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

Elton Clay Fax, a prolific African-American cartoonist, author, and illustrator, was born on October 9, 1909, in Baltimore, Maryland. His parents were Mark Oakland Fax, a clerk, and Willie Estelle Fax, a seamstress. Elton’s younger brother, Mark, was a music prodigy who worked as a composer later in life. Elton attended Claflin College, a historically black college in South Carolina and then transferred to Syracuse University in New York where he earned a Bachelor of Fine Arts (BFA) degree in 1931. In 1929 he married Grace Elizabeth Turner, with whom he had three children.

In 1935 Fax returned to Claflin College to teach art. After one year, he left Claflin and began teaching with the federal government’s Works Progress Administration (WPA) in New York City until 1940, at which point he became a freelancer. Fax’s work gathered attention at several art showings, including a 1932 solo exhibition in Baltimore where two nude paintings stirred controversy; the Baltimore Art Museum in 1939; and the 1940 American Negro Exposition in Chicago, Illinois.

Several black newspapers ran Susabelle, Fax’s popular newspaper comic strip, starting in 1942. From 1949, Fax spent seven years delivering “chalk-talks,” stories accompanied by live illustrations. Fax and his family frequently traveled, living in Mexico from 1953 to 1956 and later visiting South America. During the following decades, Fax’s travels took him around the world, particularly to Africa. In his visits to African nations, he delivered his famous “chalk-talks,” often on the topic of the American civil rights struggle.

Throughout his career, Fax illustrated over thirty books and numerous magazine articles. He wrote extensively on black culture as well, publishing several books and regularly contributing essays to a variety of magazines and newspapers. West African Vignettes (1960), his first book, detailed his African travels; later, he wrote Through Black Eyes (1974) about his journeys in East Africa and the Soviet Union. Other notable books include Garvey (1972), a biography of Black Nationalist Marcus Garvey, and Seventeen Black Artists (1971), for which he won the Coretta Scott King Award.

Many of Fax’s writings and artwork from 1930–1972 were compiled into the Elton Fax Papers, located in the archives of the New York Public Library, Boston University in Massachusetts, and Syracuse University. Elton Fax passed away on May 13, 1993, in Queens, New York.

Elton Fax (1909-1993)

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

Nellie Morrow Parker (1902-1998) was the first African American public school teacher in Hackensack, Bergen County.

As a young woman, Nellie taught fifth and sixth grade in the Hackensack public schools. The initial circumstances surrounding her appointment as a teacher were quite controversial. The district Superintendent William Stark acted against popular opinion at the time by hiring Parker. Consequently, Stark’s professional career suffered; the day after he hired Parker, Superintendent Stark resigned from his position.

During her early years of teaching, Parker and her family were subject to criticism by the Daughters of the American Revolution and the Knights of Columbus, and subject to harassment by the Ku Klux Klan. The community held town meetings, the press voiced disapproval, and friends and strangers rebuked the Morrow family. Despite the tumultuous start to her teaching career, Parker remained in the Hackensack school system for 42 years. Parker was also a founding member of Black Women’s Business and Professional Organization and helped establish the Mary McLeod Bethune Scholarship Fund.

https://njwomenshistory.org/discover/biographies/nellie-morrow-parker/

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

Black Sands Entertainment Founder, Manuel Godoy, Crafts an Immersive Comic Book Universe That Stands Out among the Rest

Countless storytelling mediums have evolved over the years, but none have ever come as far as holding a tight grip on our modern popular culture as much as comic books have. The love for comic books as a visual medium is a form of affection that is universally felt. However, it is clear that the field has been predominantly white for many years now. Manuel Godoy stands at the forefront of change for the comic book industry, forging his own career by creating comic books as an African American citizen.

Manuel Godoy is the only African American comic book publisher in our modern world. The heavy responsibility that his title entails means that he is giving it his all to represent his community. He fully intends to add to his current success by inspiring more people of color to consider the comic book industry as a promising endeavor. 

His company Black Sands Entertainment has been a massively lucrative venture for the esteemed comic book publisher. After years and years of hard work, sleepless nights, and countless challenges, Manuel Godoy is proud to say that his company has amassed massive revenues over the years. 

“I originally wanted to be a video game developer, but I did not have the means to finish my first project, so I pivoted to a more sustainable career in comics,” explained Manuel. “Little did I know it would turn out so well.”

Manuel Godoy is a US Army veteran and an Economics major who began writing comic books once he finished college. His original creation, “Black Sands, the Seven Kingdoms,” became an instant hit, allowing him to carve out his legacy within the comic book industry. For several years, Manuel’s company only maintained four core members, who worked night and day to sustain the demands of the business. Together, these four core members helped Manuel create the visuals of the Black Sands universe. 

The company’s growth has been nothing short of astounding. Nowadays, from its humble beginnings of just having four people, Black Sands Entertainment has several dozens of employees working diligently to maintain the brand’s status. Manuel Godoy maintains a set of principles and values that remind him of why he initially started his business in the first place.

He prioritizes controlling costs, attracting customers by offering reasonable rates, and recruiting exceptional talents at affordable rates. Growing together with the rest of his team is of utmost importance to him as a leader. He sees his own success to be the success of the entire team as well. Manuel is only truly fulfilled once he sees the same level of fulfillment within his employees. He hopes to elevate the lives of every single employee that is working with him, so they can further elevate Black Sands Entertainment. 

Manuel Godoy is making great strides towards transitioning the immersive universe of Black Sands into modern visual media. Plans for having “Black Sands: the Anime” are already in the works, and Manuel is extremely confident that licensing alone would greatly help his company.

From zero to hero, Manuel Godoy has come a long way from being the small-time comic book creator that he was. As the only African American comic book publisher in the world today, he is carrying the hopes of his people with him, much like a comic book hero. 

To know more about Black Sands Entertainment, make sure to drop by the company’s official website. Follow Black Sands Entertainment on Instagram and TikTok for more live updates.

Black Sands Entertainment Founder, Manuel Godoy, Crafts an Immersive Comic Book Universe That Stands Out among the Rest

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

Can classical music really be inclusive? Composer Jessie Montgomery thinks so

Jessie Montgomery is having a moment. Several moments at once, actually.

