Saying Goodbye to Dr. Kuhn

Posted on December 12, 2015 by Leslye Joy Allen (Ayọ)

“Self Portrait” by Copyright © 2015 Leslye Joy Allen. All Rights Reserved.

I am writing this tribute now, because I have to mentally recalibrate, take a brief break over the holidays and get back to work on writing my dissertation. Dr. Kuhn would not want anything less than that. Dr. Clifford Matthew Kuhn, Associate Professor of History at Georgia State University and the first Executive Director of the Oral History Association joined the ancestors the second week of November. He was 63-years-old…he was also my Dissertation Advisor…

He was…there is that word: was. You would think that as a historian I would be accustomed to the past tense. Yet, referring to him as anything other than vibrantly and intellectually alive is difficult. Preparing for the Georgia State University Memorial for Dr. Clifford Matthew Kuhn on December 13, 2015 is harder than I ever could imagine. I first met him when he was preparing the centennial of the 1906 Atlanta Race Riot back in early 2006…

Dr. Glenn T. Eskew introduced us because he recalled my telling him that my late maternal grandmother, born in 1886, was a 20-year-old student at then Clark Normal School (later Clark College, now Clark Atlanta University) when the campuses of Atlanta’s Historically Black Colleges became the refuge for so many of the Black victims of the Atlanta Race Riot. Dr. Kuhn was delighted to find a graduate student such as myself that had a personal story that I could tell about this particularly painful moment in Atlanta’s history. Dr. Clarissa Myrick Harris, who partnered with Dr. Kuhn, interviewed me while filmmaker Ms. Bailey Barash filmed it for posterity. I was proud and humbled to contribute my grandmother’s story.

Nearly everything I know about Oral History, I learned from Dr. Kuhn: how to get people to talk about their lives; how to make sure they know that they are not obligated to tell their stories; how to make sure that I, the historian and interviewer, did not and will not ever exploit their memories; how to truly listen. I remember everything he taught me.

One of the last things he said to me was that he was so proud of a brief and recent assignment I had in the Georgia State University Library’s Digital Collections where I conducted four interviews for the Planning Atlanta Project. He recommended me for that position and I was glad that I did well and did not let him down…

As I prepare myself, as best I can, to attend Georgia State University’s Memorial Celebration for Dr. Kuhn, I fondly recall a conversation where we discovered that both of us loved Jazz. Not long after that conversation, there were a few times when we were supposed to be doing something academic, but we drifted into a deep discussion about everyone from Duke Ellington to Nina Simone to Wayne Shorter to Ahmad Jamal. Yet, that is natural for us historians. WE have to be aware of everything, so we often look at and listen to everything. Our conversations were often mixtures of him talking lovingly about his wife Kathie Klein and his two sons Josh and Gabe Klein-Kuhn and History and Jazz. I will miss that…

So, below is one for the late, great historian and scholar Dr. Clifford Matthew Kuhn: a video of the great Jazz pianist Ahmad Jamal playing the classic “Poinciana.” When the percussionists in Jamal’s quartet go into full swing around the time 4:53, I found myself ferociously patting my foot to the infectious rhythms and crying at the same time. Àṣé.

This Blog was written by Leslye Joy Allen and is protected by U. S. Copyright Law and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. Any partial or total reference to this blog or any total or partial excerpt of this blog must contain a direct reference to this hyperlink: http://leslyejoyallen.com with Leslye Joy Allen clearly and visibly stated as the author. All Rights Reserved.

A Black boy and a White boy

Posted on April 2, 2015 by Leslye Joy Allen (Ayọ)

by Leslye Joy Allen

Some folk will read the title of this blog and think that this blog is about race relations or racism. This blog is not about that, at all…

This blog is not about the Black boy who got arrested or killed by police. It is not about some Black boy who is a genius and who has defied the odds and created some great new invention. It is not about some White boy that got away with something that would probably get the Black boy killed. And it is also not about some White boy, who, like that Black boy, invented some new technology or has an unusually high IQ. This blog is about two typical American boys…

