Documentary

In ‘Tina,’ the queen of rock ’n’ roll says goodbye

The icon could not escape questions about her abuse. This HBO documentary provides answers and so much more.

When Tina Turner published her autobiography, I, Tina, in 1986, she just wanted people — journalists especially — to stop asking her about her notorious ex-husband, producer, musician, and bandleader Ike Turner.

At the time, she’d been divorced from him since 1978. She’d reinvented herself as a rock star with the release of Private Dancer in 1984. But the questions persisted. Everyone wanted to know about the horrors of her life with Ike, and Turner wanted to put the story to rest in the hope that she could get back to talking about the career and life she’d worked to create for herself post-Ike.

“I wasn’t interested in telling that ridiculously embarrassing story of my life,” Turner says in Tina, a new documentary that premieres Saturday on HBO. “But I felt that’s one way I could get the journalists off my back.”

It backfired. Even though Turner felt as though she’d answered every question in her book, queries about her abuser continued to follow her, and with them, retraumatization with each instance that she was asked to revisit a painful period when she was married to a man who would beat her with a shoe stretcher, or a wire hanger, or his hands, and then rape her.

Tina Turner is interviewed at her home in Zurich in 2019.

HBO

What began with I, Tina has blossomed into a multimedia project that continues to tell Turner’s life story, with each iteration adding an epilogue of sorts to the last. Following the book, there was the 1993 biopic, What’s Love Got to Do With It, which starred Angela Bassett as Turner. (Bassett was nominated for an Oscar for the role, as was Laurence Fishburne, who played Ike.) Then came the Tony-nominated Broadway show TINA: The Tina Turner Musical, which opened in 2019. Now there’s a documentary to complete the set. Those familiar with Turner’s story — her rise to fame with Ike, her harrowing escape from him, her successful reintroduction as a rock artist — will recognize many of the beats of Tina, directed by Dan Lindsay and T.J. Martin.

But the documentary provides another perspective, that of Turner herself, in interviews filmed at her home in Zurich in 2019. It is one thing to see talented performers such as Bassett and Adrienne Warren portray Turner. It’s another to see the woman herself reflect on her life. What becomes apparent is how much the trauma of the time she spent with Ike remains. Her second husband, Erwin Bach, reveals in the film that she still has nightmares about it. “It’s like when soldiers come back from the war,” Bach says. “It’s not an easy time to have in your memory and try to forget.”

Tina offers a story of hope and triumph, and an illustration of why people were so captivated by Tina Turner, seen here at Versailles, France, in 1990.

ARNAL/Gamma-Rapho via Getty Images

It’s evident in the footage of a news conference Turner participated in with Bassett at the 1993 Venice International Film Festival, when Turner admits that she has not seen the film. “Well, I am not so thrilled about thinking about the past and how I lived my life,” she says. “The story was written so that I would no longer have to discuss the issue. I don’t love that it’s always talked about.”

As her solo career progressed, Turner found that questions about how she managed to survive the yearslong “torture” to which Ike subjected her remained. He would forever be part of her story. Turner was inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 1991 — with Ike. It took another 30 years for her to be nominated for her solo work. Here’s hoping Turner, now 81, will be able to be inducted and present for the ceremony before departing this mortal coil.

When they divorced, Turner, born Anna Mae Bullock, relinquished everything to her ex-husband — publishing rights, royalties, property, cars, furs — except the name that’d he’d given her when they began working together: Tina Turner. Then came a decades-long project of defining and redefining herself until the name Tina Turner was synonymous with one thing: the title of Queen of Rock ’n’ Roll.

Tina Turner’s (right) second husband Erwin Bach (left) reveals in the film that she still has nightmares about the trauma in her life with Ike Turner.

Paul Cox/HBO

What stands out about Tina is that it takes her seriously as an artist, which remains an uphill battle for women in rock music. Consider Gimme Shelter, the 1970 documentary that followed the Rolling Stones’ 1969 U.S. tour. Turner, on tour with the band, taught frontman Mick Jagger his moves, which were actually her moves. And yet, Jagger could not hide his derision. “It’s nice to have a chick occasionally,” he offered with a smirk. In Tina, Kurt Loder provides an appreciation for Turner’s musicianship, using “River Deep, Mountain High” to illustrate the power and control that was evident in Turner’s voice from the beginning.

