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| (photo courtesy of SoulTrain.com) |
My babysitter Renee watched Soul Train with a zealot’s devotion. She turned me on to it, and Baby, did it open my eyes.
Don Cornelius, the show’s producer and host, died at the age of 75 last week. He said “Baby” a lot. He was the only TV host I ever heard address his guests and his audience members as “Baby”. Renee’s mother called me Baby. My father’s parents called me Baby. My father called me Babygirl sometimes. I figured it must have been a black thing.
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| (photo courtesy of SoulTrain.com) |
As a brown girl being raised by a white mother who insisted that I was black, in a culture that insisted that I was black, I was on the lookout for clues about “black things”. My own black father was not trying to expose me to my black heritage, ever. The dilapidated state of Harlem was an embarrassment to him. He had some choice words for Don Cornelius, whose style and lingo fell short of his own professional standards: “pimp” and “jive turkey” his most common epithets.
Don Cornelius and his afro-licious bellbottomed booty-shakin’ dancers looked like they could teach me a black thing or two. Renee taught me how to emulate the moves; we studied variations of the hustle and the electric slide until we knew them cold. The music was infectious! So different from the stuff Mom listened to at home: Thelonious Monk, Coltrane, Billie Holiday and Miles were moody, intellectual, demanding. Don Cornelius played funky, happy music. It was uplifting, high energy, make ya wanna dance music, Baby!
Soul Train offered a beautiful view of Black Americana - a tantalizing taste of that black thing I was missing. I felt an instant connection to those pretty brown faces, smiling and dancing en masse – celebrating themselves. It’s easy to forget the impact of those old images.
