Mr. Speaker, I rise today to pay my recognition and respect to the extraordinary contributions of the world renowned playwright August Wilson who died October 2, 2005 of liver cancer. Mr. Wilson was a Tony Award winner and two time…
Mr. Speaker, I rise today to pay my recognition and respect to the extraordinary contributions of the world renowned playwright August Wilson who died October 2, 2005 of liver cancer. Mr. Wilson was a Tony Award winner and two time Pulitzer Prize winner whose plays not only chronicled and captured the harsh realities African American families faced throughout the 1900s, they have provided insight into Black life, depicting its struggles to overcome discrimination and poverty with dignity and nobility amidst the pain and the struggle that all communities are able to appreciate. His plays poetically depict the effects of slavery and oppression on Black Americans in every decade of the 20th century, and show that despite the harshness of life, this crucible produced great strength and resilience that have enabled us to overcome.
August Wilson was born on April 27, 1945 as Frederick August Kittel, in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. He later changed his name after his father left out of respect for his mother. Mr. Wilson grew up on ``the Hill,'' which was a predominantly Black and poor neighborhood in Pittsburgh. It was the daily experiences of this African American community that inspired the content of his plays. At 13 years of age he moved to predominantly White Hazelwood, but he did not forget the unique culture of the Hill, especially when he had to suffer the racial taunts in Hazelwood. The racial discrimination that Wilson faced led Wilson, at the age of 15 to drop out of high school because his teacher couldn't believe that a Black student could create a well written term paper and accused him of plagiarism. This however, did not impede his thirst for knowledge or his love for writing. With diligence and self discipline, August Wilson continued his education through self-study at Carnegie Library. He began reading Black literature and other Black works, like Richard Wright, Langston Hughes, Ralph Ellison, and Arna Bontemps.
His hopes of becoming a writer were quickly challenged when his mother urged him to become an attorney. Disapproving of his dreams for a writing career, his mother forced him to leave the house. In 1963, Mr. Wilson enlisted in the U.S. Army only to be discharged in 1964. Determined to continue his pursuit for a writing career, he invested in the purchase of his first typewriter and moved into a rooming house in Pittsburgh. To support himself he worked a series of odd ``blue collar'' jobs, like short-order cook, dishwasher, porter, stock boy, and gardener. Starting out as a poet, his poems were published in the late 1960s and early 70s in several periodicals, one being the Negro Digest created by the late John Johnson.
However, it was not until August Wilson heard the voice of legendary Bessie Smith's record ``Nobody in Town Can Bake a Sweet Jellyroll Like Mine,'' he realized that it was his responsibility to carry the torch of his ancestors and assume the role as the representative of Black American culture, telling the world our history and dignifying our struggle. Hearing the blues motivated, challenged, and empowered the young poet to document Black American culture in his writings. Wilson describe this epiphany as the ``Universe stuttered and everything fell to a new place . . . I cannot describe or even relate what I felt . . . it was a birth, a baptism, a resurrection, and a redemption all rolled up in one. It was the beginning of my consciousness that I was a representative of a culture and the carrier of some very valuable antecedents . . . I had been given a world that contained my image . . . The ideas of self-determination, self-respect, and self-defense . . . are still very much a part of my life as I sit down and write. I have stood [these ideas] up in the world of Bessie Smith on the ground captured by the Blues. Having started my beginning consciousness there, it is no surprise that I would mature and my efforts would come to fruition on that same ground.'' As a result he established two organizations that promoted Black American writing: the Center Avenue Poets Theatre Workshop, and Black Horizons. Plus, he continued writing plays chronicling different experiences that Afiican Americans faced.
