Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom

Chicago Sun-Times Column

by Don Terry, Chicago Sun-Times

Yet, until Saturday night at the Court Theatre in Hyde Park, I had never seen the first play in Wilson's cycle, "Ma Rainey's Black Bottom.''

The powerful production blew me away.

Set in a 1920s Chicago recording studio, the play is about the hurt, rage, exploitation and violence that are the progeny of American racism.

But it's also about the humor and resiliency that have kept black folks moving forward despite the odds, all the way to the White House.

Afterward, my wife and I and several friends headed to a nearby restaurant, Park 52, for drinks and discussion. I needed both.

Julie Richardson, who spends her days documenting the triumphs of African Americans through her HistoryMakers archive project, put my feelings into words: The play could have been written about life and death in today's struggling black and brown communities.

"Just look at all the young people killing each other,'' she said. "What are we going to do?''

Two days later, I saw for myself that Julie was right. I spent Monday in Roseland, where Derrion Albert, 16, was beaten to death last week in a fury of kicks and fists and two-by-fours wielded by his fellow teenagers.

The attack was captured on a passerby's video camera and played over and over on the Internet.

"Did you see the video?'' a gray-haired woman asked me as we walked toward an angry crowd gathered for a memorial/march in front of Fenger, the high school that Derrion and some of the suspects in his slaying attended.

"No,'' I said. "I'm not sure if they should show it. We don't see pictures of American soldiers getting killed.''

"I think they should and I'm glad they did,'' she said. "It makes people rise up and come out and try to stop the violence. That's why I'm here. You know it could be your son next.''

While I was in the neighborhood, I went to see Diane Latiker. She's known throughout Roseland as Ms. Diane, "everybody's second mama'' as a one boy once told me. Years ago, she turned the living room of her small two-flat into a community center for the neighborhood's at-risk teenagers and young adults.

"I'm frustrated,'' she said, "because we -- the police, the community, the leaders, the parents, the media -- sit around and we wait until the next victim.''

In between, she said, there is mostly silence and indifference to the poverty, joblessness, inferior housing and despair that she believes fuel the rage and violence.

As I talked to Ms. Diane, Gerald, 22, a center regular, finished his homework. He's a community college student and wants to be a youth counselor.

Not long ago, he was one of those young people in the streets, "playing with guns.''

Then one day he stopped in to say hello to Ms. Diane.

"She didn't know that I had my gun with me,'' he said. "I was on my way to shoot somebody.''

Ms. Diane and Gerald talked for two hours.

"She asked me what my passion was,'' he said. "She said I could do it. I didn't have a person who said that to me before.''

He went home that night and threw away his gun.

"She saved me from committing my first murder,'' he said.

Listening to Gerald reminded me of a scene from the play.

The bookish piano player, Toledo, is complaining that all people care about is having a good time instead of helping to make the community better.

The angry but talented cornet player, Levee, calls him a windbag and demands to know, "What is you doing, huh?''

Toledo sighs in disgust. "It just ain't me, fool. It's everybody. . . . I'm talking about all of us together. What all of us is gonna do.'