by Donald Bogle
Yet despite the talented cast, Africana might as well have been a one-woman show because everyone was there to see Ethel. In the first act, she led an uninhibited rendition of the latest dance craze, the black bottom, that just about stopped the show. Her “wiggling” was so sexy that one critic wrote that “her movements virtually constituted a cooch.” And the exuberant Waters personality—the broad smile, the large expressive eyes, the throaty laugh, the sensual come-hither-if-you-dare attitude—was a part of every skit and every dance step she took. But the moment that everyone had been waiting for—Africana’s feverish, energetic high point—occurred during the second act when Ethel stood center stage to sing her hits: “Dinah,” “Take Your Black Bottom Outside,” “I’m Coming, Virginia,” “Shake That Thing.” As one hit followed another, the audience was provided with a clear perspective on her career. And no one was more enthusiastic than Van Vechten, who some thought looked as if he was losing his senses. “You know, I don’t159 like to talk about it, but I was rather embarrassed last night by Carl Van Vechten,” recalled one observer. “He’d clap his hands with resounding smacks each time Ethel appeared, and in the midst of her second act specialty he began yelling things. He called for songs, among them being, as best I remember, ‘Dinah’ and [‘Take Your Black Bottom Outside].’ I was seated immediately behind him, and I became uneasy for fear the assemblage would think I was yelling at Ethel. I make it a rule never to shout at colored ladies.” Commented another observer: Waters “gave a generous series160 of her repertory of songs, which was apparently so familiar to an ecstatic audience that they hardly waited for her to finish one before they began pleading for another—a chorus led by the insistent voice of Carl Van Vechten firmly demanded ‘Dinah.’ ” There was Van Vechten, one of the city’s major critics, shouting and screaming like any other star-struck fan. Theatergoers would talk about it for weeks to come.
One observer, however, detected something else in Ethel’s performance that evening. “Each time she answered161 a cue and went through her prescribed part,” he said, “I watched her eyes, and in them I read that still she sought and groped for an elusive something which did not come. And therein she is a true artiste, battling mightily, unconsciously, to improve perfection as we know perfection.”
Few critics, however, thought much of the show itself. One griped: “It has no music162 at all that is not dimly imitative.” Burns Mantle of New York’s Daily News complained, “Strange the colored folk163 cannot get together on some form of revue that would be a real credit to their race. But the thing they produce is usually in cheap imitation of a cheap model.” Nor did Mantle think much of Ethel. “Miss Waters, with talent for singing character songs, even without a voice, casts it aside to do the rowdy sex patter of the honky-tonks and promptly brings the tone of Africana down to the level of the sub-basements of Harlem.”
But Mantle was the exception. Most praised Ethel, even though some mainstream theater critics were admittedly unfamiliar with her. The critic for the New York World referred to her as Edith Waters. He commented that “while Edith is around164 entertainment is plentiful. The records show this long, tall, brown-skinned gal to be a person of some reputation uptown, and she richly deserves whatever acclaim has been hers.”
Nor did the critic for the New York World-Telegram know much about her, but he wrote that the musical was glorified “by the presence of165 the dynamic personality, new to this spectator but well known, we are told, to diverse entertainments on the outskirts of Harlem. Her name is Ethel Waters and she makes and stops the show.” “For the most part166, Africana, is a good dancing show, starring the towering Ethel Waters, who, although new to this commentator, seemed to have a generous, mixed following,” wrote E. B. White in The New Yorker. “With her sleek, boyish bob, tall frame, and cavernous jaw of white ivories, she possesses the tall, supple beauty of an African gun-bearer.”
