Saturday, March 30, 2013

Phil Ramone, Record Producer


Phil Ramone, 79, Producer For Music’s Biggest Stars

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Phil Ramone, a prolific record producer and engineer who worked with some of the biggest music stars of the last 50 years, including Ray Charles, Frank Sinatra, Paul Simon, Billy Joel and Barbra Streisand, died on Saturday in Manhattan. He was 79. Though it was widely reported that he was 72, public records and his family confirm that he was born Jan. 5, 1934.
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Phil Ramone, left, and Paul Simon, won the Grammy for best album for “Still Crazy After All These Years” in 1976.
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His death was confirmed by his son Matthew. He did not immediately give the cause, but Mr. Ramone was reported to have been admitted to a Manhattan hospital in late February for treatment of an aortic aneurysm.
In his 2007 memoir, “Making Records: The Scenes Behind the Music,” written with Charles L. Granata, Mr. Ramone defined the role of record producer as roughly equivalent to that of a film director, creating and managing an environment in which to coax the best work out of his performers.
“But, unlike a director (who is visible, and often a celebrity in his own right), the record producer toils in anonymity,” he wrote. “We ply our craft deep into the night, behind locked doors. And with few exceptions, the fruit of our labor is seldom launched with the glitzy fanfare of a Hollywood premiere.”
Mr. Ramone’s career was one of those exceptions. He was a trusted craftsman and confidant in the industry who was also one of the handful of producers widely known to the public. He won 14 Grammy Awards, including producer of the year, nonclassical, in 1981, and three for album of the year, for Mr. Simon’s “Still Crazy After All These Years” in 1976, Mr. Joel’s “52nd Street” in 1980, and Mr. Charles’s duets album, “Genius Loves Company,” in 2005. He also produced music for television and film, winning an Emmy Award as the sound mixer for a 1973 special on CBS, “Duke Ellington ... We Love You Madly.”
Mr. Ramone was born in South Africa and grew up in Brooklyn. His father died when he was young, and his mother worked in a department store. A classical violin prodigy, he studied at the Juilliard School but soon drifted toward jazz and pop, and apprenticed at a recording studio, J.A.C. Recording.
In 1958, he co-founded A & R Recording, a studio on West 48th Street in Manhattan, and built a reputation as a versatile engineer, working on pop fare like Lesley Gore as well as jazz by John Coltrane and Quincy Jones. He ran the sound when Marilyn Monroe cooed “Happy Birthday” to President John F. Kennedy in 1962, and three years later won his first Grammy as the engineer on Stan Getz and João Gilberto’s landmark album “Getz/Gilberto.”
As a producer, he had a particularly close association with Mr. Joel and Mr. Simon; the back cover of Mr. Joel’s 1977 album “The Stranger” features a photograph of Mr. Ramone posing with Mr. Joel and his band at a New York restaurant.
“I always thought of Phil Ramone as the most talented guy in my band,” Mr. Joel said in a statement on Saturday. “He was the guy that no one ever, ever saw onstage. He was with me as long as any of the musicians I ever played with — longer than most. So much of my music was shaped by him and brought to fruition by him.”
Mr. Ramone’s relationships with those men were deep enough that he named two of his sons after them: Simon and William (known as B. J.); they survive him, along with Matthew, his third son, and his wife, Karen.
As a producer, Mr. Ramone was known for a conservative sound rooted in jazz and traditional pop, and in later years his biggest successes included albums with Mr. Charles, Tony Bennett, Elton John and others.
But he was also a proponent of new technologies. He was an early advocate for digital recording, and pushed for Mr. Joel’s “52nd Street” to be one of the first commercially released albums on compact disc, in 1982. Mr. Sinatra’s 1993 album “Duets,” featuring stars like Bono, Ms. Streisand and Natalie Cole, was made by connecting Mr. Sinatra’s studio in Los Angeles with others around the world using fiber-optic cables.
In an interview with Billboard magazine in 1996, Mr. Ramone explained why he believed a producer should not leave too much of his “stamp” on a recording.
“If our names were on the front cover, it’d be different, but it’s not on the front cover, and the audience doesn’t care,” he said. “If you think you have a style and you perpetrate that onto people, you’re hurting the very essence of their creativity.”
“The reward of producing,” he continued, “comes when somebody inside the record company who has a lot to do with what’s going on actually calls you and says, ‘Boy, this record really came out great.’ Or when other artists call you and want to work with you.”

