Dead Air Mini: Script #13.5 The Godfather On the Run

Jonny’s Dead Air Mini takes the dark, atmospheric storytelling of Jonny’s Dead Air Podcast and condenses it into powerful, bite-sized stories—shorter episodes that explore the moments where fame fractures, where success spins out, and where legends meet their breaking point.

In this Mini installment, a world-renowned soul icon—once the very heartbeat of a generation—finds himself at the center of chaos. A shotgun. A high-speed chase. A fall from grace that played out in real time across state lines and television screens.

He built his empire on rhythm, power, and pride.

But one fateful morning, that rhythm crashed headfirst into the law. It’s the night the music stopped—and the sirens took over.

Jonny’s Dead Air Mini: The Godfather on the Run.

Written by Jonny Hartwell
Voiced by Jonny Hartwell
Music Credit: Reel World Audio.
A iHeart Radio Production

DISCLAIMER: This podcast contains discussions of sensitive topics...Listener discretion is strongly advised. While the stories you’ll hear are rooted in real events, not every detail is strictly historical—some moments are dramatized with creative license to bring the narrative to life. Please keep this in mind as you listen.

Jonny’s Dead Air Podcast
Written, hosted, and produced by Jonny Hartwell.
A production of iHeartRadio Pittsburgh.

Thanks for listening—and for keeping the light on.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
And welcome in. I'm Johnny Hartwell and this is a
mini episode of Johnny's Dead Air podcast, a production of iHeartRadio.
Some careers are born on rhythm, on timing, on an
untouchable beat no one else can touch. But sometimes timing fails.

(00:20):
One wrong note, one wrong night, and suddenly the music
is drowned out by sirens. This is a story of
a man whose voice could move nations, who found himself
running not from the stage, but from the law. This
is episode thirteen point five, The Godfather on the Run,

(00:40):
Act one before the Fall. He was a self made legend,
raised from nothing but hunger and a dream. He found
his voice in the gospel halls of the South. He
moves in the juke joints, in the dance halls. His
style is in the mirror, where he practiced every scream,
every shuffle until they belonged to him and him only.

(01:02):
He rows out of poverty like a lightning bolt, every
song a sermon, every show a revolution. And for decades
he wasn't just a singer. He was a force, a
man who could command presidents and demand respect with one
stomp of his foot. But power comes with pressure, and
pressure cracks even the strongest foundation. The crowd is shoulder

(01:24):
to shoulder, sweating in the heat. The lights blaze, and
suddenly he's there. That scream sharp enough to cut steel.
The floor shakes, as if the earth itself is dancing
with him. For a moment, you believe he can't be touched,
not by man, not by fate. Act too, The trouble building.

(01:45):
Years of fame had turned into years of excess. The
stage was still his home, but behind the closed doors,
the demons grew louder, drug use, whispers of violence, the
kind of stories that get buried until one day they don't.
The nineteen eighties brought more than sequin jumpsuits. They brought chaos,

(02:05):
unpaid taxes, failed business ventures, and a rage simmering just
beneath the Polish shoes. Until one morning that rage spilled
into the daylight. You're sitting in a quiet office building.
Suddenly the door bursts open. A man storms in, wild eyed, furious,
in his hand a shotgun. His voice shakes the walls

(02:28):
as he accuses the world of betrayal, and then silence,
a silence so heavy you forget to breathe. Act three,
The Man with a Gun. Next Act three, the man
with a gun. The police are called. What follows isn't

(02:51):
just an arrest. It's a spectacle, a surreal, slow motion
car chase that feels more like a fever dream than
a headline. It all starts in a gun to Georgia,
officers respond to reports of a man brandishing a gun
inside an insurance office. He's shouting incoherent demanding who used
his private restroom. The employees scatter, a few dive behind desk,

(03:15):
others bolt for the door, But before anyone can make
sense of what's happening, he's gone tire squealing engines, roaring,
his pickup truck, fishtailing into the street. Within minutes, police
radios crackled to life. Armed suspect heading northbound, possible intoxicated
approach with caution. He drives like a man possessed, blowing

(03:38):
through red lights, weaving through traffic, the vehicle bouncing and
snarling across lanes. Every time the troopers close in, he
floors the gas, the truck lurching forward with the fury
of someone who refuses to be caught. Witnesses later said
they didn't recognize him at first, just another reckless driver
tearing through the morning sun. But when the officer catches

(03:59):
a glimpse through the cracked windshield, there's a pause in
his voice. Wait, is that who I think it is?
The dispatchers don't believe it. They double check, and then
the confirmation comes through. He is not a stranger. He
is in some small time criminal. It's it's it's him,

(04:20):
the godfather of soul, James Brown, the man whose voice,
who could make the White House Dance, whose songs define generations,
a living monument in rhythm, Now a fugitive on the interstate.
The pursuit stretches from Georgia into South Carolina. The flashing
lights bounce off the asphalt like a disco gone mad.

