By
Skeletal Grace
Dead Rebel Of The Week
~ Bill Robinson ~
Rebels come in all shapes and sizes. Some fly to the moon and some write symphonies. Others shuffle the deck on the fundamentals of the Universe or rally support for a controversial political cause.
Bill Robinson did none of those things.
He was born a dirt poor man and he died a dirt poor man. Ed Sullivan paid for Robinson’s funeral out of his own pocket. Duke Ellington, Cole Porter and Jackie Robinson were his pall bearers. On that cold November day in 1948, half a million people lined the streets as his funeral party marched from Harlem to Brooklyn.
You still have no clue who the hell he is, do you?
That’s OK.
Bill Robinson was born in 1878 in Virginia, black as the ace of spades. After his parents died when he was less than a year old, he was shipped off to live with his grandma in utter poverty. Early on, Robinson showed an amazing talent for dancing, soft shoe in particular. At the age of six he was already providing for his family by performing as a “hoofer” in black community beer gardens. At the age of nine he ran away to Washington, D.C. and started to make his own money as a street performer, always making sure to send whatever little he made home to his grandma. As long as he ate he was fine.
Soon enough he made an underground name for himself, and was quickly brought in to work the night clubs in the city. The thing that set him apart from all the other dancers and performers out there at this time was his own original style of tap dancing. People dropped their jaws in awe when they saw his performances. Instead of tap dancing with a flat foot, "buck-and-wing", he danced on the balls of his feet, working up incredible rhythms and speedy patterns, never repeating the same step twice. He soon earned himself the nickname “Bojangles”.
“Ah,” you say, “I have heard of this Bojangles! He’s the guy in the song!”
Yeah, “Mr. Bojangles” was originally written by Jerry Jeff Walker and later recorded and immortalized by numerous stars through time, such as Sammy Davis, Jr., Bob Dylan and Robbie Williams (who I think did the hands down best job).
“Mr. Bojangles”. My favorite fucking song of all time. The song to play at my funeral (knock on wood).
As a kid I would listen to the damn thing over and over and over, until I WAS Mr. Bojangles. Now, I am white and, of course, can’t dance to save my life (unless you people are all high and the strobe lights come on – then I might get away with it - maybe). And never did I ever have any passion whatsoever for dancing to begin with anyway. But I still learned all I could about this mysterious “Mr. Bojangles” since he obviously warranted to have a song written about him. I mean, there are not too many famous songs about the Pope, Ronald Reagan or Napoleon, right? So what made this guy so damn special?
He beat the odds.
He took his black ass, in times of extreme racial segregation, and worked his way into the Heart of America. He was an icon for the black community and a true celebrity in the white community. He was the first black performer to really cross that big no-no line and be proud of doing his own thing to whomever, wherever and however the hell he liked Fuck all rules and regulations, fuck all standards and conventions.
Not wanting to appear in “blackface” (the prescribed stage-uniform for black entertainers in the White Man’s world back then), he performed exclusively for black communities and for whites in Canada until the White American Showbiz begged him to be a part of Broadway. He accepted, providing he got to set the conditions himself. He did it his way, and won everybody’s respect by doing so. He became the most famous dancer in the world at that point in time and laid Broadway under his already legendary feet. Ever since, his dancing has been copied and adapted by the greats; Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly… the list goes on and on. (He invented the classic “stair dance”, as seen in every dance show known to man, after doing a spontaneous little happy dance up a flight of stairs to receive an award from the King of England.)
Hollywood soon wanted to capitalize on his fame. Mr. Bojangles quickly became the highest paid black star in show business, mostly making song-and-dance movies. Robinson frequently turned down massive roles, as he thought they were not suitable for him. He didn’t mind doing the black part, as long as it was a tribute to his heritage, rather than perpetuating a stereotype.
So, what did he do with all his money? Well, what he didn’t drink or gamble away, he gave to charity. If there was one thing he never forgot, it was his roots. Whenever he came across anybody down on his luck, black or white, he would buy the guy a meal and hand him some money. He financed the installments of traffic lights in Richmond, Virginia after seeing two little kids get killed crossing a street. He founded the New York Black Yankees baseball team, which became a huge success story, and he was made the Honorary Mayor of Harlem.
In these days, when our idols and stars sell out at the drop of a hat to get an extra minute on TV or a chance to plug their latest whatever, it makes my fucking heart sing to think of a man who stayed so true to his ideals and visions, never once wavering, in the face of adversity. Throughout his whole life Bill Robinson did exactly what he wanted, no more and no less, no matter the odds or the money.
That’s integrity.
That’s strength.
He died in 1942, an alcoholic with a weak liver, and as fucking broke as he was when he first came into this world. But the life he lived should serve as an example to all of us who aspire to become more than we are.
See, this is not about race. Racial prejudice, in this case, was just the obstacle he had to overcome to make himself everything he could be. The challenge to meet your potential can be anything; handicaps, insecurities, speech impediments, height, weight… whatever.
We hear it all the time, “Be all you can be” or “You can do anything you set your mind to”, but do we really take it to heart? Are we so jaded in our day- to-day grind that even reasonable goals seem to be unattainable dreams?
ANYTHING you set your fucking mind to, and that you have at least a scrap of talent for, you can do.
Anything.
The people who fly to the moon or write the Great American Novel, were once just dirt poor, broke ass kids as well. It’s what you do with yourself that makes you who you are. Nobody in this world is gonna do shit for you. And if they do, it’s their achievement reflected in you, not yours.
Bill “Bojangles” Robinson danced to his own beat his whole life, not missing it once, and, therefore, he deserves to be recognized as a Dead Rebel.
