Phoenix Suns star Deandre Ayton’s new Puma shoe pays homage to Bahamas For each pair sold, Puma will donate $25 to assist relief efforts following Hurricane Dorian’s destruction of the Caribbean island

Phoenix Suns center Deandre Ayton has been quite busy the past few months. While working to build on a strong rookie campaign, during which he averaged a double-double (16.3 points, 10.3 rebounds) and was named to the NBA’s All-Rookie first team, the 7-foot-1, 250-pound big man has shifted some of his focus off the court.

Ayton hails from the Bahamas, which was recently ravaged by Hurricane Dorian, a Category 5 storm that led to a reported death toll of 53 people (and counting), with more than 1,300 people still missing and an estimated $7 billion in damage to the home country of the No. 1 overall pick in the 2018 NBA draft.

“Thank you to everyone for reaching out with their prayers and concern. It’s been a rough few days checking in on family and friends back home and thankfully everyone is OK,” Ayton, a native of Nassau, wrote on Instagram on Sept. 6, four days before Hurricane Dorian dissipated. “The damage back home is devastating and my heart goes out to my fellow Bahamians as we deal with the effects of Hurricane Dorian.”

In his Instagram post, Ayton pledged $100,000 to various relief efforts in the wake of the natural disaster and has since received support from the Suns, his teammates, local businesses, Arizona Cardinals wide receiver and future Hall of Famer Larry Fitzgerald, and now Puma.

In 2018, Ayton signed a multimillion-dollar endorsement deal as part of the German sportswear company’s return to basketball for the first time in nearly two decades. On Thursday, the brand released the Puma RS-X Deandre, Ayton’s own colorway of the 1980s-inspired silhouette. The lifestyle sneaker, which will be sold exclusively at Champs Sports for $120 a pair, marks Ayton’s first product collaboration with Puma and specifically pays homage to his native country in the design. Puma also announced that for each pair of the RS-X Deandre that is sold, the brand will donate $25 to assist relief efforts in the Bahamas.

Ahead of the shoe’s release, The Undefeated spoke with Ayton about what this moment means to him — and to the Bahamas.


How does it feel to have your first product collaboration with Puma, the RS-X Deandre?

Following Puma and wanting to be a part of Puma for a long time after growing up around the brand and wearing it at a young age, to now have my own personal shoe and design reflecting my signature style, it’s amazing. It’s a dream. It’s everything that somebody who’s in the business and industry would want. It’s a huge milestone.

How exactly did this opportunity come about?

Hard work. I worked my butt off, and with success comes individual accolades. This is one of the accolades that I accomplished.

What was the design process like, and how hands-on were you during it?

It started with the insoles. They’re like the beach. I love the beach, being from the Bahamas. The shoe also represents sand and a shore. Every time I’m in the Bahamas, I just feel free. No worry of nothing. And I have red in the shoe, which is my favorite color.

How do the colors incorporated into the design represent your home country?

There’s aqua blue, which is a part of the flag. That’s the only thing I really want to put in it to make it a magical shoe.

How important is it to you that for each pair of the shoe that’s sold, Puma will donate $25 to assist relief efforts in the Bahamas?

To have the support of a partner like Puma is awesome. I really appreciate everything they continue to do for me. This is just a huge step that they’re taking for me and my team to help out and do as much as we can for Hurricane Dorian relief.

How did you first hear about Hurricane Dorian, and what’s the past month been like for you?

My stepdad lives down there. He goes back and forth and was giving us updates about the weather and telling us to keep an eye on the hurricane. Growing up, we know what a hurricane is capable of. We know what the process of preparing for a hurricane. Sometimes the plan doesn’t go the way you want, unfortunately. So having flashbacks, it was just about sending prayers to all the families back home.

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Thank you to everyone for reaching out with their prayers and concern. It's been a rough few days checking in on family and friends back home and thankfully everyone is ok. The damage back home is devastating and my heart goes out to my fellow Bahamians as we deal with the effects of Hurricane Dorian. My family and I have been working to determine how best to support now and going forward. We’ll be pledging $100K toward various relief efforts while we continue to work through long term support with the NBA Family and my partners. We are also asking Suns fans and those in the Phoenix area to please join us Tuesday, September 10th  where we'll be working with the Suns to collect much needed supplies and donations. More details to come on time and location ASAP. Please give as much or as little as you can. Items to be collected: Toiletries, diapers, baby wipes, first aid kits, cleaning supplies, canned goods, box fans, leather work gloves, hand sanitizer, non-perishable food, water, generators (no clothes) and monetary donations. More info to come for those who can’t come out locally but wish to support. Thank you and blessing 🇧🇸🙏

A post shared by Deandre Ayton (@deandreayton) on Sep 6, 2019 at 12:05pm PDT

What specific memories do you have experiencing hurricanes while growing up in the Bahamas?

