Black History 365: Joy Oladokun

We are highlighting examples of Black excellence throughout the year! Feel free to send us suggestions!

With a guitar in hand, baseball cap over her eyes, and hooded sweatshirt loose, a woman sings with all of the poetry, pain, passion, and power her soul can muster. She is a new kind of American troubadour. She is Joy Oladokun. The Delaware-born, Arizona-raised, and Nashville-based Nigerian-American singer, songwriter, and producer projects unfiltered spirit over stark piano and delicate guitar. After attracting acclaim from Vogue, NPR, and American Songwriter, her words arrive at a time right when we need them the most.

“Words are such a powerful tool,” she states. “I remember all of the best and worst things anyone has ever said to me. I love and respect the ability of words to touch on the physical realm. I’m very intentional with my words. I’m grateful and try to be as encouraging as I can, because I’ve been in situations where that has not been the case and it’s hurt me or others. People are traumatized by words or uplifted and encouraged to change their lives and careers by them.”

The daughter of Nigerian immigrants, she was the first in the family to be born in America. After some time in Delaware, they moved to Arizona. Dad’s record collection included hundreds of titles, and he introduced Joy to everyone from Phil Collins, Peter Gabriel, and King Sunny Adé to Conway Twitty and Johnny Cash. As mom and dad stressed academics, she wasn’t allowed to watch TV on weekdays. On Saturday, they would “either rent a movie from Blockbuster or watch the thousands of hours of concert and music video footage dad had recorded since coming to the States.” One afternoon, she witnessed Tracy Chapman pay homage to Nelson Mandela during his 70th birthday tribute at Wembley Arena.

It changed everything…

“I grew up in Casa Grande, which is in the middle of nowhere in Arizona,” she goes on. “I was surrounded by images of white dudes with guitars. I was programmed to believe people around me listened if somebody had a guitar. As a shy kid and one of the only black children in town, I had a lot of social anxiety. Seeing Tracy Chapman up there with a guitar in front of a full stadium was such an empowering moment. I ran into the next room and begged my parents to buy me a guitar for Christmas—which was six months away,” she laughs.

With her new Christmas gift, she went from crafting her first song about The Lord of The Rings to penning songs dedicated to her mother after rough days at work. Eventually, the local church needed a guitar player, and she ended up working there full-time for almost six years.

After college in Orange County, she relocated to Los Angeles where writing became a job…and she finally came out. “I quit the church and came out of the closet,” she recalls. “I got to a point where I was like, ‘If God exists, he does not care that I’m gay. With all of the things happening, he cannot give a shit’. I feel like it’s not an accident I’m a queer black woman writing and making music.”

She wrote and recorded countless songs alone in her Los Angeles apartment, even playing six instruments. Her music and story galvanized a growing fan base as she completed a successful Kickstarter campaign to release her independent debut, Carry. Her song “No Turning Back” soundtracked a viral baby announcement by Ciara and Russell Wilson, opening up the floodgates. She landed a string of high-profile syncs, including NBC’s This Is Us, ABC’s Grey’s Anatomy, and Showtime’s The L Word: Generation Q. Around the same time, she settled in Nashville, TN and continued to create at a feverish pace. On the heels of in defense of my own happiness (the beginnings), she garnered unanimous critical praise. Billboard touted the album as one of the “Top 10 Best LGBTQ Albums of 2020,” while NPR included “i see america” among the “100 Best Songs of 2020.” Predicted as on the verge of a massive breakthrough, she emerged on various tastemaker lists, including Spotify’s RADAR Artists to Watch 2021, YouTube “Black Voices Class of 2021,” NPR’s 2021 “Artists To Watch,” and Amazon Music’s “Artist To Watch 2021.” Not to mention, Vogue crowned her #1 “LBTQ+ Musician To Listen To.” She kicked off the new year by making her television debut on NBC’s The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon with a stunning and stirring performance of “breathe again.”

Ultimately as she releases new music, Joy’s words might make you cry, and they might make you think, but they’ll definitely make you smile.

“When you listen to me, I want you to feel like you’ve taken an emotional shower,” she leaves off. “That’s what I’m trying to accomplish for myself. To me, music is a vehicle of catharsis. I write a lot of sad songs, but I always push for a sliver of a silver lining or glimmer of hope it could be better. That’s why I’m writing in the first place. I want you to be changed when you hear me, and not because I’m special, but because I make music with the intention to change myself.”

https://www.joyoladokun.com/bio

Black History 365: Katherine Dunham

We are highlighting examples of Black excellence throughout the year! Feel free to send us suggestions!

Katherine Mary Dunham (June 22, 1909 – May 21, 2006)[1] was an American dancer, choreographer, creator of the Dunham Technique, author, educator, anthropologist, and social activist. Dunham had one of the most successful dance careers in African-American and European theater of the 20th century, and directed her own dance company for many years. She has been called the “matriarch and queen mother of black dance.”[2]

While a student at the University of Chicago, Dunham also performed as a dancer and ran a dance school, and earned an early bachelor’s degree in anthropology. Receiving a fellowship, she went to the Caribbean to study dance and ethnography. She later returned to graduate school and submitted a master’s thesis in anthropology. She did not complete the other requirements for that degree, however, she realized that her professional calling was performance.

At the height of her career in the 1940s and 1950s, Dunham was renowned throughout Europe and Latin America and was widely popular in the United States. The Washington Post called her “dancer Katherine the Great.” For almost 30 years she maintained the Katherine Dunham Dance Company, the only self-supported American black dance troupe at that time. Over her long career, she choreographed more than ninety individual dances.[3] Dunham was an innovator in African-American modern dance as well as a leader in the field of dance anthropology, or ethnochoreology. She also developed the Dunham Technique, a method of movement to support her dance works.[4]

Early years

Katherine Mary Dunham was born on 22 June 1909 in a Chicago hospital. Her father, Albert Millard Dunham, was a descendant of slaves from West Africa and Madagascar. Her mother, Fanny June Dunham, who, according to Dunham’s memoir, possessed Indian, French Canadian, English and probably African ancestry, died when Dunham was four years old.[5] She had an older brother, Albert Jr., with whom she had a close relationship.[6] After her mother died, her father left the children with their aunt Lulu on Chicago’s South Side. At the time, the South Side of Chicago was experiencing the effects of the Great Migration were Black southerners attempted to escape the Jim Crow South and poverty.[5] Along with the Great Migration, came White flight and her aunt Lulu’s business suffered and ultimately closed as a result. This led to a custody battle over Katherine and her brother, brought on by their maternal relatives. This meant neither of the children were able to settle into a home for a few years. However, after her father remarried Albert Sr. and his new wife, Annette Poindexter Dunham, took in Katherine and her brother.[7] The family moved to a predominantly white neighborhood in Joliet, Illinois. There, her father ran a dry-cleaning business.[8]

Dunham became interested in both writing and dance at a young age. In 1921, a short story she wrote when she was 12 years old, called “Come Back to Arizona”, was published in volume 2 of The Brownies’ Book.

She graduated from Joliet Central High School in 1928, where she played baseball, tennis, basketball, and track; served as vice-president of the French Club, and was on the yearbook staff.[9] In high school she joined the Terpsichorean Club and began to learn a kind of modern dance based on the ideas of Europeans [Émile Jaques-Dalcroze] and [Rudolf von Laban].[6] At the age of 15, she organized “The Blue Moon Café”, a fundraising cabaret to raise money for Brown’s Methodist Church in Joliet, where she gave her first public performance.[6][10] While still a high school student, she opened a private dance school for young black children.[10]

Academia and anthropology

After completing her studies at Joliet Junior College in 1928, Dunham moved to Chicago to join her brother Albert at the University of Chicago.[11]

During her time in Chicago, Dunham enjoyed holding social gatherings and inviting visitors to her apartment. Such visitors included ethnomusicologist Alan Lomax, novelist and anthropologist Zora Neale Hurston, Robert Redfield, Bronisław Malinowski, A.R. Radcliffe-Brown, Fred Eggan, and many others that she met in and around the University of Chicago.[12] After noticing that Katherine enjoyed working and socializing with people, her brother suggested that she study Anthropology.[13] University of Chicago’s anthropology department was fairly new and the students were still encouraged to learn aspects of sociology, distinguishing it from other anthropology departments in the US that focused almost exclusively on non-Western peoples.[13] The Anthropology department at Chicago in the 1930s and 40s has been described as holistic, interdisciplinary, with a philosophy of liberal humanism, and principles of racial equality and cultural relativity.[13]

Dunham officially joined the department in 1929 as an anthropology major,[13] while studying dances of the African diaspora. As a student, she studied under anthropologists such as A.R. Radcliffe-Brown, Edward Sapir, Melville Herskovits, Lloyd Warner and Bronisław Malinowski.[13] Under their tutelage, she showed great promise in her ethnographic studies of dance.[14] Redfield, Herskovits, and Sapir’s contributions to cultural anthropology, exposed Dunham to topics and ideas that inspired her creatively and professionally.[14] For example, she was highly influenced both by Sapir’s viewpoint on culture being made up of rituals, beliefs, customs and artforms, and by Herkovits’ and Redfield’s studies highlighting links between African and African American cultural expression.[15] It was in a lecture by Redfield that she learned about the relationship between dance and culture, pointing out that Black Americans had retained much of their African heritage in dances.[15] Dunham’s relationship with Redfield in particular was highly influential. She wrote that he “opened the floodgates of anthropology” for her.[15] He showed her the connection between dance and social life giving her the momentum to explore a new area of anthropology, which she later termed “Dance Anthropology”.[15]

In 1935, Dunham was awarded travel fellowships from the Julius Rosenwald and Guggenheim foundations to conduct ethnographic fieldwork in Haiti, Jamaica, Martinique, and Trinidad studying the dance forms of the Caribbean. One example of this was studying how dance manifests within Haitian Vodou. Dunham also received a grant to work with Professor Melville Herskovits of Northwestern University, whose ideas about retention of African culture among African Americans served as a base for her research in the Caribbean.[16]

After her research tour of the Caribbean in 1935, Dunham returned to Chicago in the late spring of 1936. In August she was awarded a bachelor’s degree, a Ph.B., bachelor of philosophy, with her principal area of study being social anthropology.[17] She was one of the first African-American women to attend this college and to earn these degrees.[4] In 1938, using materials collected ethnographic fieldwork, Dunham submitted a thesis, The Dances of Haiti: A Study of Their Material Aspect, Organization, Form, and Function,.[18] to the Department of Anthropology in partial fulfillment of the requirements for a master’s degree. However, fully aware of her passion for both dance performance, as well as anthropological research, she felt she had to choose between the two. Although Dunham was offered another grant from the Rockefeller Foundation to pursue her academic studies, she chose dance. She did this for many reasons. However, one key reason was that she knew she would be able to reach a broader public through dance, as opposed to the inaccessible institutions of academia. Never completing her required coursework for her graduate degree, she departed for Broadway and Hollywood.[8]

Despite her choosing dance, Dunham often voiced recognition of her debt to the discipline: “without [anthropology] I don’t know what I would have done….In anthropology, I learned how to feel about myself in relation to other people…. You can’t learn about dances until you learn about people. In my mind, it’s the most fascinating thing in the world to learn”.[19]

Ethnographic fieldwork

Her field work in the Caribbean began in Jamaica, where she lived for several months in the remote Maroon village of Accompong, deep in the mountains of Cockpit Country. (She later wrote Journey to Accompong, a book describing her experiences there.) Then she traveled to Martinique and to Trinidad and Tobago for short stays, primarily to do an investigation of Shango, the African god who was still considered an important presence in West Indian religious culture. Early in 1936, she arrived in Haiti, where she remained for several months, the first of her many extended stays in that country through her life.

