Soul to the Silver Screen
Opportunities for Black talent were few and far between the realm of television programming. In 1939, NBC granted Ethel Waters a short-lived 15-minute variety show, but such instances were the exception rather than the norm. Another notable example was the Hazel Scott Show, which debuted in July 1950 but was abruptly canceled in September after her appearance before the House Un-American Activities Committee.
Sammy Davis Jr. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys
Hazel Scott, a gifted singer and pianist, found herself in the unfortunate position of having to refute allegations of her affiliation with the Communist Party or any of its front organizations. Her outspoken advocacy for civil rights had led to these accusations, and the consequence she faced was the loss of sponsors and support. Undeterred, Scott continued to perform, but she had to make the difficult decision to relocate to Paris in order to avoid further political fallout.
Accusing Black artists or entertainers of being communists or limiting them to roles that perpetuated negative stereotypes became an all-too-common method of suppressing their success. One glaring example of this was the transformation of the radio sitcom Amos ‘n’ Andy into a television series from 1951 to 1953. Although the main cast consisted of Black actors, the show heavily relied on racial stereotypes, prompting the NAACP to denounce it.
Another instance was the television series, Harlem Detective, which aired on WOR-TV from 1953 to 1954. The show featured a pair of detectives from different racial backgrounds working together. However, the show was cancelled when William Marshall, who would later gain fame for his role in the 1970s Blacula movies, was accused of having communist affiliations.
Despite not having a national sponsor, Nat King Cole’s show expanded from 15 minutes in 1956 to a 30-minute format in 1957. However, network executives were deeply concerned about potential backlash from white audiences. While it was common in the entertainment industry for performers to exchange hugs and kisses, Cole was expected to adhere to a strict rule: never touch a white woman. In fact, during a duet performance with Peggy Lee, the network went to extreme measures by placing a stool between them as a physical barrier.
Nat King Cole. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys
The imposition on Cole’s personal interactions was a direct response to the lingering effects of the tragic murder of Emmett Till in Mississippi that remained fresh in the minds of the public. Till, a Black teenager from Chicago who was unaware of the deep-rooted racial hatred, was kidnapped and lynched simply for speaking to a white woman. While network execs may have justified their actions by claiming they were protecting Cole from a potential situation reminiscent of the tragic Emmett Till event, it is undeniable that their primary concern revolved around popularity and audience response.
“We proved that a Negro star could play host to whites, including women, and we proved it in such good taste that no one was offended…”
- Nat King Cole
In an interview with Ebony magazine in 1958, Cole said, “We proved that a Negro star could play host to whites, including women, and we proved it in such good taste that no one was offended… I didn’t bend over backwards, but I didn’t go out of my way to offend anyone.”
In the movie picture industry in the 1950s and 1960s, many Black film artists secured speaking roles alongside their white counterparts. The NAACP pioneered the use of celebrity influence and activism to promote public outreach and raise funds. Renowned stars like Harry Belafonte, Dorothy Dandridge, Lena Horne, Diahann Carroll, and Sammy Davis Jr. made significant contributions to the music industry, leveraging their show business beginnings. Throughout the 1960s, these influential figures graced the red carpet and actively participated in civil rights marches, leaving an indelible mark on both the entertainment and social justice realms.
In an era when many celebrities chose to remain silent or detached from civil rights issues, Sammy Davis Jr. stood out as a vocal and active supporter of the Movement. Despite facing potential backlash and risks, Davis consistently used his influence to champion civil rights causes. Recognized for his roles in films like Ocean’s 11, Sergeants 3, Robin and the 7 Hoods, Davis was a member of the Rat Pack, a group that included Frank Sinatra, Peter Lawford, Joey Bishop, and Dean Martin. This integrated ensemble dominated the box office, and whenever one of them had a performance scheduled, the rest of the Rat Pack would often show up to show support and generate excitement among the audience.
In 1961, the Rat Pack, including Davis, participated in the successful benefit concert “Tribute to Martin Luther King” held at Carnegie Hall, which aimed to raise funds for the Southern Leadership Conference (SCLC). Beyond their influence on the red carpet, they also had access to the Kennedy Oval Office. While Davis faced criticism for his “clowning” and his willingness to follow Sinatra’s directives, his involvement in civil rights was strongly encouraged by his close friend and fellow singer, Harry Belafonte.
