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I’d been back in New York City after graduating from Cheney State Collage about two years when I became aware of Ernie McClintock and the African American Studio for Acting and Speech, also known as, “127th Street Repertory Ensemble.” While taking an acting class at the Apollo Theatre, another young actor, Bruce Jenkins asked me if I’d heard of Ernie. I hadn’t. He told me about the company which he was a member of and thought that I should audition for them. I was excited at the possibility, and decided that I would find out more about African American Studio, so, I asked around. Basically, I got the same response from just about everyone, raised eyebrows and, “Ernie? Oh, well, they do good work but Ernie and his company are a bunch of freaks.” Apparently, Ernie was gay and rumor had it that in order to get into the company you had to perform some type of sexual act. It was rumored that the company had regular orgies and sex parties. These rumors were supported by the fact that in several of Ernie’s productions, actors performed nude. For some reason, intuitively, I felt that the rumors might have been exaggerated, even if just a little. Besides, I was always taught not to believe everything people told me until I’d done my own investigation. Until then, they were rumors. I needed to find out for myself. More than anything, I felt a deep drive to learn more about acting and theatre. I wanted to be among people that I could learn from. Afterall I was new at this thing called acting even if my ego told me I was good. Anyway, word had it that Ernie did provocative work and unanimously people conceded that. Rumor also had it that Ernie was arrogant enough to claim his theatre company was better than everyone else.
After making my inquires, I realized I had seen Ernie on many occasions, over the years. In fact, he was very visible in Harlem. I just didn’t’ know who he was. There were many times, I’d see a group of Black youngest looking people, walking down 125th Street, in packs of five to twenty-five, as if they owned it. They carried themselves like no other group of people I’d ever seen before, dressed in an array of fanciful and colorful clothing, combinations of African, African American and ghetto fab, attire. They were expressive and flamboyant. The only other identifiable people that walked the streets with a similar attitude were the, hustlers, gangsters and pimps. But gangsters had a, “don’t fuck with me” attitude about them, that said stay away. I’d seen Nicky Barnes many times but clearly he as not approachable, not to me at least. There was always an element of danger with those guys, generally speaking. But, not with this group of strangely attired misfits who stood out from the crowd. Ernie and his members walked with confidence like they were special, free and easy. There was also something madly defiant about them too. I loved their defiance and confidence and I secretly wanted to be a part of that before I even knew who they were. They had a confidence that surely crossed over to arrogance but it set them part from everybody else. The Black folks walking with Ernie along 1-2-5 were his Afro American Studio members, Ron Walker, (his lover, stage manager and set designer,) Geno Brantly, his lighting designer, and actors such as, Helmar Augustus Cooper, Bolanyle, Suave Mitchell, Carolyn Jenkins, Kenshaka Ali, Gregory Harris, Joan Green, Ed Sewer III, and many more, that I don’t remember. I’d see them cross Lenox Avenue and disappear into the building at 125th Street and Lenox Avenue, next door to the Lenox Lounge. And that’s where I had my first encounter with Ernie.
Bruce Jenkins told me about an audition for a play they were doing called Tabernacle. The play was about gangs and had a large cast of 25 men. It wasn’t a musical but a play with music and lots great music at that. At the first audition, it was apparent that I was not a singer and I thought there was no way I’d get into the play based on my singing. But, maybe my acting audition would get me over. When I was done with my acting audition, Ernie looked at me over his glasses as was his custom and said,
“Well, you talk loud enough.”
And that was it. I was cast in the play.
