DISGRACELAND - Chuck Berry: Systemic Racism, Sexual Depravity and the Invention of Rock ‘N’ Roll

Episode Date: November 24, 2020

Chuck Berry was imprisoned numerous times. He was a victim of violent systemic racism and accused of horrific acts of sexual depravity. He also invented rock ‘n’ roll. Chuck Berry was as complex a character as he was influential as a musician. Throughout his career he found himself in numerous dust ups with authorities; some of them justified, most of them not. And through it all, whether he cared or didn’t, Chuck Berry made great music—literally some of the greatest music ever made. To view the full list of contributors, see the show notes at www.disgracelandpod.com. To listen to Disgraceland ad free and get access to a monthly exclusive episode, weekly bonus content and more, become a Disgraceland All Access member at disgracelandpod.com/membership. Sign up for our newsletter and get the inside dirt on events, merch and other awesomeness - GET THE NEWSLETTER Follow Jake and DISGRACELAND: Instagram YouTube X (formerly Twitter)  Facebook Fan Group TikTok  See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

This is exactly right. Double Elvis. When a group of women discover they've all dated the same prolific con artist, they take matters into their own hands. I vowed. I will be his last target. He is not going to get away with this. He's going to get what he deserves. We always say that trust your girlfriends. Listen to the girlfriends.

Trust me, babe. On the Iheart radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. This season on Dear Chelsea with me, Chelsea Handler, we have some fantastic guests like Amelia Clark. When like young people come up to me and they want to be an actor or whatever. My first thing is always, can you think of anything else that you can do? Rather be disappointed in. Do that.

David O'Yellowo. I love this podcast, whether it's therapy or relationships or religion or sex or addiction or you just go straight for the guts. Dennis Leary, Gaten Matarazzo from Stranger Things, Tana Monsu, Camilla Morone, Carrie Kenny Silver, and more. Listen to these episodes of Dear Chelsea on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts,

or wherever you get your podcasts. Movies can make you feel, make you dream. Sometimes they even make you appreciate architecture. Is there anybody who's been hotter in a doorway than Elizabeth Taylor? That's the kind of analysis you'll find every week on Dear Movies I Love You, the new podcast from the Exactly Right Network. Every Tuesday, we break down the films we're crushing on, from blockbusters to deep cuts. Listen to Dear Movies I Love You on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.

Disgrace Land is a production of Double Elvis. The stories about Chuck Berry are insane. He was imprisoned numerous times, a victim of violent systemic racism, and accused. of horrific acts of sexual depravity. He also invented rock and roll, but more on that later. Chuck Berry was as complex a character as he was influential as a musician, pending some of rock and roll's earliest and most consequential hits, as well as an autobiography that reads like a first-person account of the genre's Big Bang theory.

Throughout his career, he found himself in numerous dust-ups with authorities, some of it justified, most of it not, And through it all, whether he cared or didn't, Chuck Barry made great music, literally some of the greatest music ever made. Unlike that music I played for you at the top of the show, that wasn't great music. That was a preset loop from my Melotron called Knicki's Cab Kiss, MK2. I played you that loop because I can't afford the rights to Another Day in Paradise by Phil Collins. And why would I play you that specific slice of but seriously, geez, could I afford it? Because that was the number one song in America on December 27, 1989.

And that was the day the St. Louis dispatch ran the headline, Chuck Berry taped women suit charges, leading to a series of events that would land Chuck Barry in prison for a fourth time and most certainly do irrevocable damage to his legacy. On this episode, systemic racism, sexual depravity, the invention of rock and roll, and Chuck Berry. I'm Jake Brennan, and this is disgrace land. Chuck Berry couldn't sleep. Not on his government-issued mattress anyway.

Not in the 15-by-15-foot cell with two other prisoners he was forced to shack up with. And not without sex. Horny wasn't strong enough a word. Chuck Berry was driven to distraction. Who thought it wise to staff this place with female security officers? There weren't a lot, but hell, one female was one too many. And these women were easy on the eyes. Long hair, heels, curves for days.

Chuck knew he was in trouble. So he wrote. Chuck Berry loved words, the way they showed up for him and then rolled off of his tongue and out onto the page. First as poetry, then later in life, as songs. And behind bars, he wrote both. The aptly titled No Particular Place to Go, Nadine is at you, Carol, and You Never Can Tell, were among the songs Chuck had written during his second stretch and lock up back in 1962.

