Attorney, activist, artist manager, founder of the Beale Street Music Festival, charmer, bon vivant – all these descriptions applied equally and accurately to Irvin Salky.
But above all he was that rare kind of Memphian – a man who traversed many different worlds and was welcome in them all.
"I don't think there's a person in Memphis that crossed racial, cultural, religious and economic lines as freely as Irvin Salky," said his longtime friend and protégé, U.S. Rep. Steve Cohen. "He was welcome wherever he went. He knew the entire city; he knew the problems of the city and spent his life trying to cure them."
Salky died Thursday from complications of pneumonia, following a stroke in April. He was 75. Memorial services will be held at 10 a.m. Monday at Baron Hirsch Cemetery, 1523 Rozelle.
A noted civil rights attorney, Salky represented members of black militant group The Invaders and the family of Larry Payne, a teenager who was killed by Memphis police in the aftermath of 1968 sanitation workers' march. As a manager, he helped revive the careers of jazz pianist Phineas Newborn and bluesman Furry Lewis. His deep passion for music was backed by action; he personally funded and launched the inaugural Beale Street Music Festival in 1977, which remains one the city's cultural cornerstones.
Though he stood a diminutive 5-foot-4, to those who knew him Salky cut a massive figure. "Irvin was a small man in physical proportions," said Cohen, "but a giant in terms of his intelligence, and in the care and feeling and understanding he had for his fellow man."
He was born in Memphis on Nov. 14, 1941, to Molly and Herman Salky. His father was a merchant on Beale Street, and Cohen notes that Salky's progressive worldview was a reaction to the era he was raised in. "When he grew up this was a segregated city. I think at an early age he saw discrimination. He knew it from his experiences on Beale Street and from being Jewish," said Cohen.
A graduate of Central High School and Memphis State University, Salky was an honor student at Vanderbilt Law School and served in the U. S. Navy Reserve. "After law school he had offers to go to bigger cities, bigger firms, but he stayed in Memphis for the opportunity to be part of the first civil rights law firm," noted Cohen.
In 1967, Salky would become a member of the integrated firm of Ratner, Sugarmon, Lucas, Willis and Caldwell. Attorney and retired judge Russell Sugarmon recalled that Salky was initially headed for a position in San Francisco.
"He sat down and talked to me for what turned out to be a long conversation. I realized immediately we shared the same passion for civil rights law and for using the courts to bring about change in (Memphis)," said Sugarmon. "He also spoke of his love for music and let me know that music had to be part of his life along with practicing law. I convinced him to join the firm.
"Irvin's enthusiasm for practicing civil rights law, plus his involvement in the local music scene became infectious. For me, Irvin became a best friend and the little brother I never had. Later he introduced me to my wife of almost 50 years and truly became a part of our family."
For a young Steve Cohen, Salky was a crucial mentor. "We became friends when I was in law school and he was a famous young civil rights activist lawyer. He taught me a lot about the law, and encouraged me to go into politics," said Cohen. "He was always a very strong advocate for progressive and Democratic politics."
Over the years, Cohen saw firsthand the power of Salky's charisma and his affection for people. "We'd go into a place together and I'm the one that's supposed to be working the room. But Irvin would be ahead of me, walking in, shaking hands and being friendly – giving them that little smile and that twinkle in his eye. I'd have to say, 'Irvin, stop this – you're making me look bad!'" said Cohen, laughing. "But it was genuine, he loved people and always saw the good in them."
Though he was deeply involved in politics, Salky never wanted to stand for office himself. "He didn't have the ego for that," said Cohen. "Most politicians, they have some ego. He simply didn't have that sense of self. He was a giving person in the most wonderful way."
Stories are legion of Salky tirelessly advocating for his clients, quietly providing pro bonoaid to many over the years. "He wanted no recognition or compensation. He never charged people like he should've, and never got paid like he could've," said Cohen. "Power, attention, money – those things were never his ambition or driving force. It was always people, and doing right by them."
An ardent supporter of live music, Salky founded the Beale Street Music Festival in 1977. At a time when Beale was boarded up and downtown Memphis was decaying, Salky put up his own money to present the event – which continues forty years on as part of Memphis in May. He also represented jazz and blues icons Newborn, Lewis, Fred Ford and Memphis Slim, and counseled a generation of punk rockers in the '70s.
