by Bobby Womack
‘OK,’ he said. ‘Drop the “the” part and just call him Truth. Every time you do something or say you are then you have to – to stand up for your son, it means something.’
I said, ‘Man, that’s pretty cool.’
So we called our son Truth Bobby and I thought that was typical of Sly – heavy and totally unexpected, but right.
I suggested Truth to Regina, told her, ‘Yeah, I’m going to change my life. I’m going to be truthful and everything. He’s going to be living it.’ She thought that was beautiful.
After Harry’s death and the blind farrago, I was also back writing songs, and they were going well. If I worked late and things were running well, I’d wake up the wife, let her hear some of the work in progress. I said, ‘Babe, I hate to wake you, but you got to hear this.’ She used to like it. She would come down and listen while I sat there playing and trying to put something together.
One night, I got back to the house at about two or three in the morning. I went into the little studio I had and went through the same routine. Got my guitar and played a little, hoping something would come out. And it did. I thought up some chords, then crept into the bedroom where Regina and my little boy were sleeping. I whispered to her, asked her to get up. ‘C’mon, I want to talk to you.’ I told her to come into the studio I had out back of the house.
‘Oh, Bobby,’ she complained, ‘it’s four in the morning, I’m asleep.’
I was excited, and I pressed her. I kept on.
She told me she couldn’t leave the infant. She said, ‘Bobby, the baby is crawling in his sleep.’
I insisted. ‘Look, he’s asleep, he can barely move.’ I didn’t let up.
We went out back and I poured a couple of glasses of champagne. We can’t have been in there more than two minutes, maybe less. Regina sat down, but she was anxious to keep an eye on the baby, so I said I’d fetch him. I ran back to the bedroom.
When I got there what I saw made me freeze. The baby – he was only four months old – had crawled all the way up to the top of the bed, but there was no headboard. Truth Bobby had fallen, and he was wedged down between the bed and the wall. His little feet were blue and they were cold. I went into shock. I was so scared. I was terrified.
I said, ‘Oh, God.’ I snatched him up and shook him, but it was too late. They had him on a respirator at the hospital, but he had suffocated.
I always said it was a crib death. It put a dark cloud over the rest of my life. Regina’s too. It was a cloud that never lifted. I blamed myself. I was older than my wife, much older. If only I hadn’t gone in to wake her up.
Even though we tried to make it up or put it behind us over the years, there was always the nagging thought that if I had never asked her to come out to the studio it wouldn’t have happened. The hurt was always there and we became more distant after that.
We buried Truth Bobby in the crypt next to Sam Cooke. We also moved out of the house. Regina wouldn’t stay in the same place her firstborn had died. The pain was too much, seeing the baby’s room that she’d had freshly painted. The strain started to tell.
Regina came into my life and totally turned it upside down, but in a positive way. She was pushing and I knew she was trying to make positive changes, but sometimes when you’ve been spoiled for a lot of your life you are where you are because you want to be there. You expect everyone to just get in line. Regina wasn’t ready to fall in line.
One thing she told me, she said I was prejudiced. She lectured me, ‘You talk about how the white man has fucked you up, but you are just as prejudiced.’
That was true. I wanted to be macho, like my father had taught me. I hated gays. When I was a kid, my father told me, ‘Gay men are weird. Any man bent over is wrong. God didn’t make it like that, it is a mistake.’ It was the way I was brought up, calling them sissies.
Even my old manager Ed Wright caught it from me. Ed and me had been real close. He was my manager for years. After The Valentinos broke up, he quit his radio show in Cleveland to come and work with me.
We got on well, but then Barbara told me he was gay. That came as a total shock. I didn’t believe it, but I called him on it. He told me he was gay. I accused him of fucking me around. So he said, ‘What? You don’t like me any more?’ I thought about that. He had been afraid to show me his real side because he thought I would disown him.
Regina had a friend called David who was gay. I hated David. I thought that come the night David would become a straight man, that his dick would get as hard as mine with a woman, and he would get it on with my wife. I thought he was making me look stupid.