His big break was the debut of the 1982 play ``Ma Rainey's Black Bottom,'' the first of a 10-drama series that would chronicle each decade of the Twentieth Century, which premiered at Broadway's Cort Theater on October 11, 1984. Set in Chicago in 1927, the play focuses on White record companies' exploitation of Black musicians. This play mirrored the images and positions that African Americans faced in a society dominated by White racism. The beauty of the play, grabbed national attention earning Mr. Wilson several Tony nominations, and the New York Drama Critics Circle Award. ``Fences'', however, a play depicting a 1950s Black family's personal and economic issues, grossed a record $11 million in a year, which broke the record for nonmusical plays. As a result, Wilson became The Chicago Tribune's Artist of the Year; the play won the New York Drama Critics Circle Award for Best Play, four Tony Awards for Best Play, Best Director, Best Actor and Best Featured Actress; and a Pulitzer Prize for Drama. Finally, ``The Piano Lesson,'' inspired
by Romare Beardon's painting illustrated family conflict over an heirloom built by a slave ancestor. This 1986 play earned the New York Drama Critics Award, the Tony for Best Play, the Drama Desk Award, the American Theatre Critics Outstanding Play Award, and the Pulitzer Prize for Drama. Wilson's subsequent plays continued to receive accolades and awards, solidifying his position in American Theatrical history.
August Wilson was not only a champion of Black America by representing and dignifying African American culture during a time when it wasn't otherwise appreciated; he was a pioneer in the world of literature and theatre. Although his body is no longer with us, his work and his impact on American History will continue on for posterity. On October 17, Broadway's Virginia Theatre will be renamed the August Wilson Theatre in Mr. Wilson's honor. His final play, ``Radio Golf' is scheduled to be produced on Broadway during the 2006-2007 season. Mr. Wilson is survived by his wife, Constanza Romero; their daughter, Azula, 8, and an adult daughter from a previous marriage, Sakina Ansari.
I submit to you an article from the October 4, 2005 edition of the Washington Post, illustrating the type of man and impact August Wilson had on this country.
[From the Washington Post, Oct. 4, 2005]
The Cycle of August Wilson's Life
(By Peter Marks)
The death of August Wilson does not simply leave a hole in
the American theater, but a huge, yawning wound, one that
will have to wait to be stitched closed by some expansive,
poetic dramatist yet to emerge.
To say that Wilson was the greatest African American
playwright the nation has produced--as some inevitably do--is
to limit the scope of his significance as a contributor to
the country's dramatic heritage. Wilson wrote scathingly
about racism, yes, in ``Ma Rainey's Black Bottom,'' and the
indelible scars of slavery, in ``The Piano Lesson'' and ``Gem
of the Ocean.'' He also wrote about the Oedipal conflict of
fathers and sons (``Fences'') and the universal quest for the
easy score (``Two Trains Running''). His concerns were as
multifaceted as the hard-pressed people he wrote about.
Over the past 20 years, Wilson had staked a legitimate
claim to the title of nation's most important dramatist.
During that time he won two Pulitzers and a Tony, and among
his plays he polished off at least three that will rank among
the classics: ``Ma Rainey,'' ``Joe Turner's Come and Gone''
and ``The Piano Lesson,'' along with what will perhaps endure
as his favorite with audiences: ``Fences,'' the story of an
embittered former baseball prospect, played on Broadway by
James Earl Jones.
All this may not have meant as much as it did in the days
when playwriting giants roamed the countryside, when a new
play by Tennessee Williams or Arthur Miller or Eugene O'Neill
had the power to galvanize public discourse, and even land an
actor on the cover of a national magazine. We've moved away,
sad to say, from the era of the stage as a truly vital
pulpit. In the commercial realm, Wilson's plays were usually
not moneymakers. But the fact that he could consistently
count on clicking the ``send'' button and having a play end
up in the in box of Broadway--even in this lean and
inhospitable time for serious drama--stamps him as a theater
man of nothing but consequence.