Like the book Good Booty, by NPR music critic Ann Powers, Tina offers a framing of rock ‘n’ roll history that bypasses the white men who came to be seen as its defining artists, crediting Ike Turner and his 1951 record, “Rocket 88,” as one of the original fathers of the genre.

Tina offers a story of hope and triumph, and an illustration of why people, like those who sent 50,000 letters for Turner to the Oprah Winfrey Show when she was a guest in 1996, were so captivated by her. It wasn’t just that Turner was able to leave her abuser, it was that after doing so, she blossomed. When Turner takes a stage, she’s electric, full of life and verve and joy. She is emblematic of what is possible, in so many ways, when a woman can fully be herself, when she doesn’t accept that the unspoken rule that female stars simply fade away once they’re no longer young and malleable and sexy according to the definitions of male record company executives. After all, she was 46 when she accepted the Grammy for record of the year for “What’s Love Got To Do With It?”

Divided into five acts, Tina provides Turner the opportunity to say a formal goodbye to her fans, something that can be tricky for aging divas — consider Barbra Streisand’s multiple farewell tours. It reframes her life as a search for love, particularly the love that she never felt she got from her mother, Zelma Bullock.

“She didn’t want me,” Turner says. “She didn’t want to be around me, even though she wanted my success.”

With each soul-stirring performance in Tina, we see a woman giving everything of herself in ways so unvarnished and uninhibited that it becomes clear: Turner used her artistry to speak the language of love like she knew what it meant, even when she wasn’t sure that she did. In the process, she created a repertoire and a career that makes one thing undeniable: Tina Turner is simply the best.

Soraya Nadia McDonald is the culture critic for The Undefeated. She writes about pop culture, fashion, the arts, and literature. She is the 2020 winner of the George Jean Nathan prize for dramatic criticism, a 2020 finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in criticism, and the runner-up for the 2019 Vernon Jarrett Medal for outstanding reporting on black life.

This Story Tagged: Music Movies Black Women Documentary HBO View All Women's History Month Tina Turner Film Tina
Music

Behind the delightful success of Tag Team’s hit commercial with Geico

How a classic tune and the hip-hop capital of the world brought the ad to life

French Vanilla. Rocky Road. Chocolate. Peanut Butter. Cookie Dough.

When senior copywriter Roger Hailes penned those nine words, alongside just two measures of music, he probably didn’t know how many lives would be changed as a result. For the past two months, one commercial has overtaken the advertising world through an incredible coming together of a classic tune, a powerhouse marketing campaign and, of course, the hip-hop capital of the world: Atlanta.

In the commercial, a woman is minding her business in her kitchen, when a disembodied voice asks Tasha (the character) if she’s familiar with their product. Then, in jest, Tag Team shows up and the magic begins.

For some, 1993’s “Whoomp! (There It is)” by Tag Team is most easily described as a one-hit wonder. If you want to look more closely at the selection, one could qualify it as a Jock Jam, too. If you’ve really been paying attention, you know it’s seen quite a few spins on the Disney Channel and KidzBop circuit as well. At this point, it’s far more than just a chart topper from back in the day – when you had to listen to the radio to hear your favorite songs.

But for D.C. Glenn and Steve Gibson, the rap duo from Atlanta, the track that won the 1994 Razzie Award for Worst Original Song has definitely provided them with the last laugh, as well as laughs for plenty of other families for generations to come. You might have called it corny, they called it positive partying. It is most undoubtedly impactful.

In the nine-trey, as we liked to call it at the time, I listened to all sorts of ridiculous rap music. This joint was just another one of those songs, but everyone from little league knew the words all the way on down to the Sunday school kids I had zero desire to hang out with. I was 12. Whatever. I know every word and always will whether I want to or not. I’ve just heard it that many times.

We’re talking about a song that begat an actual Addams Family remix, all while fighting off not just a song of an extremely similar name and theme, but also survived a pretty serious multi-decade lawsuit that almost ended the whole run, after the New Orleans Saints began playing it regularly in the Superdome after touchdowns. It’s an original party rap song that has seen some things.

So when the artists were approached by Martin Agency, the advertising group that works with the Geico insurance company, they weren’t worried about becoming just another cog in the nostalgia machine that seems to fuel all content these days. They saw the success of Salt-N-Pepa’s Geico work and it made perfect sense.

“That was the easiest decision we probably ever had,” Glenn said this week. Now a voice actor and motivational speaker who’s done everything from DJing in strip clubs to building websites for clients, he saw another chance to get his music work back in the fray and make dollars.