Ernie was a peculiar character to me. At the time, I believe he was in his forties. He wasn’t fat but he wasn’t particularly in shape, and wore thick glasses, with somewhat of a dusky brown complexion, uncombed hair, crooked teeth and large eyes. His eyes gave the impression that he could see everything, especially when he’d look over the top of them. As time went by, I discovered that Ernie could see everything. At the first rehearsal, which was a musical rehearsal, eighteen guys were situated choir style, singing a song called, “Sweet Nuts.” Yes, “Sweet Nuts.” It was a great song and these guys had voices. I mean they could sang, not sing but sang. Tom Foster the musical director was a light skinned man, with reddish hair, a huge mustache, freckles, and a big smile, which showed off his big teeth. He was playing the piano and I noticed that he kept looking over his shoulder with a look of consternation. I was trying to sing low enough so no one could hear me. I couldn’t sing like the rest of them and I surely didn’t want to be found out so I just sang in a whisper almost. I didn’t want my first impression to be my singing. First impressions are lasting and it would not be good. Finally, Tom turned and said in his half southern and half Harlem accent,
“Somebody off!”
Petrified, I started to lip sing. Ernie began to walk around, among, and through us, finally stopping right next to me. My heart sunk. “Shit.” I looked into Ernie’s big eyes.
“Here he is, I found him.”
I was busted, but he allowed me in the company based on my loud acting voice, not my singing voice.
The Negro Ensemble Company was considered the premiere Black theatre company in New York City, in fact in the country but as good as they were, and they were very good, a lot of Black theatre goers in the know quietly conceded that the best theatre work in New York by a Black Company was performed by Ernie McClintock’s 127th Street Repertory Ensemble, a bunch of rowdy, crazy misfits that just didn’t give a damn. Of course that was arguable depending on who you were talking to and NEC had the prestige and names, such as Douglas Turner Ward, Robert Hooks, Adolph Caesar, Barbara Montgomery, Frances Foster, and the list goes on.
Ernie McClintock believed in true repertory theatre, so at any given time we’d be working on three, four five plays at a time. He also believed in intense training. His actors spent time learning speech and diction, movement, scene study, character study, stage combat, and vocal work. He expressed the need for us to be complete artist and as a group we’ go to see music and dance concerts by some of the city’s best companies, because as he said all art is related and informs other genres and disciplines. If there was an exciting production being performed by companies from other countries, England, West Africa, South Africa, we’d go as a company to watch and learn. I didn’t know at the time, but Ernie was in the process of creating cultured actors and artists. He was giving me an education that I would carry with me for the rest of my life. Through Ernie I was introduced to Alvin Ailey, Chuck Davis Dance Company, Rod Roger’s Dance Company and more. We’d go to the museum of Modern Art, The Indian Museum, Museum of Natural History, you name it. We were introduced to Athol Fugard and the Black South African Theatre Companies, and Wole Soyinka and playwrights from West Africa.
In my early days, with the company we studied and rehearsed at the Harlem YMCA on 135th Street. Saturdays was the longest day. We’d start at ten in the morning with a movement class that would last sometimes for two hours. From there we’d have lunch then come back for scene study or character study, take another break before rehearsals for one of the many shows we were doing. In my first year, we’d were slated to do repertory season that consisted of, Derek Walcott’s, "Dream on Monkey Mountain," Ntazake Shange’s, "Spell #7," "The House of Bernado Alba," and "Hand Is On The Gate," by Langston Hughes.
I cannot tell you how challenging, and thrilling it was to work with some of the most talented and creative actors I would ever know. The sad part is that most people would never hear about, Helmar Augustus Cooper, the technician Ed Sewer III, Charles Watts, Helen Butler, Carolyn Jenkins, Ceal Coleman, Bruce Jenkins, Bolanyle, Gregory Wallace, Jerome Preston Bates, Hazel Smith, Bahni Turpin, Tony Chase, and so many more. Only a handful became well-known artist by the standards we are accustomed to. Jerome Preston Bates is a working actor today and of course Tupac became famous. Many people don’t know that Tupac’s acting training began with Ernie McClintock.
From time to time, a name actor would join us for a production, such as Antonio Fargas, Morgan Freeman, Minnie Gentry, and more. Also, hanging around the company with their parents when they were young were, Bokeem Woodbine, son of Mamie Louise Anderson, Tupac, son of Afani Shakur, even Terrence Howard the grandson of Minnie Gentry.
