It’s all the stuff that keeps bubbling up after, Al Anderson said the other day.
The Osage activist and old R&B singer allowed himself a brief bit of uncharacteristic melancholy, as he looked toward Monday’s Martin Luther King Jr. Day holiday.
He was there on the mall in Washington, D.C., that August afternoon 60 years ago — when a dream became The Dream.
“I don’t know,” the 89-year-old mused.
“We’re at each other all the time,” he said. “We’re divisive all the time. Worst I’ve ever seen, and I’ve been around a while.”
Martin Luther King Day, the 2023 version of it, is hitting during another situational cycle of how we collectively deal with matters of people and pigment — all the cruelty, contradictions and overthought intentions, included.
A time when “woke” is either a promise or a pejorative, depending upon the audience.
And when certain parents still have to give the “talk” to their sons, who, even in this day and age, are apt to get pulled over for driving while Black.
Just as characteristically, though, he brought it back around, with hope and optimism.
“Dr. King would really be disappointed in us. But, at the same time, he’d want us to keep working, because that’s the only thing we can do.”
The job of honoring
Working is what Morgantown will collectively do Monday, to honor King and his legacy in civil rights.
WVU’s Center for Black Culture and Research hosts its annual MLK Unity Breakfast from 8-10 a.m. in the Mountainlair Ballroom, where, as always, dialogue is on the menu, too.
Delivering keynote remarks will be Eric Deggans, of National Public Radio. Deggans, who blends observations about society as NPR’s television and media critic, is also the author of “Race-Baiter: How the Media Wields Dangerous Words to Divide a Nation.” Visit https://cbc.wvu.edu/ for more information on the breakfast.
“Telling West Virginia’s Stories and Dreams,” is the theme of the celebration at 2 p.m. that day, organized by the Community Coalition for Social Justice, a Morgantown-based outreach organization that has honored King and his legacy for 16 years.
The rich, diverse legacy of the multinational Osage coal camp, where Anderson grew up, is the centerpiece of that event, which will feature remembrances from him and others who also called Osage home, including singer and essayist Sarah Little and Charlene Marshall, Morgantown’s first Black mayor.
The event will streamed via Zoom and Facebook, due in part to COVID considerations, organizers said. Visit https://www.ccsjwv.org/ for login information and other particulars.
Screenings of King’s most-famous speeches with discussions to follow are part of a forum that will be from 5:30-7:30 in the Gluck Theater at WVU’s Mountainlair.
“Greatness Determined by Service: An Evening of Reflection,” is the theme of the gathering hosted by the university’s Center for Community Engagement and its AmeriCorps VISTA team. For more about the center and its work, visit https://communityengagement.wvu.edu/.
Living the dream …
Aug. 28, 1963: Anderson was among the multitudes in the nation’s capital, anxious to hear the young Black clergyman and activist, who would be speaking at the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.
Anderson was living and working in D.C., as a retail manager — a Black man in a white man’s world. He gave his employees the day off, before any had to ask, so they could go, too.
Music, meanwhile, got him out of the Mountain State. He could sing anything.
When he wasn’t working his day job, Anderson was fronting bands that backed up the top touring acts, such as the Isley Brothers, who regularly sold out venues in the capital city’s thriving music scene.
“We were playing their songs anyway,” he said. “In the same key they were playing them in.”
Anderson would eventually perform on bandstands from Hollywood, Fla., to Hollywood, Calif., and that’s him you hear singing lead on “What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve?,” which would turn out to be the biggest hit ever for Billy Ward and the Dominos.
King’s words on the mall that day were music most profound, he said.
The talk of the dream was largely ad-libbed.
Mahalia Jackson, the legendary gospel singer whose capacity for social justice was as abundant as her voice, was on the stage behind MLK, yelling the whole time.
“Tell ‘em about the dream, Martin! The dream! Tell ‘em!”
So, he veered from his prepared remarks, and did just that.
When it was done, and when Anderson was hearing his heartbeat in his ears, and feeling it in his fingertips, the kid from Osage let out his breath, and said one word, in response: “Man.”
Do unto others
He came back to Osage in the 1970s, after his father fell gravely ill. He took over his dad’s shoe shop, as he promised him, and he’s still operating it today.
Anderson still plays music, too, but he’s just as known for his activism and community boosterism.
“Hey, listen,” he said, in his signature, jukebox rasp.
“We gotta be there for each other. It’s not Black or white, it’s people. It’s the Golden Rule. That’s what Dr. King was really saying.”
On Saturday night, he sang at an event that was a sonic opening act, of sorts, for the local MLK Day observances.
He shared the stage with Great American Songbook crooner Bobby Nicholas, and Aristotle Jones, an eclectic performer and songwriter known as the “Appalachian Soul Man.”
Days before, in a segment at a local TV station, Anderson and Jones promoted the concert.
The Appalachian Soul Man was in possession of his guitar, and the pair gleefully tore into a couple of verses of “Shake, Rattle and Roll,” the jump-blues tune by Big Joe Turner that helped usher in rock ‘n’ roll.
Anderson, as always, leaned into the tune.
Jones was delighted.
“Get it, Al,” he said.
“Well, I can still hit the notes,” the activist-musician observed.
And so can Dr. King, he said.
Even still.
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