Both Ethel and Dancer were excited by the wide coverage Africana had won from the mainstream media. Yet the most observant comments came from Black critics, who were aware of her history and could better understand what she accomplished with the show. James Weldon Johnson believed that Africana was far fresher than Miller and Lyles’ Rang Tang, which was a sign that the “traditional pattern of Negro167 musical comedy was a bit worn.” Africana, however, was “a swift modern revue.” He raved that Ethel “dominated the show,” and he examined her work within the context of Black theater history and its leading ladies. “Miss Waters gets her audiences, and she does get them completely, through an innate poise that she possesses; through the quiet and subtlety of her personality,” he wrote. Johnson also recognized the power of her slow-burn style, of her hot-cool sexuality. “She never ‘works hard’ on the stage. Her bodily movements, when she makes them, are almost languorous. Indeed, she is at her best when she is standing perfectly still, singing quietly. Her singing corresponds to her bodily movements; she never over-exerts her voice; she always creates a sense of reserved power that compels the listener,” said Johnson. “Miss Waters also has a disarming quality which enables her to sing some songs that many singers would not be able to get away with on the stage. Those who have heard her sing ‘Shake That Thing’ will understand.”
In the Pittsburgh Courier, W. Rollo Wilson also assessed her place in theater history. “They do say that168 comparisons are odious. Sometimes they’re odorous,” he wrote. “But what better method have we to determine the value of a jewel, a meal, an incident, a person than to compare or contrast it with one or more of its kind which has or have gone before? Answering my question—none. So Ethel Waters. In the musical comedy field two of our women have stood out since Aida Overton Walker. One of these is Miss Waters. And Miss Waters is nearer to the immortal Aida, whose brilliance illumed the turn of the century, than is the other star. In Africana she is as near perfect as mortals get, and yet Miss Waters is not satisfied, even though she may not realize it.”
To the African American critics, Africana represented a grand new day in theater. It was valued as “pure African, made entirely169 by race people, not only as to its performers, but also its management, direction, dances, music and sketches and doubtless, too, where authorship can be identified, as to its songs. It is truly a revue in the general acceptance of that term in theatricals, yet it is different from the same thing when offered by white people, except in the spots where the offerings are imitations of the white.” In this respect, Africana might be recognized as part of that creative outpouring of the Harlem Renaissance, but Africana was Africana only because of Ethel, around whom all those creative energies swirled and were unified.
Shrewdly, Dancer hired African American writer Geraldyn Dismond as a press agent for the show. Dismond, a feature writer for the Pittsburgh Courier and “a pioneer in a new170 field for women, being owner of a bureau for specialized publicity,” was considered “perhaps the race’s most distinguished woman journalist.” Using her wide range of contacts, she managed to get the endorsement of New York Black ministers for the show, no easy feat. Show people were still often thought of as doing “the devil’s work.” Among them was the Reverend W. H. Moses, the father of actress Ethel Moses. Along with other prominent clergymen, Moses attended the show. Afterward a statement was issued for the press: “When any of our171 group is fortunate enough to gain and hold a place on ‘Broadway,’ even the clergy who find many objectionable features about the stage in general, is proud of and anxious to encourage him. Unfortunate, indeed, is the man who doesn’t appreciate the subtle contribution to serious observation on American life, though lightly presented through the song and dance, wit and wisdom of our sorely tried and tired people. Miss Waters’ rending, ‘Tired (Weary) Feet’ is typical and touching.” Touched by Ethel’s performance of the song “Smile,” which “whispers hope into my body,” Reverend Moses added: “I have just returned from the Mississippi flood region, where we are giving aid to the sufferers. . . . You have caught and finely expressed in the ‘Smile’ song and scene th
e spirit of our people in disaster. May you continue to do well and draw audiences such as I saw last night.” No comment was made as to how the ministers responded to Ethel singing “Shake That Thing.”
Black celebrity endorsements also appeared. Hall Johnson, the leader of the Hall Johnson Choir, commented that it “is one of the172 most satisfying things Negroes have ever done in the theater.” Edna Thomas, one of Harlem’s most gifted dramatic actresses, called Ethel “incomparable” and “the brightest luminary” and said that no show since Shuffle Along had “proven so consistently entertaining.” Of course, Van Vechten joined the chorus of praises. He talked about the show whenever he could and excitedly wrote Langston Hughes, who was out of town: “Ethel Waters’ Africana173 is marvelous & sure to be running when you come back.”
