I've been reading Imani Perry's fascinating collection of essays called Black In Blue, which is a brilliant meditation on the color blue in Black culture. Aside from the many historical references and anthropological connections between the significance of the color blue in African and African American culture, Perry delves into many areas that might not be well known to those outside the culture. For example, the way we know where the graveyards for many who were enslaved were is through the presence of periwinkles on the ground, planted there. Former slaves were not allowed to have grave markers (imagine that!) so their descendants marked the sites with blue periwinkles so they could be located and remembered. Another thwarted attempt to erase the past and strip people of their identity.
The book goes into important explanations of blue notes in the development of the blues and jazz music. But there are other connections present that extend all the way to the reason why Coretta Scott King wore a blue dress on certain occasions, to the use of indigo dyes in African and then American work clothing.
While reading this book, I carried an idea in the back of my mind about one of the most interesting and unforgettable people I have ever come across. In the late 1970s I attended an Oral History conference in San Diego. While there I came across a self-styled storyteller called Brother Blue. His "costume" was obviously blue, complete with bits of colored yarn streaming off his blue jacket and blue pants. He wore a blue beret, occasionally played a harmonica (aka blues harp) and often spoke in rhyme. He proudly announced that he was the first person to receive his Ph.d in Storytelling. I did not know it at the time that his wife was a noted oral historian. Brother blue was also adorned with blue butterflies drawn on his face and hands as well as pinned to his clothing. He can best be described as a poet, storyteller, street performer.
Much to my surprise and delight, Imani Perry's book has an entire chapter on Brother Blue near the end of the book. I was overjoyed. The information gave me much more insight into Hugh Hill, aka Brother Blue. He was considered the unofficial poet laureate of Boston because he often performed in Harvard Square.
At the time I first encountered Brother Blue I was working on a radio program about people who rode the rails and the music of hobos and rail riders. In San Diego I had heard Brother Blue tell a story called "Bobo the Hobo." I really wanted this for my program because it not only fit the theme, it was a beautiful tale that would add both insight and storytelling to the music I'd already collected. Ironically I did not have a tape recorder with me at the conference. I did, however, pick up a flyer about future Brother Blue appearances and noted about two months later, Brother Blue was slated to be in Oakland, California, where I was then living. When the appointed evening came, the weather was miserable. In a nasty downpour, I excused myself from a social gathering about 7:00 pm and headed to a small theater in downtown Oakland. Protecting my portable recorder from the rain, I made my way to the rear of the little theater. There was a smattering of folks in attendance. At the scheduled time, Brother Blue emerged from behind a curtain and with bells jingling, and a blue spotlight on him performed "Bobo the Hobo." I stayed for about an hour and then, with recorder and new cassette firmly secured and protected made my way home. Brother Blue became part of my program called, "Ridin' On Down." an oral history of Hobos and Rail Riders.
I recently learned that Brother Blue died in 2009 at the age of 88. He certainly left his mark. a beautiful blue one.
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