JIMMY NORMAN, SINGER WHO WORKED WITH MARLEY AND HENDRIX
By BEN SISARIO
Published: November 25, 2011
Jimmy Norman, a rhythm-and-blues singer and songwriter who worked with Bob Marley and Jimi Hendrix early in their careers and was involved in a longstanding dispute over songwriting credit for the song “Time Is on My Side,” died on Nov. 8 in Manhattan. He was 74.
The cause was lung disease, said his daughter Missy Scott.
Mr. Norman, whose recording career began in the late 1950s, had minor success as a solo act, with two of his songs reaching the Top 40 on Billboard’s R&B chart: “I Don’t Love You No More (I Don’t Care About You)” in 1962 and “Can You Blame Me” in 1966. But he found a niche in music history through his encounters with other musicians.
In 1966 Hendrix played guitar on at least one of Mr. Norman’s songs, “That Little Old Groovemaker,” and in 1968 a young Marley stayed with Mr. Norman on a visit to New York. More than 30 years later, a cassette tape of Marley and Mr. Norman singing together on that visit was sold at Christie’s for $26,290.
But Mr. Norman is best known for his efforts to gain credit for contributing lyrics to “Time Is on My Side,” originally written by Jerry Ragovoy. In its first recording, by the trombonist Kai Winding in 1963, the song had only a handful of words. A year later the singer Irma Thomas recorded a version with a full set of lyrics, and on initial pressings Mr. Norman, who said he had been hired by a producer to add lyrics, was credited as a co-writer.
Ms. Thomas’s recording became the basis of the Rolling Stones’ hit, which reached the Top 10 later in 1964, but by then Mr. Norman’s name had disappeared from the credits and would never reappear. Mr. Ragovoy died in July at 80.
Mr. Norman made many attempts to get credit on “Time Is on My Side,” which would have entitled him to substantial royalties. In 1994 the song’s publisher, Warner/Chappell, acknowledged in a letter that Mr. Norman had “changed some of the lyrics” to the song but declined to share the copyright with him, saying that his credit on the early pressings had been the result of a clerical error.
James Norman Scott was born in Nashville on Aug. 12, 1937, and left home as a teenager to pursue a musical career. In the early ’70s he was part of the pianist Eddie Palmieri’s Latin jazz group Harlem River Drive and joined the Coasters as a replacement member, a job he held on and off until his health gave way in 1998.
Unable to work, he was nearly evicted from his apartment in 2002, when the Jazz Foundation of America, which helps needy musicians, intervened on his behalf. A group volunteer found the Marley tape while cleaning Mr. Norman’s apartment, said Wendy Oxenhorn, its executive director.
In 2004 Mr. Norman recorded an album, “Little Pieces,” released by Judy Collins’s label, Wildflower, and two years ago he released another album, “The Way I See It.”
Besides his daughter Missy Scott, he is survived by a son, James Scott; another daughter, Madge Wells; seven grandchildren; and two great-grandchildren.
SERGIO SCAGLIETTI, WHO BUILT FERRARIS WITH A HAMMER
Published: November 26, 2011
Sergio Scaglietti, who used intuitive genius and a hammer — seldom blueprints or sketches — to sculpture elegant Ferraris that won Grand Prix races in the 1950s and ’60s and now sell for millions of dollars, died on Nov. 20 at his home in Modena, Italy. He was 91.
Luca di Montezemolo, Ferrari’s chairman, announced the death.
Ferraris, with their hair-raising acceleration and sleek lines, bespoke postwar modernity in the manner of the Color Field paintings of Barnett Newman and Mark Rothko or the architecture of Eero Saarinen. Mr. Scaglietti in the 1950s designed the blood-red skin of the 375MM sports car that the film director Roberto Rossellini, the master of neo-realist cinema, gave to his wife, Ingrid Bergman.
In August, Mr. Scaglietti’s 1957 Ferrari 240 Testa Rossa sold for $16.4 million, said to be the most ever paid for an automobile at auction. His 250 GT California Spyder was the vehicle in which the teenage heroes of the 1986 film “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” cavorted. (The Ferrari in the movie was actually a fake: the producers couldn’t afford a real one.)
Mr. Scaglietti (pronounced skahl-YET-tee — the “g” is silent) lacked the kind of formal education acquired by his patron and best friend, Enzo Ferrari, the race driver-turned-automotive-impresario. Both believed in speed, power, utility, superb craftsmanship and sleek, sensuous beauty, and they abhorred mass production. By craft Mr. Scaglietti was a “coachbuilder,” but others use loftier descriptions.
