Voice of Freedom
On Easter Sunday, 1939, contralto Marian Anderson stepped up to a microphone in front of the Lincoln Memorial. Inscribed on the walls of the monument behind her were the words “all men are created equal.”
(crowd chattering, flash bulbs popping)
MAN: Testing one, two. Testing one, two.
(microphone feedback squeals)
(crowd chattering, flash bulbs popping)
NARRATOR: In the spring of 1939, Marian Anderson
was one of the most famous entertainers in the world,
known to millions as the Voice of the Century.
But as she rehearsed in theshadow of the Lincoln Memorial,
it was all she could do to keep her nerves in check.
In a few hours, Anderson was to sing a free concert
for tens of thousands of spectators here,
and for millions more listening on the radio coast to coast.
None of this had been her choice.
LESLIE UREÑA: She called her manager the night before and said,
"Do I still have to go through with this?"
LUCY CAPLAN: It was so weighted with political
and social symbolism
in ways that were beyond her control.
ALLIDA BLACK: She knew the minute
that she stood before Lincoln that this would be
how she would be defined
for the rest of her life.
NARRATOR: Racism shadowed every aspect of Anderson's life.
A few months earlier, she had been barred
from the only suitable concert hall in Washington
by an organization called
the Daughters of the American Revolution.
Anderson had been shut out because of her race
many times before, from many places.
But this time civil rights groups, churches,
even First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt
had rallied to defend her rights.
It had all led to this moment,
to an unprecedented demonstration
for freedom and equality,
in the heart of the nation's capital.
ADRIANE LENTZ-SMITH: Anderson has an appeal that crosses age
and color lines.
whether she wants to be or not,
is perfect for highlighting the absurdity
of American racial codes.
LUCY CAPLAN: She had worked so hard to be known as an artist.
And she knew that this would turn her into
a political figure.
And that was distinctly not what she wanted for herself.
But she also recognizedthe power of what she could do.
She was becoming part of this thing
that was so much bigger than herself.
LENTZ-SMITH: The civil rights movement did not begin in 1954 or 1955.
The struggle was already in motion.
Folks had been fighting, pushing, refining for decades.
KIRA THURMAN: When we think of the civil rights movement, we go first
to a lot of African American men.
Marian Anderson is an outlier.
ANGELA BROWN: She became a political icon,
and the face of a movement.
And that was something she could never step back from.
NARRATOR: Marian Anderson had known what she wanted from life
since she was a girl.
"I was so interested in music," she said,
"that other things didn't matter a lot."
So when the 17-year-old walked into the lobby
of the Philadelphia Musical Academy in 1914
and waited for her turn to fill out an application,
she was on the verge ofrealizing her fondest ambition.
If she was accepted by the academy,
then Anderson could begin her formal musical education:
singing lessons, languages, acting, music theory.
It would be a dream come true.
Anderson had been known among Philadelphia's Black community
ever since she joined the Union Baptist choir
after her sixth birthday--
the baby contralto, she'd been called.
CHOIR: ♪ My Lord
♪ What a morning
♪ My Lord
♪ What a morning
BROWN: She sang a lot of spirituals, hymns,
the great anthems of the church.
Union Baptist was one of those places where a Negro,
a Black person, could go
and hear high church, high holy music.
And so those were the things
that she cut her teeth on early on.
CHOIR: ♪ Begin to
NARRATOR: But Marian Anderson was an unlikely candidate
for the Musical Academy.
She'd had to leave school when she was twelve years old,
after her father was killed in an accident at work.
The family was plunged into poverty.
ALISHA JONES: Her whole world turned upside down when her father passed.
Her mother had to take on multiple jobs
in order to provide for her three daughters.
The sacrifice and love investment
that her mother was making
stuck with Marian Anderson for the rest of her life.
NARRATOR: While her mother was working at a tobacco factory,
Marian raised her two younger sisters
and did odd jobs to help with the finances.
Union Baptist became her refuge.
It was at an evening concert there
that Anderson first caught the eye and ear
of America's greatest Black tenor, Roland Hayes.
LUCY CAPLAN: Roland Hayes
is what Anderson aspires to be,
and he recognized that Anderson was no kind of just
top-student-in-the-church-choir kind of voice.
He became a real mentor.
NARRATOR: Hayes offered support and guidance,
but he couldn't change the financial realities
of Anderson's life.
Friends and supporters could see
her future being slowly smothered.
So when Anderson was a teenager,
the congregation atUnion Baptist took up the first
of many collectionsfor the young woman they called
BROWN: There's always a ram in the bush.
She did have benefactors that weren't wealthy,
but had great wealth of heart.
NARRATOR: By the time Anderson was 17,
Philadelphia's Black community had raised enough money
that she could finally begin high school, and best of all,
study music at the Philadelphia Musical Academy.
But when the time to apply finally arrived,
Anderson waited all day in the lobby
as white girls were ushered past.
BROWN: When everyone was gone,
the white girl says, "Well, what do you want?"
And she says, "Well, I want to apply for the school."
You know,"I've come to get information."
And she was like, "We don't take colored."
LENTZ-SMITH: Most Black people in the public eye
have a story about their initialencounter with Jim Crow racism.
And it usually coincides with some kind of
coming of age because it is, in fact, in some ways,
a coming-of-age story.
MARIAN ANDERSON (dramatized): I don't know how I got out of the place and back home.
Maybe it would have been better
if my mother had told me when I was littler
what kind of things could happen to you if you were a Negro.
All of my dreams were just shattered around my head.
NARRATOR: Ever since her father died,
Anderson had watched her mother confront hardship
with dignity and unwavering determination.
"Mother had a strength beyond herself," she said,
and Marian had taken on some of the same qualities.
Just weeks after the crushing blow at the Musical Academy,
Anderson began singing lessons with a neighborhood teacher,
and then started high school.
In her spare hours, she taught herself piano
and sang for just about every Ladies Auxiliary, YWCA,
church group,and social club in Philadelphia.
JONES: She had to regroup.
In many ways, she found her ingenuity during this time.
She still found a way to steal away, as the elders say.
NARRATOR: But despite her talent and ambition,
Anderson made little headway
outside her Philadelphia community.
So when the 24-year-old was invited
to perform in Chicago in 1919,
at the first meeting
of the National Association of Negro Musicians,
she jumped at the opportunity.
But that summer was a risky time
for a Black woman to be traveling across the country.
In July alone,
there were deadly riots in Washington,
New York, Norfolk, Virginia,
and a dozen other cities.
LENTZ-SMITH: The summer of 1919 is the crest
of one of the most vicious years in American history.
There are riots that just kind of sweep the nation.
They're not just Southern riots.
Not only have segregation
and the underlying ethos of Jim Crow gone national,
but the commitment to reinforcing and defending them
through, through terroristic violence
is also national.