In the past several years, the 40-year-old composer and violinist has rapidly become a poster child for the shifting classical music canon — an artist who aims to overcome an institutional dependence on old dead white men by leveling the field for women and composers of color. In the upcoming concert season, her works will be performed by the Boston Symphony Orchestra, the Los Angeles Philharmonic and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, where she is currently the Mead Composer-in-Residence, appointed by Music Director Riccardo Muti.

On April 28, Muti leads the CSO in the world premiere of Montgomery’s Hymn for Everyone, one of three new pieces she’s writing for the orchestra during her tenure in Chicago.

Growing up with artistic parents in New York, Montgomery began writing little piano trios when she was around 11. She took lessons and continued composing throughout high school, and in her late teens began an association with the Sphinx Organization, a Detroit-based institution dedicated to supporting young Black and Latinx musicians. In 2008, while teaching at a summer music camp in Rhode Island, Montgomery realized life as a composer could be “a thing.” A colleague walked in on her in the middle of composing and told her she had a “spark” in her eye for writing music.

Montgomery is in an exceptional position, not only as a composer whose works are suddenly skyrocketing in demand, but one who feels the responsibility to help lead as her field faces sharper questions of diversity and inclusion. While the brighter spotlight comes with pressure, she relishes the opportunity to help reframe American music and the institutions that present it.

From her apartment in New York City, Montgomery sat down for a video chat to talk about the canon and where classical music might be heading, as well as the role her own work plays in that journey.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

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Tom Huizenga, NPR Music: The New York Times published a profile of you in the fall of 2021. The headline was: “The Changing American Canon Sounds Like Jessie Montgomery.” That sounds like a lot to live up to, frankly.

Jessie Montgomery: Yes, it sure does. I didn’t write it! [Laughs] With something like that you just say, I’m so grateful for the recognition and for what it means for other composers coming down the pike. It is a hard thing to live up to, so to speak, but I wouldn’t dare try. It’s interesting because it kind of reframes — and strengthens — the idea that American classical music actually matters and is actually of interest to a greater audience. That’s really special, and I’m really honored to participate in that legacy and that history.

But do you actually feel a change in the air in the past couple of years? Is the canon really shifting toward more women composers and composers of color?

We’ll have to see. According to programs around the country, it does seem to be changing. It does seem that orchestras, chamber groups and opera companies are embracing composers that they wouldn’t traditionally embrace: myself, and composers like Carlos Simon whose work has been programmed a ton. Shawn Okpebholo, another great colleague of mine in Chicago, he’s getting a lot of play right now.

With any new kind of programming and endeavor, you take a leap of faith that the audiences are going to be into it. I find audiences show up because they want to experience live music, live theater, something that sparks their imagination and soothes their pain. That’s how it functions, really, at the end of the day. There’s so much weight on this word “canon” — something that’s absolute and fixed. I think that’s why I have a little bit of a reaction to that “changing canon” remark because it’s evolving and I don’t know if it will be fixed or not. But I think this moment is really great. It’s exciting to see more different kinds of music being embraced and presented.

I think one of your pieces was performed over 100 times in 2021 alone?

Yes, that was Starburst — 114 times.

But let’s hope this isn’t just a moment. What will it take to make this shift last?

It’s a commitment from organizations to partner with composers. And to decide, “Every year we will do Beethoven [Symphony] Seven, and we’ll also do a Simon or a Montgomery or a [Caroline] Shaw.” And those relationships are built carefully. I have some friends who are conductors and I am slowly building relationships with these larger organizations.

That’s another thing about our industry; it is really about relationships and how we agree on what makes sense for programming. I see a lot of organizations, orchestras in particular, working with curatorial roles for composers to design programs. That’s a really interesting way of setting some of the values and wishes for programming down the line.

You’re the composer-in-residence at the Chicago Symphony Orchestra through the 2024 season, and part of your job is to program the Music Now contemporary music concerts. While the orchestra has had a solid track record of inviting women to be composers-in-residence, it hasn’t always been so good at programming music by women. In the 2018-2019 season, the CSO presented music by 54 different composers, none of which were women. Same for the Philadelphia Orchestra that season. I can imagine you might see this as a problem.

I certainly did. At the CSO, I can speak to some of the work that Missy Mazzoli did while she was there — she was the previous composer-in-residence. She shared that fact with me, and it became her mission, as part of her curatorial role, to have way more women composers on her Music Now concerts. And that became a vehicle for the CSO to actually look at that number and get to know more women composers, bringing more women composers into the fold so that they can actually become more aware of who’s out there and how to program these works and shift the scale.

The upcoming season at the CSO offers music by 53 different composers and six are women. It’s getting marginally better. What kinds of things are getting in the way of a more level playing field for women composers in our high-profile symphony orchestras?

Programming is hard. It takes work to think through these things and to do the research to find the composers and music that you think will work for your audiences. A lot of it is trying to make sure the audience feels okay, and not surprising them with too much new stuff. There’s a lot of that feeling within the presenting world, where they’re sort of afraid to offend anyone with anything out of the ordinary.

It’s quite possible that what presenters are afraid to offer is any brand-new music.

I think that’s a big issue, actually. They know that programming 54 white male composers works, so why reinvent the wheel? And it’s the same with Black composers and other minority composers. It’s the field of classical music itself, and its history. It’s shown its face, pretty overtly, and we’re trying to adapt to a new world. It’s exciting to be a part of it at this point.

Even organizations like the Sphinx Organization — that I’ve been a part of since 1999, and they’ve been a tremendous supporter of my career — that is committed to diversity in classical music, just this year had their first program of all Black and Latinx composers. There was always this need or belief that we had to have a “real” classical piece on there by an old traditional composer in order to legitimize the program. And I don’t know whether that comes from the presenters’ side, which I can easily imagine, or if it was a true desire within the institution. And so those are the difficult things that you realize, that the actual institution of classical music itself has had such a stronghold on how people perceive what is legit and what’s worthy of being performed.

And now you’re in this curatorial role with the CSO. I’m wondering if you’re putting pressure on yourself, or have pressure from others, about what to program. That’s got to be tricky, right?