Martin Luther King Jr. himself saw the value of celebrity influence and specifically sought to involve Davis in events benefiting the Civil Rights Movement. In 1958, Davis performed for free every night at a week-long NAACP benefit concert held at the Apollo Theater.
“We artists have set an inspiring example of tearing down race barriers in our own field. Now we must put our time, our money, our whole-hearted efforts on the line with our conscience.”
- Sammy Davis Jr.
Davis wrote a moving letter to his show business colleagues stating, “We artists have set an inspiring example of tearing down race barriers in our own field. Now we must put our time, our money, our whole-hearted efforts on the line with our conscience.” He insisted they should advocate and support organizations like the NAACP, even becoming life members as he had, giving benefit concerts, and making financial contributions. His prestige did not end there. Later in 1966, Davis had his own television program, The Sammy Davis Jr. Show.
Belafonte proved to be an invaluable asset to King, going beyond his introduction of Davis and establishing a deep friendship with the civil rights leader. He took on multiple roles as an advisor, recruiter, and benefactor for King. In 1960, Belafonte collaborated with Bayard Rustin and Stanley Levison to establish the CDMLK (Committee to Defend Martin Luther King). Within the CDMLK, Belafonte served on the cultural committee alongside fellow Black actor Sidney Potier, while Nat King Cole took on the role of treasurer. One of the primary objectives of the CDMLK was to combat baseless tax-evasion charges that aimed to undermine King and the Civil Rights Movement. By successfully challenging these charges, they not only helped King void imprisonment but also utilized the funds raised to counter attacks on his character. Belafonte also recognized the importance of having Coretta, King’s wife, by his side to foster greater understanding and support from middle-class white Americans. As part of this effort, he provided financial support for nannies to care for the King children while their parents dedicated themselves to the fight for civil rights.
Harry Belafonte. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys
Belafonte began to experience the toll of being involved in civil rights activism while also being a celebrity. He faced constant worry about his family’s safety, became a target of the Ku Klux Klan, and even had tear gas circulated through the air conditioning system during a benefit concert in Houston. The media’s criticism also weighed heavily on him, and Hollywood started to distance itself from him. In a way, he was blacklisted, as he didn’t appear in any movies during the 1960s and focused on his music career, and sponsors threatened to withdraw their support whenever he was scheduled for television appearances. Despite these challenges, Belafonte remained committed to the Civil Rights Movement and his alliance with King, even if it meant sacrificing his entertainment career.
Even as a respected film star and singer, the consequences of crossing certain boundaries could not avoided. Dinah Shore, a white singer and entertainer, hosted The Dinah Shore Chevy Show from 1956 to 1961, where she featured top Black performers. Shore put her arm around Mahalia Jackson and caused an uproar and rumors flew that Shore was a “mulatto.” The variety show ended when Chevrolet dropped its sponsorship. It is not known if the show’s demise was because of Shore’s fellowship with Black talent.
In 1968, Petula Clark, the renowned British singer known for her hit song “Downtown,” found herself at the center of a media scandal during a television special. The incident occurred towards the end of the show when Clark and Belafonte performed a duet of her anti-war folk song, “Paths of Glory.” In a moment of affection, Clark stood next to Belafonte, who towered over her, and gently took hold of his arm, sparking controversy.
“Petula touched Harry’s arm and the next thing they went bonkers.”
- Steve Binder, TV Director
In an interview with The Guardian, the TV director who had encouraged the intimate moment, reflected on the incident. “It sounds stupid now,” said Steve Binder. “But back then it became an international story in Newsweek and Time magazine. It wouldn’t even have been an incident if the show’s sponsor hadn’t said anything. Petula touched Harry’s arm and the next thing they went bonkers.”
Despite demands from the advertising agency representing the show’s sponsor, Chrysler-Plymouth, Binder firmly refused to make any changes to the tape performance. Belafonte remarked in Jet Magazine, “It’s amazing. I didn’t kiss her. She didn’t grab me. We didn’t even hold hands. But the sponsor’s agent demanded we retape the number.” Belafonte added that the incident should not have come as a surprise since “they didn’t want me on the show in the first place.”