Reading the reviews, Ethel knew that she still had not completely cleaned up her image, but now she was being taken seriously as an entertainer and was recognized as a worthy successor to Aida Overton Walker and as a theater diva every bit as accomplished as Florence Mills.
Despite the Sweltering Heat, patrons lined up at Daly’s 63rd Street Theatre, including celebrities who had missed the opening night: Lester Walton; writer Eric Waldron; Claude A. Barnett of the Associated Negro Press in Chicago; Bill “Bojangles” Robinson and his wife, Fannie; Lenore Ulric, star of Lulu Belle; millionaire banker Edward Wasserman; artist Aaron Douglas; Theophilus Lewis, editor of the Inter-State Tatler; poet Witter Bynner; Otto Kahn; even Rang Tang stars like Aubrey Lyles and his wife. Actress Evelyn Preer came to the show. Returning were Van Vechten and his wife, Fania.
Africana opened other doors for Ethel socially. Private parties were given in her honor. One week it was at Nella Larsen’s. Another week it was a tea in her honor, given by the millionaire banker Edward Wasserman, who struck up a friendship with her. So did dancer-actress Rita Romilly, known for her integrated parties attended by Black writers and artists. For a time, Ethel and Romilly appeared to have developed a close relationship. And, of course, no lineup of parties, receptions, luncheons, and dinners in Ethel’s honor would be complete without one at Van Vechten’s. On this occasion, the poet Witter Bynner, who was reported to “possess one of the174 finest collections of jade in this country,” presented Ethel with a large oval jade that he had acquired while on a trip to China. He brought two with him. Ethel was to select the one that appealed most to her.
The Columbia Phonograph Company also took out ads for Ethel’s new recordings:
Ethel Waters, now starring175 in her new New York hit “Africana,” sings for you “I Want My Sweet Daddy Now” and “Smile!”
It’s a safe bet that Daddy won’t be missing for long when he hears these selections.
Ethel had also already signed an endorsement deal for the cold cream Golden Brown, created especially for African Americans.
With all the fanfare, Dancer was said to have considered buying twelve hundred acres of land in Sorrento, Maine, which was a deluxe summer colony some eight miles from Bar Harbor. Though he later denied the story, he was reported to have had visions of creating a race colony that would include not only Ethel and himself but Paul Robeson, Florence Mills, and other members of the Black elite.
Ethel took it all in Stride—the constant attention, the ongoing scrutiny, the never-ending expectations that another success must quickly follow, the continued wave of people wanting the star’s time and attention. But she relished being able to high-hat the high-hatters, to turn down invitations, to arrive late at parties and leave early. If the ofays or the dictys wanted her company, they’d follow her rules. Yet paradoxically, many of those childhood fears and doubts could still creep up. She never forgot she was from Chester, which she was proud of, and she knew she still lacked the education and social graces of so many in the world into which she was now thrust. Nor was Ethel Williams around to smooth over awkward social moments. Earl seemed his socially confident self wherever he was, although at times Ethel didn’t need him as much as she may have once thought.
Now she began constructing an image for the press that she felt comfortable with—this continued into the next decade. The raunchy woman on the records was one kind of image. But the woman offstage—the more personal Ethel—was another matter altogether. It had to be stressed that she was a lady. Though she had done nothing to prevent anyone from assuming that she and Dancer were married, to be living together in sin was not part of the image. So the pretense of a marriage continued. She had also become more exposed to African American history, in which she took pride. One of her great heroes was the fiery orator and great race leader Frederick Douglass. Before anyone knew it, Ethel informed the press that Douglass was her great-grandfather! Also publicized was her strong religious faith and the influence that the Catholic nuns had on her. Waters also told the press that at heart she was shy and insecure. That was probably partly true. Zora Neale Hurston and Geraldyn Dismond certainly believed that. At this point, she stressed having had a rather strict upbringing in which she had “found considerable opposition at home to a career on the stage.” Her grandmother was mentioned but not Momweeze. Not yet discussed were details of her impoverished childhood, the hard knocks and deprivations, the humiliations and setbacks she had to overcome. But all of that would be revealed publicly in the years to come. In time, just about everyone in show business would know something about the hardships of this girl from Chester.
