By Ikeddy ISIGUZO
Media in person
The Best Newspaper Man
A human being extraordinaire
Teacher
Mentor
Father
Immeasurably kind in words, deeds and indeed
Humour in motion
Uncle Sam, as we popularly call Sam Amuka, no titles, no frills, all thrills, is all things to all peoples and more.
Every moment spent with him inspires, encourages and leaves one more educated.
I am a beneficiary of his well of wisdom and goodness.
He does not celebrate his birthday and makes sure he is away from where you can reach him easily on 13 June.
I wish him every good health as he circles the years. May the Almighty’s mercies be with him, always
Happy birthday Sir
EVERYBODY calls him Uncle Sam. Well, almost everybody. Some call him Sad Sam after a column he wrote in the previous century.
Ironically, there was hardly anything sad about the column which was his own introspective offerings on matters that he elevated to importance through style, substance, and situations.
His real name is Samson Oruru Amuka-Pemu of Sapele, Delta State. He likes things to be kept simple. He started with a surgery on his own name.
Uncle Sam one day declared that “double-names” were forbidden as byline. He said he was Sam Amuka. Until that day, he was Sam Amuka-Pemu.
Tope Awe, one of many former staff of The Punch, who joined Vanguard and flourished with his pioneer works in reporting Tourism, could have caused the name policy. His byline had burgeoned to Ogbeni Temitope Awelewa. He had to revert to Tope Awe, though whenever Uncle Sam was within earshot, one of us would shout Ogbeni Temitope Awelewa. The owner of the name didn’t need to be around.
The Vanguard Publisher and Chairman told me he was no longer the only Chairman in Vanguard. He makes light of things.
A Chairman of the Printers Union entered his office to discuss a looming strike. Without waiting to be offered a seat, he pulled out one and got comfortable in it. Uncle Sam mustered all his anger to thunder, “Did I offer you a seat?”.
His answer hit the Chairman. “Uncle Sam let’s sit down and discuss this issue (the strike) as Chairman to Chairman.” The Publisher just burst into laughter, and the discussion held, Chairman to Chairman.
Uncle Sam is man of immense character, humane beyond words, and very knowledgeable about things. He is witty. He neither presumes nor assumes. He is always upfront in asking for clarification if he was unsure of an uttered word, such humility.
He is kind. He spreads the kindness to the generous compliments he pays when a script excites him. The sparkles could be seen in his eyes, the same eyes that would not miss a word or punctuation that dimmed the fidelity of the script.
Uncle Sam had a way with those who brought words to life, and translated events to cartoons and pictures. His relationship with Bisi Lawrence, Uncle BizLaw to all of us, except Uncle Sam who called him Bisi, was personal, had longevity, but I think it was deeply rooted in respect for Uncle BizLaw’s immense fecundity with words, written, spoken and the high quality of his scripts.
I can only imagine what Uncle BizLaw would have written about Uncle Sam at 90. There were no birthday celebrations in the 47 years I have known him.
When Uncle Sam was 88, two years ago, he called me. “Why did you tell people it is my birthday?” “At least I didn’t tell them you were in Abuja,” I retorted. “Go away.” In the previous years, he would leave town a few days to his birthday.
BizLaw passed in November 2020, I paid my tribute, “Uncle BizLaw had impactful presence at Vanguard and beyond, in words, indeed and in deeds. His wordsmithery was inimitable. His columns milked moments without being momentary. We have lost one of the best raconteurs, with delivery doused in sobering timbres. May the Almighty rest him.’’
One sunny afternoon in September 1978, aggressive steps were hitting the wooden decking of the one-storey building that accommodated the editorial offices of The Punch at Mangoro, Lagos-Abeokuta Expressway. “Uncle Sam is coming,” someone whispered.
He got into the Newsroom, asked a few questions and he was gone. I later learnt he was the Managing Director. His French suit was impressive. His bushy hair appeared to have combed itself. Moments after he was gone, his perfume hung in the Newsroom. He had style, and steeze as we say these days.
When next I met him, at Vanguard, five years later, Chris Okojie presented me to him as a staff for the Sports Desk. He nodded his approval. I spent 27 years of almost daily contacts with Uncle Sam in Vanguard, years of learning and re-learning.
Dr Nnamdi Azikiwe’s “death” of November 1989 was an unmeasurable embarrassment to the entire Nigerian media. Days after we knew Zik was alive, the early editions of the paper, and the weekend copies that were produced days in advance, still had Zik dead.
“When next this Zik dies,” Uncle Sam said, “we would only announce the first-year remembrance”. His wits were handy.
Uncle Sam placed the independence of Vanguard over money, important as it was to get things done. Mr. Adeoye Roluga, our first Advert Vanguard Manager was justifiably angry when a piece I wrote in 1985 so peeved a confectionery company that it pulled out its year’s run of advertisements worth N45,000, enough money to pay my salaries for six years! Uncle Sam’s decision was final: they can take their money. He agreed with what I wrote. The company never advertised with Vanguard until three years later.
In a recent conversation Uncle Sam said I had broken his records. “Which records? Uncle Sam,” I retorted. “You were so good, Sir, that nobody could keep pace with recording your expansive milestones, not to talk of breaking your records”. He laughed. He taught us well, especially that silences, subtleties, and substance were better measures of power than loudness. He actually has a tiny voice.
Vanguard was established to propagate a better society. Some staff ended up brutalised in detentions, others were threatened, but we never wavered.
Uncle Sam cared. I returned from work one day, in the heat of the June 12 agitations, to find the ceiling of the living room broken. Nothing was stolen. It seemed that the mark was to tell me, “We know where you live”. Uncle Sam asked if I wanted the house swept for bugs. I told him I would cherish living with their listening devices, if any.
Uncle Sam’s records of generosity, kind spirits, forbearance (who else lends newsprint, often not returned, to the competition?) are too challenging. The records on journalism are simply unattainable.
Congratulations, Uncle Sam, and thanks very much for the memories and moments you gifted us, and the global village, in these 90 years.
Finally…
DEMOCRACY Day, June 12, came with its highs and lows, most disappointingly, the undemocratic bills that President Bola Ahmed Tinubu sent to the Senate to deepen the undemocratic rule in Rivers State which many had expected the President to stop. A muddled honours list with the living added to the dead, awarding the same honours to people who have had them for years or repeating the honour, reflected chaotic democracy in practice. In a flowery speech that was alien to the realities of Nigeria’s democracy, Rivers State and its undemocratic government was not mentioned in Tinubu’s Democracy Day speech.
SENATOR Henry Seriake Dickson’s rejections of undemocratic tendencies in Nigeria’s democracy – recorded after the joint session at the National Assembly – in a video that went viral, garnering millions of views on social media platforms, within hours of its release, confronted the contentions with truth. Nigerians are agreeing that a lot could have done, differently, better.
*Isiguzo is a major commentator on minor issues