While in Haiti, Dunham investigated Vodun rituals and made extensive research notes, particularly on the dance movements of the participants.[20] She recorded her findings through ethnographic fieldnotes and by learning dance techniques, music and song, alongside her interlocutors.[21] This style of participant observation research was not yet common within the discipline of anthropology. However, it has now became a common practice within the discipline. She was one of the first researchers in anthropology to use her research of Afro-Haitian dance and culture for remedying racist misrepresentation of African culture in the miseducation of Black Americans. She felt it was necessary to use the knowledge she gained in her research to acknowledge that Africanist esthetics are significant to the cultural equation in American dance.[22] Years later, after extensive studies and initiations in Haiti,[21] she became a mambo in the Vodun religion.[20] She also became friends with, among others, Dumarsais Estimé, then a high-level politician, who became president of Haiti in 1949. Somewhat later, she assisted him, at considerable risk to her life, when he was persecuted for his progressive policies and sent in exile to Jamaica after a coup d’état.

Dancer and choreographer

From 1928 to 1938

Dunham’s dance career first began in Chicago when she joined the Little Theater Company of Harper Avenue. In 1928, while still an undergraduate, Dunham began to study ballet with Ludmilla Speranzeva, a Russian dancer who had settled in Chicago, after having come to the United States with the Franco-Russian vaudeville troupe Le Théâtre de la Chauve-Souris, directed by impresario Nikita Balieff. Dunham also studied ballet with Mark Turbyfill and Ruth Page, who became prima ballerina of the Chicago Opera. Additionally, she worked closely with Vera Mirova who specialized in “Oriental” dance. Through her ballet teachers, she was also exposed to Spanish, East Indian, Javanese, and Balinese dance forms.[23]

In 1931, at the age of 21, Dunham formed a group called Ballets Nègres, one of the first black ballet companies in the United States. The group performed Dunham’s Negro Rhapsody at the Chicago Beaux Arts Ball. After this well-received performance in 1931, the group was disbanded. Encouraged by Speranzeva to focus on modern dance instead of ballet, Dunham opened her first dance school in 1933, calling it the Negro Dance Group. It was a venue for Dunham to teach young black dancers about their African heritage.

In 1934–1936, Dunham performed as a guest artist with the ballet company of the Chicago Opera. Ruth Page had written a scenario and choreographed La Guiablesse (“The Devil Woman”), based on a Martinican folk tale in Lafcadio Hearn‘s Two Years in the French West Indies. It opened in Chicago in 1933, with a black cast and with Page dancing the title role. The next year the production was repeated with Katherine Dunham in the lead and with students from Dunham’s Negro Dance Group in the ensemble. Her dance career was interrupted in 1935 when she received funding from the Rosenwald Foundation which allowed her to travel to Jamaica, Martinique, Trinidad, and Haiti for eighteen months to explore each country’s respective dance cultures. The result of this trip was Dunham’s Master’s thesis entitled “The Dances of Haiti”.

Having completed her undergraduate work at the University of Chicago and decided to pursue a performing career rather than academic studies, Dunham revived her dance ensemble. In 1937 she traveled with them to New York to take part in A Negro Dance Evening, organized by Edna Guy at the 92nd Street YMHA. The troupe performed a suite of West Indian dances in the first half of the program and a ballet entitled Tropic Death, with Talley Beatty, in the second half. Upon returning to Chicago, the company performed at the Goodman Theater and at the Abraham Lincoln Center. Dunham created Rara Tonga and Woman with a Cigar at this time, which became well known. With choreography characterized by exotic sexuality, both became signature works in the Dunham repertory. After her company performed successfully, Dunham was chosen as dance director of the Chicago Negro Theater Unit of the Federal Theatre Project. In this post, she choreographed the Chicago production of Run Li’l Chil’lun, performed at the Goodman Theater. She also created several other works of choreography, including The Emperor Jones (a response to the play by Eugene O’Neill) and Barrelhouse.

At this time Dunham first became associated with designer John Pratt, whom she later married. Together, they produced the first version of her dance composition L’Ag’Ya, which premiered on January 27, 1938, as a part of the Federal Theater Project in Chicago. Based on her research in Martinique, this three-part performance integrated elements of a Martinique fighting dance into American ballet.

From 1939 to the late 1950s

In 1939, Dunham’s company gave additional performances in Chicago and Cincinnati and then returned to New York. Dunham had been invited to stage a new number for the popular, long-running musical revue Pins and Needles 1940, produced by the International Ladies’ Garment Workers Union. As this show continued its run at the Windsor Theater, Dunham booked her own company in the theater for a Sunday performance. This concert, billed as Tropics and Le Hot Jazz, included not only her favorite partners Archie Savage and Talley Beatty, but her principal Haitian drummer, Papa Augustin. Initially scheduled for a single performance, the show was so popular that the troupe repeated it for another ten Sundays.

Based on this success, the entire company was engaged for the 1940 Broadway production Cabin in the Sky, staged by George Balanchine and starring Ethel Waters. With Dunham in the sultry role of temptress Georgia Brown, the show ran for 20 weeks in New York. It next moved to the West Coast for an extended run of performances there. The show created a minor controversy in the press.

After the national tour of Cabin in the Sky, the Dunham company stayed in Los Angeles, where they appeared in the Warner Brothers short film Carnival of Rhythm (1941). The next year, after the US entered World War II, Dunham appeared in the Paramount musical film Star Spangled Rhythm (1942) in a specialty number, “Sharp as a Tack,” with Eddie “Rochester” Anderson. Other movies she performed in as a dancer during this period included the Abbott and Costello comedy Pardon My Sarong (1942) and the black musical Stormy Weather (1943), which featured a stellar range of actors, musicians and dancers.[24]

The company returned to New York. The company was located on the property that formerly belonged to the Isadora Duncan Dance in Caravan Hill but subsequently moved to W 43rd Street. In September 1943, under the management of the impresario Sol Hurok, her troupe opened in Tropical Review at the Martin Beck Theater. Featuring lively Latin American and Caribbean dances, plantation dances, and American social dances, the show was an immediate success. The original two-week engagement was extended by popular demand into a three-month run, after which the company embarked on an extensive tour of the United States and Canada. In Boston, then a bastion of conservatism, the show was banned in 1944 after only one performance. Although it was well received by the audience, local censors feared that the revealing costumes and provocative dances might compromise public morals. After the tour, in 1945, the Dunham company appeared in the short-lived Blue Holiday at the Belasco Theater in New York, and in the more successful Carib Song at the Adelphi Theatre. The finale to the first act of this show was Shango, a staged interpretation of a Vodun ritual, which became a permanent part of the company’s repertory.

In 1946, Dunham returned to Broadway for a revue entitled Bal Nègre, which received glowing notices from theater and dance critics. Early in 1947 Dunham choreographed the musical play Windy City, which premiered at the Great Northern Theater in Chicago. Later in the year she opened a cabaret show in Las Vegas, during the first year that the city became a popular entertainment as well as gambling destination. Later that year she took her troupe to Mexico, where their performances were so popular that they stayed and performed for more than two months. After Mexico, Dunham began touring in Europe, where she was an immediate sensation. In 1948, she opened A Caribbean Rhapsody, first at the Prince of Wales Theatre in London, and then took it to the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées in Paris.

This was the beginning of more than 20 years during which Dunham performed with her company almost exclusively outside the United States. During these years, the Dunham company appeared in some 33 countries in Europe, North Africa, South America, Australia, and East Asia. Dunham continued to develop dozens of new productions during this period, and the company met with enthusiastic audiences in every city. Despite these successes, the company frequently ran into periods of financial difficulties, as Dunham was required to support all of the 30 to 40 dancers and musicians.

Dunham and her company appeared in the Hollywood movie Casbah (1948) with Tony Martin, Yvonne De Carlo, and Peter Lorre, and in the Italian film Botta e Risposta, produced by Dino de Laurentiis. Also that year they appeared in the first ever, hour-long American spectacular televised by NBC, when television was first beginning to spread across America. This was followed by television spectaculars filmed in London, Buenos Aires, Toronto, Sydney, and Mexico City.

In 1950, Sol Hurok presented Katherine Dunham and Her Company in a dance revue at the Broadway Theater in New York, with a program composed of some of Dunham’s best works. It closed after only 38 performances. The company soon embarked on a tour of venues in South America, Europe, and North Africa. They had particular success in Denmark and France. In the mid-1950s, Dunham and her company appeared in three films: Mambo (1954), made in Italy; Die Grosse Starparade (1954), made in Germany; and Música en la Noche (1955), made in Mexico City.

