Just Sing!

Wilson Johnson has used his voice for many things–musical performance, politics, radio commentary, juvenile support– but his greatest message comes through an expression of unity

BY TERI R. WILLIAMS PHOTOS BY RUTH ENGLISH

It would take little effort to craft a compelling biography of Wilson Johnson. The list of his many accomplishments was long. Shuffling through newspaper clippings and pictures of the radio host, newspaper columnist, church and community leader, I picked up the only picture of Wilson as a young man. The same photograph had once advertisedsold-out performances in upscale hotels and nightclubs in South Florida as well as casinos in the Bahamas. Before Wilson Johnson was the Chaplain of the Sons of Allen and founder of Community Project Hope (CPH), Inc., and The Concerned Citizens Coalition of Vidalia, he was blazing a path for black Americans in both business and music to follow. Everything he does today is because of everything that came before.

The fourth child and first son of Seymour and Selena Johnson’s eleven children, Wilson’s home in Vidalia was a haven of love. It was here that he developed a strong foundation in faith, respect for himself and others, and value for education. Like so many other great performers of that time, Wilson’s earliest musical influence came from the church. “My daddy took me to St. Paul AME church every Sunday,” said Wilson. “I was about two years old when he took me to the front of the church and held me high over his head to dedicate me to God. Then, when I was about fifteen years old, the messages I had heard every Sunday suddenly became real, and I made that commitment for myself.”

In 1959, Wilson graduated from Dickerson Training School in Vidalia, Georgia. (The name was changed to J.D. Dickerson High School the following year). He joined the Air Force and left for basic training at Lackland Air Force Base in San Antonio, Texas. After a short time serving in Japan, Wilson was sent to Anderson Air Force Base on the Western Pacific island of Guam. Far from family and home, he did the one thing that came most naturally— he put together a band. Wilson called the singers The Kingsmen and the musicians The Checkmates.

The band's nightly performances kept up the morale of his fellow service members and the people on the Island. Wilson laughed and said, “It saved me from a thirty-day stint in the brig on one occasion.” He explained that he had stayed in town, as he often did when a performance ran late. The guards always looked the other way when he slipped in past curfew. They depended on his regular entertainment on their nights off. But on that particular evening, someone higher up the chain had called for an unexpected curfew check, and Wilson was sent to Air Base Wing Commander to account for his absence.

“The Commander recognized me from the performances,” said Wilson. “I’d been told that his wife had not wanted to move to Guam because she liked to party. Guam wasn’t exactly Vegas. But someone sent her a recording from one of our performances,” and Wilson’s band convinced her that living in Guam might not be so bad after all. “The Commander shook his head and said, ‘Johnson, now what am I going to do?’ I said, ‘I don’t know, sir.’ He said, ‘If I give you article 15, the band won’t be able to play, and I won’t be able to get in the house.’

Finally, the Commander came to a decision. Wilson gave me a hint of a smile. “He said, ‘Johnson, whatever happens in here today, when you walk out of that door, leave it in here.’ I said, ‘Yes, sir.’ The Commander nodded for the guard to let me pass, and I went straight to my job.”

Wilson moved to Miami, Florida, at the end of his four years of military service. “I had a sister who lived in New York, a sister who lived in California, and a younger sister in Miami. Each one wanted me to move close to them,” he said. However, the choice to move to Miami was not based on which sister he preferred, but rather on his dislike of cold weather.

Miami proved pivotal for Wilson in both his work and his music. As the first black sales representative for the wholesale pottery industry in the region, he paved the way for others of color to follow. And, like all pioneers, there were obstacles to overcome and bridges to build where none had existed before. Everything was segregated, from schools to bathrooms to water fountains and lunch counters. Racism was – is – an insidious union of the heart’s oldest adversaries: pride, which is simply an exalted perception of oneself, and fear that seeks a false sense of security through controlling others.

Wilson’s first memories of Miami seem like scenes from another world. But segregation in the South was all too real. “… African Americans, even stars like James Brown, Mohammed Ali, and Aretha Franklin, had to have a written pass to come across the causeway into Miami Beach, and a strict curfew prohibited them from being in Miami Beach past midnight,” writes Bernard Hacker in an online article for the Standard Hotel in South Beach.

Even in such an environment, Wilson was respected. Once when Wilson was pulled over for speeding, the officer instructed him to follow his patrol car to the police station. There, he learned he would have to pay a $50 cash fee before leaving. Not having that much cash on hand, Wilson called a shop owner in the area he served. After the white shop owner paid the fine, the officer asked if she wanted a receipt to ensure Wilson repaid his debt. The woman shook her head in disgust. It was obvious which of the two men she considered worthy of her trust.