The focal point of the issue was Chrysler-Plymouth’s head advertising executive, Doyle Lott, a decorated war veteran who had served as an Air Force pilot and experienced being a prisoner of war during World War II. It is likely that Lott held deep-seated biases from the beginning, as he would have been opposed to a Black man performing an anti-war song. When Lott discovered that Belafonte was scheduled to perform on behalf of the brand, he raised objections and created a fuss until the head of Chrysler intervened and overruled him. In the process of attempting to remove Belafonte from the show, another agent revealed that Lott was recognized as a racist who harbored a strong aversion to having a Black man featured on the program.
The moment Clark put her hand on his arm during the taping, Lott became enraged and demanded they retape the number. Belafonte was about to acquiesce out of concern for Clark’s stateside reputation. “Perhaps, I told her, we should pick another fight, another day—at least while her best interests were at stake,” Belafonte wrote in his memoir in 2011 My Song. “‘Forget my best interests,’ she said. ‘What would you do?’ I grinned. ‘I’d nail the bastard.’ ‘So we will,’ she replied.”
Seizing the opportunity while Lott was preoccupied, Binder and Clark’s husband, Claude Wolff, swiftly retrieved the tapes and delivered them to a technician who erased all the recordings except for the take that captured the intimate moment. NBC had no alternative but to broadcast the performance featuring Clark and Belafonte’s touch. As anticipated, Lott was livid upon realizing he had been outmaneuvered. In response, Belafonte took action by voicing his complaints to the media, denouncing Lott’s actions as “the most outrageous case of racism I had ever seen in this business.”
As the allegations and accounts of discrimination and prejudice gained traction, it became evident that Lott was at risk of both losing his job and tarnishing his reputation. In an attempt to mitigate the damage, Lott concocted an excuse masquerading as an apology, attributing his actions to being “tired” and claiming he had “overreacted to the staging, not to any feeling of discrimination.” Belafonte took Lott’s phone call but did not accept the rambling excuse. Lott was dismissed from his position and relocated within the company, likely because of the controversy surrounding his conduct.
“Apologies in these situations mean nothing. They change neither that man’s heart nor my skin.”
- Harry Belafonte
“Apologies in these situations mean nothing,” Belafonte later said. “They change neither that man’s heart nor my skin. Inside, he feels the same way because of how I look on the outside. He can apologize for the balance of his life but it won’t alter the attitude he has today. And a man with such an attitude has to be exposed.”
During the 1960s, Belafonte remained a captivating sex symbol in the eyes of his fans, wielding considerable power and influence. Men aspired to emulate his charm, while women yearned for more than to touch his arm, as Clark had done. His unwavering commitment to social progress was an integral part of his persona, and his supporters eagerly rallied behind his cause. In 1963, Susaye Greene, a starry-eyed 14-year-old, was granted a remarkable opportunity to provide background vocals for Belafonte’s album, becoming a part of his music journey.
Susaye Greene. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys
During Greene’s time in junior high school, her choir director informed the group about the opportunity. Still remembering the day vividly, Greene recalled making their way downtown and ascending a staircase to a building Belafonte owned. As they entered the spacious rehearsal studio and in a moment Greene will never forget, “in walked the most gorgeous man I had ever seen in my life.”
That experience also included a stumble, which Greene still laughs about today: “I remember that when I came up the steps, I tripped and broke the heel off my shoe. I was so hurt because I loved shoes and have always been shoe-mad, but we’ll leave that for another time. I had the heel in my hand and he walked over to me and said, ‘I’m sorry that it’s broken’ and I was like ‘ahhhhhh’—he was just so fine. I was so young but I knew he was so fine. We went on to record his album ‘Streets I Have Walked’ which were songs from around the world.”
