Adams then introduced Clint Eastwood. "To look at him, you're like kind of a square," he said. "But in reality, he's kind of a swinger." Eastwood, in fact, is known as a jazz lover.
"He was called a genius," Eastwood said. "I don't know what a genius is." But he said Charles had talent, plenty of it, "and nobody had a stronger work ethic than Ray Charles," who performed more than 10,000 concerts in his career and had not missed a tour in 53 consecutive years, until he was forced to cancel his remaining travel in 2003 for health reasons. "I was very proud to be his friend," Eastwood said.
Wynton Marsalis plays during funeral services for Ray Charles at First African Methodist Episcopal Church in Los Angeles.
(Pool Photo Reed Saxon Via AP)
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Dressed in black, Willie Nelson came to the podium, and accompanied by a piano sang "Georgia" for Charles, slowing the tempo way, way down, keeping his phrasing sparse, lonesome as a stretch of empty road. When he reached the lyrics, early in the song, about how "a song of you comes as sweet and clear as moonlight through the pines," Nelson wavered, but got through it, and then the harmonica player wailed, and someone in the church was praising it, saying, "Right now, all right now, blow it, blow it!"
After he was finished, Nelson told the story about how he and Charles loved to play chess (Charles was an expert) and how the blind musician always, always beat him. Finally, Nelson said he pleaded with his opponent, "Next time we play, Ray, can we turn on the lights?"
Stevie Wonder came next, and said, "I never thought I'd write a song that Ray Charles would sing, but God knew more." Wonder said he was sad that Charles had not lived long enough to see hate and injustice leave this world. He sang "I Won't Complain," a gospel tune. "Sometimes my clouds hang low and I can hardly see the road," goes the verse, but he picked it up with the refrain, "I say thank you Lord, I say thank you Lord," and the seats in the balcony of the church literally shuddered and bounced with the people clapping and stomping, and the choir came in.
While the mourners read from their memorial pamphlets an obituary for Charles, a recording was played of his rendition of "America the Beautiful," with its great changes of phrase and lyric, turning rote into heartfelt, reimagining the song: "Wait a minute! I'm talking about America, sweet America . . . "
Near the close, Wynton Marsalis, the great jazz trumpeter and composer from New Orleans, rose and played his horn, one-handed, before the casket and then strode down the aisle, the Crescent City jazz funeral style, and the mood bounced back.
And finally, they ended, with a recording of a duet by Johnny Mathis and Charles, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," from the last album he recorded, still unreleased, and mourners walked past the open casket. And there was Ray Charles, in a crisp black tux and tie, his hands -- those strong fingers, thick with muscle -- folded upon his belly, a pair of dark, cool, wraparound shades around his eyes, and his expression: It wasn't a smile, but it wasn't a frown, either.
Charles was buried later at Inglewood Cemetery. En route, his hearse briefly paused outside the doors of his recording studio, now a historic landmark.