This current stint was different. He was older, wiser, and had more mileage in the rear view. It was 1979, and Chuck Berry was hell-bent on using his time away to write his autobiography and to set the record straight. But the women changed everything. Chuck couldn't focus. Keeping his thoughts off sex, the kind of sex that lands you in jail or keeps you in jail,

that was a problem. There was only so much of the mess around he could do by himself. So he wrote what his fellow inmates called Chuck's Good Stories. They were pure sex, bluer than a Red Fox party record. Chuck Barry, America's greatest cultural exports since jazz, in an effort to keep himself from Spain, off of the planet from a lack of sex in the pen. Panned, down-and-dirty fuck fiction.

And as far as prison was concerned, Charles Edward Anderson Berry, aka Chuck Berry, aka the man who invented rock and roll, wasn't really bothered by him. It was the reason he was locked up that bothered him immensely. Sentenced to 120 days for tax evasion in 1979 was bunk.

He was guilty, sure, 120 grand or so unreported to, Uncle Sam is legit tax evasion, but come on. Despite previously serving two prison sentences, one, a 10-year stint of which he served three for armed robbery at the age of 17, and one for violating the man act, a beef that sent him to the federal pen for a year and a half in 1962 to serve a legit hard time. We'll get to that later.

Chuck couldn't help but think that had he not been Chuck Barry, the rock and roller, he would have been given the opportunity to work out a deal with authorities for the relatively harmless white-collar crime he had committed. Chuck knew that the real reason he was in jail was because he was a black man who enjoyed his freedom just a little too freely in a white man's world. But being alone, nah, it wasn't all that bad. Chuck was used to it. In fact, he preferred it. From an early age, he learned to occupy that big brain of his first with the family radio, sitting alone as a 12-year-old in his living room at 4-319 Labity Street in St. Louis, Missouri, listening to various jazz, blues, big band, and boogie-woogie artist popular at the time.

Ella Fitzgerald, Big Joe Turner, Benny Goodman, Jelly Roll Morton, and Fats Waller were among his favorites. Then, with his camera, his friend Harry had a dark room and Chuck loved it. The solitude, the attention to detail, the way it slowed down the world around him. And of course, the way it sped up his heart rate, whenever pinup photos circulated through in need of development. women, some of them white, and nearly see-through lingerie flirting with him from beyond the lens. Out of the dark room, they were strictly off limits, but here, among the smell of the Eastman-Codak chemicals, and within the climate-controlled temperature, he could at least speak to them if nothing else. Chuck dug the singular nature of it all.

It gave him time to think about the things that teenage boys think about, to think about where he was, who he was, and what he wanted out of his life. and it gave him time to think about poetry. He put poems together in his head to pass the time, and soon he would begin to think about that poetry as music. Being alone was where it was at. It was how Chuck liked it. Even years later, while he was at the height of his success

and financially able to employ bands big enough to rival his beloved Count Basie's orchestra, Chuck preferred, no, insisted on traveling alone. With no band, just him, his guitar, in an open road. He didn't even carry a guitar chord, never mind an amplifier. He'd roll from town to town in one of his late model coffee color Cadillac's Stone Alone. No manager, no roadie, no handlers, and no accompanying musicians. At about 30 minutes before showtime, he'd pull up to whatever 10 to 20,000 capacity venue he was headlining that night near the backstage entrance, park, wherever the hell he wanted,

waltz into the promoter's office confidently and politely demand payment in advance, in cash, and usually, under the threat of not performing, extort an extra $1,000 cherry on top before going on stage. Once satisfied that the pockets of his polyester bell bottoms were properly lined, he'd walk on stage with his Gibson ES 335, straight past his backing band,

a combo of local musicians he'd yet to meet who stood, scared, shitless, with their instruments ready for the great Chuck Barry's cue. Chuck would then plug his guitar to whatever amp the promoter had set up for him and proceeded to tune his guitar, loudly, in front of the entire auditorium, and then, without having said one word or making any eye contact at all with this new band, he'd launch into one of his classic opening riffs and dragged the terrified musicians along with him

for a clumsy but exhilarating ride. Even on stage, playing with other people in front of thousands of fans, he was alone, in his own head while playing the hits and mugging for the crowd, occasionally allowing himself to get lost and tearing the ass out of one of his caters. our solos. If he was really feeling it, by mid-set, he turned to his band and playfully shout, play for that money, boys. And if they were lucky and good, he'd kick a grand back to them after the show on top of whatever the promoter was paying. But more often than not, he was gone after the last encore without a word, usually before the house lights were even on, sometimes before the band had

even finished the outro to his last song, drifting off down some American highway into the night. words moving through his head in slow motion. His guitar at its case strapped in vertically in the passenger seat to his right, but otherwise, totally alone. There's two golden rules that any man should live by. Rule one, never mess with a country girl. You play stupid games, you get stupid prizes. And rule two, never mess with her friends either.