The girl with the broken shoe left a profound impression on Belafonte during the recording session. So much so that he called Greene’s mother, Vivian, and requested a meeting with them at his office. Coincidentally, actor Anthony Quinn was also present in the lobby, which left Greene starstruck. Belafonte’s purpose in wanting to see Greene and her mother was to discuss the possibility of her joining his show and going on tour. While Greene expressed her enthusiasm for the opportunity, Vivian, aware of the demanding nature of show business due to her own experience as a concert pianist, politely declined. Vivian was determined to keep her daughter focused on her education. Nevertheless, Greene felt deeply touched and grateful to have even been considered for such a collaboration with Belafonte. As time went on, Greene and Belafonte maintained their connection over the years.
“He’s still as handsome as ever,” Greene said with a laugh in a phone interview in 2019.
During the early to mid-1960s, popular television programs rarely featured Black actors in significant roles, or even speaking roles. The Andy Griffith Show only had one instance throughout its eight-season run where a Black person had a speaking role. However, Black extras were occasionally included in Mayberry community scenes. Other popular shows like Dennis the Menace, The Munsters, and Leave it to Beaver predominantly focused on storylines that did not require diverse characters. A notable exception was when Willie Mays, the legendary baseball player who broke home run records in the 1965 season, made a guest appearance a year later on an episode of Bewitched as a guest at Endora’s Halloween party. In the 1969 episode Samantha Goes South for a Spell, Isabel Sanford played Aunt Jenny, a character seemingly portraying a servant role. For white families, the sparse representation of diverse characters on television did not hold much significance and did not challenge any established norms. Their exposure to civil rights news coverage primarily occurred during the gaps between these shows.
In a truly momentous and revolutionary turn of events, Belafonte took over the hosting duties of The Tonight Show for an entire week in February 1968, stepping in for Johnny Carson. What unfolded during those extraordinary nights was nothing short of remarkable, as an eclectic mix of guests from the realms of music, politics, and entertainment graced millions of televisions. From the captivating presence of Diahann Carroll and the charming Paul Newman to the towering Wilt Chamberlain and the enchanting Freda Payne, the lineup was a star-studded affair. Notable figures like Bill Cosby, Petula Clark, Aretha Franklin, Robert Goulet, Dionne Warwick, Senator Robert Kennedy, and the iconic Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. also made their way onto the show, leaving an indelible mark on television history.
Tonight Show ad reimagined and illustrated by J.D. Humphreys
Johnny Carson, well aware oof the struggles faced by Black America, may have also recognized that it would be inappropriate for him, as a white man, to single-handedly host a series of shows centered around the Black experience. While it was not his soapbox to stand on, Carson remained a staunch supporter of entertainers who used their voices as activists. He instinctively knew that Belafonte was the ideal person to take the helm behind the Tonight Show desk.
Hosting television shows was not a new endeavor for Belafonte. In fact, he had his own highly acclaimed program called Tonight with Belafonte in 1959, which even earned him an Emmy. Building on that success, he was offered an ongoing series by Revlon, titled Belafonte, New York 19, with its inaugural episode receiving rave reviews when it aired in 1960. However, as Belafonte started planning the subsequent episode, a mandate was issued that he should no longer use multiracial casts and instead exclusively feature Black actors moving forward. Refusing to compromise his values, Belafonte, in defiance, halted further production, ultimately leading to the cancellation of the series.
Fast forward to 1968, when Belafonte was presented with the incredible Tonight Show hosting opportunity. Initially, he hesitated, worried that he wouldn’t have the typical comedic repertoire required for hosting. However, the magnitude of this unprecedented platform proved too much to decline, especially since NBC granted Belafonte control over the guest list. The time was now.
“As performers, we felt a need to begin to do more than just sing—we had to have a point of view, and we had to speak out.”
- Harry Belafonte
“It was that time of protests,” Belafonte said in the documentary The Sit-In: Harry Belafonte Hosts The Tonight Show. “The Black community had risen up with righteous indignation. We could no longer tolerate racial indiscretions that were being heaped upon us. As performers, we felt a need to begin to do more than just sing—we had to have a point of view, and we had to speak out.”
Many viewers and critics saw the move to subterfuge civil rights messaging to the mainstream. “But in our estimation the Ebony Hour which has replaced the Johnny Carson Tonight Show on NBC for the past week deserves singling out,” a newspaper editorial read. “It has been turned into a veritable minstrel show.”