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Deke Richards, Jackson 5 Hit Writer

Deke Richards, Creator of Motown Hits, Dies at 68

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Deke Richards, the leader of the Motown songwriting and producing team responsible for some of the Jackson 5’s biggest hits, died on Sunday in Bellingham, Wash. He was 68.
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Deke Richards, center, flanked by the late Alphonzo Mizell, left, and Freddie Perren
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The cause was esophageal cancer, his family said.
In 1969, Mr. Richards teamed in Detroit with Berry Gordy Jr., the founder of Motown, and the songwriters Freddie Perren and Alphonzo Mizell, to work with the Jackson 5, a virtually unknown brother act from Indiana that had recently signed with the label. Collectively billed as the Corporation, the four struck gold immediately.
The Jackson 5’s first three singles, “I Want You Back,” “ABC” and “The Love You Save” — all written and produced by the Corporation, and all featuring the vocals of a very young Michael Jackson — reached No. 1 on the Billboard singles chart. The Corporation went on to write and produce other hits for the Jackson 5, including “Mama’s Pearl” and “Maybe Tomorrow.”
Mr. Richards later worked, both with the Corporation and on his own, with Diana Ross, Martha and the Vandellas, the Four Seasons and others.
He had already reached the top of the charts before working with the Jackson 5. He was briefly a member of another four-person Motown collective, the Clan, which wrote and produced “Love Child,” a No. 1 single for Diana Ross and the Supremes in 1968.
Deke Richards was born Dennis Lussier on April 8, 1944, and grew up in Los Angeles, where his father, Dane Lussier, worked as a screenwriter.
He played guitar in local bands before he began doing production work for Motown in 1966. After Mr. Gordy named him the Jackson 5’s producer, he brought in Mr. Perren and Mr. Mizell to work with him and, he later recalled, asked Mr. Gordy for songwriting and production advice. Mr. Berry, who had begun his career as a songwriter but had not done any writing or producing for several years, eventually became a full-fledged member of the team.
The Corporation developed a distinctive sound for the Jackson 5 that some have called “bubblegum soul,” blending upbeat pop melodies with rhythm-and-blues grooves. The formula was designed to reach a wide audience, and it did, bringing the group international stardom.
In later years Mr. Richards’s primary focus was the Poster Palace, a company he operated that sells vintage movie posters, but he continued to take on occasional musical projects. Last year he produced “Come and Get It: The Rare Pearls,” a compilation of previously unreleased Jackson 5 recordings.
Survivors include his wife, Joan Lussier, and a brother, Dane Lussier.

