- [Narrator] The following program, "Blacks, Blues, Black!," is made possible by a public service grant from the Olympia Brewing Company.

(Maya sings in foreign language) (Maya sings in foreign language) - Hello, my name is Maya Angelou.

The late Langston Hughes wrote a poem that said, "Look like what drive me crazy don't have no effect on you, but I'm gon' keep on at it 'til it drive you crazy too."

This is the last program in the 10 one-hour program series, "Blacks, Blues, Black!"

In program number one, I discussed African carryovers, positive carryovers, in current Black American life.

We looked at some of the children's games, the hide and go seek, and I sang the song that is used with that game.

The song is ♪ Last night, night before ♪ ♪ 24 robbers at my door ♪ ♪ Who all is here ♪ ♪ Ask me to let him in ♪ ♪ Hit him in the head with a rolling pin ♪ ♪ Who all is here ♪ ♪ 5, 10, 15, 20, 25, 30, 35, 40 ♪ ♪ Who all is here ♪ ♪ 45, 50, 55, 60, 65, 70, 75, 80 ♪ ♪ Who all is here ♪ ♪ Who all is here ♪ ♪ Who all is here ♪ All who ain't here holler, ahhh.

We talked about ways of communicating.

Black Americans can communicate in some strange ways, tonal, but not with formed words.

- [All] Mm, mm, mm, mm, mm.

Mmm-mmm, mm.

Woo-wee.

Mm-hmm.

Mmm-mm.

Mm, mm, mm, mm, mm.

(Maya chuckles) - We went to the Little Zion Baptist Church in San Francisco and heard Reverend Drummer sing a song that shows the joy Black Americans have in praising God.

♪ Well, he gave my two eyes to see ♪ ♪ And I'm glad about it ♪ ♪ I'm glad about it ♪ ♪ Oh yeah ♪ ♪ I'm glad about it ♪ ♪ I tell you I'm glad ♪ ♪ I'm glad about it, yeah ♪ ♪ He gave me my eyes to see ♪ ♪ And I'm glad about it ♪ ♪ I'm glad about it ♪ ♪ You know the Lord has been good to me ♪ ♪ Well, he gave me my two legs to walk ♪ ♪ And I'm glad about it ♪ ♪ I'm glad about it ♪ ♪ Oh yeah ♪ ♪ I'm glad about it ♪ ♪ I tell you I'm glad ♪ ♪ I'm glad about it ♪ ♪ Well, he woke me up this morning ♪ ♪ And I'm glad about it ♪ ♪ I'm glad about it ♪ ♪ You know the Lord has been good to me ♪ - There's a great relation between the blues and between religious music.

And in that first program, I sang a song that was written by Oscar Brown Jr. and Max Roach.

And the song is old fashioned traditional blues, except that it's modern.

It's like a folk song that was written yesterday.

And it has a political significance.

It's ♪ Driver man he made a life ♪ ♪ But the mammy ain't his wife ♪ ♪ Chopping cotton, don't be slow ♪ ♪ Better finish off your row ♪ ♪ Aint but two things on my mind ♪ ♪ Driver man and quitting time ♪ ♪ Driver man the kind of boss ♪ ♪ Ride a man and lead a horse ♪ ♪ When his cat o' nine tail fly ♪ ♪ You'll be happy just to die ♪ ♪ Run away and you'll be found ♪ ♪ By his big old red bone hound ♪ ♪ Paddy roller bring you back, hah ♪ ♪ Make you sorry you is Black, hah ♪ ♪ Ain't but two things on my mind ♪ ♪ Driver man and quitting time ♪ ♪ Ain't but two things on my mind ♪ ♪ Driver man and quitting time ♪ ♪ Ain't but two things on my mind ♪ ♪ Driver man and quitting time, waah ♪ A modern blues.

We talked to Mr. B.B.

King, who's the king of the traditional blues.

He talked to us and he played for us.

Do you remember?

I'm going to ask you one last question and then we'll be finished.

The question is, what is the blues.

Now wait, Mr. King.

(B.B.

King laughs) One of the things I'm interested in here is the relationship of the blues to African music.

So you don't have to, unless you feel it, you don't have to deal with that directly.

But I would like to know, what do you say the blues is or are, whatever it is?

- Oh, boy, you know- (all laughing) well, I'll tell you, I've never been to Africa, but I can say this, from what I've read, when the Negro or the so-called Negro was brought to America, there were a lot of people, very spiritual, I'll put it like that.

At least they'd been taught to be so.

And some of the guys felt by praying to God wasn't turning them loose.