Leslie Kendall, curator of the Petersen Automotive Museum in Los Angeles, compared his cars to couture clothing. “They were individually tailored, and achingly beautiful,” he said in an interview after Mr. Scaglietti’s death.
Mr. Scaglietti’s method was to receive a prototype from the legendary designer Battista Farina or one of his associates and “interpret” it in aluminum, rarely using a drawing. He made a wire frame, then hammered the metal into the shape he envisioned. He did this on bags of sand, because wood proved too hard. He did everything, he said, “by the eye.”
He followed the designers’ concepts to varying degrees. Many sources give him considerable personal credit for the overall look of the 250 GTO in 1962-63. Just three dozen were made, and Mr. Ferrari, who died in 1988, approved every sale personally. The car was one of the last front-engine cars to remain competitive at the top levels of sports car racing. (Most racing cars today have the engine behind the driver.)
Motor Trend Classic in 2010 called the car the greatest Ferrari of all time, and some people consider it the most beautiful automobile ever made. There have been reports that one sold for $50 million during the classic car boom of the 1980s, and the Web site Supercars.net called that figure not “entirely unrealistic.”
In their 2007 book, “Ferrari: Stories From Those Who Lived the Legend,” John Lamm and Chuck Queener said Mr. Scaglietti got his inspiration for the GTO by “looking at cars.” Mr. Scaglietti said, “If you use your head, knowing the car has to go fast, you make it smaller and lighter.”
Sergio Scaglietti was born into the family of a poor carpenter on Jan. 9, 1920, in Modena. Four of his five brothers became carpenters, but Sergio aspired to work with metal. When he was 13, his father died, and he dropped out of school to work in a local garage specializing in damaged cars. His brother had gotten him the job, and four years later, the brother and a partner bought the business. At 17, Sergio became one of their first employees. He met Mr. Ferrari when Mr. Ferrari asked him to fix a mud flap on a racing car.
After World War II, Mr. Scaglietti opened his own shop. Mr. Ferrari, who had also started his own business, noticed Mr. Scaglietti’s work repairing a bashed-up racing car and told him he had done a good job. By the mid-1950s, he was doing much of Ferrari’s bodywork at a business he named Carrozzeria Scaglietti. He is credited with coming up with the design for headrests on Ferrari racing cars.
He drew broad praise for the pontoon fenders on the 250 Testa Rossa, of which 34 were built from 1956 to 1961. The fenders’ design allowed cool air to flow into the brake area to prevent overheating. On a visit to Allentown, Pa., in 2000, Mr. Scaglietti told the newspaper The Morning Call that the Testa Rossa got its name almost by accident.
“The chief of production came to Mr. Ferrari and said, ‘We have to stop production because we have no black paint to paint the engines,’ ” he said.
Mr. Ferrari asked what color paint they did have. The answer was red. Mr. Ferrari said, “Paint the engines red and we’ll call it the Testa Rossa,” which means redhead in Italian.
Mr. Scaglietti greatly expanded his business in the 1950s after Mr. Ferrari co-signed a loan. He sold the business to Fiat in the late 1960s, then continued to manage it until his retirement in the mid-1980s. In 2004, Ferrari named a four-seat sports car the 612 Scaglietti.
Information on survivors was unavailable.
Mr. Scaglietti owned only one of his own cars, a California Spyder, which he bought after a friend told him he could make money on it. He lost $1,000 when he sold it.
ODUMEGWU OJUKWO, LEADER OF BREAKAWAY REPUBLIC OF BIAFRA
Published: November 26, 2011
Odumegwu Ojukwu, an Oxford-educated Nigerian colonel who proclaimed the Republic of Biafra in 1967 and led his Ibo people into a secessionist war that cost more than a million lives, many of them starved children whose skeletal images shocked the world, has died at a hospital in London. He was 78.
International news reports quoted Maja Umeh, a spokesman for the All Progressive Grand Alliance Party in Nigeria, as confirming Mr. Ojukwu’s death. The Associated Press said he died on Saturday, but Bloomberg News said the death occurred on Friday. The cause was not cited. Mr. Ojukwu had a stroke at his home in Enugu, Nigeria, in December 2010, and had since been under treatment in London.