Later career

The Dunham company’s international tours ended in Vienna in 1960. They were stranded without money because of bad management by their impresario. Dunham saved the day by arranging for the company to be paid to appear in a German television special, Karibische Rhythmen, after which they returned to the United States. Dunham’s last appearance on Broadway was in 1962 in Bamboche!, which included a few former Dunham dancers in the cast and a contingent of dancers and drummers from the Royal Troupe of Morocco. It was not a success, closing after only eight performances.

A highlight of Dunham’s later career was the invitation from New York’s Metropolitan Opera to stage dances for a new production of Aida, starring soprano Leontyne Price. In 1963, she became the first African American to choreograph for the Met since Hemsley Winfield set the dances for The Emperor Jones in 1933. The critics acknowledged the historical research she did on dance in ancient Egypt, but they were not appreciative of her choreography as staged for this production.[25]

Subsequently, Dunham undertook various choreographic commissions at several venues in the United States and in Europe. In 1966, she served as a State Department representative for the United States to the first ever World Festival of Negro Arts in Dakar, Senegal. In 1967 she officially retired, after presenting a final show at the famous Apollo Theater in Harlem, New York. Even in retirement Dunham continued to choreograph: one of her major works was directing the premiere full, posthumous production Scott Joplin‘s opera Treemonisha in 1972, a joint production of the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra and the Morehouse College chorus in Atlanta, conducted by Robert Shaw.[26] This work was never produced in Joplin’s lifetime, but since the 1970s, it has been successfully produced in many venues.

In 1978 Dunham was featured in the PBS special, Divine Drumbeats: Katherine Dunham and Her People, narrated by James Earl Jones, as part of the Dance in America series. Alvin Ailey later produced a tribute for her in 1987–88 at Carnegie Hall with his American Dance Theater, entitled The Magic of Katherine Dunham.

Educator and writer

In 1945, Dunham opened and directed the Katherine Dunham School of Dance and Theatre near Times Square in New York City. Her dance company was provided with rent-free studio space for three years by an admirer and patron, Lee Shubert; it had an initial enrollment of 350 students.

The program included courses in dance, drama, performing arts, applied skills, humanities, cultural studies, and Caribbean research. In 1947 it was expanded and granted a charter as the Katherine Dunham School of Cultural Arts. The school was managed in Dunham’s absence by Syvilla Fort, one of her dancers, and thrived for about 10 years. It was considered one of the best learning centers of its type at the time. Schools inspired by it were later opened in Stockholm, Paris, and Rome by dancers who had been trained by Dunham.

Her alumni included many future celebrities, such as Eartha Kitt. As a teenager, she won a scholarship to the Dunham school and later became a dancer with the company, before beginning her successful singing career. Dunham and Kitt collaborated again in the 1970s in an Equity Production of the musical Peg, based on the Irish play, Peg O’ My Heart. Dunham Company member Dana McBroom-Manno was selected as a featured artist in the show, which played on the Music Fair Circuit.

Others who attended her school included James Dean, Gregory Peck, Jose Ferrer, Jennifer Jones, Shelley Winters, Sidney Poitier, Shirley MacLaine and Warren Beatty. Marlon Brando frequently dropped in to play the bongo drums, and jazz musician Charles Mingus held regular jam sessions with the drummers. Known for her many innovations, Dunham developed a dance pedagogy, later named the Dunham Technique, a style of movement and exercises based in traditional African dances, to support her choreography. This won international acclaim and is now taught as a modern dance style in many dance schools.

By 1957, Dunham was under severe personal strain, which was affecting her health. She decided to live for a year in relative isolation in Kyoto, Japan, where she worked on writing memoirs of her youth. The first work, entitled A Touch of Innocence: Memoirs of Childhood, was published in 1959. A continuation based on her experiences in Haiti, Island Possessed, was published in 1969. A fictional work based on her African experiences, Kasamance: A Fantasy, was published in 1974. Throughout her career, Dunham occasionally published articles about her anthropological research (sometimes under the pseudonym of Kaye Dunn) and sometimes lectured on anthropological topics at universities and scholarly societies.[27]

In 1963 Dunham was commissioned to choreograph Aida at New York’s Metropolitan Opera Company, with Leontyne Price in the title role. Members of Dunham’s last New York Company auditioned to become members of the Met Ballet Company. Among her dancers selected were Marcia McBroom, Dana McBroom, Jean Kelly, and Jesse Oliver. The Met Ballet Company dancers studied Dunham Technique at Dunham’s 42nd Street dance studio for the entire summer leading up to the season opening of Aida. Lyndon B. Johnson was in the audience for opening night. Dunham’s background as an anthropologist gave the dances of the opera a new authenticity. She was also consulted on costuming for the Egyptian and Ethiopian dress. Dana McBroom-Manno still teaches Dunham Technique in New York City and is a Master of Dunham Technique.

In 1964, Dunham settled in East St. Louis, and took up the post of artist-in-residence at Southern Illinois University in nearby Edwardsville. There she was able to bring anthropologists, sociologists, educational specialists, scientists, writers, musicians, and theater people together to create a liberal arts curriculum that would be a foundation for further college work. One of her fellow professors, with whom she collaborated, was architect Buckminster Fuller.

The following year, 1965, President Lyndon B. Johnson nominated Dunham to be technical cultural adviser— a sort of cultural ambassador—to the government of Senegal in West Africa. Her mission was to help train the Senegalese National Ballet and to assist President Leopold Senghor with arrangements for the First Pan-African World Festival of Negro Arts in Dakar (1965–66). Later Dunham established a second home in Senegal, and she occasionally returned there to scout for talented African musicians and dancers.

In 1967, Dunham opened the Performing Arts Training Center (PATC) in East St. Louis in an effort to use the arts to combat poverty and urban unrest. The restructuring of heavy industry had caused the loss of many working-class jobs, and unemployment was high in the city. After the 1968 riots following the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr., Dunham encouraged gang members in the ghetto to come to the center to use drumming and dance to vent their frustrations. The PATC teaching staff was made up of former members of Dunham’s touring company, as well as local residents. While trying to help the young people in the community, Dunham was arrested. This gained international headlines and the embarrassed local police officials quickly released her. She also continued refining and teaching the Dunham Technique to transmit that knowledge to succeeding generations of dance students. She lectured every summer until her death at annual Masters’ Seminars in St. Louis, which attracted dance students from around the world. She established the Katherine Dunham Centers for Arts and Humanities in East St. Louis to preserve Haitian and African instruments and artifacts from her personal collection.

In 1976, Dunham was guest artist-in-residence and lecturer for Afro-American studies at the University of California, Berkeley. A photographic exhibit honoring her achievements, entitled Kaiso! Katherine Dunham, was mounted at the Women’s Center on the campus. In 1978, an anthology of writings by and about her, also entitled Kaiso! Katherine Dunham, was published in a limited, numbered edition of 130 copies by the Institute for the Study of Social Change.

Dunham Technique

Dunham technique is a codified dance training technique developed by Katherine Dunham in the mid 20th century. Commonly grouped into the realm of modern dance techniques, Dunham is a technical dance form developed from elements of indigenous African and Afro-Caribbean dances.[28] Strongly founded in her anthropological research in the Caribbean, Dunham technique introduces rhythm as the backbone of various widely known modern dance principles including contraction and release,[29] groundedness, fall and recover,[30] counterbalance, and many more. Using some ballet vernacular, Dunham incorporates these principles into a set of class exercises she labeled as “processions”. Each procession builds on the last and focuses on conditioning the body to prepare for specific exercises that come later. Video footage of Dunham technique classes show a strong emphasis on anatomical alignment, breath, and fluidity. Dancers are frequently instructed to place weight on the balls of their feet, lengthen their lumbar and cervical spines, and breathe from the abdomen and not the chest. There is also a strong emphasis on training dancers in the practices of engaging with polyrhythms by simultaneously moving their upper and lower bodies according to different rhythmic patterns. These exercises prepare the dancers for African social and spiritual dances[31] that are practiced later in the class including the Mahi,[32] Yonvalou,[33] and Congo Paillette.[34]

According to Dunham, the development of her technique came out of a need for specialized dancers to support her choreographic visions and a greater yearning for technique that “said the things that [she] wanted to say.”[35] Dunham explains that while she admired the narrative quality of ballet technique, she wanted to develop a movement vocabulary that captured the essence of the Afro-Caribbean dancers she worked with during her travels.[35] In a different interview, Dunham describes her technique “as a way of life,[36]” a sentiment that seems to be shared by many of her admiring students. Many of Dunham students who attended free public classes in East St. Louis Illinois speak highly about the influence of her open technique classes and artistic presence in the city.[36] Her classes are described as a safe haven for many and some of her students even attribute their success in life to the structure and artistry of her technical institution. Dunham technique is also inviting to the influence of cultural movement languages outside of dance including karate and capoeira.[36]

Dunham is still taught at widely recognized dance institutions such as The American Dance Festival and The Ailey School.

Social activism

The Katherine Dunham Company toured throughout North America in the mid-1940s, performing as well in the racially segregated South. Dunham refused to hold a show in one theater after finding out that the city’s black residents had not been allowed to buy tickets for the performance. On another occasion, in October 1944, after getting a rousing standing ovation in Louisville, Kentucky, she told the all-white audience that she and her company would not return because “your management will not allow people like you to sit next to people like us.” She expressed a hope that time and the “war for tolerance and democracy” (this was during World War II) would bring a change.[37] One historian noted that “during the course of the tour, Dunham and the troupe had recurrent problems with racial discrimination, leading her to a posture of militancy which was to characterize her subsequent career.”[38]

In Hollywood, Dunham refused to sign a lucrative studio contract when the producer said she would have to replace some of her darker-skinned company members. She and her company frequently had difficulties finding adequate accommodations while on tour because in many regions of the country, black Americans were not allowed to stay at hotels.

While Dunham was recognized as “unofficially” representing American cultural life in her foreign tours, she was given very little assistance of any kind by the U.S. State Department. She had incurred the displeasure of departmental officials when her company performed Southland, a ballet that dramatized the lynching of a black man in the racist American South. Its premiere performance on December 9, 1950, at the Teatro Municipal in Santiago, Chile,[39][40] generated considerable public interest in the early months of 1951.[41] The State Department was dismayed by the negative view of American society that the ballet presented to foreign audiences. As a result, Dunham would later experience some diplomatic “difficulties” on her tours. The State Department regularly subsidized other less well-known groups, but it consistently refused to support her company (even when it was entertaining U.S. Army troops), although at the same time it did not hesitate to take credit for them as “unofficial artistic and cultural representatives”.