"He was a sage and experienced adviser to lots of people," said author and Memphis music historian Robert Gordon. "He had experience in the music industry and was aware of its many traps. He was generous, very generous, in helping keep people out of those traps – whether they were young punk rockers or old blues singers."
In his later years, Salky cut a dashing figure in his beloved Midtown, with his love of hats and sports cars. "He had a flair," said Cohen. "He had a fun life – loved music, loved concerts, he knew all about jazz. He was café society in Memphis."
For the 88 year-old Sugarmon, Salky also remained a loyal friend and connector of people. "Decades after our law firm broke up, Irvin seemed to keep up with all the former legal team who were by then practicing all over the county. He became the glue that kept everyone informed and helped bring everyone together for a firm reunion. Amazingly, he could erase years and bring everyone to the present," said Sugarmon.
"After my retirement I began to have short-term memory problems. Again, my little brother decided it was time for him to pay me back for my mentoring by keeping me in the loop with all our old friends," said Sugarmon. "He brought much joy and music into my life."
Cohen noted that Salky's selflessness was driven by a deep, but simple belief. "He told me once what his philosophy was about," recalled Cohen. "He said the reason we're here on this earth is to make life better for others. And that's absolutely what Irvin Salky did."
But above all he was that rare kind of Memphian – a man who traversed many different worlds and was welcome in them all.
"I don't think there's a person in Memphis that crossed racial, cultural, religious and economic lines as freely as Irvin Salky," said his longtime friend and protégé, U.S. Rep. Steve Cohen. "He was welcome wherever he went. He knew the entire city; he knew the problems of the city and spent his life trying to cure them."
Salky died Thursday from complications of pneumonia, following a stroke in April. He was 75. Memorial services will be held at 10 a.m. Monday at Baron Hirsch Cemetery, 1523 Rozelle.
A noted civil rights attorney, Salky represented members of black militant group The Invaders and the family of Larry Payne, a teenager who was killed by Memphis police in the aftermath of 1968 sanitation workers' march. As a manager, he helped revive the careers of jazz pianist Phineas Newborn and bluesman Furry Lewis. His deep passion for music was backed by action; he personally funded and launched the inaugural Beale Street Music Festival in 1977, which remains one the city's cultural cornerstones.
Though he stood a diminutive 5-foot-4, to those who knew him Salky cut a massive figure. "Irvin was a small man in physical proportions," said Cohen, "but a giant in terms of his intelligence, and in the care and feeling and understanding he had for his fellow man."
He was born in Memphis on Nov. 14, 1941, to Molly and Herman Salky. His father was a merchant on Beale Street, and Cohen notes that Salky's progressive worldview was a reaction to the era he was raised in. "When he grew up this was a segregated city. I think at an early age he saw discrimination. He knew it from his experiences on Beale Street and from being Jewish," said Cohen.
A graduate of Central High School and Memphis State University, Salky was an honor student at Vanderbilt Law School and served in the U. S. Navy Reserve. "After law school he had offers to go to bigger cities, bigger firms, but he stayed in Memphis for the opportunity to be part of the first civil rights law firm," noted Cohen.
In 1967, Salky would become a member of the integrated firm of Ratner, Sugarmon, Lucas, Willis and Caldwell. Attorney and retired judge Russell Sugarmon recalled that Salky was initially headed for a position in San Francisco.
"He sat down and talked to me for what turned out to be a long conversation. I realized immediately we shared the same passion for civil rights law and for using the courts to bring about change in (Memphis)," said Sugarmon. "He also spoke of his love for music and let me know that music had to be part of his life along with practicing law. I convinced him to join the firm.
"Irvin's enthusiasm for practicing civil rights law, plus his involvement in the local music scene became infectious. For me, Irvin became a best friend and the little brother I never had. Later he introduced me to my wife of almost 50 years and truly became a part of our family."
For a young Steve Cohen, Salky was a crucial mentor. "We became friends when I was in law school and he was a famous young civil rights activist lawyer. He taught me a lot about the law, and encouraged me to go into politics," said Cohen. "He was always a very strong advocate for progressive and Democratic politics."
Over the years, Cohen saw firsthand the power of Salky's charisma and his affection for people. "We'd go into a place together and I'm the one that's supposed to be working the room. But Irvin would be ahead of me, walking in, shaking hands and being friendly – giving them that little smile and that twinkle in his eye. I'd have to say, 'Irvin, stop this – you're making me look bad!'" said Cohen, laughing. "But it was genuine, he loved people and always saw the good in them."
