by Donald Bogle
Yet the New York critics were mixed on Rhapsody in Black, which led to another discussion as to what could be expected in a Negro musical. “It lacks the punch224, the animality, and the high spirits which playgoers have a right to expect of productions of this kind,” wrote John Mason Brown in the Evening Post. “Worst of all,” he added, “the many numbers from which it is made are blessed with precious little of that white-teethed, broad-grinned and insinuating gayety which heretofore has been the redeeming feature of many a brown-skinned revue.” Brown’s comments, of course, said more about his view of Black entertainment—and African Americans in general—than about the merits of the show, but others had similar opinions. “It is Harlem oratorio225,” wrote Gilbert W. Gabriel in The American. “And, outside of its choral singing and Ethel Waters, it isn’t much else—or even just much.” Gabriel also took a swipe at Waters’ new material. “I yield to none except Carl Van Vechten in my admiration of the clear and lightsome way she puts her songs across, ’way, far across. But last night they turned her into just a big, tall hydrant of lament.”
The New Yorker’s Robert Benchley, however, best articulated what made Rhapsody in Black unique—and a groundbreaker that might mark a new day in Black revues, moving away from some stereotyped images. “After complaining so often226 about the synthetic quality of Negro revues in their attempts to imitate the worst of Broadway and their insistence that it is funnier to say ‘remanded’ than ‘demanded,’ the least that you do is give Mr. Leslie credit for making ‘Rhapsody in Black’ different. He has given his colored entertainers something to do which is worthy of their talents. It may, at times, be a little too worthy with the unhappy result of slowing up the pace, and those who have come to delight in Negro shows for their racy stomping and loud shouting may resent this attempt to inject a little dignity into the proceedings, but if you like Negro singers and dancers for the things that they do best, ‘Rhapsody in Black’ will be a welcome relief.” In the Pittsburgh Courier, Floyd G. Snelson Jr. called Rhapsody in Black “a new step forward227 in Negro entertainment.” “Leslie has veritably taken the Negro out of the jungle and given him his rightful place in the theatrical sun,” Snelson wrote.
Benchley and other critics also praised Ethel. “This lady’s personality has228 a chastening effect on the meanest of songs,” he wrote, “and here, for the first time, her songs do not need any particular chastening.” In the New York Daily Mirror, Walter Winchell wrote, “Mr. Leslie has tried229 something different, and those diversion seekers who prefer good vocalizing, good music, excellent hoofing and the artful Ethel Waters are sure to find it worth while.”
In the end, Rhapsody in Black led Waters even more in the direction she had sought these past years. The new numbers were dramatic pieces in which she could act a part. In later years, she would not hesitate to comment on Leslie’s actions and his attitudes about her, but at this time, she surprisingly appeared to give Leslie more credit than she later thought he was due. Or perhaps later she was rewriting her own history with the production. The New York World-Telegram reported that when Leslie had first presented her with the songs and monologues she was to perform in the show, she was “mad.” “What did this man230 Leslie mean? What did all her past success and reputation amount to if he was going to make her change and talk to imaginary people and everything? Now Miss Waters can laugh about it. She says she felt, but didn’t understand, the things in herself Mr. Leslie has brought out.”
When George Murphy Jr. of the Baltimore Afro-American came to the Sam Harris Theatre to speak to her, Waters shrewdly used the interview to express her goals and her view of life—and to announce to the public that there was a new Ethel on the horizon. In some respects, it was one of her more revealing interviews. Entering Waters’ dressing room, Murphy found her in a small space “with its rows of gowns, brightly lighted mirrors, pictures and makeup boxes.” There she sat “filing her nails231. She had on her tan stocking cap and wore a flowered dress. She looked very fresh and leisurely—not at all in the rush and bustle that one might associate with a person who was to go on the stage in twenty or thirty minutes as the star of the most unusual hit Broadway has seen in many a day.”
“How do you like your latest offering, Miss Waters?”
