Editor Ira is here today to dive deep into the 1968 tribute song “Abraham, Martin, and John.”

I'm on record as being a big fan of cover songs. To me, they're a perfect illustration of the beautiful subjectivity of art. In the best case scenario, a song that I know by heart can reveal new meanings and hidden depths in the hands of a different artist. In the worst case scenario, an artist can inadvertently reveal their shortcomings with a cover that misunderstands or even dishonors the original. Either way, it's a fascinating window into the art form and a reminder that there's no single correct interpretation of any artistic endeavor.

That's true even of a song as achingly straightforward as "Abraham, Martin, and John." Written by songwriter Dick Holler as an earnest response to the assassinations of Martin Luther King Jr., John F. Kennedy, and Robert Kennedy, it's a simple, pained call for peace and understanding in an era of extreme political turmoil. The lyrics describe the singer's search for each of the recently fallen leaders and Abraham Lincoln, all of whom are simply "gone." It hit the charts in 1968 as the right message for the right time, even if it came from what might not have seemed like the right guys.

The magnificently named Dick Holler (who is still alive and online at the time of this writing) was a young rocker who played in bands around 1950s Louisiana before realizing his calling as a songwriter. His risque hangover anthem "Double Shot (Of My Baby's Love)" became a Top 20 hit for the Swingin' Medallions in 1966. He hit even bigger the following year when he wrote the classic novelty song "Snoopy vs. the Red Baron." That one became an unexpected smash for The Royal Guardsmen, peaking at No. 2 on the charts and spawning a host of sequels not written by Holler (including, as I absolutely need to mention any chance I get, a 2002 follow-up in which Snoopy guns down Osama bin Laden while Charlie Brown is incapacitated by a roadside explosive).

Like most of the U.S., Holler was profoundly impacted by the spate of political assassinations that swept the country in the '60s. He channeled his anxieties into "Abraham, Martin, and John," a mournful tribute to murdered American leaders who'd "freed a lot of people." It rode a frightened and frustrated national zeitgeist up the charts in 1968 as recorded by Dion.

If you're not familiar with Dion DiMucci, he wouldn't have topped anyone's list of the most likely artists to record a timeless political anthem at the time. He was a major star of '50s rock and roll, racking up such doo-wop infused hits as "Runaround Sue," "The Wanderer," and "Ruby Baby" with his group The Belmonts. By 1968, though, Dion was nearly 30 and a bit of a relic. The music scene had changed drastically in the five years since his last big hit. (That single dropped two months before The Beatles released "I Want to Hold Your Hand." By 1968 The Beatles were recording "Revolution 9.") Dion himself had moved away from his good-time early sound and started exploring folk and blues music. Holler's lament for Abraham, Martin, John, and Bobby was right in his late '60s wheelhouse.

Dion's honey-voiced rendition went to No. 4 on the Billboard chart in August 1968. It proved to be his final major hit (I'm annoyed that his follow-up single, the mellowest rendition of "Purple Haze" you're going to hear today, didn't have the same success), although he had a bit of a comeback on the Christian music charts in the '80s when he reinvented himself as essentially a born-again Billy Joel. "Abraham, Martin, and John," on the other hand, was just getting started.

Here's where I start coming back to the power of cover songs. As was fairly standard in the '60s, "Abraham, Martin, and John" was immediately covered by a host of other artists. It quickly became a staple of the post-hippie American songbook. The beauty of "Abraham, Martin, and John" as a cover song is that its lyrics are so simple and its message so universal that it's easy for an artist to make it their own. Over the decades it's been performed by a wild array of artists, including some who you'd expect (Ray Charles, Mahalia Jackson, Harry Belafonte) and some you might not (Kenny Rogers, Leonard Nimoy, Jon Bon friggin' Jovi).

Several of those renditions became hits in their own right, including Marvin Gaye infusing it with deep reserves of passion and Smokey Robinson and The Miracles transforming it into a danceable celebration of life. Andy Williams, who was a personal friend of Robert Kennedy's, makes it a heartbreaking plaint. His delivery of the name "Bobby" is just devastating. Gospel singer and former NFL star Rosey Grier, who was working as Robert Kennedy's bodyguard when he was shot, recorded a string-sweetened version delivered with the authority of someone who was there.

The ultimate cover of "Abraham, Martin, and John," though, wasn't recorded by any of these music luminaries. For my money, the single greatest rendition comes from stand-up comedian Jackie "Moms" Mabley. Moms is a legend in her own right, a fearless pioneer who channeled a childhood riddled with violence (content warning for sexual violence) and tragedy into one of the most celebrated comedy careers of the 20th century.

She was the grand dame of the Chitlin' Circuit (the colloquial name for a string of entertainment venues catering to mostly Black audiences across the U.S.) in the '20s, '30s, and '40s, and even starred in a few low-budget movies. She was one of the first openly gay performers on the national stage, having come out as a lesbian in her 20s. She became a household name in the '50s and '60s after adopting a "raunchy granny" persona that allowed her to more freely explore race, sexuality, and other subjects that seemed more palatable to white audiences when they were delivered by a supposedly harmless old lady.

Moms Mabley was by no means a traditionally gifted singer, but she loved to sing and often incorporated music into her act and her comedy records. A song as somber and reverent as "Abraham, Martin, and John" may seem like an odd fit for a performer venerated for her provocative envelope-pushing, but it turned out to be the perfect combination. Singing over a lullaby-esque orchestral arrangement, Moms delivers her 1969 paean to Lincoln, King, and the Kennedys in a raspy, weary croak that's rich in lived experience. It's a pained but defiant plea that's clearly coming from someone who knows whereof she sings. Moms Mabley had been around to witness every moment of the 20th century to date, and you can hear it in every syllable.

All due respect to Dion, but an aching ode to assassinated icons of the civil rights movement has a different impact when it's coming from a Black, gay woman artist who was born in the American South in the 1800s than it does coming from a 29-year-old Italian guy from The Bronx. The Moms Mabley rendition connected with audiences as well, becoming the third recording of "Abraham, Martin, and John" to reach the U.S. Top 40 in a one-year span. It also made the then-75-year-old Mabley the oldest living performer ever to have a Top 40 hit, a record that lasted until Brenda Lee's surprise Christmas comeback in 2023.

Is "Abraham, Martin, and John" the most insightful song ever to tackle the turmoil of the '60s? Probably not. Is it a drastically simplified take that omits many other equally worthy civil rights martyrs? Certainly. But it's a heartfelt, evocative song that struck a chord that needed to be struck in 1968, and it's one that's resonated with hundreds of artists and their audiences for more than 50 years. Moms Mabley may have nailed it better than anyone else, but every one of those artists brought their own experience and idiosyncrasies to it. That's the mark of a classic, and that's why I love cover songs.