NARRATION: Jim Crow was following the Great Migration northward,
and both had landed in Chicago.
In the last two years alone,
an estimated 50,000 Black people had arrived in the city,
almost doubling Chicago's African American population.
New arrivals crowded up uneasily
against a huge influx of immigrants
fleeing Southern and Eastern Europe.
Those European migrants were divided
by religion, language, and ethnicity.
But they held one thing in common;
an antipathy toward Black people.
Business owners exploited racial tensions,
frequently using Black workers
to undercut wages and break strikes.
LENTZ-SMITH: Marian Anderson travels to a Chicago in 1919
that's basically a powder keg.
And it has many of the conditions that you'll see
in cities across the country.
There's pressure on housing.
There are returning soldiers, Black and white;
Black soldiers angry about their World War I experience
and convinced that they've earned
their full citizenship rights
and white soldiers determined to keep African Americans
from acting on their convictions.
NARRATION: On the afternoon of July 27,
14-year-old Eugene Williams was killed
when his raft drifted into the white section
of the 29th Street Beach.
A policeman refused to arrest his assailant.
Fights broke out between Black and white bystanders.
While Anderson was at the Chicago Musical College
preparing for the most important performance of her life,
the rising tide of racial violence
came crashing down around her.
LENTZ-SMITH: There were rampaging mobs
moving through Black neighborhoods,
rumors circulating about violence being done
all over the city,
bodies riddled with bullets or set afire...
no one quite sure about
all of the things going on, but knowing it was bad.
NARRATOR: Over five days, 23 African Americans
and 15 whites were killed in Chicago,
and 500 people injured.
But the National Association of Negro Musicians
would not be deterred;
the performance had to be postponed and relocated
to a cramped hall at the YMCA,
but on the first of August 1919,
Marian Anderson made her concert debut
in an extraordinary moment.
(Marian Anderson singing "Bach Erbarme Dich" in German)
(Marian Anderson singing in German)
LENTZ-SMITH: One of the things that art has long done,
especially for African-American communities,
is to find a language of transcendence...
Because the moment you let go of that, what do you have?
NARRATOR: The memory of Red Summer was still fresh
on Memorial Day in 1922,
when official Washington gathered on the Mall
to dedicate the new Lincoln Memorial.
The organizers had invited a few African-American lawyers,
professors, and other dignitaries,
but many of them walked out when they realized
they were being herded to a segregated area,
back among the dirt and weeds.
LENTZ-SMITH: The fact that the dedication of the Lincoln Memorial
was segregated is surprising to us
until we actually think about the moment in history
and what Washington, D.C., was like.
On the other side of the violence of 1919,
with the country's redoubled commitment to white supremacy,
segregation was so deeply embedded
that it was hard to imagine how it would be undone.
NARRATOR: 57 years after the end of the Civil War,
Lincoln was still widely revered among African Americans.
But over time, white Americans had crafted
a very different memory of Lincoln,
and of the Civil War itself.
LENTZ-SMITH: By 1922, the narrative of the Civil War
as a tragic break among white men
in which enslaved people have no speaking role...
that is firmly in place.
We'll get to the point where people are saying
the Civil War was never about slavery.
And so Lincoln as the Great Emancipator
is gone out of the narrative.
NARRATOR: Lincoln will be remembered in history
not as having freed men from slavery,
President Harding told the audience,
but as having kept the Union intact.
By erasing emancipation,
the veneration of Lincoln could be squared
with the subjugation of Black Americans.
The only African-American speaker that afternoon
was Dr. Robert Moton, thepresident of Tuskegee Institute.
"This memorial is but a hollow mockery,
Moton wrote in the draft of his speech,
"a symbol of hypocrisy,
"unless we can make real in our national life
the things for which he died."
But Moton's draft was censored by the event's organizers.
Only a bland tribute to Lincoln remained.
(marine band plays "My Country, 'Tis Of Thee")
When the ceremony was over, the U.S. Marine Band
struck up "My Country, 'Tis of Thee,"
and the crowd began drifting away.
The Black press was outraged by the dedication,
and by the revision of history.
The "Chicago Defender" urged African Americans
to boycott the Memorial;
"Pass the shrine by," it advised.
"Later on, let us dedicate that temple thus far only opened."
NARRATOR: Following her harrowing experience in Chicago,
Anderson threw herself
into a series of short concert tours of the Upper South,
traveling with an accompanist
on a circuit of historically Black colleges,
theaters, and churches.
THURMAN: We forget, or perhaps we don't know,
that there were vibrant Black communities
organized around classical music,
and that there were Negro symphony orchestras
and there were Negro string quartets.
And people would organize opera performances
with entirely Black audiences
and entirely Black musicians performing.
CAPLAN:They didn't make a lot of money.
But at the same time they were
welcomed warmly and treated
with extreme respect and commitment
by the audiences they had in these settings.
SHARON VRIEND ROBINETTE: Music was her refuge.
So she cocooned herself on one level.
But she was also a risk taker.
She had to support herself and her family
in a time when there was a dual legal system,
a dual political system,
and harsh segregation and violence
against African Americans.
THURMAN: Being beaten up on the street, of lynchings,
rape happened constantly in the 1920s and '30s.
Her first time going to the South, she couldn't sleep
because she'd heard stories
about white passengers
coming to the African-American section of the train
and throwing passengers out of the train.
And so she was terrified that that could happen to her.
BROWN: Early on, during those tours when she was on trains,
the cars were dirty, and didn't have a bathroom,
and they didn't have access to food.
She went through the trenches.
(train horn blares)
NARRATOR: If Anderson was ever to move beyond this grueling circuit,
she would need professional training.
Despite her stunningly beautiful voice,
Anderson knew that she couldn't bring music to life
the way her idol Roland Hayes did.
(Hayes singing "Du bist die Ruh" in German)
ANDERSON (dramatized): Roland Hayes sang in such a convincing manner,
and with such beauty, that each song had a picture,
whether it was in German or French or Italian.
(Hayes singing in German)
It might be a person who is very distressed
or wild or something of the sort,
or other things he did in such a caressing manner.
You knew immediately what the thing conveyed to you.
(Hayes singing continues)
CAPLAN: She wasn't about spectacle or glamour.
And this music, German lieder, that's so much about
interiority and the self,
it really fits with who she was.
NARRATOR: It took some work persuading Giuseppe Boghetti
to even grant an audition;
he was one of the busiest vocal coaches in the Northeast.
But Anderson quickly became his star student.
Together they worked on vocal projection,
agility, and balance.
Boghetti also introduced her to the languages required
of a classical performer, with one glaring exception:
Anderson learned not a word of German,
the language of the lieder she hoped to master.
Life wasn't all work.
Some afternoons a tall, light-skinned, young Black man
came by the Anderson home.
He and Marian would listen to records together
on his Victrola.