“Well, to be frank about it, I was a little afraid of it at first,” she said. “Now I like it. I don’t know how long it will last. I only hope that the public will like it well enough to keep it here for some time.”
When Murphy turned the discussion to the country’s current economic state—“I suppose the Depression in this town has not affected you very much”—Ethel was ready to speak her mind.
“Now you have started talking about something that has become so firmly a part of me,” said Waters, “that the shock of a change would unnerve me. I mean just this: I am so used to the bad side of this Depression that the coming of better times will shock me like an electric bolt.” She added: “Don’t let anybody kid you about being carried along on Broadway. Broadway gives you the reward of hard and consistent work. You have to have the ability and the grit to stick before Broadway notices you. I don’t feel that I have reached the point where I can say I am at the top, and there is no more to worry about. As long as I am in this game—and I expect to be in it the rest of my life—I expect to work hard to please my public.”
She added: “The public is fickle. That’s why I still feel nervous every time I go on the stage. Every entrance is a new challenge to my ability and my best effort. After all, the public is paying the bill to see you and they have a right to say whether they like your work.”
Waters also used the interview to discuss acting, which now excited her, and a drama that interested her. “I have always wanted to play some character skits that call for intense emotional moments; something of a Negro theme that carries a deep and moving significance with it. You see what I mean?” When Murphy asked if she’d like to play the role of Scarlet Sister Mary, she stopped filing her nails. Scarlet Sister Mary was the title character of the controversial 1929 Pulitzer Prize–winning novel by Julia Peterkin, who specialized in stories—such as Green Thursday and Black April—that featured major Black characters in a South Carolina plantation setting. But no one had been quite prepared for Scarlet Sister Mary, which created quite a stir. Its heroine was a young Black woman whose first husband deserts her for another woman. Afterward, the surprisingly noble and independent Scarlet Sister Mary becomes, for the time, shockingly “promiscuous” and gives birth to a brood of “illegitimate” children. When Peterkin’s story was adapted for the stage, Ethel Barrymore played the character—in burnt cork. Its dialogue had been in the Gullah language of African Americans living on the islands off the coast of South Carolina. Despite its attempts at theatrical innovation, the dramatization had not fared well, but Ethel was still drawn to the character and the story itself.
“I think I could put a lot of realism into that part,” she told Murphy. “After all, it takes a definite understanding there. You know the girl in that story was not an immoral person. She was unmoral, if you want to call it that, but the things that she did were not done with the thought of evil that would accompany an immoral act. The sort of things that Scarlet Sister Mary did are a part of the conduct of people, not only in certain sections of South Carolina, but in any place here in New York, for example from Park Avenue to the Bowery.”
“Yes, I like that piece,” she added. “I think I could bring a real interpretation to the role, but then there is my public. I don’t know how they would like it.”
When asked about her other interests and hobbies, she answered as frankly as she could. “Well, just this, reading and attending to my own business.” Interestingly, she said nothing about the prize fights that she loved, nor about the drag shows with female impersonators that she still enjoyed. Ethel was press-savvy enough to know what best contributed to the image she wanted to project and promote. She also expressed her desire to return to Europe. Yet she hadn’t forgo
tten her feelings of cultural isolation and homesickness during her time spent there. “When I go again,” she said, “I want to go with a show. I like all the culture and poise of the continental European. And yet I like to travel with my show people. You know my people are noisy, loud and wrong, a bit uncouth, but I love them for their gaiety and naturalness. They are a part of my life. Some of the dumbest people you want to meet are high up in the show business, but I love them all. I would not know what to do offstage without them. You see, I am one person on the stage and another off the stage. I am dull and uninteresting offstage.”
Most revealing about the interview was what Waters did not discuss, namely, her private life. Perhaps Murphy had not asked anything personal, or perhaps he knew better than to try. Certainly, she was not going to volunteer any information. Not a word was said about Algretta or the status of her marriage to Eddie Matthews. During this time and in the years to come, whenever Waters commented on personal matters, it would always be about her past, her troubled childhood. Her current life offstage, which was anything but dull and uninteresting, was rarely mentioned.
