I admit I was torn. You see, coincidentally, I'm a proud graduate of Berkeley High. Nobody wants to see their alma mater beaten.
But Philly needed a day to exhale. This hasn't been an easy start to 2012, and I'm not just talking about losing our celebrities.
It's been hard out there.
So for the city, the Soul Train line was a let-it-all-hang-out dance purge. A way to prove to the rest of the country that we can produce a peaceful gathering - not just violent encounters.
I'm not about to forsake my California roots, but for one crisp, clear winter day, I was prepared to make myself a member of Philly's Soul Train gang.
As it turned out, they didn't even need me. And I was stretched and hydrated, too.
I've never seen so many hot pants (over tights; it wasn't that warm) since the '70s.
Thigh-high boots and platforms. Patchwork leather jackets, suspenders. Glitter bell bottoms. Afro wigs and more Afro wigs.
Soul Train was about more than music. It showcased African American culture and fashion, a snapshot in time, complete with a banging beat.
"Let us remember what Don Cornelius did for African Americans, but for all Americans," Mayor Nutter said of the visionary, "to show folks who we were and what we were all about."
Yes, the mayor showed up, though not in bell bottoms and the apple cap he said he'd been saving for the last 40 years. But Mixmaster Mike did high-five his way down the Soul Train line to "Rapper's Delight," as did Rep. Bob Brady, always game to get into the mix; a waving Councilwoman Blondell Reynolds Brown; and Sheriff Jewell Williams, strutting while combing out his Afro wig with a pick.
Organizer Manwell Glenn, a radio host on WURD, had predicted a big turnout for the event, hosted by Radio One. It took roughly a week from the time he came up with the idea until receiving proper clearance from the city to spread the word.