Though he was deeply involved in politics, Salky never wanted to stand for office himself. "He didn't have the ego for that," said Cohen. "Most politicians, they have some ego. He simply didn't have that sense of self. He was a giving person in the most wonderful way."
Stories are legion of Salky tirelessly advocating for his clients, quietly providing pro bonoaid to many over the years. "He wanted no recognition or compensation. He never charged people like he should've, and never got paid like he could've," said Cohen. "Power, attention, money – those things were never his ambition or driving force. It was always people, and doing right by them."
An ardent supporter of live music, Salky founded the Beale Street Music Festival in 1977. At a time when Beale was boarded up and downtown Memphis was decaying, Salky put up his own money to present the event – which continues forty years on as part of Memphis in May. He also represented jazz and blues icons Newborn, Lewis, Fred Ford and Memphis Slim, and counseled a generation of punk rockers in the '70s.
"He was a sage and experienced adviser to lots of people," said author and Memphis music historian Robert Gordon. "He had experience in the music industry and was aware of its many traps. He was generous, very generous, in helping keep people out of those traps – whether they were young punk rockers or old blues singers."
In his later years, Salky cut a dashing figure in his beloved Midtown, with his love of hats and sports cars. "He had a flair," said Cohen. "He had a fun life – loved music, loved concerts, he knew all about jazz. He was café society in Memphis."
For the 88 year-old Sugarmon, Salky also remained a loyal friend and connector of people. "Decades after our law firm broke up, Irvin seemed to keep up with all the former legal team who were by then practicing all over the county. He became the glue that kept everyone informed and helped bring everyone together for a firm reunion. Amazingly, he could erase years and bring everyone to the present," said Sugarmon.
"After my retirement I began to have short-term memory problems. Again, my little brother decided it was time for him to pay me back for my mentoring by keeping me in the loop with all our old friends," said Sugarmon. "He brought much joy and music into my life."
Cohen noted that Salky's selflessness was driven by a deep, but simple belief. "He told me once what his philosophy was about," recalled Cohen. "He said the reason we're here on this earth is to make life better for others. And that's absolutely what Irvin Salky did."
Attorney, activist, artist manager, founder of the Beale Street Music Festival, charmer, bon vivant – all these descriptions applied equally and accurately to Irvin Salky.
But above all he was that rare kind of Memphian – a man who traversed many different worlds and was welcome in them all.
"I don't think there's a person in Memphis that crossed racial, cultural, religious and economic lines as freely as Irvin Salky," said his longtime friend and protégé, U.S. Rep. Steve Cohen. "He was welcome wherever he went. He knew the entire city; he knew the problems of the city and spent his life trying to cure them."
Salky died Thursday from complications of pneumonia, following a stroke in April. He was 75. Memorial services will be held at 10 a.m. Monday at Baron Hirsch Cemetery, 1523 Rozelle.
A noted civil rights attorney, Salky represented members of black militant group The Invaders and the family of Larry Payne, a teenager who was killed by Memphis police in the aftermath of 1968 sanitation workers' march. As a manager, he helped revive the careers of jazz pianist Phineas Newborn and bluesman Furry Lewis. His deep passion for music was backed by action; he personally funded and launched the inaugural Beale Street Music Festival in 1977, which remains one the city's cultural cornerstones.
Though he stood a diminutive 5-foot-4, to those who knew him Salky cut a massive figure. "Irvin was a small man in physical proportions," said Cohen, "but a giant in terms of his intelligence, and in the care and feeling and understanding he had for his fellow man."
He was born in Memphis on Nov. 14, 1941, to Molly and Herman Salky. His father was a merchant on Beale Street, and Cohen notes that Salky's progressive worldview was a reaction to the era he was raised in. "When he grew up this was a segregated city. I think at an early age he saw discrimination. He knew it from his experiences on Beale Street and from being Jewish," said Cohen.
A graduate of Central High School and Memphis State University, Salky was an honor student at Vanderbilt Law School and served in the U. S. Navy Reserve. "After law school he had offers to go to bigger cities, bigger firms, but he stayed in Memphis for the opportunity to be part of the first civil rights law firm," noted Cohen.
In 1967, Salky would become a member of the integrated firm of Ratner, Sugarmon, Lucas, Willis and Caldwell. Attorney and retired judge Russell Sugarmon recalled that Salky was initially headed for a position in San Francisco.
