The first time I donned the black robe, held the gavel in my hand, and stood before an audience representing Supreme Court Chief Justice Earl Warren, I was terrified. This was not an ordinary role in an ordinary play, this was Words That Made the Difference: Brown vs the Board of Education, a theater piece written and directed by Dr. Cindy Acker. Using court transcripts and the memoirs of Chief Justice Warren and Associate Justice Thurgood Marshall, this was the story of arguably the most important Supreme Court decision of the 20th century. I had been blessed with the opportunity to portray the legendary judge, sharing the stage with Amos White as Thurgood Marshall, and with a remarkable cast.
All of us became teachers, marking the profound significance of the decision that overturned the doctrine of “separate but equal.” With all humility and awareness of how lucky I was, I got to say those words and then hear the audience cheer with great enthusiasm. They were not applauding my performance, they were cheering for what all of those heroic people did nearly 70 years ago. Oliver Brown, the other parents and their children, the attorneys from the NAACP, and Marshall and Warren. It is now important to add another name to that list—Dr. Cindy Acker, who created the play so we who live and teach and go to school now can know how things were, how they changed, and how we are still tasked today with fighting for fairness and equality in our classrooms. Here are her responses to 5Q4: Dr. Cindy Acker.
At what moment did you discover that you wanted to be an artist?
It is less that I discovered that I wanted to be an artist. It is far more that I discovered that what I was doing was exactly that. People opened doors of discovery for me, and I stepped into them, and then discovered I have always wanted to find other ways to help people to learn about—to understand—things of which we didn’t seem to have a full grasp. I discovered that it could be, but didn’t have to be, through a book. There were ways to capture experiences that a book wouldn’t always provide.
Who was the most influential person who helped you achieve your goal?
My teachers at Farragut Elementary School in San Francisco (no longer there). Along with my academic load, I took piano lessons, had dance, wrote songs, memorized and presented poetry and stories. I learned to express myself via the arts, and it opened a path for me that seemed to be boundless and endless. My teachers opened this door— it was an incredible gift, because I saw everything that I learned through all of those vehicles.
Tell about the best—or a best—experience you had as a performer.
Well, there are two. The first was when I took a choir to the Santa Rosa jail during the holidays. We sang for two days—four sets of 11 songs each—to modules of women and men. They weren’t sure if they were going to allow us to sing to the gang unit, but they decided to. We walked out and there were two gangs, a level higher, on either side of us. And across the area, they were yelling and cursing at each other. The choir was noticeably frightened—so was I. I gathered them together, and said, “You know the power of music. Just sing.” And we did, and by the end of our set, they were all listening. And at the very end, I said to them, “I want you to repeat: I am worthy.” And they did, over and over. And I said, “We hope to see you hold that, do your work, make your changes, and to come out on the other side.” It was amazing.
Another was when I took a choir to Sacramento, before marriage equality passed. The bill was being considered, and we sang at the Capitol, and we were then invited to go into the Governor’s quarters to sing and to speak. I wrote a piece on behalf of the children of LGBT parents, and read it in the Governor’s chambers, and then we sang a song called, Something Inside So Strong.
And there was the night I walked from the Castro in San Francisco to Union Square, to hold a memorial service for people who died on the streets, unhoused, during that year. I sang with a choir, and we did it year after year after year. However, it wasn’t until later, after my adopted brother wanted to do research on his birth parents, that I discovered that his birth mother and birth father died on the streets in San Francisco, during one of those same years when I sang with a choir on their behalf.
Oh! And I wrote a play called, In Our Hands. It was the stories of the children of LGBT ministers and what they went through in their own “coming out” about their parents. It was performed in Canada. I just wrote what they told me, added music, and had them perform and dance while my choir sang in the background. Their parents cried. They heard their children for the first time—through song, words, and dance—telling them how difficult life was for them, that their parents were not the only ones experiencing hardship coming out. They, by virtue of their parents, had a forced “coming out” that they had to deal with. It was so powerful.
Gosh, and then there was the night we performed my play, Words That Made the Difference: Brown v Board of Education at Rhythmix. The actors were brilliant, the work was amazing, but I had the privilege of sitting and watching the audience react to the things they heard. By the time Supreme Court Chief Justice Earl Warren completed the proclamation, the audience was bursting with reaction. I thought it must have felt like that—plus some—in 1954, when African Americans heard that they were worthy of being in the presence of White people.
There are so many. I am reminded over and over what the arts do in the lives of others—and that is only what I experience. I have seen people cry to the words that they have heard in a play, saying “I never knew. How did I not know?” And I have seen men locked up in a jail where there was no music, who had mental illnesses, moving for the first time, swaying to the sounds we made.
Conversely, tell us about a pretty bad experience.
A bad experience was not exactly a performance. But many years ago, Alameda had some kind of talent show, and I decided to enter. I remember singing at Home of Truth, and it was the worst performance I ever gave. I was shocked at how the notes sounded coming out of my mouth. Although I don’t have an ego, I consider myself a fairly proficient singer, and it just wasn’t working. I asked to try again—I cannot believe I did that. They said yes, and it didn’t get better. It was a humbling experience.
Any advice to folks out there hoping to pursue a life in the arts?
Don’t limit yourself to where you learn. London has the New Youth Film Academy. The Netherlands has Utrecht University, which requires actors to learn all aspects of the arts. Never feel you already “have it.” The best artists continue to refine their craft. Remember that the brain has the best continual neural functioning when it is challenged—memorization, other languages, singing, working out, and all other forms of the arts are tools to use. Use it all. Do what you love, as you love what you do.
Words that Made the Difference: Brown vs Board of Education will be performed Saturday, May 11, at 7 p.m. at Rhythmix Cultural Works, 2513 Blanding Avenue. For more information and to reserve tickets for the performance, visit Rhythmix online.
Gene Kahane is the founder of the Foodbank Players, a lifelong teacher, and former Poet Laureate for the City of Alameda. Reach him at [email protected]. His writing is collected at AlamedaPost.com/Gene-Kahane.
