It’s 2016, and Yale University acquires a priceless piece of the Harlem Renaissance. In 1932, young artist E. Simms Campbell drew his “Night-Club Map of Harlem,” a who’s-who illustration of the neighborhood hotspots. Drawn cartoon-style, we see Cab Calloway singing at the Cotton Club. There’s Glady Bentley’s Clam House, with Gladys tickling the ivories in a tuxedo. And Smalls’ Paradise, with its “café au lait girls” and dancing waiters. 

Campbell’s affectionate tribute to Harlem, and the jazz music it cultivated, caught readers’ attention in the first issue of Esquire magazine. He’d been recommended by artist Russell Patterson. “I know a fantastically talented colored kid,” Patterson said, “if you don’t draw the color line.” Thus Campbell became the first African-American illustrator for mainstream white publications. 

Whether in Esquire, or the New Yorker, Cosmopolitan, or Redbook, Campbell’s art indeed crossed the color line. He subtly and subversively poked fun at so-called problems among affluent whites – an impatient husband waiting for his wife, a man caught cheating at a Whites-only nightclub, the crises in choosing wallpaper. Meanwhile, in Black-focused publications, Campbell addressed the deeper issues of creating a Black identity and the power of jazz. Always a jazz advocate, Campbell authored a chapter on blues music for the 1939 book Jazzmen, a study of jazz history and evolution. 

Campbell’s “Night-Club Map of Harlem” has also enjoyed a long career. Cab Calloway included it in his autobiography. Ken Burns published it in the companion book to his film Jazz. It was published twice in National Geographic and was displayed at the Smithsonian. Now at Yale, it’s available to historians for research. 

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Al Hibbler, a jazz vocalist who captivated generations of music lovers with his unique vocal style, was born blind on August 16, 1915, in Tyro, Mississippi. He was the first black singer to have a radio program in Little Rock, Arkansas in the 1930s.

In the early 1940s he joined Jay McShann’s orchestra as a vocalist, but a past encounter with Duke Ellington soon changed the direction of his career. Hoping to join Ellington’s group as a vocalist, he had tried out with Ellington and company during a show they were playing in Little Rock. Excited by the audience’s positive response to his performance, Hibbler celebrated … by getting drunk. The next day, Ellington informed Hibbler that he didn’t want him in the organization, saying, ^“I can handle a blind man but not a blind drunk.”

Fortunately, after about 16 months singing for McShann, Hibbler got another chance to show Ellington what he could do. This time he made the cut, replacing Herb Jeffries in Ellington’s orchestra as its sole male vocalist in May of 1943. To showcase Hibbler’s unique vocal style, Ellington wrote lyrics for one of his popular instrumental pieces, creating the famous “Do Nothin’ Till You Hear from Me.” Another of Hibbler’s most successful recordings came in 1947 when he sang the opening of Ellington’s Liberian Suite, entitled, “I Like the Sunrise.”

By the late 1950s, Hibbler had become active in the civil rights movement, contributing not just financial support but participating in a number of demonstrations, marching with Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and being arrested for civil disobedience in New Jersey in 1959 and in Birmingham, Alabama, on April 10, 1963, where he was picketing in front of the Trailways Bus Station. Although Birmingham police officers told reporters they had no intention of arresting him, demonstrators guided the blind jazz singer into the back of a paddy wagon after he insisted on joining 25 others going to the Birmingham City Jail.

Record companies feared Hibbler’s involvement in civil rights would create a backlash and began to shy away from the singer. With one exception. Frank Sinatra, who signed Hibbler to a contract with his Reprise Records shortly after the label’s debut

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Every picture tells a story … or two.

It’s 1951 Los Angeles, and photographer Bob Willoughby works in his darkroom, listening to the radio. The disc jockey promotes a jazz concert that night at the Olympic arena. The concert starts at midnight. Intrigued, Willoughby packs his camera and heads for the show. What he finds there, and what he captures on film, become iconic images of the power of jazz. Look a little closer to the photos, and another, deeper story unfolds.

Willoughby finds the show in full swing. Hundreds of young fans crowd the stage. They are enraptured. Saxman Big Jay McNeely, famous for his infectious energy, has them whipped into a near frenzy. Caught up in the moment, Willoughby jumps on stage and shoots frame after frame. His most famous image is of McNeely, lying on his back at the edge of the stage, drenched in sweat, wailing on the sax while the kids scream.

