August Wilson’s JITNEY

My love affair with theater began in the Sixties.  Perhaps it is because the entire period of the Sixties was theater, but professional and semi-professional actors electrified Philadelphia audiences where I lived. It was a time of quality, original and classic Black Theater performed on street corners, in intimate theaters, and under the stars in neighborhood parks.  Provocative tales challenged value systems; consciousness-raising stories inspired and offered hope. As Black Americans we sought ways to alter our relationship to the broader society, yet the fight for inclusiveness did not negate the need to hear, and embrace stories unique to the Black experience. 

After moving to New York, I happily became the theater escort for a myriad of business associates, friends and family members.  Broadway, Off-Broadway and neighborhood theaters produced original stories about the lives of a cross-section of society.  I don’t remember when it began, but by the time I left New York for Tucson, creativity, originality, and Black Theater had all but vanished from the New York Theater scene.  They all fell victim to the rising costs of producing shows on Broadway and the desire to avoid taking risks on unknown works. Broadway had become a place for revivals, and there were no shows on Broadway that featured Black stories or even Black performers.

So it was with great joy that I attended my first LORT (League of Resident Theaters) Conference as an Arizona Theatre Company Board of Director Member in 1996.  I went hungry to learn what was happening in the regional theater arena, hoping to devour what my peers around the country were doing to enhance the creative process. I had no idea that what I thought would be an exciting adventure, would actually turn into a major theatrical event.  When August Wilson gave his now famous keynote address -- “The Ground on Which I Stand,” -- he ignited a national debate on the future of Black Theater.   “We cannot allow others to have authority over our cultural and spiritual products,” he explained, at the same time demanding that Black playwrights, directors and stories be supported and nurtured. “They should be considered essential to appreciating the Cultural Mosaic.”  August chided his critics for failing to “imagine a theater broad enough and secure enough in its traditions to absorb and make use of all manners and cultures of American life.” It was a bold manifesto, a stunning call to action.

I felt like I had just witnessed the Sermon on the Mountain. I searched the Princeton Campus for a chance to meet this God-like character, expecting to find him with Disciples kneeling at his feet.  Ironically, I found him walking alone in the woods wearing his signature beret, and smoking a cigarette.

“Mr. Wilson,” I said, my elevated level of excitement overcoming my normal tendency not to intrude.  “Your speech was magnificent!  What can I do? What happens next?” He stopped and looked me in the eyes, and with a mixture of surprise and wonder answered, “Well, I haven’t thought about that yet.” No poetry, just silence, and then we both laughed. 

A year later, a professor at Dartmouth College answered the call.  The National Black Theater Summit was convened in New Hampshire. It was a far reaching discussion on the status and future of Black Theater in America.  Over a thousand pioneers in the field - playwrights, artistic directors, managing directors, and performers jockeyed for the forty coveted spots.  Thirty-seven theater people and three business people were to be selected.  When the final list was compiled, it was a Who’s Who of legends in the Black theater movement….. and me.  Although I had not applied, somehow I had made the cut. I hear that when the list went out, participants called the organizer asking who this Slivy person was.

“I don’t know anything about her” he answered, “August just said to put her on the list.” 

Over the next five days August took us to school. There on this beautiful lake, nestled in the woods, he told us what we had to do. His brilliance, his vision, his poetry translated into a very simple message:

“I am a Playwright, not a Sociologist,” he stated clearly.  “Art doesn’t change society.  Art changes people.  People change the world.”   Our mission was clear.

The world will miss August Wilson.

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Jitney