Whenever I played Columbus, Ohio, I dropped in to see my close friend, a medium who had mysterious powers. Her Indian guide was Mohawk.

The big compliment came from the beer drinkers who didn't know me. They wouldn't drink or move when I sang. If they had their glasses in mid-air, the glasses wouldn't come down.

There was one emotional outlet my people always had when they had the blues. That was singing.

We never had a bathtub. Mom would bathe me in the wooden or tin washtub in the kitchen, or in a big lard can.

Somehow, the things my mother wanted to do, the release in evangelism she sought with such frenzy, were transferred to me.

We are all gifted. That is our inheritance.