Wilson died ludicrously young on Sunday, at the age of 60
in his adoptive home town of Seattle, where he wrote plays,
big, garrulous, angry, lyrical, ponderous, often beautiful
plays, in an office in his basement. He went public with his
terminal liver cancer a little more than a month ago and when
he did, he came forward with a breathtaking serenity. He
pronounced himself prepared for what was coming. ``I've lived
a blessed life,'' he told the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the
paper of the city of his birth, the metropolis that served as
backdrop for many of his major plays. ``I'm ready.''
He cannot, of course, have been content to leave his
family, especially his 8-year-old daughter, Azula, whom he
proudly told me last December was writing her own plays.
Work-wise, however, he may have been expressing a measure of
relief, in that he had satisfied the exacting requirements of
the towering assignment he had given himself: a cycle of 10
plays, one set in each decade of the 20th century. (``Radio
Golf,'' the last one, has yet to reach New York; its regional
debut comes at Center Stage in Baltimore in March.)
Not that he was exactly through with writing. In an
interview over breakfast at a diner in the Edison, the modest
Times Square tourist hotel that was his longtime New York
base, he revealed that he was working on a comedy whose
milieu now seems heartbreakingly prescient: Pittsburgh coffin
makers.
His dramas are connected by a palpable sense of geography,
usually, a rambunctious district of Pittsburgh; by the
mordant humor of characters who spit at hardship; by an eye
that seemed to see a story taking shape in every soul. They
also reveal the acumen of Wilson's ear in the cross currents
of language that flow from his characters as if pouring out
of deep, lustrous, meandering canals.
He wrote for authentic-sounding stage creatures, and yet
his dialogue might have found a place in novels. ``Now I'm
gonna show you how this goes, where you just a leftover from
history,'' Toledo, the piano player, tells the other Black
musicians in dialect in ``Ma Rainey's Black Bottom.'' The
play, set in the 1920s, was the first of Wilson's to make it
to Broadway. It was an auspicious coming out. Wilson, wrote
drama critic Frank Rich in the New York Times at the play's
1984 opening, ``sends the entire history of black America
down upon our heads.''
Wilson returned again and again to the idea of Black
America's unique historical inheritance, to reminders of how
the South's peculiar institution was not at all a dead memory
but a living shadow. As many other characters would in the
Wilson pantheon, Toledo offers in ``Ma Rainey'' his own
homespun history lesson about the African diaspora:
``Everybody come from different places in Africa, right?
Come from different tribes and things. Soonawhile they began
to make one big stew. You had the carrots, the peas, and
potatoes and whatnot over here. And over there, you had the
meat, the nuts, the okra, corn . . . and then you mix it up
and let it cook right through to get the flavors flowing
together. Then you got one thing. You got a stew.''
Wilson's own favorite playwright was Chekhov, and you can
see how their theatrical stews might simmer well together.
Wilson was a conjurer of characters, not an accomplished
spinner of plot or master of compression. He was, in fact,
legendary for writing one overlong draft after another, and
working with a director--most successfully Lloyd Richards,
head for many years of the Yale School of Drama--who could
help him pare it down. A script was by no means complete once
rehearsals began, he told me. He even liked to seek out
actors and ask them what else they needed from him.
He had a reputation for feistiness and a certain amount of
ego. The talk of the theater world in 1997 was his Manhattan
debate with Robert Brustein, the director, critic and founder
of Harvard's American Repertory Theatre, over their
disagreement about whether a theater exclusively devoted to
Black experience is desirable. Wilson was a passionate
advocate of Black theater, and the evening at Town Hall
stands as the last occasion on which a philosophical theater
argument grabbed headlines.
When I sat down with him late last year, Wilson seemed
anything but combative. He was in a pleasant frame of mind,
as a playwright might be with the work of grinding out a play
completed. The play was ``Gem of the Ocean,'' set in 1904,
which as a result became the prologue of the cycle he'd been
writing for much of his professional life.
As it happens, the first in the chain was the last he'd
ever get to see on Broadway. The chain he'd long promised,
and true to his word, the chain he delivered.