Monday, March 25, 2013

Bebo Valdes, A Force in Cuban Music


Bebo Valdés, a Force in World of Cuban Music, Dies at 94

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Bebo Valdés, a pianist, arranger and composer who was a musical lightning rod in Havana during the evolution of the mambo and, after a long fallow period, a million-selling success during the last two decades of his life, died on Friday in Stockholm, his primary residence since 1963. He was 94.
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The pianist and arranger Bebo Valdés in New York in 2004.
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The cause was pneumonia, said his record producer Nat Chediak.
During the postwar and pre-Castro boom years for tourism and popular dance-band music in Cuba, Mr. Valdés — 6 foot 4 (his nickname was El Caballón, or “The Big Horse”) and possessed of protean energy — was often the right man in the right place. His conservatory learning, his love of jazz and his curiosity about the extensions of African and European roots through Cuban music since the late 19th century, as well as his focus and discipline, put him in great demand.
But at the root of Mr. Valdés’s success was his pianism, which was influenced by Baroque fugues, Art Tatum and the left-hand rhythms in Ernesto Lecuona’s Euro-Antillean danzas and built on rhythmic principles he learned while playing for dancers alongside some of the great Cuban singers of his era, including Beny Moré, Pio Leyva and Orlando Cascarita Guerra.
The son of a cigar-factory worker and grandson of a slave, Ramón Emilio Dionisio Valdés Amaro was born on Oct. 9, 1918, in Quivicán, south of Havana. He studied classical music at the Conservatorio Municipal in Havana and, after finishing his studies in 1943, spent four years as pianist and arranger for the Cuban radio station Mil Diez, which mostly presented live music. From 1948 to 1957 he was the house pianist at the Tropicana Club in Havana, Cuba’s most glamorous casino, where he worked not just with Cuban artists but also with American stars like Woody Herman and Nat King Cole. (Mr. Valdés worked with Cole on “Cole Español,” the Spanish-language album Cole recorded, made mostly in Havana in 1958.)
In addition to writing arrangements for many hit records by Cuban singers, Mr. Valdés took part in the first descarga (jam session) recording made in Cuba, in 1952. That year he introduced the batá, the two-headed drum used in Santería religious ceremonies, into a popular dance-music context. In 1959 he founded his own orchestra, Sabor de Cuba with his son Chucho, then a teenager, sometimes on piano.
Leery of the Castro regime, Mr. Valdés left Cuba in October 1960, along with the singer Rolando La Serie, and moved first to Mexico and then to Spain, working as a pianist and arranger in both television and recording studios.
In 1963 he stopped in Sweden on a tour with the Lecuona Cuban Boys. There he met the 18-year-old Rose Marie Pehrson; they married and remained together until her death last year. In recent years they had lived in Benalmádena, Spain. Their sons Rickart and Raymond survive.
In addition to Rickart, Raymond and Chucho Valdés — a founder of the Cuban jazz group Irakere and a virtuosic ambassador for Cuban music worldwide — Mr. Valdés’s survivors include two other sons, Raúl and Ramón; two daughters, Miriam and Mayra; and several grandchildren.
Mr. Valdés never returned to Cuba. He played piano in Stockholm hotel lounges for more than three decades. In 1994, the Cuban jazz saxophonist Paquito D’Rivera invited him to a recording session in Germany; the result was a showcase of Mr. Valdés’s old compositions, “Bebo Rides Again.” He later took part in “Calle 54,”Fernando Trueba’s 2000 documentary about Latin jazz, in which he reunited with Chucho for only the second time in four decades.
On the albums of his final period, largely produced by Mr. Chediak and Mr. Trueba, he performed a wide range of music: 19th-century Cuban songs, mambo, bolero and Afro-Cuban jazz. “Lagrimas Negras,” a 2003 collaboration with the flamenco singer Diego El Cigala, became a hit in Europe and sold more than a million copies worldwide.
In recent years he won three Grammy Awards — most recently best Latin jazz album for “Juntos Para Siempre,” a duo record with Chucho — and six Latin Grammys.
“Even though I’m Cuban, I’m really an American arranger,” Mr. Valdés said in 2006. “Because the way I write has as much to do with American music as it has to do with Cuban music. And at the same time it has to do with the fugue.”