The Afonso Arinos Law in Brazil

In 1950, while visiting Brazil, Dunham and her group were refused rooms at a first-class hotel in São Paulo, the Hotel Esplanada, frequented by many American businessmen. Understanding that the fact was due to racial discrimination, she made sure the incident was publicized. The incident was widely discussed in the Brazilian press and became a hot political issue. In response, the Afonso Arinos law was passed in 1951 that made racial discrimination in public places a felony in Brazil.[42][43][44][45][46][47]

Hunger strike

In 1992, at age 83, Dunham went on a highly publicized hunger strike to protest the discriminatory U.S. foreign policy against Haitian boat-people. Time reported that, “she went on a 47-day hunger strike to protest the U.S.’s forced repatriation of Haitian refugees. “My job”, she said, “is to create a useful legacy.”[48] During her protest, Dick Gregory led a non-stop vigil at her home, where many disparate personalities came to show their respect, such Debbie Allen, Jonathan Demme, and Louis Farrakhan, leader of the Nation of Islam.

This initiative drew international publicity to the plight of the Haitian boat-people and U.S. discrimination against them. Dunham ended her fast only after exiled Haitian president Jean-Bertrand Aristide and Jesse Jackson came to her and personally requested that she stop risking her life for this cause. In recognition of her stance, President Aristide later awarded her a medal of Haiti’s highest honor.

Personal life

Dunham married Jordis McCoo, a black postal worker, in 1931, but he did not share her interests and they gradually drifted apart, finally divorcing in 1938. About that time Dunham met and began to work with John Thomas Pratt, a Canadian who had become one of America’s most renowned costume and theatrical set designers. Pratt, who was white, shared Dunham’s interests in African-Caribbean cultures and was happy to put his talents in her service. After he became her artistic collaborator, they became romantically involved. In the summer of 1941, after the national tour of Cabin in the Sky ended, they went to Mexico, where inter-racial marriages were less controversial than in the United States, and engaged in a commitment ceremony on 20 July, which thereafter they gave as the date of their wedding.[49] In fact, that ceremony was not recognized as a legal marriage in the United States, a point of law that would come to trouble them some years later. Katherine Dunham and John Pratt married in 1949 to adopt Marie-Christine, a French 14-month-old baby. From the beginning of their association, around 1938, Pratt designed the sets and every costume Dunham ever wore. He continued as her artistic collaborator until his death in 1986.

When she was not performing, Dunham and Pratt often visited Haiti for extended stays. On one of these visits, during the late 1940s, she purchased a large property of more than seven hectares (approximately 17.3 acres) in the Carrefours suburban area of Port-au-Prince, known as Habitation Leclerc. Dunham used Habitation Leclerc as a private retreat for many years, frequently bringing members of her dance company to recuperate from the stress of touring and to work on developing new dance productions. After running it as a tourist spot, with Vodun dancing as entertainment, in the early 1960s, she sold it to a French entrepreneur in the early 1970s.

In 1949, Dunham returned from international touring with her company for a brief stay in the United States, where she suffered a temporary nervous breakdown after the premature death of her beloved brother Albert. He had been a promising philosophy professor at Howard University and a protégé of Alfred North Whitehead. During this time, she developed a warm friendship with the psychologist and philosopher Erich Fromm, whom she had known in Europe. He was only one of a number of international celebrities who were Dunham’s friends. In December 1951, a photo of Dunham dancing with Ismaili Muslim leader Prince Ali Khan at a private party he had hosted for her in Paris appeared in a popular magazine and fueled rumors that the two were romantically linked.[50] Both Dunham and the prince denied the suggestion. The prince was then married to actress Rita Hayworth, and Dunham was now legally married to John Pratt; a quiet ceremony in Las Vegas had taken place earlier in the year.[51] The couple had officially adopted their foster daughter, a 14-month-old girl they had found as an infant in a Roman Catholic convent nursery in Fresnes, France. Named Marie-Christine Dunham Pratt, she was their only child.

Among Dunham’s closest friends and colleagues was Julie Robinson, formerly a performer with the Katherine Dunham Company, and her husband, singer and later political activist Harry Belafonte. Both remained close friends of Dunham for many years, until her death. Glory Van Scott and Jean-Léon Destiné were among other former Dunham dancers who remained her lifelong friends.[52]

Death

On May 21, 2006, Dunham died in her sleep from natural causes in New York City. She died a month before her 97th birthday. She wished her family a happy life. [53]

Legacy

Anthropology

Katherine Dunham predated, pioneered, and demonstrated new ways of doing and envisioning Anthropology six decades ahead of the discipline.

In the 1970s, scholars of Anthropology such as Dell Hymes and William S. Willis began to discuss Anthropology’s participation in scientific colonialism.[54] This wave continued throughout the 1990s with scholars publishing works (such as Decolonizing Anthropology: Moving Further in Anthropology for Liberation,[55] Decolonizing Methodologies,[56] and more recently, The Case for Letting Anthropology Burn[57]) that critique anthropology and the discipline’s roles in colonial knowledge production and power structures. Much of the literature calls upon researchers to go beyond bureaucratic protocols to protect communities from harm, but rather use their research to benefit communities that they work with.[54]

Six decades before this new wave of anthropological discourse began, Katherine Dunham’s work demonstrated anthropology being used as a force for challenging racist and colonial ideologies.[54] After recovering crucial dance epistemologies relevant to people of the African diaspora during her ethnographic research, she applied anthropological knowledge toward developing her own dance pedagogy (Dunham Technique) that worked to reconcile with the legacy of colonization and racism and correct sociocultural injustices.[54] Her dance education, while offering cultural resources for dealing with the consequences and realities of living in a racist environment, also brought about feelings of hope and dignity for inspiring her students to contribute positively to their own communities, and spreading essential cultural and spiritual capital within the U.S.[54]

Just like her colleague Zora Neale Hurston, Dunham’s anthropology inspired the blurring of lines between creative disciplines and anthropology.[58] Early on into graduate school, Dunham was forced to choose between finishing her master’s degree in anthropology and pursuing her career in dance. She describes this during an interview in 2002: “My problem – my strong drive at that time was to remain in this academic position that anthropology gave me, and at the same time continue with this strong drive for motion – rhythmic motion”.[59] She ultimately chose to continue her career in dance without her master’s degree in anthropology. A key reason for this choice was because she knew that through dance, her work would be able to be accessed by a wider array of audiences; more so than if she continued to limit her work within academia.[60]

However, this decision did not keep her from engaging with and highly influencing the discipline for the rest of her life and beyond. As one of her biographers, Joyce Aschenbrenner, wrote: “anthropology became a life-way”[2] for Dunham. Her choreography and performances made use of a concept within Dance Anthropology called “research-to-performance”.[2] Most of Dunham’s works previewed many questions essential to anthropology’s postmodern turn, such as critiquing understandings of modernity, interpretation, ethnocentrism, and cultural relativism.[61][62][63][64] During this time, in addition to Dunham, numerous Black women such as Zora Neal Hurston, Caroline Bond Day, Irene Diggs, and Erna Brodber were also working to transform the discipline into an anthropology of liberation: employing critical and creative cultural production.[54]

Numerous scholars describe Dunham as pivotal to the fields of Dance Education, Applied Anthropology, Humanistic Anthropology, African Diasporic Anthropology and Liberatory Anthropology. Additionally, she was named one of the most influential African American anthropologists. She was a pioneer of Dance Anthropology, established methodologies of ethnochoreology, and her work gives essential historical context to current conversations and practices of decolonization within and outside of the discipline of anthropology.[54] Her legacy within Anthropology and Dance Anthropology continues to shine with each new day.

Dance

Anna Kisselgoff, a dance critic for The New York Times, called Dunham “a major pioneer in Black theatrical dance … ahead of her time.” “In introducing authentic African dance-movements to her company and audiences, Dunham—perhaps more than any other choreographer of the time—exploded the possibilities of modern dance expression.”

As one of her biographers, Joyce Aschenbrenner, wrote: “Today, it is safe to say, there is no American black dancer who has not been influenced by the Dunham Technique, unless he or she works entirely within a classical genre”,[2] and the Dunham Technique is still taught to anyone who studies modern dance.

The highly respected Dance magazine did a feature cover story on Dunham in August 2000 entitled “One-Woman Revolution”. As Wendy Perron wrote, “Jazz dance, ‘fusion,’ and the search for our cultural identity all have their antecedents in Dunham’s work as a dancer, choreographer, and anthropologist. She was the first American dancer to present indigenous forms on a concert stage, the first to sustain a black dance company…. She created and performed in works for stage, clubs, and Hollywood films; she started a school and a technique that continue to flourish; she fought unstintingly for racial justice.”

Scholar of the arts Harold Cruse wrote in 1964: “Her early and lifelong search for meaning and artistic values for black people, as well as for all peoples, has motivated, created opportunities for, and launched careers for generations of young black artists … Afro-American dance was usually in the avant-garde of modern dance … Dunham’s entire career spans the period of the emergence of Afro-American dance as a serious art.”

Black writer Arthur Todd described her as “one of our national treasures”. Regarding her impact and effect he wrote: “The rise of American Negro dance commenced … when Katherine Dunham and her company skyrocketed into the Windsor Theater in New York, from Chicago in 1940, and made an indelible stamp on the dance world… Miss Dunham opened the doors that made possible the rapid upswing of this dance for the present generation.” “What Dunham gave modern dance was a coherent lexicon of African and Caribbean styles of movement—a flexible torso and spine, articulated pelvis and isolation of the limbs, a polyrhythmic strategy of moving—which she integrated with techniques of ballet and modern dance.” “Her mastery of body movement was considered ‘phenomenal.’ She was hailed for her smooth and fluent choreography and dominated a stage with what has been described as ‘an unmitigating radiant force providing beauty with a feminine touch full of variety and nuance.”

Richard Buckle, ballet historian and critic, wrote: “Her company of magnificent dancers and musicians … met with the success it has and that herself as explorer, thinker, inventor, organizer, and dancer should have reached a place in the estimation of the world, has done more than a million pamphlets could for the service of her people.”