Belafonte’s strategy was a genuine portrayal of Black representation, as he made a deliberate choice to share personal home movies featuring himself and his family during vacation moments. “It wasn’t just seeing us as Black people who were in show business, but seeing Black people living their lives in ways that were more than just being a performer,” Belafonte added.
When Dr. King sat down, Belafonte posed a thought-provoking question: “Do you fear for your life?” This inquiry gave Dr. King a moment of reflection. Having received death threats since as early as 1956, with their frequency escalating alongside his public appearances, he replied, “It isn’t so important how long you live, the important thing is how well you live.” He emphasized that his philosophical outlook was guided by a deep faith in God and centered around working towards the betterment of humanity, prioritizing the collective welfare over his own longevity.
“So many artists are willing to stand up on these particular issues and it represents a real genuine courage,” Dr. King added. “And not only does he have a right to take a stand, but a moral responsibility to do it.”
By 1968, the amalgamation of Dr. King’s various messages had become somewhat unclear to many observers. The question arose: was he primarily a leader for peace or a leader in the Civil Rights Movement? Recognizing the need to bridge gaps and foster understanding, Belafonte played a crucial role by hosting meetings in his apartment, bringing together Dr. King and young radicals. These gatherings aimed to identify common ground and seek resolutions on numerous pressing issues. Belafonte’s reputation as a trusted figure and mediator earned him the trust and respect of both sides involved in these discussions.
The Tonight Show conversation revealed an unexpected side of Dr. King—one that America had yet to witness. Until that moment, television viewers had known him only as the resolute and serious civil rights icon. However, they soon discovered that Dr. King possessed a remarkable talent for humor, capable of evoking laughter from his captivated audience.
He shared with the Belafonte and the audience an amusing anecdote about his recent flight from Washington, D.C. as he revealed that his plane had encountered mechanical difficulties. “I don’t want to give you an impression that as a Baptist preacher I don’t have faith in God in the air, it’s simply that I’ve had more experience with him on the ground,” he said with a mischievous grin followed by audience laughter. Dr. King, the master of courage, defiance, and hope, defied another force—death itself. With grace and charm, he wove a joke that dared to challenge mortality. Little did anyone know that this appearance on The Tonight Show would become his final grand television performance.
The journey that paved the way for Senator Robert F. Kennedy’s appearance on Belafonte’s Tonight Show was fraught with contradictions in relation to civil rights progress. When appointed Attorney General in 1961, a wave of discouragement swept through Black America. His past anti-liberal positions and perceived lack of comprehension regarding the challenges of racism stood were top of mind.
One such event in 1963, a secret regarding civil rights took place with Kennedy, Belafonte, Lena Horne, James Baldwin, Lorraine Hansberry, and younger activists. The atmosphere brimmed with anticipation as the group shared their ideas and suggestions. The group’s proposals seemed to clash with his worldview, leaving him appalled by their audacity. The meeting was supposed to be a momentous opportunity. Instead it became tinged with an undeniable sense of discord, dousing the initial hopes of progress in a cloud of disappointment.
It wasn’t until 1967 when a more educated Kennedy emerged. He traveled to the American South to personally witness the plight of poor people with Belafonte’s insistence. Belafonte was convinced when he saw news footage of an empathetic Kennedy gently caressing a Black child’s face that the senator and former attorney general now understood the extent. While Belafonte tried pushing for Kennedy to announce his presidential bid, the conversation centered on what Kennedy had witnessed in Watts, Vietnam, civil rights, and his vision for the future.
Amidst the vibrant music scene of the time, Aretha Franklin was at the height of her career having just released the album Aretha: Lady of Soul. With her star power shining brightly, her large fanbase eagerly anticipated her appearance on The Tonight Show with Belafonte. Meanwhile, Dionne Warwick’s single, “(Theme from) Valley of the Dolls,” soared up the charts, holding steadfast at number two for an impressive four weeks, following her appearance on The Tonight Show. The album Dionne Warwick in Valley of the Dolls followed with great success.
