I started getting involved in the music industry in the early 1980s. The transition from a fan/freak to someone who tried to understand the vagaries of the music “business” versus music enjoyment was rather an ordeal.

Back then, I met quite a few people who were involved in the music business—or who wanted to be involved in the business. One of those people was Lee Rea, who had attended Tulane, was a Fulbright Scholar, and who I learned later, had worked at the Mushroom, the little record store cum head shop adjacent to the Tulane Campus on Broadway.

When I met him, Lee was probably as big a fan as me. He and his then-wife Shirani owned a record store in Gentilly, and several others in town known as Peaches. Lee and Shirani had two children, but ultimately didn’t stay together; but Shirani kept the Gentilly Peaches open for years until it moved to the old Tower Records location on North Peters post-Katrina and then to Magazine Street.

Lee (at some point in time he reverted to his given first name of Harris—his son was known as Lee) and I became business acquaintances and I always admired him for his devotion to local music and musicians. Harris concocted a grand scheme and a telephone book-size business plan to create a wholesale company that would specialize in distributing Louisiana music. He solicited investors for years before landing a Houston-based and a local investor, John Elstrott, who helped make “Big Easy Distribution” a reality.

Unfortunately, the idea didn’t pan out, but at the same time Rea started a record label, Louisiana Red Hot Records, to develop and promote local music. That idea did work.

Louisiana Red Hot was housed in a large warehouse in Gentilly when Hurricane Katrina struck, and it seemed then that Harris’ dream hit a low point; the building and the business were decimated. But he kept on going, and ultimately re-established the label. I thought it was funny and endearing that he co-opted Louis Armstrong’s signoffs on his letters: “Red beans and ricely yours.”

Harris Rea

I heard some years ago that Harris wasn’t doing well; that he had cancer. We met for lunch, and he didn’t look well, but he was upbeat and positive about beating his illness and pursuing the dream of Louisiana Red Hot Records.

Harris was a one-of-a-kind person, and a great example of what dedication to a dream can produce. He died from leukemia on May 11, surrounded by his family and friends.

Harris, may your dream of promoting Louisiana music be fulfilled. You started something great that will endure.