I first became a fan of Clyde McPhatter in 1998 when I was thirteen years old, when my obsession with pop songs of the 1950s and ’60s dominated my listening. I was especially taken with his 1959 hit, “A Lover’s Question,” his biggest solo success after being the founding frontman for The Drifters. Today, he is likely best remembered for his high tenor voice on the second verse of “White Christmas,” the 1953 Drifters version most notably heard during the Home Alone film. Though essentially forgotten by the mainstream today, McPhatter was the first artist to be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame twice, as a member of the Drifters and as a solo artist. McPhatter influenced everyone from Jackie Wilson and Sam Cooke in his own time to Michael Jackson and Luther Vandross in later generations. One could effectively argue that without McPhatter, there would be no Bruno Mars today. So why is a man so important to rock and roll history virtually unknown today? The unfair exploitation of Black artists in McPhatter’s heyday left the Durham, North Carolina native a depressed alcoholic who died from complications of his addiction in 1972 at the age of thirty-nine. Little was ever widely known or recorded about his life until now.
Longtime journalist and music historian Steve Bergsman has published the only comprehensive work ever written on the rock and roll pioneer and addresses nearly every supposition ever raised about his personal and professional career. Prior to reading Have Mercy Baby: The Life of Clyde McPhatter, released via University Press of Mississippi on February 18, I even sent for a German import of an overpriced 50-page essay by English writer Colin Escott just to learn something of substance about McPhatter. Named after the hit from Billy Ward and the Dominoes that many say helped give birth to rhythm and blues, Bergsman’s book provides expansive detail about McPhatter’s influence on music history in the full context of everything happening during that time.
Not only was McPhatter’s lead on “Have Mercy Baby” a quintessential moment in the founding of R&B, his fronting of the Drifters’ “Money Honey” is among several recordings considered to be the first true rock and roll records. In fact, Bergsman argues that McPhatter might have even had an edge on Elvis Presley as the crowned ruler of the genre. When both artists appeared on a Cleveland arena show in June 1956, audiences were asked to crown the “king” by applause. While McPhatter reportedly had a slight edge according to the meter, ardent Elvis fans—on the verge of a riot—reportedly forced a reversal of the verdict.
The biggest note of intrigue throughout the book is the revelation of McPhatter’s daughter, Deborah, born in April 1953 to a Bermudan woman named Lorraine Lowe. Though he never married her—per his parents’ wishes—the book suggests that Lowe was the love of McPhatter’s life. For the last half of his life, McPhatter wrote to her and called her home regularly. Deborah says the experience was agonizing for her mother, who was happily remarried, as she felt pulled between her child, her child’s father, and the man she loved.
Deborah said that although she had many conversations with her father, their relationship only truly achieved father-daughter status within the last three weeks of his life. On the night of June 13, 1972, McPhatter phoned his daughter in a drunken stupor. Deborah hung up and did not answer the calls that continued through the night. When her father did not wake up the next morning, the college freshman was left with a guilt and anger that linger today.
Today, Deborah McPhatter carries on her father’s legacy as chairwoman of the board at the North Carolina Music Hall of Fame, of which Clyde McPhatter is a posthumous inductee. She also represented her father, who was posthumously inducted into the inaugural Rhythm and Blues Hall of Fame in 2023, along with another of my all-time favorite artists, the late Dusty Springfield. Deborah is also the proud mother and grandmother of Clyde McPhatter’s grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Seeing pictures of a young Deborah with her father next to a photo of his beautiful family that carries his name made me smile.
I also find it interesting that this artist with whom I became fascinated at such a young age was born just over three hours from my home. Deborah maintains a home in North Carolina, and Clyde’s second wife, Mary Peake, was from Greensboro, North Carolina, about 100 miles from my home in Wytheville, Virginia. McPhatter was married two other times—first to Nora Lee Thompson, and finally to Lena Rackley.
I found McPhatter’s animosity toward Paul Anka an interesting revelation. Both artists were being managed by the legendary Irvin Feld. McPhatter initially felt a bond with Feld as the father he never had. When Feld betrayed him by favoring Anka, things turned ugly.
Then there was the jaw-dropping revelation that McPhatter was at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tennessee on April 3, 1968, where he stepped out onto the balcony to exchange a friendly wave with Martin Luther King Jr. and his entourage. From the car radio on his way to another gig, McPhatter later heard that King had been assassinated.
I had the honor of interviewing McPhatter’s youngest and only surviving sibling, LeRoy Joseph McPhatter, by phone in late 2020. He made no mention of Deborah. In Bergsman’s book, the only mention of his youngest brother was that Clyde paid for his prep school—which he confirmed—and that LeRoy Joseph believed himself to be the better singer in the family and was jealous of his older brother.
While the real truths of Clyde McPhatter essentially died with him in 1972, Bergsman has uncovered as much as has ever been—or likely ever will be—known about this musical pioneer, the likes of which the world may never see again. Have Mercy Baby is available wherever books are sold. It is essential reading for any Clyde McPhatter fans still out there.
