海角大神

Communication has always been essential and innovative in African culture, from the creation of papyrus to the decoding prowess of the Rosetta stone.

It鈥檚 fitting that the home of the blues shares the name of the capital city of ancient Egypt 鈥� Memphis. It鈥檚 also remarkable that, as with the hallmarks of communication in the land of the pyramids, there鈥檚 a group of beacons at the top of the Mississippi Delta who are standard-bearers in sharing information with the community through Black radio.

Like other Black institutions in America, Black radio stations often are in peril. And yet, that serious and strenuous reality always makes room for soulfulness. These Memphis, Tennessee, icons offer an example of how true legacy media survives 鈥� and thrives.

鈥淪o many stories鈥�

Since October 1948, WDIA has been the longest-running radio station programmed for Black people in the United States.

鈥淭here are so many stories,鈥� says Bev Johnson, one of the station鈥檚 decorated hosts. 鈥淲DIA saved the Lorraine Motel 鈥� the National Civil Rights Museum,鈥� she adds, of the site where Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated.

Mrs. Johnson has been involved in radio for almost 50 years. At WDIA, she鈥檚 had her own show since 1987, when a program director was inspired after Oprah Winfrey鈥檚 TV debut to create it. Both women share the nickname 鈥渢he queen of talk.鈥�

The host is vivacious and bold. On a recent Thursday afternoon, she鈥檚 wearing a black jacket with Greek letters Delta Sigma Theta, and a shirt underneath that reads, 鈥淏lack mixed with crimson and cream since 1913.鈥� A Delta from the Mississippi Delta.

A small reprinted turquoise-colored poster sitting just behind Mrs. Johnson offers insight into WDIA鈥檚 proud legacy. It features Nat D. Williams, who became the station鈥檚 first Black disc jockey in 1948. He also pioneered what was then called 鈥淏lack appeal radio,鈥� which factored greatly in how Black listeners were courted in terms of media and advertising. 鈥淣at Williams tells them what to buy,鈥� reads the colorful poster.

But Mr. Williams was more than a pitchman, explains Mrs. Johnson.

鈥淗e was a history teacher. ... One of things that I love about WDIA 鈥� the on-air personalities were educated Black folk,鈥� she says.

Her own career started similarly to those of most African Americans, with roots at a historically Black college or university. Mrs. Johnson was a graduate student in mass communications at Jackson State University in Jackson, Mississippi, who aspired to be a TV news reporter. She filled in for one of the students on the college radio station, WJSU, and performed so well that she was repeatedly offered a job by the radio station down the street, WJMI.

Nearly five decades later, Mrs. Johnson鈥檚 bona fides and r茅sum茅 speak for themselves. There鈥檚 the casual discussion about working for Sam Phillips, the man who 鈥渄iscovered鈥� Elvis Presley and produced recordings for the likes of B.B. King and Johnny Cash. She talks about everything on the air from relationships to politics, and, specifically, encouraging people to get out the vote. It鈥檚 the kind of intimacy and community that fit WDIA.

What truly has set WDIA apart, and made it worthy of its nickname, 鈥渢he goodwill station,鈥� is the way it has rallied behind the community. The April 13, 1982, issue of The New York Times has an article about a fundraising drive from WDIA that raised $120,000 for Mound Bayou, Mississippi, an all-Black town that faced bankruptcy. The image, which remains in folks鈥� memories, is the 800-vehicle caravan that crowded Highway 61 in support of Mound Bayou.

鈥淭hey said you couldn鈥檛 even see the end of the cars,鈥� says Karen McCrary, Memphis鈥� market president for iHeartMedia, which owns WDIA. 鈥淭his all happened on the back of WDIA, because that was the only way that people would have even known to [give money].鈥�

鈥淚t鈥檚 always been a goodwill station,鈥� says Mrs. Johnson.

Memphis鈥� first Black-owned radio station gives back

The gleam off a silver historical marker might catch one鈥檚 eye en route to the National Civil Rights Museum. At the top, the marker reads, 鈥淲LOK Radio Station.鈥� Toward the bottom, it reads, 鈥淎 Family Tradition鈥� 鈥� the station鈥檚 motto.