So instead of just singing, you know, like, God help me, this guy was having problems, you know, like the, well, his old lady's been taken away and what have you.

And he's sad about it.

So he started to sing.

Instead of singing to God, he was singing about what was happening to him, hoping that maybe God would hear him, yes, you know.

But this didn't seem to work with the other brothers that was supposed to be real spiritual, or holy, or what have you.

So he was just singing to himself.

And then, my feelings is that we've heard that ladies will cry when something happened to them.

A man won't cry on the outside, but he usually cry inwardly.

So personally, me, the way I feel, when I have blues, I mean, when I, not sing 'em, I'm talking about when I have them, when something have gone wrong somewhere or other with me, or with some of my friends, or just the surrounding, well, I feel it inwardly and I sing about it.

I just have to, you know.

A lot of times you don't have friends to talk with, so you just sing, you sing about it.

You sing because this hurts.

It hurts inside.

Like so many things hurting today, I mean, it bothers me.

Like there was a time when something could happen in Europe, or Asia, or Africa, or someplace and we never knew about it until maybe six, eight months later.

But now, today, everything happened, you know about it right away, just like your friends around you.

Something happened and maybe you can't go, I can't come to you and say, well, it happened last night, because maybe it might be one of those funny type of things that I feel that you may laugh at me about it.

So I'll get out to myself and I sing about it, and eventually it becomes a song, well, a melody will come to it, come to you to sing this particular something with.

And I think this is how it begins really.

And I think this is the way it begun.

(upbeat blues music) ♪ I got a whole lot loving ♪ ♪ Baby just waiting for you ♪ ♪ I got a whole lot of loving ♪ ♪ Baby just waiting for you ♪ ♪ And the way I could love you, baby ♪ ♪ Honey, I know you could love me too ♪ ♪ You're so good lookin', woman ♪ ♪ And you build up from the ground up ♪ ♪ So good lookin', baby ♪ ♪ And you build up from the ground up ♪ ♪ Everywhere I see you, baby ♪ ♪ My love starts tumbling down ♪ ♪ Yeah, you're just my type, baby ♪ ♪ Just my height and size ♪ ♪ Just my type, baby ♪ ♪ Just my height and size ♪ - Negative Africanisms was the subject of our second program.

I used a poem that was written by Mr. Paul Lawrence Dunbar called "The Masks."

"We wear the mask that grins and lies.

It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes.

This debt we pay to human guile, with torn and bleeding hearts, we smile and mouth myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be over wise in counting all our tears in sighs?

Nay, let them only see us while we wear the mask.

We smile, but oh my God, our tears to thee from tortured souls arise."

♪ We sing.

♪ "Oh, but God, the clay is vile beneath our feet and long the mile.

Oh.

But let the world think otherwise.

We wear the mask."

It is a fact that the young people today are saying, take off the mask.

Face a reality that is maskless.

We, our people, have for 349 years, begged, whined, cajoled, implored, threatened, died, lost their dignity in a vain attempt, a vain search for their dignity.

We had no raggedier people in the world ever stood up and sang, "I Got A Robe, You Got A Robe."

They didn't have shoes on their feet.

We sing ♪ By and by, by and by ♪ ♪ I'm going to lay down this heavy load ♪ Well, my suggestion is, it may be so by and by, but when you lay it down, you'll probably lay your arms down with it.

They've become so attached.

And the idea that you're going to wait 'til later on to understand it better by and by, I think is a vain use of energy.

Bishop Nero from Oakland, California sang that song for us, and I think you'd enjoy hearing it again.

Bishop Nero and The Nero Specials.

(mellow piano music) ♪ Oh, by, by and by ♪ ♪ Oh, when the morning comes ♪ ♪ All of the saints, all the saints ♪ ♪ Of God are gathered home ♪ ♪ We will tell, tell the story ♪ ♪ How we've overcome ♪ ♪ And we will understand it better by and by ♪ ♪ Oh ♪ ♪ Sing it, by ♪ ♪ By and by ♪ ♪ Oh, when the morning comes ♪ ♪ All of the saints, all the saints ♪ ♪ Of God are gathered home ♪ ♪ We will tell, tell the story ♪ ♪ How we've overcome ♪ ♪ And we will understand it better by and by ♪ ♪ Oh sing it, by ♪ ♪ By and by ♪ ♪ Oh, when the morning comes ♪ ♪ All of the saints, all the saints ♪ ♪ Of God are gathered home ♪ ♪ We will tell, tell the story ♪ ♪ How we've overcome ♪ ♪ And we will understand it better by and by ♪ (mellow piano music) - Apathy is another drain on our energy budget.