“Dunham’s European success led to considerable imitation of her work in European revues … it is safe to say that the perspectives of concert-theatrical dance in Europe were profoundly affected by the performances of the Dunham troupe.”

While in Europe, she also influenced hat styles on the continent as well as spring fashion collections, featuring the Dunham line and Caribbean Rhapsody, and the Chiroteque Française made a bronze cast of her feet for a museum of important personalities.”

The Katherine Dunham Company became an incubator for many well known performers, including Archie Savage, Talley Beatty, Janet Collins, Lenwood Morris, Vanoye Aikens, Lucille Ellis, Pearl Reynolds, Camille Yarbrough, Lavinia Williams, and Tommy Gomez.

Alvin Ailey, who stated that he first became interested in dance as a professional career after having seen a performance of the Katherine Dunham Company as a young teenager of 14 in Los Angeles, called the Dunham Technique “the closest thing to a unified Afro-American dance existing.”

For several years, Dunham’s personal assistant and press promoter was Maya Deren, who later also became interested in Vodun and wrote The Divine Horseman: The Voodoo Gods of Haiti (1953). Deren is now considered to be a pioneer of independent American filmmaking. Dunham herself was quietly involved in both the Voodoo and Orisa communities of the Caribbean and the United States, in particular with the Lucumi tradition.

Not only did Dunham shed light on the cultural value of black dance, but she clearly contributed to changing perceptions of blacks in America by showing society that as a black woman, she could be an intelligent scholar, a beautiful dancer, and a skilled choreographer. As Julia Foulkes pointed out, “Dunham’s path to success lay in making high art in the United States from African and Caribbean sources, capitalizing on a heritage of dance within the African Diaspora, and raising perceptions of African American capabilities.”[65]

Awards and honors

Over the years Katherine Dunham has received scores of special awards, including more than a dozen honorary doctorates from various American universities.

Further reading

Das, Joanna Dee (2017). Katherine Dunham: dance and the African diaspora. ISBN978-0190264871.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Katherine_Dunham

Black History 365: Louis Alexander Southworth

We are highlighting examples of Black excellence throughout the year! Feel free to send us suggestions!

Louis (Lewis) “Lou” Alexander Southworth was born July 4, 1830, in Tennessee. His father’s name was Hunter, but since he was born into slavery his surname was that of his master, James Southworth.   In 1853, Louis and his mother, Pauline, immigrated to Oregon with James Southworth. In biographical accounts, Louis moved to Jacksonville and worked mining gold to earn money for buying his freedom.
Information also suggests he fought in the Rogue River Indian Wars in southern Oregon with Colonel John Kelsay’s company of volunteers. The muster roll for Kelsay’s Second Regiment does not include an entry for a Southworth, so it appears he wasn’t formally mustered in as a member of the company. However, according to Charles H. Carey’s General History of Oregon, Southworth was wounded during a skirmish in either March or April of 1856.   Louis moved to Yreka, California sometime around 1858, and made his livelihood playing the violin for local dancing schools, earning the $1000 ($27,000 in today’s dollars) necessary to buy his freedom. After Louis bought his freedom, James Southworth circulated a petition in Lane County to protect “slave property.” The petition made its way to the state legislature but it was not adopted and Louis was free from Southworth.

In 1868, Louis took up residence in Buena Vista, purchasing land and establishing a blacksmith shop and livery stable. He married Mary Cooper in 1873. Mary had adopted a boy, Alvin McCleary, who was born in San Francisco of Jamaican parents. Taking advantage of the Homestead Act which had no race restrictions, Louis and his family moved to a homestead near Waldport where Louis operated a scow, ferrying passengers and cargo across the Alsea River. During the summers Southworth worked near Philomath and Corvallis, helping with the hay and wheat harvests to earn money for winter supplies.
According a 1932 article in the Oregon Journal, stepson Alvin reminisced:

“Lou had a good rifle and was a crack shot. We always had plenty of deer, elk and bear meat and…There was plenty of salmon, trout, clams and crabs here; so we lived well.”
Louis Southworth died June 23, 1917 in Corvallis, Oregon at the age of 86. He was survived by his second wife, Josephine Jackson, whom he married in 1913. His stepson, Alvin McCleary, continued to live and work in Lincoln County and eventually served as a city councilman in Waldport, Oregon.
View 1859 petition to protect property including slaves.
View 1873 marriage license affidavit for Louis Southworth and Mary Cooper.
View the 1886 land claim patent for Louis Southworth.
Read “A Legacy Beyond the Generations” by Peggy Baldwin, MLS (with endnotes).

https://sos.oregon.gov/archives/exhibits/black-history/Pages/families/southworth.aspx

Black History 365: Roscoe Conkling Giles

We are highlighting examples of Black excellence throughout the year! Feel free to send us suggestions!

Roscoe Conkling Giles (1890–1970) was an American medical doctor and surgeon. He was the first African American to earn a degree from Cornell University Medical College.[1] Giles worked as a surgeon at Provident Hospital in Chicago, and served as the hospital’s Chairman of the Division of General Surgery.[2] In 1915, he became the first African American to lead a city health department.[3] He was elected President of the National Medical Association in 1935.[2]

Early life and education

Dr. Giles was born on May 6, 1890 in Albany, New York to the Reverend Francis F. Giles and Laura Caldwell Giles. He graduated from Boys High School in Brooklyn, New York in 1907 and won a scholarship to attend Cornell University in Ithaca, New York. He became one of four students to be initiated into the second class of Alpha Phi Alpha, drafting their fraternity ritual and assisting in drafting their constitution.[4] He became treasurer of the national fraternity while at Cornell and was elected the first president of the Alpha Alumni Chapter while attending Cornell University Medical College in New York City in 1913.

He graduated from Cornell University Medical College in 1915 as the first African American graduate of the program. Dr. Giles reportedly received death threats and was asked to leave the institution due to the color of his skin, though he stayed and graduated with honors.[5][6][7]

Career

Between 1915 to 1917 Dr. Giles interned at Provident Hospital in Chicago, Illinois. He passed the exam for Junior Physician at the Municipal Tuberculosis Sanitarium and at the Oak Forest Infirmary at the top of the Civil Service list; while certification was obtained eventually, his appointment was denied due to the color of his skin.[8] In 1917 Dr. Giles was appointed a supervisor of the Health Department by Mayor William Hale Thompson. He was associated with Dr. U.G. Dailey from 1917 to 1925. Dr. Giles became Assistant Attending Surgeon (1917-1925), Attending Surgeon (1925-1955) and Honorary Attending Surgeon (1956-1970) at Provident Hospital. He was affiliated with a number of professional organizations and involved in professional activities throughout his life, including serving as President of the National Medical Association (NMA). He is known within the NMA for chairing what came to be called the “Giles Committee” that successfully lobbied the American Medical Association (AMA) for the removal of the abbreviation “col.” after the names of African-American physicians listed in AMA Directory of physicians. The Committee continued as a “Special Liaison Committee” between the NMA and the AMA.[9]

Dr. Giles volunteered for service in the Medical Corps of the Army of the United States and entered as a Major, June 13, 1942. He was promoted to Lieutenant Colonel in 1944 and became Chief of the Medical Services at the Thousand Bed Station and Regional Hospital in Fort Huachuca, Arizona. Following World War II, he became a Lieutenant Colonel in the Organized Reserves of the U.S. Army until his death. In 1946 he was also appointed a Consultant in Surgery to the Secretary of War through the Surgeon General.

Personal life

Dr. Giles married Miss Francis Reeder and had two sons: Oscar DePriest Giles and Roscoe Conkling Giles, Jr.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roscoe_Conkling_Giles

Black History 365: Maria Davis-Pierre and Autism in Black

We are highlighting examples of Black excellence throughout the year! Feel free to send us suggestions!

Maria Davis-Pierre is the Founder and CEO of Autism in Black Inc. This organization aims to bring awareness to Autism and reduce the stigma associated with the diagnosis in the Black community. As a licensed therapist, Maria primarily works with parents to provide support through education and advocacy training. Her passion for working in the field stems from her personal journey when her daughter received the diagnosis at a very early age.

Maria graduated from Florida State University with a Bachelors of Science in Sociology and went on to obtain a Masters of Science in Mental Health Counseling from Nova Southeastern University. As a licensed mental health therapist, Maria primarily works with Black parents to provide support through education and advocacy training. Her passion for working in the field stems from her personal journey when her daughter received the diagnosis at a very early age.

In addition to therapy, Maria dons many other titles including coach, speaker, advocate, and author. Her first published work, a Self-Care Affirmation Journal, is currently available for purchase on Amazon. Maria’s unique approach to coaching and counseling exemplifies her drive and motivation toward greater acceptance and overcoming the barriers and personal struggles associated with raising a Black autistic child.

Advocacy, Education, Support

Autism in Black aims to provide support to Black parents who have a autistic child, through educational and advocacy services. Autism in Black is dedicated to bringing awareness to Autism and reducing the stigma in the black community.

Black History 365: Gary Bartz

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From bebop to hip-hop: Gary Bartz’s sax sound shapes many eras

June 23, 20222:58 PM ET

Sarah Geledi

From WBGO and Jazz At Lincoln Center 55-Minute Listen

Gary Bartz Jonathan Chimene/WBGO

For more than 60 years, saxophonist and composer Gary Bartz has been a central figure in jazz history. But for some reason, he hasn’t received his due. With that said, the late jazz critic Stanley Crouch, who often leaned into tradition, described Bartz as “one of the very best who has ever picked up the instrument.”

Name a jazz legend from the last century and there’s a good chance Mr. Bartz has a story about them, dating all the way back to Bird himself, Charlie Parker. In this episode, we’ll also hear stories of his many collaborations with those in the pantheon — Sonny Stitt; Max Roach; Art Blakey; Miles Davis; Charles Mingus — but we also learn why his artistry remains so present today, even perceived as an elder statesman in the hip hop music tradition.

Bartz’s stamp on the music continues to be absorbed by future generations via projects like Jazz Is Dead with Ali Shaheed Mohammad (Tribe Called Quest) and producer Adrian Younge. And now that he’s in his 80s (but looks at least 20 years younger), he’s rightfully getting his due.

