February 4, 2009 CONGRESSIONAL RECORD -- Extensions of Remarks E217
club impresario Barney Josephson proclaimed ´ Hazel Scott the ``Darling of Cafe Society.'' By the time Hollywood came calling, Scott had achieved such stature that she could successfully challenge the studios' deplorable treatment of black actors. She would later become one of the first black women to host her own television show.
During the 1940s and '50s, her sexy and vivacious presence captivated fans worldwide.
She was known for improvising on classical themes and also played boogie-woogie, blues, and ballads. Her marriage to the late and great Congressman Adam Clayton Powell, Jr., whom I succeeded, made them one of the country's most high-profile African American families.
In a career spanning over four decades, Hazel Scott became known not only for her accomplishments on stage and screen, but for her outspoken advocacy of civil rights. Her relentless crusade on behalf of African Americans, women, and artists made her the target of the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) during the McCarthy Era, eventually forcing her to join the black expatriate community in Paris.
By age twenty-five, Hazel Scott was an international star but, before reaching thirtyfive, she considered herself a failure. Plagued by insecurity and depression, she would try twice to take her own life. Her life came to a close, dying of pancreatic cancer, at the age of 61 on October 2, 1981.
Karen Chilton, a New York-based writer and actor who also co-authored ``I Wish You Love,'' the jazz memoir of legendary vocalist Gloria Lynne, traces the fascinating arc of this brilliant and audacious American artist from stardom to ultimate obscurity. Readers will learn from the prelude to the civil rights movement to the dark moments in our nation's history where racial, ethnic, and political discrimination ran rampant.
So Madam Speaker, I ask that in this Black History Month, that you and my distinguished colleagues join me in honoring the life of Hazel Scott and thanking Karen Chilton. Karen truly authored a book that many generations of future stars will cherish.
A week later, though, she did just that.
A few hours after Emily died, I returned to work, as she would have wanted, and opened a large envelope from an anonymous reader.
Inside, I found a profane poster plastered with my face next to one of the most pejorative words for my gender. I thought of our family's adage, that whenever we're challenged, we ask ourselves, ``What would Emily do-'' I turned to my keyboard, revved up the computer and heard Emily Campbell Brown's voice whisper in my ear: ``No, suh, I will not leave.'' And I started to write.
f REFLECTIONS ON THE LIFE OF HAZEL SCOTT-A TRIBUTE TO HER FIRST BIOGRAPHY, WRITTEN BY KAREN CHILTON HON. CHARLES B. RANGEL OF NEW YORK IN THE HOUSE OF REPRESENTATIVES Wednesday, February 4, 2009 Mr. RANGEL. Madam, Speaker, today I rise to congratulate the family of the late and great Hazel Scott and the author of Hazel Scott's first memoir, Karen Chilton for writing such an important biographical book on a stellar Caribbean American pianist, singer, actress, and activist.
´ In 1939, when Cafe Society, New York City's first fully integrated nightclub, was all the rage, Hazel Scott was its star. Still a teenager, she wowed audiences with her jazz renditions of classical masterpieces by Chopin, Bach, and Rachmaninoff. A child prodigy, born in Trinidad and raised in Harlem in the 1920s, Scott's musical talent was cultivated by her musician mother, Alma Long Scott, as well as several great jazz luminaries of the period, namely, Art Tatum, Fats Waller, Billie Holiday, and Lester Young.
Career success was swift for the young pianist-she auditioned at the prestigious Juilliard School when she was only eight years old, hosted her own radio show at fourteen, and shared the bill at Roseland Ballroom with the Count Basie Orchestra at fifteen. After several stand-out performances on Broadway,
Sherrod ever sent me was a story about his mother: She'd grown up and away from Geor gia and its troubled ways, and insisted that her boys always call African-American adults ``Mr.'' or ``Mrs.'' None of this firstname business meant to telegraph who was, and who wasn't, worthy of full regard.
Emily's accomplishments wove through issues of racial and economic justice. When it came to making a difference, she did not wait for the invitation. During the 2004 presidential race, she organized a voter-registration drive in a poorer section of Mansfield.
There was the meticulously dressed, 84-yearold Emily, with a curve in her back and sensible shoes on her feet, dragging a card table out of the trunk of her car, day after day.
She registered more than 1,000 voters that year.
One recent morning, after weeks bedridden, Emily asked for a hand mirror and was devastated by the face looking back at her. ``I look so awful, Connie,'' she told me hours later. ``Just awful.'' I cupped her cheek with my hand. ``Emily, you were always a beautiful woman, and you're beautiful now. That spirit of yours is shining through.'' She scoffed, and I pushed. ``Emily, you know I say exactly what I mean.'' She rolled her eyes, acknowledging the occasional sparks that fired between us. ``Yes,'' she said, ``I know you do.'' ``If I say you look beautiful, it must be true.'' She managed a small laugh. ``Well, then, you're right. It has to be true.'' In the last weeks of Emily's life, her energy came in short but astonishing bursts, and whoever was at her side leaned in with a hunger. One evening, we talked about Harper Lee's novel, ``To Kill a Mockingbird.'' ``Oh, that was one of my favorite books,'' Emily said. ``I read it over and over.'' She was quiet for a moment. ``I always loved the boy. The boy, Jeremy. Remember that scene at the jail-'' His nickname was Jem, and his father, lawyer Atticus Finch, had planted himself next to the county jail to make sure a black man falsely accused of rape wasn't killed overnight by a gang of angry white men.
Jem defied his father's orders and joined him. When Atticus insisted he go home, the boy refused.
`` `No, suh,' `` Emily said slowly and softly, quoting Jem. `` `No, suh, I will not leave.' ''
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