It is a very real fact in West Africa.

It is a very real fact in the United States and anywhere, Black America or people of African descent are.

It, to me, suggests pride gone wrong, gone sour, indifference, even a fear of trying to be as good as possible, as up to par as possible.

We saw a scene in a restaurant, a scene that I'm sure is duplicated in restaurants all over this country every 15 minutes whenever anybody wants a hamburger.

(customer humming) - Good morning.

Miss?

- Yeah, what you want?

- I'd like two hamburgers to go, please.

And two chickens to go.

- Two hamburgers and two chickens.

How you want those chickens?

- I want the chickens fried.

Oh and with the hamburgers, one with onions and one without onions, please.

Oh, and two orders of fries, please.

- Well, now, how you want those hamburgers?

- Well, naturally, I want my meat cooked.

I want it well done.

And one with onions and one without onions.

Two orders a fries and two fried chickens to go.

- Naturally, huh?

- Yes, please, could you hurry, please?

- No, don't rush me, now.

I'm hurrying, now let me get it together.

- Trouble, I'm double parked outside.

You see that car out there?

- Yeah, well, you see that sign up there?

- And I don't want to get ticket.

Yes, I read the sign when I came in- - We reserve the right to refuse- - Yes, I understand that, lady, but- - Well, that means you, daddy, you know- - Well- - Keep your shirt on, you know.

- Yeah.

- Do you recognize that?

It's painful, isn't it?

Funny?

It's sad.

Our young men are in the street today, and our middle-aged men are in the street.

They will no longer be pacified by offering them another ham bone from the kitchen, from somebody else's kitchen.

Our men's agony will not be assuaged by talking sweet to them.

They're asking us for something else.

They're asking us, and asking themselves too, to reassess that male-female relationship.

Of course, it is true.

Our people were brought from areas in West Africa where the matrilineal descent was the custom.

There was also, however, patrilineal control.

So that meant that there was a balance there.

When the slave owner saw this tendency on the part of his slave, of the African, in that he had to go along with mother dominance, then he built upon it.

So we were cast by history, by tradition into one role, and we were caricatured further in that role by slavery.

The Black woman must realize she is not a man.

The man also must realize that he is a man.

We have that to do, if we are to survive.

The scene that you're going to see now, I'm certain is endured in Black homes around the country.

I suggest that we read this honestly and weep.

And that we dry our eyes and change.

Look here, I got paid today.

I got some money for you.

Well, ain't no point in acting like so sadiddy, baby.

I mean, I'm the only one that's making any money.

I'm the only one that's bringing any money in this house, you know.

So don't act like you on your high horse with me.

What you think I am a machine?

You think I'm a horse?

You want me to be mama and papa too, is that it?

That's it, huh?

Well, you got another thought coming.

I'm getting sick of it for my part.

I just don't know how if I can take it any longer, you know.

Like it's a drag every time I come in the food, there's no food cooked.

There's no, the place is filthy.

You can't even say anything.

Now, now, where you going now?

Out in the street, huh?

Can't you even pass the time a day with me?

What?

Baby, what you doing with your suitcase?

Baby, where you going?

Baby, you're not getting ready to leave me, are you?

Baby, don't leave me.

Baby.

(Maya sobs) You gon' leave me here with all these kids and all these bills?

(Maya sobs) Well, go on, I don't care.

You ain't no good no how, I always knew it.

You wasn't no good, you ain't no good.

You Black men ain't no good.

Leave me here.

Just leave me, I don't care.

- We discussed selfishness and I pointed out that the iron work in New Orleans, in the French Quarter was not only executed by Black Americans, by slaves, it was designed by slaves.

But those slaves had come from a system where they had never taught their skills to anyone except a very close relative or a slave, who, as we know, could inherit.

That holding in of knowledge, that securing of knowledge to oneself or to one's family is so dangerous that we see villages, most of the villages in West Africa today look just as they looked 400 years ago, because obviously, the slave buyer or stealer took those men who had skills and left not even an apprentice in the village.

So the villages simply retrogressed from wherever they were 400 years ago.

We went to the Lloyd Museum and saw some of the collection of Dr. William Bascom.

We saw a Yoruba mask there.

And you can see that these men had tremendous skills.

- [Museum Guide] This is a Gelede mask from a Yoruba town in Dahomey.

Gelede is a cult which propitiate witches.

And here, we see the mask itself, it represents the head of a woman with her cloth head tie.

And above it is a man with his ax climbing a palm tree, either to collect palm nuts or to tap palm wine.