"He sat down and talked to me for what turned out to be a long conversation. I realized immediately we shared the same passion for civil rights law and for using the courts to bring about change in (Memphis)," said Sugarmon. "He also spoke of his love for music and let me know that music had to be part of his life along with practicing law. I convinced him to join the firm.
"Irvin's enthusiasm for practicing civil rights law, plus his involvement in the local music scene became infectious. For me, Irvin became a best friend and the little brother I never had. Later he introduced me to my wife of almost 50 years and truly became a part of our family."
For a young Steve Cohen, Salky was a crucial mentor. "We became friends when I was in law school and he was a famous young civil rights activist lawyer. He taught me a lot about the law, and encouraged me to go into politics," said Cohen. "He was always a very strong advocate for progressive and Democratic politics."
Over the years, Cohen saw firsthand the power of Salky's charisma and his affection for people. "We'd go into a place together and I'm the one that's supposed to be working the room. But Irvin would be ahead of me, walking in, shaking hands and being friendly – giving them that little smile and that twinkle in his eye. I'd have to say, 'Irvin, stop this – you're making me look bad!'" said Cohen, laughing. "But it was genuine, he loved people and always saw the good in them."
Though he was deeply involved in politics, Salky never wanted to stand for office himself. "He didn't have the ego for that," said Cohen. "Most politicians, they have some ego. He simply didn't have that sense of self. He was a giving person in the most wonderful way."
Stories are legion of Salky tirelessly advocating for his clients, quietly providing pro bonoaid to many over the years. "He wanted no recognition or compensation. He never charged people like he should've, and never got paid like he could've," said Cohen. "Power, attention, money – those things were never his ambition or driving force. It was always people, and doing right by them."
An ardent supporter of live music, Salky founded the Beale Street Music Festival in 1977. At a time when Beale was boarded up and downtown Memphis was decaying, Salky put up his own money to present the event – which continues forty years on as part of Memphis in May. He also represented jazz and blues icons Newborn, Lewis, Fred Ford and Memphis Slim, and counseled a generation of punk rockers in the '70s.
"He was a sage and experienced adviser to lots of people," said author and Memphis music historian Robert Gordon. "He had experience in the music industry and was aware of its many traps. He was generous, very generous, in helping keep people out of those traps – whether they were young punk rockers or old blues singers."
In his later years, Salky cut a dashing figure in his beloved Midtown, with his love of hats and sports cars. "He had a flair," said Cohen. "He had a fun life – loved music, loved concerts, he knew all about jazz. He was café society in Memphis."
For the 88 year-old Sugarmon, Salky also remained a loyal friend and connector of people. "Decades after our law firm broke up, Irvin seemed to keep up with all the former legal team who were by then practicing all over the county. He became the glue that kept everyone informed and helped bring everyone together for a firm reunion. Amazingly, he could erase years and bring everyone to the present," said Sugarmon.
"After my retirement I began to have short-term memory problems. Again, my little brother decided it was time for him to pay me back for my mentoring by keeping me in the loop with all our old friends," said Sugarmon. "He brought much joy and music into my life."
Cohen noted that Salky's selflessness was driven by a deep, but simple belief. "He told me once what his philosophy was about," recalled Cohen. "He said the reason we're here on this earth is to make life better for others. And that's absolutely what Irvin Salky did."
But above all he was that rare kind of Memphian – a man who traversed many different worlds and was welcome in them all.
"I don't think there's a person in Memphis that crossed racial, cultural, religious and economic lines as freely as Irvin Salky," said his longtime friend and protégé, U.S. Rep. Steve Cohen. "He was welcome wherever he went. He knew the entire city; he knew the problems of the city and spent his life trying to cure them."
Salky died Thursday from complications of pneumonia, following a stroke in April. He was 75. Memorial services will be held at 10 a.m. Monday at Baron Hirsch Cemetery, 1523 Rozelle.
A noted civil rights attorney, Salky represented members of black militant group The Invaders and the family of Larry Payne, a teenager who was killed by Memphis police in the aftermath of 1968 sanitation workers' march. As a manager, he helped revive the careers of jazz pianist Phineas Newborn and bluesman Furry Lewis. His deep passion for music was backed by action; he personally funded and launched the inaugural Beale Street Music Festival in 1977, which remains one the city's cultural cornerstones.
