Ten years after Prince’s death, Bob Blake stood outside the three-story storefront that once housed Glam Slam — the nightclub where, three decades ago, he first stepped into Prince’s orbit.
Blake was in his early 20s when his cousin who worked at the nightclub recruited him to work at Paisley Park, Prince’s studio and home.
“I just needed some extra cash,” remembers Blake. “I was young, so I wanted to meet some girls.”
He says that moment led to his first lessons in business.
Blake counts himself among the hundreds of people from the Twin Cities who say working for Prince gave him opportunities he might never have had. Blake, a citizen of Red Lake Nation, grew up in St. Paul as a self-described “kid from the neighborhood.”
He says he learned how to wear a suit and how to talk with attorneys, promoters and others in the music industry while working for Prince.
“It really made me want to elevate my game. The way I spoke, the way I came across, the way I did things. Even the way that I looked at the world. It made me feel like there was an abundance out here,” said Blake. “Like, there was no limits to what you could accomplish.”
He says inspiration also came from seeing Prince perform. Blake remembers working security for the musician at a little club across the street from Madison Square Garden in New York City.
“I felt the energy. It felt love, you know what I mean? It felt free. It felt like … wow,” Blake said.
Blake also remembers more chaotic moments on the road. One afternoon, on a Los Angeles video shoot, he remembers coordinating flights for multiple performers when Prince called him onto the tour bus to check in with him.
“He knew I was nervous. He knew I didn’t want to mess up,” Blake said. “He took the time out to calm me when he had to do everything. He wanted to try and make me better.”
Blake worked for Prince for about six years. Today, he runs a solar energy company. He’s also the executive director of a clean-energy nonprofit.
And, coincidentally, Prince’s generosity also boosted Blake’s eventual career.
His first job in renewable energy was with a solar startup out of Oakland, Calif., founded by environmental activist Van Jones — who got his early funding, quietly, from Prince.
“Fast forward now, I get this passion for renewable energy, for solar and for the environment. And how do I, indiscriminately, get this job, but through Prince's donation to Van Jones, right?” said Blake. “It’s wild to think about that.”
Prince’s philanthropy was largely hidden during his lifetime — friends, including Jones, later described Prince as a devout Christian who, by the tenets of his faith, avoided publicly discussing his giving. Tax filings for his Love 4 One Another foundation showed $1.5 million in donations from 2005 to 2007, as MPR News reported in 2016.
Among the gifts later attributed to him: $1 million to the Harlem Children’s Zone, $200,000 to a Minneapolis charter school network and a check to the family of Trayvon Martin. In Oakland, Jones has said in various interviews, Prince anonymously paid for rooftop solar panels — their owners never knowing who had funded them.
At the 10-year anniversary of Prince’s passing, Blake walked through downtown Minneapolis recently to arrive at the front of the building that once housed Glam Slam, Prince’s downtown nightclub, where Blake also spent many nights providing security. For him, it’s a moment of profound gratitude.
“He took a lot of us on the ride with him,” said Blake. “That's what everyone doesn't know. He took a lot of us and made such a big difference in our lives, and he was simply amazing. Forever grateful to that man.”