Friday, March 22, 2013

Bud Palmer, Jump Shot Pioneer


Bud Palmer, Jump Shot Pioneer, Dies at 91

Bud Palmer, left, and Carl Braun in 1947. Palmer was the Knicks’ first captain and one of the game’s first jump shooters.
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Bud Palmer gained fame as a sports telecaster, covering everything from the Olympics to dog shows. He was Mayor John V. Lindsay’s official greeter, welcoming dignitaries to the city. He was the first writer of Glamour magazine’s “Ask Jake” column, offering women advice from a man’s viewpoint. (“Don’t show up drunk for a dinner date.”) And he was the first captain of the New York Knicks.
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Bud Palmer, left, being sworn in as New York City's Commissioner of Public Events by Mayor John Lindsay in 1966.
Palmer was the Knicks’ first captain and one of the game’s first  jump shooters.  
But perhaps his most consequential role was in helping to change the game of basketball in a fundamental way: if he did not invent the jump shot, Palmer was one of the first to shoot one.
The Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame suggested that Glenn Roberts may have fired the first jumper at a Virginia high school in the early 1930s, while the N.C.A.A. archives credit John Miller Cooper of the University of Missouri around the same time. The journalist John Christgau, in his book “The Origins of the Jump Shot: Eight Men Who Shook the World of Basketball,” makes a strong case for Kenny Sailors of Wyoming as the one who, in 1934, began developing the purest jump shot, the one familiar to basketball fans today.
But in Christgau’s telling, Palmer, who died on Tuesday at 91 at his home in West Palm Beach, Fla., was one of those eight pioneers.
Palmer could remember no eureka moment, although at age 6 he was so small and weak that he had to launch his shots with a leap. He knew he had shot them regularly as a student at Phillips-Exeter Academy in the late 1930s. He realized, he said, that “if I dribble, and stop, and jump, I will have an advantage.”
When he tried out for the Knicks in 1946, it was still so odd that Coach Neal Cohalen thundered, “What the hell kind of shot is that?”
Palmer sat on the bench for several weeks, until he and the coach huddled at a bar. Palmer told Cohalen that he had been successful with the shot and said that its unusualness was an advantage because opponents had little experience defending against it. Cohalen said shooting blindfolded was also unusual.
But Palmer’s shooting accuracy ultimately won the day. Over three seasons in New York, he averaged 11.7 points in 148 regular-season games and 14.4 points in 14 playoff games. Besides being the Knicks’ first captain, he was the team’s highest-paid player. Decades later, whether the story was true or not, old-time Knicks fans had made Palmer part of their holy writ: a Knick, they assured grandchildren, had shot the first jump shot.
John Shove Flynn was born in Hollywood, Calif., on Sept. 14, 1921. His father, Maurice Dennis Flynn, was a swashbuckling silent-screen star universally known as Lefty. His mother, the former Blanche Palmer, was an unsuccessful but wealthy soprano. After they divorced, Mrs. Flynn switched back to her maiden name and insisted her children follow suit. John acquired the nickname Bud because, the story goes, he was a budding image of his father.
Bud took up boxing at 6, but after mothers of boys whose noses Bud had bloodied complained to Bud’s mother, he switched to basketball.
When she was estranged from Lefty, Bud’s mother took Bud and his sister to live in Switzerland, where he attended Le Rosey, a boarding school. After four years, the family moved to Princeton, where Bud attended the Hun School and deepened his love of basketball. When he transferred to Exeter, he took up the jump shot to compensate for being only 5 feet 4 inches.
But he continued to grow, and by the time he reached Princeton he was about 6-4 and made to play the post, close to the hoop, finding little opportunity to execute his jump shot over three seasons.
At the end of his junior year, he enlisted in the Navy and learned to pilot a B-26 bomber towing targets for fighter planes. “I was one of the most shot-at soldiers in World War II,” he said.
In 1946, he took the bold step of approaching Ned Irish, the president of Madison Square Garden and a founder of the Knicks, to ask for a tryout. Irish dismissed him until St. John’s Coach Joe Lapchick, whom Princeton had almost beaten in the N.I.T. tournament, told him about Palmer’s jump shot. Lapchick later coached Palmer on the Knicks.
After three seasons with the Knicks from 1946 to 1949, during which he started his advice column, Palmer decided to move on to television. He briefly ran a children’s show for NBC and did a stint as Palmo, the Hindu magician, on a local show called “Globo’s Circus.” He began as a sportscaster covering the Knicks for WMGM radio, and later for television on WGN-11. He eventually covered sports for all three major networks.
In his television work, he was praised for choosing not to describe exactly what people were seeing, particularly in golf, which has a tradition of silence. He once memorized 24 cigarette commercials so that when he delivered them they would seem natural.
From 1966 to 1974, he held a $1-a-year job as New York City’s Commissioner of Public Events. He greeted and planned social affairs and ticker-tape parades for leaders like the Duke of Edinburgh and the Israeli leader Golda Meir; champion athletic teams; and astronauts.
Palmer died of metastatic prostate cancer, his daughter Gene Palmer said. In addition to her, he is survived by two more daughters, Lisa Palmer and Betty Landercasper; his son, John; and two grandsons. He was married four times.
As a Knick, Palmer roomed on the road with Sweetwater Clifton, one of the first black players in the N.B.A. He once confronted a hotel manager in Baltimore to demand, successfully, that Clifton be allowed to stay.
Later, after a few beers in their room, Clifton told his friend, “Damn, for a white boy, you sure can jump.”