The truth was that her career consumed most of her time and her attention. Everything was centered around it. When she was not on the road and in New York in a show like Rhapsody in Black, her days were very long. Usually, she was at the theater early to prepare for the performance, often accompanied by her maid, Bessie Whitman, who tended to everything in her dressing room, making sure that her makeup, her costumes, and her props were in order. She also dealt with requests for Ethel’s time or presence. Once the show ended, Ethel might spend some time in her dressing room with people who came backstage to say hello. Or she might go out with Pearl Wright or cast members, at least those she hadn’t fought with, to a restaurant or actors’ hangout. Often at the end of the night, Eddie picked her up for the ride back to Harlem. Once in her apartment, she might check in with an assistant about the day’s events, what Algretta had been up to, who had called, what other members of the household had been doing. Or she might just turn in and ask the next day. She slept late, ate breakfast late, paid some attention to Algretta or Eddie, if he was there, answered mail, paid bills, or returned calls. The regulars often came—a masseuse to give her a rubdown, a dressmaker for fittings, a hairdresser. But mostly Ethel conserved her energy for the evening’s performance. On days when she had a matinee, her time was even tighter. Always at the back of her mind, dictating her mood and her actions at home, was the thought of the evening’s performance. Nothing was more important.
On those occasions when she had free time, Ethel, always ready to make a few extra bucks, sang at private gatherings. Wealthy white socialites loved those evenings at their homes when invited guests could sit in their spacious living rooms and hear the announcement: “And now, dear friends” or “And now, ladies and gentlemen, may I present Miss Ethel Waters.” Accompanied by Pearl or a small backup group, Ethel would stand by the piano and sing her hits. Such a soiree was considered the most exclusive type of private entertainment, and these performances helped Ethel’s career. An array of artists, producers, and theater people attended. One evening at the home of Katherine Brush, the author of the novel Porgy, DuBose Heyward, and his playwright wife Dorothy heard Ethel sing “Washtub Rhapsody (Rub-sody)” from Rhapsody in Black. For Ethel, the evening was another gig, but for years to come the Heywards couldn’t get her performance out of their heads. Later the couple would play an important part in her career.
On days off, Ethel, finding it hard to relax, went to the bridle path in Central Park where she would ride horseback for hours. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, riding stables in the city numbered in the hundreds, and because horses could be boarded at the stables or rented, horseback riding was popular with New York residents. Originally, Central Park’s bridle path looped around the reservoir. In time, additional loops were created to the north and south of Central Park. Most likely, Ethel took the loop to the north, which branched off from the reservoir above 96th Street and turned west into the park at 104th Street. In time, she became a fairly good horsewoman. Dressed in her sporty riding clothes—her jodhpurs, jackets, and boots—and sitting tall in the saddle with her perfect posture, she was a wonder to behold as she galloped under many of the park’s arches and bridges. Because most riders were unaccustomed to seeing an African American woman on horseback, she drew stares, even more so when word spread that she was the colored singer who had made so many records and played Broadway.
Though in some respects she would always be the insecure girl from Chester, Ethel now had a fuller sense of her identity and was becoming even more aware of her effect on people. On that first Black Swan tour, the attention had been something of a novelty, but by now she was becoming Ethel Waters offstage as well as on. The line between the personal and professional woman was not yet completely blurred, but it had started to be erased.
Other times she read to unwind. Generally, she preferred books by Black authors like Langston Hughes. But she also loved long, sweeping epic tales in which she could lose herself, everything from Gone with the Wind to Anthony Adverse. Basically, she was willing to read “anything from dime novels to encyclopedias.” “I love detective stories for a diversion, and heavy literature when I am in the mood,” she once said. “I like good English and good literature. You learn a lot of these things mingling with interesting people with ideas.”