The energy emanating from that photograph is palpable. But it is also a telling reflection of the times. Look deeper. You’ll notice that all those screaming kids are white. There isn’t a person of color to be seen. And toward the back, a white policeman patrols the crowd. His expression is sober. His eyes are wary of McNeely’s performance and the young people’s reaction.

As one jazz writer commented at the time, “Music may be colorblind, but society in the 1950’s sure wasn’t.”

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“What is a color?”

British jazz pianist George Shearing was the ninth child born to a poor family in England. His
father delivered coal and his mother cleaned trains in the evening. Blind from birth, he
attended school for the blind where he studied Braille music. Shearing turned down university
scholarships to earn a living playing piano in a pub, joining an all blind band in the ‘30s as
accordionist. (In a press conference in the ‘80s Shearing defined a gentleman as “one who
knows how to play the accordion but doesn’t.”)

Renowned for his inventive, melodic and unabashedly romantic solos, George Shearing had one
of the most popular jazz combos on the planet — so much so that, in the usual jazz tradition of
distrusting popular success, he tended to be underappreciated.  A pioneer of exciting, small-
combo Afro-Cuban jazz in the 1950s.

Shearing was also known for his opposition to racism. As a matter of fact, Shearing led one of
the first integrated bands in jazz.  Percussionist Armando Peraza played with Shearing from the mid-1950s to the mid-1960s. Peraza described touring the United States with Shearing, being stopped by police, club owners refusing to let the band in, and other instances of racism. “I was with the Shearing group from 1954-1966 and recorded approx. 20 albums with him”, he recalled. “During most of my time with George, touring the U.S. was always littered with racial land mines, not always in the South. When we would travel by car, it didn’t matter what part of the country, we would constantly get stopped and ticketed by the cops because of the mix of colors inside the car. It was against the law in a lot of States for race mixing and the Shearing band was one of the first integrated groups in the business.  Many times we’d show up at a gig and the club
owner, promoter or manager would freak out because they didn’t know we were a mixed race band and would refuse to let us enter the club. That’s when George would mess with these people. He would ask them what was the problem. The offender would say he can’t have Black people in his club and George would then ask “What is a color?” Since George was blind from birth, technically it was true that he didn’t know what the hell a color was, but George wanted to make the person explain their own racism to a person who couldn’t see. The person would try and always fail to logically explain it and would eventually give in and let us play, especially when George would say “If my musicians can’t enter, then neither will I.”

Music: From the 1960 album “Latin Affair” – the George Shearing Quintet with “Estampa Cubana”.

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A historic venue with a divisive past.

The First Great Migration to northern states brought tens of thousands of African-Americans to
New York City, especially Harlem, during the 1920’s. Harlem soon became a nexus for art,
literature, and music. The clubs, speakeasies, and juke joints of Lenox and Seventh Avenues
characterized the nightlife. Places like Smalls’ Paradise, the Lafayette Theatre, Connie’s Inn, and
the Savoy Ballroom attracted Black audiences to their revues, comedy shows, and concerts.
However, it was the famous Cotton Club that attracted curious white patrons. and was THE
place for Cab Calloway’s subtle but indelible influence on American culture began the moment
he forgot the chorus to his own signature song. Picture the scene: The club is packed. Dancers
fill the floor. Calloway steps to the mic and begins that new song he’s been dying to sing. He
reaches the chorus. Something catches his eye. And he can’t remember what comes next.
Always the consummate showman, he improvises with some scat. The crowd joins in. The rest
is history.
That happy accident forever changed “Minnie the Moocher,” and introduced a piece of Black
history to future generations. The “call-and-response,” an intrinsic element of African culture,
was brought to America during the slave trade. Field workers incorporated call-and-response
into their work songs, to set the pace of labor, but also as covert communication. It became a
potent form of resistance, picked up again during the marches of the Civil Rights movement.
Of great pride to Calloway was “Minnie the Moocher’s” legacy for breaking the color barrier.
Over a million copies were sold upon release and was played on both black and white radio
stations. The story of a down-and-out opium addict, it seems, has universal appeal.
Calloway led what was arguably the most popular big band of the Harlem Renaissance and into
the Swing Era. He replaced Duke Ellington as the headliner of the Cotton Club. The fact that his
all-Black orchestra could play the Cotton Club but not enter as guests was not lost on him. As if
in response, he took his band on the road, leading a successful all-Black revue through the deep
South.

Music: Cab Calloway singin’ about “Poor Min” in his immortal “Minnie the Moocher”

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