Let Love Rule - Lenny Kravitz Page 0,17
as a concert pianist. Then there was Stephanie Mills in The Wiz; Sherman Hemsley in Purlie; Linda Hopkins in Me and Bessie; Clifton Davis in Two Gentlemen of Verona. And always the biggest thrill of all: going with Mom to see Off-Broadway productions like Dream on Monkey Mountain with Roscoe Lee Brown.
Some sights I discovered on my own, mainly because the Metropolitan Museum of Art was just across the street. I loved racing my bike around the two fountains flanking the main entrance. Weirdly, the only time I got mugged didn’t happen in Bed-Stuy, but right in front of the museum, when a couple of kids pulled a knife on me and stole my bike. But that didn’t keep me away.
I took painting and sculpture classes at the Met. I roamed around the enormous galleries on my own. I gazed up at the statues of heroic warriors and horses covered in armor. I was there the opening day of the famous King Tut exhibit. I made little notes and sketches of things that caught my fancy, like Roman frescoes and majestic Renaissance landscapes and portraits, religious paintings that felt alive, often inscribed with a plaque reading “Volto Santo.” I would chant it as I walked around: “Volto Santo. Volto Santo.” “Holy Face.” There was a huge exhibit called From the Lands of the Scythians, with glistening treasures from ancient Greece and the Middle East and all over the globe. I pretended it was my kingdom.
I’d have to call it a golden childhood.
“AND YOU BETTER NOT FUCK UP!”
Yes, I had those scary dreams. And I butted heads constantly with my dad. Yet it wasn’t even close: the good times far outweighed the bad. I was one joyous kid.
Mom was the main reason for my happiness. Sometimes stern, always protective, she raised me right. Her main method was simple: she loved me with all her might. She spoke so gently and calmly that you can understand my shock when, sitting at the Brooks Atkinson Theatre at the end of a Broadway play in which she starred, I heard her speak words that I never would have imagined coming out of her mouth. I had no way of knowing then—and neither did Mom—that that performance would alter her life and the life of our family.
Mom was playing Mattie Williams, the female lead in The River Niger, a production of the Negro Ensemble Company written by Joseph A. Walker and directed by Mom’s costar Douglas Turner Ward. My mother received rave reviews, was nominated for a Tony, and won an Obie. And the play itself won the Tony that year. It was 1974.
At age ten, I was used to watching Mom perform. She was a consummate professional, flawless in all kinds of roles. But this was different. This time, she transformed herself into a woman with deadly cancer whose husband, an alcoholic poet, was at odds with their soldier son. The play reflected big issues: poverty, militancy, police brutality, the tension between Black matriarchy and Black masculinity. At the very end, the husband sacrifices himself for the good of his community. It is left to his wife, Mattie, to demand that the survivors carry out her husband’s plan. And so, just before the curtain came down, my mom, as Mattie, rose up to shout, “And you better not fuck up!”
With that, the audience leapt from their seats and gave her a standing ovation. That would have been enough to create a memory to last a lifetime. As it turned out, though, behind the scenes something bigger was brewing.
Television producer Norman Lear was in the audience. This was when his show All in the Family was a national sensation. Lear was planning a spin-off featuring Archie Bunker’s nemesis George Jefferson, played by my parents’ friend Sherman Hemsley. Watching Roxie Roker on Broadway, Lear envisioned her as Helen Willis, a neighbor of the Jeffersons, which was also the name of the new sitcom.
A week or so later, Lear’s office called to ask Mom if she was willing to read for the part. She was. Some friends warned her that TV would steal her soul. They looked down on situation comedies. But Mom was no snob. She was practical. Although an exceptional thespian, she’d never earned much money doing theater. This was an opportunity to make a decent living. Her father had raised her to be self-sufficient. She loved quoting the Billie Holiday song that said, “God bless the child that’s got his own.”
Besides, she respected Norman