In the beginning of Urban Network, there was Joe Nazel – a man whose commitment to the legacy of African American accomplishments, love of music and experience within all realms of Black Hollywood made him our quintessential original editor.

From 1988 to 1991, he set a bar of pride that indelibly distinguished our pages. Among this publication’s proudest weeks is when we refused to put a recording artist on our cover, instead devoting the issue to examining what led up to and the fall out of Los Angeles’ post-Rodney King verdict rioting in the streets. With Joe as our leader, we fought our original publishers mightily to make this stand and succeeded with a now-classic issue and its daring headline “No Justice, No Peace” – one that went beyond industry coverage to address social concerns, and how that very upheaval affected our readership at retail and radio. For Joe Nazel, there was absolutely no other alternative.

Born in Berkeley, California, Joe’s initial interest in the clergy began to wane when too many of his questions concerning Christ and The Bible went unanswered. After serving with the Air Force in Vietnam from 1964-1968, Joe entered the University of Southern California with minors in English and Drama, graduating with a B.A. in Ethnic Studies. He remained at USC to lecture on African American history and literature. However, inspired by the classic works of Ralph Ellison and Richard Wright, Joe followed his dream to become a prolific and multi-faceted author.

His first of 59 books was My Name is Black (Pinnacle Books/1973), the story of an ex-con crime fighter. It was followed by serials starring other characters of his creation such as detective “The Iceman” and hard-nosed reporter “Spider,” unauthorized biographies on the likes of Richard Pryor and Paul Robeson, romance fiction with the Black woman in mind (which he penned under the femme nom de plume Joyce Lezan – Nazel spelled backwards) as well as ghostwriting for several television programs and films.

In 1977, he added journalist to his credits first as Rhythm & Blues Editor at Cashbox, but swiftly segueing into hard news beginning at the Los Angeles Post, and later at the Sentinel, the Wave and the L.A. Watts Times. As Editor of the Black men’s magazine Players, he insisted that the editorial be as on-point as the naked chicks inside. He later edited the quarterly Black Hollywood newspaper Legacy. And when writing wasn’t enough, he hosted a radio program for KACE-FM called “Speak Out.”

Joe Nazel earned many honors for his dedicated work from organizations and entities that include the California Librarians’ Black Caucus, Kenneth Hahn and the County of Los Angeles, the NAACP and even won the Los Angeles Mayor’s Spirit Award “for making our city a better place to live.” At the same time, Joe’s reclusive nature, singular vision and fiery temper often put him at odds with those in charge. He was the kind of man who would have fully flourished if he’d had something of his own to nurture and direct.

When I first met Joe during the week Urban Network was putting its inaugural issue together, I wondered, “Who is this crotchety middle-aged brutha that’s still callin’ folks ‘jive turkey’ in 1988?!” I’d come at the behest of Harry Akaki to assist in UN’s retail department, manning phones and biding my time until something better came along. I was just a music nut who could string a few sentences together. Somehow, Joe saw something in me and started giving me writing assignments. I got a lot of support from all the senior staff at UN, but the weight of Joe’s history and encouragement left the greatest impression. He sent me down a road from which I’ve been able make a living in a variety of ways for two decades now. And when I attended his service on Thursday morning, September 7, 2006, I learned that I was part of a distinguished club of men and women for whom he’d been doing that same thing for years….

The last time I saw Joe was at a house party in Carole Carper’s backyard. Driven and reclusive multi-tasker that he was, Mr. Nazel rarely socialized outside his home. So to peep him loungin’ poolside over drinks and barbecue was a glorious sight. I have no idea what Heaven is like really, but for Joe, I wish him a fly afterlife-only edition drop-top, an endless stretch of highway with a shifting prism of horizons and B.B. & Miles on the box, a head full of fresh writing ideas, someone foxy nearby, and the chance to hang with all his heroes in what Louis Armstrong so deliciously dubbed, “all the time in the world.”