Orpheus Fisher came from a well-to-do family
and was studying to be an architect.
"I felt quite interested that he was interested,"
But then Orpheus caught Marian by surprise.
MARIAN ANDERSON (dramatized): He came along
and asked me one day if I would run off with him and marry.
Well, the thought of it just terrified me.
And I knew the things that people do expect
when they get married.
I could see that I would have to give up my work.
And I just wasn't prepared for it.
ROBINETTE: She had the opportunity
to be a successful architect's wife
or to take a risk and become a career musician.
And that was not written in stone at that point.
KIRA THURMAN: She was
deeply in love with Orpheus Fisher
and could have easily imagined settling down,
perhaps having children.
But instead, she made a choice to pursue her career
in a world that was hostile to Black women.
NARRATOR: In fact, by the fall of 1923,
Anderson's career seemed to be reaching a tipping point.
Her concert tours were getting longer, fees were rising.
And most exciting of all, she had received an invitation
from the Victor Talking Machine Company.
Twenty years earlier phonographs had been mere novelties;
a recording might sell a few dozen copies.
But that changed in 1904,
when Victor recorded an Italian tenor, Enrico Caruso,
singing what was called "high-class music."
(Enrico Caruso singing "Vesti la giubba" in Italian)
NARRATOR: Three years later,
Caruso would sell a million copies of a single aria,
Victor was one of the biggest companies in the world,
and opera was mainstream.
("Vesti la giubba" ends)
CAPLAN:The notion of being able to puton a recording of a great artist
in your home was something totally new.
So classical music and classical artists
become much more popular.
This is a really profound transformation.
It was really a part of mass culture.
NARRATOR: By the early 1920s,
record companies were popularizing new styles
of music,and targeting specific markets,
including racial and ethnic groups.
So the artist and repertoire department at Victor
was primed when they heard ofan exciting young Black singer.
On the 10th of December 1923,
Marian Anderson was led into a recording studio
at Victor's New Jersey headquarters,
where she positioned herself in front of a recording horn
as the small orchestra crowded in around her.
MARIAN ANDERSON: ♪ Deep river
♪ My home is over...
NARRATOR: Anderson always sang a group
of what were called Negro spirituals in her concerts,
arrangements by Black composers of the religious songs
that had given solace to their forebears.
They had never before been recorded
by a major American label.
THURMAN: What Marian Anderson did,
along with Roland Hayes in the 1920s and '30s,
was really popularize African-American spirituals
and bringing them to white audiences.
At a time when Black women and Black musicians
were just so denigrated,
she made this argument,
over and over again,
that African-American music was worth celebrating,
and that it was just as elevated
as the music of Beethoven or Mozart.
ANDERSON: ♪ Deep...
JONES: She had a huge investment in translating the dignity
of a people onto the concert stage.
This was the sound and echo of a rural and slave past,
confident, strong, and imaginative,
a reflection of the people to themselves.
Marian Anderson challenged and broadened people's ideas
of what the souls of Black folk looked and sounded like.
NARRATOR: Three months after her recording session,
Anderson's first record was out.
She was hailed by the Black press
as the greatest colored contralto of her generation,
and she packed the Renaissance Dance Hall in Harlem.
This was the pinnacle of Black entertainment,
but Anderson wanted more.
The time had come, as she put it, to take a plunge downtown.
The odds of an African-American artist gaining a mainstream,
crossover audience were vanishingly small,
but that is exactly
what Anderson had in mind.
She placed her bets on a concert
at New York's Town Hall in April.
This, as far as the white press was concerned,
would be her concert debut.
No sooner had Anderson begun rehearsing
a highly ambitious program
than word came that Orpheus had married another woman.
Anderson had been putting Orpheus off for years,
but still the news hurt--
not only was his new bride wealthy, she was white.
Orpheus's pale skin made it possible to pass for white.
Faced with his own challenges as a budding architect,
he decided to do just that.
On the surface at least,
Anderson swept the pain aside, as she always did.
He had his life, she said, and I had mine.
(car engines rumbling)
Anderson threw herself into the Town Hall rehearsals.
The promoter reported that the tickets were selling out,
and Boghetti soothed her worries
about the four German lieder she was to sing.
MARIAN ANDERSON (dramatized): I am sure that I did not knowone word of German at the time.
Now the awkward part is that
your accents go in the wrong places.
However Mr. Boghetti gave me to believe
that it was not bad at all--
as a matter of fact, he said it was fine.
NARRATOR: On the evening of April 10, 1924,
Anderson walked onstage for her New York debut.
"I felt for all the world,"she said, "like a prima donna."
She was sold a bill of goods,
that this was a sold-out concert,
and that she would finally make a debut to a packed house.
It was definitely not a packed house.
NARRATOR: Anderson was stunned.
"All the enthusiasm that I had built up
seemed to fall at my feet," she remembered.
The real problem came when shesang the group of German lieder.
"Miss Anderson betrayed a sad want of understanding
"of the deeper meanings of the lyrics
and of lied interpretation," one critic wrote.
"She should devote more time to study," wrote another,
"and less to the concert stage."
BROWN: She was always used to the glowing review.
Everywhere else she had sung,
whatever mistakes in grammar or in breathing or in diction
that were made, they were always excused.
But New York City, at Town Hall,
she was under a bigger microscope
and the critics picked her apart.
NARRATOR: For 12 years, Anderson hadstruggled to overcome the hurdle
that had been so casually thrown up
by a Philadelphia music school.
She had been denied the opportunity to study music,
and no amount of talent or hard work could disguise the fact.
She retreated from the music scene.
ANDERSON (dramatized): I didn't want to see music.
I didn't want to hear it.
I was pretty sure that I would choose something else
as my life's ambition.
NARRATOR: Anderson's seclusion lasted for months,
until self-doubt gave way to a new realization.
"Music was something that I sort of had to do," she said.
"It wouldn't let me rest."
Her return to the grind of small tours only convinced Anderson
that her future lay elsewhere.
(ship horn blares)
On the evening of October 22, 1927,
Marian Anderson gathered her bags,
made her way to the piers on Manhattan's west side,
and boarded the Ile de France as it sailed for England,
and a new beginning.
THURMAN: If she kept going as she did in the United States,
she would only, sort of, have access to certain music halls,
to certain teachers, to certain audiences.
She was already starting to see the successes
of other African-American musicians in Europe.
Roland Hayes was already there, and by 1924,
he was making about $100,000 a year.
So why not go?
BROWN: The lack of formal education in music
always dogged her in the back of her mind--
that she wasn't good enough,
that she couldn't speakdifferent languages well enough,
that she didn't know everything that
her white cohorts knew.
She decided to educate herself
where a Black person could excel.
NARRATOR: Anderson's journey began with
some time-honored rites of passage
for American tourists abroad: while still at sea,
she was insulted by one of the ship's French waiters
for ordering her steak very well done.