I met the Black boy a few years ago when I went to observe a music class at the Atlanta Music Project. He was proudly and boldly blowing his clarinet. A few months later I attended his recital with the rest of the music students in this program. He remembered me and promptly took me to meet his music instructor. I chatted amicably with his mother, and like most native Atlantans, she and I discovered we knew a lot of the same people. Since then, I have discovered that this Black boy has added the bassoon to his growing number of instruments. He also won some position in student government at his elementary school. Thoughtful, talented, intelligent and kind, he gives me a big hug, every time I run into him with his mother at the supermarket. His mother told me that instead of watching TV every night, that television viewing is limited in their household. Instead, they have full conversations and they tell stories…

Now I met the White boy last week on a ride on the MARTA train heading home. Five-years-old and seated with his young mother, he proceeded to read everything on the signs in the train. “You read very well,” I said. He quickly extended his hand to shake mine. His mother and I chatted about school, education, and how well her son reads. She told me that she lives within walking distance of a public library where they have these great storytelling sessions for children. As I approached my stop, I said, “So nice talking to you. Now young man, you keep reading! I get off here.” She replied, “This is my stop, too! Take my business card,” she said, “I know a lot of historians. Maybe we can all get together some time.” I thanked her and watched she and her five-year-old son walk home in what is and remains nearly a 100 percent Black neighborhood. And I am also quite familiar with the library that she told me about. The Black women who conduct those storytelling sessions there at the library have engaged this little White boy. He not only could read—his pronunciation was perfect…

It should be obvious to anyone reading this that the Black boy and the White boy have parents who spend time with them. These parents have found programs and activities that are beneficial to their children. Now, I’m not making any major pronouncements here about parenting or race relations. I am simply writing about typical, well-raised children. I am, deliberately avoiding the noise—at least momentarily—from the media that often dominates the narrative. Not all the news about children and what happens to children is bad news. And the future is not all gloom and doom. And, for now, I’m going to bet the future on my Black boy and my White boy. Àṣé.

(My previous blog is Frank Wittow’s Legacy…Nevaina’s Dream)

Frank Wittow’s Legacy…Nevaina’s Dream

Posted on February 26, 2015 by Leslye Joy Allen (Ayọ)

by Leslye Joy Allen

The late great actor-director-educator Frank Wittow remains one of my favorite figures in Atlanta’s rich theatre history. His work with the late, great Georgia Allen was second to none—He placed this multi-talented Black woman in a non-servant role on an Atlanta stage in the early 1960s when the city and indeed the nation were still grappling with the idea that maybe Black folk were more than just the servants of White folk. Georgia Allen had appeared in numerous films and theatre productions throughout the nation and on the campuses of Spelman and Clark Colleges, and Wittow was wise enough to recognize Allen’s superior gifts. He was simply a different kind of White man. There were no syrupy and useless White liberal platitudes about race relations spewing out of his mouth—he just did what he wanted to do.

Now, Allen predated Wittow’s arrival in Atlanta and she had a much longer career, and to fully honor her contributions to all of the arts and to education would require writing a tome. So, I will save that project for a later date. Much like Allen, however, Wittow directed, trained, and mentored some of the best performers on the planet and took theatre performances into Atlanta Public Schools throughout much of his life. He did this almost to the day he died in 2006. One of his younger protégées had the benefit of his training…

Her name is Nevaina Rhodes—her first name is pronounced “Nih-Von-yah” like “lasagna.” The first time I saw her perform, I did not know she had any affiliation with Wittow. When she told me her basic philosophy about acting there was something refreshingly new about her approach to her craft, but also something rather familiar…Let me explain…

You see, when I was growing up in Atlanta, an actor, a musician, a poet, an academic, an intellectual, was simply part of the community in which we all lived. Importantly, you had to participate in the arts and the humanities, and it did not matter if you had talent or an exceptional intellect or not. While I adore and admire many younger performers and scholars—and by younger, I mean anyone born after the Baby Boom—I find an increasing number of them who are quite insular; they have fewer connections to each other or with the folk in the communities where they live. Unlike the Atlanta of my childhood, in recent years I have attended far too many functions filled with musicians, actors, poets, filmmakers, and historians and I end up being the only person in the room who actually knows everybody in that room…

Well, to make a long story short, Nevaina’s conceptualization of Real Actors Workshop (RAW) makes it open to amateur and professional alike. Her basic theory is that whether you are a professional actor or not, all of us humans act and perform in certain ways depending on the circumstances. In other words, she insists that, we all are actors. Although she is a North Carolinian by birth, her approach feels much like the Atlanta of my youth, where the long theatre traditions on the campuses of our Historically Black Colleges and Universities, and people like Georgia Allen and Frank Wittow made certain that theatre reached who it was supposed to reach—the people. We were not a community of strangers…everybody knew everybody, which is the way it should be.