We always say that trust your girlfriends. I'm Anna Sinfield. And in this new season of The Girlfriends, Oh my God, this is the same man. A group of women discover they've all dated the same prolific con artist. I felt like I got hit by a truck. I thought, how could this happen to me? The cops didn't seem to care.

So they take matters into their own hands. I said, oh, hell no. I vowed. I will be his last target. He's going to get what he deserves. Listen to the Girlfriends. Trust me, babe. On the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, wherever you get your podcast.

This season on Dear Chelsea, with me, Chelsea Handler, we have some fantastic guests like Amelia Clark. When, like, young people come up to me and they want to be an actor or whatever, my first thing is always, can you think of anything else that you can do? Rather be disappointed in. Do that. Dennis Leary. I wake up and I'm hitting him in the head with a water bomb.

And Bruce Jenner is on the aisle in a karate stance like he's about. to attack me, like, making karate noises. And his entire the Kardashians family over there, everybody's going, and the air marshal is trying to grab my arms and screaming. I immediately know that I've been asleep walking. David O'Yello. I love this podcast, whether it's therapy or relationships or religion or sex or addiction or you just go straight for the guts.

Guy Branham. So anyway, Nicole Kidman broke up with Keith Thurban. Being half of a country couple was always a hat she was going to wear, not like a life she was going to lead. Oh, interesting. I like that. Did you practice that on your way over? Gaten Matarazzo from Stranger Things. Tena Monjou.

Camilla Morone, Carrie Kenny Silver, and more. Listen to these episodes of Dear Chelsea on the Iheart Radio app, Apple Podcast, or wherever you get your podcasts. Remember when you'd walk into your local video rental place and there were always those two employees behind the counter arguing about movies? Well, that's us. I'm Millie to Cherico. And I'm Casey O'Brien. And now we're arguing about movies on our podcast,

Dear Movies I Love You, from the Exactly Right Network. Can I say something about the criterion closet? Go ahead, dude. They're letting too many people in there. Okay, that's another film grape I got two. Sadly, that rental place doesn't exist anymore. It's probably a store that sells, running shoes. Or an ice cream shop with an extra pee and an E at the end.

So consider us your slacker movie clerks in podcast form. I would like to establish a timeline of the moment you figured out who Channing Tatum was. Every Tuesday, we dig into the movies we can't stop obsessing over it, from hidden gems to big screen favorites. New episodes drop every week on the exactly right network. Listen to Dear Movies I Love You on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever. you get your podcasts. Chuck Barry didn't need a band. He was Chuck Berry. Bands were just another expense, another hassle,

and who needed more hassle? Life was filled with them, going back as far as he could remember, especially in St. Louis, Missouri in the 1930s and 40s. It wasn't quite the deep south, but it was a racist social construct filled with hassles from as early as Chuck could remember. White cops were suspicious of everything you did, everywhere you went. Chuck learned to live with it. He had to, and there was no other choice, but it wasn't easy, especially as he hit puberty. A young man's hormones don't see him black and white, but any sort of interracial romantic relationship was strictly taboo and likely to land a young black man in jail or worse swinging from a rope at the end of a poplar tree. In St. Louis at the time,

if a black man and a white woman were stopped by a cop, they were at the very least immediately hauled into the police station for mandatory venereal disease shots. A young Chuck tried not to stare at the bat. If he fixated on it, they'd be more likely to use it. Under the high watt fluorescent light bulb in the St. Louis District Police headquarters interrogation room, he tried not to look at anything at all, but his eyes just couldn't help glancing back to the bat. The 1949 Louisville Slugger was an especially strong baseball bat. But in the years following World War II, after having served its country by supplying

the U.S. Army with wooden gunstocks and billy clubs, the Louisville Slugger Company took its wartime knowledge and improved upon what was previously considered perfect, the Model 125. Turning it out of select second-growth ashwood, Louisville Slugger created a new batch of incredibly powerful bats, the stick of choice for all-timers like Joe DiMaggio and Ted Williams. Oil tempered with a distinct saddle-tanned finish, the 1949 model 125, being born from war, was imbued with violence. Chuck Berry knew none of this as he sweated and kept looking to and fro, trying to find some appropriate place for his eyes to land

as he tried not to stare at the men across the table from him in a confrontational way or at that damn baseball bat. All he could think of were his brains being painted onto the wall of the police sergeant positioned above him with the Model 125 Louisville slugger cocked on his shoulder, decided to get all stammerusal and swing at Chuck's skull for the cheap seat. Two on, nobody else. Did you fugger? asked the police captain.