Yes, I certainly have to consider some of the values that came before me — like, for example, Missy Mazzoli wanting to make sure that there’s enough female representation. So I want to help carry that torch. I also want there to be more people of color performing, and their music being performed. And then I also have my own general music tastes that have nothing to do with any of those things. So I’m trying to find a happy balance — program a concert that I would want to go to. It’s not easy to come up with a program that fits all the boxes. But luckily I have three seasons in which I hope to balance the scale as much as I can.

Are you still teaching? What are you telling your students about the so-called “canon?”

I find that students are really interested in this discussion and in programming pieces that are not traditionally part of the canon. I feel like they’re seeking it out. And composers too, writing from a more personal place, like wanting to write about their experience as a Black person, for example, or their experience with trauma or things of that nature. They’re very much connected to wanting to explore and feel like they’re doing something new — something different from the previous generation. Whereas when I was growing up, I had zero thoughts like that. Zero. I was like, “I’ve got to practice my Wieniawski and I’ve got to practice my Brahms.” I didn’t know of any Black composers until I joined Sphinx, and I was 17 or 18 years old.

There’s a much broader curiosity from the younger generation, for sure. There’s great representation out there now for people to get to know and start incorporating these pieces, hopefully, into their repertoire. I have students coming up to me saying they’re practicing my piece with their teacher. And it’s such a good feeling to know that it’s being taught. It makes me feel old.

I’m standing on the shoulders of, in particular, all the Black composers in America who didn’t really get to have the kind of attention that I’m receiving right now. I’m very aware of that.

Because now you’re the shoulders they can stand on. It comes full circle. Speaking of full circle, I’m wondering if you think at all about lineage, whose shoulders you feel like you’re standing on at this point?

Lineage and legacy is all very important to me. And I’m standing on the shoulders of, in particular, all the Black composers in America who didn’t really get to have the kind of attention that I’m receiving right now. I’m very aware of that. I’m very aware of how different this is in comparison to the experiences of a lot of Black composers in the early 20th century. I feel a responsibility, but also a joy. I feel excited about the opportunity and I hope that this moment becomes more of a model for how we move forward and who we celebrate and how we celebrate music in general.

I’m wondering if you feel like you are following in any tradition — an American tradition perhaps? I’m thinking of your music: of Coincident Dances, where the orchestra is a kind of DJ, playing multicultural sounds of New York, or Banner, which is a terrific stew of national anthems.

The fact that America is a multicultural society itself plays into the sort of multifaceted influences that go into American music. American composers have been doing this for centuries. I certainly follow in that tradition in many ways, but then a lot of my works will also follow a pretty rigid classical form. For example, the piece I just completed, called Rounds, for piano — that’s a rondo. There are these formal classical traditional models that I also play around with. So it’s really the combination of those influences where I’m finding a little sweet spot in my work. https://www.youtube.com/embed/eUeTCoHOYEQ?rel=0 YouTube

In the Times piece you mentioned going for a sound that is “a culmination, like the smashing together of different styles and influences. I don’t know that I’ve achieved that yet.” When I read that, I wondered if you could still be searching for your composer’s voice? And if so, how do you do that?

I think you just keep trying over and over. I am aware that I do feel like there’s a particular sound that my music has now at this point, that there are modes in which I feel comfortable writing. I’m starting to notice certain patterns that come back from one piece to the next and that there’s actually a consistency there.

For example, a piece like Coincident Dances is very much like, OK, here’s the samba-ish section and here’s the techno-ish section, here’s the waltz section. And they are sort of stacked on top of each other and obvious in their own identities. But then I think what I’m really looking for is: What does the assemblage of all of those things sound like if you distill it down to one simple musical impulse or gesture? And that might be an impossible task, but that’s, you know, that’s the search.

I guess it’s a sort of philosophical approach too. I believe there’s a universality to music. People are drawn to music in ways that they might not even be drawn to the culture that the music stands for. And that’s problematic. But still, there’s something about music itself that brings people together, and I feel like it would be interesting to find a way for the music itself to also represent the commonality of multiple styles or influences.

Do you want to give away any secrets of how you write your music? A lot of times, especially at this point in your career, it all starts with a commission, right? But then where do you go for inspiration?

I had some great advice by [composer] Gabriela Lena Frank early on, where she said keep a scrapbook of all of your ideas and keep it like a treasure chest. And whenever a commission comes up, go into your treasure chest and pick out something that you think might work, and go from there.

Musical ideas, and ideas for gesture, come kind of randomly sometimes — even in the midst of writing another piece. I realize there’s a section that I don’t want to use in that piece anymore, but I’m going to save it and use it for something else. They’re like little quilt patches, and so at this stage I have a fair amount of those patches to work with.

For inspiration, I go to museums. I get really excited by visual stimulus and so I like to go to the movies. I get inspired by just going to concerts and seeing the work that’s being put in and the amount of layers and the work that goes into each performance.

Keeping a scrapbook is refreshingly old-fashioned. And it reminds me of the inspiration for this latest orchestral piece that you’ve written for the Chicago Symphony Orchestra called Hymn for Everyone. You’ve mentioned that it came while you were out on a hike, which sounds so 19th century romantic, so like Beethoven out in the woods.

It was during the pandemic, so there was a lot of walking in the woods, trying to clear the mind. I have a friend who’s a writer and they described the poem always coming in one gesture. It’s the manifestation of an intuitive kind of realization, like an epiphany. And that’s how this piece came, and it’s the only time that’s ever really happened.

I was also very influenced by all of the discussions and reactions to the George Floyd murder. There were a lot of groups who had put on performances of “Lift Every Voice and Sing” and I had that song sort of resonating. When you hear Hymn for Everyone, the very first few gestures have a similarity to “Lift Every Voice and Sing.” So I wonder if I was being inspired by that moment as well. There was a sense of catharsis, actually when I finished writing this tune, because it was surprising to me that it came out. I did feel a kind of evolution somehow from before I wrote it to actually having written it down. And it was a tool for my own reflection on what was going on.

Sounds like it’s a piece that’s trying to pull people together in a time when there are so many things getting in the way to divide us.