Despite the Fanfare, Africana ran into problems that eventually led to additional difficulties in the Waters-Dancer relationship. The show’s competitor Rang Tang was pulling in $13,000 weekly, but in its fifth week, Africana had a weekly gross of only $7,000 to $8,000. Was the Daly not accurately reporting grosses? Dancer had problems getting box office receipts from the theater, and soon he discovered that he could not cover his production costs. Word leaked out that salaries for the Africana cast were not being paid. A little after a month of the show’s opening, Dancer saw that there was standing room only for audiences on August 16. Yet only $500 was reported at the box office. Two hundred tickets were unaccounted for. Infuriated, after the performance that Tuesday evening, Dancer shockingly announced that he would close Africana. The next day many cast members scrambled to find work in other shows. Louis Douglas was even reported to have booked passage to London.
Shrewdly, Dancer negotiated a deal with the Shuberts to open the production at their National Theatre on 41st and Seventh Avenue, a larger house than the Daly. But he needed money to do so. He discussed the situation with Van Vechten, who arranged a meeting with Otto Kahn. “Through my friend Carl176 Van Vechten,” said Dancer, “Otto Kahn . . . provided me with the funds to move Africana from Daly’s.” On the following Saturday evening, Africana was back in business. All cast members returned, and Ethel was relieved. But Dancer’s contract with John Cort, owner of the Daly, stipulated that the play was to be performed at his theater until September. An angry Cort reminded Dancer of the terms of the contract, and a suit was filed in New York’s Supreme Court to block the show from continuing at the National until after its eight-week run at the Daly. Cort was asking for $25,000 in damages. Dancer, the Shubert Theatrical Corporation, and Ethel were all named in the suit.
Waters put on a brave face, but some of these problems—legal proceedings; casts and crews, which she felt responsible for; unending hassles over money; repeated conflicts with advisers, producers, managers, and lawyers in whose hands she felt her future was cast—had dogged her career in the past. The lawsuit led her to question Earl’s capabilities. Having once believed he could handle her professional affairs, she was now losing confidence in him. Preparing herself for the worst, she began negotiations for appearances at New York’s Palace Theatre.
Eventually, the ongoing legal hassles with Africana took their toll. “Africana, the Earl Dancer revue starring Ethel Waters, gave its final performance at Shubert’s National Theatre last Saturday,” reported the Pittsburgh Courier on September 24, 1927. “Although New York is alive with variou
s tales as to the sudden and unannounced closing, it is generally believed that the impending Daly Theatre suit was the cause. Whatever may have been the reason, the fact remains that the National is dark and Miss Waters is appearing at Keith’s Palace Theatre this week.” In the end, Dancer told Lester Walton that he had lost $30,000 on the show.
Much as she hated seeing the show close, she was also relieved. With the booking at the Palace, she had landed on her feet and was back on Broadway in a major appearance. Not many Black entertainers got to headline this huge house. Opening in 1913, the Palace was a three-level theater with 1,733 seats. Such stars as Sarah Bernhardt, Ed Wynn, Fannie Brice, Sophie Tucker, and George Jessel had made the Palace the place all vaudeville acts dreamed of playing. Earl, of course, took credit for the booking. “We were offered,” he said, “a date at Keith’s Palace Theatre, then the apex of vaudeville. Ethel and I had played the Palace before as a team but this time it was offered her as a single and a headliner. Ethel Waters was the first Negro woman to ever play the Palace Theatre as a single headliner.” On the bill with Ethel were such performers as Jack Benny, Eddie Foy Jr., Benny Fields, and Blossom Seeley.