George Clinton Brought The Mothership Home And Newark Handed Him The Key

George Clinton, the undisputed Godfather of Funk, had already received the key to Newark, New Jersey when one of the day’s most low key meaningful moments happened away from the microphones.

Suddenly, without notice or warning, the 85-year-old musical legend bolted away from Avon Avenue School in his bedazzled motorized wheelchair. He rolled down the block with a relative following closely behind. Then Clinton, with a D-12 hat on, slowly stopped at the corner, right at Avon and Chadwick avenues.

And he just looked.

I watched his face. There was wonder in it.

Maybe he was remembering something. Maybe he was simply taking in the neighborhood, which has changed so much since he was a boy. I cannot say what was going through his mind and I will not pretend that I can. Nor was I about to be an annoying journalist and ask. Not in this moment. But after spending hours watching Newark celebrate George Clinton on Sept. 5, that quiet moment landed differently.

This was where he had been a kid.

Now he had the key to the city. Think about that.

George Clinton, one of the most influential, storied, and legendary figures in music, returned to Newark, New Jersey, for the George Clinton Youth Empowerment & Creative Legacy Summit at Avon Avenue School, the school he once attended as a young person. The gathering also coincided with Avon’s celebration of 120 years of educating Newark children.

The schoolyard had the energy of a neighborhood festival. Students, educators, relatives, community members, music executives and longtime admirers filled the grounds. There was a DJ, food, activities, school supplies and plenty of P-Funk love.

The larger theme was ownership, not simply a George Clinton appreciation party.

Protecting Our Legacy and Avon Avenue School presented the event around a message especially important for young creatives: Your creativity is something you can own.

The Parliament-Funkadelic mastermind has watched his music travel through multiple generations. His recordings became an important source of sampling in Hip-Hop, allowing pieces of the P-Funk universe to find entirely new lives decades after their creation.

But at Avon, Clinton’s legacy isn’t something students only encounter through old records or Hip-Hop samples.

They literally walk past it.

Inside the school is a mural of Clinton. David Wallingford, Avon’s music director, told me students regularly ask about the famous former student staring back at them from the wall.

More importantly, Clinton has already made himself part of their musical education.

Wallingford recalled another Clinton visit to Avon roughly five years ago. His string and band students spent months learning Clinton’s music in anticipation of the homecoming.

The plan was ambitious but simple. Play the music well enough and maybe Clinton would join them.

They never had to ask.

“He just walked right in before even anybody asked him. He just grabbed the mic and got on stage with us,” Wallingford told me.

The impact did not end when Clinton left the building.

“A lot of them were back here today and they’ve gone on to high school now and they’re pursuing careers in music, going to Arts High School, which is the oldest school of the arts in the country,” Wallingford said.

That history gave me a different perspective on what I was watching.

This wasn’t a famous graduate parachuting into his old neighborhood for an award, posing for pictures and disappearing.

Clinton has contributed instruments to Avon’s music program, according to Wallingford, including basses, guitars and amplifiers.

Before the celebration moved outdoors, students got something far more valuable than memorabilia. They got access. In a classroom, they asked Clinton questions. And these kids did not hold back. They wanted to know about his beginnings. They asked about his clothes. They wanted to understand the music business and even ventured into financial matters, even how to save.

The afternoon also included the “Building a Creative Legacy” discussion featuring professionals from entertainment, media, finance and artist advocacy.

Participants included veteran media executive Datwon Thomas, now with Daylight Media, In The Black Network President Omarr Salgado and Phil Nelson, executive director of The Stack Project. Clinton family members and representatives of Protecting Our Legacy were also part of the program.

This was about giving kids information about what happens after somebody discovers they have talent. Talent is only part of the equation, but empowerment is the way to real sustained success.

What do you own?

Who controls it?

Who gets paid?

And, when the clapping ceases, what will remain?

Those questions become particularly poignant when George Clinton is sitting in front of you. I felt like the whole hood should be in this place, all the music people and all the creatives of Newark. George Clinton is a gem. And, so, after being cooped up in a classroom – even one with a mural of his face – it was time.

Eventually, everybody headed outside.

After some pageantry, which included the Malcolm X Shabazz High School Marching Band, Avon Avenue School Principal Kinyetta Bird gathered Clinton’s family and others. It was time for the big honor.

“This is a very important moment for Mr. Clinton and I want to make sure that all of his friends and family are a part of it,” Bird told the crowd.

Newark Public Schools Assistant Superintendent Ashley Jiles placed the afternoon in perspective by connecting Clinton’s journey to the children sitting before him and around him.

“It is truly an honor to be here at Avon Avenue School for this very special celebration of the legendary George Clinton,” Ms. Jiles said.

She noted that Clinton had once walked those same school halls before taking his music around the world, a message for the community and children. Then Newark Mayor Ras J. Baraka stepped up.

Baraka, a poet, leader and Hip-Hop head, made sure the younger people understood that even if they didn’t know every Parliament or Funkadelic record by name, they probably knew Clinton’s music indirectly.

“A lot of young people don’t, you know, they might not understand that, but I’m going to tell you a lot of the music you listen to now, there’s a lot of samples in there that George Clinton was a part of,” Baraka said.

The mayor had previously honored Clinton with a proclamation at the school, but his time Newark raised the stakes.

“We gave you a proclamation the last time, but this time is an honor and a pleasure to make sure you leave this city. When you come back to where you can always get in, which means we gotta give you the key.”

And with that, George Clinton officially had the key to Newark.

The circularity is beautiful.

Clinton’s career has stretched across eras that barely resemble one another. He emerged from doo-wop roots before helping construct the sprawling P-Funk universe through Parliament and Funkadelic. That music would eventually become source material for Hip-Hop artists who sampled Clinton’s grooves and expanded his influence into another generation.

Decades later, Clinton is standing at Avon Avenue School a part of a conversation about what the next generation should know, what previous generations learned the hard way.

Own your ideas.

Understand your business.

Protect what you create.

And fight for all of it.

Wallingford said he wanted the legendary funkster to stay with the children as much as possible.

I asked what he hoped Clinton’s future relationship with Avon might look like, the music director wasn’t interested in making things overly complicated.

“I hope that he can be part of our music program and that the kids can get to know him and just play music with him. And that’s what it’s all about is to get on stage and make some noise.”

That philosophy is embedded in Protecting Our Legacy, the organization behind the summit. Its work focuses on helping artists and families protect creative rights, royalties and musical legacies. Clinton’s family has been directly involved in that effort. The organization’s broader mission made Avon Avenue School a fitting location because the audience included children who may someday create music, films, businesses, technology or something none of us has imagined yet.

And George Clinton was standing there as proof of how far an idea can travel.

The official program eventually transitioned into a community cookout and back-to-school celebration. The children of Avon Avenue School were preparing for another academic year. The school itself was celebrating 120 years. Clinton’s relatives surrounded him. Newark officials celebrated him.

Then came that moment I keep thinking about – George Clinton just took off.

Down Avon Avenue he went in his motorized wheelchair, unpredictable as ever.

For a man associated with spaceships, extraterrestrial mythology, outrageous costumes and some of the wildest concepts popular music has ever produced, there was something remarkably grounded about watching him travel down that Newark block.

The Mothership is in space.

The stages are at Essence or somewhere.

No elaborate production replaces this mini-moment in his career.

This was just George Clinton and the neighborhood that helped produce George Clinton.

He reached the corner and stopped with a smile.

For a few seconds, the Godfather of Funk simply looked around, likely as he did when the world awaited for him to realize his greatness.

But standing there watching him gaze at those streets, I couldn’t help thinking that Newark had given him something everybody needs, a chance.