Mr. Ojukwu was an unlikely militarist and a reluctant rebel: the sports-car-driving son of one of Nigeria’s richest men, an urbane student of history and Shakespeare who read voraciously, wrote poetry, played tennis and, with his wealth and connections, might have been a business mogul or a worldly rouge-et-noir playboy.
But he spurned his father’s offer of a business partnership, joined Nigeria’s civil service and then its army in the turbulent last years of British colonial rule. And as maps of Africa were redrawn by forces of national and tribal self-determination, he became military governor of the Ibo homeland, one of three tribal regions, at a historic juncture.
At 33, he found himself at the vortex of simmering ethnic rivalries among Nigeria’s Hausas in the north, Yorubas in the southwest and Ibos in the southeast. The largely Christian Ibos were envied as one of Africa’s best-educated and most industrious peoples, possessed of much of Nigeria’s oil wealth. Tensions finally exploded into assassinations, coups and a massacre of 30,000 Ibos by Hausas and federal troops.
While he denounced the massacre and cited other Ibo grievances, Colonel Ojukwu for months resisted rising Ibo pressure for secession. He proposed a weak federation to separate Nigeria’s three tribal regions politically. But Col. Yakubu Gowon, leader of the military government in Lagos, rejected the idea. A clash over federal taxation of the Ibo region’s oil and coal industries precipitated the final break.
“Long live the Republic of Biafra,” Colonel Ojukwu proclaimed on May 30, 1967.
Five weeks later, civil war began when Nigerian military forces invaded the breakaway province. It was a lopsided war, with other nations supporting federal forces seeking to unify the country and Biafra standing virtually alone. Nigeria was Africa’s most populous nation, with 57 million people, of which 8 million to 10 million were Ibos.
Poorly equipped and outnumbered four to one, Biafra’s 25,000-member army held its own for months, supported by a citizenry that donated food, clothing and supplies. Colonel Ojukwu ran Biafra as a wartime democracy, fought alongside his troops and was said to be revered by his people.
He gave orders in a slow, deliberate baritone: native Igbo with an Oxford accent. Fond of Sibelius, he chose “Finlandia” as Biafra’s national anthem. And he read Shakespeare. “Hamlet was my favorite,” he told a New York Times correspondent. “I wonder what the psychiatrists will make of that.”
Over a battle map he looked like a brooding Othello, with solemn eyes and a luxuriantly bearded countenance. He slept irregularly, sometimes working nonstop for days, taking a meal now and then, rarely touching alcohol but chain-smoking English cigarettes.
Tanzania, Zambia, the Ivory Coast and Gabon recognized Biafra, and France and other nations provided covert aid. But the Soviet Union, Egypt and even Britain, after a period of neutrality, supplied weapons and advisers to Nigeria. The United States, officially neutral, provided diplomatic and relief coordination aid. But after 15 months of war, Biafra’s 29,000 square miles had been reduced to 5,000, and deaths had soared.
As crops burned and refugees streamed away from advancing federal forces, much of the population was cut off from food supplies. As the 30-month civil war moved onto the world stage as one of the first televised wars, millions around the globe were stunned by pictures of Biafran babies with distended bellies and skeletal children who were succumbing to famine by the thousands daily in the war’s final stages.
Colonel Ojukwu appealed to the world to save his people. International relief agencies responded, and scores of cargo planes ferried food in to the encircled Biafrans, but airlifts were woefully inadequate. Deaths from starvation were estimated at more than 6,000 a day, and postwar studies suggested that a third of Biafra’s surviving preschoolers — nearly 500,000 — were malnourished at war’s end.
In January 1970, secessionist resistance was crushed and its leader, by then a general, fled into exile in Ivory Coast and London. Granted a presidential pardon after 13 years, he returned to Nigeria in 1982 and was welcomed by enormous crowds. He became a Lagos businessman and ran unsuccessfully for president several times, but remained a hero in the eyes of many of his countrymen.
The legacies of the war were terrible. Deaths from fighting, disease and starvation were estimated by international relief agencies at one million to three million. Besides widespread destruction of hospitals, schools, homes and businesses, Ibos faced discrimination in employment, housing and political rights. Nigeria reabsorbed Biafra, however, and the region was rebuilt over 20 years as its oil-based economy prospered anew.