LISTEN TO “(THEME FROM) VALLEY OF THE DOLLS” BY DIONNE WARWICK
For others, such as Freda Payne, who had yet to experience the thrill of chart success, their guess appearance on the show served as a pivotal opportunity to gain wider recognition. Two short years later, Payne would unleash the unforgettable hit “Band of Gold” upon the world—a fitting accomplishment as it became her first gold record. This triumph coincided with her signing to freshly minted Invictus label, a creation of former top Motown producers, propelling her career to even greater heights.
“[It was] the grooviest time in the world here the week that I spent here.”
- Harry Belafonte
“My deepest appreciation to Johnny Carson, NBC, all our wonderful guests and The Tonight Show staff for making this ‘sit-in’ (Feb. 5-9) so enjoyable,” the full-page ad in Variety read. Belafonte would later convey to Carson, weeks later during a subsequent appearance on the show, that it was “the grooviest time in the world here the week that I spent here.” Audiences agreed and the week-long Belafonte hosting experience opened with the largest numbers in history of the show and ended with even higher rating than its opening. This resounding success not only validated Carson’s concept but also seamlessly united the realms of politics and entertainment without clashing into the hoes of countless Americans.
Diana Ross. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys
In 1968, The Supremes made a special guest appearance in Tarzan in the episode “The Convert,” portraying three nuns with a noble mission to establish a hospital in an African village. Their rendition of “Michael Row the Boat Ashore” while gliding in a canoe stirred up the resting hippos along the riverbanks. A close-up shot captured Diana Ross (as Sister Thérèse) gasp dramatically, only to have the hippos capsize the canoe. As expected, Tarzan swiftly sprang into action, rescuing Ross while the remaining Supremes swam to safety on the shore. During the filming in Mexico, Berry Gordy insisted on having a stand-in for Ross in that particular scene. He was determined to prevent her from encountering cold water or any potential danger. Consequently, all three Supremes had stand-ins, portrayed by Mexican locals who closely resembled them in their nun attire. Remarkably, this episode emerged as the most-watched of the season and marked a resounding crossover triumph for Motown.
Amidst the perceived glitz and glamour of show business, the Supremes found themselves caught off guard by the relentless photographers on set in between scenes. In one such instance, Mary Wilson, a member of the group, couldn’t help but chuckle when she noticed a photographer capturing a rather unflattering, yet undeniably hilarious, moment with her drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette with her habit pulled up over her knees. The candid photo serves a s reminder that the world of entertainment isn’t always glamorous as it appears on the surface. The Supremes, despite their iconic status, were no exception to the grit and unpredictable nature of show business.
Television appearances naturally brought forth opportunities for ad placements and product endorsements. In 1967, the Supremes seamlessly showcased their talent and effortless charm in a print advertisement for Coca-Cola. The ad captured the trio in various moments making it “all look so easy,” holding glass bottles of Coca-Cola as they rehearsed, waited backstage, and even enjoyed horror movies in their dressing room, with their hair wrapped up in towels. The accompanying copy in the ad highlighted the group’s journey, emphasizing that “even when they were teenagers in the Brewster Housing Project in Detroit, 8 years ago, they knew making it look easy was part of the job,” the ad reads. “The job of becoming the number one female singing group in the world. And all along the way, Coke was part of it.”
LISTEN TO THE SUPREMES SING “THINGS GO BETTER WITH COKE - IT’S THE LITTLE THINGS”
Even seasoned Ray Charles found himself along with the Supremes in Coca-Cola ads. Coca-Cola even credited itself as being some sort of magic ingredient that pushed Charles to his greatness: “Ray Charles works hard to create ‘soul’ music. Perhaps Coca-Cola has a small part in making things go better.”
While the Supremes endorsing Coca-Cola in 1967 made sense, other endorsement choices missed the mark entirely. One such instance occurred a year earlier when the group posed wearing baker’s bonnets, holding loaves of Schafer’s white bread in their arms, and preparing to take a bite from a sandwich made with the bread. Shafer’s, a Lansing-based bakery that produced various breads at the time, somehow successfully secured the endorsement of the hottest girl group of that era for their white bread. To further capitalize on the collaboration, Hitsville Merchandising Inc. (Motown) even reproduced the plastic bread bag, featuring an illustration of Flo, Mary, and Diana, proudly proclaiming “The Supremes Special Formula White Bread.”