Exactly. And so I’ll share that my mother passed away, sadly. She was a writer, and as we were going through her papers, I found that she had written a short prose style poem called “Poem for Everyone.” And that was the moment, actually, when I decided to go back to the Hymn and turn it into an orchestra piece. Because I thought, yes, she taught me about how to think about the world, but it was sweet that I had, on my own, written this this hymn. Her poem was more political in nature and also kind of funny — poking fun at certain political mishaps and incongruous things that have been going on.

Thank you for sharing that. If it were me, I would tend to think of it as mom reaching out. I’m so sorry for your loss.

Thank you. I appreciate that.

Do you feel like you’re taking your music down any new paths? Or could your music be taking you somewhere?

This is a hard question because I feel like right now I’ve found something that I feel comfortable with in terms of my approach to writing — how I write, when I actually sit down to write, the process of actually doing it, how much time I write and what times in the day. That’s all starting to balance in a new way. But stylistically, I always talk about this one composer who I’m super inspired by — her name’s Anna Meredith.

The English composer and performer?

Yes, she is super great. There’s something about her, just her big-energy dynamism, that is so inspiring to me. And I feel like that’s a thing that I need to sort of unlock with my writing.

You listen to other people’s music and you say, “What’s so attractive about that?” And I use my piece Coincident Dances as an example because there is a kind of restraint. Even though it’s exploring different styles, I think the restraint part is what I want to start to break open a little bit. I don’t know what that sounds like yet, but that’s something I want to start to explore.

I’m thinking of one of your teachers, whose music to me is always so refreshingly bold, and that is Joan Tower.

I knew you were going to say Joan. Yes, 100%. She remains a total inspiration in that way. Also, not being afraid. We were talking about this idea of classical music having this strong hold on people’s psyche, about how they’re even thinking about not wanting to challenge the norm. There is something about that, that exists in my music, that I’m trying to, as I said, unlock or fight against.

Because, especially as a Black person, you sit down to write and you think, oh, these rhythms are going to be too, air quotes, “jazzy” — which is not even accurate — or too hyper-rhythmic. Or, maybe I shouldn’t put these bends in — it’s going to sound too Black or something. And that is unfortunately something that I have struggled with in my own thinking about my own music. I’ve had these conversations with close friends of mine, and it’s a personal, hard thing to face, and realize I’ve been holding myself back because somehow there’s an aspect of my identity that I’m afraid to let fully form in this context. Whereas in any other context, it’s not an issue, you know, walking around my whole life as me.

Thanks for articulating that. That’s kind of deep.

I think it’s not uncommon, in conversation with other Black composers in particular. That thought does cross the mind some at some point.

Maybe, when you have time, you need to experiment in your music with just letting it rip, and see what happens.

Exactly. And I think that’s where I’m at now, where I’m like, “OK, I can do this. I have the headspace to do it.”

https://www.npr.org/2022/04/28/1094807744/can-classical-music-really-be-inclusive-composer-jessie-montgomery-thinks-so

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

Two years after his murder, most people still only know George Floyd for the way he died: Under the knee of a police officer in Minneapolis, Minn.

Many don’t know how he lived – that he habitually told friends that he loved them, often in all-caps text messages; that he was self-conscious about his 6-foot-6-inch frame and that he suffered from lifelong claustrophobia; that he and his roommate in Minneapolis moved their mattresses into the living room right next to each other.

“They wanted to watch over each other. They had met each other in rehab, and they wanted to help ensure that they didn’t stray,” said Robert Samuels, a national political enterprise reporter for The Washington Post.

“What George Floyd understood was that they were in a society that was unforgiving toward their missteps, and they needed to look out for each other if they were going to make it through.”

Samuels and his colleague Toluse Olorunnipa are the authors of the new biography, His Name Is George Floyd: One Man’s Life And The Struggle For Racial Justice. The pair of reporters say the book is a story about how racism affected every part of Floyd’s life, starting more than 150 years ago.

“We traced his ancestry back to a great-great-grandfather who was born and enslaved in North Carolina and, after the Civil War, was able to get his freedom,” Olorunnipa said. “And he quickly amassed a great amount of wealth and land by working the land with his large family. But during the turn of the century, he lost all of his land to fraudulent tax sales and dubious business deals, and he was unable to transfer any of that to his descendants.”

It was important to show why Floyd came into the world poor, Olorunnipa said.

“We saw George Floyd’s family wealth be stripped away because of racism. And it impacted his life,” Olorunnipa said. “It impacted his beginning and made him essentially come into the world born with two strikes as someone who was Black and poor in America.”

Olorunnipa and Samuels spoke with NPR’s All Things Considered about Floyd’s personality, his awareness of his physical presence, his missteps and how he was on his way to coming back from them.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

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Q&A Interview Highlights

Florido: One detail that struck me in your reporting and that comes up over and over throughout the book is he was really aware that his sort of mere presence as a big, Black man often scared people. Why did you dive into this aspect of his personality?

Olorunnipa: It’s key to understanding those moments that we all saw on the video of Floyd’s final moments, his fear of being assaulted by the police. From his earliest days, he would go into a room and shake everyone by hand just to put them at ease, just to say, you know, “I know I’m a big guy, I know my size may intimidate you, but, you know, look at me eye to eye. I’m OK, I’m not going to hurt you.” And that was something that was a big part of his personality.

Samuels: It was also one of the cruelest contradictions about himself. By the time he gets to high school, he is this tall string bean of a guy. And immediately, people say, what you need to do is focus on playing football. And George Floyd was taught that maybe academics isn’t the way to escape poverty, football is. But he was left with a body that – if it was not on a football field, it would be seen as something intimidating, threatening and, ultimately, one of the things that would make him seem as a threat to a police officer.

Your book doesn’t shy away from Floyd’s missteps. He was arrested on drug charges. He was addicted to opioids. He pled guilty to an armed robbery for which he spent years in prison. And his friends and family seem to speak to you pretty openly about his criminal record. What did they say about his struggles with the law?

Olorunnipa: They wanted us to understand that Floyd wasn’t someone who wanted to take advantage of other people, but he also was someone who came from a community that was ravaged by drugs and where police officers often targeted for low-hanging-fruit arrest. Floyd was once arrested for just walking through his neighborhood – literally – for trespassing. He was across the street from his house. And he was stopped more than 20 times over the course of his life, including by six officers who were later charged themselves with breaking the law. So there is a sense of police corruption that took place.