He looked at me in disgust, she recounted, and said,
"You could never be the wife of a Frenchman."
Anderson's first stop was London, where Roland Hayes
had lined up teachers, housing,
Although the city was hardly
free of racism, it wasn't so ubiquitous,
and rarely so dangerous, as back home.
(party chatter fades)
THURMAN: She could stay at any hotel.
She could walk into any shop
and not, sort of, face harassment.
And then on top of that,
she's finding this really vibrant,
active Black community.
LENTZ-SMITH: London has its own imperial history,
but that also means it has
other Black communities
and a fertile and bubbling politics
of imperial critique or Black solidarity.
Whether you buy into it or not, you're exposed to it,
and it starts moving blinders off
what you imagine Black folks can do in the world.
There is this eye-popping sense of possibility.
NARRATOR:The entanglements of Anderson's old life were slipping away.
Orpheus Fisher had started writing again
after his first marriage fell apart.
But for now, his letters went unanswered.
In London, and later in Berlin,
Anderson plunged into the education
she had been denied at home.
(Anderson singing "Der Tod und das Madchen" in German)
CAROL OJA: Her use of her voice
became more sophisticated.
Her capacity to deal with foreign language texts,
was enhanced a lot.
In general, she grew as an artist.
An edge came to her work that hadn't been possible before.
CAPLAN: She could do anything from a much lower female vocal range
to the highest notes.
But the kind of home of her voice
was in this lower range,
and that's what really made her stand out.
NARRATOR: This new Marian Anderson began performing more frequently,
and audiences took notice.
UREÑA: She goes to Finland and Sweden
and it was really quite amazing how she caught on.
She just has this wild following.
NARRATOR: Anderson toured Scandinavia for seven months non-stop,
The papers called it "Marian fever."
I love the idea of that, in the early '30s
that people are catching this fever.
She was almost in a different city every day,
even giving multiple recitals a day.
MARIAN ANDERSON (dramatized): There were some things in England
that did not feel that different from America.
But in Scandinavia, I had the feeling that I was very free
and absolutely at home.
Her time in Europe allowed her to have
many experiences,one of which is the opportunity
to come of age,
to get that backpack moment
where you get to explore and just be.
NARRATOR: In May of 1934, Anderson arrived in Paris,
still the capital of European art,
and a far more intimidating prospect
for a young artist than Helsinki or Stockholm.
Anderson's first concert there was poorly attended,
but then word began to spread.
A second concert almost sold out,
and the third was a sensation.
"It can safely be said," one critic wrote,
"that Marian Anderson triumphed through sheer artistry."
As further confirmation that she had arrived,
in Paris, Anderson signed with
the most successful talent agent in the world.
When she had approached Sol Hurok a few years earlier,
he wasn't interested.
Now this rising star was a very different proposition.
OJA:Sol Hurok was the most prominent impresario of his day.
And they formed this very trusting alliance.
He treated her with the kind
of dignity and respect that she deserved.
NARRATOR: Anderson circled back through Scandinavia,
then Warsaw, Vienna,
Prague, Leningrad, and Moscow.
Her career was booming,
she was making real money, she was young and beautiful.
(laughing): There were so many men following her around.
And she totally knew it.
There was definitely a baron.
And this might perhaps be shocking,
but I think she kind of strung him along.
So he just followed her around like a lovesick puppy.
There are all kinds of different accounts
of suitors everywhere that she went.
We've kind of made Marian Anderson out to be a saint
because she sort of presented herself with so much dignity.
But she was a flesh and blood woman.
(Anderson singing "Schumann, Helft Mir Ihr Schwestern")
JILLIAN PATRICIA PIRTLE: She was a tall woman.
She had this lovely, coarse, curly hair
that she would like to put infinger wave curls of the 1920s.
And she kept that look, basically,
most of her life. (laughs)
Because it was sophisticated, it was elegant, it was modest.
And there wasn't a day that passed,
when she finally could afford it,
that she didn't wear red nail polish.
OJA: The recognition that she received in Europe
just made a huge difference,
not only in her career,
but in her sense of herself.
She was no longer a struggling girl from Philadelphia,
she was a singer of renown.
(Anderson continues singing)
Suddenly she was a diva.
NARRATOR: In June of 1934,
while Anderson was conquering Paris,
17 of Germany's leading lawyers gathered in Berlin
to draft a set of laws for the country's new government.
Adolf Hitler's Nazis had taken power the previous year,
promising a new racial order.
The conference began with a lengthy presentation
on the race laws of the United States,
the one country, Hitler had said,
that was making progress towardhis vision of a racist society.
America's implementation of second-class citizenship
for non-whites, its laws on racial classification,
segregation and immigration,
were all studied and debated by the men who were drafting
what became known as the Nuremburg Race Laws.
LENTZ-SMITH: You see Europe go from being
a place of possibility, of ferment,
of unburdening and freedom,
to doors closing, to things in the 1930s
that look like cousins of Jim Crow.
THURMAN:With the rise of the Nazi party
and with the rise of far-right racism and nationalism,
being a person of color in Europe
was becoming increasingly difficult.
It's not just anti-Semitism that's a problem,
even though that is, of course, a real problem.
There's also the problem ofanti-Black racism on the ground.
Being a Black woman walking around on the streets
just meant that you had a target on your back all the time.
NARRATOR: By 1935 Anderson had been effectively barred
from Germany for being insufficiently Aryan,
and then excluded from Austria's prestigious
Salzburg Music Festival.
A friend defied the authorities by arranging for her to sing
in the ballroom of a Salzburg hotel.
Anderson insisted on keeping the date,
even though the last Black singer who had performed
in the city had been run out by Nazi thugs.
(car horn honks)
CAPLAN:Marian Anderson was never going to have a place that she could
walk into without having to really fight for it.
But her sense of being true to herself,
of letting her actions and her artistry speak for themselves,
is what I find most impressive about her.
THURMAN: Marian Anderson is willing to show up,
and she must show up,
to indicate that she is not going to accept the terms
of social inequality, of artistic inequality.
I think that says a lot about who she was,
her insistence on demonstrating her dignity
in the midst of such harshracial oppression and violence.
NARRATOR: News of Anderson's concert spread through Salzburg.
Anti-fascist musicians made a point to attend.
THURMAN: It was a political gesture,
thumbing of their nose, so to speak,
at the Salzburg Festival.
She's in front of, like, the elite musicians.
Bruno Walter, Arturo Toscanini,
Lotte Lehmann-- I mean, all of these sort of huge superstars
are sitting front row in her concert.
I mean, that's-that's wild.
Toscanini was the rock star among conductors,
one of the towering figures inthe operatic scene of the time.
NARRATOR: Toscanini was a compelling personality on and offstage.