During the week, we rehearsed in the evenings because everyone had jobs. As we were preparing for my first season with the company I ran into a major conflict. The year before auditioning for Ernie I met and began to work with another genius artist, Nathan George. The two were equally gifted but polar opposites. Ernie was a Black gay man and Nathan was a super alpha macho heterosexual who was highly political, militant, and didn’t like or respect homosexuals. I met Nathan when taking acting classes down at Henry Street Settlement where I also first met Woodie King, Jr. Nathan was an intense person but I was drawn to his intensity and his genius, and I don’t use the word, genius lightly. Nathan had come down to teach the acting workshop at Henry Street when our regular teacher, Charles Turner was away on an acting job, for a semester. Nathan was well known for creating several iconic stage and film characters. He originated the part of Johnny, in Charles Gordon’s No Place to Be Somebody, which was the first Black play to win a Pulitzer Prize for Drama. He was also well known for his roles in Black Terror and The Blacks, not to mention his work in films like; Short Eyes, Serpico, One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest and more.
My main boy back then, my ace was Rarmoud Coleman. Rarmoud and I were considered to be two of the best actors in the Henry Street Workshop. Well, I should say we felt that we were the best even if nobody else did. We hadn’t been down to the class since Nathan was teaching. Charles Turner was a very good teacher and a very nice man, but we felt that we’d learned all we could from him. That was our belief anyway. The truth is, we all learned a lot from Charles Turner, and the talented class got along well. The class was so talented that we formed our own company after the first year, called O”LAC Repertory, “One Through Love and Commitment.”
So, Rarmoud and I kept hearing how great Nathan was as a teacher and how he’d challenge the actors in the class to go further and wouldn’t allow them to get away with cheap choices and bullcrap. We had to check him out so we decided to go down and investigate. We got to class late that evening because we thought we had it like that. As soon as we walked in, Nathan said in his very deep gravely, authoritative voice,
“You! Get up here!”
I looked around and it was apparent that he was talking to me, so I went up to the stage area.
“Gemme something.” He said, looking at me with intensity.
There was an audible response from the class, “Ooooh!” I stepped into the stage area and everything got quiet. They were pulling for me to do something special that would blow Nathan away. Word had it that he was not easily impressed. I looked over at Rarmoud who gave me a reassuring wink, and thumbs up. I figured I’d give Nathan one of my better monologues. I had a few under my belt so I decided to do the Sam Green monologue from Leslie Lee’s First Breeze of Summer. I started off well enough.
“He couldn’t make it baby. You have to eat. What are you going to eat, promises. He couldn’t make it. The man had to eat.”
By the middle of the monologue, I was cooking, so I thought.
“Stop!”
It took me a moment to comprehend that he’d actually stopped me in the middle of my monologue. How rude was that? I stopped. He looked at me and said,
“That’s all you got?”
I was kinda befuddled because actually it was all I had. I mean I had more monologues but could I do better? I was kinda confused. He then pointed to one of the most attractive women in the class, and told her to come up on the stage. Then he told me to take off my shirt. I had no problem with that because I was cut back then, with an eight pack. He had someone pull a table onto the playing area and asked me to sit on the table. Then he instructed the actress to give me a massage. After she began he then said,
“Start.”
It was magical, not only did her massaging my shoulders calm me down, it centered me and focused me. It gave me someone to talk to, and gave me a purpose. I was no longer performing or acting. I was actually living in the moment. I learned more about acting in those five minutes then I’d learned in the past six months.
Well, Rarmoud and I decided, not only to study exclusively with Nathan, but the three of us eventually formed our own theatre company, called Blue Nile International. Though Nathan was hard on us, he recognized our raw talent that needed to be molded, honed and nurtured. Nathan was more than willing to share his knowledge because to him, we truly had heart and we were also very politically aware.
