Onion on the air: A Potent Presence for his People

An RCE Exclusive
Told to Byron Lee
"You have to ask yourself if you're going to be black, or be a negro, and I say negro in the negative. A negro is someone who is looking to appease or make the other side comfortable."
Richard "Onion" Horton, sitting in the green room of the studios of WFFX 1490 AM, is giving insight into what makes him tic. A booming voice for black people for the last thirty years, his sharp views have thundered over the airwaves, euphonic to some, cacophonous to others. For this issue of the RCE, we will dive deeply into the mind of the St. Louis radio luminary.
Born in 1933, Richard "Onion" Horton, whose nickname was inspired by the 1958 Andy Griffith film "Onionhead" (One of the girls he was coaching on a softball team applied the name of the movie to Horton, who, at that time of his life, kept his hair closely cropped.), experienced a defining moment in his life, when he was 9-years old. "I wanted to go to the Forest Park Highlands, where Forest Park Community College is now, which was St. Louis ' Six Flags. I saw the roller coaster and I said to my mother 'Hazel, let's ride the rollercoaster.' She said 'I don't have enough money.' I didn't think anything about it. So we go to Forest Park and we're looking at the animals, and she says 'You wanna get something to eat?' She bought me a 25 cent hot dog and a 15 cent soda. 40 cents. Now, I was just 9-years old, but I realized that she told me she didn't have enough money for me to get on the rollercoaster, which was 25 cents. I love my mother, and I don't think that it was in her mind to do it, but she was actually protecting the segregationist racists by not telling me 'You can't ride the rollercoaster for one reason and that's the black on your face.' She should have told me that, so I could have started getting ready for it.
"The great thing about it was that my grandmother and my uncle were totally different. [Onion split time between his mother and his grandmother and uncle, after his parents separated.] My mother was a great Christian woman, and my grandmother and uncle were more worldly people, but they right away brought me into the picture of what racism was, from the time I was 9 until I graduated from high school. My mother was wonderful, but my grandmother and uncle were the ones who actually caused me to be the way that I am with my thinking. The truth was everything with them. One of my favorite stories was that my grandmother kept getting at me to go to church and I didn't want to go. I would ask her repeatedly, 'Could I just see God?," and she would tell me, 'No, Jesus came to earth, but you can't see God.' Finally, she said to me, 'I can't show you God, but I can show you the devil, today.' A white plumber was working downstairs and when he came upstairs, she said 'Look at him. They all look like him.' These are the people who raised me (chuckles) and they were the greatest people in the world.
"There were people like that, back then, old black people who told the truth, but today people will call up to my show and say that their children are too young to hear about racism.
I say to that 'Do you understand that in Birmingham before they threw the bomb in the church, they didn't say 'There's two 9-year-olds, one 11-year old and one 12- year old in there, let's come back in five years and throw the bomb.' They threw the bomb and killed 4 black babies.' I've been hearing that excuse on the radio for the last 33 years. If that child was 12 years old when I started, that child is 45 now and probably telling people that it's too early to tell HIS children about racism. It's unbelievable, man."
In addition to his relatives, Onion thanks another person for his thirst for knowledge. "Granderson S. Rivers, my principal at Fort Wayne Central. He would say to me, 'You're one of the brightest students I've ever met. Your people have done a fantastic job. They've overcome in spite of every obstacle we've put in front of them.' He told me that one day I was going to see black mayors and black governors. He's the one who got me into reading. (One of the first books Onion read was Uncle Tom's Cabin, and Onion frequently points out that, contrary to the way his character's name is used today, Uncle Tom was an honorable character." He took a beating, instead of selling out.")
Books aren't Horton's only method of taking in information. "I've got over 11,000 hours of programs on videocassette," he estimates. One particular program, one he highly recommends, is PBS's "Where Was God On 9/11?" He gets choked up when he recalls a scene involving a man who lost all four of his sons in the attack. "He goes into a church, looks up and says to God,' Let me barter with you. Could you just bring back the life of one of my sons and take me?' And I know how hard it is for me when he [his youngest son, Alan "Baby O" Horton] is gone for a week," he says, conquering the emotion in order to get the words out.