“Not only can it get you out there again, but it can, if you hit the charts again and [then] you’re going to be on tour, right? So for us, it was just a chance to, you know, make that happen. I knew how big this was, this is a national SAG-AFTRA [Screen Actors Guild-American Federation of Television and Radio Artists] commercial. And those don’t come along but once in a lifetime, you know what I’m saying? And we had to take advantage of it. So we had to kind of try to mold it in our image and just do us.”

Which is wild, because this commercial was almost about soup.


Saturday Night Live has been through a bevy of iterations. Whatever your era may be, there are certain gems that stick out from the rest. Justin Timberlake is an artist who has profited grandly off said shtick, and his 2006 sketch called Cup O’ Soup featured him, dressed up like an instant ramen package as a busker, singing a song that goes “Soup, There It Is,” and you get the idea. It stuck.

Fast-forward to now, when the Martin Agency is looking to cast Tag Team. Only problem, Tag Team wasn’t feeling the idea. It had already been done. Plus, soup doesn’t sell like ice cream.

“They were so involved in the process that there was no way they were going to be put in the wrong light because they wouldn’t, they weren’t going to allow it,” Danny Robinson, the chief creative officer at the Martin Agency, said of Tag Team. “What was great is all they were asked of is to be where they are.”

Hailes would have to come up with something else.

“I don’t know what he wrote. It may have been some tomato in lobster bisque and potato leeks,” Robinson joked.

Crisis averted.

Overall though, the connectivity to Black nostalgia is a very real thing. How we process in modern (and after) times what we loved in a different era is an important part of our culture and people’s storytelling process. It might have been easy for Tag Team to say yes, but that doesn’t make the burden any less difficult in execution. You don’t want to be the people who screwed up the thing so many folks already liked.

Alas, for Martin Agency, this is their bag. The Dikembe Mutombo ad? That was them. The Ickey Woods throwback? Them too. Oprah’s “You Get A Car?” bit? That was Robinson. They know what they’re doing when it comes to nostalgia, particularly for Black folks.

“Can’t do what we do for long and not find places to use Black nostalgia,” said Robinson, who is African American. “Because our nostalgia is rich and deep and wide. People beyond Black people love it.”

To complete the cast, they would of course stay in Atlanta.


Many years back, actress Nicci Carr was working on her accents. English, Spanish, Australian, whatever it took to seem believable. She took her craft very seriously. Her audience of second graders at Edison-Friendship Public Charter School in Northeast Washington did, too. “Tough crowd, 6 and 7-year-olds,” Carr said with a laugh.

Those days of being herself as an educator led her to Hollywood, where she wanted to go after the dream just like so many other folks who set sail for California. Having moved to Washington from Richmond, the native New Yorker figured why not, and took a shot.

She booked a few things, but like so many other tales of Hollywood, it didn’t work out. She fell in love, got married, got divorced, and landed in Atlanta, back working in teaching, this time in higher education (which she also did in California to make a living), and she still does now, while working on a degree.

“So one day I was doing academic advising and outside of my door, window, they were taping like, Pitch Perfect 3. Or Ironman. And I was like, ‘God, are you calling me back?’ ” Carr said this week, thinking about how she was motivated enough again to try. You might remember her work as a woman who got a bunch of money stolen from her wallet in season two of FX’s Atlanta.

“So here I am, in Atlanta, and I’m getting more work here than I was in LA. But this Geico [spot] is … the biggest opportunity that I’ve been blessed with,” she says between tears. “It’s 17 years of hustling and bustling and changing my clothes in the car and waiting in LA and driving and putting on wrong shoes, rushing out, you know, putting on a black shoe and a green shoe, rushing some auditions to get to work.”

When the day of the shoot arrived, Carr knew she was in a spot she’d worked hard to get to and was absolutely gonna nail it.

“I was a hip-hop dancer. I’m almost 50 years old. So that’s what I do. You know what I’m saying? And so [director Dan Opsal] was like, Nicci, I know it’s hard for you not to dance, but just try to do some elbows,” Carr explained, demonstrating with examples. “So I started doing elbows and pop-locking and it’s like elbows, but the day of the show I was mesmerized. They make me feel welcome.

“You know, they encourage the hype.”