Now, Floyd’s own mistakes were definitely evident. And we got access to his diary entries and his writings in which he agonized over his mistakes and over the decisions that he made and the struggles that he had to try to break free from addiction and break free from his criminal past.

Well, the way he tried to reset his life was by moving to Minnesota in 2017 from Texas, where he’d lived for most of his life. And he signed up for a rehabilitation program designed for Black men. He found a roommate. He managed to rent this fancy townhome in the middle of a middle-class white suburb. For a while, things seem to be looking up for him in Minneapolis, didn’t they?

Samuels: Yeah. This was his dream. He found a job. He was clean. He got this new townhome with his roommate, the person who he met in rehab. And a few months after he leaves rehab and he’s living in this townhome, he comes home after a double shift of working, and he encounters his roommate unconscious and cold on the couch, Big E. And it turns out that Big E had overdosed.

And he died. And when that happened, the gregarious, friendly George Floyd that everyone knew, he went into isolation. And when one of his friends happened to run into him at a gas station, he tells his friend about what a dark place he was in. And that set George Floyd on a course to relapse.

As I read your book, I really came to understand what a special man George Floyd was. But I also sort of found myself wondering, was he unique or could you have written this kind of book about many other Black men?

Samuels: I think all of us know someone like George Floyd in our lives that you love being around, that can be a little hapless, that things in life have never fully gone their way, but they carry on a spirit of persistence. But one thing that we wanted folks to understand when they read the book is that the institutional hardships and barriers that were presented to George Floyd could have happened to almost any Black man living in America. And that’s one of the terrifying things about it.

Toluse and I, we were very conscientious about how easy it can be to exploit Black pain as if that were the full story. But one of the wonderful things about writing about George Floyd is George Floyd himself, who never stopped trying, who remained persistent even though he acknowledged those barriers and acknowledged those mistakes. And that is a reason why I think so many people who knew him took up the cause for justice.

https://www.npr.org/2022/05/18/1099585400/george-floyd-biography-book

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

James Madison Bell, poet, orator and activist was born in Gallipolis, Ohio on April 3, 1826. Bell lived in Ohio most of his life although he briefly resided in Canada and California before eventually returning to Ohio. When Bell was 16 he moved to Cincinnati to live with his brother-in-law George Knight who taught him the plastering trade. Knight and Bell were talented plasterers who in 1851 were awarded the contract to plaster the Hamilton County public buildings.

On November 9, 1847, Bell married Louisiana Sanderlin. The couple eventually had seven children and lived in Cincinnati until 1854 when they moved to Chatham, Ontario, Canada. Chatham was a major destination for the Underground Railroad, and while there Bell became involved in abolitionist activities and later returned to Cincinnati to continue his antislavery work.

Although he supported himself primarily as a plasterer, Bell soon became known for his speeches and poems which he used in the campaign against slavery.  His most famous poem, “The Day and the War,” was read at Platt’s Hall in Cincinnati in January 1864 for the Celebration of the first Anniversary of President Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation. Bell dedicated “The Day and the War” to friend and fellow abolitionist John Brown who was executed in 1859 for his role in the raid on the federal arsenal at Harpers Ferry.

Bell was also active in the African Methodist Episcopal (AME) Church and became superintendent of the AME Sunday School from 1870-1873. His wife and oldest son are thought to have died in 1874. Bell continued to travel around as an orator until 1890 when he settled down with his family in Toledo, Ohio. In 1901 Bell published 27 of his poems which he called The Poetical Works of James Madison Bell.  James Madison Bell died one year later in Toledo, Ohio.

James Madison Bell (1826-1902)

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Born in 1912, Ava Speese (Day) traveled with her family in 1915 to homestead in Cherry County, Nebraska.  Taking advantage of the Kincaid Homestead Act of 1904, the Speese family, Charles and Rosetta Meehan Speese and their nine children, were among forty African American families who made land claims throughout the county. Some of the settlers founded a small town they named DeWitty after a local black store owner.

Years later, Ava Speese wrote about her life in the Sand Hills of Nebraska, an account that would provide a rare glimpse into African Americans on the Nebraska frontier.  Ava’s narrative recalled a difficult life for African Americans in north central Nebraska but she also described a resourceful and vital community.  Like most homesteaders of the era, the Speeses lived in a sod home which originally consisted of one room but which grew as the family prospered.  She recalled many a night watching her mother bake bread and sew their clothing by hand.  Learning to be resourceful, Ava and her siblings made toothbrushes out of burnt corn cobs, and natural herbs were used to ward off colds and the flu. Ava Speese attended two one-room, wood frame schools in Cherry County where she learned to value education.

The Speese family raised and sold range cattle, horses and mules after they discovered the Sand Hills weren’t good for large commercial crops such as wheat. They grew their own vegetables and fruit. The social life of the community revolved around attending church and school events and the annual picnic at “Daddy Hannah’s” place on the first Sunday in August where all of the settlers gathered for food, speeches and a rodeo.  Other important social events included square dances, recitations and readings by children and adults. Music was an important part of community life; everyone sang, or tried to, and the homes where there was a piano or organ were often the place of many a party.

Ava’s family officially filed their claim in 1921, six years after arriving in Cherry County.  By that year, however, the family fortunes began to decline.  In 1925, the Speese family left the Sand Hills for Pierre, South Dakota. Ava Speece Day passed away on November 9, 1988 in St. Paul, Minnesota.

Ava Speese Day (1912-1988)

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Meet the cool 62-year-old Kenyan on first all-Black team to summit Everest

When James “KG” Kagambi was 23, he climbed Mount Kenya in his homeland, the second tallest peak in Africa — and swore he’d never do it again. “I hated it,” he recalls. “By the time I got to 15,000 feet, I had headaches.” But then he encountered a magical substance for the first time. “I just loved snow. I touched it and knew that I like this. I was looking back [at the summit] and saying, ‘You know what? I want to go back there right now.’ After that, I couldn’t stop.”

