As a Minnesotan, and more specifically, as a resident of Minneapolis (born and raised), the news of the death of legendary rock star Prince left me speechless. I was at lunch with a group of coworkers and without saying anything, one of them handed me his phone to show me a text message that had just come in from his son: “Prince is dead”. My response, “Not Prince, like, the singer? Minnesota Prince?”. We spent our entire lunch on our phones, searching for the latest updates and praying it was just another TMZ scam. It wasn’t. Prince was dead. His body was found inside of Paisley Park, his home in Chanhassen, Minnesota (five minutes from my office). I was stunned. I watched in the hours and days that followed as my Facebook news feed turned into a sea of purple. All of our major sports teams changed their logos, our bridges and buildings were lit in neon shades of violet and thousands stormed to Paisley Park and to First Avenue, the historic bar and concert venue that Prince made famous in his movie Purple Rain.

I had goosebumps watching my fellow Minnesotans mourn our most famous brother (watch the link below, and I bet you will too).

Fans Flock to First Ave

For two days, I listened to nothing but Prince on my drives to and from work. I even blew a speaker in the trunk because I had “Little Red Corvette” turned up too loud – and as soon as I realized it, I wasn’t mad, I was proud. Yes, others reacted too. I saw pictures of famous landmarks from around the world lit up in various shades of purple.

But nothing compared to the outpouring from those here at home. Purple balloons floated in our skies through the weekend. Roses, cards, letters, teddy bears, and memorabilia adorned the home of our former superstar. Our local radio stations went on binges and played nothing but Prince songs for days.

Eventually, I realized that I had certain friends who just didn’t “get it”. These were my friends who lived in other parts of the U.S., who viewed Prince’s death in the same way that I viewed the death of countless celebrities who had failed to have any real impact on my life. I realized that these friends would never be able to understand, and not through any fault of their own – but because they were not Minnesotans.

Here is my attempt to explain this Purple Reign to those of you who aren’t from the Land of 10,000 Lakes. See, when celebrities die, it never really affects me. They’re basically just strangers whose names were familiar. But that, my out of state friends, is the difference. No, I never met Prince. I never actually saw him in person, to be honest. But being from here, and growing up here, I had a connection to him. He wasn’t a stranger. He was Prince.

Everyone in Minnesota has their story – their connection to Prince. Mine comes through my parents, who met at a Prince concert years before my existence. “It was raining that night,” my mom had told me, “and everyone was standing up on their folding chairs to hold their lighters, because “Purple Rain” had started. I was in boots that were wet and slippery, and as I tried to get up on my chair, I slipped – and your dad, who was standing next to me, caught me.” Don’t get too choked up, my parents are now divorced – but still. That was my introduction to Prince. I would jam in the car as a kid listening to my parents singing along with their Prince cassette tapes. My dad still has all of his original albums on vinyl. In fact, I learned how to use a record player thanks to Prince.

So yes, everyone has their one Prince story, but it wasn’t just these stories that gave us a connection to him. He embodied Minnesota. He loved it here. He was proud to be here. He didn’t make his millions and move to some castle in L.A. or New York. He built his dynasty right here where it all started. And he didn’t surround himself with body guards or agents and sit secluded in his Paisley Park estate – he was everywhere. Riding his bike to local record stores, making appearances (without announcement) at Twins, Timberwolves, Vikings, and Lynx games. Honestly, you’d go to an event in Minneapolis (especially a concert) and you’d have an eye open all night, wondering if he was going to be there.

It was so fun to watch the reaction of virtually everyone around when a Prince song would start playing. And man, do his songs play in Minneapolis. You could be anywhere – a local bar, a sporting event, even a high school dance – and when a Prince song came on (and one always did), we all knew the words. We all bobbed our heads and smiled a little and uttered some version of, “Oh, a Prince song”. If you’ve lived here long enough, you’ve told someone at some point to go “purify themselves in the waters of Lake Minnetonka”. When my friends in Chicago asked why I would ever move back to Minneapolis, I responded in the same way that Atmosphere did in their home-state tribute song, Shhh: “Prince lives here, and we’ve got ten thousand lakes”.

Prince embodied our “Minnesota Nice” policy. He was a huge contributor to various charities not only in the Twin Cities but across the country. He never played the celebrity card – although he had the right to, being as talented as he was. I can’t tell you the last time I listened to an artist who wrote and recorded their entire album on their own, let alone playing every instrument, writing every lyric, and singing every chorus… Oh, Prince did this for his first two albums. A kid who never took lessons, never had a private instructor, didn’t walk into Hollywood and get handed a record deal. Nonetheless, he stayed true to his roots – his Minnesota roots – and to say that we were proud to claim him as our own would be a huge understatement.

I remember watching the “Chapelle’s Show” skit of Prince schooling his friends at basketball before making them pancakes, and thinking to myself, “uh oh, this just got real”. In case you haven’t heard, most celebrities don’t exactly love being made fun of. Prince not only expressed his love for the skit in various interviews afterwards, but even used the picture of Dave Chapelle dressed up as Prince for the cover of one of his more recent albums. Seriously, how can you not love this man? (Treat yourself by watching the video, below)

Charlie Murphy’s True Hollywood Story: A Night With Prince

He was ours. At the end of the day, that’s why we hurt. That’s why we mourn. He was ours, and he is gone much too soon. Tonight I will again jam to “Starfish and Coffee” and “I Would Die For You”, singing the same lyrics that my parents sang at his concert, and the same lyrics that my kids will someday sing, and I will send a silent thank you to Prince for giving me such good memories not only with my family, but with my state. I will stop for a minute on my next walk through downtown, heading to the game, and take a picture with Prince’s star, painted on the wall of First Avenue, remembering attending my first concert at the same venue years before and how the first thing my friend said as we walked through the door was, “Maybe Prince will show up tonight.”

Thank you, Prince, for staying true to Minnesota and for really being ours. You will be greatly missed.