The Clubdate Singer Speaks! Chapter 4: Rosa Parks
Disclaimer: The following story is an
actual event, as all of the vignettes in the 'Clubdate Singer Speaks'
series are. For 8 years, I was a member of one of the top Orchestras in
the nation. Though it was an enjoyable time, it was also at times, quite
painful. I took to writing initially to assuage my distress, and this
is one of those times when the pen (or keyboard) proved to be a healing
tool. I have considered publishing this series, and would appreciate
your thoughts...
“Rosa
Parks” - Summer 2003
“Rosa
Parks” - Summer 2003
The first time that I was
told to use the back door to get into a Clubdate, I was devastated.
I kept trying to convince
myself that it had nothing to do with my color, and it probably didn’t. BUT, it
still made my stomach knot up.
Come to think of it, it’s
not a color thing, more a class thing. I know because I had to enter A Major Black Hollywood Star (MBHS)’s house through the side door too.(see Chapter 17 for that story)
The
reality is this, on a Clubdate you see the essence of classism at work, it is
the nature of the beast. The servers and the served,with the band in some kind
of no man’s land in-between. The staff is usually darker of hue than the
patrons, and for a 60’s kid like me, it’s especially difficult. But such is
life, and Dr. King’s dream is still just that.
I
have been doing this for nearly 5 years, and have only done 3 black weddings.
(Actually 2, and 2 weddings where ½ of the couple was black,) It could be
argued that the cost is prohibitive. I would agree, but rarely do I even see
black guests, and THAT has nothing to do with how much you want to spend for
your wedding…
But I digress. Again. I seem to do that a lot…
It
is interesting to me that whenever I walk into one of these venues, invariably
it is assumed that I am either in the band or on the wait staff. Once inside, a
guest will walk over to me and ask directions, even when I’m a guest myself.
Case in point:
I was at a friend’s
wedding one night, and his besotted mother in law walked up to me and said:
“You guys were great!” I said, “Thanks, but I’m not in the band.” I found this
particularly insulting because there was no-one in the band that looked
remotely like me. Which means that all she saw were black men in black suits,
their features, indistinguishable. This cannot be blamed entirely on the
alcohol either.
I fight with this, but it is the reality, and it
is bigger than I.
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