Last Updated on July 11, 2026 by Christian Adams
I originally wrote this article in May 2013 to honor what would have been Wesley Willis’ 50th birthday, May 31. Sadly, Wes only lived to 40. I’m still talking about him in 2026 because I don’t want to let his memory fade into obscurity. He was one of the most remarkable and captivating people I’ve ever known. He made me rethink everything. Art, music, life… He affected me in ways I’ll never understand, but I can try.
Folger’s: It’s Good to the Last Drop
His music is programmed into my online radio station in the office, so it’s almost certain on any given day of the week to hear a track from the Wesley Willis Fiasco’s debut (and only) album Spookydisharmoniousconflicthellride (1996), which is still one of my favorite hard rock records ever made by a Chicago-based band.1
On the other hand, you really only need to own one Wesley solo CD, since they’re identical. His Greatest Hits will suffice, trust me.
Wesley’s Commercial Taglines
As a performer of original songs, Wesley had several trademark quirks or eccentricities, but he ended every song with a variation of a phrase: “Rock over London, Rock on Chicago” and an advertising quip, e.g. “You’re on Metra. The way to really fly.“
Some of his most quotable taglines include:
- “Radio Shack: You’ve Got Questions, We’ve Got Answers”
- “Mitsubishi: The Word is Getting Around”
- “Wheaties: Breakfast of Champions”
- “Ford: Quality is Job One”
- “Be a Pepper: Drink Dr. Pepper”
- “Ronco: It’s the Go Ahead and Get It Store”
- “Gatorade: It’s What You’re Thirsting For”
- “Pontiac: We Build Excitement”
- “Kentucky Fried Chicken: We Do Chicken Right”
- “American Airlines: We Mean Business in Chicago”
My Friend Wesley
Musically, it’s convenient to file Wesley in the Captain Beefheart section of my acquired tastes; there is a time and a place for him. Artistically, Wes was a genius savant with a Bic pen and a photographic memory, which often failed him when he needed it most.
For a couple of years, Wes and I were friends and I use the term “friends” loosely. Our association began sometime in 1994–1995, and was sustained through a mutual friendship with Dale Meiners, owner of Ghetto Love Recording and guitarist for the Wesley Willis Fiasco. One night I saw the Wesley Willis Fiasco at Empty Bottle. And then I found out that Wesley had seen my current indie rock band, Brain Kiss, and written a song about us!2
As a budding ‘zine contributor, I was inspired to write about the band, but specifically, Wesley. The first article, a ragged interview with the band, was published in Tail Spins, a small but upstart ‘zine based in Evanston, IL. The second article was published in Subnation Magazine sometime in 1995-96 (before the release of the Fiasco’s debut album).
Following these articles, Wes and I spent more time together, particularly during the period between October 1996 and January 1997, when Whitey was recording with Dale. At that stage of the game, I was pulling back from the “journalism” to focus on music. Writing about music had caused me nothing but notoriety and heartache in the previous three years.
The article, which was significantly edited and re-tooled from what I submitted, remains reasonably representative of the times. And it really did happen that way—there were witnesses. I was a part of the Wesley World for a brief window of time. Some of those memories are almost too precious to describe. I met so many wonderful people, some of whom may be reading this.
Life With Wes
Shitty December Sunday morning, 1996. I’d been crashing on the floor in the live room at Ghetto Love for two days. Dale woke up around 9:00 a.m. and said “Let’s go meet Fred (Mangan) and Wesley at [hipster greasy spoon diner] for breakfast.”
We head over, meet Fred and Wes, get a table, order our food, and everything is cool. The food starts coming. Wesley ordered pancakes and he’s excited when he sees the syrup arrive. I was not really paying attention; I was devouring my omelet or whatever.
A couple of minutes go by and Wes calls out very politely, “Miss, could I please have some more butter.” The waitress came back with another chunk of butter on a small plate. Again, I’m not even paying attention to anything except my food. Then Fred asked me a series of questions, and Fred’s questions were/are always baited to bring out the darkest of my black sunshine.
Butter & Sugar Pie
So we’re going back and forth, I think we were talking about the Jesus Lizard’s major label deal going south, when I look over and notice that Wes had about a cigarette pack’s worth of butter stacked up on a plate off to the side of his pancakes, which he’s halfway through already, dipping each bite in a puddle of syrup.
