Vaughn Harper, the man who lent his velvet voice to the airways of WBLS-FM while inspiring and helping so many, died peacefully July 9 after a long, courageous battle with type 2 diabetes.
The long-time resident of Teaneck, N.J., was 70.
While sitting in the audience of more than 1,000 at Riverside Church last weekend during Harper’s funeral, it became quite evident to me that an era had passed.
Before the likes of SIRIUS, YouTube and live streaming, listeners were graced with the dynamic voice of Harper on WBLS, as they showered in his positive vibrations and grooved to the music of his legendary show, “Quiet Storm,” 8 p.m. to midnight.
It never dawned on me why Harper named his show the “Quiet Storm.” Although that title is one of Smokey Robinson’s hit love songs, and Harper was offering his love to NYC through his music.
The native New Yorker born in Harlem’s Sydenham Hospital explained, “It was not a show, but a mood.” We should agree that more than a few babies were conceived during that quiet storm romantic mood. Harper’s quiet storm kept us “soft and warm.”
He grew up on Robinson’s songs such as “More Love” and “I Second That Emotion.” Harper and Robinson had a few things in common. Like Robinson, Harper had that incredible voice, he was a great dresser and he was very smooth.
Guys wanted to dress like him. When calling girls, they used their version of that deep voice while stealing Robinson’s lyrics as their own lines. There is nothing wrong with borrowing positive qualities from the best. As Frankie Crocker often stated, “Often imitated but never duplicated.”
The funeral program kept a parade of influential friends at the podium, including the Rev. Al Sharpton. One constantly repeated adjective describing Harper’s voice was “velvet.”
The moniker Velvet Voice was given to him by the esteemed entertainment writer Marie Moore, who at that time wrote for this publication. She used the description in one of her columns. She said to me, “Vaughn really liked the ‘Velvet Voice.’”
Her description came before his hiring at WBLS. She became addicted to his voice during his days as host at Leviticus International, the only Black-owned night club in Midtown Manhattan.
One night, as Harper was in the midst of an artist introduction, someone yelled out, “You have a voice that should be on radio.” Harper, as we know, had a very quick wit. Without missing a beat he replied, “Well, why don’t you hire me?”
He didn’t know the loud response came from the chief rocker Frankie Crocker, the WBLS programmer. He was hired and became a legend in his own time, which is difficult in this town, where most are looking for fame and fortune. Harper wasn’t searching for either; he just wanted to do the best job he could.
His “big deal” voice elevated him from hosting shows at Leviticus to the Apollo Theater and the Beacon Theater, and introducing stars such as The Manhattans, The Whispers and Luther Vandross at Madison Square Garden. He still continued to frequent Leviticus and host on occasion.
The former attorney for the late innovative jazz drummer Art Blakey recently shared this story with me: One night as they were listening to Harper on WBLS, Blakey noted, “If Vaughn had a singing voice like his radio voice, he can be another Billy Eckstine.”
Harper didn’t start singing, but during his illustrious career he mentored younger members of the WBLS family, such as Dr. Bob Lee, Champagne Palumbo, Shala and Fred Buggs.
He inspired generations of listeners, as well as helping artists such as Alyson Williams and Regina Bell.
WBLS was labeled “the total Black experience.” Hal Jackson, the godfather of Black radio and mentor to radio DJs across the country, would play everything from Stevie Wonder to Billie Holiday during his “Sunday Morning Classics” on WBLS.
Harper, a music historian, would play Roy Ayers and a little Ray Charles. He introduced new acts that crossed Black music genres.
To his friends and fans he was always “Vaughn,” with the big laugh, quick wit and dry humor, and he was always ready to make you laugh or do whatever he could to help you.
As the Rev. Sharpton noted, “He made all of us feel like his best friend.” That was his magic. When you saw him, he was your best buddy, and it didn’t matter that we were sharing this wonderful friendship with the multitudes.
His celebrated days at WBLS were preceded by his reputation as a talented high school basketball player at the academically acclaimed Boys High School, aka “the High,” in Brooklyn.
When Harper arrived at the High, he was being compared to the school’s star, Connie Hawkins, who had just graduated that June, 1963.
Boys High meant nothing to us in the Bronx until the High was pitted against our DeWitt Clinton High School for the championships at the old Madison Square Garden. That was Harper’s senior year, and his teammates included Eldrige Webb and Jackie Wilson.
Clinton High won the game and Harper went on to Syracuse University on a full scholarship, where he scored more than 1,000 points. He was drafted by the Detroit Pistons in 1968 but suffered a knee injury during training camp.
One summer at Harlem’s Rucker Tournament, my friend and I were in the stands and suddenly he said, “Hey, that’s Vaughn Harper sitting over there.” So he yelled, “Hey Vaughan, what’s going on?” Harper replied, “Hey man, everything is cool.”
Of course, on our return uptown to Edenwald Projects, we told everyone in the park we had been hanging out with Vaughn Harper at the Rucker.
For that moment and the following few days, we became the envy of the projects based on a little exaggeration about the legendary baller.
The guest performers, who gave standing-ovation performances, included Valerie Simpson, Gerald Alston, Melba Moore and Regina Bell. Tributes were offered by Assemblyman Keith Wright, Debi Jackson, Lloyd Williams, Charles Warfield, G. Keith Alexander, Johnny Allen and Harper’s childhood friend Sam Penceal.
Harper’s wife Sandra, aka Sam, seemed to be an instant match from the moment they met. Not sure if he was singing “Hey Love” or “I Was Made to Love Her,” but their love blossomed into “You Can Depend on Me.”
Now, it’s time to say, in your words, “Bye.” You now become the glowing star we see in the night, and we mere mortals will revel in your quiet storm as when flowers talk at the break of dawn in awe of your velvet voice.