The Sad and Sorry Tale of Caesar Wilkes. (Radio Golf: Production notes #1)

IMG_8259 (1)

To understand the end one must have an appreciation for the beginning. So as I begin production of Radio Golf by August Wilson I am compelled to look back over the American Century Cycle to the beginning. I met Caesar Wilks in Gem of the Ocean, the year was 2009 for me, however it was the year of our lord nineteen hundred and four for Caesar and the people in the sanctuary at 1839 Wylie St. So begins this tale of many parts, which is in fact the exploration of a group of tales collectively called, The American Century Cycle.

When one sets out on a quest, which includes the enactment of a ritual, one expects to know more about the thing at the end. Imagine cresting the final hill to see the place you began come into view. It turns out that Wilson’s Cycle is circular. We end on the part of the battlefield on which we entered the fray. Here it is we will find our harvest, here is where we will become victorious in our perfect understanding, or here we lose the sense of the song Wilson has been trying to help us remember.

I played Aunt Ester Tyler in Gem of the Ocean. I learned not to be afraid to remember. Memory serves me now as I shape this tale of Caesar Wilks and invite it to inform my direction of the end of the ritual, Radio Golf, the final installment in The American Century Cycle. As stated, I met Caesar in 2009. I had seen him on a stage but did not recognize him as he was portrayed wrapped in buffoonery.  I have come to understand that Wilson is often thought to be more comforting if played for its inherent humor. Never having been overly concerned with making audiences comfortable; I think those productions do Wilson’s work a grave disservice. Which is not to say the inherent humor does not exist but the form employed by Wilson is tragic-comic, like life itself, both bitter and sweet. I think the comedy will attend to itself and is offered to allow breathing pockets within the drama.

"You die by how you live". August Wilson- Gem of the Ocean

“You die by how you live”. August Wilson Gem of the Ocean

So we come to the first Mr. Wilks, Caesar, Black Mary’s brother, the black law that violated the sanctuary of Aunt Ester the soul washer’s home at 1839 Wylie St, arrested Ester, and killed the underground railroad man Solly Two Kings. If ever a scoundrel was, he would be Caesar Wilkes, but like all things the story of how he became such a villain is the most interesting and instructive part of him.  How and why  did he become the man he became with so little grace and even less compassion? Was there another road open? In its smallest part this is a story of closed roads and taking the road that’s open but it’s more complicated  than mere convenience. One must give consideration to how one got to the road in the first place. Aunt Ester knew those kind of things but not everybody is ready to remember. Some people hold on tight to the pain they know. Caesar’s pain was his breakfast and dinner.

Caesar Wilks was born a striver with a desire to go as far in life as his wit and perseverance would take him. He was also born into poverty, draped in blackness, and found his life inconveniently placed in a hostile environment. That environment of hostility, his unforgivable blackness, and the pernicious poverty that permeated his lean existence formed a field of landmines in his life leaving little room for the long strides of a striver.

 

IMG_8320

After the shootings he is taken to the County Farm where he recounts having to  “bust a couple of niggers upside the head for tryin’ to steal my food”.  Caesar set out to bring order to his confinement. He caught some fellow inmates who attempted to escape because he reasoned their escape did no one any good. “While they out there drinking and enjoying their freedom everybody else on half rations and got to make up their work.” He put down a riot by taking the leader of the uprising on one to one because he saw where a riot was “nothing but bad news.” His talent for beating down his fellow inmates in the workhouse got his sentence commuted, got him a gun and a badge, and saw him installed as the black law in charge of keeping order on the hill. After stewing in the bitterness of so many closed roads he found the path that was open to him.

Dressed in the respectability of his badge and gun Caesar returns to the bank and literally uses them as collateral to buy his first piece of property. Even this questionable advance is colored by the uproar caused by a white man selling him a ramshackle piece of property for three times its worth. He remarks, “They tried to kill him for selling to a Negro, he took the money and ran.”

