The Tragic Deaths & End Of ‘The O’Jays’ Members… You’ll Cry Watching This | HO
Cleveland, OH – Their music made the world dance. Their harmonies defined a generation. But behind the platinum records and roaring applause, the story of The O’Jays is one of heartbreak, betrayal, and enduring pain—a saga that proves even the brightest stars can be shadowed by tragedy.
A Dream Born in Struggle
The O’Jays’ journey began in Canton, Ohio, in 1958, when five young men—Eddie Levert, Walter Williams, William Powell, Bobby Massey, and Bill Isles—formed a group called The Triumphs. Their dream was simple: to make music that would one day echo across America. They played wherever they could—churches, bars, street corners—scraping by with hope and raw talent.
After a series of name changes and the support of DJ Eddie O’Jay, they became The O’Jays, a name that would soon become synonymous with the Philly soul sound. But the early years were brutally hard. Signed to King Records, they released singles like “Lonely Drifter,” but the royalties barely covered gas money. Financial strain soon broke the group’s unity. By 1962, Bobby Massey and Bill Isles had left, unable to endure the grind and poverty.
The First Fracture
The night Bill Isles left, tensions boiled over. Accusations of betrayal and secret deals flew, leaving scars that would never fully heal. The group shrank to three—Eddie, Walter, and William—who pressed on, knowing that looking back would only bring pain.
Rising to Glory—and the Cost
The O’Jays’ perseverance paid off. By the early 1970s, they’d found their sound with Philadelphia International Records. Hits like “Back Stabbers,” “For the Love of Money,” and the iconic “Love Train” turned them into superstars. Yet, as the applause grew, so did the shadows behind the scenes.
William Powell, whose velvet voice was the group’s soul, was diagnosed with late-stage colon cancer in 1975 at just 33. The news was devastating—and kept secret. Their manager, fearing for the group’s future, forced Powell to hide his illness, threatening the group’s survival if word got out. Powell endured agonizing pain, performing night after night, his body failing but his spirit unbroken.
In his final months, Powell discovered the industry’s ruthless side. He overheard executives saying, “If he dies, we’ll find a replacement. Right now, he’s just a money machine.” Powell wasn’t just fighting cancer—he was battling betrayal from those who claimed to care. He died on May 26, 1977, leaving behind a note: “I sang for them even when I was no longer myself. Please forgive me.” His death left a wound in The O’Jays that would never heal.
Surviving the Changing Times
The loss of Powell nearly destroyed the group. But Eddie and Walter pressed on, joined by new member Sammy Strain. As disco, new wave, and hip-hop swept the charts, The O’Jays struggled to adapt. Albums like “So Full of Love” (1978) kept their flame alive, but the pressure to stay relevant was immense.
Walter Williams faced his own nightmare. In 2009, after years of chronic pain, he underwent surgery for spinal stenosis—only to discover he’d been implanted with a faulty, unapproved device as part of an illegal experiment. The pain worsened, robbing him of mobility and nearly ending his career. Yet, Williams refused to give up. Even when he collapsed in rehearsal, bloodied and broken, he rose again, vowing to keep singing as long as he could breathe.
A Father’s Double Tragedy
For Eddie Levert, the group’s unbreakable heart, the greatest pain came not from the industry, but from unimaginable personal loss. In 2006, his eldest son, Gerald Levert—a superstar in his own right—died at 40 from a fatal combination of painkillers and sleeping pills. Gerald had battled depression and the crushing weight of fame, but never shared his struggles with his father.
Less than two years later, Eddie’s second son, Sean Levert, died in jail at 39 after being denied heart medication. Sean, too, was a talented musician, but struggled with financial and legal troubles. Eddie, devastated, lost not only his sons but the future of his musical legacy. Every time he took the stage after their deaths, he sang not just for the audience, but for Gerald and Sean—for the dreams that would never be fulfilled.
Betrayed by the Industry
Even as they endured personal losses, Eddie and Walter faced another bitter blow. In 2008, they discovered that Philadelphia International Records had embezzled $47,000 in royalties, claiming the money was used to pay off legal debts. The betrayal by those they trusted most—producers Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff—was a final insult. Years of sweat, sleepless nights, and dreams reduced to a pittance, and even that stolen.
The Final Curtain
By 2024, time had taken its toll. Eddie, now 82, and Walter, 81, performed one of their last shows in a small Cleveland theater. Eddie leaned on a cane, Walter sat in a wheelchair. The crowd, mostly longtime fans, cheered, but few knew the pain behind the music. The O’Jays were not destitute, but far from wealthy. Their homes were modest, their savings thin. Fame had brought them glory, but not the security one might expect for legends.
In a poignant moment, the two men visited a storage facility in Philadelphia, opening a rusted safe filled with old contracts and photographs. There, they learned the full truth: William Powell, Gerald, and Sean had all been ensnared in desperate financial deals, binding their lives to debts they could never repay. Their deaths were not just tragedies, but the inevitable cost of promises made in the shadows of the industry.
A Legacy of Resilience
The O’Jays’ story is not just one of loss, but of resilience. Despite betrayal, illness, and heartbreak, they stood strong for over six decades. Their music—“Back Stabbers,” “Love Train,” “For the Love of Money”—remains timeless, sampled and covered by generations of artists. They are honored in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the Vocal Group Hall of Fame, and beyond.
But behind the hits and the honors is a story of human suffering, of dreams pursued at the highest cost. As Eddie once said, “Every note I sing now is for those who can’t sing anymore.” The O’Jays may have been battered, but they were never broken.
When the stage lights dimmed that final night in Cleveland, the applause faded into silence. The O’Jays’ voices, echoing in the wind, remain a lasting testament to hope, heartbreak, and the enduring power of soul.