There’s a point in every classic piece of content in which you get hooked. The part where you realize: I like this. Sometimes there comes another point when you come to grips with the fact that maybe that same part is a reason you will always like something, beyond just the next time you see it. The trolls call this living rent-free.

Anthony Goolsby’s entrance into this commercial as the husband/father has been operating a full-blown, high-volume restaurant’s worth of business in my head since I first saw it during the Super Bowl, and has paid not a dime for the space.

Goolsby himself is a dad, so the move was routine.

“I teach improv to kids, right? So you never know what’s about to happen. I don’t like to come in knowing what I’m about to do. I don’t even have any words,” he says, describing his method in the scene. “So it was all in my face. Right? So I’m like, what, why are these guys here? And then I look at [Carr], and I see them with the ice cream and I’m like, and ice cream?! So now it’s all starting to come together. We got Tag Team in the house, one, and we eating ice cream? And the music? WHOOMP, right? [Demonstrating the move.] I can’t tell you. I don’t even know what that is. I was just with the flow, man.”

Goolsby, 39, who is from Decatur, Georgia, was a college baseball player who also spent time as a high school umpire. He joined an improv troupe a while back and now has bigger dreams of being a character actor regularly, after graduating from college with a degree in industrial engineering. The fact that GEICO ended up picking three Black folks (including Amethyst Davis) from the same Atlanta troupe was quite a feeling, as well.

“They didn’t know, they got three improvisers on the same team,” Goolsby pointed out. “We just knew we were gonna play it. I thought it was dope, man. ‘Cause they’re having fun. You reaching a whole new group of people.”

And just like everything else in this ad, it was freestyled. Yes, the Kid ‘n Play part, too. None of that was scripted, nor was the sprinkles toss, arguably the top moment of a 40-second ad with like 10 of them.

It was conceived as an ode to LeBron James. 

“You know, sprinkles came from an ode to LeBron James where he goes to the scorers table and throws up the chalk. And I know kids love sprinkles,” Glenn said. “I wanted this commercial to be with little kids, saw it, they’d go, mama, I want to party like that.”

Which for Gibson, who is now in the phase of his career in which he’s working on mastering records as a craft, is a welcome emotion and lane.

“I wanted us to keep our gray beards because man, we aged,” he said unapologetically, sitting in front of a wall of records and CDs in his Atlanta-area home. “When we got to the set, I just wanted the energy. I’m an energy guy, man.”

Overall, the phenomenon that is the ad is evident. Everyone involved feels like they did what they wanted to, which is half the battle. Say what you like about the gatekeepers of rap who may or may not appreciate what our latest desires for the old days may mean in terms of what we laud now versus then, to see Black folks who’ve been dedicated to the game still alive and kicking is a warm sight to see in 2021. Hailes believes the band he remembers from high school was properly represented. But the commercial will soon be out of heavy rotation.

Everyone involved has bigger goals, of course. But little things like a positive ad that portrays a Black family having fun in their homes, safely, goes a long way in keeping that fire burning, never mind the lights on. Tag Team isn’t making new songs, because, clearly, they’ve got a hit with this one. So stop asking.

“You still got a hit record, 20-something years later, you better milk it for everything you can, because it’s not going anywhere,” Glenn said. “So any opportunity that comes to us from [the song] has to be fashioned into something positive for us to make some money off of. And we have become really practical and masterful at doing that.”

As the kids say: There it is.

Clinton Yates is a tastemaker at The Undefeated. He likes rap, rock, reggae, R&B, and remixes — in that order.

This Story Tagged: Music Super Bowl commercials Tag Team D.C. Glenn Steve Gibson Ice Cream
Movies

In ‘Falcon and the Winter Soldier,’ a world that feels painfully like our own

A Black superhero steps into the spotlight when neither the world nor the Avengers are OK

Warning: While there are no spoilers for The Falcon and the Winter Soldier here, there are a myriad from the Marvel films that came before it. If the details of Avengers: Infinity War or Endgame are a mystery to you, don’t worry. Because Marvel, home of the Scarlet Witch, X-Men and the Hulk, has taken on the patina of documentary. 

As The Falcon and the Winter Soldier begins its six-episode arc on Disney+ Friday, the inhabitants of the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) are reeling. On April 27, 2018, Thanos, a supervillain with an exceptionally rough beard, snapped half of all life in the universe – including half of the Avengers – out of existence. (That kind of plot point can be hard on spinoffs.) Almost exactly a year later, by release dates, the Hulk snapped everybody back. (The Blip was 5 years in the film.) The Avengers reassembled and Thanos was defeated. But neither the world nor the Avengers are OK.