Chinua Achebe, African Literary Titan

Chinua Achebe, African Literary Titan, Dies at 82


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Chinua Achebe, a Nigerian-born novelist and poet, on the campus of Bard College in Annandale-on-Hudson, N.Y., in 2008.


Chinua Achebe, the Nigerian writer who was one of Africa’s most widely read novelists and one of the continent’s towering men of letters, died on Thursday in Boston. He was 82.


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Mr. Achebe in 1988.

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His death was confirmed by his agent in London.
Besides novels, Mr. Achebe’s works included powerful essays and poignant short stories and poems rooted in the countryside and cities of his native Nigeria, before and after independence from British colonial rule. His most memorable fictional characters were buffeted and bewildered by the conflicting pulls of traditional African culture and invasive Western values.
For inspiration, Mr. Achebe drew on his own family history as part of the Igbo nation of southeastern Nigeria, a people victimized by the racism of British colonial administrators and then by the brutality of military dictators from other Nigerian ethnic groups.
Mr. Achebe burst onto the world literary scene with the publication in 1958 of his first novel, “Things Fall Apart,” which has sold more than 10 million copies and been translated into 45 different languages.
Set in the Igbo countryside in the late 19th century, the novel tells the story of Okonkwo, who rises from poverty to become an affluent farmer and village leader. But with the advent of British colonial rule and cultural values, Okonkwo’s life is thrown into turmoil. In the end, unable to adapt to the new status quo, he explodes in frustration, killing an African in the employ of the British and then committing suicide.
The novel, which is also compelling for its descriptions of traditional Igbo society and rituals, went on to become a classic of world literature and was often listed as required reading in university courses in Europe and the United States.
But when it was first published, “Things Fall Apart” did not receive unanimous acclaim. Some British critics thought it idealized pre-colonial African culture at the expense of the former empire.
“An offended and highly critical English reviewer in a London Sunday paper titled her piece cleverly, I must admit, ‘Hurray to Mere Anarchy!’ ” Mr. Achebe wrote in “Home and Exile,” a collection of autobiographical essays that appeared in 2000. A few other novels by Mr. Achebe early in his career were occasionally criticized by reviewers as being stronger on ideology than on narrative interest.
But over the years, Mr. Achebe’s stature grew until he was considered a literary and political beacon.
“In all Achebe’s writing there is an intense moral energy,” observed Kwame Anthony Appiah, professor of Afro-American studies and philosophy at Princeton, in a commentary published in 2000. “He speaks about the task of the writer in language that captures the sense of threat and loss that must have faced many Africans as empire invaded and disrupted their lives.”
In a 1998 book review in The New York Times, the South African novelist Nadine Gordimer, a Nobel laureate, hailed Mr. Achebe as “a novelist who makes you laugh and then catch your breath in horror — a writer who has no illusions but is not disillusioned.”
Mr. Achebe’s political thinking evolved from blaming colonial rule for Africa’s woes to frank criticism of African rulers and the African citizens who tolerated their corruption and violence.
Forced abroad by Nigeria’s civil war in the 1960s and then by military dictatorship in the 1980s and ‘90s, Mr. Achebe had lived for many years in the United States, where he was a university professor, most recently at Brown, where he joined the faculty in 2009 as a professor of African studies after teaching for 19 years at Bard College in the Hudson River valley.
He continued to believe that writers and storytellers ultimately held more power than army strongmen.
“Only the story can continue beyond the war and the warrior,” an old soothsayer observes in Mr. Achebe’s 1988 novel, “Anthills of the Savannah.” “It is the story that saves our progeny from blundering like blind beggars into the spikes of the cactus fence. The story is our escort; without it, we are blind.”
Albert Chinualumogu Achebe was born on Nov. 16, 1930, in Ogidi, an Igbo village, during the heyday of British colonial rule. His father became a Christian and worked for a missionary teacher in various parts of Nigeria before returning to Ogidi. Chinua, then only 5, recalled the homecoming as a passage backward through time.