An outspoken critic of Mussolini,
he refused to ever play the fascist anthem,
even after being beaten in the street
by supporters of the dictator.
And now he was waiting to hear Marian Anderson.
"I was in quite a state by the time
I went up on the stage," Anderson remembered.
"I knew that this was the supreme offering,
one might hope to give."
ANDERSON: ♪ They crucified
♪ My Lord
♪ And he never...
NARRATOR: Hardly anybody in the audience understood English well enough
to follow what she was saying, a spectator wrote.
(Anderson singing emotively)
And yet the immense sorrow was enough.
What Anderson did was outside the limits of music.
(Anderson singing and holding last note)
Following her performance, Anderson was flustered to see
Toscanini making his way through the throng of admirers.
"What I heard today," he told her,
"one is privileged to hear only once in a hundred years."
In Sol Hurok's hands, it became Marian Anderson's catchphrase:
from that day forward she would be known as
the Voice of the Century.
(ship horn blaring)
NARRATOR: At the end of 1935,
Anderson boarded the Ile de France once more,
and sailed for home.
Her new manager, Sol Hurok,
had convinced the singer to begin the homecoming tour
at New York's Town Hall,
where her career had nearly ended 12 years before.
"Let it be said at the outset,"the "New York Times" proclaimed,
"Marian Anderson has returned to her native land
"one of the great singers of our time.
"In the last four years
"Europe has acclaimed this tall, handsome girl.
It is time for her own country to honor her."
Even the notoriously self-critical singer
allowed herself a little praise:
"There were some songs," she admitted,
"which I definitely felt were not badly done."
From New York,
to an emotional homecoming concert in Philadelphia,
back to New York for a packed show at Carnegie Hall,
Anderson was a sensation.
THURMAN: It must have been surreal.
She had been trying and working so hard and for so long
to establish herself as a serious artist
and then to have her career kind of explode
and become even bigger than perhaps she'd even imagined.
CAPLAN: I think it was a whirlwind,
being catapulted into this touring life
that was so different from the life she'd had before leaving.
These were not the kind of
stay with someone who's part of the church
and pay your own travel challenges
she had faced earlier.
This was a much more kind ofelite and comfortable situation.
BROWN: To come home
and see your face in the "New York Times,"
and everybody knows your name when you walk into a room,
I could imagine that was a time that was heady.
NARRATOR: At the age of 39,
Anderson was more famous than ever,
billed, with a nod to Toscanini, as the Voice of the Century.
She was rich, too.
In 1938 Anderson earned $238,000,
while the average American was making $7,000 a year.
But for all that,
she was still a second-class citizen in her own country.
LENTZ-SMITH:It's always good to have money, right?
But she is still Black and she is still a woman.
And so she is still
vulnerable to the pettiness,
to the dictates over where she can perform
and where she can't perform.
Hurok would make all these travel arrangements
so that she would be
less subject to the indignities
of Jim Crow travel in the United States.
It didn't always work.
She would often eat meals in her hotel room
so as not to have to navigate the world
of segregated restaurants in various places.
NARRATOR: Everywhere she traveled in America,
the color of Anderson's skin shaped the way she ate, slept,
socialized, and worked.
In the South, except for a few big cities,
she was limited to the old circuit
of Black colleges and churches.
Elsewhere the practice of segregation
was mind-numbingly complex.
OJA: Segregation varied
from city to city, state to state, decade to decade.
There were endless varieties.
A performer crossing a state line
could go from one world to another.
CAPLAN: Many, many, many halls and not just in the South,
were segregated, but they were not all segregated
in the same way.
There were kind of two systems
known as horizontal and vertical segregation,
meaning whether the hall waskind of split down the middle...
which is orchestra section versus balcony section.
NARRATOR: One way or another, every time Anderson walked onstage,
she looked out over an audience
that had been sorted in some fashion by race.
THURMAN:Marian Anderson was not somebody who was ever very comfortable
speaking out on the profound problems
of institutional racism in the United States.
Her activism centered very much on her musicianship,
on her insistence on
being understood and treated as an artist
at a time when, in the United States
and around the world,
there's such a strong denial of Black creativity
and Black genius and Black excellence.
NARRATOR: Anderson almost always kept her guard up,
but she was moved to tears onstage one evening,
while singing a spiritual.
ANDERSON: ♪ I've never been to heaven, but I've been told ♪
♪ Trying to make heaven my home, hallelujah ♪
(dramatized): The song is "I'm Trampin'."
♪ Trying to make heaven my home ♪
Now, on that particular occasion,
there were lots of things that were bound up,
the things that were pleasant,
the things that might not have been so pleasant.
And I saw an army of people who were bowed down,
whose only solace...
whose only way of being free
was to march along on this road.
OJA: In April of 1939,
there is a letter to the editor in the "New York Times,"
written by someone in Houston.
And according to him, when Anderson came onstage,
she politely looked at the white side very quickly.
NARRATOR: "Miss Anderson then turned deliberately toward those
of her own race," the author continued,
"and bowed very low and long.
"It was the most beautiful and most queenly gesture
I've ever seen."
LENTZ-SMITH: Offering herself to that white audience
with the minimum amount of deference
versus offering herself to the Black audience
in a kind of bow that says, "I see you and I'm with you,"
you think, that speaks volumes.
It allows people to see a way
both to maneuver segregation with dignity,
but also on some level to begin
flicking at its edges
so that it's not as fully intact at the end of the evening
as it was at the beginning.
And I think that that is strategic,
it's subtle, and I think it's admirable.
NARRATOR: In January of 1939,
while Anderson was away on a concert tour,
a series of events began unfolding in Washington
that would pull her to the center
of the fight for civil rights, and change her life forever.
Prior to the tour,
Anderson had agreed to sing abenefit for Howard University--
a bastion of Black culture and activism--
on April 9, Easter Sunday.
CAPLAN: Anderson performed a lot of concerts at Black institutions
as a way of kind of maintaining that connection
to Black audiences.
She had been the recipient of so much support
from churches and Black organizations.
Now she was kind of giving back.
NARRATOR: The trick for the administrators at Howard
was finding a venue that would hold the kind of crowd
Anderson was sure to draw.
OJA: This is before the Kennedy Center existed.
Big venues which were intended to be concert halls
for the people had not yet been built.
So that in Washington, D.C.,
for any major performer,
for a symphony orchestra, an opera company,
anything of the sort, Constitution Hall was it.
NARRATOR:Constitution Hall had been built in the late 1920s
by the Daughters of the American Revolution
to host their annual conventions.
When the D.A.R. wasn't using it,
the 3,700-seat venue was rented to performers
they considered suitably wholesome, cultured,
CAPLAN: Segregation in Washington theaters
and entertainment spaces was
pervasive but not consistent.
There were a lot of halls that would allow Black performers,
but not Black audiences.
And then there were some halls like Constitution Hall
that would only allow white performers.