This top part of the mask is removable and is fastened in with a wooden peg.

And this is not the complete mask yet either, because in each of these holes here, a palm frond was cut and set in so that the whole mask stood another four or five feet taller when it was worn.

- Willie Kgositsile or to properly call him, announce his name, Keorapetse Kgositsile a South African poet recited one of his poems to us that he dedicated to his wife, who's a Black American, interestingly enough.

The poem is in Tswana and I enjoyed it very much.

- I'll read the poem in Tswana and then read the translation too.

(Keorapetse speaks foreign language) The poem is dedicated to my wife, Melba.

(Keorapetse speaks foreign language) (Maya exclaims) - [Maya] I kind of wanted to dance.

- Yeah.

"For Melba."

Morning smiles in your eye like a coy moment captured by an eternal noon.

And from yesterdays, I emerge naked like a Kimberly diamond, full like Limpopo after rain singing your unnumbered charms.

- Oh, that's beautiful, Willie.

Ms. Blondell Breed and Mr. Danny Duncan of the Zack Thompson Studio danced for us a piece of choreography done by Mr. Zack Thompson while I recited a poem by Keorapetse Kgositsile called "The Elegance of Memory."

(rhythmic drum music) "Distances separate bodies, not people.

Ask those who have known sadness or joy.

The bone of feeling is pried open by a song.

The elegance of color, a familiar smell, this flower, or the approach of an evening.

All this is now the elegance of memory.

Deeper than the grave, larger than the distance between my country and I, things more solid than the rocks with which those sinister thieves tried to break our back.

There are memories between us deeper than grief.

There are feelings between us, much stronger than the cold enemy machine that breaks the back.

Sister, there are places between us deeper than the ocean.

No distances.

Pry your heart open, brother, mine too.

Learn to love the clear voice, the music in the memory pried open to the bone of feeling.

No distances.

The elegance of memory.

No distances.

The elegance of memory."

In program number four, we discussed Black music in passage.

It was a wonderful program, very light.

We had Ken Bonsieh here in the studio, and he said on a talking drum that you were welcomed to the program.

I explained that the talking drum operates on a system, not the Morse code, but actually the sound of the word.

It, of course, means that you must know the language in order to understand what is being said.

But because the music is tonal and rhythmic, because the language rather, is tonal and rhythmic, no two sentences sound alike.

So when you hear a sound like da, da, da, da, da, you know that that can only mean a certain thing.

And Mr. Bonsieh played that for us and a wee bit of Agbaja and danced for us.

(rhythmic drum music) (drummer exclaims) (rhythmic drum music continues) (drummer exclaims) (rhythmic drum music continues) (rhythmic drum music continues) (rhythmic drum music continues) Now, before we go farther, I should like to tell you, I'm going to give you a book list at the end of this program.

So you have another 20 minutes or so in which to get a pencil and paper and get a book list of suggested reading materials that I'd like to leave with you.

We did a program on music.

We had The Heavenly Tones from Oakland to come and sing "Rain."

I think they captured that respect the Black man has for natural phenomena.

They talked about rain.