Our striver has arrived, his arrival is darkened by his observation, ” Niggers got mad at me, said I must have thought I was a white man ’cause I got a hold of little something. They been mad with me every since. Everybody mad at me.”  He is speaking to his sister asking her to remember how steep his climb has been and how much it cost. His plea is the most elegant stating of how *”King Buzzards” are made I have ever encountered. But not elegant enough to garner forgiveness from his sister Black Mary. Some transgressions are forgivable. Black Mary disowned him for the murder of Solly Two Kings and the violation of the sanctuary offered at 1839 Wiley St. 1839 Wiley is the home of Aunt Ester the repository of memory that deserves her own paper. Suffice it now to say here that she is the voice, memory and soul of Africa singing here, on the other side the water uniting both sides. Some things are beyond forgiving or understanding but they have a story none the less. This is in part the story of King Buzzard walking in the strange land across the water.

adimu solly two kings gem 2010

Above-Solly Two Kings. (Adimu Madyun) Lower Bottom Playaz produced Gem of the Ocean in 2009 and again in 2010 as a part of The American Century Cycle Project, in Oakland CA

Below- Caesar and Black Mary from the 2010 production. Stanley Hunt and Niko Buchanan in rehearsal.

56840_1569668914191_6359554_o

In part this story is one of hunger that resides in the soul. There is a human imperative to “become”. Where is the someone who dreams of being nothing?  It is in fact, the dream cooed over all babies, no less for  brown babies, the direction to become “something”, to become “somebody”.  In many parts of Africa there is the belief that individual personal destiny coincides with group harmony and prosperity. One has a destiny to fulfill, a purpose that is connected to the balance of the whole. Each individual must find and embody his/her purpose or the individual and the village around him falls into imbalance, lacks harmony, is unwell. Is there anyone who wants with all their heart to fail to find their place in life? Caesar’s actions are the actions of a man seeking personal fulfillment in the narrow confines of an oppressive society in which even his peers limit his ability to go forward in life. On one hand his progress in the face of such massive impediments must be viewed as a testament to his personal determination to “become someone”. One however must wonder at the cost and the affect of his relentless pursuit of” becoming.”

We come to know in Radio Golf that having secured his place in the world Caesar grew prosperous and founded Wilks Realty. His family became one of the most prominent families from the Hill District. The Hill District has been a major character in The American Century Cycle. We have spent all of our 100 year quest in this neighborhood with the exception of a short trip down route 66 to Chicago with Ma Rainey. The real estate of the Hill District has become emblematic of all once red lined, redeveloped ad- nauseam, now gentrified spaces for me. It is easy for me to see Oakland Ca in the telling of Wilson’s tales that emanate from the Hill. This contested space has been and continues in Radio Golf to be the battlefield for striving to become.

In Radio Golf we meet Harmond Wilks, our second Mr. Wilks, is the paternal grandson of our first Mr. Wilks.  He has benefited from his grandfather’s industriousness. He is a member of the Black elite. As the curtain rises, it is Harmond, Caesar’s grandson, who is busy with the business of redeveloping the Hill District.  His realty company is one of the largest Black owned businesses in town and he has invested heavily in a plan that depends on the area being declared blighted. Once the area which includes Aunt Ester’s now abandoned house is declared blighted with the use of minority tax incentives Harmond stands to make his green money even greener in rebuilding the once vibrant Hill. As you may recall we lost Aunt Ester in the ninth installment of the Century Cycle, King Hedley, II. We discover Harmond has unwittingly and not quite legally acquired the property located at 1839 Wiley St. It is slated for demolition. Caesar violated 1839 Wiley and now Harmond plans to demolish it.

Harmond, who is also running for Mayor has a dream of revitalizing the Hill. He wears the suit of a striver, whose desires for better, exceed his own personal needs. He is at heart a man of high moral fiber who envisions the change he dreams for the near dead Hill District as his legacy. But even in the most noble of dreams there is room for the whole of a story and when Harmond learns the history of 1839 Wiley St. he is forced to decide what is right and his struggle to stand in the light could cost him 100 years of hard-won progress.

In this work we consider the sins of the fathers, at what price assimilation, what real success looks like for those wrapped in unforgivable blackness, the path to redemption, the cost of traveling the only roads open and what the absence of Aunt Ester means in our lived realities as we continue our never-ending search for equity here in the strange land across the water.

