Mount Neboh Church and Harlem say Goodbye to Freddie Jackson

African American adherents of the Baptist faith believe wholeheartedly in making a “joyful noise unto the Lord.” On Monday morning, for none was this ever a truer imperative than among members of Mount Neboh Baptist Church who gathered with loved ones and admirers to celebrate the well-lived life of their dearly departed brother, Frederick Anthony “Freddie” Jackson. 

A legend to devotees of R & B music, never married, to those who questioned his sexuality, Jackson insisted his “relationship with God was the only thing that mattered [regarding my] personal identity.” In September 2024, saying he wanted to “help raise awareness,” Jackson disclosed that he had been diagnosed with kidney disease.

Renowned for their gospel choir, Mount Neboh is a favorite destination of European and Asian tourists visiting from abroad. Like many Harlem houses of worship, it inhabits a highly historic edifice. Designed by Edward I. Shire as Temple Ansche Chesed, a synagogue, it was erected in 1909. Because of the builders’ desire to obscure their identity as outsiders, as Jews were often considered then, it was deliberately designed to resemble a neo-Classical early-18th-century London church. Reflecting rapidly changing demographic shifts, the dignified pillared building was sold in 1927. As Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal Spanish Roman Catholic Church, it served Puerto Rican immigrants. Since 1980, the building, which still retains architectural details indicative of its Jewish and Roman Catholic heritage, has served as the home of Mount Neboh, a Baptist congregation first established 81 years ago. 

It was clear from the 10 a.m. start that Jackson’s leave-taking would be a moving occasion, but we were under no illusions about being committed for the long haul. Early on, one speaker admonished us, “Just because this is a tribute to Freddie Jackson, and Melba Moore and Valerie Simpson have come, do not be mistaken, it is not a concert. We are a part of a worship service here. The proceedings won’t be over in an hour.” 

At this, I laughed loudly. Joined with the guffaws of a couple hundred others, also aware of the ways of Baptist churches, I was completely drowned out. 

Aptly described by Mount Neboh’s well-known pastor, Rev. Johnny Melvin Green, as the church’s most famous congregant, the acclaimed singing artist, actor, and songwriter was extolled as a native son. “He grew up, right here in the Village of Harlem, right here in our church,” proclaimed Green. His sermon was a stirring one, taking as its scriptural text Psalm 96: a mandate to “Sing a new song to the Lord, and let the entire Earth join in …”

For those who know Black preaching traditions, it was no surprise that Green began by joking. Directly appraising her as he spoke, he said, “I saw Valerie Simpson seated on a plane coming home once. I wanted to ask her for her autograph, but in my mind, I heard my son saying to me, ‘Daddy, don’t act like you don’t know nothin.’” 

As he continued, there was a dramatic buildup. Entire segments of Green’s message started to be sung with a roaring cadence. His sermon became as emotion-filled and laden with musical emphasis as any of the songs that were sung. “Freddie was more than a singer,” Green said. “He bestowed comfort and he helped others, too. He gave them memories of the events highlighting a lifetime. He helped them to articulate feelings they otherwise did not know, with mere words, just how to express.” Prompting yet more knowing laughter, he continued. “Many of you ’80s and ’90s babies — Freddie was responsible for that, too!”

He was referencing Jackson’s oeuvre of chart-topping classics. Invariably outpourings of love and passion, they include “Rock Me Tonight (For Old Times Sake)” (1985), “Have You Ever Loved Somebody” (1986), “Jam Tonight” (1986), “Do Me Again” (1990), and, perhaps most memorably, “You Are My Lady.” This love ballad is so associated with Jackson that when it was sung during the service, everyone present joined in, leaping to their feet for an ovation at its end.

If Melba Moore spoke of her mentorship helping to guide a young Jackson, of the depths of their friendship, and his great generosity, Valerie Simpson reiterated it. She spoke of how he stepped up and aided her when she needed help most. In her widowhood, when she so often needed an escort, or the humor of a joke to maintain sanity when facing an overwhelming loss, he was there.

I asked my longtime colleague and friend, State Senator Cordell Cleare about her fondest memory of Freddie Jackson. “It was his always being so real and down to earth,” she said, smiling. “There was nothing brand-new about him.” 

Explaining just how Jackson’s signature song came into being, composer Barry Eastmond was movingly poignant. “‘Can he sing?’ I asked when requested to write a song for him,” he recalled. “I was instructed to go hear Freddie on the piers where he was performing with Melba Moore. I was so blown away. I thought, ‘I have never heard a voice like this.’ I determined, ‘I must write a song for him’ and did, in just a couple hours. Ordinarily, I don’t do the lyrics for a song. I have someone else do that. But when I finished the music, I couldn’t let the song go. 

“Then I called and asked if he could come by to hear the song. The next day, he comes to the house. That first time we met, Freddie was so full of energy, but after I sing the song for him, silence! ‘Oh, no, he doesn’t like it. I’ll have to write a new song for him,’ I thought. But then he said to me: ‘If you give that song to anyone else, I’ll never speak to you again!’”

Paul Lawrence Jr., responsible for writing Jackson’s first big success, “Rock Me Tonight,” was similarly warm. 

In concluding her resounding rendition of the hymn “Amazing Grace,” Alyson Williams quipped, “What am I going to do about potato salad? Freddie always brought the best potato salad.” 

Was it all a big performance, a concert, or devout worshipping? What did it matter? Monday, from 10 a.m. to half-past 1, Freddie Jackson’s funeral was the best place to be to experience love and joy in Harlem.