NARRATOR: Howard University decided to test
the D.A.R.'s whites-only policy,
hoping that they would make an exception
for the highest-paid singer in the world,
the Voice of the Century.
The rejection was both commonplace and appalling.
Even by the standards of Jim Crow,
the insult to Anderson stood out.
The head of the National Association
for the Advancement of Colored People,
Walter White, couldn't let it go.
White had grown up in Atlanta
defined by law and custom as colored,
despite his blond hair and blue eyes.
But for White, any doubts about his own identity
were burned away when he was ten years old,
during the Atlanta Massacre of 1906.
LENTZ-SMITH: He writes in his autobiography of mobs
advancing on his neighborhood,
advancing on his family home.
That, for him,
is a formative moment.
Walter White could have passed out of
the travails and troubles of African American-ness
if he chose to-- but he didn't.
That kind of commitment to the Black freedom struggle
and to Blackness itself is really significant.
NARRATOR: In 1918, when White was 24 years old,
he took a job with the NAACP in New York.
The organization had been created nine years earlier
by a small, interracial group of reformers,
to promote social and political equality.
But there were just six full-time staff members
at the main office, waging an unequal struggle
against white supremacy.
White played a unique role,
risking his life to expose the depravity
at the heart of America's racial order.
BLACK: He would investigate lynchings
by passing as white.
And he would stay until people really ran him out.
And then he would haul butt
to Washington or to New York with eyewitness reports,
to document this incredibly violent and shocking issue.
NARRATOR: White chronicled the Red Summer of 1919.
He'd been in Chicago to report on the rioting
that enveloped Marian Anderson's concert there.
During the Harlem Renaissance of the 1920s,
White was at the heart of the NAACP's campaign
to promote Black artists.
So he was in Town Hall that night in the spring of 1925,
watched Marian Anderson endure her painful setback.
He helped coax her back to the stage then
by inviting her to sing at an NAACP gathering.
As the years passed
and White took over theleadership of the organization,
he continued to follow her career, as he said,
"with more than ordinary interest."
So when Howard University called about her concert
in the winter of 1939, he was all ears.
LENTZ-SMITH: Marian Anderson would have appealed to Walter White
because her music was more high art than low.
This wasn't race music, this wasn't jazz.
It wasn't blues.
across race lines in a way that nicely dovetailed
with the NAACP's vision of itself and its mission.
NARRATOR: Although Anderson embodied the NAACP's ideals,
her case wasn't tailor-made for the organization.
Picking a public fight with a well-connected,
private group was not their line of work.
But the civil rights landscape
was being reshaped by events overseas.
THURMAN: By 1939, African Americans were drawing parallels
between what they called Nazi German Jim Crow laws
and Jim Crow laws in the United States.
NEWSREEL REPORTER: New York.
100,000 parade in great protest
against Hitler's treatment of the Jews in Germany.
ROBINETTE: Many European Americans
wanted to distance themselves from Nazism,
which was on the rise within Germany
and other parts of Europe.
And that, of course, is a challenge because
the racist structures within the United States
were not dissimilar
than Nazi Germany in 1939.
LENTZ-SMITH:Think about the symbology of it being Constitution Hall,
the fact that it's the Daughters of the American Revolution.
You can sort of draw on it rhetorically
to point out America's hypocrisy,
to remind white Americans of their stated ideals.
Marian Anderson is this beautiful symbol
of what America could be in a moment
when the politics of anti-fascism
are playing in with the politics of anti-racism.
NARRATOR: The NAACP was in.
White started working the phones.
It was a measure of his network
that one of his first calls was to the White House,
and the D.A.R.'s most illustrious,
most reluctant member.
BLACK: By the late '30s,
Eleanor Roosevelt had a close personal friendship
with Walter White.
So close that they would call each other
Walter and Eleanor, which is so rare for both of them.
Walter White knows that Eleanor's ties
with the D.A.R. are loose at best.
Eleanor did not even fill out
her own application to the D.A.R.,
she just signed it.
So Walter White says, "Okay, will you resign?
Will you resign?"
NARRATOR: Roosevelt turned down White's suggestion,
but lent her name to the cause,
kicking off a campaign to pressure the D.A.R.
Secretary of the Interior Harold Ickes
appealed to the D.A.R. directly, as did Sol Hurok.
Meanwhile some of the mostfamous musicians in the world--
at White's urging-- began denouncing the D.A.R.,
and the controversy surfaced in the press.
"Constitution Hall stands almost
in the shadow of the Lincoln Memorial,"
the "Washington Times-Herald" declared,
"but the Great Emancipator's sentiments
"are not shared by the Daughters.
Prejudice rules to comfort Hitler."
Still, there was no response from the Daughters.
(marching band playing)
NARRATOR: The Daughters of the American Revolution
had every reason to feel invulnerable.
A whites-only policy was hardly unusual in Washington.
Not only were most performance spaces segregated,
so were schools, hotels, movie theaters, restaurants,
the federal government itself.
Segregation was ubiquitous in the nation's capital.
Protests were rare and usually ineffective.
Besides, as a private organization,
the Daughters were legally entitled
to run Constitution Hall as they saw fit.
So even as Walter White was readying
an assault on the D.A.R.,
Marian Anderson's concert was no great concern
to its new president, Sarah Robert.
DENISE VANBUREN: Sarah Robert
was to be our Golden Jubilee President General.
She was to manage a great celebration for three years
marking 50 years of D.A.R. service to America.
I don't think that she could possibly have seen
what was about to occur.
NARRATOR: By the time the D.A.R. board met on February 1,
the situation was escalating.
"I think we will ask to have the doors closed,"
Robert told the 40 women present.
"The question we are about to take up
is a very serious problem."
Robert didn't voice her opinion on the matter,
but the manager of Constitution Hall, Fred Hand, did,
and left a written account of his thoughts.
"The organization is trying towreck the way of American life,"
he said of the NAACP.
"The National Society must not be weak enough
to submit to intimidation."
The issue was decided by secret ballot:
39 of the 41 women voted to retain the whites-only policy.
(car horns honking)
Two weeks after the vote,
the D.A.R. issued a press release that implied
it was simply conforming to municipal law.
VANBUREN: Even within the D.A.R.,
there is often a lot of confusion
It was not the law of the District of Columbia,
nor of the United States.
As disappointing as it is to us, this was a policy.
It was a policy choice
by the Daughters of the American Revolution.
BLACK: If there is a case study
on how not to handle controversy,
it's the way the D.A.R. handled Marian Anderson in 1939.
NARRATOR: By the end of February
the NAACP's campaign was floundering.
Not only was the D.A.R. immovable,
they'd been vindicated
when the Board of Educationbarred Anderson from performing
in the auditorium of a whites-only high school.
Above all,the NAACP had failed to generate
any interest outside of Washington, D.C.