This tale will continue as my production of Radio Golf continues, and my understanding of what the trip home, minus Aunt Ester means to me as a student of Wilson, a theater maker, and a human being wrapped most firmly in unforgivable blackness than has grown deeper in shade since beginning this quest with Wilson.

The Lower Bottom Playaz complete the chronological production of the American Century Cycle by August Wilson under the direction of Ayodele Nzinga, on December 18th, 2015. If you are interested in reading more about the Lower Bottom Playaz Inc, American Century Cycle Project, which began in 2010 please visit: www.TalesofIronandWater.com and explore the articles under the “Ghost of Wilson” tab. If you would like to join us for the historic closing production of the project visit: www.lowerbottomplayaz.com to purchase tickets for performances of Radio Golf.

Contact Ayodele Nzinga at wordslanger@gmail.com , conversations about August Wilson and The American Century Cycle warmly invited.

 

 

 

*”King Buzzard” a term attributed to African slave traders who trafficked slaves to Europeans during the great transgression of the Middle Passage the artery for the Transatlantic slave trade that bled Africans bound for slavery in America from West Africa. The legend of the Red Cloth says there will be no peace in this world or the next for King Buzzard.

Related

www.lowerbottomplayaz.com

www.talesofironandwater.com

The Origins of African-American Culture – JStor

All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions …. red cloth. But in another tale, King Buzzard, an African king, was condemned to travel alone through the world  …

African American Culture – Documents

documents.mx › Documents

Apr 10, 2015 – In Gomez’s words: “It is a study of their efforts to move from ethnicity…. In one set, Africans were tricked onto slave ships by Europeans offering them red cloth. But in another tale, King Buzzard, an African king, was condemned  …

[PDF]The Vile Trade – Carolina Academic Press

The vile trade : slavery and the slave trade in Africa / Abi Alabo. Derefaka[et al.].….. length and breadth of Nigeria, where its impact in terms of awareness is im-elsewhere dubbed the “red clothtales, a reference to the ubiquitous presence … “King Buzzard” story as the vehicles by which posterity would learn of African  …

Posted in arts scholarship, August Wilson, belonging, Black Arts, North American African Perspective, Tales of Iron and Water, Theater, warrior art | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

afterthought

first you hear that boom

in the distance

your eyes find the sky

marvel at the rain of iridescence

you quiver inside

realize godz alive

but you won’t live forever

you start to weigh

the sins the lies the places

you were willing to bend

to blend in to slip in under

the wire your mind wanders

as you contemplate the fire

wondering if the good you

could have done would have

been enough and like a moving

hand your life wrote on shimmering

sand now its a winding sheet

and a band and their whispering

behind the fans

but you can’t hear the band

you are left wondering

what their whispering

Posted in right handed poems | Tagged | Leave a comment

return

i have come home

following invisible music

without land

after losing my name

my religion

hanging on to culture

like a tattered blanket

mended many times

to hold the stars i passed

under walking on the bottom

of the ocean talking to the bones

who pointed the way clearly

as soon as i could see i understood

remembered embarked arrived home

where i am enough and more

wrapped in the blanket i held onto

winds part for me in the storm

as my feet touch the ground of

diaspora everywhere in the nowhere

forever without boundaries

the forest the ocean the desert

the sky the wind the rain

the stars the sun the moon

the four directions and the seasons

the planet the galaxy the universe

resound with the fullness of me

overflowing after being pressed down

freed perfected imperfection in perpetual

motion moving into a

Mount Zion state of mind

Posted in right handed poems | Tagged | Leave a comment

Radio Golf By August Wilson (pre-production notes)

Seven Guitarscorrect piano back ayo jpgcitzen barlowadimu solly two kings gem 2010Ma Rainey Ayo and Lorenstan hunt as herald loomisunlikely MagiciansFences web_both_sidesPlaybill RBG playbillcharles-alston-family-no-iWilsonAugust-Jitney-collage954680_748788748525708_2766842657330337203_naugust-wilson-mastersgem of the oceanhedley back emailRGB playbillposter_11x17

King Hedley II written by August Wilson, is the 9th play in his American Century Cycle. Directed by Dr. Ayodele Nzinga and performed by The Lower Bottom Playaz, Inc; King Hedley II is currently on Broadway in Oakland, CA. at the Flight Deck, located at 1540 Broadway. Come see it and enjoy!

