In a reflective Father's Day essay, syndicated radio host Larry Elder shares how a single song—Al Green's "Back Up Train"—once stopped his aunt in her tracks, and how that moment taught him about the lasting impressions we leave on others, often without realizing it.
The Song That Stopped Aunt Juanita
Elder recalls buying the record at a Los Angeles store when he was about 14, along with a small record player, and playing it during a visit to his aunt in Chattanooga, Tennessee. She was bustling around the house, never pausing. Then the music began.
"She stopped. She sat down. She closed her eyes. She nodded and listened to the whole song," Elder writes. "The moment it ended, she got up and went right back to work." For over two minutes, the song caused Aunt Juanita to take a break and drift off—a beautiful sight that has stayed with Elder for decades.
A Lesson in Unseen Influence
Elder, who has seen Al Green in concert multiple times, notes that Green never performed "Back Up Train" live. "Maybe he does not understand what his song did to my aunt," Elder muses. This experience parallels what Elder has encountered throughout his career as a broadcaster.
For more than three decades, listeners and viewers have approached him to share how something he said affected them—often quoting a line or story he barely remembers. "At first, I found this surprising. Then I realized that the person speaking and the person listening and watching are having two very different experiences," he explains.
A Life-Saving Laugh
Elder recounts receiving a letter from a man who said Elder talked him out of suicide. Going through a divorce and financial troubles, the man had gone to a park with pills and whiskey. While listening to Elder's show, he heard a comedy bit about George Washington on trial for illegally chopping down a cherry tree. The man laughed so hard he decided, "If I still have the ability to laugh, why am I taking all this so seriously? I'll get through this." He emptied the bottle and threw out the pills.
Elder barely remembered doing the bit. "Once again, I was reminded that my listeners and I have different experiences," he says.
The Real Measure of Success
Elder reflects that some singers and songs make people lean in and listen—not merely hitting notes but bringing comfort at a specific time. "All of us leave impressions on other people. Sometimes we never know which words matter. Sometimes the thing we barely remember becomes something another person never forgets," he writes.
He concludes: "It's not about how we remember it, but how others remember how it helped them get through something. That is the real measure of success. Not ratings. Not record sales. Not applause. What an accomplishment to sing something, to create something, to say something that causes someone to stop, listen, think, remember and smile."
A Father's Musical Legacy
Elder also shares a humorous memory of his father, whose taste ran to Cab Calloway, Ella Fitzgerald, Lena Horne, and Frank Sinatra—not the Motown Elder and his brothers preferred. Driving with the stick antenna, radio reception would cut under overpasses. Elder recalls singing along to a Four Tops song until the music faded under an overpass, leaving only his voice a cappella. His father looked back and said, "You know, I used to wish I could sing … Now I wish you could."