But on the 27th of February,
almost two months after the controversy began,
the situation was completely transformed.
First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt,
an honorary member of the D.A.R.,
announced in her nationally syndicated newspaper column
that she had resigned from the organization in protest.
BLACK: That column then makes
the Marian Anderson concert national.
turned the discrimination that Marian Anderson encountered
from the D.A.R. into a public conversation
on talent and race and justice.
NARRATOR: Marian Anderson first learned of Roosevelt's move
when she noticed a headline while on her way
to a rehearsal in San Francisco.
Nobody had bothered to alert her
to the two-month-old controversy.
"I made no decisions in what they were doing," she said.
Suddenly a crowd of reporters wanted answers.
"I'm shocked to be barred from the capital
of my own country," Anderson recited from a script
Hurok had written, "after having appeared
"in almost every other capital of the world.
"For details of the case,
please refer to my manager in New York."
In the wake of Roosevelt's resignation,
the D.A.R. came under withering assault.
Some felt that while the condemnation was well-earned,
the rest of white society was getting a pass.
"If Mrs. Roosevelt took out after everything
like that in Washington D.C.,"
writer and activist Zora Neale Hurston wrote,
"she would be hollering night and day.
"everything in downtown Washington practices Jim Crow.
"I can't recall that Mrs. Roosevelt
"campaigned mightily against those places,
as she did against the D.A.R."
LENTZ-SMITH: I do think Eleanor Roosevelt did a good thing.
But when she went after the D.A.R.,
Hurston was quick to name
the hypocrisy of holding one person up
while letting everybody else off.
NARRATOR: The story of Marian Anderson and the D.A.R.
ran in the papers, week after week.
Already it was a huge victory for the NAACP,
but still, there was nowhere for Anderson to sing.
At the beginning of March,
Walter White had an inspiration
that transcended the whole debate:
a free outdoor concert at the Lincoln Memorial.
It had been 17 years since the Memorial opened
with a segregated ceremony and an homage to white supremacy.
Now Marian Anderson would rededicate it as a monument
to freedom and justice,
to the better angels of our natures.
On March 13 the board of theNAACP ratified White's proposal.
But nobody had any idea how toget permission for such an event
from the federal government-- nobody had ever tried.
Once again, White leaned on his connections:
Harold Ickes, a longtime ally
and now FDR's Secretary of the Interior,
took the matter straight to the White House.
"She can sing from the top of the Washington Monument
if she wants to," President Roosevelt replied.
Hurok made the announcement
to the "New York Times" on the 21st of March.
It was three days later
that Walter White finally told Marian Anderson about it.
She was given the choice of backing out,
but that train had all but left the station.
"Regardless of my feelings inthe matter," she later recalled,
it would not have been right to run away from it."
LENTZ-SMITH: She's no dummy, right?
Because she understands the utility of it to the NAACP
and perhaps to African Americans more broadly.
But that doesn't necessarily mean that
it's doing much for her, right?
On some level, it's not her story.
Anyone's bound to feel ambivalent
about not being the protagonist in their own life.
NARRATOR: Nobody knew what to expect;
there had never been an occasion like this before.
But now it was thrilling just to be there,
to catch the first sight of the Lincoln Memorial,
to become one with the crowd and watch it grow,
to feel the strength
in its numbers.
At some point on that
Easter Sunday, it became one of the largest
gatherings ever in the nation's capital,
eclipsing the mark set 15 years earlier
by a rally of the Ku Klux Klan.
Howard University did a great job
in terms of getting the word out.
the mine workers, the Pullman Porters,
all of these organizations spread the word
in very traditional ways.
ROBINETTE: There was great outcry in the press, in part framed
to say, "Come and protest this discrimination
because the United States shouldnot be associated with Nazism."
BLACK: The concert stays on the front pages of newspapers
in the country for six weeks.
And it's positive press coverage.
Most southern newspaperseditorialized in support of it.
I mean, just, that's stunning.
NARRATOR: Anderson had come here for thesound check earlier in the day;
had tried out the microphones,looked out over the empty Mall.
But when she was driven back for the concert,
the sight of the crowd took her breath away.
ANDERSON (dramatized): I had such a feeling that I had never had before.
I just couldn't say anything.
And I remember that there were
policemen who came to the carand escorted me to the monument.
We went into a little room behind there.
BLACK: You know, she'd sung to three, 4,000, you know, maybe 5,000.
But this is 75,000 people.
And they'd been standing outside
NARRATOR: Anderson would be surrounded onstage
by 200 public figures who had signed up
as co-sponsors of the event, ranging from
Supreme Court Justice Hugo Black
to movie star Tallulah Bankhead.
ANDERSON (dramatized): Then came the signal that we were to go out.
My heart was throbbing to the point
that I could scarcely hear anything.
(cheers and applause)
BROWN: She steps down those stairs,
and she lifts her head up, and she begins to look out on
the sea of people.
(cheers and applause)
The diversity in that crowd
CAPLAN: She looks very majestic,
but she seems very small against this
vast, vast white background of this
The anticipation must have been
beyond anything we could imagine.
RADIO ANNOUNCER: Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.
We're speaking to you from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial
in the nation's capital from which point
the National Broadcasting Company brings you
a song recital by the gifted Marian Anderson,
considered by music critics throughout the world...
BLACK: You had this fear of,
"Oh, my God-- look at the people."
And this irrational hope that's placed on her.
And you could see
from the films that when she closes her eyes,
you know, and takes that
first deep breath...
♪ My country 'tis of thee
♪ Sweet land of liberty, to thee we sing ♪
♪ Land where my fathers died
♪ Land of the pilgrim's pride
♪ From every mountainside
♪ Let freedom ring
NARRATOR: "The moment Miss Anderson started to sing,"
one newsman recounted,
"there descended upon the multitude a reverent silence."
LENTZ-SMITH: Can you just imagine
standing amongst 75,000 people at the Lincoln Memorial,
in 1939, looking at a Black woman singing?
It's stunning, right?
No matter who you were,
that moment must have felt amazing.
ANDERSON: ♪ I'm trampin'
♪ Trying to make Heaven my home ♪
JONES: She sang of her citizenship as a person in the United States.
And she sang of her citizenship as a Black woman.
ANDERSON: ♪ Hallelujah, I'm trampin'
JONES: Singing the songs of the Negro spiritual.
If that ain't a Easter Sunday message, then what is?
She arose, y'all!
ANDERSON: ♪ Trying to make Heaven my home ♪
NARRATOR: When she was done, and on the verge of tears,
Anderson spoke to the crowd for the first and only time.
"My dear friends," she said,
"I am so overwhelmed that I cannot express myself.
"I hope you will ever find me grateful
"for the wonderful things you have done for me.
Please try to imagine all the things I cannot say."