Of course, my wife dismissed this, told me that David would be insulted if she tried anything on with him. Said they were just good friends. This went on and on. They would get drunk over at his place and David would call to tell me she was staying over because she couldn’t drive home.
I said, ‘Sure, sure,’ but I didn’t believe it. This wound me up and one time I told her I wanted her to come home. No matter what. I threatened to come right through David’s door if she didn’t. I had to go and fetch her. David said, ‘Oh, I love your music.’
I said, ‘Fuck that.’ I was there for my wife.
We ended up arguing. I didn’t want her around gay people, said it was hurting our marriage, although it was me doing that.
Any time there was a gay guy up at our house I would leave. It was really childish.
After we lost Truth Bobby, Regina and David became closer still. Then, about six months after the baby’s death, she took some pills. She was frustrated with me.
I found her in bed, tried to lift her, but she was like a dead weight. When I finally got her up and out of the bed I was worried about getting her dressed because I didn’t want doctors, the ambulance crew, anyone, seeing her like that. Man, I didn’t know how fucked up I was.
I called a maid for help and tried to dress her, put her panties on, bra, everything. The maid said, ‘You are wasting time here. Just put on a gown. C’mon.’
When the doctors finally got a look at her, they were worried it might be too late because she did not initially respond to treatment. Even if they did revive her, she could still have suffered some damage. She had tubes in her, her eyes were open, but she wasn’t there.
I was desperate. I called David and told him my wife was in a coma. He flew right over in his car. David and I sat there. I didn’t know if I would see my wife again. I said, ‘This is what it takes to bring us together, a gay man and a straight man.’
He told me that Regina had tried to do what I wanted, but he and the other gay guys were her friends. Why should she be made to feel bad about bringing them home? He said that just because I did drugs – he didn’t do them – didn’t mean he disliked me.
I said, ‘You know, David, I’m a fucking asshole. I was taught prejudice. No gay man has ever done me wrong or bothered me. I was taught by my father it was wrong.’ We hugged, I told him I loved him. I told David I wanted to be his friend.
I was worried about Regina. When I consulted a doctor, his advice was simple. He told me to try for another baby. ‘Get her pregnant, otherwise you are going to lose her.’ I said I thought I had already lost her.
A few weeks later, Regina complained of feeling sick, nauseous. I said, ‘Really? I can’t understand that. Why don’t you go and check it out?’ Man, she screamed so loud when the doctor told her she was pregnant. When our other baby came, we kept the name Truth, just changed it around from Truth Bobby to Bobby Truth.
So Bobby Truth, maybe that’s why he had some problems. He would ask me, ‘Did you just have me to replace the other baby?’ Sometimes I can understand why he ended up in jail.
When Bobby Truth first arrived, I used to take him on the road. I gave him a little fake guitar and he would dress like me, came on stage playing. Vincent, my son with Barbara, was also around then.
Vincent didn’t want to go to school, he had everything he wanted, but he wore his mom out. He didn’t fini
sh school and I don’t think he was able to deal with all the money and fame. I know women took money from him and ran; women didn’t want to be with him, but everyone had a plan for him – ‘you should do this, you should do that’. They would constantly be on him, ragging on him. They said things like, ‘You’re Bobby Womack’s son? But you don’t sing, you don’t do nothing.’
He said, ‘I’m not a singer.’ Vincent would get high and if he had one little drink or one little anything it was like he had tons of it. He became a totally different person. He was trying to find a way to die.
He found one. Vincent committed suicide when he was 21: he put a bullet in his head. I had everything and whatever he didn’t have I didn’t or couldn’t give to him. I can’t tell you when he died; I blanked it out.
After Vincent died, I noticed Bobby would sleep with Vincent’s picture all the time. He had a lot of questions about why Vincent killed himself. He said to me, ‘Dad, hey, if you hadn’t been a music man and been able to live a normal life and been with Vincent, would he have done that to himself?’ Damn, that was a tough question.