We were in the middle of producing our second production when I got into Ernie’s Company. Ernie was demanding and Nathan was demanding and sometimes they needed to have my time, at the same time. Nathan didn’t like the fact that I was working with Ernie and Ernie didn’t like Nathan because Nathan didn’t like him. Nothing Ernie could do, no matter how well meaning, no matter how good, would ever mean anything to Nathan and he had no problem expressing his dislike of Ernie. I have to mention that in all the years I knew Ernie he never disrespected me or anyone else I know with any sexual aggression or anything like that. Never. The rumors were false to my knowledge. So, if anyone even began to mention something like that I’d shut them down with a quickness.
Interestingly enough and to my benefit they had very different approaches to creating great theatre. Ernie was a theatrical genius. I never knew anyone who could stage a show with the theatrical flair that Ernie possessed. He’d always say,
“It’s theatre people! When people come to a 127th Street Repertory production, they come to see an event, not some people talking! People can read a book or go to the movies. People come to see a play for a reason!” Creating exciting theatre was his expertise and part of that was getting the best and most creative performances out of each and every actor.
Nathan, on the other hand was all about actors telling the truth, communicating honestly, not acting but being real. He didn’t believe in theatrics. Getting to the truth was the root of the drama and as theatrical as it was going to get. One night, I was acting in a play written by Anthony Wisdom called Tou Jour Lememe’, or Business as Usual, a two character, play with Rarmoud, directed by Nathan. We’d done several performances around the city and on this particular night we were performing at the Harlem State Office Building. Nathan wasn’t supposed to be at the performance that night but at the end of the show there he was standing in the back of the theatre. As people congratulated me on a fine performance, Nathan came up to me and said in his gruff way,
“Stop fucking lying on the motherfucking stage.”
Then he walked away, leaving me, and those around me speechless. I remember thinking, was I lying? I don’t know but I guess my performance could have been a little more truthful, I guess. As I recall I did play to the audience more that night then I ever did, so. I know to this day I’m always aiming to be truthful in my performances, and I too, teach actors to be truthful.
I watched Ernie’s leg shake back and forth in rehearsal many nights as he’d watch actors on stage. His leg shaking was legendary and it meant either he liked something the actor was doing very much or he disliked something very, very, much. Actually, if he started twisting and turning in his chair, it meant that he was not happy. It usually meant an explosion was about to happen. Having heard and seen enough, Ernie would sigh heavily, then throw whatever was close to him across the stage. He never hit anyone or threw anything at anybody but that would get our attention.
“What’s that? Shit! Fuck! Stop boring me. Do something!!! Don’t just stand there and say the goddamn lines. I can read! Shit, god damnit, shit!
And there you have the difference between the two, and, the similarities. So, I’m in Ernie’s company but Nathan needs me to help him produce our 2nd show under Blue Nile, a play called Victims the Triangle that featured Monica Parks, Dyan Kane and Rarmoud. I told Ernie I had to drop out and he was pissed that I was choosing Nathan over him. He had a few choice cuss words for me but I’d made my decision and I was sticking to it.
Ernie’s season went on without a hitch. He surely didn’t need me. His production of the infamous all Black production of Equus garnered something like twelve Audelco nominations, and won three. Spell #7 and Dream on Monkey Mountain (one of my favorite plays of all time) received several nominations too, and I was casted in the play in the plum role of Mostique. The 127th Street Repertory Ensemble swept the awards that year.
In the meantime, I was struggling with Nathan to create a revolutionary company that would change the world. Our production of Victims the Triangle, a play about a Black man dating a Black woman and a White woman struggled to get audiences and created more drama off stage than on. The play did well artistically speaking though, and I got my first plunge into producing. Nathan was just well, Nathan, head strong and mean sometimes, scary at other times. Nathan was unpredictable. You never knew what was going to happen next. And in some strange way that was very compelling to me because I’m crazy like that myself, just not as dramatic.
