An Uncommon Blues

By Carol Chastang
SeeingBlack.com Theater and Dance Critic

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The blues conjures images of blood and sweat and piss and hard times. Yet Ruben Santiago-Hudson's "Lackawanna Blues," at the Studio Theater in Washington, D.C., sounds and feels more like a rhapsody. His moving, one-man tribute to "Nanny," the woman who became his real-life best friend and surrogate mother, moves like a tone poem. The textures and tones of the actor's words are kaleidoscopic, backed by the symphony of a lone acoustic guitar.

Actor/writer Santiago-Hudson channels the lives of about 20 colorful eccentrics—including abused women, drunks, fallen heroes and lifelong loners who lived in Nanny's boarding house. One minute Santiago-Hudson is speaking in the slurred tones of an old alcoholic and, minutes later, he's an 11-year-old boy asking Nanny questions about life and death. All his people tell stories about the generosity, love, respect and shelter Miss Rachel "Nanny" Crosby selflessly gave. And these tales are laced with humor, sadness and depth.

Hudson's characters were shaped from his own experience living with Nanny after his drug-addicted mother left him alone in their room at Nanny's boarding house in Lackawanna, N.Y., a steel town on the banks of Lake Erie. The play begins with Santiago-Hudson, accompanied by Bill Sims Jr.'s blues guitar riffs, taking the audience to 1956—the year Santiago-Hudson was born. The production, which earned both Santiago-Hudson and Sims an Obie Award in 2001 (George C. Wolfe collaborated on the original production), is elegant and smart in its sparseness. There are no costume changes, and the only prop is a harmonica that the actor sometimes used to make a transition to a new character or scene. He and Sims are alone on the stage for 90 minutes and they bounce off each other beautifully.

Speaking through the voice of Ol' Po' Carl, a 79-year-old veteran of the Negro Baseball League, the actor described how Nanny would drive to Virginia, pick up a pregnant woman deserted by her lover, or an outpatient from a mental hospital, and then drive back to upstate New York. Like a latter-day Harriet Tubman, she gave these people a new home and in some cases a second chance.

"Nanny was like the government—if it really worked," says Carl. Suddenly, Carl launches into his story about the warning he got from a doctor, who tells him "You got to stop drinking. You got the roaches (cirrhosis) of the liver."

Santiago-Hudson's cast of characters also provides a raw narrative of the social evolution of Black America from the late 50's through the 70's. One of Nanny's boarders talks about the time Nat King Cole was physically tossed from the stage of a theater in the South because the locals didn't want a Black performing there. Another character talks about his service in World War II, recalling "the smell of death and the warm wet blood on my hands."

During the first part of the play, Santiago-Hudson uses the boarders to tell the story about life at Nanny's. After that, the focus of the play is his relationship with Nanny. In the clear, guileless voice of an 11-year-old, Santiago-Hudson talks about Nanny's after-hours joint, where hustlers and gamblers would crowd around blackjack tables or play pool, drink and dance. The men were in all their glory in their "canary yellow suits and Stetson hats," with the smell of Old Spice heavy in the air. "The guys at the joint had names like BeBop and Fat Daddy, and the blackjack dealer was a man named 'Shirley.' " And Nanny was right there, placing bets on pool games.

The best days, said Santiago-Hudson, grinning the way boys do when they're with their best friends, were the times riding in the car with Nanny. Once she picked up an orphaned baby raccoon that was shivering on the side of the road, near the bloody remains of its mother. "When the raccoon got bigger, Nanny had to put him out. And he had these outstretched arms—like he was beggin' Nanny not let him go. 'It's the best for all of us,' " Nanny said, in a mournful voice.

Towards the end of her life, Nanny suffered from a stroke and was hospitalized. He thought she was going to die, but she told him "they made women sturdy back in 1905." Soon she was back at the boarding house. Her health had weakened, but she still made sure that everyone else was taken care of.

"Lackawanna Blues," which is being adapted into a film, is an uncommonly sweet story about a universal reality. Everyone can remember a woman in their life who was like Nanny, a strong woman who gave good advice, delicious food, a place to stay and a shoulder to cry on. Santiago-Hudson holds up a mirror to the strength and beauty of Black folks. He also reminds us of the way folks once took care of each other, gave back to those who needed help and put community first.

(First published June 16, 2003)

-- July 3, 2002

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