For a brief moment, I thought, “OK wow, Wes actually has like, some etiquette,” since the last time we ate together at Las Americanas taqueria, things did not go well. Another ten minutes goes by and everybody is finished with their meals – except Wes. He still had that gold bar of butter, which he began digging into with a spoon and eating like ice cream.
This was at a time when everybody was concerned about Wesley’s weight. He was really fat and not getting any exercise.
Let me say this about Dale Meiners and Fred Mangan—they were solid, upstanding individuals who genuinely cared for Wes. Carla Winterbottom was probably Wesley’s truest guardian angel. Those folks were looking out for him.
Back at the table scene, Wes grabbed the sugar dispenser and gave it a shake over his butter pie. I shot a look to Dale and said, “What the fuck is he doing?”
“That’s his thing,” Dale said. And then Wes proceeded to finish off the butter, eating with a fork.
The Butter Is Cutting Through Me Like a Hot Knife!
After breakfast, we went to Fred’s house. Fred’s showing us his artwork and Wesley says, “I gotta take a shit. The butter is cutting through me like a hot knife!” I remember thinking, “Oh yeah I’m going to write that one down, baby! Wesley Gold!”
Fred says, “You know what to do, Wes.”
Ten minutes later, Wes emerged from the bathroom, dripping wet, naked except for his black Rockports, and said, “I need a towel.” Fred grabbed him a clean towel and Wesley came back with his duds on, like nothing had happened. Later, I asked Dale, “What was the bathroom thing all about?”
Once Dale explained the basics of living with a schizophrenic, I found that Wesley’s daily behaviors and rituals weren’t that far out of line from my own. Nobody wants to walk around with a dirty ass.
I saw some of Wesley’s dark side, too. Occasionally, he’d meltdown and I’d get the fuck out of there, since I didn’t know how to deal with him and it sure seemed like my presence wasn’t helping, right?
Understanding Schizophrenia
Sometimes Dale would say, man, people just don’t understand that for the majority of Wesley’s life, he was abused and told he’s total shit. Now all these people are paying attention to him and it’s seriously freaking him out. God help you when Wesley started hearing the voices. Nothing you can do but get out of the way.
I was and always will be kind of a sheltered suburban dummy, so nothing that ever happened with Wesley really sank in until much later in life. Experience after experience, I have developed a sort of Teflon in terms of absorbing a situation. You know how you have semi-tragic losses in your life? It can happen in any number of ways. Burglary, fire, carelessness. At some point in time, everybody gets jacked. I’ve been jacked a bunch of times, but none stick with me like this one.
The last time I saw Wesley was March 1999 outside of The Big Horse Saloon in Wicker Park. It had probably been a few months since our paths had crossed. After exchanging pleasantries, Wesley tried to sell me one of his drawings for $20. I reminded him that I had bought several of his classic depictions of the Chicago skyline the last time we met—which was true. “Buy another one,” he said. And so I did. The drawing was eventually rolled up in a cardboard tube along with the others, and stored my bedroom closet.
The Lost Artwork
In June, I finally moved to San Francisco. Upon unpacking, I discovered the Wesley drawings were missing. Even though I specifically intended to put those cardboard tubes in the cargo bay of the U-Haul truck, a week later: no drawings. Or did I? I remember taking them downstairs and outside but I can’t say for sure exactly where or if actually I put them…in the truck…and I knew that my brother and moving helper wouldn’t take them…
Despite numerous search and rescue efforts, they were never recovered—but that’s another, unrelated story. Wesley’s been dead for almost nine years now and there really isn’t much left to say. I miss him. The world was a slightly more interesting place with him in it. But in this digital age, nobody really goes away forever anymore. I have access to pretty much all the Wesley Willis my life requires. But even though he’s still here in spirit (and mp3), I can’t help but wish I could look across the room and see a little part of him, hanging on my wall. Or better yet, giving me a headbutt and saying, “Rah!”
Footnotes
- The Chicago-based bands that get played in my iTunes random shuffle include (remember, Cheap Trick is from Rockford, IL which is closer to Wisconsin than Chicago both culturally and geographically): obviously, Wesley and the Fiasco, Five Style, Heroic Doses, Ancient Greeks, The Jesus Lizard, Margot and the Nuclear So n’ Sos, Red Red Meat, Golden Tones (for personal reasons), and one song by Wilco (“Outtasite (Outta Mind)”. At any rate, a bunch of other Chicago bands have made some fantastic music—I don’t begrudge any of us. ↩︎
- It was something of a common but prized badge of honor to have Wesley write a song about you. ↩︎
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