In the early years, Wilson both sold and delivered the orders for pottery. On one occasion, as Wilson waited at the front of a store in Hialeah for payment, he realized persons of color were expected to use the back entrance. Not seeing Wilson, the store owner referred to the delivery man who had made such a mistake with very offensive language. He merely stepped forward for the check she held in her hand. “When she realized I’d been standing there and heard her, she was so ashamed of herself that she added seven more pieces of pottery to her order,” said Wilson. “And I sold them to her. I don’t ever let words bother me.”

It wasn’t that he was impervious to such derogatory language. It was simply that Wilson’s confidence, his sense of self-worth, was not dependent on what someone else said, good or bad. “A person can say whatever they want about me. They can call me any name they want. It doesn’t change who I am.” Wilson’s statement was as much a tribute to his upbringing as it was to his character.

As noteworthy as Wilson’s work as the first black salesman in the wholesale pottery industry in South Florida, he was best known as a professional entertainer and the lead singer for “Wil Johnson’s AllStar Review.” While Martin Luther King, Jr., and many other brave men and women were blazing a righteous path of civil rights across the South, a new sound from an old South was taking the nation by storm. Rhythm and Blues and Jazz did what words alone could not.

In 1964, Martin Luther King, Jr. penned an essay for the first Berlin Jazz Festival. He wrote, “Much of the power of our Freedom Movement in the United States has come from this music…. Everybody has the Blues. Everybody longs for meaning. Everybody needs to love and be loved. Everybody needs to clap hands and be happy. Everybody longs for faith. In music, especially this broad category called Jazz, there is a stepping stone towards all of these.”*

The R&B music from Florida is often overshadowed by memories from Memphis, Muscle Shoals (FAME Recording Studios), Chicago, and Detroit. But, according to John Capouya’s book, “Florida Soul: From Ray Charles to KC and the Sunshine Band,” “In the thirty-five-year swath between 1945 and 1980, Florida produced some of the most electric, emotive soul music this country’s ever heard” (pg. 4). Legendary groups that formed in Miami during that time include Sam and Dave (“Soul Man,” “Hold On, I’m A Comin’”), and KC and the Sunshine Band (“Get Down Tonight,” “That’s the Way (I Like It).” Even today, these songs can get people on the dance floor when nothing else will. Few know that the great soul singer Ray Charles was from Florida “…known during his Florida decades by his given name- Ray Charles Robinson- was raised here, went blind here, became a musician here, and made his first recordings here,” (Capouya, pg. 8).

You won’t find Wilson Johnson’s name in the history books, but he was there right at the forefront of the Miami sound with an eighteenpiece orchestra of horns, trombones, trumpets, drums, upright bass, and guitars. One of his musicians was a former horn player for James Brown.

“Wil Johnson’s AllStar Review” played “big band style” music for high-end hotels like the DuPont Plaza, the Americana, and Miami’s Fontainbleau beachfront hotel. “Celebrities and entertainers, ranging from Elvis Presley and Bob Hope to Lucille Ball and Judy Garland…” were among those who performed at the Fontainebleau. The upscale hotel was also the setting for “numerous major Hollywood productions including, Goldfinger, The Bellboy, Scarface, The Specialist, and The Bodyguard.”*

Opening acts for his shows included singers like Gwen Dickey, who would become the front-woman with Rose Royce (“Car Wash” and “Wishing on a Star”), Gwen McCrae (best known for her 1975 R&B hit “Rocking Chair”), and Betty Wright (her song “Clean Up Woman” hit gold on the R&B charts in 1971).

As much as he enjoyed singing, Wilson never thought of the shows as his work career. “I had a job in the wholesale pottery industry. Performing music was always just entertainment to me,” said Wilson. Over time, he did less and less of his own shows and moved more into the management side of music for others. But by 1986, he found himself at a crossroads. With a recent divorce and three young daughters, Wilson said, “God allowed me to experience a lot of things. He allowed me to make some mistakes, but He never left me. He always had his arms around me. But I knew it was time to make a change. God said to me, ‘Son, why don’t you go back home and start over.”

The past was a teacher, but it was not an anchor for Wilson. Before he left Miami, he taught himself to weld and started an ornamental ironworks company called Johnsons Ornamental Ironworks. When he moved to Vidalia, one of his first customers was a woman named Lorance. A year or so later, the two were married. That was over thirty-five years ago. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” said Wilson. “She’s no stepmother. My daughters always looked to her as a mother.”