Chinua Achebe, African Literary Titan, Dies at 82

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“Sitting in the back of the truck and facing what seemed the wrong way, I could not see where we were going, only where we were coming from,” he wrote in “Home and Exile,” a collection of autobiographical essays that appeared in 2000.

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As a child and adolescent, he immersed himself in Western literature. At the University College of Ibadan, whose professors were Europeans, Mr. Achebe avidly read Shakespeare, Milton, Defoe, Swift, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Keats and Tennyson. But it was the required reading of a novel set in Nigeria and written by an Anglo-Irishman, Joyce Cary, that proved to be the turning point in his education.
Titled “Mister Johnson,” the 1952 book, which culminates when its docile Nigerian protagonist is shot to death by his British master, was hailed by the white faculty and in the Western press as one of the best novels ever written about Africa. But as Mr. Achebe wrote, he and his classmates responded with “exasperation at this bumbling idiot of a character whom Joyce Cary and our teacher were so assiduously passing off as a poet when he was nothing but an embarrassing nitwit!”
For Mr. Achebe, the novel aroused his first deep stirrings of anti-colonialism and a desire to use literature as a weapon against Western biases. “In the end, I began to understand,” he wrote. “There is such a thing as absolute power over narrative. Those who secure this privilege for themselves can arrange stories about others pretty much where, and as, they like.”
A whole generation of West African writers was coming to the same realization in the 1950s. A Nigerian, Amos Tutuola, opened the floodgates of literature in the region with his 1952 novel, “The Palm-Wine Drinkard.” Soon afterward came another Nigerian, Cyprian Ekwensi, with “People of the City”; the Guinean writer Camara Laye, with “L’Enfant Noir”; Mongo Beti of Cameroon, with “Poor Christ of Bomba”; and the Senegalese writer, Cheikh Hamidou Kane, with “Ambiguous Adventure.”
Like most of these writers, Mr. Achebe plumbed the image of village innocence corrupted by the Western-influenced big city.
In his second novel, “No Longer at Ease” in 1960, Mr. Achebe tells the story of Okonkwo’s grandson, Obi, who seems far more adept than his tragic ancestor at acculturating himself to British colonial society. Raised as a Christian and educated in England, Obi abandons the Igbo countryside for a job as a civil servant in Lagos, the capital. Cut off from traditional values, he soon succumbs to greed and in the end is prosecuted for graft.
In his third novel, “Arrow of God” (1964), Mr. Achebe reverts to the setting of an Igbo village in the early 20th century. The village priest, Ezeulu, sends his son, Oduche, to be educated by Christian missionaries in the hope that he will learn the ways of British colonial rule and thus help protect his community. But instead, Oduche becomes a convert to colonialism and attacks Igbo religion and culture.
The Nigerian civil war, also known as the Biafran War, shattered Mr. Achebe’s hopes for a more promising post-colonial future, and deeply affected his literary output. It began in January 1966 when Igbo army officers staged a military coup and killed the top government officials, including the prime minister. Seven months later, the insurgents were ousted in a counter-coup staged by military commanders from the Muslim northern region. Before the year ended, Muslim troops massacred some 30,000 Igbos living in the north. The Igbos then seceded from Nigeria, declaring the southeastern region of the country as the independent Republic of Biafra. Civil war raged through 1970 until government troops invaded Biafra and crushed the secessionist army there.
Mr. Achebe’s fourth novel, “A Man of the People,” published in early 1966, had predicted this tragic course of events with such accuracy that the military government in Lagos decided he must have been a conspirator in the first coup which sparked the civil war. Mr. Achebe vehemently denied any prior knowledge of the coup. But he was forced to flee abroad. He settled in Britain with his wife, Christiana, their two sons, Ikechukwu and Chidi, and two daughters, Chinelo and Nwando, who survive him.