Though he stood a diminutive 5-foot-4, to those who knew him Salky cut a massive figure. "Irvin was a small man in physical proportions," said Cohen, "but a giant in terms of his intelligence, and in the care and feeling and understanding he had for his fellow man."
He was born in Memphis on Nov. 14, 1941, to Molly and Herman Salky. His father was a merchant on Beale Street, and Cohen notes that Salky's progressive worldview was a reaction to the era he was raised in. "When he grew up this was a segregated city. I think at an early age he saw discrimination. He knew it from his experiences on Beale Street and from being Jewish," said Cohen.
A graduate of Central High School and Memphis State University, Salky was an honor student at Vanderbilt Law School and served in the U. S. Navy Reserve. "After law school he had offers to go to bigger cities, bigger firms, but he stayed in Memphis for the opportunity to be part of the first civil rights law firm," noted Cohen.
In 1967, Salky would become a member of the integrated firm of Ratner, Sugarmon, Lucas, Willis and Caldwell. Attorney and retired judge Russell Sugarmon recalled that Salky was initially headed for a position in San Francisco.
"He sat down and talked to me for what turned out to be a long conversation. I realized immediately we shared the same passion for civil rights law and for using the courts to bring about change in (Memphis)," said Sugarmon. "He also spoke of his love for music and let me know that music had to be part of his life along with practicing law. I convinced him to join the firm.
"Irvin's enthusiasm for practicing civil rights law, plus his involvement in the local music scene became infectious. For me, Irvin became a best friend and the little brother I never had. Later he introduced me to my wife of almost 50 years and truly became a part of our family."
For a young Steve Cohen, Salky was a crucial mentor. "We became friends when I was in law school and he was a famous young civil rights activist lawyer. He taught me a lot about the law, and encouraged me to go into politics," said Cohen. "He was always a very strong advocate for progressive and Democratic politics."
Over the years, Cohen saw firsthand the power of Salky's charisma and his affection for people. "We'd go into a place together and I'm the one that's supposed to be working the room. But Irvin would be ahead of me, walking in, shaking hands and being friendly – giving them that little smile and that twinkle in his eye. I'd have to say, 'Irvin, stop this – you're making me look bad!'" said Cohen, laughing. "But it was genuine, he loved people and always saw the good in them."
Though he was deeply involved in politics, Salky never wanted to stand for office himself. "He didn't have the ego for that," said Cohen. "Most politicians, they have some ego. He simply didn't have that sense of self. He was a giving person in the most wonderful way."
Stories are legion of Salky tirelessly advocating for his clients, quietly providing pro bonoaid to many over the years. "He wanted no recognition or compensation. He never charged people like he should've, and never got paid like he could've," said Cohen. "Power, attention, money – those things were never his ambition or driving force. It was always people, and doing right by them."
An ardent supporter of live music, Salky founded the Beale Street Music Festival in 1977. At a time when Beale was boarded up and downtown Memphis was decaying, Salky put up his own money to present the event – which continues forty years on as part of Memphis in May. He also represented jazz and blues icons Newborn, Lewis, Fred Ford and Memphis Slim, and counseled a generation of punk rockers in the '70s.
"He was a sage and experienced adviser to lots of people," said author and Memphis music historian Robert Gordon. "He had experience in the music industry and was aware of its many traps. He was generous, very generous, in helping keep people out of those traps – whether they were young punk rockers or old blues singers."
In his later years, Salky cut a dashing figure in his beloved Midtown, with his love of hats and sports cars. "He had a flair," said Cohen. "He had a fun life – loved music, loved concerts, he knew all about jazz. He was café society in Memphis."
For the 88 year-old Sugarmon, Salky also remained a loyal friend and connector of people. "Decades after our law firm broke up, Irvin seemed to keep up with all the former legal team who were by then practicing all over the county. He became the glue that kept everyone informed and helped bring everyone together for a firm reunion. Amazingly, he could erase years and bring everyone to the present," said Sugarmon.
"After my retirement I began to have short-term memory problems. Again, my little brother decided it was time for him to pay me back for my mentoring by keeping me in the loop with all our old friends," said Sugarmon. "He brought much joy and music into my life."
Cohen noted that Salky's selflessness was driven by a deep, but simple belief. "He told me once what his philosophy was about," recalled Cohen. "He said the reason we're here on this earth is to make life better for others. And that's absolutely what Irvin Salky did."
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