(December 31, 2024). We lost one of our greatest actors — John Amos — in 2024. It was in October that we learned of his passing two months earlier (of congestive heart failure) at the age of 84.
The loss sent shockwaves through social media — if not for the fact that earlier reports of his declining health had been refuted by the man himself, then because of the uncanny way the family broke the news many weeks after it happened.
That they were able to keep it a secret for nearly two months — in an age where the internet breaks news faster than a network news anchor can even turn on his mic — was remarkable.
It was an unlikelihood matched only by, say, a family in the late 20th century receiving the news of a patriarch’s passing by way of telegram versus a telephone call.
Oh wait, that’s exactly what happened nearly half a century ago when the father played by Amos on a famous TV sitcom was killed off after the actor unceremoniously left the show at the height of its popularity in 1976.
The sitcom was Good Times, a program about a Black, two-parent family living (and struggling) in the projects of Chicago’s Southside (although its famous Cabrini Green setting was nowhere near the city’s Southside). Amos played James Evans, Sr. — husband to Florida and father to James, Jr. (aka J.J.), Thelma and Michael — who was the chief breadwinner in a family that barely scraped by in a setting where the only people who seemingly had it worse were some of the neighbors (one resorted to eating dog food, a situation so hilariously depicted that the humor practically overshadowed its sadness).
John Amos’ portrayal of James Evans, Sr. in Good Times was a masterclass in strength, resilience, and principle. As the steadfast patriarch of the Evans family, he embodied the role of a Black father who fought fiercely for his family’s survival in a world that continually threatened to knock them down. His love was tough but unwavering, and his presence was the glue that held the family together.
Until one day when it wasn’t.
When the show’s producers made the fateful decision to kill off his character, the loss wasn’t just felt on-screen — it reverberated throughout the hearts of viewers who had come to rely on James as a symbol of what it meant to be a father in the most trying of circumstances. Our hearts cried as Florida read that telegram, even while we jokingly questioned the communication method.
Our tears flowed even more a week later — post-burial — when Florida, portrayed brilliantly by the late Esther Rolle, finally came to grips with James’ death in Part 2 of the episode, “The Big Move,” as she slammed to the kitchen floor a glass serving bowl, shattering it to pieces while exclaiming “Damn, Damn, Damn!” as her grieving children came to comfort her. Those words were so out of character for the devoutly spiritual matriarch, further underscoring the gravity of her grief.
Two iconic songs immortalized this profound fictional moment of loss more than two decades apart: Brass Construction’s “Movin’” (1976) and OutKast’s “SpottieOttieDopalicious” (1998). Each, in its own way, became a haunting tribute to James Evans, Sr., capturing the agony and the absence left behind by a father who could not be replaced, while symbolizing the all-too-familiar reality of the many fatherless households that Black families faced both then and now (seemingly more so now).
In Part 1 of “The Big Move,” so named because of a new job opportunity James had secured back home in Mississippi where the family was planning to join him, the upbeat yet piercing sound of “Movin’” was juxtaposed against the devastating revelation that James had died. Florida Evans, holding the telegram, learned while standing alongside family and friends that her rock, her protector, her husband had been killed in an automobile accident. As the driving bass and horns of “Movin’” filled the room, it underscored the cruel irony of its sparse lyrics — “Got myself together, yeah… gonna get higher and movin’ on.”
For the Evans family, and for those watching, moving on now seemed impossible. The song’s relentless energy felt like the chaotic rush of emotions that flood in when everything you know and love is suddenly taken from you. James had been the foundation of the family, the man who, despite all odds, provided a sense of stability in the tumultuous world of the Chicago projects. His death felt like a punch to the gut, and the song’s throbbing beat was a reminder of how life keeps moving, even when you’re reeling from unbearable grief.
But the true emotional climax came in Part 2, when Florida Evans finally broke down in the kitchen after trying to keep herself composed. Her heart-wrenching “Damn, damn, damn!” became one of the most memorable moments in television history, a primal cry of loss and despair. It was the reality her children — and the TV audience — had reconciled, but Florida theretofore hadn’t. It was the realization that James was really gone, and the family, like so many others in America, would now have to navigate life without the strong, principled man who had held them together.
This moment would later be immortalized in OutKast’s track “SpottieOttieDopalicious,” from their 1998 Aquemini album. In that song, André 3000 kicks things off with the hook, “Damn, damn, damn, James,” a clear reference to Florida Evans’ iconic TV moment from 22 years earlier. Later, guest vocalist Sleepy Brown sings in pure falsetto — 1970s Curtis Mayfield style — about a ghetto club scene that could have just as easily described Chicago’s Cabrini Green as it did the spot in Atlanta, Ga that inspired it. OutKast members Andre 3000 and Big Boi later give spoken-word narratives depicting the harsh realities of ghetto life, including the poverty and violence so often associated with it. Both rappers also describe burgeoning romances — none of which ever seem to materialize — further justifying the despair felt throughout the song’s seven-minute length.
“Spottie”’s smoky, laid-back, reggae-influenced vibe, along with its streetwise storytelling, felt like a fitting tribute to the tough, resilient Evans family we watched lose their cornerstone a generation earlier while enduring situations — both pre- and post-James — not far removed from those depicted in OutKast’s tune. Even the song’s repeated horn riff felt like it was straight out of 1976, a time when soul/funk groups like Brass Construction, Earth, Wind & Fire, and Ohio Players — among many others — were blowing brass instruments to perfection.
Both “Movin’” and “SpottieOttieDopalicious” were highly successful recordings. Brass Construction’s single had reached No. 1 on the Billboard R&B chart just months before soundtracking the going-away party scene where the Evans’ family learned of James’ tragic fate. It also reached No. 14 on Billboard’s Hot 100 pop chart.
Decades later, Aquemini, OutKast’s highly acclaimed third album containing “SpottieOttieDopalicious,” debuted at No. 2 on the Billboard 200 and was certified multi-platinum within months of its release. “Spottie” went on to be named the 16th greatest song of the 1990s on Pitchfork Media’s top 200 ranking.
But more importantly, its “Damn, Damn, Damn, James” hook immortalized the moment in TV history when James Evans’ mortality was manifested, as “Movin” had done decades earlier.
In recent decades, James’ death — or, more accurately, Florida’s reaction to it — has become the fodder of memes, gif files and other parodies across social media. The word “Damn” repeated in triplicate will forever be associated with the loss of that iconic character.
The irony is that John Amos — the actor — had no say or influence on how pop culture recalls his most memorable role. He’d already left the show when these historic moments were created at the beginning of the 1976-77 season. But the power of his portrayal of James Evans in Good Times is what created the emotional bond that made his loss so profound with the other characters and viewers alike.
It is through the beats of Brass Construction’s “Movin’” and OutKast’s “SpottieOttieDopalicious” that we’re reminded of that painful loss, a father taken too soon — on screen, and in the cultural landscape of Black television.
We got to relive it all over again upon learning of Amos’ death in 2024. May he rest in peace!
DJRob
DJRob (he/him) is a freelance music blogger from the East Coast who covers R&B, hip-hop, disco, pop, rock and country genres – plus lots of music news and current stuff! You can follow him on Bluesky at @djrobblog.bsky.social, X (formerly Twitter) at @djrobblog, on Facebook or on Meta’s Threads.
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