Sergeant Stan the man kept the bat held high, staring right through Chuck, sitting hot in the box, daring him to say the wrong thing. Chuck lobbed one straight down the middle. No, sir. A white woman, no, sir. Chuck was scared. He'd been informed after being picked up by the cops on a tip by a jilted boyfriend of a white girl he'd been messing around with,

that if one word of his statement was a lie, Sergeant Stan the man would swing for the fences. Even then, Chuck knew what his audience wanted. They wanted fear. The racist white cops needed to feel like they were in control, so Chuck gave them what they wanted. He was indeed legitimately frightened, but now he played to the cheap seats, laying it on thick,

over-dramatizing a wince here and a shutter there until finally both the captain and the sergeant broke into laughter. Amused at what they thought they had done, brought a young black man to his knees. He was eventually let go, but the gravity of the incident was never lost on him. He knew the cops could have killed him at their will, and no doubt frame it up as justifiable. From then on, Chuck would think twice about which women he slept with and where. But regardless, thinking about sleeping with women was most of what he did in prison.

There was lots to think about. Chuck Barry had been a successful entertainer for most of his adult life. women were never a problem or depending on how Chuck looked at it women were always a problem. What wasn't a problem was his prowess and innovation as a guitar player and songwriter. Chuck Barry invented rock and roll. There,

I said it. Someone needed to say it. Come at me all you want about Ike Turner and Sister Rosetta Tharp, Little Richard, Elvis Presley, and whoever else you want. The fact of the matter is that the Chuck Barry riff, the rhythm riff he nicked from his piano player Johnny Johnson, not the two-string

lead riff, the Chuck Berry Lick, that introduces many of his greatest hits and is the guitar part he is most identified with. But Chuck's rhythm riff is the thread that ties together the most influential rock and roll artists of all time. And this riff did not fully exist before Chuck Barry. Guitar players know it well. It's the Route 6 or Route 5 power cord that stretches the pinky up two frets on the neck. Non-gatar players think of the rhythm guitar part appropriated by Marty McFly in the movie Back to the Future. This is the same riff that the most consequential rock and roll guitarist from the most influential groups could not and will not leave alone.

It is everywhere in rock and roll music, from Chuck to the Beatles, to the Stones, Clapton, Hendricks, Zeppelin, to the Sex Pistols, the Ramones, all the way up to Green Day, white stripes, black keys, and to today's low-cut Connie. The riff is everywhere. It is synonymous with the sound of rock and roll, and it didn't exist before Chuck Berry. And though the term rock and roll had been in use for years before Chuck Barry started recording, the riff he invented had not been used in tandem with the term rock and roll or with any other distinctive rock and roll elements like the straight-ahead backbee and youth-oriented appeal,

until Chuck Barry's recording and release of his song, Rock and Roll Music, in 1957. This song is Rock and Roll's Big Bang. It is the first rock and roll song, and it has nothing to do with the song's title. It's about everything else, the beat, the lyrics, and the production, but it's especially about Chuck's rhythm guitar. It's the first recorded appearance of his signature riff on the airwaves, the riff that he took out of his piano player's hands and then shredded amp. For a more detailed defense of this argument that I can already tell is annoyed the shit out of my music snob listeners, I encourage you to read the Chuck Berry chapter in my book, Disgraceland, musicians getting away with murder and behaving very badly. where I further qualify the overwhelming influence of Chuck Berry's riff and the fact that he, Charles Edward Anderson Barry,

without a doubt, invented rock and roll. But before attaining such influence, Chuck Barry needed a record contract. A chance meeting with his hero, blues musician Muddy Waters, led to a recording contract with chess records and his first single for chess, Mabelene was quick to blanket the airwaves. Chuck was on his way. Maybelline hit number one on the R&B charts and number five on the pop chart, and it was largely due to the efforts of a DJ in New York named Alan Freed.