He also renewed his membership in Vidalia's Saint Paul A.M.E. (African Methodist Episcopal) Church. The following year, Wilson was appointed president of the local chapter of the Sons of Allen, an organization the A.M.E. church established for men in 1984. The organization's name is in honor of the denomination’s founder, Bishop Richard Allen. Wilson now made supporting and encouraging young men his primary mission. But his philanthropy was not confined to those within the church walls. He also founded the Concerned Citizens Coalition of Vidalia in 1987, “a political voice for the community. In addition, he served as a commissioner on both the Vidalia Board Housing Authority (1989) and the Concerted Services Board (1990).

With twenty-two years of experience as an entertainer, it’s no wonder Wilson found his way into radio and television. He hosted “The Turner-Johnson Round Table Discussion” (1989), which was a political talk show. His television talk shows included The Television Talk Show from a station out of Baxley, Georgia (1995), and The Television Political Forum called “The Johnson Report” from the WPHJ station in Vidalia. He was also the radio commentator for “The Bottom Line” from Vidalia’s FM station (2008).

In 2010, Wilson founded Community Project Hope Inc., a Christian-based program that gives the court system an alternative to prison for juveniles who have committed less serious crimes. The inspiration came from a woman he met in Miami named Georgia Jones Ayers. “I learned so much from her example,” said Wilson. “I called her my ‘Miami Mama.’ Her impact was so important that the police station even gave her space for an office.”

Of all the church and community work Wilson has done through the years, he considered his most significant accomplishment his contribution to the reinstatement of the Hope Scholarship at Morris Brown College. With his leadership, he helped facilitate meetings with Governor Sonny Perdue, Bishop William Phillips Deveaux, State Senator Tommie Williams, and Dr. Stanley Pritchett. As a result, Wilson played an essential part in reestablishing this important scholarship for the school.

Wilson has been honored by many groups for his innumerable contributions through the years. In 2012, the A.M.E. church in the 6th Episcopal District honored him with a Living Legacy Award. He was again honored with a Living Legacy award in 2016 by the Sons of Allen of Georgia. More recently, Wilson was presented the Sweet Onion Citizen award of the month by Vidalia Mayor Doug Roper for his service in our community (May 2021).

Honor often speaks of achievements, but the most honorable man or woman is the one who can give honor to another. The burgundy jacket worn by members of the Sons of Allen, which numbers approximately 100,000 worldwide, is an important expression of honor for its members. Like Joseph’s coat of many colors, the jacket speaks of a son highly favored by his Father. After the successful reinstatement of the Hope Scholarship to Morris College, Wilson invited Senator Williams to a gathering of the Sons of Allen across Georgia. There, he presented the Senator with a burgundy jacket of his own as an honorary member of the Sons of Allen. To the best of Wilson’s knowledge, it was the first and only time a white person had ever received such an honor. The jacket was the most significant expression of gratitude he could show Senator Williams for all he had done for Morris Brown College.

Wilson continues to serve the Sons of Allen in the capacity of Connectional Chaplain. But his greatest joy is, and always has been, his family: his wife, Lorance, their three daughters, nine grandchildren, and three great-grandchildren. “I have a daughter with a P.H.D.,” he said proudly, “and another has her masters.”

Once a week, Wilson talks to his friend in Chicago, Harry Hall. Harry served with Wilson in Guam. “He was the other lead singer in The Kingsman and the Checkmates,” he said. “We have a great time reminiscing about all the music we played and things that happened in Guam.” It would seem that memories are all he has left of his life as a professional entertainer. But that’s not really true. The world Wilson’s children, grandchildren, and great-children now know is a different world from the one in which he grew up. And he was a part of that change. While Bob Dylan was singing his 60s anthem, “Times They Are A-Changin’,” he had the vision and the courage to live the difference.

Wilson not only has character, but he also has talent. Not many can say Al Green (“How Can You Mend a Broken Heart”), Bobby Womack (“California Dreaming”), and the Chi-Lites (“Oh Girl”) showed up for one of your concerts. “Somebody came back to the dressing room and said, ‘Four limousines just pulled up. When I looked out at the audience, they were all sitting together.”

“Where did you learn to lead an orchestra?” I asked. “Did you have any musical training?”

Wilson looked surprised, “No.” He then smiled and said, “I just sing.”

Many of the songs Wilson covered from the 60s and 70s are still popular today. Songs like Bill Withers’ 1972 hit song “Lean on Me,” one of the greatest soul songs of all time. Unfortunately, copyright laws prevent me from quoting the lyrics, but I’d bet the title alone was enough to put the song in your head for the rest of the day. In a sense, it’s a message by which Wilson has lived his life. We need each other. All of us. Music doesn’t need a sermon to bring a message of unity and healing. It just needs people like Wilson who will “just sing.”