I should add that I am writing this to inform you that Nevaina is not only a dazzling performer and an amazing drama coach, but she is also a real survivor. Native Atlantans, in particular, love people with a strong work ethic and those who bounce back when things do not always go as planned. Less than five years ago, Nevaina miraculously and fully recovered from a stroke that could have easily killed her; and she remained positive while she also endured some personal losses that probably would have destroyed some weaker souls.

Today her Real Actors Workshop (RAW) is headquartered at Dream Café, Atlanta’s first cafe and empowerment lounge, which is owned by Nevaina and her partners, Jay White and Stevie Baggs. Dream Café‘s premise is simple. It is designed to be a place where artists, intellectuals, young and old folk can meet and greet and talk and achieve their dreams, over coffee and healthy food. This concept and these young owners have my support not only because it feels familiar to me, but because it feels right…and it also feels rather cyclical…

Now, I am aware that my hometown has changed. Nothing stays the same, nor should it stay the same. Yet, there are some core elements that we must never lose—namely, the ability to connect with each other and exchange ideas. Not even a semblance of community can survive if we lose this ability. So, I am proud to call Nevaina a friend. It has been a great privilege to watch her perform; and I have been encouraged by her intellect, her big smile, and her big spirit…I am also certain that Wittow (and Allen) are watching her from that place where great souls go when they leave this earth…So, in honor of them and in honor of future generations, go visit the Dream Café, and write your dream on the wall. Àṣé!

To learn more about Real Actors Workshop (RAW), and Nevaina’s distinguished career as an actor, drama coach, and public speaker, click here: Nevaina Rhodes Inspirational Speaker and Drama Therapy Specialist.

Ava, Oprah, Moms, Dads, and Cheerleaders!

Posted on January 17, 2015 by Leslye Joy Allen (Ayọ)

by Leslye Joy Allen

This is not a review of the film SELMA. However, I will say I saw it on Christmas Day when it was in limited release and let me put it this way—I had one of the best Christmas’ ever. Brilliantly acted, superbly directed. I dig Sister Ava DuVernay because she is a Black Woman, but also a young woman director who is unafraid to use all of the nuances that come with being a woman.

I also learned very quickly that she has two great parents and I see “Daddy’s Girl” written all over her face. Oprah Winfrey is another Daddy’s Girl. I know one when I see one—I was a Daddy’s Girl too. I love my late Mama to death because we had a lot of fun, but Dad was my playmate for life. I thought about my parents when I watched SELMA in the dark of that packed movie theatre on Christmas Day. They would have been so proud; and my tell-it-like-it-is Father would have been one of Ava’s biggest supporters. I can hear his loud mouth right now talking about how “Ava is one baaaaaad young sister!!”

For the first time we have a feature film about Martin Luther King, Jr., and the Selma March movement, but also a film where women are highly visible, as are so many other long forgotten foot soldiers. Yet, for a filmmaker to press ahead and make the kind of film that truly honors the Black and White women who made so many sacrifices for civil and human rights takes courage. For a Black woman filmmaker that courage often comes from the fact that in a male-dominated world, when a father approves of his daughter, when he encourages her and believes in her, she never, ever needs another man’s approval.

Mothers are extremely important too, and are always our confidantes and advisors; it is she who helps us navigate in a world full of possibilities and limitations. We watch our mothers make sacrifices and often we later wonder how she managed to make those sacrifices. Yet, our Dads’ support truly matters because sexism is alive and well, no matter how many men that love us try to downplay it. I am a Black woman and because my Dad supported me, I can handle blatant sexism and the occasional lukewarm support I get from some of the men I know and love. Most women know that only a minority of men can be our cheerleaders. Cheerleaders have to perform on the sidelines.

