The Making of From My Hometown — Part 1: The Corner

How seven creators of color built an Off-Broadway musical from nothing — starting with a typewriter, a tiny nightclub stage, and a hot dog split seven ways.

 

 

The Making of From My Hometown

The year was 1995. I was living on 103rd Street and Columbus Avenue.

One afternoon I heard harmony drifting through my second-floor window. I looked out and saw three African American men on the corner singing for spare change. But it didn’t feel like they were singing for money. It felt like they were singing for joy.

I started wondering: Who were they? What had brought them to that corner outside my window?

That question became the germ of an idea that would eventually grow into From My Hometown.

This was before computers had taken over everything. I wrote the very first draft on a typewriter.

I knew immediately that I wanted to create a role for myself — Memphis — representing the musical roots of Tennessee. Ten years earlier, in 1986, I had been in a serious car accident that put my singing and dancing career on pause. During that time, my writing voice began to emerge.

I had already co-written If These Shoes Could Talk with Kevin Ramsey, which ran at the Milwaukee Repertory Theater, and I was starting to feel more confident as a writer.

After performing in the original Broadway production of Dreamgirls, I also realized something important: the roles coming down the pipeline weren’t necessarily built for someone like me. I was primarily an actor who sang — not a dancer — even though I had danced in Dreamgirls. So I decided to write my own role.

Memphis was born.

Not long after, I heard a voice one night at a night spot called Green Street that stopped me in my tracks. It sounded like Donny Hathaway. I literally followed the voice through the multi-leveled venue.

It led me to Ty Stephens.

Ty had been in the original Broadway production of Sophisticated Ladies and had also appeared in Marilyn: An American Fable. He was — and still is — an extraordinary performer. He was also born and raised in Philadelphia, which made him perfect for the role of Philly.

Then there was Detroit.

Years earlier, when I first moved to New York, I saw a workshop of The Apollo: It Was Just Like Magic, directed by Tony winner George Faison. My friend Marsha Perry — who had moved to New York with me with a U-Haul attached to a car–after we’d worked at Opryland in Tennessee — was in that workshop.

That’s where I first heard the unforgettable voice of Herbert Rawlings Jr.

I never forgot it.

And as fate would have it, Herb was from Detroit, Michigan — another capital of rhythm and blues.

So the show began to take shape:

Detroit.
Philadelphia.
Memphis.

Three men representing three centers of Black musical culture.

Around that same time I was working as a temp at a real estate company — one of those survival jobs artists know well. Meanwhile, I was constantly writing songs in my apartment using an eight-track recorder.

It was the height of the AIDS crisis in New York. Many of us had retreated inward. My refuge was writing — creating songs, recording demos, and trying to build something meaningful in the middle of a frightening time.

Then something unexpected happened.

My friend Lionel Casseroux — at the time, the partner of my best friend Todd Hunter — discovered a tiny venue on 57th Street that was about to reopen it as “La Place.” The space had history. Billie Holiday had sung there during the period when her cabaret license had been revoked.

And suddenly, I had a stage-and stage with Black legacy in its bones.

With that stage, the idea began to grow.

I brought in Kevin Ramsey, who had directed and co-written If These Shoes Could Talk, and I asked my longtime friend — Broadway legend Leslie Dockery — to choreograph the show. Leslie had appeared in seven Broadway shows and had directed one herself.

Kevin asked if he could also serve as co-choreographer, and we brought in Robert Fowler as associate choreographer to help teach and maintain the movement.

For music direction, the legendary Chapman Roberts — vocal director Smokey Joe’s Cafe, Five Guys Named Moe and an performer in the original Broadway production of Hair— recommended a young musical director named Will Barrow.

Will was the only member of the team who wasn’t a person of color. But with his Robert Redford good looks looks and soulful piano playing, he was exactly the right musician for the job.

Seven of us came together to create the show.

There was only one problem.

There was no money.

I told everyone the truth: I couldn’t pay them. But if they would join me in building the show, I would write it and I would share the authors’ royalties with them.

Everything was put in writing by my attorney at the time, Mark Beagleman. The agreement reflected each person’s contribution, with me as the majority holder since I had conceived, written, and produced the original concept.

We were committed. We were married to the project.

And we got to work.

Our early rehearsals were humble, to say the least.

One night after rehearsal we were so broke that the seven of us stood outside La Place staring at a hot-dog vendor. None of us had enough money to buy one.

So we bought a single hot dog.

And split it seven ways.

Another memory we still laugh about: La Place had exactly one stage light. Just one. A dimmer near the front door controlled the entire stage.

Before every performance someone would ask:

“Who’s on light?”

Singular.

But somehow, out of that tiny space, those seven collaborators, and one stage light, From My Hometown began its journey.

And the journey was only just beginning.