On other occasions, she rushed out to see horror movies, no doubt those starring Boris Karloff or Bela Lugosi during this period, and, of course, enthusiastically went to prize fights. Later she became one of Joe Louis’ greatest fans, attending some of his big bouts, and on occasion even going to the gym to see the champ work out. She enjoyed cooking and preparing meals for special friends she’d invite over as people continued to flow in and out of the apartment. She also began taking an interest in children in need of affection and financial help. Gradually, more children visited the apartment with their mothers or other family members, and were fed and looked after. On more reflective occasions, she listened to music, which she said always affected her emotionally. “It tears my heart232 open. That’s why I’d rather hear it when I’m alone.” There were also times of prayer, although she was quick to say, “No, it’s not true that I’m so religious that I have an altar in my home. But I try to feel close to God all the time.”
With her career, her various interests, her time spent with friends, and her time with needy children, not much time was left for Eddie. People in her circle knew Matthews now, and if they didn’t all like him, they at least tolerated his presence. Not only did he look the part of the dashing husband of a star, but he acted the part too. The two remained fashion plates. They were still seen about town, and both still drove sporty cars. Ethel was seen in her Lincoln sedan, Eddie in his Lincoln convertible. Ethel had also bought an Elcar. On some occasions, she might attend a benefit or catch another show, and Eddie might be by her side—or not. He might be spotted driving around town or at the racetrack in whatever city the couple happened to be. Usually, he traveled with her on tour, but, basically, no one cared much about him—except to trade stories. The gossips in town were already having a field day with the couple. The main topic was Eddie’s gambling. Though Ethel never played the horses, the Chicago Defender reported, “her husband, Eddie Matthews233, tossed away thirty grand on Illinois tracks.” Another time, the word was that he “made several threats to break away from playing the horses daily and partying at night, but he just can’t seem to quit.”
Still, to some observers, Eddie made many efforts to please and placate Ethel, to cajole, to flatter, to go the distance to keep her happy. By her own admission, it had been Eddie who had urged her to take time off during the period when her voice problems had become severe. Rob Roy, who wrote for the Chicago Defender, recalled many an occasion when Eddie stood at Ethel’s beck and call. “What she wanted234 was companionship after working hours and someone to measure up in dress and popularit
y to her stately position in life. One such person was her first husband of record, ‘Pretty Eddie’ Matthews. There never was a more genial person than Eddie. The services he gave Ethel in public places where they dined; the respect he gave her and insisted that others have for his wife is unmatched in show business. When the pair ate in cafes it was Eddie who first tasted the food to see that everything was right for his wife. If the coffee was lukewarm to Eddie, it was much too cold for Miss Waters and was sent back to the pot for heating. The silver she ate with was wiped off carefully, not by Miss Waters, but ‘Pretty Eddie.’ He made no mistake where Ethel Waters was concerned. He saw that others followed suit. The price she paid in cash for this service, as many have pointed out matters not to a star who was rolling in the dough at five figures weekly.”
Though few seemed to have much sympathy for Eddie, he was deserving of some nonetheless. As cool a customer as Matthews was, he was still, from the start, probably in way over his head. Before Ethel, he was used to calling the shots in his life, being the center of attention in his own world, strutting and showboating with a pretty woman by his side. He liked it when women flirted with him. He also enjoyed being with women pretty enough to draw stares and comments from other guys; pretty enough to compliment Eddie’s virility; pretty enough to be a part of the orbit around him. Eddie was not accustomed to playing second fiddle to a woman. Nor was he accustomed to having a woman who outshone him. All of that changed the minute he and Ethel supposedly became Mr. and Mrs. Nothing could have prepared him for Ethel’s fame, even in this earlier phase of her career: for the clamor she created wherever she went; for the constant adulation of her admirers; for the demands on her time; for her nonstop schedule; for the invitations to receptions, parties, dinners, get-togethers; for living in a household that was completely centered around her and always ready to cater to her every need, whim, or command; for the fawning of prominent and accomplished men such as Van Vechten or Langston Hughes.