King Hedley II written by August Wilson, is the 9th play in his American Century Cycle. Directed by Dr. Ayodele Nzinga and performed by The Lower Bottom Playaz, Inc; King Hedley II is currently on Broadway in Oakland, CA. at the Flight Deck, located at 1540 Broadway. Come see it and enjoy!

The Lower Bottom Playaz, Inc (LBP), a small scrappy theater company in Oakland CA, are about to become a part of theater history.  They are in production for Radio Golf by August Wilson which will open on December 18, 2015 at The Flight Deck on Broadway. Radio Golf will be the tenth consecutive LBP production of Wilson’s crowning achievement, The American Century Cycle. LBP took up the mantle to become the first theater company to formally stage the entire Cycle  in 2010. With their production of Radio Golf they become that company.

Pre Production Notes

In the first installment of The American Century Cycle, Gem of the Ocean, we started out in the house at 1839 Wiley St., the house with the red door, Aunt Ester’s house.  It is fitting we should end our journey  here at Aunt Ester’s house as the battleground for Radio Golf, the final installment of the Cycle. Souls are still being washed on Wiley St, even though we lost Ester in King Hedley II, the ninth installment. By returning to Ester’s house we are making a circle back to where we started. I find that, and Master Wilson, most elegant.

We are about to do what we said we would do in 2010. It was such a big undertaking until I am not sure that anyone other than us realize how much we bit off. That we would be here, now, is nothing short of miraculous, and that’s the small of it — it has been such a blessing to those of us who stayed the course.  This is such a pregnant moment for me as a theater maker. It is bittersweet and filled with a quiet power. Everything is before us as a theater company and so much is behind us as a group of artist dedicated to a single purpose creating together for a sustained period of time. In this moment we can argue that we will save the house on Wiley St. which is slated for demolition as the curtain rises on Radio Golf.

We have reached the end of a mythical quest with Wilson as our cartographer we have traveled through time and consciousness by the completion of his elegant circular ritual we have arrived at our destination. We are home.  We have come ashore firmly dressed in a cosmology,  in possession of an epistemology, rooted so firmly in our soul that our arrival is only understandable in the context of remembering and going home. We have traveled from who we were, to who we wanted to be, by realizing we are enough.

We may yet save the house on Wiley St. . We know of a certainty we will build it again if it is torn down.   It’s a metaphor; we are the foundation of the house on Wiley St., if we can wrap ourselves around that, then, we know they can’t tear down the house, Aunt Ester is alive, the song is strong. We are that song. We are the children of the Diaspora, the fruit of the bones, without sanctuary in search of a resting place carrying the foundation of home within.  Thus we may still save the house. It’s all metaphor and the purest of truth.

Metaphor and symbolism are part and parcel of  the ritual offered by Wilson. We have learned to speak the language, to carefully read between the lines, and to connect the dots between Wilson’s history of the twentieth century to our lived realities here in the twenty first century.  Having learned the game it is my great pleasure to play with the master’s toys in his house at least once more.

We are mining the lessons and the message already. As usual, for us our real life becomes a part of each story. As we enter Pittsburgh’s Hill District in its final throes of being remade at the turn of the Century we are reminded of how much our hometown of Oakland has changed in the mere space of the five years since we began our Century Cycle Project.

We are no longer in the theater built for us. It no longer exist. Most of our theater troupe no longer lives in West Oakland where we started out. Most of us can’t afford to live in the area we dedicated ourselves to revitalizing with culture and self determination. Our neighborhood, once one of the poorest in America, has become one of the most expensive neighborhoods in California. Like the characters we met in Gem of the Ocean and Joe Turner has Come and Gone we are looking for home and opportunity in places we had not imagined as choices. Most of these places are in fact are not choices in the literal sense of the word.