Freed spun the song one night on a show for two hours straight. One song, over and over again, for two hours straight. When Chuck heard, he was shocked at the passion Freed had shown for his song, but that wore off quickly when Chuck learned that the DJ was credited alongside Chuck is one of the songwriters of Mabelene and a scam set up by Leonard Chess, owner of Chess Records, who gave Freed the DJ's songwriting credit

as an incentive to spin the song and rack up publishing royalties to line his pockets with. Chuck Berry had just learned the most important lesson in the music business the hard way. Never trust your record label. Regardless, the song was a hit, and Chuck was a star, and touring frequently, all over America, from the Midwest, New England,

to the deep south, where life for a successful young black man could be downright dangerous. We'll be right back after this word, word, word. There's two golden rules that any man should live by. Rule one, never mess with a country girl. You play stupid games, you get stupid prizes. And rule two, never mess with her friends either. We always say that trust your girlfriends.

I'm Anna Sinfield. And in this new season of The Girlfriends, Oh my God, this is the same man. A group of women discover they've all dated the same prolific con artist. I felt like I got hit by a truck. I thought, how could this happen to me? The cops didn't seem to care. So they take matters into their own hands.

I said, oh, hell no. I vowed. I will be his last target. He's going to get what he deserves. Listen to the Girlfriends. Trust me, babe. On the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcast. This season on Dear Chelsea, with me, Chelsea Handler,

we have some fantastic guests like Amelia Clark. When, like, young people come up to me and they want to be an act or whatever, my first thing is always, can you think of anything else that you can do? Rather be disappointed in. Do that. Dennis Leary.

I wake up and I'm hitting him in the head with a water bomb. And Bruce Jenner is on the aisle in a karate stance, Like he's about to attack me, like, making karate noises. And his entire the Kardashian family over there, everybody's going, and the air marshal is trying to grab my arms and screaming.

I immediately know that I've been asleep walking. David O'Yello. I love this podcast, whether it's therapy or relationships or religion or sex or addiction or you just go straight for the guts. Guy Branham. So anyway, Nicole Kidman broke up with Keith Thurban.

Being half of a country couple was always a hat she was going to wear, not like a life she was going to lead. Oh, interesting. I like that. Did you practice that on your way over? Gaten Matarazzo from Stranger Things. Tena Monsu. Camilla Morone, Carrie Kenny Silver, and more. Listen to these episodes of Dear Chelsea on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.

Just like great shoes, great boys. books take you places through unforgettable love stories and into conversations with characters you'll never forget. I think any good romance, it gives me this feeling of like butterflies. I'm Danielle Robeye and this is bookmarked by Reese's Book Club from Hello Sunshine and IHeart podcast, where we dive into the stories that shape us on the page and off. Each week I'm joined by authors, celebs, book talk stars, and more for conversations that will make you laugh, cry, and add way too many books to your TBR pile. Listen to bookmarked

by Reese's Book Club on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcast. Brought to you by Cotton, The Fabric of Our Lives. Chuck didn't mean to kiss her. She threw herself at him, right there on stage, in front of everyone. Chuck was feeling loose, his set was tight, and the crowd was jazzed. The adrenaline from everyone on and off stage was pumping. It was a small, intimate dance for some college students in a renovated army barracks in Meridian, Mississippi. The girl couldn't have been younger than 18. It didn't matter. Her tongue, when it hit his, took him completely out of the moment and delivered him to someplace far away. His mouth sunk into hers, right there on the stage under the house lights that were now on and blasting down upon the

couple. The moment didn't last. Chuck snapped himself out of it and pulled away. This was Mississippi. She was white. He was black. When he opened his eyes, she was staring at him as if to say, what's the matter? Don't you want me? A question he would have happily answered if it weren't for the staring eyes of the rest of the crowd, which now, a few minutes removed from his performance, had snapped back to reality. The crowd had just witnessed a black man kissing a white girl in a segregated hall where the black kids weren't even allowed to sit next to white kids.

That was Chuck's cue. He unplugged his guitar, quietly stepped off the stage, and made his way to the side door the makeshift auditorium under the glaring eyes of the crowd. The place was stone cold, quiet. Chuck was nearly at the door, nearly free, until a frat boy rose up in front of Chuck flanked by seven of his brothers. Big, white, dumb. Chuck, did you try to date my sister?