I can say for myself and probably for Rarmoud too that we understood Nathan better than most and loved him for what he wanted to do. His intentions were honorable and based in reality. It was the method that we questioned. Nathan and Rarmoud clashed more often than I did with Nathan. Rarmoud was married to a Christian woman and he was a Christian man. That always seemed to lead to a problem especially during holidays. On one Thanksgiving, I thought it might turn violent when Rarmoud showed up late for a show. Nathan was pissed, and when he was pissed everybody knew it and he could be scary. Rarmoud was my boy, my dog. So, on this Thanksgiving, Rarmoud showed up late for performance and Nathan let him have it. At one point I prepared myself because it seemed like it might get physical. Not saying it would have but I was ready if it had. And, that was the thing, I hated having to be in that mindset but it was a place I often found myself. Rarmoud was a lover not a fighter. I considered myself to be both, and Nathan was surely both. Nathan, had strong opinions on politics, art, war, race issues, and of course women. His strong ideas about the kind of theatre we needed to be doing, though real, was also rather radical and the kind of thing I realized was taking me out of the picture as far as becoming a main stream actor. I actually agreed with him for the most part but the longer I stayed the more I realized that I might be doing more harm to my potential career. However, even if the overall politics were questionable the art wasn’t. Working with Nathan was like being in an intensive master class. I learned a tremendous amount from Nathan about acting, directing, and writing. The shit hit the fan when we couldn’t agree on ownership of the company. Some harsh words were said and in the end we went our separate ways.
A few months later I went back to Ernie’s, humbled with my tail between my legs and asked to be back in the 127th Street Repertory. Ernie looked at me and said,
“Why should I let you back in the company?”
I don’t remember what I said but he wasn’t impressed.
“If you want to be back in the company, you are going to have to ask them, because if left up to me, I’d say no.”
The emphasis was on them, the company members. So, on one of those Saturday’s at the YMCA, I sat in front of the entire company, humbled, and asked if they would allow me back. Company members grilled me harshly about my commitment. They wanted to be assured that I wouldn’t pick up and leave if something else came up. How do you convince people of that? They’d either believe you or they wouldn’t. Ed Sewer III, was particularly hard on me and really didn’t want to allow me back but after a vote, which I hear was close, I was allowed back in. I came back with a renewed energy and commitment. I loved being a member of the 127th Street Repertory Ensemble.
The next season the repertory would include, Zooman and the Sign, Moon and a Rainbow Shawl, A Raisin in the Sun, and a reprisal of Equus. We were going to perform, A Raisin in the Sun at the Apollo Theatre on the night of Jesse Jackson’s inauguration. Ed Sewer III and I were double cast as Walter Lee. The rest of the cast consisted of Helen Butler as Ruth, Carolyn Jenkins and Bahni Turpin as Beneatha, Charles Watts as Asagai, Gregory Wallace as George Murchison, Bruce Jenkins as Bobo, Tupac Shakur as Travis, and great Minnie Gentry as Momma, amazing.
I figured Ed Sewer III would play Walter Lee at the Apollo and deep inside, I was hoping he would. Ed was a better actor than I was at that time in my career. Not to mention that the other cast members were some badass, kick ass, MoFos. I can’t express it any stronger. Ernie never told us who would play Walter Lee at the Apollo. He was like a football coach with two starting quarterbacks, one seasoned vet and the young promising newcomer. He kept everything hush, hush and we just shared time in rehearsals.
Well, as fate would have it, Ed had some personal issues, which would keep him from doing the play, leaving it up to me to bring Walter Lee to life at the Apollo Theatre on the night of Jesse Jackson’s presidential inauguration. Personally, I felt Ed backed out to give me that opportunity. I have nothing to prove that, it’s just a feeling that I have to this day. Why? I don’t know. Maybe he felt bad about giving me such a hard time about getting back into the company. I don’t know but it was a great opportunity for me. I was grateful but secretly terrified.
