The Weekend of My Embarassment

On Saturday during the day, I had the enormous pleasure of hosting "Conversation at CAAM" where a World War II fighter pilot, bank president, NAACP area president, Police Commission Board chair and all around brilliant lawyer Elbert Hudson spoke of the past and the future, patterns of behavior established by his family, and offered footsteps to follow. He is a hero to me for his lifetime of service, his personality and his commitment to the race and the community. I was proud Saturday afternoon. Then things changed so hard, I wanted to hide in my house because of the beyond stupid actions of Kanye West and Serena Williams. You never know what ignorant behavoir Kanye is going come up with (although when he said on live tv that George Bush was a racist, it made me chuckle). But running up on stage to embarass every living body at the Video Music Awards ranting and screaming is beyond the pale. We know he's nuts and somebody ought to call the rubber truck to come get his behind. But what he did doesn't bother me as much as Serena's antics. She and her sister have always been golden, charmed, blessed. Well, until yesterday. Everyone who is waving the John McEnroe flag in comparison ought to check the facts. Mac was entertaining and even on his craziest day never said fuck you and threatened to kill the line judge. He got his share of bad press and it was all sort of 'ok, he's got a bad temper, but we like him anyway.' But the people who do not like Serena have been waiting for the opportunity to blast her. Sports writers are saying she has no dignity and no sportsman like qualities she's a coward and was beaten by a player fresh off maternity leave. In general they damn her saying although she has called herself the best player who ever held a racquet, she isn't, never was and needs to sit her behind down and stay there. Well, let me tell you, I'm old enough to remember when tennis was a white athletes game. They let 'the one' in, Althea Gibson. There was nervousness when Arthur Ashe got into the game, but soon there were sighs of relief all around because both those players were exemplars of sportsmanship, dignity and class. There've been people waiting ever since for black players to show their asses to prove it wasn't a wise idea to let just anybody play the game. Sorry to say, Serena's ass is showing. I'm Ruth Adkins Robinson.

Black Exotic Dancers

I was giving the visual arts curator Michelle Lee a hand with her upcoming CAAM exhibition on the "Harlem of the West" the Fillmore in San Francisco earlier today. In her section on burlesque, I was appreciating the beauty of the women, Lottie The Body and Toni Elling. Then I remembered the first exotic dancer I ever saw. Talk about beauty! There once was a whole grip of clubs in Los Angeles where you could go and dance your legs off and also watch some professional dancers. This one night somehow I got a seat up close to the night's performers. I was still pretty naive and when my date, Cornell, told me the dancer was a man, I didn't believe him. Embarassed and curious, I peered closer at Sir Lady Java. Nothing about that dancer said man to me. His skin was velvet. His shape as curvy as mine and stare as hard as I could I just couldn't find any evidence of any male equipment. It got me thinking about what propelled him up onstage changed from man to woman. Over the years, I've talked to female impersonators and found many different reasons for their choice to perform. One year when Sammy Davis (pictured here in the Fillmore) judged a female impersonator's competition, he and I talked about how stunningly beautiful some of the contestants were. That's it. It all goes back to beauty I guess. Men like Java were too beautiful to live 24/7 as men, I think. But gender identification is curious and confusing. Take the case of Caster Semenya, the runner who has been challenged over gender issues. She runs too fast to be a woman, so let's subject her to total humiliation. This person who is 18 could be forever damaged by what she was subjected to this week. I have no idea what will happen to her, but I wish people could just appreciate the beauty of her running and let her be. I'm Ruth Adkins Robinson

What Happened to Civil Rights?

Lubna Hussein would rather go to jail than pay a fine because she wanted to make a point about the Civil Rights of women, which pretty much doesn't exist in the Sudan. So instead of popping for the 400 bucks, off she went. That used to happen here, but doesn't so much anymore. I was talking to John Mack, president of the Police Board and longtime head of the Urban League about what happened to the country. We were rabid marchers and protesters when John and I were young. There was fire in bellies of the young. Who blew out the fire? It is like somebody said, "Ok, we have our Civil Rights now so let's get on with the party and making some money." Who are the Civil Rights people now? Can't think if any? That's the point. In our weekly get togethers Regina Jones and I were talking about the very same thing. She bemoans the fact that people write emails to each other but do little else. Where is the leadership, she asks? I don't know either, but I can't imagine why people think no action is necessary. There are sharp reminders of a past neither dim or distant. My favorite JAG colonel, William John Glasser was perhaps to be posted at the Pentagon again and I asked him how it was in that building. He said, "Oh, it's just a building with too many bathrooms." Sound puzzling? Well, remember when the Pentagon was built, colored and white had separate facilities. Does that mean black officers couldn't pee alongside enlisted white men, they could only pee with the brothers? Yes that's what it means then and now, really. Just one stat to leave you with on this cool Wednesday. In the highest rank of four star general in the air force or even the three star, how many black officers are there? Consider this, President Clinton awarded Benjamin O. Davis his fourth star after his death, 'cause despite the fact that he was commander of the Tuskegee Airmen and many other notable accomplishments, he only reached 3 stars. Groaning and wishing for equality for women in pants and people in uniform, I'm Ruth Adkins Robinson

Bashir's Got His Freaking Nerve

I'm watching Night Line and they are doing a tribute to all the people who have died this summer. Tributes are appropriate for this long, hot summer of loss. So many have left us, young and old. But for that snake Martin Bashir to be sitting there looking all sad about those who died makes me queasy. " He spent eight months following MJ around and the end result "Living with Michael Jackson" twisted the public's viewpoint. Bashir started the downspiral into accusations of molestations for MJ. It made your American career, didn't it Martin? Turned you into a bigger than life talking head anchor. As surely as the doctor who shot him up, you pulled the trigger on Michael Jackson. How well do you sleep, anchorman? When I used to be a journalist, it was to report the news, not twist it to suit your fancy. Be careful should the tide of public opinion turn against you. Look closer Bashear there's a lot of people like me jeering. I'm Ruth Adkins Robinson.

