Richard ‘Onion’ Horton, beloved St. Louis black radio legend, succumbs to Alzheimer’s disease • By Kenya Vaughn, St. Louis American • Dec 1, 2016

Photo by Maurice Meredith

Talk radio personality Richard “Onion” Horton was “woke” long before the word became a hashtag to signify black consciousness. He loved black people – so much so that he used his voice to hold us accountable live on the air whenever he felt it was warranted. And black people loved him back. When he passed away at the age of 80 on Thanksgiving (November 24, 2016) after battling Alzheimer’s disease, black St. Louis collectively mourned the loss as though he were a close relative. He had been in many homes for more than 40 years as a print and radio personality. “Onion was a legend, an icon, a giant, an activist and a scholar,” said activist Brother Anthony Shahid. “Onion was going to speak his mind. But he was somebody who knew our people, and knew that we were human beings who deserved human rights. He was also a father figure to many of us – a strong black male role model.” Longtime listener Eunice Davis joined hundreds who took to Facebook to extend condolences to Horton’s family and share memories. “I listened to Mr. Horton’s shows up and down the dial – on whatever station aired it,” Davis said. He worked on several stations over the course of his 30-plus years in . Like Davis, listeners followed him wherever he went. “If Onion got put off of a station on one day and he told us where he was, within a month’s time you couldn’t call in on the show because all the lines would be busy,” Shahid said. His longest tenure was at WGNU 920 AM, where he held the 6-10 a.m. morning drive slot for more than a decade from the mid-1980s to the mid-1990s. Some mornings Horton would get so fired up during an argument with a caller or a guest, they might be considered fighting words. But instead of saying “meet me in the parking lot,” the next words out of Horton’s mouth would be “meet me at the library.” For him a lesson, not a lashing, was the takeaway. “He used to say, ‘The most dangerous black man in America is one with an education and a library card,’” said radio personality Charlie “Tuna” Edwards, who was mentored by Horton. “He would go to the library every day. There weren’t any laptops back then. There was no Google,” Edwards said. “He would always tell me to read, because ‘when you’re black and on the radio, people are going to always question you.’” Nearly daily visits to the library gave him fodder for the show. Subjects ran the gamut, but he gravitated towards local sports, politics and race. “Onion was the guy who would say those things that you couldn’t say,” said former St. Louis Comptroller Virvus Jones. “People would think, ‘I go to work every day and I can’t say that this guy is a racist, or that guy was acting like an ‘Uncle Tom’ – even if that’s the way I felt. I can’t say that because I might get fired – or I’m just afraid to say it.’ Onion wasn’t afraid to say anything. When you put that mic in front of him, watch out. But outside of radio he was really a nice person and a great family man.” The man behind the microphone He was born Richard Lyons Horton in Searcy, Arkansas on July 5, 1936. The only child of J.B. and Hazel Horton, he was sent to live with relatives in Fort Wayne, Indiana as a child after his parents divorced and stayed there through high school. After graduation, Horton moved to St. Louis. He joined the U.S. Air Force and then married Laurrein Horton-Davis. They had four children before the couple divorced in 1985. After Horton left the military, he returned to St. Louis, where he worked as a postal employee – before his love of sports (and knack for conversation) fatefully landed him a second career in media and an unforgettable nickname. He cut his hair low before taking members of the youth softball team he coached to see the film “Onionhead.” One of the teammates called him “Onion” to poke fun at his new haircut, which she likened to a particular scene in the film. The name stuck with him for the rest of his life. When Horton would hold court at Luther’s Barbershop in his beloved North City, he was captivating. His gift for gab caught the attention of the late longtime St. Louis American Sports Editor Morris Henderson in the 1970s. Henderson asked him to write a sports column for The American. Horton agreed. For the next several years the duo used the paper as a highlight reel for black student athletes. “Those two were relentless in their coverage of prep sports,” said American Photojournalist Wiley Price, who worked with Henderson and Horton as a fellow staffer. “They were devoted to making sure young black athletes had a platform to shine and used The American to highlight student-athlete achievements when they weren’t getting coverage anyplace else.” After Henderson used The American to voice his outrage at their lack of black sports commentators, KMOX hired Horton. The transition to radio was a natural fit, though his views made some uncomfortable. He was considered a “black shock jock” pioneer because of the unapologetically pro- black views he expressed on his show, regardless of where he happened to be positioned on the radio dial. “Onion told the world to sit up and pay attention to black voices,” said Lizz Brown, who replaced Horton in the morning drive slot on WGNU after his departure from the station in 1996. “He made it plain, and he made you pick a side.” Longtime black St. Louis radio personality Tony Scott described Horton as “straight, no-chaser.” “He never pulled punches,” Scott said. “He said what needed to be said.” He also paved the way for many. “Onion also made it possible for people like me to make a career in black talk radio,” Brown said. “For that I am forever grateful.” Black and proud Misconceptions regarding his opinions and the subject matter of his shows gave some people the wrong idea about Horton’s beliefs. “A lot of people wanted to paint him as a racist. That was a lie,” Shahid said. “Onion loved his community like he loved his family, but he dealt with everybody.” Shahid said the problems would come into play only if someone implied or stated that they were superior because of the color of their skin – which happened often. Edwards remembered Horton’s outrage about “ Waltz,” the fight song for Mizzou. Horton objected to the lyrics of the song, which included the line “when I was a pickaninny on ma mammy’s knee, the darkies were hummin’, their banjos were strumming.” They were ultimately changed because of his protest. According to Shahid, Horton’s love for black people earned him the admiration and respect of Nation of Islam leader Minister Louis Farrakhan and the organization’s international representative Minister Akbar Muhammad. “We loved Onion because Onion Horton loved his people and he didn’t make it no issue to tell everybody how he felt about us,” Shahid said. “He gave us a voice and visibility. He would roar about black people and what black people were capable of and how we could stick together.” Horton is survived by his wife Karen, his four children (Loretta Horton, Marlene Donelson, Richard Horton Jr. and Allen Horton) and eight grandchildren. Visitation will take place from 9-10 a.m. on Friday, December 2 with funeral services immediately following at Friendly Temple M.B. Church, 5515 Dr. Martin Luther King Dr., St. Louis, MO 63112. The burial will take place at Jefferson Barracks. A repast will be held following the burial at Elmo’s Love Lounge, 7828 Olive Blvd. in University City, MO 63130. A memorial service will be held 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. Saturday, December 10 at the Omega Center at 3900 Goodfellow Blvd., St. Louis, MO 63120. Gloria Ross and St. Louis Public Radio contributed to this report.