As we’ll hear in this episode, which includes a heartfelt conversation with our host Christian McBride, his music has never sounded so present.

Musicians:

Gary Bartz, alto and soprano saxophone, vocals; Paul Bollenback, guitar; James King, bass; Greg Bandy, drums

Set List:

  • Moose The Mooche (Charlie Parker)
  • Uranus (Walter Davis Jr.)
  • The Stank (Gary Bartz)
  • I Can’t Help It (Stevie Wonder)
  • I’ve Known Rivers (Gary Bartz)
  • The Song of Loving-Kindness (Gary Bartz)

Credits:

Writer and Producer: Sarah Geledi. Producer: Alex Ariff; Host: Christian McBride; Concert engineer: Rob Macomber; Project Manager: Suraya Mohamed; Vice President of Visuals and Strategy at NPR Music: Keith Jenkins; Executive Producers: Anya Grundmann and Gabrielle Armand.

Special thanks to Tinku Bhattacharyya and Skyline Studios in Oakland

https://www.npr.org/2022/06/23/1106723714/from-bebop-to-hip-hop-gary-bartzs-sax-sound-shapes-many-eras

Black History 365: Louise Jenkins Meriwether

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Louise Jenkins Meriwether, a novelist, essayist, journalist and social activist, was the only daughter of Marion Lloyd Jenkins and his wife, Julia.  Meriwether was born May 8, 1923 in Haverstraw, New York to parents who were from South Carolina where her father worked as a painter and a bricklayer and her mother worked as a domestic.

After the stock market crash of October 24, 1929, Louise’s family migrated from Haverstraw to New York City.  They moved to Brooklyn first, and later to Harlem.  The third of five children, Louise grew up in the decade of the Great Depression, a time that would deeply affect her young life and ultimately influence her as a writer.

Despite her family’s financial plight, Louise Jenkins attended Public School 81 in Harlem and graduated from Central Commercial High School in downtown Manhattan. In the 1950’s, she received a B.A. degree in English from New York University before meeting and marrying Angelo Meriwether, a Los Angeles teacher.  Although this marriage and a later marriage to Earle Howe ended in divorce, Louise continues to use the Meriwether name.  In 1965, Louise earned an M.A. degree in journalism from the University of California at Los Angeles.

Meriwether was hired by Universal Studios in the 1950’s to became the first black story analyst in Hollywood’s history.  Beginning in the early 1960’s, Meriwether also wrote and published articles in the Los Angeles Sentinel on African Americans such as opera singer Grace Bumbry, Attorney Audrey Boswell, and Los Angeles jurist, Judge Vaino Spencer. In 1967, Meriwether joined the Watts Writers’ Workshop (a group created in response to the Watts Riot of 1965) and worked as a staff member of that project.

Her first book, Daddy Was a Number Runner, a fictional account of the economic devastation of Harlem in the Great Depression, appeared in 1970 as the first novel to emerge from the Watts Writers’ Workshop.  It received favorable reviews from authors James Baldwin and Paule Marshall.  Daddy Was a Number Runner, is a fictional account of the historical and sociological devastation of the economic Depression on Harlem residents.

Meriwether followed with the publication of three historical biographies for children on civil war hero Robert Smalls (1971), pioneer heart surgeon, Dr. Daniel Hale Williams (1972) and civil rights activist Rosa Parks (1973).  In addition to numerous short stories, Meriwether published novels, Fragments of the Ark (1994) and Shadow Dancing (2000). Louise Meriwether has taught creative writing at Sarah Lawrence College and the University of Houston.  She is a member of the Harlem Writers Guild.

Black History 365: Allyson Felix

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Allyson Felix launches a child care initiative for athlete moms

Allyson Felix is the most decorated U.S. track and field athlete in history. She has 11 Olympic medals, more than Carl Lewis (and Jamaica’s Usain Bolt).

And she’s running some of the last races of her professional career over the coming weeks, dedicating her last season to women athletes like her — especially mothers. Felix has spent recent years advocating for maternal health for Black women. She’s worked to ensure mothers have childcare support when competing.

“I felt like I had to win all the medals, do all the things, before I could even think about starting a family, and that’s something that I don’t want my daughter to feel,” she told NPR’s Morning Edition.

This week, she’s kicking off an initiative with her sponsor Athleta and the nonprofit group &Mother to provide free child care to athletes, coaches and staff at the U.S. Track and Field championships. Felix’s Team USA teammate and two-time world champion, Alysia Montaño, co-founded &Mother.

Felix, Athleta — through its Power of She Fund — and the Women’s Sports Foundation have also opened a third round of child care grants, providing female athletes $10,000 for child care expenses needed so they may train and compete. WSF and Athleta have so far awarded more than $200,000 in those grants.

The runner said the burden of child care costs is “the biggest barrier” to women continuing to compete at a high level.

Felix began her advocacy journey after becoming a mother in 2018. When she was 32 weeks pregnant, she was diagnosed with severe pre-eclampsia, a potentially life-threatening condition. She had to have an emergency C-section and her daughter spent the first month of her life in a neonatal intensive care unit.

“In track and field, the culture around pregnancy was silence. Athletes would either hide pregnancies to secure new contracts, or their contracts were in place were put on hold almost like they had an injury,” she said.

Felix spoke out against Nike when the company, her sponsor at the time, refused to pay her while she was on maternity leave. That protest led to changes in the maternity policy for athletes not only at Nike but at other athletic apparel companies, as well.

“I felt like I was being used in multiple marketing campaigns to tell women and girls that they could do anything when internally I was having such a hardship,” Felix explained.

“What I was asking for was when a woman has a baby to have time to recover to be able to get back to that top form. And essentially, they told me that I could have time but they weren’t ready to give all female athletes the time and they weren’t willing to tie anything to pregnancy in the contract. And so, for me, that was a real issue and a sticking point.”

The Nike representatives she dealt with at the time were men. “I just think how would that situation have been different if there were women at the table,” Felix said.

Another way that the athlete has supported women is through her sneaker brand, Saysh. The company has a unique return policy. Women whose shoe size goes up during pregnancy — a common change that can be permanent — can get a fresh pair of sneakers in their new size for free.

“It’s just a way really to … say we can show up and support women, and they don’t have to choose between motherhood and anything else,” Felix said.

At the end of this season, she plans to retire. Her last pro races are set to be the U.S. championships this week, June 23-26, and if she qualifies, she will then compete at the world championships in July. Both take place in Eugene, Oregon.

But she’ll still keep running, for herself, and for her daughter too.

“I might only have a few more years where I could beat her, but I got to stay ready,” Felix said.

“I am totally going to continue to train and to enjoy running. It brings me such pleasure and joy.”

https://www.npr.org/2022/06/21/1106261485/allyson-felix-launches-child-care-initiative-for-athlete-moms

Black History 365: Dua Saleh

We are highlighting examples of Black excellence throughout the year! Feel free to send us suggestions!

Check out more from Out Loud, our queer music column, here.

Before becoming a musician, Dua Saleh was more likely to be known for their activist work (protesting against the school-to-prison pipeline) or their spoken-word poetry (which has garnered hundreds of thousands of views via the hugely popular performance poetry platform Button Poetry). But after only beginning to record their seductive, mercurial music about two years ago, the 25-year-old Sudan-born nonbinary artist has already been called a “genius” by Moses Sumney and received critical acclaim for their 2019 debut Nūr EP.

But the best praise that Saleh has received so far hasn’t been public. Speaking from their apartment in Minnesota, they break their chill demeanor to geek out about the time when three of their all-time music heroes — Yasiin Bey, SZA, and Tierra Whack — complimented Saleh in person during the Twin Cities hip-hop festival Soundset last year. “I think all of that happened in one day,” they say incredulously over FaceTime, as if they still couldn’t believe it.

The influence of these three musicians can certainly be heard in Saleh’s genre-agnosticism and their fluid vocals, which move between deliciously tactile rapping and spellbinding singing. But their writing style is unlike that of any other artist. Throughout Nūr, they established a talent for depicting both the splendors and pitfalls of queer love by using mischievous wordplay and imagery. But now, on their upcoming ROSETTA EP (out in June via Against Giants), Saleh continues to merge the serious and playful by pushing their work into more fantastical, mystical territory.

Saleh was born in Sudan, but their family had to flee the country due to the Second Sudanese Civil War. After briefly living in an Eritrean refugee camp, their family eventually moved to various cities in the U.S. There, they began burrowing into the Qu’ran, reading Black American YA literature, and writing poetry, which sometimes concerned some of their teachers. “My family was experiencing homelessness,” they explain. “I was dealing with other things that I don’t necessarily want to name. Some teachers could sense that I was in a dark place.” Still, they succeeded in publishing their written poetry, and later, as an adult, started doing slam poetry.

Though they first came out as nonbinary as a college sophomore, Saleh emphatically says, “I always been on gay shit.” One early memory of their burgeoning queerness is when they became the Vice President of their high school Gay-Straight Alliance — which their mom wasn’t too thrilled about. “I think she found LGBT pamphlets from my GSA so she put me in Dugsi, which is an Islamic school [in Minnesota],” they say, explaining that it contributed to their Muslim identity even though they’re not “religious in the institutional sense.” Their queerness and cultural background meet on ROSETTA. The track “smut” marks Saleh’s first released song that’s partially in Arabic (their first language), but with a twist, as they switch between different gendered nouns and create their own “gender-neutral” words.

Even when discussing complex, heady concepts, Saleh’s silliness and deft humor shines through — in their music and throughout our conversation. They explain that part of ROSETTA’s intention is satire, so they created an alter-ego called Lucifer LaBelle (named after the fallen angel and the gospel singer Patti LaBelle) to inhabit. The character became a way to reclaim the “You’re going to hell”-type sentiments often lobbed at queer people by religious zealots, and it’s most explicit on the project’s ripping rock-inflected track “hellbound,” released last Friday. The accompanying music video features clips from the anime series “Crybaby Devilman,” using its elements of dark fantasy to further emphasize how powerful Saleh’s demonic persona is.

In the weeks leading up to ROSETTA, Saleh chatted with them. about their “explicitly queer” new project, their love of anime, and connecting to Sudanese listeners through Arabic.