LENTZ-SMITH: Within a few days, there'll be another lynching,
or there'll be the next thing.
But I think it's also true that Marian Anderson's concert
makes clear the potential for using publicity
to point out America's hypocrisy,
to shame white Americans into
living up to their stated ideals.
Like, it's not the only strategy,
but coupled with other things, it is an effective one.
It is inspiration for other generations
of African American civil rights activists,
imagining how they might use these strategies
again in the future.
What this said to the NAACP is
that you can have power outside the courts.
You can have power outside a lobbying effort
in the halls of Congress.
That if you build the right alliances, and you use media
in a new way, you will begin to have
a new audience, a wider audience.
Marian Anderson helps set the stage
for a new conversation about freedom.
NARRATOR: By the early 1950s,
the privations of Anderson's youth were a distant memory.
She was happily married
to her longtime suitor, Orpheus Fisher.
Days were spent around the pool at their Connecticut estate,
or hosting family and friends.
Anderson was an avid fan of Jackie Robinson's Dodgers.
When they were playing she could be found, by her own account,
yelling at the television set like mad.
Life was easier, but not always simple.
In all the years since the Lincoln Memorial concert,
she had never discussed it withanyone outside her inner circle.
UREÑA: She skirts the issue
or she finds other ways of really not commenting
on the controversy itself.
It's fascinating that she could find ways of avoiding it.
BLACK: The added responsibilities that this placed on her
must have had both a joyful component
and a huge toll at the same time.
This is not a concert that you can ever escape.
CAPLAN:It makes her a celebrity in the United States in the way that
even a lot of successful tours and concerts
never could have done.
But it also puts this layer of political meaning
onto everything that she does.
(bottle breaks, crowd cheers)
ANDERSON (dramatized):They say, "Now this is the lady I was telling you about,"
or "This is Marian Anderson."
"Now shake hands with her and you can always say
that you shook hands with Marian Anderson."
NARRATOR: Although Anderson was still lionized,
especially by older Americans,
a new generation was energizing the civil rights movement,
young people who hadn't been scarred by Red Summer,
who were frustrated by the pace of change,
and skeptical of their elders.
Some found that her reticence was no longer acceptable;
her wealth and comfort bred resentment
rather than admiration.
In 1951, as part of an NAACP campaign to end segregation
in performance spaces, Anderson and other Black artists
were asked to stop playing in segregated venues.
"Miss Anderson's policy in past years,
Hurok and Anderson explained,
"has resulted in a vast improvement
"in the relations between Negro and white
"in the Southern states,
"and has brought the problem of segregation
"closer to a real solution than would have been the case
if she had followed more militant tactics."
ROBINETTE: She was born in 1897, and grew up at a time
when it was expected that an African-American woman,
would hold herself with dignity, with composure,
a very even-keeled personality.
And if one was outspoken,
one ran certain risks of violence
and limited opportunity.
NARRATOR: For Anderson,
the threat had been driven home in 1942, when Roland Hayes--
her lifelong mentor,
and still one of the most famous Black people in America--
was beaten by police
after his wife and daughter
accidentally sat in the white section
of a shoe store in Georgia.
But for the NAACP,
the battle against segregated entertainment was crucial.
Despite the dangers, celebrities were expected
to play their part.
"The people of the South are proud of Marian Anderson,"
a field secretary wrote Walter White,
"but she should not surrender to segregation,
"lest she destroy some of the love
these young people have for her."
In January 1951, the NAACP
boycotted Anderson's concert in Richmond, Virginia.
Only then did she agree to join the campaign.
OJA: It's a painful experience.
The scene is shifting really fast
and kind of staying ahead of it must have been tricky.
Just finding ways to keep performing,
and to stick to your principles.
LENTZ-SMITH: There's always this question with these people
who are extraordinary
and who are conscripted on some level
into these broader freedom struggles,
whether it's enough to let their talent do their work.
(car horns honking)
NARRATOR:Some found Anderson's reticence disappointing,
but to others it made her the ideal agent of change.
In 1955, Anderson was 58 years old,
no longer in her prime vocally,
and she had never performed in an opera.
But 16 years after the D.A.R. controversy,
the management of New York City's Metropolitan Opera
had decided that it was time to break the color bar,
and they were looking for the most respected,
least controversial candidate.
OJA: Marian Anderson's debut at the Metropolitan Opera
in January of 1955 was a very big deal.
The Metropolitan Opera was then 75 years old.
No singer of color had ever been featured
on its stage previously,
despite lots of lobbying,
lots of attempts to get them tochange their whites-only policy.
A lot started to change after that moment.
NARRATOR:Although Anderson would continue to perform for another decade,
the Met debut was the capstone of her career.
Younger stars were taking center stage.
In the civil rights movement, too,
the torch was passing to a new generation.
The year that began with Anderson's Met debut
ended with emergence of 26-year-old
Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. onto the national scene.
As we the Negro citizens of Montgomery, Alabama,
do now and will continue to carry on our mass protest.
(cheers and applause)
NARRATOR:King had listened to Anderson's Easter Sunday concert
on the radio when he was ten years old.
He had commemorated it in a high school essay.
Now, though King embraced tactics
that Anderson had described as militant,
he revered her still.
So in August 1963,when King's allies were involved
in planning a march on Washington,
they reached out to Anderson.
"The entire committee," the NAACP's Roy Wilkins wrote,
"unanimously decided that an invitation to sing
"be extended to you
for this historic occasion."
BLACK: It's no accident that Martin Luther King
picks the exact spot that Marian Anderson used
to deliver the "I Have a Dream" speech.
Those two people,planting their separate two feet
in the exact same square
on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial
make it forever the shrine of racial justice.
JILLIAN PATRICIA PIRTLE:Marian Anderson was that iconic figure that you could look to
and you could say that becauseof what she was able to achieve,
people could hope that they could
achieve their own greatness.
THURMAN: How can we make space for
different modes of activism,
different modes of advocacy and agency,
especially for Black women?
These kinds of moments, these kinds of demonstrations,
provide us today with a rich history that we can claim.
We can sort of follow in their footsteps and in their path
to sort of break new ground.
The work was unfinished in 1939.
It is unfinished today, but you keep going.
BLACK: Marian Anderson
understood the power of her presence.
in a very personal way
the history and symbolism that she carries.
What Marian Anderson is going to say is
my voice is as worthy
if not better than any other voice in my field
and I must be heard.
ANNOUNCER: Next time,
the shocking incidentthat made national headlines...
MAN: He's brought off a bus
and he's hit with a blackjack within moments.
WOMAN: No one can say that what happened to Isaac Woodard
ANNOUNCER: ...and changed the course of American history.
MAN: Who would have guessedthat this would be the beginning
of the end of Jim Crow in America?
ANNOUNCER:"The Blinding of Isaac Woodard,"
next time on "American Experience."
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