Making a Way

As you may know, “making a way out of no way” is a popular African American phrase that points to the creativity and tenacity of people in the face of oppression. In the National African American Museum of History and Culture in Washington D.C., the phrase is used as the title of an exhibit that illustrates a long history of activism and resistance. Using case studies, the exhibit explores how African Americans have found a way out of no way through education, health, religion, business, and more.

In the museum, there is also an extraordinary exhibit of African American musicians. Moving through this vast exhibit, I was humbled to consider both the many names I recognized and the many I did not. As African American History Month comes to a close and Women’s History Month begins, let’s remember three extraordinary African American women musicians: Billie Holiday, Marian Anderson, and Aretha Franklin.

Billie Holiday

Singer Billie Holiday (1915-1959) broke new ground as one of the first African American women to perform with white artists. Known affectionately as “Lady Day,” Holiday is remembered as “the pre-eminent jazz singer of her day and among the most revered vocalists of the [twentieth] century,” according to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. Among her many hits, the anti-racism song, “Strange Fruit,” remains an enduring part of her legacy.

In 1937, New York City teacher Abel Meeropol wrote the lyrics of “Strange Fruit” after seeing a photograph of two men, Thomas Shipp and Abe Smith, who had been cruelly lynched. Although lynching was declining in America by 1937, it had by no means disappeared. Meeropol set his words to music and began to sing it as a protest song. The song made its way to Billie Holiday, who began to close her set with the song. After her primary label refused to record the controversial song, Holiday recorded “Strange Fruit” under the Commodore label in 1939.

When Holiday performed the song, the lights would be dropped except for a single light on her face to show her expression. As the instrumental opening began, she would close her eyes as if in a prayer. Then, with emotion, she would begin to sing.

At the end of the song, the spotlight would go dark. When the houselights came up, Holiday was gone. No encore. Instead, the audience would be left feeling a swirl of emotion and, likely, discomfort. For too many African Americans, lynching or the fear of lynching, was their experience. This is part of our history, our legacy. The evocative song will not let us forget.

On stage, Holiday poured her own heartbreak and struggles with racism, sexism, poverty, and abuse into her haunting performance of the song. While her tremendous voice brought her widespread admiration, she also struggled with alcohol and drug abuse. In the end, this struggle killed her at the young age of 44. As I consider her story, her courage to sing out in protest of racism and to make a way for herself as a singer strikes me – as does the cost she paid in her heart and soul.

Marian Anderson

On Easter Sunday of 1939, the year in which Billie Holiday recorded “Strange Fruit,” the internationally renowned contralto Marian Anderson (1897-1993) performed on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C. A multiracial crowd of 75,000 had gathered to hear her sing, with hundreds of thousands more listening to a live radio transmission. However, she was not supposed to be there. Howard University had invited Anderson to perform in D.C., but they could not accommodate the anticipated crowd on campus. When promoters attempted to secure the largest venue in town, Constitution Hall, they were turned down by the Daughters of the American Revolution who owned the hall. At that time, the DAR had a “white-artist-only clause” in every contract they issued.

Throughout the 1930s, Marian Anderson had toured the capitals of Europe, performing for kings and queens. Returning to the United States, she performed for Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt at the White House in 1936. After Franklin’s election as president, the DAR had granted Eleanor Roosevelt a membership in their organization. However, when they refused to allow Anderson to sing at their hall, the First Lady very publicly resigned her membership in protest. Working behind the scenes, both Roosevelts helped to arrange for the Department of the Interior to approve the concert on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.

When Anderson stepped up to the bank of microphones on that Easter day, she began to sing, “My Country ‘Tis of Thee.” With the massive statue of Lincoln, the emancipator of enslaved persons seated behind her, and the vast multiracial crowd before her, these lyrics resounded powerfully. Notably, in the second verse, Anderson switched “of thee I sing” to “of thee we sing.” In a 2014 article on Anderson, NPR reported:

A quiet, humble person, Anderson often used “we” when speaking about herself. Years after the concert, she explained why: “We cannot live alone,” she said. “And the thing that made this moment possible for you and for me, has been brought about by many people whom we will never know.”

