The little boy was born to preach, and told his mother so when he turned 4.
Other youngsters itched to get out of church. But even as a teenager, Charles Gilchrist Adams would sit, enraptured, during the sermon at his grandmother's church -- and then sprint through the alley to a neighboring congregation, where the services ran far longer.
In this way, said Adams, today the minister at Hartford Memorial Baptist Church in Detroit, he was tutored on the oratorical styles of two of Detroit's most legendary preachers -- Hartford Memorial Baptist's Charles A. Hill and New Light Baptist's fiery, electrifying A.M. Martin.
"If I've achieved anything," Adams said in his church office, "it is because of those two men."
His accomplishments seem beyond doubt. Adams, who's just finished 35 years at Hartford, is one of America's most sought-after speakers -- an impassioned intellectual whom Ebony magazine called one of the country's "greatest black preachers."
A graduate of Cass Technical High School, the University of Michigan and Harvard Divinity School, Adams has served as president of the Progressive National Baptist Convention and on the Central Committee of the World Council of Churches. He also addressed the United Nations on South African apartheid in 1989.
Five years later, President Clinton invited Adams to accompany him to Jordan to witness the signing of the peace treaty between that nation and Israel.
In addition to his pastoral duties, Adams was president of the Detroit branch of the NAACP in the 1980s when the city of Dearborn tried to ban nonresidents from its parks. The move was widely seen as an effort to fence out African-Americans. In response, Adams galvanized the black community and steered a highly successful economic boycott of Dearborn businesses.
He went further still, reaching out to natural allies among Dearborn ministers and elected officials.
Said friend and Hartford trustee William G. Anderson, "He used a diplomatic approach. You don't just use a stick. You also use a carrot."
Ask Adams what he thinks his greatest achievement has been, and he points to Hartford's pioneering steps to stimulate Detroit's economy. Under his guidance, Hartford's development foundation bought land and brought in two black-owned fast-food franchises -- as well as a Kmart.
"He's given people a sense that churches can make a difference in stabilizing their communities," said the Rev. V. Bruce Rigdon at Detroit's Ecumenical Theological Seminary.
The dean of Harvard Divinity, William A. Graham, said that in his travels across the country, he's been "stunned at the degree to which Adams is known and revered in both the black and white church communities."
But Miriam B. Martin-Clark, a judge at 36th District Court who's known Adams all her life, sees a much more personal pastor.
"I've never met anyone who gives as much of himself and his time," she said.
She tells the story of running into Adams years ago in Probate Court, where he'd come to assume guardianship on behalf of an elderly parishioner who was in a nursing home.
"Being a guardian is not a glamorous role," Martin-Clark said. "It really is a grave responsibility. So when I saw that, I was so struck -- although I knew that was the sort of person he is."
When civil rights icon Rosa Parks couldn't pay her rent, Adams stepped in, and he and his church quietly picked up the tab.
Adams is married to pianist Agnes Hadley Adams. They each have two grown children from previous marriages.
Like Jeremiah, Adams said he believes God chose him, not the other way around.
"That's the only way I can explain it," he said with a laugh, "because being a minister isn't the most glamorous life in the world. It doesn't afford you holidays off. And the needs of the people are always going to far exceed your ability to take care of it all."
He sighed. "There are moments when one has his doubts. But God always seems to confirm."
Michael H. Hodges
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