[Mb-civic] The genius of August Wilson - Harry J. Elam - Boston Globe Op-Ed

[William Swiggard]

The genius of August Wilson

By Harry J. Elam Jr.  |  October 14, 2005

I FIRST MET playwright August Wilson in 1986, when I was acting in ''Ma 
Rainey's Black Bottom" at the Studio Theater in Washington, D.C. I 
played the small role of Ma Rainey's stuttering nephew, Sylvester. 
August came to see the production, and I remember how unassuming he was; 
at a reception in his honor, he hung out at the back of the room. At the 
same time, he was notably engaged, always approachable.

Years later, when I was working on my book about his work, August Wilson 
graciously gave of his time and his materials to me. I am not alone in 
this; he gave of his time to many scholars and students, to many theater 
aficionados. We sat once for three hours, back in 2001, outside the Mark 
Taper Forum in Los Angeles, between the matinee and the evening 
performances of ''King Hedley II," and talked about his work and about 
the condition of black America.

Wilson spoke with passion about these subjects and with a gleam in his 
eye. His concern for the fate of black America and his belief in the 
power of performance intricately connect in his work. Yet his plays are 
far from mere polemics. Depicting the daily lives of ordinary black 
people, as not tangential but central to the motion of history, Wilson 
created figures that engage, stories that move. He found, within the 
socially transforming space of the theater, black vernacular poetry that 
soars and language that sings.

Central to Wilson's 10-play cycle, his decade-by-decade chronicle of 
African-American experience in the 20th century, is the regenerative and 
redemptive force of history. Taking hold of history becomes an act of 
personal and communal renewal. His characters, sometimes psychologically 
burdened, always socially constrained, must go back and connect to the 
past in order to move forward in their lives. For them and us, this 
journey is at once personal and collective, spiritual and political, 
specifically racial and yet also trans-cultural. In excavating the 
African-American legacy of struggle and survival, Wilson provides 
inspiring testaments of hope.

Often it is through the world of the symbolic that Wilson conjoins the 
past and the present. While not a particularly religious man, he was a 
spiritual man and a man of spirit. He believed that throughout history, 
African-Americans have ''bent" Christianity to fit their purposes. And 
so he bent and stretched ideas of Christian faith in his plays, infusing 
them with African retentions and his own particular brand of mysticism.

In ''Fences," a man with a metal plate in his head opens the gates of 
Heaven for his recently deceased brother to enter. In ''The Piano 
Lesson," a sister and brother battle against a white ghost who has 
ventured up from the South, haunting them, in an attempt to reclaim 
their piano. During the climactic finale to ''King Hedley II," the title 
character dies, shot mistakenly by his mother, and his blood becomes the 
central nourishing ingredient in a ritual of regeneration. Experienced 
not only by the community on stage, but by the community of spectators, 
all of these spiritual moments link the characters to powerful spiritual 
forces but also locate the force of god, of spirit, within them.

It was with spirit, faith, courage, and hope that Wilson faced his last 
moments of life. He was prepared to die, as he felt he had completed his 
life's work. In August, Wilson made public what he, his family, his 
close friends, and his doctors already understood -- that his liver 
cancer was inoperable, that he had only months to live. ''I lived a 
blessed life; I'm ready," he said.

These words resonate with me and make me reflect on his plays and how 
his memorable central figures faced death with such resolve and 
awareness. Purposefully Wilson first released his announcement in 
Pittsburgh, the city of his birth, the site for nine of the 10 plays in 
his 20th century cycle, and the setting for his funeral and burial last 
Saturday.

Wilson's blood on the page and stage, his work and his words, his spirit 
and special insight have enriched us. He leaves a legacy that will 
endure. When we view his plays, his so-called ''400 year old 
autobiography that is the black experience," when we savor his lines, we 
too can be renewed. These works will never stagnate, for even as they 
speak to the past, they resonate in the present. That is the genius of 
August Wilson.

http://www.boston.com/news/globe/editorial_opinion/oped/articles/2005/10/14/the_genius_of_august_wilson/
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