I was the kind of person who didn’t want to get fucked up in the street or on stage. I didn’t want to embarrass my fans, but when I went home? I did the damage behind closed doors. I got so far into the drug shit, I couldn’t go back. I owed it to Bobby because I lost two boys being ignorant, but I was still in so much pain.
Pain, drugs and guns don’t mix, though. I had the first two in spades and, after we got robbed at the house one time, we got ourselves a couple of guns, too, one for me, one for the wife.
When it got to the point of doing drugs constantly, more than I should have, it got like people thought I had big money. I was also worried about being busted, always thought I would be busted. It was a serious fear; however, it’s one thing I’ve not done. I’ve never gone to jail or embarrassed anyone. That was important to me. I didn’t want to be seen by my family walking through the house with my hands behind my back, handcuffed.
I always had a gun right where I could get my hands on it, wherever I was. Hotel or home, it didn’t matter, the gun would be there. This went on for about ten years of my life: I called them the paranoia years, and I was severely paranoid. No one could make any noise in the house in case it woke up the neighbourhood. I was always keyed up. Couldn’t even say, ‘Pass the toot’, for fear that someone would hear me. They had to pass the candy.
One day, I was propped up in bed. It was between night and morning, still dark. I was tired. I was paranoid. Very paranoid. I saw the handle on the door to the bedroom slowly turn. Burglar? House invasion? Shit, I didn’t think. I couldn’t think straight. All I saw was the door begin to open. I reached for my gun and emptied it into the door. Pow, pow, pow, pow.
The door, riddled with gunshots, pushed open wide and my little boy, Bobby Truth not yet into long trousers, ran in as if nothing had happened. He came into the room, jumped up to his mom beside me and lay down for a cuddle. All the bullets had gone straight over his head.
Regina threatened to leave after that. I begged her not to, said I would straighten out. I put the gun away and left it away.
The first time Bobby Jr got in trouble we were living up in the Hollywood Hills. He and a little friend of his went through everybody’s mailbox in the neighbourhood, took all the mail out and threw it away. A security guard who patrolled around there arrested him or put some handcuffs on him, just to try and scare him, tell him it was wrong.
Just like Vincent, Bobby was very hard-headed, didn’t want to go to school, started getting into more serious things. He said he was in gangs, told me he was initiated – had to fight and get beat up to become a member. I told him, ‘Bobby, you don’t need to be no gang member. Those guys have a lot of problems. I can’t see how you’re going to fit in. You’re trying to talk different; you’re trying to sound tough and you the only one getting caught.’
So he wound up in jail a few times. The first time he was in a stolen car; he wasn’t driving, but it wasn’t his car. He was sentenced and did some time. He was only about 11 or 12 years old so it was youth custody, not really jail, but he was locked up. That was hard for me. I would go and visit all the time. Every weekend I had to drive almost 100 miles to make it up to see him.
Later, he was always coming around with beat-up old cars that I would end up paying for. He said they were in perfect shape, but they never ran. So then he was off driving my car. Told me stuff like, ‘Dad, just stay out of my business.’
Straight back I said, ‘I’d love to stay out of your business, but you always cost me money, you break my heart, man. You go to jail and I don’t feel right seeing you in jail.’
One time I had a Cadillac restored, one he wanted, I had it all worked on. Told the Caddy people, ‘Make this car just like it was when it came off the line.’ I told Bobby, ‘All I want you to do is go to school, you don’t have to worry about it, you know I give you money every week; all I want is for you to do something with your life.’
But he messed around with that car, had people rip him off. Told me someone had stolen his tyres. That car ended up broke down, too, on the freeway. People had ripped him off, ripped me off.
I don’t know what it was. I never robbed, I never stole, I’m from the old school, my father taught me right. I would get out of the car to open the door for a woman, but my boy Bobby just seemed to be the total opposite. I couldn’t understand why it was like that. I didn’t see my brothers’ sons behaving like that. We used to argue all the while about his music – he listened to nothing but rap. I would have been happy if he had wanted to join a rap group. I like rap music, but only if it is telling kids something constructive, being used as a political tool or telling them what they have to do to survive in this world.