He soon left his job as a geography, music, and physical education teacher of grades 5 through 8. And for 39years, Kagambi has climbed the peaks of the world. He’s summited Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania “so many zillion times,” Denali twice, and Aconcagua (the highest peak in the Americas), among others. He’s taught mountaineering from Patagonia to the Rockies, and he’s trained climbers and guides the world over. Then, in 2020, he was invited to join the first all-Black climbing team to summit Mount Everest.

This Monday, Kagambi, now 62, will land at the Nairobi airport, returning home a national hero. On May 12, he became the first Kenyan to summit the tallest peak in the world – one of six climbers on the Full Circle Everest Expedition to reach the top of the 5.5-mile-high mountain.

This interview has been edited for clarity and length.

How did you come to find yourself a member of Full Circle — the first all-Black team of mountaineers to summit Everest?

At first, in 2020, when I was asked to come on this expedition, I actually said no.

Why?

The first thing obviously was my age — 60 at the time. Second was my knees. Last year, in the U.S., I saw a doctor and they said, “Do not even step. You need to do knee replacements.”

So what made you decide to say yes?

Phil Henderson, the expedition leader, knows me very well. And he said, “I know when you are determined, you can do it. Even if you go there and you don’t summit, you’ll still be so resourceful to the group — being the oldest and having spent so much more time in the mountains than anybody else. People will respect what you say.” Phil knew my abilities. I’m a good mountaineer, I make good decisions. He said, “If somebody deserves being here, being with us, it’s KG.” After that, for me, it was as simple as saying, “Oh yeah, I’ve been waiting for this. I deserve it. I’ll just go do it.”

How did you navigate the south route of Mt. Everest?

Most of us had already met on a team-building hike in January at the base of Everest. So we knew one another when we came to Nepal in April. The hike to base camp was obviously the easier part whereby it’s quite scenic. There are motels along the way. You don’t even need a sleeping bag. You get to a small village, you sleep there, you get your food there.

We spent a few days at Everest Base Camp (EBC), which is where I started to feel like I was in the wilderness. We practiced with ladders, which was good because between Camp EBC and Camp 1, and also Camp 1 and Camp 2, there are quite a number of places where you use ladders.

At EBC, around 17,400 feet, you want to spend enough time for your body to get used to the altitude. And after a few days, you start feeling like your body’s going back to normal.

Then we did rounds of acclimatizing, called rotations, taking your body higher where there is less oxygen, and then coming back down again. Then it was time again to sit and wait for the weather. Fortunately for us, there was an opening for good weather. From Camp 3, we went to Camp 4. Then we staggered ourselves to go up to the summit.

You don’t want to go too slow because if you do, you get so cold and exposed. You don’t want to run because then you get out of breath and that affects your heart and your body. So the best thing is to use your own pace.

Some of our teams were very strong. One person summited around 3 a.m. and another by 4. I personally summited at 6.

And then, after you summit, you start heading down slowly back down to Camp 4. When I got to Camp 4, I was like, “You know what — why am I rushing? I will just stay here.” The following day, we hiked slowly to Camp 2. And then, when I go to Camp 2, I realized I could go all the way to EBC. It took a long time. It was tiring but I got there by around 10:00 at night.

Did you take any selfies at the summit?

One of the most disappointing times was the summit, getting there and finding the whole place occupied by people. You could not even get time by yourself on the summit to take a photo.

It was crowded up there?

It was definitely crowded, yeah.

What does it mean to be part of this first all-Black team to summit Everest?

It is important to me. It’s not the first time I’ve been with all-Black team. I did that on Denali. Still, it’s important because it’s part of history. This is the first time this has happened since they started climbing Everest. We wanted to show the world that people of color can do something like this. That is a good accomplishment. And also as part of making history for Kenya. As the first Kenyan, I’m proud of it.

P.R.O.U.D 🤗🤗🙌🏼🙌🏼 First Native Kenyan to summit Mt Everest : James Kagambi 🤗❤ pic.twitter.com/AmyhW9lSdB— Chichi (@Karekagambi) May 13, 2022

But it’s not only Black people. You’re talking about people of color, you’re talking about diversity. We have seen that in the outdoors, there’s less people who come from different disadvantaged areas — age, gender, color, etc. It is important for me to bring all those people together.

How do we achieve that?

Part of it is being able to have the facilities to be able to take you to Everest, including economic. Also, it’s unfortunate that all over the world, there’s a lot of people who don’t do things not because they can’t but just because they are not exposed to it. In your community, nobody does it. People lack a role model. Nobody has come back and said, “Oh, I’ve been on the mountain.” And I think when we do something like this, there are people who will look at us and follow suit. They don’t have to be a mountaineer like me but we can introduce them into the outdoors. And to me that means a lot.

Tell me about your work over the years.

I stopped being a classroom teacher a long time ago when I joined NOLS (National Outdoor Leadership School based in Lander, Wyoming). And they gave me contracts all over the world. I’ve worked in Chile, I’ve worked in India, I’ve worked in North America. They trust me so much that whenever they have new rangers, they’ll ask me to go and train them on first aid.

Currently, every summer I go out in the Rockies and teach kids mountaineering. At the end of one month of them being in the outdoors, I can see their growth. You can see that kid who is 14, 15, 16 years old… within a month, you can almost judge and say, “Wow, this kid has developed from here to here.” That’s the reward. For young people especially, three months in a classroom is not much. But one month in the outdoors teaches people so much — self-care, making decisions, learning about the environment.

I also have my own guiding company. Some of my clients are people who may want to go to a certain mountain but then think, “Oh, I’m too old to get there.” Others tell them, “KG will get you there.” I have the patience.

What do you think makes you a good mountaineer?

This is not an easy job. But I like the physical challenge of it. I like the fact that every day comes with its own challenges, and you learn so much by trying to solve all those problems. I like being with new people and meeting new people — the student you had yesterday is not the one you have today. I think that’s what keeps me there.

What’s mountaineering like in Kenya? Is there an active outdoor culture?