When did you decide to start doing music?

I started doing some poetry sophomore year of college, because I was broke and trying to get money. I was living alone, and then I went through an intense depressive episode because of things that were happening in my life: family, relationships, and college. I don’t know what happened, but something [in my body] compelled me to start singing and start writing songs. I have no explanation for what it was; I just was depressed and needed [to let] something out. Then, I started trying to perform the songs at open mics just to see how people would respond, and they responded very well, so I started making songs on my phone. I think one person saw me perform a song at a poetry slam and booked me for an event. I was like, “Hm, maybe I can make some money off of this,” which is terrible to think about it in that way. [laughs]

How did you get started in the slam poetry scene in Minnesota?

I started by going to this one called Button Poetry. They had a monthly slam poetry event. It’s at a bar somewhere in deep St. Paul, and people from all over the US try to come in to perform, I think because they want the notoriety attached to it. I wasn’t thinking about that. I was like “Hm, $300?” I never won any, but that’s just because I kept accidentally and intentionally breaking the rules.

What rules were you breaking?

When I started singing some people didn’t think of that as authentic poetry. Sometimes I would do two short poems instead of one. I would just do whatever I felt, which was not beneficial at all to my bank account. I probably need to relax enough off that, even with music because I just do whatever I want to.

How does that “rule breaking” mentality carry over to music?

There’s a certain level to which I’m thinking about the songs’ intention and thinking about their implications and impact. But sometimes, I don’t know. Even with “umbrellar,” it was kind of just a joke song. Then I thought maybe people would like it because the melodies and obviously Psymun and Andrew Broder‘s production is really amazing. But the narrative is a sci-fi song about my ex and saying she’s a witch? Even the ad libs are very comical. Every time I hear the songs, I laugh a little bit inside.

I’m assuming because of the title, the EP is inspired by Sister Rosetta Tharpe, right?

I was thinking about Sister Rosetta Tharpe and Marie Knight’s relationship that ended up not really manifesting. They were in a relationship, which is speculated by a lot of the people in their lives. But [the family of] Marie Knight [died in] an accident, and they could no longer be together because she was spiraling through depression and grief. All the songs were recorded before I thought about Sister Rosetta Tharpe and her impact… or even about it being sonically infused with rock and roll. But thinking about it afterwards, I was like, “How can I imagine queer love in a way that’s radical and that has profound complexity?”

Why are you drawn to anime and what does it provide for you in your life?

It provides a sense of escapism that live-action content doesn’t provide. I can find myself in certain characters, in both their strengths and flaws. In sci-fi manga [and anime], humans can morph into beings outside of the common scope of reality. The main characters often tap into a tremendous amount of untapped energy. There’s a transmutational process that goes beyond any human capabilities. It’s intriguing for a trans person like myself, especially being nonbinary.

Can you tell me about your choice to sing in Arabic on “smut” and what you’re saying on the song?

At the time when I was making that song, I was working with the Minnesota Sudanese community, who were doing a lot of organizing around the protests and riots in Sudan. I was thinking a lot about what was happening there. A lot of imagery stemmed from that [including] one word in particular: Kandaka, which means “queen” in ancient Nubian. It’s something that was used because women in Sudan are the vanguards of most of the political movements, especially this previous one. I was thinking about the implications of Kandaka, then Kundaka came out of it. Instead of Kandaka meaning queen, Kundaka would be like me imagining nonbinary or gender nonspecific royalty. I knew that it didn’t mean anything, but I guess I queered it.

I said a lot more. It’s kind of hard to translate in English. “It came from one place. It came from a dry place. It came from ground that fell.” It’s more imagery. I was thinking about Sudan, and how, in English, [the name] translates to meaning “land of the Blacks.” There’s a lot of speculation about where specifically the first few people [came from]. I was thinking about the erasure of Sudan. I was also thinking about pyramids and the enslavement of Sudanese people for the creation of Egyptian pyramids. Sudan has more pyramids than Egypt, but Egypt is credited for a lot of [symbols of] Blackness and romanticized in that sense. I’m not really using it as a dichotomy, but I was thinking about that at the time I was writing it.

It’s not the first song I’ve written in Arabic, but I wanted to break into the Sudani market. It’s super nice to see people in the audience who understand what you’re saying and who are from where you’re from. I got a taste of that [playing] at this benefit concert by Everyday People that had a fully Sudani lineup. I got to perform to a crowd full of Sudani people, and it lifted my spirits in a way that I didn’t think was possible. I was like, “Maybe I should release some music in Arabic so my Sudani listeners can feel the same thing.”

Interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.

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https://www.them.us/story/dua-saleh-rosetta-ep-interview

Black History 365: Andrea Dalzell

We are highlighting examples of Black excellence throughout the year! Feel free to send us suggestions!

New Mobility Person of the Year: Andrea Dalzell

January 4, 2021

Teal Sherer


At 6:45 p.m., on a warm spring evening, Andrea Dalzell pushes into the Montefiore Medical Center in the Bronx, New York City. COVID-19 cases are surging. Dalzell, a registered nurse, drops off snacks to share in the staff lounge, puts on protective gear, and huddles up with her coworkers around a white dry erase board. For the next 12-plus hours, Dalzell, who typically has six to eight patients, and up to 13 when the floor is short-staffed, administers medication, tends to wounds, gives baths and suctions the airways of those on vents. She holds patients’ hands when they need comforting, FaceTimes with their family members and responds to codes. The stakes are high and the work is emotionally taxing, but Dalzell is exactly where she wants to be — at the bedside caring for patients.

At 33, Dalzell is the only registered nurse she knows of in New York City who uses a wheelchair, and she is forging a path for people with disabilities in healthcare. “Andrea is a pioneer,” says Karen McCulloh, a nurse with multiple disabilities who co-founded the National Organization of Nurses with Disabilities in 2003. “Nursing with a disability is still not completely accepted.”

Despite repeatedly having her abilities questioned through school and being repeatedly denied acute care nursing jobs, Dalzell answered Governor Andrew Cuomo’s plea for assistance as COVID-19 cases overwhelmed New York City hospitals. “I just wanted to help,” she says. Dalzell’s knowledge of ventilators, gained from having friends who use them, proved valuable, and her co-workers and superiors took notice.

In recognition of her achievements, the Craig H. Neilsen Foundation selected Dalzell as one of the inaugural recipients of its Visionary Prize and awarded her $1 million to use at her discretion. Dalzell is still figuring out how she will use the money, but has already started a foundation to help bridge the gap between education and employment for people with physical disabilities.

We have no doubt that whatever Dalzell does will continue to build on the progress she has made, and we’re excited to see what her future holds. Her tenacity, compassion and vision are exemplary and shape her vocal leadership in a key, often-overlooked field. On the heels of a relentless and trying year, where the importance of public health and the essential nature of health care workers were constantly reinforced, it’s hard to imagine a more ideal person to honor as the 2020 NEW MOBILITY Person of the Year.

Dalzell was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York. She was diagnosed with transverse myelitis, an inflammation of the spinal cord that causes pain, muscle weakness and paralysis, when she was 5 years old. Even at a young age she was a force to be reckoned with. Dalzell laughs recalling a recent conversation with her childhood rehab doctor. “She said, ‘Andrea, you are grown, you are beautiful. I always knew you were going to be someone in the world, because even at 5 you were feisty, you were smart, you knew what you needed and you ran the show,’” says Dalzell. “That is very interesting for me to hear because I run the show now.”

Dalzell attributes her tenacity to her parents, first-generation immigrants from Guyana, who encouraged hard work and perseverance. “I told Andrea, don’t let anyone ever tell you there is something you can’t do,” says her mother, Sharon Dalzell. “Just look at them straight in the face and say, ‘Watch me.’ As long as you do it in the right way, you’ll reap the benefits in the years to come.”

As a child, Dalzell alternated using a walker, crutches and wheelchair, but by age 12, she used a wheelchair full-time. “The hardest part about it was the bullying,” she says. “In junior high, I was being pulled out of classes for resource room, PT and OT — and that labels you. We don’t educate kids about disability, so they don’t know, and they say things.”

During her freshman year of high school, Dalzell got a MetroCard, which allowed her to take the city buses to and from school on her own, instead of the traditional yellow school bus. “As a teenager clamoring to feel normal and accepted, this was huge,” she says. “It allowed me to be social and have a dating life. It gave me the opportunity to go to student council and be a part of the senior committee. I was part of the gospel chorus that went on trips across the nation.”

Though Dalzell felt capable, a school counselor referred to her as someone with “three strikes”— meaning that since she is black, disabled and a female, she wouldn’t go far in life. “I just remember thinking that I didn’t want that to happen,” she says.

Road to Nursing

Dalzell has had 33 major surgeries and used to jokingly blame the doctors for all of her pain. “I’d tell my orthopedic surgeon that I was going to be a lawyer and come back and sue him,” she says. While recovering from sepsis in the hospital, this same doctor signed her out so she could attend junior high school graduation. He even attended the ceremony to make sure she was OK. “In my memory book, he wrote, ‘Please, anything but a lawyer!’ So, I figured if you can’t beat them, join them. I decided I was going to be a doctor so I could figure out how I could cure pain, because no one should go through the pain that I have been through.”

While studying biology and neuroscience at the City University of New York’s College of Staten Island and auditing medical school classes, Dalzell realized that doctors treat the disease, not the person. “I was much more interested in working hands-on and caring for people, just like my nurses did throughout my life,” she says. “They took my mom’s place when she couldn’t be there, and they knew how to make me smile even when I felt like I was at rock bottom.” Dalzell, who had never seen a nurse in a wheelchair, applied to CUNY College of Staten Island’s nursing program in 2016 and got accepted.

During orientation, a professor pulled Dalzell aside, assuming she could not do bedside care from her chair, and dismissed her for the day. “I told them that the ADA says that you can’t kick me out of a program that I’ve already been accepted to, and that I would stay,” she says. Afterwards, Dalzell went to the school’s Office for Students with Disabilities and the Office for Diversity and Inclusion to see what legal action she could take.

Throughout the meetings that followed, Dalzell promised to communicate whatever accommodations she might require. She made it clear: “I need you to trust that as a nurse I am going to put patient safety and my safety first.”