Chuck was quick to the point. No, of course not. Another lunkhead, this one, to the side of the original frat boy, pointed to Chuck and shouted, He did, he's a Yankee like the rest of him. This was the cue for the other frat boys to chime in with their own racist accusations. The crowd turned on Chuck. Booze were swelling up from throughout the auditorium.

And Chuck could feel the fear, it cooled the sweat on his skin. That's when he saw it, the gleam of the switchplate, extended menacingly from the hand of the first lunkhead. The promoter saw it, too. Fearing the worst, he decided to play peacemaker and jump between the knife and Chuck, pushing him aside. Chuck, while being dragged away out of the mob and backward toward the exit started singing.

It was an unconscious visceral attempt to quash the violence in the air. The booze continued and so did the shouting, and Chuck shouted slash sang back. Lunkhead wasn't having it. Enraged and now being held back by a small basketball squad and still holding his switchblade.

He was quick to get lippy. I'm a Mississippian, and this black boy asked my sister for a date. Lunkhead grew more upset, struggled to break away from his classmate to tear Chuck limb from limb. Chuck shouted, sang more lyrics at him. And Chuck was pushed out of harm's way and out the exit door into the night, where he was soon greeted by Mississippi's finest and hauled in.

For what exactly he wasn't told? He was kept in jail overnight, but he was alive. In the morning, he was driven to the airport, but only after being relieved of the $700 he'd made from the previous night's show by the cops, Say, Levy, Chuck thought. Chuck experienced plenty of racism back home in St. Louis as well, despite his growing fame, and not just from Lunkhead Frat Boys. Judges, particularly the judge presiding over his appeal for the charge that he violated the Man Act. Chuck was hauled in before a gig at Club Bandstand,

the club he owned in St. Louis on December 23, 1959. Violating the Man Act was a serious charge, designed to cut down on human trafficking and prevent the transport and thus spreading of prostitution, it was nefariously used by authorities to target high-profile black men, C, boxer Jack Johnson as Exhibit A to Chuck Berry as Exhibit B. Chuck was fucked. The cops said she was only 14 and white-ish. Chuck thought she was Native American.

The authorities didn't care. She was underage and thus she was the hammer they were going to use to bust up Chuck Barry in his nightclub. The one that cops viewed as a black mark on the image of white purity that the city wanted to project. Club Bandstand was where the girl worked after Chuck brought her up in his Cadillac from El Paso, across state lines, thus committing, according to the Man Act, white slavery. Her age wasn't the only problem.

St. Louis cops got wind of her because they'd heard about the young, quote-unquote, exotic-looking girl working over at Chuck's place who was tricking herself out. Chuck stood trial and faced 10 years in prison, hard time. After two weeks, the all-white male jury found him guilty. The racist judge gave him five years. Chuck appealed, successfully claiming improving bias on behalf of the judge, and had his sentence dropped down to three years. He eventually had the sentence reduced to a year and a half,

but in the end, the cops got what they wanted. In Chuck's absence, Club Bandstand went under and closed. Chuck served his time, but he was never the same afterward. He was no angel, but he wasn't what authorities claimed he was. either. He was a target. He was a marked man. It was unjust and Chuck was unable to accept it. He would never be the same. It was one of those headlines that thoroughly did its job. It screamed at you off the page. It forced you to pick up the paper it was printed on, fork over your 50 cents and dive in.

The St. Louis dispatch's front page read, Chuck Berry taped women, suit charges. By the late 80s, Chuck Berry, despite his various legal troubles, was a very rich man. Constant roadwork in a 1972 smash with a novelty song, My Dingling, kept the bread coming in, as did various other investments. Chuck invested in a real estate venture called Barry Park, where he would rent rooms, trailers, and homes to locals, while he resided in the property's quote-unquote big house like the boss that he was.

Chuck Berry, the man who invented rock and roll, as big a BMOC as there ever was. Chuck also indulged his childhood photography hobby and invested in a new company he'd incorporated called Chuck Berry Communications Systems Inc, spending as much as three quarters of a million dollars on sophisticated video editing equipment to take his hobby to the next level. And Chuck also invested in local restaurants, namely the Wentzville Southern Air Restaurant. And it was there that the confluence of Chuck's investments all came together to create one giant mess of a situation

for the rock and roll pioneer. Chuck owned the property. He owned the restaurant. He was the boss. And he also owned the video equipment. The equipment that his employee, Hassana Huck, alleged Chuck used to videotape her and other women in the bathroom of the restaurant he owned.