(04:42):
Helicopter circle above. Reporters catch wind of it and start
rolling tape. By the time the chase hits local news,
the phones in every newsroom from Atlanta to New York
are lighting up. No one can believe it. This is
the man who sang about pride, power, and the spirit
of some Bible. Now he's running from the very people

(05:02):
who once protected him. Drivers pull over, stun watching the
scene fly by, a blur of chrome and panic. Some cheer,
not understanding the gravity. Others just stare shaking their heads
in disbelief, because this isn't how legends are supposed to fall,
not like this. One officer later described it as watching

(05:24):
history lose control of the wheel. Every turn, every siren,
every heartbeat, pulsed with a tragic rhythm like one of
his old songs, but warped and desperate, and still he
didn't stop through the chaos. There's something heartbreaking in the defiance.
The same energy that once filled Arenas now burns inside
him as fear as fire. He's trying to outrun more

(05:47):
than the law. He's trying to outrun time, failure, and
everything that's caught up to him. The godfather of soul,
the man who once felt good, is now feeling something darker.
The world is watching act for the fallout. By nightfall,
the chase has become legend. Local stations ran the footageohn

(06:09):
loop sirens, howling tires, smoking, a pickup truck grinding against
the guard rail. The anchor's voice quivered as she read
the copy. An unidentified man has been apprehended after a
two state pursuit. Unidentified until the mug shot hit the airwaves,
and then the world just gasped. The man whose rhythm

(06:30):
had built empires, now stared back through swollen eyes and
hollow exhaustion. His hair, once sculpted to perfection, was wild,
his face a portrait of disbelief like he couldn't quite
process how the beat had turned against him. He'd always
been the hardest working man in show business, but now
he was working against himself. Behind the walls of a

(06:51):
Georgia jail cell, the stage lights were gone, the roar
of the crowd replaced by the hum of flickering fluorescence.
He paced, He sang to himself. He argued with ghosts
only he could hear. Lawyers came, and lawyers went. Reporters
camped outside. The questions weren't about the music anymore. They
were about the madness. How does a man go from

(07:15):
commanding presidents to being commanded to face the wall, from
tuxedos to prison blues, from feeling good to feeling nothing.
His court hearings became public theater, every appearance a strange
collision of charisma and chaos. He grinned at cameras he
danced for reporters. He called himself innocent, cursed, the system,

(07:37):
preached redemption, and sometimes all in the same breath, and
through it all, the world didn't know whether to laugh,
to pity, or to mourn. When the sentence finally came,
six years behind bars, it felt like a death knell
for the myth that he built. But in that miss ashes,
the man remained bruised, broken, but still moving to a

(07:59):
bee that no one else could hear. They said he
sang in prison, led call in response from his bunk,
even behind bars, rhythm refused to leave him. It was
his curse and his salvation. The epilogue next. The epilogue,

(08:24):
legends aren't supposed to fall. They're supposed to fade under
the spotlights, exit with applause, But sometimes the encore comes
with flashing lights and the echo of sirens. When he
was finally released, the world hadn't forgotten, but it had changed.
The stages were smaller, the crowds older. Yet when the

(08:45):
music started, the old fire still sparked in his eyes.
He laughed it off in interviews, said he learned from it,
said he paid his dues. But those who look closer
saw it the weight that never left his shoulders, the
restless which in his fingers, like he was still running,
because maybe he always was running from poverty, from the

(09:07):
demons that fed his genius, from the chaos that gave
his voice its power. In the end, the music outlived
the man, as it always does. It still fills Dan's floor,
still burns in the hearts of those who feel something
primal when the beat drops. But if you listen closely,
beneath the rhythm and brass, you can still hear the

(09:29):
echo of tires, the breathless plea, the sound of one
man trying to outrun his own legend. For one unforgettable night,
the Godfathers soul didn't lead the band, He led the chase.
James Brown would always be remembered as the hardest working
man in show business, But for one strange, unforgettable night,

(09:51):
he was just another man on the run. I hope
you enjoyed Scrap thirteen point five, The Godfather on the Run.
This has been a mini episode of Johnny's Dead Air podcast.
I'm Johnny Heartwell, thank you so much for listening.