I’ve gone to the government to ask for help. And I’ve been told, “Oh, mountaineering is not recognized as a sport so we cannot help.” And that’s one of the points I want to put across to the government of Kenya — that it is time they need to recognize the importance of mountaineering as a sport. And not just mountaineering, but outdoor education — making sure that people going to school are also being exposed to the natural world.

What’s next after Everest? A good book? Chocolate cake?

With Everest, I’ve done the four summits of the world. So maybe I could have a goal of doing the seven summits. That’s just a thought. Fortunately, the three mountains that are left are not that challenging.

As for right now, I’m feeling good. A bit tired. My knees are uncomfortable a little bit, but I’ll get through that.

What’s the reaction in Kenya to your accomplishment?

Right after summiting, everything just went crazy. The president wants to meet me. I cannot even think of how it will be when I arrive. I’m not looking forward to that because I don’t like being overrun by so many people. But I know it’s so important to Kenya. And I expect — I not only expect, I know — that there’ll be a lot of people at the airport waiting for me.

https://www.npr.org/sections/goatsandsoda/2022/05/21/1100363030/meet-the-cool-62-year-old-kenyan-on-first-all-black-team-to-summit-everest

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‘Sex Education’ actor Ncuti Gatwa will be the first Black lead in ‘Doctor Who’

May 8, 20222:30 PM ET

Actor Ncuti Gatwa will play the role of The Doctor in the show Doctor Who, the BBC announced Sunday, in a historic casting selection that marks the first time a Black person has been cast to star in the show’s central role full-time.

The 29-year-old Gatwa, best known for his work in the Netflix series Sex Education, is also among the youngest Doctors yet.

“There aren’t quite the words to describe how I’m feeling. A mix of deeply honoured, beyond excited and of course a little bit scared,” Gatwa said in a press release. “Unlike the Doctor, I may only have one heart but I am giving it all to this show.”

Gatwa was born in Rwanda and raised in Scotland. He began his professional acting career eight years ago after graduating from the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland, one of the world’s top performing arts schools.

In Netflix’s warm-hearted series Sex Education, Gatwa plays the vibrant Eric Effiong, a gay high school student.

As a gay Black teen who is the best friend of the show’s main character, the role of Eric could have been a trap of cliches as the “gay sidekick” or “Black best friend” for a straight white male protagonist.

Instead, Gatwa’s Eric stands out from the ensemble cast with a fully realized personality and inner life. The actor has twice been nominated for Best Male Comedy Performance at the British Film and Television Awards.

He becomes the 14th actor to be cast in the iconic role, following the departure of Jodie Whittaker, who was the first woman to play the role when she was cast in 2017.

In 2020, a Black person played a variation of the Doctor role for the first time when Jo Martin was cast as the Fugitive Doctor.

The new season of Doctor Who is also marked by the return of showrunner Russell T Davies, who helped revive the show in 2005 after a 15-year hiatus. Davies stepped away from the showrunner role in 2009.

“Sometimes talent walks through the door and it’s so bright and bold and brilliant, I just stand back in awe and thank my lucky stars,” Davies said. “Ncuti dazzled us, seized hold of the Doctor and owned those TARDIS keys in seconds.”

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Richard Robert Wright Sr. (May 16, 1855 – July 2, 1947) was an American military officer, educator and college president, politician, civil rights advocate and banking entrepreneur. Among his many accomplishments, he founded a high school, a college, and a bank. He also founded the National Freedom Day Association in 1941.^[1]

Early life and education

Wright was born into slavery on May 16, 1855, in a log cabin six miles from Dalton, Georgia.^[1][3]

After emancipation in 1865, Wright’s mother moved with her son from Dalton to Cuthbert, Georgia. He attended the Storrs School, which developed by the late 1870s as Atlanta University, a historically black college or university (HBCU). (Today it is known as Clark Atlanta University, following a merger). The school had a reputation among freedmen as a place for their children to be educated.^[4]

While visiting the school, retired Union General Oliver Otis Howard asked students what message he should take to the North. The young Wright reportedly told him, “Sir, tell them we are rising.” That exchange inspired a once-famous poem by John Greenleaf Whittier, “Howard at Atlanta“.^[4][5]

The Storrs School, a forerunner of Atlanta University, was one of many academic schools for freedmen’s children founded by the American Missionary Association (AMA) in the South. Wright was valedictorian at Atlanta University’s first commencement ceremony in 1876.^[3]

Career

Republican politics

Wright joined the Republican Party and became active in its politics. Blacks worked to resist white Democratic efforts to disrupt their organizing and suppress their votes.

There were also tensions within the party. In 1890, Emanuel K. Love and Wright were in a dispute with William White, Judson Lyons, Henry A. Rucker, and especially John H. Deveaux, who was in control of Georgia’s Republic Party machinery. At the time, the party was dominated by African Americans. The dispute centered around leadership of the party district nomination conventions. Lyons, Rucker, and Deveaux were all supported by patronage of Booker T. Washington of the Tuskegee Institute. They were identified with light-skinned elites of the state, some of whose families had been free people of color, free for generations before the Civil War. Love, Wright (and Charles T. Walker) represented a “black” or “darker-skinned” faction. Skin color and assumptions about economic class were not as important as political allegiance and ideology.^[6]

In 1896, Alfred Eliab Buck was the leader of the Georgia Republican Party. Buck was the president of the Republican State Convention in late April and presided over the election of delegates to the 1896 Republican National Convention. When dispute arose, Buck attempted to preempt by passing a “harmony” slate of delegates outside of standard procedure. However, the slate did not include Wright, who had widespread support among party members.^[7]

When the convention erupted in protest, a representative of Buck’s tried to adjourn the meeting, and the Buck faction left the hall. The Wright faction remained. Wright’s friend, Emanuel K. Love, took the chair. A new slate of delegates was elected, including Love and Buck (but not Wright).^[7] Wright never did win a seat as a delegate, but he attended the national party convention as an alternate.^[8]

Military career

In August 1898, President William McKinley appointed Wright as a major and paymaster of United States Volunteers in the United States Army. He was the first African American to serve as a U.S. Army paymaster. During the Spanish–American War, he was the highest-ranking African-American officer.^[5][9] He was honorably discharged in December of the same year.

