This column originally appeared in June 2009.
November 7, 1961, on the heels of recording what was arguably his best jazz album ever, Ray Charles checked in to the Downtown Sheraton-Lincoln Hotel. His band stayed in the old black Claypool Hotel. That night, Ray got a call from a man he didn’t know who offered to sell him drugs. Ray told him to come on over, and when he did, he bought pot from him, along with a dozen $3 capsules of heroin. The next day, Ray and the band traveled to Anderson for a concert at the new high school gym, “The Wigwam.” Ray played it and rode back to Indianapolis. The band mates got Ray to his room and then rode off to see Aretha Franklin perform at the Pink Poodle.
The next morning at 9 a.m., Ray was awakened by a knock on the door. He ignored it but the knock soon turned into a pounding on the door.
Ray asked, “Who is it?”
“Western Union” was the reply.
Still half asleep and dressed only in his underwear, Ray cautiously opened the door. Two Indianapolis Police Department detectives rushed in and claimed they had received a tip from an anonymous drug dealer that there were illegal drugs in the room. A search quickly found what they were looking for: Ray’s leather zippered “fix” bag containing a syringe, hypodermic needles and the heroin capsules they knew would be there. They also located a cold cream jar that contained marijuana. They charged Ray with a violation of the 1935 Indiana Narcotics act and for being a “common addict,” a charge meant more to humiliate Ray than to punish him.
When the narcs pulled up Ray’s sleeves, they discovered what they described in court as “the worst track marks they’d ever seen.” The officers led Ray out to the waiting police car and quickly took him to police headquarters a short distance away. There they fingerprinted and photographed their celebrity prisoner and brazenly let the press in to take pictures of the humiliated and confused musician.
The reporters yelled out questions at the helpless young man. “How did you get started on drugs, Ray?”
“I started using stuff when I was 16” Ray said as the tears rolled down his cheeks from under the dark glasses that hid his eyes. “When I first started in show business. Then I had to have more and more.” Apparently ashamed by his statement and situation, he started to cry even harder now saying, “I don’t know what to do about my wife and kids. I’ve got a month’s work to do and I have to do it.”
Then Ray stumbled back to the old excuses all junkies use; “I really need help. Nobody can lick this by themselves. I’ll go to Lexington (narcotics hospital). It might do me some good. I guess I’ve always wanted to go, but it was easier to go the other way. A guy who lives in the dark has to have something to keep him going. The grind is just too much.” Referring to drug business in the music industry, Ray said, “Believe me, there are a lot bigger guys than me who are hooked a lot worse.”
Then Ray regained some of his old fire as he talked about the informant who turned him in by saying, “Whoever he was, it was a dirty trick for him to pull.” Unbelievably, a reporter asked Ray if he’d like to see his kids using drugs. Ray began to cry again and said, “It’s a rotten business.”
Luckily the sideshow lasted only a few hours. Ray was released on $130 cash bond the next morning. As Ray left the jail, he covered his head with his overcoat from reporters. He left for a gig in Evansville that night, hoping to put the Indianapolis nightmare far behind him. Ray’s bandmates staying at the Claypool Hotel heard the news of Ray’s arrest on the radio that same morning. As they poured out into the hallways to talk about the situation, Ray came walking in. “Let’s get outta here, man” was all Ray said. They quickly packed their gear and started out on the two-hour trip to southern Indiana.
At the Evansville concert that night, reporters swarmed over Ray backstage just before the show. Frustrated, Ray jumped up and down with his fists clenched as if he were skipping rope sometimes squatting so low that it was feared that he’d tip over backwards. Ray claimed it was the result of nerves and lack of sleep. He regained his composure and patiently answered the inevitable questions hurled at him by reporters. No, he had no idea how much money he’d spent on drugs in his lifetime, “That’s like asking how much you spend on cigarettes.” Ray claimed that he’d been misquoted and that he hadn’t been an addict since age 16, “It ain’t been that long, not near that long.” When asked what he planned to tell the judge the next morning when he went back to Indianapolis, Ray said, “I’ll deny everything, you can quote me.”
News of the arrest spread fast, especially in the black press. As Ray arrived at Municipal Court for his scheduled appearance before Judge Ernie S. Burke, a huge mob of fans, reporters, television cameras and radio news crews were waiting for him. They jammed the halls of the courthouse, causing such a spectacle that Judge Burke threatened loudly to clear the courtroom and the building. Judge Burke dropped the “common addict” charge and set Ray’s trial date on the drug possession charge for January 4, 1962, releasing Ray on $1,000 bond.
As Ray left the courtroom, he told reporters, “I don’t feel up to answering questions about my life or this event,” then left Indiana for Nashville, Tenn. The controversy followed Ray for the rest of the tour. Ed Sullivan immediately canceled an appearance by Ray on his TV show and several concert venues canceled Ray’s scheduled gigs. But it was nothing compared to the carnival atmosphere of Indianapolis.
Ray Charles would return to Indianapolis twice more in 1962 to clear up the drug bust. On January 9, 1962, Ray made his first appearance in court to answer the charges. He sat uncomfortably in a courtroom packed with media and fans, at times gently rocking back and forth with his head bowed and his hands tucked between his knees. Ray’s lawyer spent this session attacking the police for entering Ray’s room under false pretenses and with no warrant.
Three weeks later, Ray returned for a five minute session as Judge Burke ruled the police search illegal and dismissed the charges. Even though Ray was a celebrity, he still had the same constitutional rights as every American citizen. Ray left the Hoosier courtroom for the last time with a general “No comment” to the press.
Ironically, at the time of his Indianapolis arrest in November 1961, Ray’s single “Hit the Road Jack” was in the top ten of the Billboard charts. When he walked out of that courtroom in January 1962, Ray’s single “Unchain My Heart” was in the Billboard Top Ten.
Al Hunter is the author of the “Haunted Indianapolis” and co-author of the “Haunted Irvington” and “Indiana National Road” book series. His newest books are “Bumps in the Night. Stories from the Weekly View,” “Irvington Haunts. The Tour Guide,” and “The Mystery of the H.H. Holmes Collection.” Contact Al directly at Huntvault@aol.com or become a friend on Facebook.
