by Jerry Honigman
Charles Ward was everywhere.
Everywhere you went around town, there was Charles. With his camera. With his ponytail. With his fingernails (for picking). With his friendship.
Once, we were talking about the first concerts we ever attended. I said mine was the Yardbirds at the Rapides Parish Coliseum on Dick Clark’s 1966 Caravan of Stars with Gary Lewis and the Playboys, Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs, Jimmy Clanton (“Venus in Blue Jeans”), Bryan Hyland (“Sealed with a Kiss”), and Bobby Hebb (“Sonny”). Turns out, Charles was there, too.
Charles was everywhere.
A ubiquitous presence at Spirit’s where he memorialized the comings and goings of the patrons as well as every player of every note to grace the musical stage there. He would also take the stage with his loose collection of bandmates comprising Reverend Charlie’s Patent Medicine Show.
He loved music. He loved his musical family. Proud father of Thomas, loving brother to his siblings, musical mentor to his nephew, Eric. He searched for and found Tiffany, reuniting her with the family and adding to their musical legacy.
He would do anything for anybody. A techno and cyber whiz, he was also pretty smart, coming to the rescue for me and others not so savvy in those areas.
It’s very difficult, if not impossible, to find anyone with anything negative to say about The Rev. And the outpouring of kind words and love since his passing has made this abundantly evident.
But, listen up, kids. Don’t be sad. As Charles flies on to his next world and transitions to his next state, don’t worry about a thing. He’s not gone.
He’s everywhere.