The suit Ms. Huck brought specifically alleged that the videotapes were created for the improper purpose of the entertainment and gratification of what it describes as Barry's sexual fetishes and sexual predilections. Oh yeah, and there were videotapes. Lots and lots of videotapes. How they surfaced and came into the hands of authorities as a matter of debate. Ms. Huck, who filed the initial claim against Chuck, made her statement to authorities after her husband, a handyman who also worked for Chuck, supposedly found a box of videotapes

and a trash dumpster on public Wentzville property, not on Chuck Berry's property. And when he stumbled upon this cardboard box of lewd and scandalous VHS tapes that happened to contain videos of his own wife, there just happened to be two of St. Louis' finest on hand to witness Mr. Huck's discovery. It could not be claimed that Mr. Huck

took possession of the tapes illegally. How could it? He found them in a... public place, and there were cops there who could back him up. The tapes told their own story, and it was not a good one. There were numerous recordings, featuring hundreds of women, most of them blonde, all of them white, and in the act of relieving themselves. The women were filmed surreptitiously from cameras positioned behind toilet seats in Chuck's restaurants, close-ups from the front and the footage was expertly spliced together with a second camera positioned above

the toilet to capture the wide shots of the women before and after relieving themselves. And these clips were all edited together into compilation reels with various shots frozen in time for lasting effect. The women, for the most part, were adults, but there was also footage of girls under the age of 10. After the tapes were found, Barry Park was raided, small amounts of marijuana what looked like hash, $122,000 in cash, and 59 more VHS tapes were hauled out of Chuck's home. County prosecutor William J. Hanna took too big a swing and tried to claim that not only was Chuck Barry a sexual predator,

but also a major drug player dealing millions of dollars in cocaine. Chuck maintained his innocence in the matter. As far as he was concerned, nothing had changed since the 50s. St. Louis authorities were still out to break him Because he was a success, because he was black, because he liked white women. Nevertheless, Chuck was charged with marijuana possession and child abuse. Missouri law stated that featuring young people naked on video constitutes child abuse. Chuck turned himself in, and then he turned his lawyers loose.

He sued for the return of his tapes. He sued the lawyers. He sued the plaintiffs. The women spoke up, and what they had to say did not help Chuck Barry's cause. They had had it with the man known around Barry Park as Charles. Sharisa Kistner, who lived on Chuck's property with her mom in one of the trailers, claimed that Chuck approached her one day and told her that he could see her in her room from the big house. According to Sharisa, he said, quote,

I was thinking of you yesterday while I was playing with myself. What a fucking creep. Chuck sued who he thought was a grandstanding prosecutor. At the same time, the prosecutor lost his reelection bid, and with that, the prosecutor's office dropped the child abuse charges in turn. Chuck dropped his suit against the prosecutor and pleaded guilty only to the marijuana charge. He got what amounted to his slap on the wrist, two years probation for the weed,

and an agreement to pay $5,000 to a local substance abuse program. That took care of the authorities, but it didn't take care of the women. They rolled their multiple beefs concerning Chuck's toilet tapes into one-class action suit. Chuck paid out a report. awarded $1.2 million in settlement fees to make the case go away. And that was, remarkably, that. Poof. Gone. The case, the beef, Chuck's reputation and subsequent legacy barely took a hit.

Afterward, and for the rest of his life, Chuck was defiant in the face of his critics. It was downright Trumpian, years before the unreliable narrator-in-chief. What did they know about it anyway? Videography to Chuck was merely self-expression. just like music and poetry and sex. Rock and roll had once been his outlet, in the early days anyway, when he was younger making young people's music. But for the majority of his life, rock and roll,

the music he invented was just a job. Chuck Barry was the position he made for himself and filled. Charles was who he really was. Chuck Barry was defiant, but he wasn't angry. Later in life, his critics, the ones from the big newspapers and magazines back east, would from time to time attempt to. get Chuck to cop to that rock and roll racial resentment rap. The white man stealing from the black

man, how did Chuck feel about being appropriated, that sort of thing. Chuck never took the bait, even if he knew he had a case. The critic's take was lazy and simple. They didn't get it. Chuck knew what his contribution was. He didn't need the king of rock and roll moniker that Elvis had. Sure, he wouldn't mind Elvis's bank account or the freedom Elvis was allowed to come and go as he pleased, to sleep with whomever he wanted, to be whoever he wanted to be, but Chuck was content with what he'd accomplished. He'd admitted as much to the New York Times once. Had I been pushed like Colonel Parker pushed Elvis,

had it been a white boy like Elvis, sure. It would have been different. He regretted the comment as soon as it left his lips. Why let him see his sweat? Why give him the satisfaction? Besides, what really bothered him was how racist attitudes affected who and how you could love. Free love was always a joke.