To say the least our lived experiences leave us in a most interesting place as we begin production for the only installment of the Cycle told from the standpoint of potential developers, who happen to be Black. We are on slightly different terrain in this play. Usually our main focus is on common folk with lessons for all of us about complex issues. This time we focus on the hearts and minds of Dubois’s talented 10th. Our hero’s are very comfortable and upwardly mobile folk on a move. They are not suffering from a lack of resource or opportunity. Their poverty is of a different stripe. It allows us to look at a manifestation of trauma not well examined since Caesar Wilkes explains why he hunts Black people for a living in Gem of the Ocean. I have always thought that monologue was one of Wilson’s greatest gifts in the cycle.

In that monologue Caesar tells us how he lost his soul. He speaks in great candor about his journey as a striver and how he took the only road left open to him. Caesar figuratively murders freedom in Gem of the Ocean by killing Solly Two Kings. He violates the sanctuary of 1839 Wiley the home of Aunt Ester to do so. We still have time to unfurl the mystery of Black Mary, Caesar’s sister who we believe at this point joined the myth of Ester Tyler, who of course is symbolically much more than a 300 year old woman. We will return to this thought in later writings. But for now we do know somethings for a certainty,  in Radio Golf we come to know that Caesar Wilkes regrets where he found himself, and went to great lengths to make right his wrong. It is his act of contrition that sets the stage for Radio Golf.

Radio Golf offers space for a reexamination of wealth, legacy, and loyalty in the context of a marginalized people in a material culture.  It allows us to question what success looks like from multiple vantage points.  We are afforded a vehicle to examine our interconnectedness in a  way I hope makes audiences quietly uncomfortable in the consideration of  the simple truth: right is right and right don’t wrong nobody.

Radio Golf starring The Lower Bottom Playaz, directed by Ayodele Nzinga opens 12/18/15 in Oakland Ca. at The Flight Deck, 1540 Broadway. Ticket info on website: http://www.lowerbottomplayaz.com . Information :510-457-8999.

Posted in artist scholar, August Wilson, Uncategorized | Tagged | Leave a comment

the house hustle made

this is the house hustle made

born blessings due

101 in the shade

rough rider striding through life

behind the veil imperial no fade

 the light in the house  hustle made

instructed by the bones

bottom of the ocean

on the path constant forward motion

attitude dedication and devotion

welcome to the house hustle made

prosperity flowing

shine showing

I know what I know

get out the way still a long way to go

in the house hustle made

no ducking no shucking no running

bullet proof so don’t come gunning

standing on top knowing I just begun

the light in the house hustle made

The indisputable Queen of Spades

unbreakable what I needed I made

diamond grind cut like an impeccable blade

turning lemons into blackberry lemonade

This house is hustle made

Posted in artist scholar, August Wilson, Black Arts, Craft, North American African Perspective | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

