It was a Sunday morning back in the mid-1960s when Benton Marland made his first public performance in his local choir at the Church of Christ, located in some back street suburban area of Los Angeles. To the hush of the crowd, the slightly shy and...
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It was a Sunday morning back in the mid-1960s when Benton Marland made his first public performance in his local choir at the Church of Christ, located in some back street suburban area of Los Angeles. To the hush of the crowd, the slightly shy and naturally effeminate Benton dressed from head to toe in white launched into a gospel rendition of Precious Lord, Take My Hand. The lyrics to the song would become Benton’s epitaph for life. 'Precious Lord, take my hand lead me on, let me stand I'm tired, I'm weak, I'm alone Through the storm, through the night lead me on to the light Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home.' As the song reached its crashing finale, Benton stole a look at his stone-cold silent mother who was perched like a peacock as always in the front row dressed also in white with matching gold shoes and accessories. He threw his arms up into the air, his vocals warbling the final notes. Her face gave no reaction. The eyes were still, staring forward. Her hands neatly cro
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