Walter Barnes

Walter Barnes was an important figure in history for several reasons.

Mr. Barnes was a popular columnist, writing for The Defender, a Chicago based weekly newspaper founded in 1905 by Robert S. Abbott for primarily African-American readers. Historically, The Defender is considered the most important paper of what was then known as the colored or Negro press.

Walter Barnes & His Royal Creolians became the first black band to broadcast in Chicago, over the radio station WHFC.

Barnes’s writings became the guide for traveling black bands in the South, opening a new frontier to the black band business.

Barnes’s greatness as an entertainer stemmed from his ability to exploit his audience’s desires. He became Duke Ellington to the smaller dance halls of the South.

Trapped in a seething furnace, Walter Barnes gave the world an example of courage seldom equaled.

Barnes was born in Vicksburg on July 8, 1905, one of fifteen children. Barnes’s big family joined The Great Migration in 1922 to the North, and Walter completed his education in Chicago, hitting the books and his horn charts. He picked up the clarinet and saxophone, studying at the Chicago Musical College and in private sessions with Franz Schoepp, a classical clarinet tutor who instructed Benny Goodman and Buster Bailey.

Walter turned pro in 1926 and joined Jelly Roll Morton’s band. By the latter part of the decade, he’d graduated to bandleader and determined that his success relied on the patronage of white hustlers and began to front the house band at Al Capone’s Cotton Club in Cicero, Illinois. Capone called Barnes by his family nickname, “Brother,” and tore down barriers for Barnes. Capone sent Barnes to a Chicago radio station to arrange a broadcast from The Cotton Club. The station manager replied, “We don’t air colored.” Capone accompanied Brother on the follow-up. Capone countered, “You do now.”

As Barnes and his band wound down their latest long tour, word reached them that a gig had been added, April 23, 1940 at The Rhythm Club in Natchez. 11:30 that night, the orchestra stopped. Barnes saw flames dance up the wall and split across the ceiling. To the seven hundred dancers, he called, “You can all get out if you remain calm.” Barnes almost certainly did not know that the sponsors of the dance had shuttered every window and barricaded all but one door. Nor did he know that the Spanish moss, strung fancifully through the rafters and down the support posts, had been sprayed with kerosene-based insect repellent. Nevertheless, from his spot on the bandstand, it must have been obvious that he could not escape The Rhythm Club alive. Barnes stood firm on the stage, and called for his band to begin “Marie.”

Screams drowned out the lilting music as fire engulfed The Rhythm Club. The people stampeded, plugging the only exit. They smashed the boarded windows with furniture, and men threw their dates out to the street. The orchestra never finished “Marie.” The roof collapsed onto the stage as they played. Walter Barnes and nine of his musicians were among the 209 victims of The Natchez Rhythm Club fire. In a real sense, he died for his fans, hoping that his music could calm the frenzied crowd, and allow a few more of them to flee.

Barnes left behind his wife, Dorothy.

The Chitlin' Circuit: And The Road to Rock & Roll, written by Preston Lauterbach (2011); The Trumpet Blog, The Natchez Fire, The Remarkable Walter Barnes, by Bruce Chidchester (2013)