On Soulful Tracks is a series dedicated to the memories and pop culture landmarks Soul Train has represented in one writer’s life. We encourage you to share your own Soul Train memories.

I’d seen, then I saw, and I’m glad I got to see it.

Seconds after the last person danced down the Soul Train line, host Don Cornelius appeared on the screen of our floor model television to introduce a guest performer. Sitting Indian-style front and center, I unfolded my legs and rubbed my bare feet on the embellished lower patterns of the wooden frame of the set.

My two teenaged sisters sat on the living room table directly behind me, with my mother on the couch behind them. As Cornelius–his suave, deep voice sounding as cool as ever–began to utter this guest’s name, my mother’s voice burst from her mouth, aggressively climbed over my sisters and buried itself in my ears.

“Turn it up, Joe!” she commanded excitedly, as I craned my neck to look at her.

I’d seen my mother smile before, but not like this. Not like she began to smile after Cornelius introduced this guest performer–Teddy Pendergrass.

Powerfully crooning hit single “I Can’t Live Without Your Love” from sixth album, 1981’s It’s Time For Love, Pendergrass pumped his early-30s hips and gyrated across the Soul Train stage.

Much to the delight of the women in attendance (and to those watching at home) Pendergrass’ shirt hung open inviting their eyes to window shop, his spicy-taco-meat-like hairy chest made their eyes water. My mother’s smile widened as she inched closer to the edge of the couch, closer to the TV, closer to Teddy. My sisters crinkled their faces and responded in unison to her behavior, “Ooooooo, Momma…!” My mother just laughed. I was too young to understand why this was funny. Months later my mother wasn’t smiling at all.

News broke that on March 18, 1982, mere days before his 32nd birthday, Teddy Pendergrass–drummer turned front man, lead vocalist for legendary soul group Harold Melvin & The Blue Notes, multi-Grammy-nominated voice behind such hits as “Close The Door,” “If You Don’t Know Me By Now,” and “Wake Up Everybody” – suffered spinal injuries in a car accident resulting in permanent paralysis from the chest down.

Then I saw my mother cry. Sitting at my grandmother’s dinning room table with the tide rising in her eyes, she read a Jet Magazine cover story about Pendergrass’ unfortunate paralyzing automobile wreck. Tears fell from her chin to the placemats below as she continued to peruse the pages. “He…is so… young,” cried my mother, born just shy of a month after Pendergrass. Though he’d score another R&B hit – “Joy” – several years following this crash, he would never gyrate across the Soul Train stage again.

My mother and I spoke on the phone after Teddy Pendergrass passed away on January 13, 2010. “You know we were the same age,” she reminded. “Yes, Momma,” I confirmed. She paused for a second before speaking again, and then said with a hint of sadness in her voice, “He was so young when he got paralyzed.” I remembered. Then she laughed, “Boy… Teddy Pendergrass was something else!” I got it this time. I also got what Teddy Pendergrass was able to do on soulful tracks. Through his voice, and his music, and his body language to music, he was able to make people emotional. My mother included.

I’m glad I got to see it.

- Mr. Joe Walker