Knowing Ourselves and our History: A Source of Strength

In the middle of several wars being waged across the globe, while we’re dealing with what is, most likely, the onset of the second “Great Depression,” here, in this country, and while some African Americans are all-too-slowly coming to grips with the cold realization that the much-publicized “post-racial” society is no more than the latest cruel hoax on black people, I’ve begun to realize, more than ever, the importance of knowing our own history.

Yeah, yeah, yeah…I know we’ve all heard that line about history a hundred times before. But, you know, it really is true. Knowing precisely who you are, through a knowledge of family origins, experiences and achievements, can be a critical source of strength – especially during difficult times.

What do I mean by that?

Well, if you were Caucasian and born in the United Kingdom and your surname happened to be "Windsor," you would know that you are a member of the British Royal family. Automatically, you would tend to carry yourself in a certain, self-important way, you would grow to maturity with built-in expectations that you would do significant things, that you would literally “walk with kings” and that people would take note of what you say and would even be anxious to do your bidding.

If you were born in Kenya, into the Maasai tribe, you would know from being exposed to the lessons of thousands of years of your people’s history that females have responsibility for building the family’s house, for managing the family’s herbal and medicinal needs and creating the elaborately beautiful Maasai beadwork and clothing. You'd also know that young Maasai men have responsibility for safeguarding the tribe’s cattle and that they are expected to defend the herd against lion attacks, single-handedly, if necessary.

As, arguably, the most fierce warriors on the African continent, the Maasai also made it clear that they didn’t condone or participate in the slave trade. Consequently, the parts of Kenya and Tanzania that they called home were scrupulously avoided by Europeans who had slavery-related intentions.

So, if you were born a Maasai, and knew your history, you carried yourself accordingly, from a very early age. That was a source of strength.

A retired Japanese engineer named Jobu Suzuki once told me that he could trace his family’s history back for 500 uninterrupted years. His wife, who was Ainu, the original, indigenous Japanese people, could trace her own family history back for 3,000 years. Mr. and Mrs. Suzuki both knew precisely who they were and what was expected of members of their respective families.

One evening, as he was giving me my thrice-weekly Japanese language class, Mr. Suzuki asked me, once again, where I came from and who I really was. When I told him I was a descendent of African people, he pulled out a map of the Continent and asked me to show him exactly where my family came from.

I told him that I couldn’t, and reminded him that we had had a thing called slavery, here, in the United States, and that most ancestral records of African Americans had been lost. Mr. Suzuki was not impressed. He looked me straight in the eye and said he could not believe that I had not made a more concerted effort to find out who my ancestors were and exactly where they came from--slavery or not. In his opinion, I could never achieve my full potential without such knowledge and there was no acceptable excuse for not having it.

It was probably my single most important “Japanese lesson.”

Mr. Suzuki’s lesson finally came home to me last year when I decided to conduct more detailed research about who the Crawley’s actually were. I found that it was very difficult to get much past 1831 in Winston Salem, North Carolina, on my grandmother’s side of the family, or past the late 1800’s, in Smithfield, Virginia, in my grandfather’s family.

In my research, however, I was especially fascinated to “discover” a great uncle (my grandmother’s brother-in-law), who was born in Smithfield, in 1900. His name was Wilton Crawley and he, much to my surprise, turned out to be one of the most important early jazz clarinetists in American history. In fact, Uncle Wilton, whose band included his soprano saxophone-playing brother Jimmy, was a well-known performer on the old “Chitlin’ Circuit” (black vaudeville). He made numerous recordings as a band leader on the Okeh and Victor record labels and his CD, “Wilton Crawley, Showman, Composer, and Clarinetist” is available online on Jazz Oracle. Included on the CD were songs composed, sung and played by Uncle Wilton, such as “Crawley Blues,” “She’s Nothing But Nice,” “Crawley Clarinet Moan” and “Old Broke Up Shoes.”

Perhaps most astounding about my great uncle’s recordings and career was that on many of those songs, Wilton's sidemen included trumpeter Henry “Red” Allen, Jazz guitarist Eddie Lang and legendary pianist Ferdinand “Jelly Roll” Morton, who was famous, among other things, for claiming that he actually "invented" jazz music.

Having "Jelly Roll" as a sideman, of course, presented its own set of unique problems. Not surprisingly, jazz historians recount that both Jelly Roll and Wilton “had strong ideas of their own importance” and argued on numerous occasions about how recording sessions should be done.

Uncle Wilton, who wrote hundreds of songs and toured the United Kingdom with his band from 1930 to 1932, died in 1967.

While my siblings and I didn’t know very much about Wilton, we knew, and stayed in fairly close contact with his brother Jim, because he lived in South Jersey up until his death in the 70’s. My brother, “Booby” (given name: Morris) still has one of Uncle Jim’s original Conn 1920’s-era, vintage, soprano saxophones, which he still plays, to this day.

How, you might ask, did that family history impact my own, personal expectations? Well, equipped with all of that information, late last year, I went out and bought my own soprano saxophone and began taking one-on-one lessons every Saturday and jazz improvisation and ensemble classes, on Fridays, at the Settlement Music school.

Having been inspired by that history, I’ve discovered that I actually do have a strong attraction and, perhaps, a genetic predisposition, to playing the saxophone. I now practice on the instrument three hours a day, seven days a week.

But, here’s the "other shoe."

My brother, Mike, who has been singing professionally for more than 30 years, now, even as he excelled in his own business career, is now in the process of working with the great Bill Jolley to produce a new CD. To my great surprise, Mike has invited me and “Boop” to join in on our horns and to have our musical contributions included in the final "mix."

Hey, don’t be shocked; I might still make something of myself, musically.

Somewhere, Uncle Wilton and Uncle Jim are probably really proud, or laughing out loud.

The great shame is that it took me so long to learn of my family’s musical heritage. Many good years, in that regard, were unnecessarily wasted.

I hope there’s a lesson in there somewhere. In my opinion, finding out who we actually are, and knowing our own family histories is the most direct path to success for us as, individuals, and as an entire community.

Please go out, if you haven’t done so already, and discover your own.



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