Chinua Achebe, African Literary Titan, Dies at 82

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After the civil war, Mr. Achebe returned to Nigeria for two years, then accepted faculty posts at the University of Massachusetts and the University of Connecticut in the 1970s before returning home in 1979 to become a professor of English at the University of Nigeria in Nsukka.

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During those years, he published a number of works that often took up the civil war as their theme. Among the most prominent were a collection of poetry, “Beware Soul Brother,” in 1971 that won the Commonwealth Poetry Prize, and a short story collection, “Girls at War,” which appeared in 1972. His last book was a memoir, “There Was a Country: A Personal History of Biafra,” published last fall.
But for more than 20 years, Mr. Achebe suffered from a writer’s block that kept him from producing another novel. He attributed the long dry spell to a sense of personal trauma that lingered long after the bloody civil war. “The novel seemed like a frivolous thing to be doing,” he told Charles Trueheart of the Washington Post in 1988.
That year, Mr. Achebe finally published his fifth novel, “Anthills of the Savannah.” It is the story of three former school chums from a village in an imaginary West African nation quite obviously modeled after Nigeria. One of them becomes a military dictator, another is appointed minister of information, and the third is named editor of the leading newspaper. By the novel’s end, all three are murdered under different circumstances.
In a 1988 article on the novel in The New York Review of Books, Neal Ascherson wrote: “Chinua Achebe says, with implacable honesty, that Africa itself is to blame, and that there is no safety in excuses that place the fault in the colonial past or in the commercial and political manipulations of the First World.”
Ms. Gordimer wrote in The Times book review that she was so moved by Mr. Achebe’s rich, nuanced rendition of the reality of post-colonial Africa that “there is only one comment left to make after turning the final page of ‘Antihills of the Savannah’: Now I know!
Mr. Achebe barely had time to savor the critical acclaim when he suffered a car accident in 1990 on a road outside Lagos that left him paralyzed from the waist down. After extensive medical treatment in London, he moved to the United States, taking up his post at Bard. Meanwhile, back in Nigeria, the political situation grew more repressive under a succession of military dictators.
The return of civilian, democratic rule after 16 years with the election of Olusegun Obasanjoas the new president in 1999 prompted Mr. Achebe to visit Nigeria for the first time in almost a decade. He met President Obasanjo and cautiously praised him as the best possible leader “at this time.” He also traveled to his native village, Ogidi, where he was enthusiastically received by the inhabitants. But within weeks, Mr. Achebe decided to return to the United States.
“Unfortunately, Nigeria doesn’t have the health care facilities to allow a physically challenged individual like myself to live with self-reliance and dignity,” he said in New York at a Barnes & Noble bookstore in a brief interview before publicly reading passages from “Home and Exile” in 2000.
His long exile did not diminish his view of himself as a writer inexorably tied to his homeland.
“People have sometimes asked me if I have thought of writing a novel about America, since I have now been living here some years,” Mr. Achebe wrote in “Home and Exile.” “My answer has always been that America has enough novelists writing about here, and Nigeria too few.”