Between the Dashes

I've been reading all the comments about Skip Miller and idly wondering what will they say when I die. Skip was a gentleman, endlessly gracious and giving and while nobody much has said it, Skip was fine as wine. Maybe that sounds flip to some, but it would make Skip grin, no doubt. No bad posts or thoughts for Skip. Not many people will that be true about. I remember on the occasion of the death of a pretty famous member of a singing group, we were standing at the funeral and one man said "I'm waiting for (group leader's name goes here) to die, because I want to go piss on his grave." Whew. That was funny and it was also deep. Do I have a chance to change things in case anybody wants to piss on my grave? Well, they say about me in life that I have talent and a bad temper. I am devoted to my family and to work. But there is never enough time to max out the talent, to do all the things you want to do with your family. Pundits always say it's what you do between the dash (your birth and death dates) that counts. Skip was given 61 years between his dash --not nearly enough for those of us who could use some more Skip. Not enough for KC and the kids or Tony or Miller or Suzanne and so many others. If you ask a little kid how long 61 years is, he will just stare at you trying to imagine such a giant number of years. If you ask a retiree how long 61 years is, he will say not nearly enough. Time seems to be moving slowly this weekend. Maybe I'm just running through Jello. I can't seem to focus because one more death seems like the straw for this camel. Can't clean up, can't fire up my creative self. Not much Labor happening on this Labor Day. When I told my dear friend in Argentina that I was taking this harder than I expected. He said, "maybe you will rearrange your priorities now." Hmm. Not knowing how much time I have, I've just chosen to waste some of it--thinking about what's between my dashes and what I need to do about it. I'm suddenly hoping I can do some things so folks will be somewhat kinder when talking about Ruth Adkins Robinson

Tell the Truth, Ruth

Facebook haters must all be twelve and never fell out of touch with anyone they considered a friend. Without a clue to where they've gone, or where to look, friends get swallowed up by the mists of time. Then suddenly they are on the pages of Facebook. Fantastic. Today is a prime example of what I mean. I got a FB friend request from someone I knew in my 20s when I was trying to be a songwriter. The request said "Tell the truth, Ruth" and it came from Sigidi Abdullah. He sent me his phone number and I called him in a split second because he's one of those people that I truly missed having in my life. I grinned to myself while dialing remembering what he looked like back in the 70s. He seemed about six eight or so, all Afrocentric and skinny. Sigidi's hair was also about six eight or so--sideways. He had this loping walk and his hair would lope right along. He was also a fantastic songwriter/musician. There was a group he led called Conjur. I always got a kick out of the names of the group members: Sigidi, Ronji, Umbagi and Harold. I loved the way the names rolled of my tongue until you got to Harold! Our Harold was killed a few years ago by some silly bitch who rolled through the intersection of Pico and LaBrea at too high speed. Anyway, Sigidi and I wrote some songs together and one called "Willie Pass the Water" was recorded on somebody or other, it might have been Conjur, I don't remember. But since writers can't help themselves, Sigidi had to tell me the lyrics to a song he'd just written and I laughed outloud in pure joy--from having to listen again and because the song was so great. It's all good, Sigidi. Also coming out into the light, my old friend Fred Wesley from back in the day when I taught Sam & the Goodtimers their first choreography. Of course, you know Fred from James Brown and George Clinton fame. Just the greatest trombone player in the world. There are others, wonderful newsman Larry Carroll for instance. More on this subject later from Ruth Adkins Robinson

Lost My Warrant, Lost My Mind

So in June, the State of California stopped paying people like me who work as independent contractors. Everybody who isn't living in a cave knows they started issuing IOUs to us dumbbutts. I'm not good with pieces of paper so I've lost the two IOUs that I've received. Of course you can guess what madness ensued when I realized I'd lost them. Because of course they weren't really lost, I had just put them up somewhere safe. It is the story of my normal, insane pattern of doing things. Put it up somewhere safe. So I dedicated the entire last five days to finding those two unremarkable looking slips of paper. My house now looks like a bomb went off in there and only after I looked in the same place that I had looked ten times earlier did I find ONE OF THEM. Right there in my passport case, I found very neatly folded up a State of California warrant for some thousands. So today I gave in and simply filed a notice of loss for the other one because I must get on with the other parts of my life, languishing for the last five days. Of course, I have lost many things by putting them up 'somewhere safe.' A diamond ring that I especially liked, I've had to get my birth certificate from the Department of Vital Statistics of Kentucky so many times, they probably think I'm selling the thing, all kinds of memorabilia, and very often I discover that which I have put in safekeeping. So this weekend, I bought a fireproof box to keep in the house to put things in. This is not to be confused with my safety deposit box at City National, where I keep important jewelry and other secret stuff. See, I put the safety deposit keys up somewhere safe and until I find them, the new little box will have to do. I'm Ruth Adkins Robinson