Chukwuemeka Odumegwu Ojukwu (pronounced chuk-woo-MA-ka oh-doo-MAG-woo oh-JU-kwoo) was born on Nov. 4, 1933, in Zungeru, Nigeria. From modest beginnings, his father, Sir Louis Phillipe Odumegwu Ojukwu, had made fortunes in transportation and real estate, and was Nigeria’s wealthiest entrepreneur when he died in 1966.
The boy nicknamed Emeka attended Kings College in Lagos, Nigeria’s most prestigious secondary school; Epson College, a boys’ prep school in Surrey, and Lincoln College, Oxford, where he graduated with honors in history in 1955. Classmates said he was popular, dressed stylishly, drove a bright red MG sports car and loved discussions of Machiavelli, Hobbes, Louis XIV and Shakespeare.
He had three wives. His first, Njideka, a law student he met at Oxford and wed in 1962, died in 2010. His second, Stella Onyeador, died in 2009. He married Bianca Odinaka Onoh, a former beauty queen and businesswoman 34 years his junior, in 1994. Returning to Nigeria in 1956, he rejected his father’s business overtures, worked on development in remote villages, and in 1957 joined the army. He called himself an amateur soldier, but rose rapidly in the ranks after Nigeria gained independence in 1960. In 1966, he became military governor of the Ibo region, and declared Biafran independence after repression enveloped his people.
He sometimes compared Biafrans to Israelis. “The Israelis are hard-working, enterprising people,” he told a visitor to his besieged field headquarters in 1969. “So are we. They’ve suffered from pogroms. So have we. In many ways, we share the same promise and the same problems.”
JENO PAULUCCI, A PIONEER OF READY-MADE ETHNIC FOODS
By DANIEL E. SLOTNIK
Published: November 25, 2011
First it was Chun King, the canned Chinese food that became a mainstay in American cupboards in the postwar decades. Then it was the pizza roll, a hybrid of Italian and Chinese fast food that acquired similar status in the kitchen freezer. Jeno Paulucci, a food magnate, had a hand in both of those contributions to the American diet, founding the companies that produced them. He died at 93 on Thursday at his home in Duluth, Minn.
The cause was renal and coronary failure, his daughter, Gina, said. His wife, the former Lois Mae Trepanier, died on Nov. 20.
Mr. Paulucci was working as a wholesale grocer in Hibbing, Minn., in the late 1940s when he noticed a blossoming market for prepared Chinese food. “The food industry was missing the boat, allowing the restaurants to handle all the take-home business,” Mr. Paulucci told The New York Times in 1955.
So he borrowed $2,500 from a friend and used it to begin canning chow mein and selling it to retailers.
“I seasoned it to my own Italian taste, borrowed space in a vegetable packing house and made up a truckload of it,” Mr. Paulucci said in 1976. “When I’d sold that, I’d come back and make up another truckload until I had a plant in Duluth and a lot of people working for me.”
Chun King came to encompass an entire line of prepared Chinese food. In 1957 Mr. Paulucci patented the Divider-Pak, packaging that kept the food separate from its sauce. He sold the company to R. J. Reynolds for $63 million in 1966, and two years later was briefly chairman of that company’s food division. But his restlessness led to different endeavors, this time inspired by his ancestral cuisine.
In 1968 Mr. Paulucci founded Jeno’s Inc., a company that sold frozen pizzas and a variety of snacks. The most notable of these was undoubtedly the pizza roll, a combination single slice and egg roll. His family credits him with inventing it. He sold Jeno’s Inc. to Pillsbury for $135 million in 1985. The next year, Jeno’s Pizza Rolls were rebranded as Totino’s Pizza Rolls.
Luigino Francesco Paulucci was born on July 7, 1918, in Aurora, Minn., to Michelina and Ettore Paulucci, immigrants from Bellisio Solfare, Italy. Ettore came to the United States to work in the iron mines of northeastern Minnesota, but an injury kept him from working and the family was supported by a grocery store that Michelina ran.
Mr. Paulucci entered the grocery business after graduating from Hibbing High School in 1935.
In addition to his daughter he is survived by a son, Michael; another daughter, Cindy Selton; four grandchildren; and many great-grandchildren.
Despite his success, Mr. Paulucci never forgot his hardscrabble roots. For years he kept the small truck he first used to haul Chinese food, garaging it in a hangar next to his two private jets and two seaplanes.
“It helps my ego to look back,” Mr. Paulucci said. “I look at those jets, and then I look at that old truck, and I remember to keep running.”