(mellow piano music) ♪ Now, didn't it rain, children ♪ ♪ Now, didn't it rain, oh my Lord ♪ ♪ Now, didn't it rain, I know it ♪ ♪ Rain, believe it ♪ ♪ Oh my Lord, didn't it rain ♪ ♪ Now, didn't it rain, children ♪ ♪ I believe it, rain, oh my Lord ♪ ♪ Now, didn't it rain, oh yeah ♪ ♪ Rain, yeah ♪ ♪ Oh my Lord didn't it rain ♪ ♪ Rain, rain, rain, rain, children ♪ ♪ Rain, rain, rain, rain, children ♪ ♪ Now, didn't it rain, children ♪ ♪ I believe it, rain, oh my Lord ♪ ♪ Lord, didn't it rain, yeah ♪ ♪ Rain, yeah ♪ ♪ Oh my Lord, didn't it rain ♪ ♪ I want you to listen to the rain ♪ ♪ Yeah, to the rain, whoa, Lord ♪ ♪ Come on and listen, hey-hey ♪ ♪ Yeah, Lord ♪ ♪ You know it rained forty days ♪ ♪ And it rained forty nights ♪ ♪ There was no land in sight ♪ ♪ It rained in the east and it rained in the west ♪ ♪ Sinners didn't have no time to rest ♪ ♪ Nowhere to run nowhere to hide ♪ ♪ Nowhere to run so nowhere to hide ♪ ♪ You better get right 'fore it's too late ♪ ♪ Or the sins gon' ♪ ♪ Now, didn't it rain, children ♪ ♪ Now, didn't it rain, oh my Lord ♪ ♪ Lord, didn't it rain ♪ ♪ Yeah, rain, yeah ♪ ♪ Oh my Lord, didn't it rain ♪ ♪ Rain, oh Lord, rain, yeah, yeah ♪ ♪ Now all of you out there, rain, rain ♪ ♪ I want you to take your minds back ♪ ♪ Rain, rain ♪ ♪ Way, way, way, way back ♪ ♪ Rain, rain ♪ ♪ Way back in Noah's time ♪ ♪ Rain, rain, rain ♪ ♪ And Noah told the people, oh yes, he did ♪ ♪ Rain, rain ♪ ♪ That it's gonna rain ♪ ♪ Rain, rain ♪ ♪ And one early morning, oh Lord, it began to rain ♪ ♪ Rain, rain, rain, rain ♪ ♪ Now, didn't it rain, children ♪ ♪ Lord, didn't it rain, oh my Lord ♪ ♪ Now, didn't it rain ♪ ♪ Now, didn't it rain, yeah ♪ ♪ Oh Lord, didn't it rain ♪ ♪ Rain, didn't it rain ♪ ♪ Oh yeah, rain, rain, didn't it rain ♪ ♪ Oh, say it one more time ♪ ♪ Rain ♪ ♪ Rain ♪ ♪ Didn't it rain ♪ ♪ Rain ♪ - The history of the Black American, the total history, well, the salient facts of the history, were captured in a poem by Mr. Sterling Brown, a poem called "The Strong Men Keep Coming On."

I recited that poem to you and also showed you that story in prints, in slides, in pictures, "The Strong Men Keep Coming On."

♪ Oh, freedom ♪ ♪ Oh, freedom ♪ ♪ Oh ♪ "They chained you in coffles."

♪ Oh, oh, freedom over me ♪ "They sold you to give a few gentlemen ease."

♪ But before I'll be a slave ♪ "They gave you the jobs they were too good for."

♪ I'll be buried in my grave ♪ "They broke you in like oxen.

They made your women breeders.

They swelled your numbers with bastards."

♪ But before I'll be a slave ♪ ♪ I'll be buried in my grave ♪ ♪ And go home to my God and be free ♪ "They tried to guarantee happiness for themselves."

♪ Mm ♪ "By shunting dirt and misery off on you."

(Maya humming) ♪ Oh, freedom over me ♪ ♪ But before I'll be a slave ♪ ♪ I'll be buried in my grave ♪ ♪ And go home to my God and be free ♪ "What reaches them, makes them ill at ease.

Today, they shout prohibition at you.

'Thou shalt not this, thou shalt not that.

Reserved for whites only.'

You laugh.

One thing they cannot prohibit the strong men coming on, the strong men getting stronger.

Strong men, stronger, stronger, stronger."

We had some friends in the studio on that program.

Ms. Karen Richardson, who is the daughter of the Richardsons who owned the Success Book Store.

Mr. Glenn Battle from Howard University.

Mr. James Bircher from Cal State at Hayward.

Mr. Willie Kgositsile, who is the South African poet you had met before.

Mr. Lothario Lotho, who did a reading for us on that program and also was a part of the panel.

And the star of our program that evening was Ms. Pamela Johnson, who is 10 years old and bright, and Black, and beautiful, and brilliant.

- Well, the people began in one particular spot and they spread all over Africa in different directions.

Some people went this way, others went another.

And as they moved, the foods became different because they grew in different climates.

And so, they make good of what they had there.

And what they ate contained more melanin in some parts and more si- - Keratin.

- Keratin in others.

And this is, the melanin made their skin darker and the keratin made their skin lighter.

And in different places, their skin was lighter.

And then others, it was darker.

And others, they had different shades of all kinds of colors.

- But I first actually started learning about African history at Mary College where the program that's now going on throughout the country was first initiated.

And I was particularly interested in the culture of Africa because I related to it, even though there had been a void.

By that I mean that the student in my time when I was coming up, he didn't relate to Africa.

He said, "oh, man, what you talking about I'm African?

Oh, I'm Black, you know.

Or "I'm not no African, you know, I'm a Negro."

Well, he didn't relate to Africa because actually, he was not aware of the greatness of Africa.

All he had seen through the movies and projected through books and talks, and this type of super image was just a tribal brother running around with a spear, you know- - Climbing trees.

- Through the jungle climbing trees, you know.

- That's it.

