My Dad, Dr. Odell Moreno Owens, Is Black History

Black History Month is often about the names we read in books. The pioneers. The activists. The history-makers who changed laws, shifted culture, and opened doors. But for me, Black history has always had a face I knew personally. My father, Dr. Odell Moreno Owens.


To the city of Cincinnati, he was a physician, a public servant, a leader, and a force. To many, he was a trailblazer who broke barriers in medicine and public health. But to me, he was simply Dad. That’s what makes this month so personal.


Dr. Owens dedicated his life to serving others. As a physician and longtime Hamilton County Coroner, he stood at the intersection of medicine, justice, and community. He showed up in spaces that historically were not built for Black men and he didn’t just occupy them, he led in them.


That matters.


Black history isn’t just about surviving systems. It’s about transforming them. And my father did that quietly, consistently, and with excellence.

He believed in service. Not the glamorous kind. The real kind. The kind that requires late nights, difficult decisions, and unwavering integrity. He understood that being a Black man in leadership meant carrying both responsibility and representation. He knew eyes were always watching and he carried himself in a way that made me proud long before I understood the weight of what he was doing.


Growing up, I didn’t fully grasp the magnitude of his career. I just knew he was respected. I knew people greeted him with admiration. I knew his work mattered. As I’ve gotten older, I understand it differently. He wasn’t just building a career. He was building access. He was building trust in communities that needed it. He was building a legacy that would outlive him.


Black History Month reminds us that representation is powerful. Seeing someone who looks like you in positions of authority reshapes what feels possible. My father was that for so many people. A Black physician. A public official. A decision-maker in rooms where very few people looked like him. And at home? He was a father who instilled confidence, discipline, and pride.


He taught me that excellence isn’t optional, it’s expected.

He taught me that your name carries weight.

He taught me to walk into rooms knowing I belong there.


His career was rooted in science and service, but his impact was deeply human. He cared about people. He cared about community. He cared about doing things the right way, even when it wasn’t easy.


That is Black history.


It’s easy to celebrate the national figures and we absolutely should. But Black history also lives in our cities. In our neighborhoods. In our families. It lives in leaders like Dr. Odell Moreno Owens, who dedicated decades to improving public health and serving Cincinnati with distinction.


After losing him unexpectedly, I’ve carried both grief and gratitude. Grief because I miss him every day. Gratitude because I had a front-row seat to greatness. Not performative greatness. Purpose-driven greatness. His legacy is not just in titles or headlines. It’s in the lives he impacted. The systems he strengthened. The doors he opened for others. And it’s in me.


When I show up boldly in media. When I build platforms for our community. When I refuse to shrink that is part of his legacy too.
This Black History Month, I honor the icons. I honor the trailblazers. And I honor my father.


Dr. Odell Moreno Owens is Black history.


Not just because of what he accomplished but because of who he was. And I am proud to carry his name forward.