line of old ladies

Photo by Shaka Jamal Redmond

Photo by Shaka Jamal Redmond

when i line up

with the old women healer ladies

the sages hags grammies

sorceresses witches great

granny medicine women

when i line

up with the old women

with stars falling from my hair

my robe shall be shot with

moonbeams my heart will become

water mothering holding knowing

when i line up with the old women

by the river washing souls

singing life like a hymn i will

lay down my sword and shield

until that time

stone

sharpens steel

Posted in right handed poems | Tagged | Leave a comment

same song

they want to know

why my song don’t change

it is my song it go where

I go been through what I been

seen what I seen it by default

know what I know it is my song

how it gone change when life don’t

change it can only change that much

me and my song of storm been out

in the rain falling down holding on

trying to get up letting go can’t take it

no more my song is waiting for you to

pay your dues it has paid over and over

my song is the song of dues paid waiting

for your bill to be paid my song been wandering

passed through Birmingham lived in Mississippi

walked up the 66 into Chicago under the bridges

on the outskirts through shacks and red lined houses

my song strolled in Harlem tried to spread its wings

found itself in St. Louis Pittsburg

my song tried to soar it took the train traveling

in the back it drug tales of cotton

and the lynching tree believing it could be more than it was

it rose up when pressed down exploding angry frustrated

broke on western streets in los angles san francisco oakland

it struggled it stormed it raged it pointed the way out of no way

my song is looking for itself how my song

gone change when ain’t nothing changed

my song know what it know and

that’s what it sing my song is mine

its what I got I wrap in it stand on it stand for

it and it stands for and by me we are our foundation

everybody got to have a home a home need

a strong foundation my song is searching for home

till then it live in my heart keeping the beat

it know what it know

that’s what it sing

Posted in right handed poems | Tagged | Leave a comment

unsaid

you can’t be unsaid

those who would do

you don’t sleep well

they are waiting

for the sound of you

remembering they

stay busy erecting

walls between you and

memory trying to erase

the cause without addressing it

they say your name without

looking at you they

only see what they made

they are afraid of the original

they are afraid of their creation

they would like you

to be quietly malleable

N visible so they

pretend not to

see the elephant

not to smell the

funk of his farts

coloring the world but

the funk is real

it can’t be unsaid

like the undeniable slick

sweet coolness of steel until it

cuts shedding blood that

can’t be unspilled the song

of language dying can’t be

unsung it will grab other

words to remember to remember

crossing oceans leaving home

the world turned out like a gourd

no quarter in the storm

being the refugee over and over

in a land you never chose

no harvest though your

blood waters the crops

divided without you at the table

no shelter from the machine

that wants to eat you

after it squeezes out the

essence of what keeps you

walking upright still you

at the core when you scratch

pass the veneer when

it all wants to press you down

until you run over your

self on the way to being

what can grow in the

desert until unless you

remember the words

whispered to you before

the light before the air

before you knew the ocean

if you can remember

the words that name your

path they can’t be unsaid

you are

you can’t be unsaid

you are

Posted in right handed poems | Tagged | Leave a comment

Clear

i am awake

wide eyed sure

aware here inside

conscious looking

out from knowing

no rose colored glasses

clear unafraid clear

sure here present in this

moment with real wounds

transformed into badges of honor

debts paid in charge of deciding

where the line is and who can

cross over owning my want

suffering anger and hope

memories of wars won wars

lost the cost of all born warrior

no separation from my shield or

the swords that cut both ways

always fit for battle

all battles are not fit

to be fought some are to

be understood others

to fit you for bigger battles

some to bleed you of intention

never bleed without gaining ground

there is no romance is suffering

search not for glory in struggle

the cost of owning want is heavy

as is struggling not to want

choose your battles

I have learned

to see farther down the road than

looking like the distance between hearing

understanding and pushing back

the wind knows when not to blow

when to be a hurricane

when to push the water over

the shore when to fan the fire

I am unseparated from my knowing

collard greens  buttermilk cornbread

sweet potato if you lucky

someone else’s land house school city

country dream freedom justice wealth

progress forward manifestation of destiny

poverty smells like fried chicken in

small rooms with windows painted

shut no gardens liquor stores 3 strikes

eviction profiling jail cells

drug addiction too small shoes the

word no and dried blood

I understand the way words flip

flop like dead fish playing possum

while painting reality sometimes

using the N visible crayon

singing colorblind anthems

broadcast onto reality

making it hard to under

stand really real hard to

separate it from the mesmerizing

bitty bopp spit by the system

humming while you dream

working while you pray

eating your shadow until

you are not sure if you

are real anymore

I am here

eyes wide

understanding beyond hearing

like the distance between knowing

& pushing back

I am here

seeing beyond looking

deciding to understand

unafraid to choosing

the path that leads me

closer to home

to remember

to own the want

to

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

arrival

Inscriptions  Image

here

because this is where i find

myself carrying bags packed by

dead people brimming with

faint possibles twisted

among rude impossibles

bag on my shoulder song

in my heart

i have come to draw

me on impossible

tall singing my myth

creating new possibles

full hearted I have

arrived

 

 

(This work is included in Inscriptions an arts installation by Shinpei Takeda, The installation is housed in The New Americans Museum which is located at NTC/Liberty Station, 2825 Dewey Road, San Diego, CA 92106 and the exhibition will be on view from November 06 through January 8, 2016. Gallery Hours are Wed-Fri 10-4pm and Sat & Sun 11-3pm. Join us Friday Nov 6th for Friday Night Liberty at NTC and enjoy extended gallery hours from 5-8pm. )

http://www.demotix.com/news/8993492/opening-reception-held-inscription-monumental-installation#media-8993412

Posted in place, Poetry, Uncategorized | Tagged , , | Leave a comment