Georgia State Industrial College for Colored Youth

The Second Morrill Land Grant Act of August 30, 1890 provided more land-grant funding to states, but also established federal oversight. It required that southern and border states, which had segregated public schools, develop land grant colleges for black students, in order to receive any funds under this program. Georgia was among the several states that had not done so. On November 26, 1890 the Georgia General Assembly passed legislation creating the Georgia State Industrial College for Colored Youth.^[10]

In 1891, Wright was appointed as the first president of the Georgia State Industrial College for Colored Youth, the first public historically black college (HBCU) in the state. By October 1891, it was having classes in Savannah, Georgia, which became its permanent home. It started with five faculty and eight students, but rapidly attracted more.^[3] It has since developed as Savannah State University, the oldest public HBCU in the state.

During the 1890s, Wright traveled to other colleges, including Tuskegee Institute, Hampton Institute, Girard College of Philadelphia, and the Hirsch School in New York, to document current trends in higher education. Based on his studies, he developed a curriculum at Georgia State College to include elements of the seven classical liberal arts, the “Talented Tenth” philosophy of W. E. B. Du Bois; Booker T. Washington’s vocational emphasis and self-reliance concepts, and the educational model of New England colleges. (He had graduated from Atlanta University, and was taught by graduates of Dartmouth College and Yale University).^[3]

Wright was viewed as one of the leading figures of black higher education in America, and he conferred regularly with major educational leaders.^[3] Visitors and lecturers to campus during his tenure as president included Mary McLeod Bethune, George Washington Carver, Walter Barnard Hill, Lucy Craft Laney, Mary Church Terrell, Booker T. Washington and Monroe Nathan Work.^[3] U.S. presidents William McKinley and William Howard Taft also visited the campus and spoke to students in Peter W. Meldrim Hall.^[3]

By the end of Wright’s tenure as president, the college’s enrollment had increased from the original eight students to more than 400. Additionally, he expanded the curriculum to include a normal division (for teacher training), and courses in agriculture and mechanical arts. He also provided four-year high school subjects, to prepare students who came from areas without such facilities, as did many blacks from rural Georgia.^[3]

Wright participated in the March 5, 1897 meeting to celebrate the memory of Frederick Douglass, abolitionist and public intellectual. The group founded the American Negro Academy, led by Alexander Crummell.^[11] From the founding of the organization until 1902, Wright remained active among the scholars, editors, and activists of this first major African-American learned society. Their work refuted racist scholarship, promoted black claims to individual, social, and political equality, and published the history and sociology of African-American life.^[12]

Banker

After moving to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, in 1921 Wright decided to open a bank. At the age of 67 he enrolled in the Wharton Business School at the University of Pennsylvania to prepare for this venture.^[5] He entered the business world in 1921, creating and leading Philadelphia’s Citizens and Southern Bank and Trust Company at 1849 South Street. At the time, it was the only African-American-owned bank in the North and the first African-American trust company. He also founded the Negro Bankers Association, the first African-American banking association.^[5]

Under his leadership, the bank withstood the Great Depression. When it was sold in 1957, more than a decade after Wright’s death, it had assets of $5.5 million.^[5]

Personal life

Wright married Lydia Elizabeth (née Howard). Together the couple had nine children, including Richard R. Wright Jr. He followed his father into an academic career.

Legacy

Civil rights leader

Richard Wright wrote a landmark letter to President Harry Truman describing the horrible mistreatment of Isaac Woodard, a Black veteran who was severely beaten by white policemen. They also gouged his eyes out. As a result of this letter and advocacy by the NAACP about the case, President Truman asked his Attorney General Tom Clark to investigate. Clark brought a federal case against the police and sheriff who abused Woodard, but the all-white jury acquitted them. (Note: Georgia had passed an amendment in 1908 that essentially disenfranchised black voters; this absence from the voter rolls also resulted in their being excluded from juries.)

Wright and others, including White liberals, were outraged and advocated for a federal civil rights commission. Agreeing with this, Truman formed a Committee on Civil Rights. It made far-reaching and prescient recommendations, including that there should be a permanent Civil Rights division of the Justice Department and that the entire Executive branch of the federal government should be desegregated. Some agencies had established segregation in their facilities in the early 20th century under President Woodrow Wilson, who was influenced by his own background in the South and Southern members of his cabinet. The military was still segregated, although Blacks and other minorities had been arguing since World War I to end this, especially during World War II.

As a result, Truman was the President who ordered desegregation of all branches of the military. The US military has remained desegregated ever since.

Family legacy

In June 1898, his son Richard R. Wright Jr. received the first baccalaureate degree awarded by Georgia State Industrial College. Wright Jr. was the first African American to earn a Ph.D. from the University of Pennsylvania, having studied in the new field of sociology. He became a professor and later president of Wilberforce University in Ohio. He also was a minister in the African Methodist Episcopal Church, the first independent black denomination in the US. Wright Jr. became a bishop in the AME Church.^[3]

One of Richard Jr’s daughters, Dr. Ruth Wright Hayre, also earned a Ph.D. at the University of Pennsylvania. They were the first African-American father and daughter to do so. Dr. Ruth Wright Hayre became the first full-time African-American teacher in the Philadelphia public-school system. She rose to become an administrator and high-school principal. After being elected to the Philadelphia Board of Education, she served as its first female president.

At the age of 80, she established the “Tell Them We Are Rising” program, promising to pay college tuition for 116 sixth-graders in two poor North Philadelphia schools if they completed high school. Her story was chronicled in her book Tell Them We Are Rising: A Memoir of Faith in Education, published in 1997, the year before she died.^[4]

National Freedom Day

In 1941, Wright invited national and local leaders to meet in Philadelphia to formulate plans to set aside February 1 each year to memorialize the signing of the 13th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution by President Abraham Lincoln on February 1, 1865, which freed all U.S. slaves. They formed the National Freedom Day Association.^[1]

One year after Wright’s death in 1947, both houses of the U.S. Congress passed a bill to make February 1 National Freedom Day. The holiday proclamation was signed into law on June 30, 1948, by President Harry Truman. It was the forerunner to Black History Day and later Black History Month, officially recognized in 1976, though begun by Carter G. Woodson in 1926.^[5][13]

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_R._Wright