Was I feeling the pressure? You bet I was. The other actors were so good in rehearsal, I couldn’t watch sometimes. They were bringing it and leaving it on the stage. Everyone knew of the Apollo’s reputation. If they didn’t like you, they’d let you know it vocally and otherwise. You might get a tomato, an egg, or a lemon thrown at you, maybe a frying pan. And then, to top things off Jesse Jackson was going to be speaking at intermission. Over the years I’d acquired a reputation as being a pretty cool dude under pressure but I have to confess, I was on edge through the entire process and especially that night. I never doubted myself, or my ability more. It was crazy. What had I gotten myself into?
One week before the show, Ernie gave me a bit of advice. There is a huge scene in the play where Walter Lee tells Momma that he’s lost the family’s money. It’s an emotional scene, maybe one of the most emotional scenes in American Theatre. Momma, Walter Lee, Beneatha and Ruth all end up in tears. Ernie told me,
“Don’t push for the tears, just feel it, if they come, they come, but if you feel it, the audience will feel it even if the tears don’t come.”
It was wise advice from the old sage. Ernie’s advice took the pressure off in a big way. The night of the play we arrived at the Apollo early because Secret Service had to check us out. They were all over the Apollo. We even had two stationed outside of our dressing rooms. The energy was electric and the place was packed. I’d never experienced anything like it, not even playing football. We took our places on stage and the lights came up. I rolled out of the bed on the set, and onto my feet. I could feel the energy of the packed Apollo audience on me. It was game time. It was like I was on the football field ready for the first hit. I said my first lines to Ruth.
“You look good this morning baby, just for a moment stirring them eggs, you looked good, but it’s gone now. You don’t look so good anymore more.”
And, the audience roared. I wasn’t expecting it. I didn’t even know the line was funny. I almost forgot my next line. Oh shit, from then on it was like autopilot. We had them in the palm of our hands. Intermission came quickly. During intermission Jesse Jackson spoke for an entire hour. I knew we’d loose our audience but when we came out for the second act, an hour and a half later, no one left. OK, maybe one or two but it didn’t feel like anyone left. The second act took off like the first and we finally got to the scene. At that crucial moment, that everyone had seen in the movie, the scene that cemented Sidney Poitier as one of the greatest actors in the land, that scene when Walter Lee breaks down, there I was, as Walter Lee, telling Momma that the money was gone. Someone in the audience yelled out,
“Boo!!!! No tears!!!!!!!!”
My heart sunk. I was about to get booed off the stage at the Apollo. How would I ever live that down? I would forever be remembered for being booed off the stage at the Apollo. I wanted to hide, but there was no place to go. Then another person yelled. ”Boo!!!” I was about to be crushed, and in doing so ruin it for everybody. But right after that second boo, came a chorus of, “Ssssh!!!, and Shut ups!!!!,” from the rest of the Apollo crowd. They were with me, I had them, because as Ernie said, I was feeling it, and as Nathan had drilled into me, I was telling the truth. That audience on that night was not going to allow a couple of people to spoil the moment. And just like that the tears came, and Minnie Gentry took it home, beating on my back. What a theatrical moment. One of the greatest stage actresses of all time was magical that night, and I was on stage with her. By the time she finished there wasn’t a dry eye in the house, at the Apollo Theatre!!!!
The last scene of the play, when Walter Lee man’s up and tells Lindner that his family is going to move. I became emotional again. I don’t know where it came from but it came, and it was something Sir Sidney had not done in that same scene. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not comparing myself in anyway to Sir Sidney, but I was proud of that moment because it was honest, it was true and it was mine. We came out to curtain call to cheers and stomping feet that seemed to last forever. That night, that night, that was the night, I became an actor, a real actor.
Later, that summer, we performed, “A Raisin in the Sun,” “Equus,” “Zooman and the Sign,” and “Moon on a Rainbow Shawl,” in repertory at the Walden Theatre on Central Park West at 88th Street. It was a great feeling to be an actor in New York City.