He has had ample opportunity to spread that knowledge and the views that information fuels, during his 33-year tenure on the airwaves. After a stint in the Air Force, he got a job as a Postal Worker, from which he retired in the 70s. He would get his start in media as a print writer when his opinions on sports, voiced at Luther's Barber Shop, caught the ear of Morris Henderson, then-editor of the St. Louis American. Henderson urged Horton to write a sport column. "Say what you say at the barber shop, just leave the profanity out," Onion recalls Henderson saying. He would later write for various publications and branch out into radio at KMOX (1120 AM) and later at KKSS (107.7 FM) and KATZ (1600 AM). He would have his breakthrough, however, during his time at WGNU (920 AM) from 1985 to 1995. He speaks highly of late owner Chuck Norman. "He was a great man to work for. He didn't care what you said, as long as you didn't use profanity."
Not content to just be vocal on the air, he has put words into action, particularly in his long standing feud with the University of Missouri. Starting in 1974, he led a three year football boycott, a boycott that kept standout players such as East St. Louis's Jerome Heavens, who for 10 years had the highest yardage in Notre Dame history and Mckinley's future NFL star, Demetrius Johnson, from playing for Mizzou.
Yet it went beyond that. "One of my greatest achievements was changing the lyrics to the Missouri Waltz, Harry Truman's favorite song. There was a line in there about the pickaninnies on mammy's knee. Of course, we started telling the parents and writing about it in the paper, and then I got a call from the Missouri Museum on Debalivere saying 'You should come down here. We have new copies of the Missouri Waltz and pickaninnies has been taken out of there and it's been changed in all the school books. They changed it to children. Also, Mizzou used to have the Confederate Rock, a tribute to all the Confederate soldiers who fought for Missouri, in front of Faurot Field. I got on the Confederate Rock, and they moved it to outside the courthouse. I feel sorry for all the black people going to trial, seeing the Confederate Rock (laughs)."
Another account from his battle with Mizzou, however, has a more insightful and heartbreaking bent. "A woman whose son had five scholarship offers contacted me because she had heard that I was a good person to talk to regarding academics. Her son had been offered five scholarships and she wanted to know which school would be the best one for her son to go to. I told her that out of the five, it was Indiana University. No doubt about it. Well, a few weeks past and it's time to sign the letter. I look in the paper, and the boy signed with Mizzou. I called the mother and asked if I could come out and see her. She said 'yes'," he continues, his voice hushed. łI told her that I had seen that her boy signed with Mizzou, and I asked her what changed her mind.
She said that one of the assistant coaches said 'I'm gonna take care of your boy.' I said, 'Well, I only have one more question to ask you. Who's more likely to give you the shaft, someone who has no stake, who gonna give an honest opinion, and go back to the Post Office, or a white man who needs Black bucks to keep his job?'. She just hung her head. I said 'There's nothing else you can say, ma'am. My word was good, until a white man said he was gonna take care of your boy. Then I was just another nigga with the name Onion.' That hurt me."
Another noteworthy milestone, on the eve of the 1973 NCAA Men's Championship, played in St. Louis, helped his brothers and sisters in the media. For big sporting events, it was customary for the sport organization to issue passes to the media. However, new regulations had been instituted. "Weeklies had to have sales of 8,000 a week. Black publications were giving their papers away, so we couldn't get in." He fought to get black journalists entry to the event. (In an ironic twist, Horton was able to get an audience with the NCAA because their regional director was the former PR person for Mizzou.) He also dealt with Major League Baseball in the same manner, writing a letter to them on occasion of one the Cardinals' World Series appearances that read "I'm Richard 'Onion' Horton. I'm a black man. I write for a black newspaper. I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but you have shut out all black people with the media with your guidelines." Speaking of his success in helping black journalists have representation for media coverage, he says, "I was effective because I let them know that I was being shut out only because I was black. That was because of me."