Ava and Oprah know whom their male and female cheerleaders are; an overwhelming majority of those cheerleaders has a pair of ovaries. I have several male cheerleaders, but every once in a while I hear that disinterest in their voices when the subject of the conversation changes from their problems or their work to a discussion about me and what is going on in my life and work. They do not mean me any harm. Yet, when I need to discuss me, I turn to my sister friends. So, in the spirit of that Sisterhood I am going on record as saying I am so very proud of Oprah Winfrey, who never fails to honor all of her people. I am so very proud of Black woman filmmaker and director Ava DuVernay for the exact same reason! My late parents loved Oprah…they did not live long enough to witness Ava…but I suspect they are watching from somewhere in the cosmos! Àṣé!

This Blog was written by Leslye Joy Allen and is protected by U. S. Copyright Law and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. Any partial or total reference to this blog, or any total or partial excerpt of this blog must contain a direct reference to this hyperlink: http://leslyejoyallen.com with Leslye Joy Allen clearly and visibly stated as the author. All Rights Reserved.

Remembering “Dumba Nengue: Run For Your Life”

Posted on May 7, 2014 by Leslye Joy Allen (Ayọ)

By Leslye Joy Allen

I remember the first time I had to read a book called Dumba Nengue: Run For Your Life, Peasant Tales of Tragedy in Mozambique. I was glad that the book was so very short compared to my other readings. Originally written in Portuguese by Lina Magaia–who held nothing back–and published in Mozambique, it was an instant best seller. Lina Magaia told the brutal truth. Published in English by 1988, the title comes from a Mozambican proverb that means, “You have to trust your feet.” At only 108 pages, I assumed that reading the book would be a breeze. It was not. Midway through it I was sick to my stomach at how easily revolutionaries could descend into absolute depravity and madness. Reading about the actions of South African-backed Mozambican revolutionaries in the mid-to-late 1970s was hard to swallow.

One of my classmates admitted to our professor that she simply could not finish the book. I understood. The one thing that struck me in the book was how easy it seemed to be for revolutionaries to take hostage, abuse, torture, and sexually violate females of all ages. Indeed, one of my classmates, a young White woman studying on a historically Black campus, researched and wrote about rape as an act of war. Her conclusions were as terrifying as they were valid. I thought about this book when I learned of the kidnapping of over 200 (or over 300 girls) in Nigeria by some group of thugs known as Boko Haram, whose name translates to “Western education is a sin.”

Now, some folk will argue that this tragic episode in Nigerian history is an example of some of the damage done to the nation’s native population by European imperialism and racism. Others will argue that Boko Haram’s activity is the result of their adaptation of a radical form of Islam. This group, they will say, are merely proceeding according to what they believe is an accurate interpretation of Sharia law. Yet, the very notion of “females as property” has been overwhelmingly universal in most places, give or take a few exceptions; and this notion has created more abuse and oppression of girls and women throughout human history than perhaps any other kind of ideology. Even further, this kind of oppression and abuse has never been fully addressed by the entire human family. Sexism is alive and well in every corner of the globe. It cuts across racial, ethnic, religious and geographic boundaries with a frightening swiftness and regularity. WE do not get to blame any particular thing or anybody or any particular group for this one. So I will leave you with this:

I remember once hearing my late Mama promise to rip the lungs out of someone who had physically threatened me. When I asked her would she do it, she replied, “Yes, only if I did not have a loaded gun that I could empty into them.” I am also grateful that my Dad was never a hypocrite when it came to females. I once overheard my late Dad say to a young man, “If you wouldn’t want it done to your daughter or sister or mother, then don’t do it to any other woman.” Enough said.

I am praying for the safe return of all of the abducted girls in Nigeria to their families. Yet, as an old African proverb says, “When you pray, move your feet.”

Leslye Joy Allen is a perpetual and proud supporter of the good work of Clean Green Nation. Visit the website to learn more about it: Gregory at Clean Green Nation!

This Blog was written by Leslye Joy Allen and is protected by U. S. Copyright Law and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. Any partial or total reference to this blog, or any total or partial excerpt of this blog must contain a direct reference to this hyperlink: http://leslyejoyallen.com with Leslye Joy Allen clearly and visibly stated as the author.

Leslye Joy Allen

Social Commentary, History, Theatre, Jazz, and the Environment

Category Archives: Historians