Remembering Whitney: A Mother’s Story of Love, Loss and the Night the Music Died. Cissy Houston
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Reebie and my father would sing and listen only to gospel, but I liked other kinds of music, too—and I loved to dance. On Saturday mornings, when Reebie and Daddy were out of the house, my sister Annie and I would play records on our old Victrola. She loved Billie Holiday and I loved Dinah Washington—who, I later discovered, had started out singing with a female gospel quartet we’d once shared a stage with. But on those Saturday mornings, Annie and I weren’t thinking about gospel music. We allowed ourselves to get lost in the romantic dreams and worldly desires described in those popular songs.
By the time I reached my teens, I was straying further into worldly temptations. I had my own little crowd of school friends, including my best friend, Jolly, who lived down the block from us. Jolly and I were pals, and sometimes we’d hang out in the after-school activity room, where kids could play ball or do arts and crafts. But Jolly also liked to go out to the neighborhood places where kids could dance.
I knew my father and Reebie wouldn’t approve, but I was tempted by the music and the fun everyone seemed to have dancing. Yet I was also frightened by some things that went on there. I’d lived a pretty sheltered life, and some of those places had hustlers and junkies lurking around. This was the world my brother William had gotten drawn into, and I’d seen what it did to him—and to my family. So, I knew I should stay away, but in the end I couldn’t resist the temptation.
Jolly and I started sneaking into one of the tamer teen spots—a place called the Green Lantern—and for a while, I had a good time drinking sodas and eating chips, dancing and playing the jukebox. That is, until one evening when Reebie caught me. She was furious, and she beat me hard for breaking the rules. I knew that it was my father who’d set those rules, and Reebie was only enforcing them, but she was just as upset as he was.
No one likes to get a beating, but in some ways I was relieved that Reebie had caught me. I had been straying from my family’s tight little circle, and although going out to those neighborhood joints felt exciting and new, I knew it could lead to a darker place. Deep down, I understood that my father had set strict rules for a good reason—to keep us safe. He did it out of love.
That’s why, even into my teenage years, my father still kept us all to a rigid daily routine. After school let out, we were expected to come straight home and take care of our chores. We were allowed to go out for a little while after that, but we had to be back home before dusk and ready to have dinner by the time Daddy got home from work. After dinner, one of us would do dishes, and then we’d rehearse while Reebie and my father supervised. And on weekends, we were usually booked to sing at some church or another, so we’d be traveling under the watchful eyes of Reebie and my father.
Music kept us busy, and being busy meant we had no time to get into trouble. And that’s exactly the way my father liked it.
Around this same time, my father told us he was getting married again. His announcement came as a shock for all of us, but particularly for the girls—Lee, Annie, Reebie, and me. I guess it was partly because we didn’t want to share our father with anyone. But it was also because Viola, the woman Daddy planned to marry, was so different from our mother. My sisters tried to talk him out of it, but he’d made up his mind. Viola knew we didn’t like her, and she was jealous of the closeness between Daddy and his children, so she aimed to do something about it.
Soon after she moved into our house, Viola convinced my father to send Nicky and Larry to live in Boston with their uncle. Then Reebie, who was twenty-five, announced that she was going to marry the man she’d been seeing for years, and just like that, she was gone, too. Nicky and Larry didn’t stay in Boston for long, but soon after they moved back, my father informed us that he and Viola were going to move. Viola was just determined to break up our family unit, the center of all our lives.
I didn’t want Daddy to move away, but I felt secure knowing that at least I’d still be with my brothers and my sister Annie. But then Daddy dropped the bombshell. He told me that I’d be moving with him and Viola, since I was too young to live in a home without adult supervision. Live with Viola? Without my brothers? This was the last straw.
I ran out of the house without even knowing where I was going. Somehow, I ended up on Charlton Street, and as I wandered past St. Luke’s, something made me turn around and go back. It was a weekday, and I could see through the door that the evening service had started. I went in and sat down in a back pew, and though I could see Reverend Odum preaching up in the pulpit, I didn’t hear a word he was saying as my mind drifted to all my problems. As I sat there feeling sorry for myself, the tears just welled up in my eyes.
I began sobbing—crying for the mother I’d lost and still missed, for being separated from Larry and Nicky, and for having to leave our home to go live with a woman that I disliked. Why did life have to be filled with so much hardship? How were we supposed to deal with all the cruelties life bestowed on us? It just seemed so hard, so unfair.
But once again, out of the ashes of something terrible, something wonderful emerged. As I sat weeping in the pew, I finally heard Reverend Odum’s voice. He was addressing the congregation, but it was as if he were talking directly to me.
“Count your blessings,” his voice rang out. I looked up, wiping my eyes.
“Yes sir! Count your blessings, young man, young woman, mother, dad. Where would you be right now if not for God? Did you wake up this morning?” the reverend shouted.
“Yes!” the congregation answered.
“Did He put the breath of life into your lungs this morning?”
“Amen,” someone yelled.
“Then give Him praise!” the reverend shouted. “Is He worthy to be praised? Then give Him praise!”
Then, over his voice, the piano rang out and the choir began singing:
Count your blessings,Name them one by one.Count your many blessings,See what God has done.
I had heard the song before, but I’d never really paid attention to the words. Suddenly, they took on new meaning. I was only fourteen, but my life flashed before me as I sat in that pew. I looked back and instead of seeing misfortune, I saw how lucky, how blessed I was. I saw how things could have gone horribly wrong, and how fortunate I was to have had a mother who loved me, and brothers and sisters, and a father who protected and sheltered me.
And I suddenly saw Him in all of them—how He loved me through each of them. Silently, I began to praise Him and give Him glory. I raised my arms, and deep inside, I felt a warmth, a glow, building, swelling … it was as if I was being transported, lifted to another level, another world. I opened my mouth and felt myself speaking, then singing and laughing for joy. It was the most joyous feeling—I could feel the Spirit coursing through my body, and I surrendered to it, as I had seen others in my church do. I gave myself to Him.
The Spirit hit me like lightning, and it was something I had never felt before; I cried out in the name of Jesus and the Holy Ghost, and they heard me. That night, they used me like never before. It was the most glorious feeling I had ever experienced.
Walking home after the service, I knew my life had changed forever. I saw the hand of the Creator in everything around me, and it was like seeing the world for the first time. God was real, I knew it, and I wanted to serve Him. I wanted to sing for Him. That evening, I realized that I’d been serving God all along; I just didn’t know what I was doing. But now, it all seemed clear. I no longer questioned His Word, His deeds—I just believed.
I began to see and share my father’s vision of the purpose of singing. Singing gospel was a ministry, an end in itself; you didn’t have to get famous or make a lot of money. I came to see that, in singing, you convince others of the reality of God and inspire the Word in others. And every song you sing also strengthens your own faith.
I also came to understand that our family’s singing together is what ultimately helped us survive. It helped keep us together, even through the hardest times. We sang together and stayed together—we held each other up. I’d always had family, but from that night at St. Luke’s onward, I had faith, too—a