Prince’s fame rains on Beaufort — via a storage unit

Were you there the day in rained purple in Beaufort?

His Purpleness — musical superstar Prince, whose death last week at 57 shocked the world — did not come to Beaufort, but a bunch of his clothes did.

They were in a storage unit on Ribaut Road.

That included the cape he wore in the movie “Purple Rain.”

The man who sold 100 million records and won seven Grammy Awards wanted his stuff back, and he got it back.

Bluffton attorney Dale Akins said it started with a phone call in 2007.

A man identified himself by asking, “Have you ever heard of Prince?”

Akins thought it was his friend Parks Moss playing one of his practical jokes.

“Yeah, I saw the Super Bowl, pal,” Akins responded, thinking about the Rock and Roll Hall of Famer’s recent halftime show.

That was followed by a long pause.

“Then I thought, good God, this is for real,” Akins recalled.

Prince attorney Patrick S. Cousins of West Palm Beach, Fla., was seeking local help in getting Prince’s stuff from Ribaut Road to the star’s home in Minneapolis.

It was being offered for sale on the Internet.

Akins took the case. He maintained that Prince’s ex-wife put goods from their home in Spain on the market following their divorce. Akins said a local memorabilia collector obtained it legally, and, when approached, reached an amicable settlement to get it all to Prince.

Cousins said it was the use of Prince’s likeness, or his unusual symbol, or other branding in selling the stuff that caught the attention of the entertainer’s protective staff.

Indeed, the Minneapolis Star Tribune wrote last week about the hometown idol: “Prince became known for shunning interviews, creating his own mystique and controlling his image with a team of stylists, publicists and lawyers.”

Cousins told me Prince was pleased with the local outcome.

“Prince didn’t want any enemies, but he wanted to protect his rights.”

The shoes

Akins said he was aware of Prince when he got into this.

When he was at Furman University, the Purple Paladins marched to the 1988 national football championship to the tune of “Purple Rain.”

But Akins had no idea what a universal star Prince was until this case landed on his desk. The clerks, bailiffs and staffs all jerked to attention when Prince was mentioned. Akins said the ladies in his office determined that the shoes of the 5-foot-2 megastar were the equivalent of a women’s size 5.

“When we went into the courtroom, everyone kept looking as if Prince would be walking in with us,” Akins said. “I finally told them, ‘I know he’s small but he’s not in my briefcase.’ ”

Paralegals were stumped on how to refer to Prince’s symbol, which he once used as his name. It’s not on their keyboards. So it was referred to as “the ankh-like symbol.”

Part of the settlement was that the memorabilia collector who had the stuff in Beaufort would be invited to a special Prince show, and he was.

And so was Akins — along with his wife, and his attorney friends Ned Tupper and Mary Sharp, as well as Sammy Svalina and his wife.

This party of six was flown at Prince’s expense to Minneapolis and put up in the VIP hotel for what turned out to be one of Prince’s most memorable days.

“I was shocked at how generous he was,” Akins said.

Cousins said, “That’s the kind of guy Prince was.”

07/07/07

It was July 7, 2007 — or 07/07/07 to Prince, who had a thing for the number 7.

He did three concerts that day in three separate venues in downtown Minneapolis, a homecoming trifecta that the Star Tribune listed in its “Ten Most Lasting Impressions of the 2000s.”

Thousands of people from as far away as Japan and Europe waited in sweltering heat to get in, but not the local entourage, which was swept like royalty from front-row to front-row.

First came an intimate afternoon show at Macy’s, a department store formerly known as Dayton’s. Prince introduced a perfume bearing the name of a recent CD, “3121,” which adds up to 7.

That was followed by a show for 15,000 at the Target Center.

And then came the after-party, Prince’s first appearance in 20 years at the First Avenue music club, which he made famous in the the movie “Purple Rain.”

The First Avenue show started at 2:45 a.m., 15 minutes before legal closing time.

“To tell you the truth, I was getting a little Princed out,” Akins said. “My long-suffering wife threw in the towel at 3 o’clock, but I stuck it out to the end.”

Prince was 15 songs and 70 minutes into a 24-song set when authorities said it had to end.

Akins said the end for him was serving as a courier.

Prince wanted him to personally deliver the clothing from Beaufort. He filled four or five suitcases from the outlet mall and flew with them to Minneapolis.

Akins laughs at it now, as the odd episode flows back through his mind.

“A storage unit on Ribaut Road ... of all the places on Earth,” he said. “It is indeed a small world.”

This story was originally published April 23, 2016 at 5:06 PM with the headline "Prince’s fame rains on Beaufort — via a storage unit."