Motown, being mindful of its image and proudly dubbing itself “The Sound of Young America,” was usually intentional about omitting any racial connotations from its promotions. However, the decision to have a Black girl group endorse a product explicitly labeled as “white bread” was not in alignment with the company’s progressive ethos, especially during the height of the Civil Rights Movement. Although this off-brand move did not cause massive outrage, it did raise eyebrows and highlighted the disconnect between the company’s aspirations and this particular endorsement choice.
Televisions screens of the past often lacked Black representation, excluding news programs that covered civil rights developments and events. Unless viewers ventured to the movie theater, it was rare to witness the presence of Black performers.
However, one remarkable exception emerged: Diahann Carroll. Having honed her skills on Broadway stages, recording studios, and Hollywood sets, Carroll shattered barriers and achieved numerous firsts for Black women in the music and performing arts industry. She was the first Black actress to win a Tony for her role in the musical No Strings. In this production, Carroll portrayed a fashion model engaged in an interracial relationship, pushing boundaries and challenging societal norms.
Diahann Carroll. Illustration by J.D. Humphreys
In 1968, Carroll further solidified her legacy by headlining the groundbreaking sitcom Julia. This trailblazing show marked a significant departure from the typical depictions of Black women confined to stereotypical or servant roles. Portraying Julia Baker, a nurse and a mother, Carroll won a Golden Globe in 1969 and was the first Black actress nominated for a comedic-lead Emmy, making history once again.
“When I was offered [the role of ] Julia, I thought I was going to have the most wonderful time,” Carroll said. “But it was important because it was giving us a thought that we didn’t do often enough towards our relationship with others. Before I knew it, we were conquering something racial again, which I was hoping was something else. But I’m really happy that I did have the opportunity to help us all, to look at ourselves to see if we were doing it right. And if not, why not apply ourselves as best we can (I’m just an actress), as best as we can to help us learn to be together. [I thought] we better hurry up before they take this whole damn thing away from us and there is no Movement.”
For a remarkable nine-year stretch, Carroll captivated audiences at the prestigious Persian Room of the New York Plaza Hotel. Her commanding presence and unparalleled talent made her a cherished fixture in the vibrant scene. However, even in the midst of her success, she had to be assertive and stand her ground.
When Carroll intended to perform “Brown Baby” by Oscar Brown Jr., she encountered resistance from the hotel’s management. Undeterred, she refused to back down and insisted on including the powerful and poignant song in her repertoire. This act of defiance showcased Carroll’s unwavering commitment to her artistry and determination to address important social issues through her talents.
Carroll was a fixture at the New York Plaza Hotel’s Persian Room for a nine year run. However, she had to stand her ground when management challenged her on performing “Brown Baby” by Oscar Brown, Jr.
“I said, ‘I could sing White Baby, I could sing Asian Baby, I could do Mexican Baby… a lot of babies we could talk about.’”
- Diahann Carroll
“A very young man ran the Persian Room, which was the shi-shi-ha-ha room in New York at the time,” Carroll said. “He said to me one night, ‘It’s just wonderful what’s going on and I thank you for coming to do this. You know that song that you do, that, um, Oscar Brown Jr. wrote? We’d like you to know, management would like to know, if you could remove the song.’ I said, ‘I’ll remove the song if you explain to me why you’d like the song removed.’ He said, ‘Oh, we thought it was obvious…’ and I said, ‘Oh, you don’t want to talk about brown babies? They’re really rather innocent.’ So, I said, ‘I could sing White Baby, I could sing Asian Baby, I could do Mexican Baby… a lot of babies we could talk about.’ He then said, ‘Oh, if you’re going to be difficult—leave.’ I said, ‘I can tell you how I can be difficult and go home and you could work this thing out on your own.’”
Having successfully made her point, Carroll recognized that she held the advantage. The management of the Plaza Hotel was too invested in the positive publicity they were generating to engage in a dispute with Carroll, thus acknowledging the validity of her stance. Reflecting on the situation, Carroll remarked, “I think that is one of the most positive circumstances of my life, my professional life, as well as my private life.”
