Shotguns, PCP, and the drug-fuelled 1988 car chase that sent James Brown to jail and killed his career
It was a sunny morning in 1988, and September was fulfilling its promise of being the best of all seasons at once. Gerald Hafina, a proud and upstanding citizen of the State of Georgia, was tending to his lawn when the tranquillity of the balmy day was shattered by a flashy car tearing through the leafy neighbourhood with police in hot pursuit.
While this was far from an everyday occurrence, the real reason Gerald’s jaw hit the floor was that the man behind the wheel appeared to be none other than James Brown. ‘That was the bloody Godfather of Funk was speeding through town’, Gerald thought.
The ‘Man’s World’ musician was always a daring performer. In fact, some would claim that he even perpetrated a crime against The Rolling Stones and every other act which he wiped the floor with when he delivered a set of such explosive bravura on The TAMI Show that Sputnik was in danger of being taken out of orbit. But the answer to how he sustained his supersonic energy levels would soon become clear. The ‘sex machine’ was fuelled by more than a morning coffee.
It wasn’t 1964 anymore, though, and a life of such highs was beginning to take a toll. By the time the 1980s swung into the picture, the Godfather of Funk was looking a bit less like a grooving Don Vito Corleone and more like a dysfunctional Tony Montana. The hits were drying up, IRS disputes had collapsed his business empire, and he was now barely involved with his songs, let alone functioning as one of the greatest songwriters in history. It seemed Mr Dynamite was finally set to explode.
His tumultuous times finally came to the fore that summer morning. It was a day that startled many an idle citizen in the south. And it would have lasting ripples. In fact, the funk star would eventually embark on a remarkable six-year prison sentence as a result. While there is nothing that noteworthy about wild times ending up behind bars, we are so used to stars skirting a sentence that the notion of Brown in orange overalls is an image that you can hardly reconcile.
Cutting to the chase
The bizarre incident that led to his incarceration was as surreal as it was odious. Brown’s business empire may have been struggling, but his offices on Broad Street in downtown Augusta remained a personal sanctuary. He would go there routinely for a sense of retreat. However, his activities didn’t always align with typical workday affairs. That much became evident when he stormed into the insurance company next door, allegedly high on PCP, and accused strangers from their side of the building of using his toilet.
There was no obvious reason why he had reached this conclusion, but his bathroom was sacred, and he was absolutely furious about its alleged misuse. Yet, this was much more than a mere office confrontation that could be passed off with a few shrugs and an ‘HR investigation’. The major engine of escalation was that he was also waving a shotgun around.
Folks scrambled to alert the authorities in the neighbouring office. The novelty of having a funk icon next door had eroded with eerie rapidity. When the police arrived, the irate Brown made it clear that his erratic behaviour was not about to abate anytime soon. In fact, it was set to amplify like the finale to one of his flaming concerts.
His showmanship was fine when The Rolling Stones were crying for mercy, but now his bravura had spiralled out of control and entered an ugly territory. His ego had left the stage and entered debauched everyday oblivion in a world where he wasn’t under a spotlight as an otherworldly star but rather another ordinary fellow under the same September sun as Gerald. He had to abide by the rules, and he was stubbornly refusing to do so.
As if the shotgun-waving incident hadn’t been dangerous enough, the Godfather of Funk soon put more lives at risk. With a keen working knowledge of the office layout, he fled from the police through the back door and found his way to his vehicle. Tires skidded, and the familiar squeal of rubber on asphalt marked the sound of the most star-studded police chase in recent history. He led law enforcement on a high-speed pursuit through Georgia and South Carolina.
At one point, he openly tried to ram the police cars off the road with his pickup truck. The pursuing officers subsequently shot out two of his tyres, but the deranged Brown somehow managed to drive on for another six miles on the rims alone. When his car finally ground to an unceremonious halt, and he was arrested, further details came to light. Strange incidents had been escalating for some time, marking a truly tempestuous period in Brown’s life, effectively culminating in the end of his career.
For instance, his wife already had an existing lawsuit filed against him for riddling her $35,000 mink coat with bullet holes. Other incidents reported by his peers painted a picture of a man who was perilously close to the edge. The supposed errant toilet usage was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. In the end, when he limped out of the truck, it was almost with a sigh of relief.
He served just over three years of his sentence before being released. However, his freedom was short-lived. In 1998, the exact same charges befell him when he discharged a rifle in his house and later led the attending officers on yet another high-speed chase.
Sensing that substance abuse was the cause of his downfall, the authorities ordered him to a rehab facility. However, further crimes and discrepancies would occur thereafter, signifying a tricky downturn in the funk progenitor’s chequered life. He was capable of immense highs as a performer and artist, but he certainly came tumbling down.
He would continue to perform relatively extensively throughout these whirlwind final years right up until his death in 2006 at the age of 73, but the venues were far from the lucrative spaces he had enjoyed at the height of his career, and booking agents were far from certain that he’d show up. If he did, they had one golden rule, though: stay the hell away from his designated toilet.