The difference between then and now is us. Where once the MCU was a butt-kicking, quip-throwing, time-bending romp through the multiverse, it is now a coping mechanism. If that sounds ridiculous to you, welcome back to Planet Earth.

A scene from Marvel Studios’ Falcon and the Winter Soldier: Anthony Mackie (left) portrays Falcon/Sam Wilson and Sebastian Stan (right) stars as Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes.

Chuck Zlotnick

On March 11, 2020, the World Health Organization declared COVID-19 a pandemic and the world as we knew it stopped. Almost exactly a year later, vaccines are slowly making their way into people’s arms and we’re contemplating that moment when we will be snapped back to “Before” or what we used to quaintly call “Normal” or “Outside.”

But that’s not going to happen. We can’t go back. There is only Now. More than 500,000 Americans are gone. More than 2.65 million people have died worldwide. Public health systems that once appeared reasonably competent – or at least apolitical – have been shaken to their core. I will not belabor the metaphor because I don’t have to.

Anthony Mackie talks about his role in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier on Disney+.

The plot of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier commences just months after the events of the last movie. Yet its world no longer feels like the latest in a series of blockbusters where everyone lives in a preordained happily ever after. Instead, it feels a lot like our own world — grief-stricken, divided and unsure. And that is a strange place from which to watch a Black man with wings. Falcon has been given both the shield and the mantle of Captain America by the supersoldier Steve Rogers himself. And just as we knew that long-standing systemic inequities in health care and the economy meant COVID-19 would have disastrously disparate effects on African Americans, it is clear that Falcon’s journey will be wildly different from that of the white Captain America who came before him.

And add a few more fourth-wall obliterating facts to this mix: The social and economic effects of the pandemic of 2020 are reminiscent of those associated with the Black Death of the late Middle Ages. The year included a societal upheaval over the role of race in American life so large it has been called a reckoning. And we witnessed the shocking death of Chadwick Boseman, our Black Panther and Marvel’s first Black superhero. Trust me, you don’t need to have watched Avengers: Infinity War or Endgame to understand what is happening in Falcon. Just surviving 2020 is enough.

Most conversations about what it means to be Captain America usually involve varying interpretations of masculinity or American exceptionalism, and in 2019, that was appropriate. If you’re comfy in the Marvel world, you understand that Captain America starts his arc as the symbol of the American triumph at the end of World War II and ends it as a counterweight to governmental excess.

But another important narrative considered in the movie but rarely discussed critically is Captain America as a story of dislocation, at first because he was deemed to have no power and later because his power was feared. The secret to the hero is not only the Super Soldier serum but a permanent feeling of being apart from America despite being chosen to represent it at its apex — an alienating feeling that while the promise of America may not have yet come true for him, its promise is still worth fighting for. That’s a hella Black story. That’s a hella Black-in-2021 story.

It also neatly explains why when the time came to give up his shield, Cap gave it to Falcon. Because of all the folks he might have considered, he chose the one who told him (in Captain America: The Winter Soldier) that everything Cap needed to know about the 70 years he lost frozen in the ice could be found in Marvin Gaye’s soundtrack to the film Trouble Man.

Get it now? Falcon’s own arc in the Marvel comics is also one of dislocation — an arc born of racism, personal, systemic, all of it — to becoming Marvel’s first African American superhero and leader of the Avengers. And it goes through his first alter ego as Snap Wilson — Marvel’s first Trouble Man until Luke Cage comes along.

Or did I just find a meaning that was not there Before and is there Now? Perhaps it’s another example of the vast difference between the Black gaze and the white gaze — a difference defined by that same sense of dislocation that while the promise of America may not have yet come true for us, its promise is still worth fighting for. It’s another deeply weird consequence of COVID-19: The alpha-male, superwhite, superprivileged definition of Captain America is gone because that Captain America is gone. The reasons are varied, but watching it, the result feels true.

Raina Kelley is the Managing Editor of The Undefeated and is obsessed with Whitney Houston, Maleficient's horns and pens. She also would have made an excellent homicide detective.