LISTEN TO “EVERYTHING’S COMING UP ROSES (LIVE)” BY DIAHANN CARROLL
Carroll made multiple appearances on the Ed Sullivan Show, actively engaging in civil rights efforts and lending her support to various fundraising events. In May 1960, she notably took part in a benefit concert for the Committee to Defend Martin Luther King Jr. (CDMLK), an event organized by Belafonte. Moreover, Carroll served as a co-sponsor for the 1963 “Salute to the southern students” show, organized by the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC), and later assumed the role of co-chair for the organization’s newly established Women’s Division. Her dedication to these initiatives showcased her commitment to advancing the cause of civil rights.
Without a doubt, Motown studied these movie and Broadway stars with intense admiration and a hint of envy. While the label was still deciphering the music crossover formula, Diane Ross had her sights set on stardom right from the beginning, envisioning a path not limited to just music. She yearned for the kind of success that trailblazers like Diahann Carroll, Lena Horne, and Dorothy Dandridge had achieved in both the dazzling world of movies and the harmonious realm of music.
As Ross’s journey unfolded, the glimmer of show business started to seem more realistic with every coveted slot she secured on the iconic Ed Sullivan Show and each thrilling guest appearance in movies and television shows as the decade drew to a close. But reaching her dreams meant temporarily sharing the spotlight with her group–the stepping stones that would pave her way to greatness.
“I see all these phonies who never even had a number one hit runnin’ around actin’ like big stars. But I’ve got something they don’t have, and the kids know it. I’m for real, and every time I sing a song, it’s part of my body.”
- Diana Ross
“I’m a hardworking ham,” Ross said in a Look magazine interview in 1966 entitled From Real Rags to Real Riches. “I can be anything I want. I’m ready to do all the extra things — acting roles in movies, be the star of a big Broadway show. But where are the offers? We’ve had six number one hits in a row, but we’re still treated like some ordinary rock ‘n’ roll group.”
Ross further ranted, “I see all these phonies who never even had a number one hit runnin’ around actin’ like big stars. But I’ve got something they don’t have, and the kids know it. I’m for real, and every time I sing a song, it’s part of my body.”
It’s almost as if Ross’s dreams whispered directly to Gordy’s heart, for soon after, Motown embarked on a mission to produce albums showcasing the Supremes’ remarkable talent with Broadway musical numbers. In 1967, Motown released The Supremes Sing Rodgers and Hart featuring cover show tunes of the songwriting duo of Richard Rodgers and Lorenz Hart. They promoted the album as special guest stars in an hour-long tribute to Rodgers and Hart on network television.
Despite the fact that showtune standards from composers might not have been the typical fare for “The Voice of Young America,” Gordy had a keen insight. He recognized that these mesmerizing numbers possessed the power to propel the Supremes into the illustrious show-club circuit, opening doors to renowned venues such as the iconic Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas and the legendary Copacabana.
In 1968, the label released Diana Ross and the Supremes Sing and Perform ‘Funny Girl,’ an album inspired by Barbara Streisand’s Broadway performance, which was set to be adapted into a feature film the following month. Unfortunately, the album failed to achieve success for the group.
LISTEN TO “FUNNY GIRL” BY DIANA ROSS & THE SUPREMES
During 1968 and 1969, Diana Ross and the Supremes joined forces with the Temptations for two television specials produced by Motown: TCB (short for “Taking Care of Business”) and GIT on Broadway (“Gettin’ It Together”). These collaborations demonstrated the potential of both groups, and it became evident to the company that assembling a strong portfolio for a venture into the entertainment industry could be a lucrative opportunity by the end of the decade.
Upon relocating to Los Angeles from Detroit, Motown saw an opportunity to venture into the film industry, with a particular focus on promoting Diana Ross, who had now become a successful solo star. Given Motown’s access to Hollywood and its abundant resources, they had the means to produce movies, especially if it meant propelling Diana’s career as a film star. Throughout this endeavor, Berry Gordy was determined to maintain creative direction and control, just as he had done since the company’s inception.