The oldest 鈥� and first 鈥� Black-owned radio station in Memphis is owned by Gilliam Communications. It carries the surname of President, CEO, and owner Art Gilliam Jr., a man of 鈥渕any firsts,鈥� as the WLOK website notes. He was the first African American to write for the Memphis Commercial Appeal, and was the first Black reporter and anchor on television in Memphis. In 1977, guided by civil rights activist and former leader of the NAACP Benjamin Hooks, Mr. Gilliam purchased WLOK.

Close to a half-century later, WLOK has been known to give back in the community through its annual scholarship and various events, such as its Stone Soul Picnic and Black Film Festival. The Stone Soul Picnic, which has been a fixture for decades, is a free gospel concert that has featured the likes of the Bar-Kays and The Canton Spirituals. Investment is a way of life for the Gilliams, as evidenced by the elder鈥檚 choice of career.

鈥淢y dad worked at Universal Life Insurance Co. ... Before you had full integration, or even the beginnings of integration, there were a number of Black businesses that were huge. Universal was one,鈥� he says. 鈥淗e got promoted a couple of times, and we came to Memphis. ... My dad was the most influential person in my life.鈥�

Migration wasn鈥檛 just a source of mobility and opportunity for Black people. As Mr. Gilliam explains, it was a necessity.

鈥淚鈥檓 81. When Emmett Till was killed in Mississippi, I was a little bit younger than [he was],鈥� Mr. Gilliam says somberly. 鈥淚 ended up getting my education in Connecticut; then I came back to Memphis.鈥�

Once he returned home 鈥� and later purchased WLOK 鈥� the goal was to provide that sense of home throughout the community.

鈥淲e鈥檙e a commercial station, but we consider ourselves a community station because we do a lot of things that are in service to our community. That鈥檚 been our philosophy ever since the beginning,鈥� Mr. Gilliam says. 鈥淏ecause you鈥檙e so close to the community and people are listening, you get an opportunity to advocate for things that are important, such as education and housing.鈥�

鈥淎 responsibility to the community鈥�

Howard Robertson shares a birthday with WDIA: June 7. Considering the fact that both he and the station are in their 70s, they鈥檙e practically twins.

Like WDIA, Mr. Robertson, who is the co-founder of Trust Marketing & Communications, has a legacy of upward mobility and media. His mother was an educator, and his father worked for the U.S. Postal Service. Most notably, Mr. Robertson worked for the iconic Stax Records, that famous house of Southern soul and blues.

Even as a child, he knew what he wanted to do in life. In essence, he became a DJ of a different order.

鈥淚鈥檓 in this business because I was, apparently, a weird kid, and something appealed to me at a very young age about advertising.鈥� Mr. Robertson defines the job as 鈥渂eing able to get inside folks鈥� heads and get them to do something they weren鈥檛 thinking about doing in the first place.鈥�

鈥淭he first national radio ad that I ever heard was a Tide [detergent] spot. Tide advertised on WDIA, and I used to listen to the commercials,鈥� he adds. 鈥淭hey were smart enough back then to advertise [on Black radio]. They would give the radio announcers some copy points and let them improvise.鈥�

Creativity became a hallmark of Mr. Robertson鈥檚 career, but more importantly, so did family. He co-founded a media empire with his wife, Beverly Robertson, who also has worked as the president of the National Civil Rights Museum. Including Trust, they鈥檝e built a media triumvirate 鈥� with Spotset Radio Network, which comprises more than 100 stations, and Play Ode, a Black-owned radio-streaming app geared toward podcasting and news.

While the couple have been a part of Memphis鈥� media and commerce landscape for decades, they have also remained true to their neighborhood roots. Through her previous work at the Greater Memphis chamber of commerce, Ms. Robertson started an initiative in 2019 called Taking It to the Streets, in which she and other community leaders held public forums in neighborhood centers. Later, she spearheaded From Protest to Progress, which challenged community and corporate leaders to find solutions to racial and generational discrepancies.

Their children are also prominently involved with the business. Adrienne King, their oldest daughter, is Trust鈥檚 corporate vice president and project manager. Ryan Robertson, their youngest, is corporate president. Howard III, or 鈥淭rey,鈥� works for the Library of Congress. The message of serving the community was not lost on the next generation.

鈥淵ou have to entertain, but you can鈥檛 stop there. We have a responsibility to the community to empower and ensure that the information that gets out there is true and accurate,鈥� Ryan says. 鈥淚 think what keeps a lot of Black media from going further in the empowerment space is investment. That鈥檚 why our mission is ensuring that national advertising dollars are flowing to local Black-owned broadcast stations.鈥