Omowale
African in origin, from the Yoruba,
Meaning ‘The Son Has Come Home.’
Omowale John Sinclair

…And now our dear friend Omowale John Sinclair has come home. So much has been said and written about his varied life I really cannot offer new words about this giant of a man other than OJS was the pointy part of the spear.

I do have a few thoughts about my dear old friend…

I first met him in the fall 1968 in Ypsilanti, Michigan. In 1972 my pal Jim and I went to Memphis to play some gigs and stayed in a little room attached to the garage at my grandmother’s house. We got a message to call John Sinclair. He told us he wanted to book us for the Ann Arbor Blues and Jazz Festival.

He heard our pal Jesse Crawford, hype-man and co-manager of the MC5, was in Jamaica and was planning to return to join us in our vision of what was to become The Mojo Boogie Band. John also wanted us to get in touch with Brother JC to be the MC of the Ann Arbor Blues and Jazz Festival. Unfortunately Jess had some legal difficulties and could not return to the states until 1974. So the Mojo Band went on and Jesse joined us later.

Life in Ann Arbor was splendid in those times. Thanks to John and others, many of the old blues and jazz architects found an enthusiastic audience in Ann Arbor and we enjoyed the music of these pioneers for many years to follow.

Related: The Hill Street Radicals

With the introduction of disco, the music scene started to evaporate so I moved to Florida and points south to seek adventure and fortune [another tale, ‘Pitchin’ Bales, and Tellin’ Tales’]. Leaving that in my rear-view mirror, I became an auctioneer. I was sent from Miami to do a few auctions in New Orleans and the magnetic attraction of this magical city made me relocate.
I soon found out John and daughter Celia were living there as well. How fortuitous for me! We quickly took up where we left off. I joined his band and became the musical director of John Sinclair’s New Orleans Blues Scholars. We played for several years in many music venues and festivals and inducted Mezz Mezrow and Louis Armstrong into the Marijuana Hall of Fame at the Cannabis Cup in Amsterdam.

We hung out daily for many years. Before ‘The Bard of Bourbon Street’ moved to Europe, John was my everyday hang-out buddy. Between gigs we listened to music, hung out, smoked a ton, and always found the humor in just about everything.
John was on WWOZ radio, which was the soundtrack of New Orleans at that time. Of course, John’s show was superb. In the time before Google, John played every Chess 45 in the order of their release. Quite a feat. At that time there were several DJs on WWOZ that blew our minds with their historic knowledge and deep insight into the music and culture we both loved so dearly. We [and hell, everybody] studied them intensely.

Back in Ann Arbor, I remember when John got sprung from prison. His first radio gig ever was on the local station in Ann Arbor. The show was called ‘Toke Time’ his on-air partner was my podna, Hawg [Jim] Tate. The Hawg would play blues and proclaim it was the shit. And John would play a jazz record, testifying as to its greatness. Back and forth they went, dueling blues and jazz records like missiles to claim the imaginary title of ‘The Hippest Cat’. If anyone has an air check of those shows, it truly would be a treasure to behold.

John had an infectious laugh. From a snicker to a boisterous belly laugh to a maniacal outburst, which can be heard on John’s rendition of the Lieber & Stoler hit song for The Coasters, ‘The Shadow Knows’.

We eagerly shared a liking for Lenny Bruce and would often quote him until we both cracked up. The name Omowale drifted into Old Man Wally. Everyone knows he was quick witted and could dish it out. But John could take it as well. We cut him no slack here.
One day I was gonna surprise him on the phone with the greeting ‘Where yat, Old Man Wally?’ He picked up the phone and before I could speak he quoted from a Lenny Bruce bit called ‘Father Flotskis’ Triumph.’ a fictitious prison drama where Lenny Bruce did all the voices:

“Kiki you ‘naffke’ [yiddish for whore]!”

I answered in kind.

“Did you hear that, you bitches in cellblock 11?! He’s giving it all up for me. I feel just like Wally Simpson!”

We cracked each other up and John asked,

“You ok Billy?”

“Yep how about you, boss?” I answered.

“I’m good. Let’s leave it a laugh and I’ll check you later.”

[As an aside, I first heard the term ‘yadda yadda’ from this old Lenny Bruce bit.]

Sometimes we would get wound up in the global state of delusion and confusion. During the time we first heard about ‘Pussy Riot’ John proclaimed that this band was the best thing since the MC5. He added, “Unlike Pussy Riot we were lucky they allow us to walk around free with our thoughts.”

He remarked ‘Other than the prison yard–they didn’t allow me to do that a few years back.’

A short time ago I when I was visiting a friend’s house and looking through his extensive record collection, I saw an LP and accompanying booklet I hadn’t come across in decades, ‘How To Speak Hip’ by Del Close. Recalling the hilarious highlights I remembered John knew Del Close personally. I couldn’t wait to share this with John and have but another laugh with my old buddy. I knew we would go back and forth quoting Geets Romo, Del Close’s hipster hero and master of ceremonies. I got dropped off at my place, went to my desk and started to call him when I shockingly realized in confused disbelief that John had been dead for several months.

It was like I first just got the news. It hit me hard like having the wind knocked out of me. Seated with my elbows resting on my upper legs and forehead in my hand, I was so sadly deflated that I ran out of air. I had to think to breathe.
I was just about to weep when it struck me that for the last hour, as far as I was concerned, John was as alive as ever. Curiously I felt his powerful presence. I was drawn to a strange type of mixed-up happiness, for this was as real as anything I ever knew, saw, heard, smelt, tasted, or felt. I will never lose this feeling to have my old pal alive even for only 60 minutes. John touched so many people in so many different ways. If you were fortunate enough to have crossed paths, chance has smiled most favorably on you. Our son has come home.

I sometimes still get misty. I do miss my old pal, my buddy, and my dear friend John Sinclair.

More on Sinclair forthcoming… and with that in mind I must echo the words of Sonny Boy Williamson, “Don’t start me talkin’, I’ll tell everything I know… Well, almost everything. Some things are best left unsaid.”

I would be remiss if I did not shout praises for Celia, Sonny, Leni, B, Penny, and Elsie. Always at the ready, taking care to address any and all issues in support of our hero. I must speak the name David, John’s brother, perhaps the smartest and most clever person I’ve ever met. I have reserved a very special place of love in my heart for the whole family.”