- So this let me see a little more of Africa and understand that we had great civilizations and that Africa also was where life began, where man originated.

It helped me a lot.

- But can you imagine, can you try to make up for me a story of what would happen to you if you didn't know who you were?

If you looked in the mirror every morning and you saw this little brown face and everybody thought it was so ugly, what do you think would happen to you?

- Well, you wouldn't think very much of yourself and you'd think, you know, you were nothing and nobody cared for you or anything.

You didn't have any history, no background.

You couldn't go forward because you didn't really know what had happened to you before, before the time, well, in history, before even that century or what your people had done, so you could be there that day or whenever it was.

- Aha, I think she has put her finger on something very important.

You are a love.

For the program on education, We went visiting around the Bay Area to a number of schools and we got some very good film, I think.

We went to the Martin Luther King School, a school that is operating on, not on a shoestring, on the tip of the lace, needs help very much.

An exciting school.

We saw Mr. Welvin Stroud there and his group of healthy Black children.

- [Students] We have a James Brown record.

We like James Brown records.

Can you dig it?

Can you?

Can you dig it?

If you can't, I can.

We can dig it.

We listen to James Brown music.

Do you have a James Brown record?

No, I don't.

You know where I can get one at?

I bought a new James Brown record.

This record says, let yourself go.

Hey, let's go outside.

We can dance the James Brown.

We can dance the James Brown like James Brown.

Can you dig it?

We all like James Brown.

Sock it to me later.

(person laughing) - Most Black children are taught that they cannot learn.

In other words, there's a de-education, a de-education of the students going on rather than an education.

- [Maya] I've just found a new phrase that I love.

It's called the failure strategy, which is built into the school system.

And I would suspect that's what you're trying to avoid here.

- Right.

- How do you get the students to come?

- Well, how do you get 'em to stay away is the question to ask.

Because at the Martin Luther King School, we are open from 8:30 until 3:00, and we are there some nights until 7:00.

We do not put the kids out and they do not want to go home.

- [Maya] Well, now, but the children get no credit in their regular school, do they?

For this summer course, I mean.

- No, they don't.

- So that- - But it will help them to do their work better.

- Of course.

- And which some of these kids will not go back to public school.

They will stay in our school.

We do have accredited school.

- [Maya] I see.

- And we may be having more schools than the Martin Luther King School.

- [Maya] I hope so.

It's an inspiration, Mr. Stroud - Yes, this is, our program is that we have to set up schools, community type schools, where we involve parents, teachers, and students to do the job that the public school is not doing for the child.

- That school needs your help.

It needs the concentrated help of the Black community.

The Martin Luther King School.

Now, Mr. Stroud says that he would, they need support from the community and to see more schools of that type around the country.

That's true.

Mr. Leo Bazile, who was the head of the Black Students Union at Merritt College, spoke on ways of making education more relevant to the Black student.

He spoke at Cal State at Hayward.

- Many of us, you know, wanna be school teachers.

Now I was invited to a class, an English class, at Hoover Junior High.

And the Black English teacher, she asked me to come and talk to her class.

So I went and I talked.

And I asked her a few questions about, you know, different things that have been going on in the class.

And what, you know, she went to school down South, got a degree, teacher's credential and all that stuff.

She's teaching English, but she knows nothing, she knows absolutely nothing about Afro-American writers.

She knows Baldwin and she heard, you know, they dealt with excerpts from "Native Son" in the class.

And that's about the extent of it.

So what I mean is, you got to, you know, again, here's that relationship, that you use as argument when you talk to that administration.

You say, look, if you can't integrate Black things into your subject matter, well, let us have several Black courses.

Now, take for instance, in English class.

You go there, you come out of a ghetto experience.

You down in grammar school or grade school, I mean, junior high probably is when you read it, or in high school.

How many of you read "Catcher in the Rye" by J.D.

Salinger?

Okay, this is talking about a young White boy come from a middle class White family in New York City going to prep school and this type of background.

And you supposed to sit down and read this and write a composition on it or a paper.

Now, the thing is, is that you cannot deal with that.

You cannot feel the emotions that that white boy felt at different points in that book enough to put it out on paper and express it in a coherent manner, so that the professor, you know, will dig it and put that grade on it.

Because this is the type of things their giving you.

Hemingway and Shakespeare and all these people who you don't relate to.

Now, if the English classes could put, like, "Native Son" in there, for instance, and when he gives you the book list to read and say, well, you pick the book that you wanna do your title paper on, you pick "Native Son."

Why?

Because you'll be able to write a beautiful paper, see.