Needless to say, his outspokenness has cost him. He has been fired 14 times "That's the accurate number," he adds, with a chuckle. A conversation he had during one of his firings proved to him that the reason for his dismissals is nothing more than what had come out of his mouth. "The director called me into his office and told me, 'We're switching to Country Western and youšre outta here.' Now, I was selling 60 ads a day, 15 ads an hour. I said to him 'If I stayed and sold black talk ads and the guy you're replacing me with sold white ads, who would bring you more money?' He said 'You would, of course. You know why I'm firing you? Every time I go to bar mitzvahs, I have to explain what you're doing here. Every time I go to a party, I have to explain to my friends what you're on the air for. When I play golf with my buddies, I have to explain what I'm doing with Onion Horton on my station. The guy I'm replacing you with isnšt going to bring my ANY money, but I've got to get you outta here!'" he recalls, forcefully pointing his finger for emphasis. "[Longtime friend and business partner Mark] Kasen has tried to get a radio show, and the directors say 'No, Kasen. We're not gonna give you a show, because youšll bring your audience with you.' They'd rather lose money than have a black audience. And people say [when it comes to business] that 'It's not black. It's not white. It's green.' They must be talking about turnip greens, because they sure aren't talking about money." (Horton met Kasen at KXOK. When they were both fired, they ended up doing a show together at WGNU. They have been close for nearly twenty years. "There are white people who really dislike him because of our friendship," Onion adds.)
We depart the studio and, as I drive him to his residence, he speaks about the heyday of the struggle for equality and the reasons for its dissipation. "The civil rights movement was led by the black church and at first the church was forced to depend on black people only. Then outside support came in--that's what I think this faith-based stuff is today--and it changed. When the church raises $3,000 on its own and someone walks up to the pastor and says 'I'll give you $25,000.,' the pastor going to be a little less aggressive [in pursuing advances for blacks] than he was before. I wish people had been around to see the 60's. There was a protest every day, and if that was happening here in Missouri, as backwards as we are, you can image what was going on in the rest of the country. The white students were there with us. They shut down Columbia University, one of the most prestigious universities in the country. When [black leaders] came to the [nation's] campuses for black history month, [the students] were fighting alongside us. But one thing that I always point out is what happened afterwards. Think of a person who was 17, 18 or 19 in 1964. Add 45 to those numbers. That person is now just like daddy. They're behind a desk, and they wonšt hire us. Plus, they've had a few daughters, too, and now they really don't want us around.
That's why it's going to be a struggle for black people to get anything. That's why we raised our kids the way we did. We told them, 'Make sure that if you lose out on a job, it's because you're black. I want that to be the only reason. Not only do you have to beat the white person, you have to kick their butt, so that that will be the only reason you lose out on a job.' That's how we raised them, to let them know that they may lose, but that they will fight." (Of his four children, born to a union that ended in divorce in 1985), he says, "They're not walking around pumping their fists in the air, they're just raising their children, taking care of their families and I'm satisfied with that."
Now on every weekday from 6am-9am on WFFX 1490 AM and once-a-week on the public access panel discussion program "Showdown" (Listings vary by cable system.), Horton looks back on his career with pride. "I've only thought about one thing, and that's black people first. Saying what they've wanted to hear and what they don't get a chance to hear. Black people need someone who can say what they are feeling and then be judged by them. Over the past thirty years, they've judged me pretty good. When I start talking about this, this is a part of me, man, I can't hold my feelings back. The problem is that black folks have been shafted from the day we got here. That's the way it is and people are gonna have to accept me."
After he departs the vehicle, he gives this paper advice, brother-to-brother in the struggle. "You keep doing what you're doing, because the people who are saying that you are doing something wrong won't fight for you."
Special thanks to the Prisoner of Love and Anthony Shahid for their invaluable assistance.
Footnote: "Told to Byron Lee"
You may have noticed that the byline for the main piece reads "Told to Byron Lee." The byline is in no way meant to disrespect Mr. Horton. The intention is to convey the belief that the best way to experience Mr. Horton is to hear his thoughts in bulk in his own words. In that vein, we felt that it was appropriate to expose our readers to Onion's thoughts on current events, as they would hear them on his show.
