(excerpt from my essay, “And Only One Was a Full Grown Man”)
At 6 o’clock in 1973, Black Larry’s voice, tainted by an opiate drawl, cut through a quiet summer morning: “Floyd! Floyyyyyd! Floyd!” Larry was standing in the driveway between my house and Floyd’s, right underneath my bedroom window. Bobby’s whining holler woke me up.
“Floyd! Floyyyd! Wake up man. Play some of that Marvin Gaye. Play that Marvin Gaye, man.” Floyd had a loud stereo that he build himself. He was the genius of the block.
Next thing I heard was the twang-twang-wah-wah sounding guitar, then the drum…
your daddy dead on the railroad track
your momma on another track
your sisters and brothers split but not broken
jitterbug in a zoot suit
your head bad
touting private bedroom things to strangers needing stranger things
and get high
full cocked strong
Smalls the Baby Grand the Apollo
Johnny Hodges spinning Daydream
Hamp vibed Flying Home
a cat leaped that Second Balcony Jump
You an itinerant purveyor of marijuana riding the rails like those jazz men you followed from city to city
May 28, 2011, Harlem, NY
My ex-husband, Butch Lewis, is the kind of Black man who should be rich and famous. He’s a charmer. Good-looking. Knowledgeable. Has the capacity to talk much bedazzling sense in the Queen’s English and in some gutbucket, raw, funky blues stuff presented with poetical, streetified, Ebonics-laden eloquence. In another life, he will be a well-heeled preacher with a flock of adoring women, who he “knows” in the biblical sense; or he’ll be a prominent poet-musician that changes the way things are done, altering mindsets along the way. Like Gil Scott-Heron.
Butch is my authority on…
The Get Lit Book Club, on Alison Stewart’s WNYC program, “All of It,” featured Jonathan Lethem’s novel, Motherless Brooklyn, which was made into a film of the same name. It was shot partially on location at St. Nick’s Pub, in Harlem. During the filming, the Pub burned down and a firefighter lost his life.
This piece originally appeared in the Amsterdam News, in 2018.
I first stepped foot in St. Nick’s Pub in the late 1990s. Never knew who you might see sitting at the bar kicking back rum after rum, pouring libations on the floor to the ancestors. …
When I heard that Nina Simone would be featured on American Masters: How It Feels To Be Free, executive produced by Alicia Keys, I figured that it’s time for me to create my first Medium post. I wrote this piece after Nina’s memorial in 2003.
When the High Priestess of Soul walked on stage, it was to an ovation of clapping, whistling fans in love with her songs, her voice, her hands on the keys, and the ways she so perfectly embodied the message of the times. I sat between my mother and her lifelong friend, Shirley, mesmerized. …