Because you understand what Bigger Thomas felt when that White girl slipped in that car, you know, when he was chauffeur and how he tensed up.

You know, we've all had that feeling, you know.

When you get on the bus and everything, just the fact that the White person sits down next to you, they automatically tense up and tense you up.

You dig it?

See, you can write that, you can write about that.

You can explain that because you got that feeling, like James Brown says, you see.

- I'm obliged to clarify a point I made on, I think, that program or the one before dealing with education.

I was quite harsh with Black American students who set out to get a liberal arts degree.

My reason for that is that if the young person, or his counselor, or the both of them, or the child, the young man, young person and his parents and counselors, do not envisage that person being able to go on and do an MA in a specialized field, then that's when I think a liberal arts education is pretty much hopeless.

Understandably, it is the degree one sets out for in undergraduate work when one is planning to become a lawyer, a doctor, almost everything, including an Indian chief, well, an African chief, certainly.

But if you know you don't have the financial, or spiritual, or character wherewithal to pursue and get that special training, then I don't know what you're going to do with it.

We were pleased, I was proud, I was inspired by going to the Arabesco Air Company, a company listed in Oakland owned by Black men, and an airport, and I mean a cargo air freight and air passenger service.

They're licensed to fly all over the United States and Canada.

And they have lovely planes.

(engine chugging) I mean, what kind of, not static, but what kind of interesting experiences do you have here at the airport or at any airport when the people see the pilots are Black?

- First, it sort of stops things and they stop and stare.

They don't know what to make of it at first.

And then they look for somebody else to get out that was flying it.

- We went to an exhibit that was called Two Weeks in Blackness set up by Mr. James Bircher at Cal State at Hayward.

We saw the works of Mr. Ben Hazard.

It was a beautiful exhibit.

There were quite a few painters being shown there.

- Litho here is called "Bird with Dead Mate."

And it was a result of the death of Martin Luther King, and in local area, the death of Bobby Hutton, and about the same time, or approximately four to five deaths within the same area of Black youth.

And to me, it had the impression of killing of human beings as if it was like killing a bird during open season.

And this is my approach to this concept.

Now, this painting here is called "Medal of Honor."

And this is another result from the death of Dr. King and other Black people, and also representing the social struggle from the riots.

In this time they were putting new troops in the areas of rioting and new troops in Vietnam and everybody's getting medals.

So I felt like, well, maybe Black men needs a medal too.

And this one here is represented by the repeat of the image up top here and around the edge, of the struggle, which you saw in the early litho.

And also, you have a cutout figure here of a boy throwing Molotov cocktail, which is my personal statement of the social conditions in the world today.

- It would seem that the history of our lives here is tinged with violence, wouldn't it?

If folk literature has to do, the best out of our literature, has to do with our overcoming a struggle, overcoming inner struggle, a struggle that remains unabated, I think, then, that gives some credence to the statement that violence is as American as apple pie.

Our last program dealt with violence in the Black American world.

We went to see Watts, 1968, the summer festival, and we saw the superficial physical growth, tangible growth since Watts 1965.

We saw the profound psychological growth in the Black community from 1965 to 1968.

We also looked at a film that was made in Cuba, a propaganda film to be shown abroad.

The film, of course, is brought, it's a compilation of the violence in the United States.

It works as a horror film.

The photos, and stills, and the films themselves were taken from American journals.

It was shocking.

♪ Now ♪ (mellow jazz music) ♪ Now is the moment ♪ ♪ Now is the moment ♪ ♪ Come on ♪ ♪ We put it off long enough ♪ ♪ Now no more waiting ♪ ♪ No hesitating ♪ ♪ Now, now ♪ ♪ Come on let's get some of that stufF ♪ ♪ It's there for you and me ♪ ♪ For every he and she ♪ ♪ Just wanna do what's right comfortably ♪ ♪ I went and took a look ♪ ♪ In my old history book ♪ ♪ It's there in black and white for all to see ♪ ♪ Now ♪ - I promised you a book list at the end of the series.

I hope you're ready.

I'd like first to mention a book by Mr. John Hendrick Clark called "Short Stories of American Negro Writers."

Don't be put off by the word Negro.

No one should be put off by that again.

"African Genesis" by Robert Ardrey.

"And Then, We Heard the Thunder" by John O. Killens, his second major book.

"Autobiography of Malcolm X."

"Before the Mayflower" Lerone Bennett, and anything you can get of Mr. Bennett's, by the way.

"Bird at My Window" by Rosa Guy.

She deals with violence in it.

"Black Bourgeoisie," E. Franklin Frazier.