I come down on men who give women babies and then slip off saying they’re just popping out for a loaf of bread. That ain’t a man. Also, kids will come across stuff like drugs, but don’t encourage it on record. It’s like me saying, ‘Do drugs, they are great.’ A kid’s mind is like clay and you can mould it. So you got to be careful and respect that.
With my son, if there was talent in him I would have loved that to come out, but it won’t come out because someone forces you. It won’t come out because you want to prove a point. It comes out because that was something you really wanted to do.
The second time Bobby went away was after I gave him $500. It was one Christmas. I wanted him to take the money and buy his mom and sister gifts. I told him, ‘Do that and the rest you can have for yourself, you know, whatever you want to do with it.’ He went and bought a gun.
He took his new gun over to a shopping mall to buy the gifts. Evidently, he got distracted and wanted to use the payphone. The problem was there was already a guy using it. He ran up to the guy talking and put the gun to his head, told him to get off the phone. Bobby told him, ‘Hey, I want to use the phone.’
I think he was trying to be a big shot. Something like that, did he do it just to find out what it felt like? If you pull a gun on someone, they have nothing to lose.
When I found out about that, I was disgusted. I said, ‘It’s Christmas. Take him. I don’t want to see him.’ So I knew what it meant when parents asked how their kids ended up dead or in gangs. My kid had the best of life, the best of living. All I wanted him to do – and all I preached to him – was go to college, get an education. I quit school, got educated the hard way, and it probably cost me millions of dollars because that’s what it cost with all the attorneys, managers, all those kinds of people taking money from me.
The third jail time was because he robbed a Thrifty’s Drug Store. He was the lookout man, the one standing outside watching for the cops. They got the money, drove about a block around the corner, pulled up and sat in the car counting it out – seeing how much they got. The police came right up on them.
Bobby jumped out and ran off with a gun, but he ran into a corner with nowhere to hide. He ducked behind a car and a cop ta
lked him out, said he didn’t want to end up killing him. After a while, Bobby threw his gun out. Man, he must have been scared. He got three years for that. His friend went down too, a quiet, easy-going guy, real nice, but they became different people after jail. Bobby was released on parole, but next thing he was in a stolen car, ran a light and crashed into another car. He killed the other driver.
They got him down for second-degree murder and sent him down for 28 years. That’s a long stretch. My son said to me one time, ‘I’m locked up and I got nothing to do but stare at these four walls and think about everything.’ Everything that went wrong.
In the middle of all this, my dad died. One morning he called and said he needed to see me, wanted to talk. He was already in hospital, had been for a time. ‘I’ll wait on you,’ he said.
When I put the phone down, I turned to Regina and told her he was gonna die. I dressed up like I was going to the office, put on a suit, tie, the whole bit. When I walked into the hospital, I saw Momma. She told me he was waiting on me. The doc told us Dad had the body of an 80-year-old man, but he was nowhere near that. He was just plain worn out.
I went into the ward and he was laid on his stomach. He told me to come around the bed so he could take a look at me. When I did, he grabbed my hand. He said, ‘I want to see you before I go. I know what it took you to get over Harry’s death. I want you to know I lived another year just for your mother, to prepare her. Your mother is like a little girl because I never let her grow. I want you to take my place and look out for your mom and do all the things she wants to do.’
A little while later, Dad was given a shot. That triggered something and he started coughing. A hideous, thick yellow film came over his eyes. Man, that freaked me out. A doctor came in and they drew the curtains. Then I heard a nurse. She said, ‘He’s gone, he’s gone.’ When I heard that, I ran out of the place as fast as I could.
I’ve had some bad luck with death, people who died around me, so I shut it off. All those people who died, it fucked my head up. After a while I thought, ‘I can’t take this.’ Some people, it don’t matter what you do for them, will mess up. I stopped holding on to the guilt.