On the Healthcare Debate
If you look at what the situation has become, [the tea party protesters] have lost their mind. White people are so backwards that they don't realize that they have been kicked in the butt, too. The best example of that was [in Missouri ]. We had a governor named Blunt who went all over this state saying that he was going to be taking people off welfare. When the white boy heard that, his smile went back to here (points to his ears) because he thought that he was going to get the negro. But [Blunt] wasn't talking about welfare, he was talking about Medicaid, and white people got the shaft, too. There's a picture in the Post-Dispatch of a white woman who had a special bed [for her sickness] taken away. The State of Missouri showed up and took her bed away. [The reason behind the resistance to the healthcare bill] is that they didn't want black people getting all of that good healthcare. You know who most of that 31 million left uninsured are. If that group had been 80% white, that bill would have breezed and negroes would have been along for the ride, but when [blacks] are the majority of those uninsured, you know what that fight was for.
On Obama's election
I was one of the people who said that we would never have a black president. I cried [that night], like I cried when I saw Claire McCaskill walking with him, but now I see what he's going through, like white boys with M-16s getting within yards of him, saying that they're exercising their 2nd Amendment rights, knowing that if a black man had gotten within the same distance of George W. Bush, [that black man's] body would have looked like a pin cushion, it would have been shot so many times. I was happy for a day, man.
On Obama sending troops to Afghanistan
"That's the one time he hurt me. I really thought that he was going to bring the boys home. I know that he has limitations, but there are ways that a politician can lie. My plan for Obama was for him to say that he would send troops and then not do it. [The government] can push back an ultimatum whenever we want to. I just didn't think that he would send those boys off to die knowing what it's like to be black in America."
On the Tiger Woods sex scandal
"That hurt me, just a little. This is where my lack of sociability comes in to play (chuckles). [Onion's opposition to interracial dating/marriage is well-known]. I guess [black athletes] can't help it. Not only did he have a white lady, but number 16 just came out. I guess I just want some of our black women to have some of that splendor that white women are born into. There are too many black women working too hard."
On the ongoing crisis at the St. Louis Public School District
"I'm sad about that. It's pathetic, but that's what happens when you don't get the parents involved. When you can't get 50 people to show up to an event, you're in trouble. At those Board of Education meetings, all you have are teachers and people who work in offices looking for a pay raise. There's no one talking about education."
On Claire McCaskill's struggles
"That's a hell of a thing, man. She's a white woman from Springfield, Missouri and she was one of the first people with a white face to endorse Obama, behind Teddy Kennedy. And [her hometown people] are hounding her, man. They burned her house down. They're calling her Obama's Joker. Ain't no white woman from Springfield supposed to support no black man from Chicago. One thing that stands out to me was when the two of them were at some campaign stop. The camera shows the two of them walking down the tunnel together and people clapping for them. Then the camera pans and shows the Missouri section booing. You would think that they would think to themselves 'This guy could end up being president. Let her use the Negro. Maybe we could get something out of this.' They were too racist to be selfish. Missouri is a hard place for a white person to take a stand for black people, especially if you're seen walking out on stage with them. That's the kiss of death in the boot heel. You know her days are numbered."
On Mayor Slay:
"Well, this one may surprise you. I don't speak on Slay. I'm not going to speak on anyone who's not through. I can speak on Al Cervantes. There used to be black service cars that would take black people to the city. He owned a cab company. He took the service cars from black people. Jim Conway closed Homer G. Phillips and said that we would have a new one in a year. It's been 30 years. Vince Schoemehl said that with a stroke of a pen we would have a new hospital. We're still waiting. I can talk about them because their records are complete. What am I to say about us? We have almost 90,000 registered voters, and Slay has won two elections with 20,000 votes. Irene Smith got 15,000 and Maida Coleman got 15,000. What am I to say about us, that we're so great, when 10,000 out of 75,000 couldn't get up to vote? Nuh-Uh. I'm not speaking on Slay until he's through, 'cause there's always a chance that there will be one white boy who'll prove wrong and hang me out to dry. Doesn't that sound like a good idea?"