While the concert that day did emerge from the actions of many people, none of it was possible without the talent, hard-work, and willingness of Marian Anderson. When Secretary of the Interior Harold Ickes introduced Anderson on that April day, he said, “In this great auditorium under the sky, all of us are free. Genius, like justice, is blind. Genius draws no color lines.”

And yet, in a country that repeatedly forced Anderson to enter performance halls by back doors (if at all!), denied her entrance to white-only hotels and restaurants, and required her to sit in segregated train cars, the color of Anderson’s skin did matter in her experience of life. Even so, with the support of others, Anderson made a way out of no way.

Aretha Franklin

In 2009, at the other end of the National Mall from the Lincoln Memorial, Aretha Franklin (1942-2018) stood on the steps of the Capitol to sing, “My Country ‘Tis of Thee,” for Barack Obama’s historic inauguration. The echo of Marian Anderson’s Easter performance seventy years before was clear.

Born in 1942, three years after Anderson’s groundbreaking appearance and Billie Holiday’s “Strange Fruit” recording, Aretha Franklin’s life and career emerged in a different generation – although she would still face both sexism and racism. Nonetheless, Franklin would land more than 100 singles on Billboard charts, receive 18 competitive Grammys, and be the first woman inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.

Known as “the Queen of Soul,” Franklin’s path was not straightforward. As the daughter of a prominent Baptist preacher, she began performing gospel as a girl. Gospel music would remain a recurrent thread throughout her life. Assigned R&B and pop music by her first label, Columbia, these early records only hint at the power to come. Recruited to Columbia by John Hammond, the same man who years earlier had brought Billie Holiday to the label, Hammond later said of Franklin: “I cherish the albums we made together, but Columbia was a white company who misunderstood her genius.” Although a new label allowed her voice as the Queen of Soul to emerge, Franklin would struggle in her personal life –including a difficult marriage to Ted White, who attempted to control her life and her career until their divorce in 1969.

Despite the challenges of her life, Franklin just kept on singing and recording, decade after decade. As Franklin performed – and out-performed – younger artists, her voice seemed to defy age. When I saw her perform in Boston in 2016, her interactions with the younger women back-up singers and dancers made a big impression on me. She seemed to delight in their youthful energy. Far from any sense of resentment or jealousy about her own aging body, she seemed wistfully appreciative of their own delight in being young, sexy, and talented. In this way, Franklin seemed deeply committed to her famous ballad in praise of feeling like a (natural) woman.

After she passed away in 2018, late night host Stephen Colbert recounted his experience of hosting the 38th Annual Kennedy Center Honors in 2015, when singer/songwriter Carole King was honored. Franklin took the stage to perform “(You Make Me Feel Like) a Natural Woman,” a song made famous by Franklin but penned by King. Before she started to sing, Colbert remarked to a stagehand, “Man, I wish I could’ve seen her when she was younger, when she was in full voice.” Franklin then proceed to blow the doors off with her rendition of the iconic song. “Boy, am I stupid,” admitted the host, after witnessing the performance.

Take a moment to treat yourself to Franklin’s performance that night. You’ll find it on YouTube.

In a society shaped by both racism and sexism, African American women too often have been rendered unseen and unheard. It is important to recognize the many ways African American women have actively resisted injustice, created opportunities, and courageously made a way out of no way for themselves, their families, and their communities. May we learn such stories to shift not only our knowledge of the past, but also our perceptions of the present. Let respect and honor, let us remember Billie Holiday, Marian Anderson, and Aretha Franklin.

Abridged from a sermon by Rev. Dr. Stephanie May of First Parish in Wayland. For the full text, visit uuwayland.org.