"Black Metropolis," Harris Cayton and St. Clair Drake.

"Black Power," Stokely Carmichael and Charles Hamilton.

"Black Rage," two Black psychiatrists, Dr. Grier and Dr. Price-Cobb.

"Blues People" by the wonderful poet, Mr. Leroi Jones.

"Brown Girl, Brown Stones" by the West Indian writer, novelist and essayist, Ms. Paule Marshall.

"Capitalism & Slavery" by the president of Trinidad and Tobago, Dr. Eric Williams.

Most important book, "Capitalism & Slavery."

"Crisis in Black and White," Charles E. Silberman.

"Documentary History of the Negro People in the United States," Herbert Aptheker, volumes one and two.

Mr. Baldwin's "Fire Next Time."

"From Slavery to Freedom," John Hope Franklin.

Important book.

"Lost Cities of Africa," Basil Davidson, and anything else you can get by Mr. Davidson on Africa.

"Manchild in the Promised Land," a modern novel by Claude Brown.

"On Aggression," a book in which Mr. Lorenz explains to us the nature of the beast.

Gwendolyn Brooks, a lovely poet, has a book "Selected Poems."

Mr. Eldridge Cleaver, that bright blazing light, has "Soul on Ice."

"Souls of Black Folk," a classic by Dr. W.E.B.

Dubois.

"Territorial Imperative," Robert Ardrey again.

"The Man Who Cried, I Am" let me tell you, every Black person should have that book in their house now, John Williams, "The Negro Intellectual," Harold Cruse.

"The Negro Novel in America," Robert Bone.

"The Peculiar Institution: Slavery in the Antebellum South," Dr Stampp.

"Urban Blues" Charles Keil.

You notice that some books I say a must, a classic, and so.

All those books I have selected, I have found them very important as research material.

Very important for me to know so I could share what I had gathered with you.

I'll close the series, the program and the series, first, by thanking you for watching and thanking everyone for helping me.

And thanking my people.

And poem by Margaret Walker.

"For my people everywhere singing their slave songs repeatedly, their dirges and their ditties, their blues and jubilees, praying their prayers nightly to an unknown God, bending their knees humbly to an unseen power.

For my people lending their strength to the years, to the now years, and the gone years and the maybe years.

Washing, ironing, cooking, sewing, scrubbing, mending, planting, pruning, dragging along, never knowing, never reaping, never gaining, and never understanding.

For my playmates in the sand, and dust, and dirt of Alabama backyards playing baptizing, and preaching, and doctor, and jail, and soldier, and school, and mama, and cooking, and playhouse, and concert, and hair, and Miss Choomby and company.

For the cramped, bewildered years we went to school to learn to know the answers to, and the people who, and the places where, and the times when.

In memory of those bitter hours when we discovered we were poor, and Black, and small, and different and nobody cared, and nobody knew, and nobody understood.

For the boys and girls who grew, in spite of those things, to be men and women to dance, and sing, and play, and drink their wine, and religion, and success, to marry their playmates, and bear children, and then to die of consumption, and anemia, and lynching.

For my people thronging 47th Street in Chicago, Lenox Avenue in New York, Rampart Street in New Orleans, filling the cabarets, and the taverns, and other people's pockets, needing milk, and shoes, and bread, and money, and something, something all their own.

For my people walking blindly, spreading joy, losing time being lazy, sleeping when hungry, shouting when burdened, drinking when hopeless, tied and shackled and tangled among ourselves by the unseen creatures who tower over us omnisciently (chuckles) and laugh.

For my people blundering and groping and floundering in the dark of churches, and schools, and clubs, and societies, associations, and conventions, and councils, and committees, distressed and deceived and disturbed, and devoured by money-hungry glory-craving leeches, preyed on by facile force of state, by fad, by holy believer and false prophet.

For my people standing, staring, trying to fashion a better world out of hypocrisy, misunderstanding, confusion, trying to fashion a world that will hold all the people, all the faces, all the Adams and Eves and their countless generations.

Let a new earth arise.

Let another world be born.

Let a bloody peace be written in the sky.

Let a second generation full of freedom issue forth.

Let a people loving freedom come to growth.

Let there be a beauty, a final clenching, a healing.

Let that be the pulsing in our spirits, in our blood.

Let the martial songs be written.

Let the dirges disappear.

Let a race of men now rise and take control.

I thank you.

(Maya sings in foreign language) (Maya sings in foreign language) - [Narrator] The proceeding program, "Blacks, Blues, Black!," was made possible by a public service grant from the Olympia Brewing Company.