Between professors doubting her capabilities and the constant pressure to prove herself, nursing school was more challenging than Dalzell expected. “There was this weight of never being allowed to be a student. What if I couldn’t reach something? How would I be able to play that out in front of the teachers? How would I be able to keep my wheelchair clean, hold this, wipe this, turn a patient, and carry a basin full of water? All of these things are running through my mind.”

To help quell these fears, Dalzell started boxing. Gaining strength and stamina made the above tasks easier and allowed her to perform chest compressions to pass the CPR test. In February 2018, Dalzell passed her boards and became a registered nurse. She finished her bachelor of science in nursing later that year with high marks.

Dalzell will never forget the look she received from a wound care nurse she was shadowing in the BSN program. “It was this utter look of ‘what am I supposed to do with her,’” she says. The nurse tried to push Dalzell’s wheelchair and when Dalzell offered to grab supplies for a patient’s room she replied, “Are you sure you can go get it?”

“I kept thinking to myself I need to move more, be more flexible,” says Dalzell. “I didn’t want someone to think that I couldn’t do it. Not realizing that it was her actions that were wrong, I placed it on myself.”

Finding a Job

After graduation, Dalzell applied for acute care nursing jobs in hopes of building a strong foundation. “Why not have me there when someone is newly injured or dealing with having a stroke or diabetes?” she asks. “They get to see me living my life and taking care of them.” Dalzell had 76 interviews for nursing positions in hospitals and was rejected for all of them.

“The first 10 or so interviews I never brought up my disability, but then I realized something had to give because I was having great interviews,” she says. Dalzell began discussing her disability and how she handles certain situations, like ambulating patients and performing CPR, but that didn’t help.

“There is this very old-fashioned Florence Nightingale view that nurses are pristine in appearance, healthy and well. Though most people with disabilities are healthy, we are constantly being challenged about our abilities,” says McCulloh, who was working in neurosurgery intensive care nursing in the late 1980s when she began experiencing symptoms of multiple sclerosis. “And though there is a gradual movement towards more diversity and inclusion initiatives in healthcare, we are not there yet.”

While trying to secure a position in a hospital, Dalzell worked as the health director at Rising Treetops at Oakhurst, a camp for kids and adults with physical and intellectual disabilities. “I went there as a camper when I was young, and it was great to be back,” she says. “There was this unspoken understanding between me and the campers. Not only do I understand what they are going through medically, but I understand it as a peer.”

Dalzell then moved on to case management, which she hated. “It’s heart wrenching telling people that certain things aren’t covered by insurance or that they don’t qualify for certain services,” she says. “I also don’t like being behind a desk.”

Dalzell was working as a school nurse when the COVID-19 pandemic hit in March 2020, and schools closed throughout the country.

Answering the Plea For Nurses

Quarantining at home in Brooklyn with her parents and two siblings, Dalzell updated her resume and applied for jobs. “I had staffing agencies tell me, ‘We can’t place you. We don’t think anyone’s going to want you,’” she says. “I had two interviews for dialysis positions. The first person claimed he forgot he made the appointment when he saw me, and when the second found out I use a wheelchair, I heard him tell his assistant, ‘In a wheelchair? For an interview? No way. Nurses can’t be in chairs.’”

As the number of COVID-19 cases grew, the door opened for Dalzell. Answering Governor Andrew Cuomo’s plea for nursing help, she filled out an online survey for placement and saw Montefiore Medical Center’s human resources number listed. She called and left a message, assuming she wouldn’t hear back. But 15 minutes later, the phone rang, and she was hired.

Dalzell picked up her credentials and went through a half-day of training without a hitch. But, before the day ended, the director of nursing pulled her off the floor, questioning her abilities. “I asked her if she had spoken to HR, because they hired me,” says Dalzell. “She told me she didn’t mean to be offensive, and I went back to work. After that, they all sang my praises.”

Saskia Hosein, an RN at Montefiore, remembers the first time she saw Dalzell. “We have computers on wheels, and Andrea was pushing her wheelchair as well as the computer,” says Hosein. “I asked her if she needed help, thinking that is the right thing to do.” Though Dalzell declined her help, they immediately connected. “As nondisabled people, we have this image in our mind that people with disabilities can do less, but with Andrea it was the complete opposite,” explains Hosein. “That first night I met her she had an 11-patient load, which is a lot. She was calm, focused and was just getting it done.”

Dalzell kept a reacher in the storage unit for when she needed access to something up high, and before every shift made sure her computer workstation was stocked with needles, tubing and IV drips. On top of the emotional stress of caring for patients during a pandemic, Dalzell felt pressure to prove herself. “I didn’t want to make any mistakes,” Dalzell told Dr. Dan Weberg on The Handoff, a podcast about nursing. “Everyone triple checks their patients’ medications, I am checking mine 20 times. I am in my patient’s room every 20 to 30 minutes, because I don’t want them falling. There was this overwhelming feeling that something could go wrong and I had to prevent it.”

Dalzell drew on her family for emotional support. Both her parents also worked the frontlines, her mom providing meals to hospital employees, and her dad sanitizing patients’ rooms. “She would call me some nights, ‘Mom, we lost seven patients.’ It was really, really bad,” says Sharon Dalzell. “I prepared a bag with Lysol spray and wipes and left it at the front door for when she came home in the morning.”

Andrea also found strength in the camaraderie of her fellow staff. “What we forget is that nursing is teamwork,” says Dalzell. “I was able to be there when someone was overwhelmed and say, ‘Hey, do you need help?’ or ‘Hey, can you give that medication and I’ll take care of that wound.’ And I wasn’t afraid to ask for help when I needed it.”

“Andrea is a great nurse,” says Hosein. “I think her disability and what she’s gone through only makes her a better one. It’s personal and she’s invested.”

Despite being denied acute care jobs, Dalzell had shown she could do the work — and through a pandemic. In June, as COVID-19 cases declined, Dalzell’s contract ended. It was difficult for her to say goodbye. “Anything that I ever asked for came true, and I didn’t want it to go away,” she says.

Dalzell tried to stay on in a full-time position, but was not hired, and had interviews at other hospitals. “I had to stop,” she says. “It took a mental hit on me to go through that rejection again. What else do I have to do to prove myself?”

Represent

Andrea Dalzell knows it’s important for people to see someone like her — a black, disabled woman — out in the world and represented in the media. This is why she starred in the ad campaign for Apple Watch, participated in the Raw Beauty Project and became Ms. Wheelchair New York 2015.

“Being Ms. Wheelchair New York opened me up to the disability world,” says Dalzell. “Having that platform and using my voice to advocate for others and not just for myself was huge. My voice transcended beyond my own needs.” That same year, a photo of her was featured online in O, The Oprah Magazine as part of a story about the Raw Beauty Project.

Doing the Apple Watch spot in 2018 was a big deal for Dalzell and she lights up when she talks about it. It shows her using the watch to track her work-outs – pushing, hand cycling and boxing. “It’s important to see people like you out in the world and represented in these big spaces,” she says.

Visionary Prize Winner

On a rainy September morning in Brooklyn, T.J. Holmes, a correspondent for Good Morning America, knocked on Dalzell’s front door to inform her she had won the Craig H. Neilsen Visionary Prize. Broadcasting live across the country, Holmes invited her to the front yard where a canopy of blue and gold balloons covered a screen playing a video showcasing her achievements. With her mom, sister and brother by her side, Holmes pulled down a banner to reveal $1,000.  He kept expanding the number by revealing more zeros.

“Then T.J. says, ‘What could you do with $10,000?’ and I’m like a lot,” says Dalzell. “Then [he showed] $100,000 and I’m automatically thinking I won’t have school loans. And then he says $1,000,000 and I think my brain blanked. I thought there is no way you are giving me anything because I didn’t do anything to deserve this.”

The Visionary Prize was established to honor the memory and legacy of Craig H. Neilsen, an entrepreneur with an SCI who strove to improve life for others living with spinal cord injuries. Dalzell is one of three recipients of the inaugural award. “Andrea is a role model and an advocate,” says the foundation’s executive director Kym Eisner. “She is willing to share her story and fight for equality, in both the workplace and the community at large.”

“In the long run, I don’t want the prize to just benefit me, I want it to benefit others,” says Dalzell. She is working towards a master’s degree in nursing and already started a foundation, The Seated Position, to help people with physical disabilities obtain professional employment. “I am beyond grateful because I wouldn’t be this far without every single person who has come into my life, whether it’s been good or bad, because everyone gave me an experience that has shaped who I am right now.”

The Seated Nurse on Instagram

Known on Instagram as @theseatednurse, Andrea Dalzell posts raw, empowering and relatable stories. “Even though I put out motivational things, I am doing it as a reminder to myself,” says Dalzell, who has over 24,000 followers. “I am glad that other people are able to pull from it, but it really just started from me saying ‘You know what, I need to see myself as better. I am trying to accept myself every day.”

Pausing between two hospital beds, Dalzell reflected on how she has slept in rooms like this one since she was 5 years old. “At one point I lived within the four walls of a hospital room for months on end fighting for my life. I know the depression that sets in when lying in these uncomfortable beds. I know the frustration of not being as independent as you want to be. To be the needy patient because you want to see someone and not feel alone. What it’s like to be scared, praying for a miracle and what it’s like to want to give up,” her Instagram caption reads. “This time around I’m the caregiver! Here with a heart touched by all those who once cared for me.”

Dalzell told her Instagram followers that she was nervous when she finally secured a nursing position in a hospital. All of the questions about how she would be able to be a bedside nurse “burned in my head when I realized I couldn’t reach the IV lines on the top shelf in the supply room my first day. They seared when I had asked for help to reach a feed stuck on a IV pole or to release a brake on a newer bed,” she wrote. Then she added, “Here’s the thing: Wheelchair users are innovators. We constantly have to think about ways to get things done.”

“All those questions are silent now,” she wrote.

“Here’s to all the students turned away from nursing schools because of your perceived disability.

To all the nursing students told to drop classes because your disability was too much for them.

To all the nurses that made it through school and couldn’t get placement, told to find another career, told that you could never work in acute care, told to go against your dreams.

Here is to the naysayers, the nonbelievers, the misconceptions, the discrimination, the biases.

Most of all: Here’s to you believing in YOU!”