This Story Tagged: Marvel Movies Film Disney Plus Falcon and the Winter Soldier
An Appreciation

From founder to friend: How Paul Brock connected generations through the National Association of Black Journalists

The organization’s founding executive director died at 89

As the saying goes, you can tell more about a man not by what he does, but by what he gives. This week we lost a man who gave many of us a lot, National Association of Black Journalists (NABJ) founding executive director Paul H. Brock.

Brock is among the people credited with bringing together 44 men and women in 1975 to create the organization that now serves more than 3,000 members. His career of nearly 70 years included stops in radio and communications. As a former journalist who spent much of his career in political communications, Brock still saw the need for an organization that supported Black journalists.

I cannot recall precisely the first time I met Brock; it must have been sometime in 2007. I worked on Capitol Hill and was a new NABJ board member. We clicked quickly. Our bond was over our love of all things politics, our beloved alma mater Howard University and, of course, all things media. We also both loved spicy Thai food and our long lunches over good conversation partaking in it. Sometimes an adult beverage would be indulged in. Yuengling, to be exact, was one of our favorites.

President Barack Obama (right) and first lady Michelle Obama (left) greet Paul Brock (second from left) and former NABJ executive director Maurice Foster (second from right) during the press holiday reception in 2012.

Official White House Photo/Sonya N. Hebert

None of the many interests that we shared was more significant than our love for the organization that he helped found. It was easy to look up, and hours could have gone by sitting at his feet listening to him discuss the organization’s history. He always had some old paperwork or memento he could share, and of course, as an NABJ OG, his NABJ swag game was on point and endless. From his throwback convention bags, NABJ leather jacket or his NABJ playing cards and cups and mugs, it was always a treat to see his unique NABJ paraphernalia.

I will miss being a part of the convention programming founder Brock would think up for NABJ. He would always start early, sometimes almost a year in advance, on his next big idea. He would call and relay his game plan and gladly let you know what part you could play to bring it to fruition. From NABJ Hall of Fame ceremonies, convention events such as the annual Founders Reception, and many NABJ workshops, it was an honor to work with him on all of them. In looking back through our old correspondence, I had to smile when he brought some of the Tuskegee Airmen to NABJ in association with the 2012 film Red Tails. He also was focused on bringing the film’s stars, Cuba Gooding Jr. and Terrence Howard, which he did. There was nothing he could not do when he put his mind to it.

It was never lost on me that I met founder Brock in his latter years and that 47 years separated us, but I was happy to call him a true friend. Among the many impressive things about founder Brock: There isn’t a single hat he hasn’t worn. Journalist. Media professional. Filmmaker. Executive director. Scriptwriter. Fundraiser. Founder. He was never at a loss to tell a story about these experiences with a laugh that could fill the entire room.

His background gave him the widest circle of people from all walks of life. And I was fortunate to be included in that number. Living relatively close to founder Brock in Prince George’s County, Maryland, landed me invites for lunches, dinners, church services and parties during which I had the opportunity to meet his eclectic circle. His annual Christmas parties were legendary, from much-admired media personalities to local elected officials; all would come and look forward to a great party thrown by Brock and his wife Genia. There was always great food and drink and games. Founder Brock loved bid whist and pinochle. When my mother was in town, he would say, “Bring her too.” She also grew to love founder Brock. Teasing her once, he said, “thank you for letting me borrow your baby girl.”

In a 2003 interview with the HistoryMakers oral history collection, founder Brock was asked how he would like to be remembered. He said, “I would like to be remembered as a person who tried, who was unafraid to face those challenges that were threatening us as a community, as a group, as a culture, and that I did my damnedest – my very, very best to help those in my community, in my culture, to be better, better prepared and better individuals.”

And Brock most certainly has done that. Well done.

My biggest lessons learned from getting to know this incredible man are always fighting for what you believe in, never to stop pushing and that age is nothing but merely a number.

NABJ conventions won’t be the same without his presence. While this week is sad to have lost this great man, it is also a celebration of an extraordinary life. I thank him for the legacy he left and all that he has given us. An organization that advances the industry and advocates for Black journalists and media professionals, a mission needed now more than ever.

Rest in power, Paul Brock. You will be dearly missed.

Aprill O. Turner is a public relations strategist with deep roots in politics. She is currently vice president of communications and external affairs for Higher Heights For America, the political home for Black women. She also teaches public relations courses at Montgomery College in Maryland and Trinity Washington University in Washington, DC.

This Story Tagged: An Appreciation Association for Women in Sports Media Paul Brock National Association of Black Journalists