around the world. The other event, however, was to have a profoundly personal effect on the Hackney family.

The first event occurred on a warm April evening. As Majora and the kids were watching a prime time television show on CBS, the all to familiar CBS logo – with the words "This Is A Special Report" written in giant type – suddenly interrupted the program. Our family once again braced for the news, as we – and so many Americans – had done so many times before during these past four years , with a nervous sigh of "what now?" Special reports in the 1960s could be about any number of things going on at the time, and when, in those few seconds of seeing that logo and the words "Special Report", many things would race through your mind: Has the president been shot? Has another riot broken out in a major city? Is the Vietnam War escalating? Is there another protest march that turned ugly? All kinds of things would go through your mind in just those few seconds. But on this particular night, when those words flashed on the TV screen, Walter Cronkite came on and announced to America that Martin Luther King, Jr. had been shot in Memphis by a sniper, and that he had died en route to the hospital. Our whole household was in a state of shock, just as it had been upon hearing the news of President Kennedy's assassination in 1963. And yet this time, it was kind of an expected shock, as Martin Luther King's life had reportedly been threatened so often – almost on a daily basis – prior to this night. I'll never forget the fear and hopeless anger that we all felt. We were all afraid that Detroit would break out into another riot like it had done in 1967.

Once again music, fun, and life in general were washed away in a blur of fear, anxiety, and uncertainty. The only place to turn for any answers and comfort was from within the family. Earl Sr. summoned us over to his house and tried to explain the event from a Biblical standpoint. We watched the funeral procession on TV, and saw Martin Luther King's coffin on a cart being pulled by a donkey with what seemed to be an endless sea of people marching slowly behind it. As we watched the procession, I remember – quite clearly – my Dad putting his hand on my shoulder and saying: "You see all those people following that funeral cart Doc? Well, one day, when you get to be my age, you're going to see a leader come on the scene that the whole world will be following after, but they will find out he won't be a good man like Martin Luther King was". That's all I remember him saying to me about the whole tragic event; he never spoke about it again.

During the rest of the spring of 1968, Detroit – like the rest of America – was struggling to get past the events of April and wondering whether another volatile summer was about to take place; the memory of the 1967 Riots was still fresh. The music that came out that year seemed to usher in a new movement, feeling, and overall vibe. The grown-ups and parents were calling it "hippie music". Radio stations were playing songs by Jimi Hendrix, who by this point had already become the psychedelic hippie music icon. Janis Joplin, The Doors, and The Who were also getting tremendous airplay on Detroit radio stations. Broadcasting to the Black community, a new song by a one of the first multi-racial and multi-gender bands called "Sly And The Family Stone" was burning up the charts. The song was called "Dance To The...