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Walton was visiting his daughter during Christmas when he fell ill. He underwent surgery for an intestinal blockage and died at the hospital. Walton was born one of 17 children at Lombardy near the state penitentiary at Parchman. He was raised on the Lee Mays plantation. Although he heard prisoners play blues, he said, he learned to play blues guitar from his brother, Hollis 'Honey' Walton. In the 1940s, he went to Memphis to the Lupkin Barber College where he learned his trade. Moving to Clarksdale, he started barbering at the Big Six Barber Shop. In 1972, he opened his own barber shop. It had a small club in the rear. In 1990, he opened a second barber shop with his son. Walton was regular performer at the Sunflower River Blues and Gospel Festival. Survivors include his wife, Rose; a son, a step- daughter and a sister.

BIOGRAPHY

Born: Oct 10, 1923 in Lombardy, MS

Wade Walton is a unique individual having spent his entire life in Clarksdale, cutting hair and slapping out blues rhythms on his razor strap. A barber for 55 years Wade has probably known more blues performers and has performed for and with more blues performers than anybody else around the Clarksdale area. No trip to Clarksdale would be complete without a trip to Wade Walton's barber shop. Many a Blues fan has made the trip to sit in his chair and listen to him talk about and perform the Blues. A great guitarist and harp player in his own right he's also a mean barber so you get double your money's worth.

Wade is a favorite performer at Blues Festivals and he brings along his razor strap to show folks how it's done.

Copyright by Larry Heyl and Vivian Heyl, 1997 Delta Boogie

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The following is taken from the liner notes of Shake 'Em on Down:

PARCHMAN FARM is a musical dramatization of a very real incident involving Wade, myself [Dave Mangurian], and Don Hill a friend of mine from Pomona College. During our summer vacation in 1958, Don and I traveled to the South to record folk music and blues in the field. We found Wade in Clarksdale and, while recording, we mentioned that we wanted to go down to Parchman Farm State Penitentiary and try to record the prisoners singing their work songs. Wade generously offered to take the next day off from work and ride down with us, since he was familiar with Parchman from his childhood days.

Late the next morning we drove the 25 miles down Highway 49 to Parchman. We got a visitor's pass at the main gate and drove down to the chaplain's house figuring he would know the prisoners better than anyone else and help us out. The chaplain, however, was very uncooperative and sent us down to the administration building to wait for the educational director to return from lunch.

We didn't wait long before a stocky man with a .38 on his side stormed in. This was Mr. Harpole, a staunch segregationist it turned out, who was then assistant warden and noted for his cruelty toward the convicts with his three foot leather strap. He asked us a few questions, then turned on Wade saying, "Boy, if you knowed like I know, you'd be out of here runnin'," and bluntly ordered Don and me to leave with the advice that we "should have known better than to come in here with a nigger." In disbelief at our harsh rejection, we left. It was the first time Don and I had seen outward racial prejudice face to face.

The incident made a lasting impression on Wade who later made up this song, weaving together the events in a loose rhyming story....What had happened was certainly not of any great scale of importance, but the hurt Wade suffered was deep. He ends by saying "...we left Parchman Farm, didn't get no race relations done."

Walton, who is 76, has been cutting hair and playing blues since 1943. His first shop, which also featured a bar, was on Fourth Street. He moved to his present location in 1989.

Over the past 56 years, Walton has entertained and cut the hair of many blues dignitaries. The walls of Walton's shop are covered with signed photos from B.B. King, Sonny Boy Williamson, Muddy Waters, John Lee Hooker, Ike and Tina Turner -- even Z.Z. Top.

''Yeah, that Z.Z. Top come in here once,'' Turner said, nattily attired in a bowtie and white barber's smock with his name on the back. ''They kept eyeing me and strokin' them long beards. I think they was worried.''

Walton is a bluesman in his own right. He took a harmonica out of a drawer crammed with barber supplies and bent a few notes. He didn't play long; he looked tired and frail.

He then turned on a cassette tape of him playing guitar with Big Jack Johnson. Walton took out a straight razor and, striking a leather strop, illustrated a source of rhythmic support as old as the blues.

As he worked that strop, he danced, and the years seemed to fall away.

Walton is proud of his musical heritage. He pointed with pride to a photo of him playing for a group of Freedom Riders in the early 1960s. He opened a cabinet and pulled out a worn copy of Shake 'Em On Down: The Blues Of Wade Walton, an album he recorded for Bluesville in 1958.

There was a time when Walton performed in many of the area's juke joints. ''Didn't make no money, but we had a big time,'' he said. ''We'd play, get a shot of whiskey, play some more, drink some more, then go home before things got rough.''

These days, Walton performs for patrons only when the spirit moves him -- and his spirit is moving mighty slow.

Walton's wife of 37 years is sick, and business isn't what it used to be. Blues musicians don't come 'round much anymore. People move on. Times change.

''These young kids, they don't know nothing about making music with no washboards, combs or razor strops,'' he said, looking up with sad eyes. ''And they don't care. All that's dying with the people who know it, and that's a shame.''

In Wade Walton's yard sits a sign. ''House for Sale. Moving to St. Louis.'' By year's end, Wade's Barber Shop will close forever.

''It's been nice,'' Walton said. ''But it's hell without money.'' Walton extended his hand, and we headed to the parking lot.

Inside, Wade Walton sat in his barber chair, listening to his recording of ''Leaving 4th Street,'' alone in the blues.

• Sunday, Aug. 29: Ed Bumgardner and Chris English visit Memphis, the city where cultures collided to create rock 'n' roll.

Published: August 22, 1999 in Journal Now