Ask Sammy Davis Jr. about free love. Chuck was unable to love how he wanted. And unlike the white artists who were starting out at the same time as him, Chuck couldn't express this injustice through music. Rock and roll was just that. Rock and roll. It stayed the same, no matter how much it changed, no matter who was playing it or what they were wearing,

no matter what year it was, there was only one constant. Chuck Barry, one thread, his riff. And Chuck had other interests he could rely on, explore, tinker with, and dabble in. Chuck was writing again. and thinking about music. He wasn't writing about sex, and he wasn't writing poems. He was giving his hand a spin at music criticism. And why not?

What did the critics actually know anyway? Nothing, that's what? He was Chuck Berry, and he invented rock and roll, so who better an authority to opine on this new type of music that the kids are all telling was going to make rock and roll obsolete, punk rock. Chuck was approached by some local kids who had a handmade zine called Jetlag and asked to give his take on some of the more popular

punk records that had come out over the past couple of years. Chuck thought that writing some record reviews would be fun, and it was. But as he expected, it was all just rock and roll. Chuck said of the Ramone, Sheena is a punk rocker. A good little jump number. These guys remind me of myself when I first started. I only knew three chords too. And on God Save the Queen by the Sex Pistols, Chuck stated,

can't understand most of the vocals. If you're going to be mad, at least to let the people know what you're mad about. Chuck Berry wasn't mad. He was Chuck Berry. Charles Anderson Edward Berry. Now that guy had a legitimate beef. He also had some videotapes to edit and a second book to write. Chuck Barry said so in the pages of his autobiography penned from behind bars. Quote, now that I know much more about the writing of a book, strangely enough I intend to go for another, one that I will enjoy, the true story of my sex life. It shall not infringe on anyone or thing, but me and my excessive desire to continue melting the ice of American hypocrisy regarding behavior and beliefs that are now in

the closet and only surface in court, crime, or comical conversation. Chuck Berry, a reliable narrator or a disgrace. I'm Jake Brennan, and this is Disgraceland. Disgraceland was created by yours truly and is produced in partnership with double Elvis. Credits for this episode can be found on the show notes page at disgracelandpod.com. If you're listening as a Disgraceland All-Axist member, thank you for supporting the show. We really appreciate it. And if not, you can become a member right now by going to disgracelandpod.com slash membership. Members can listen to every episode of Disgraceland ad-free. Plus, you'll get one brand new exclusive episode every month. Weekly unscripted bonus

episode's special audio collections and early access to merchandise and events. Visit disgracelampod.com slash membership for details. Rate and review the show and follow us on Instagram, TikTok, Twitter, and Facebook at Disgracelandpod, and on YouTube at YouTube.com slash at Disgracelandpod. When a group of women discover they've all dated the same prolific con artist, they take matters into their own hands. I vowed, I will be his last target. He is not going to get away with this. He's going to get what he deserves. We always say that, trust your girlfriends.

Listen to the girlfriends. Trust me, babe. On the IHart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. This season on Dear Chelsea, with me, Chelsea Handler, we have some fantastic guests like Amelia Clark. When, like, young people come up to me and they want to be an actor or whatever, And my first thing is always, can you think of anything else that you can do? Rather be disappointed in.

Do that. David O'Yelloo. I love this podcast, whether it's therapy or relationships or religion or sex or addiction or you just go straight for the guts. Dennis Leary, Gaten Matarazzo from Stranger Things, Tena Monjou, Camilla Morone, Carrie Kenny Silver, and more. Listen to these episodes of Dear Chelsea on the On The Oneson. IHeartRadio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts. Sometimes a suspect is found guilty before a verdict is ever read in court. On the Wicked Words podcast, I talk with the writers who dig deep into the cases that changed history,

including Marsha Clark, who went from prosecuting one of the most famous murder cases to writing crime fiction. It doesn't matter that you didn't take part in the murder. If you were at the scene at all, you're guilty of murder. Every week, the real story is revealed. Join us every Monday for new episodes of Wicked Words. Listen to Wicked Words on the IHeart Radio app, Apple Podcasts, or wherever you get your podcasts.