I definitely remember Hurricane Katrina. I remember my favorite tamarind tree going down in front of my eyes, and I was singing, ‘Rain, rain, go away’ with my little sister, looking outside the window. I’ve seen the rooftops of certain houses blown off, and certain objects flying in the air while the storm is going. It’s pretty wild. You see trees bending so far until they’re ready to snap. It’s a lot.

What type of support have you received from the NBA following the hurricane?

Last night, my coach, Monty Williams, donated $5,000 to UNICEF’s Hurricane Dorian relief efforts. We did a collab with Ocean 44 [restaurant]. The Suns set that up and got a dinner done. People donated about $47,000 that night, which was a huge blessing. I didn’t know it was going to be that much. To be honest, I didn’t know that many people were gonna come out. It was big. I was speechless seeing the results. And Fry’s Food Stores helped me collect and donate goods. The Valley is really supportive, and I’m just glad to have fans like this have my back.

Have any specific players helped you provide relief?

Kelly Oubre Jr. …. He’s doing a Valley Boyz [clothing line] pop-up shop here in Phoenix, and everything is going to Dorian relief. That’s something big. He surprised me with that one. He didn’t tell me. It gave me goose bumps to see how much love people have for me.

Do you plan on returning to the Bahamas?

Of course I would love to go back. But right now, I’m just focused on the season and doing what I can from here.

Looking back to last year, what made you sign with Puma when you entered the NBA?

Everybody knew what Puma was back home. And me, I wanted to be different. I grew up playing in AAU circuits like the Nike EYBL, and I knew who the superstars were with certain shoe companies. But I just wanted to be different. I wanted to go my own way and try to be the top dog of Puma hoops.

What was your first-ever pair of Pumas?

I can’t remember exactly … but the person who inspired me was Usain Bolt, watching him on TV representing Puma. I think that’s mainly how I got into it. I fell in love from there.

On Instagram, you posted a photo of you giving Usain Bolt a pair of your Pumas — what was that moment like?

You gotta ask me if I was even speaking English when I was talking to him. I was so nervous. I just told him how much he inspired me in terms of collaborating with Puma, and how much of an inspiration he is in terms of his work ethic and how he represents his country from the heart. Everything he does is from the heart, even how athletic and versatile he is.

How big is he in the Caribbean?

You might as well call him the president of the Caribbean. But he’s global. I think he’s like that everywhere he goes, to be honest.

What can the NBA expect from Deandre Ayton in year two?

Improvement. I’ve been in the lab. I can say this, I’ve never been in the gym so much my whole life.

What’s the most notable improvement you’ve made to your game?

Definitely the 3-ball. I’ve worked on it a lot, as well as bringing the ball up and handling the ball around the perimeter. I’m just really trying to take over every possession. Overall, being more dominant every game.

What’s it going to be like walking into Talking Stick Resort Arena this season in your own Pumas?

Man, they just better take a picture. I don’t care what I’m wearing … just take a picture of my feet and I’m good. I’ll just post that. … That’ll be my postgame pic.

Do you think your fellow Bahamians will like the Puma RS-X Deandre?

Most definitely! I didn’t show our flag too much, but I put our aqua blue in there and I put our beaches in there. Nice, clear blue ocean, nice sand. … They better like it!

With ‘Brian Banks’ and ‘Clemency,’ actor Aldis Hodge finds the humanity in men society wants to discard ‘Banks’ tells the story of a football star falsely accused of rape

Aldis Hodge has the kind of face that makes you squint and try to place where you’ve seen him before.

Because you’ve seen him before. A lot.

But now, you’re about to see him.

“He told me, ‘I don’t want to just act out this thing. I want to become you.’ And I really respect that.”— Brian Banks on actor Aldis Hodge

At 32, Hodge has a long list of acting credits under his belt. He started off as a kid, along with his brother, Edwin, playing small unnamed roles like “Masked teen” and “Basketball teen #2” and “Graduate #1.” He’s had brief roles on NYPD Blue, ER and Cold Case, and he’s also been in cult favorites like Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Things began to shift in 2006 when he earned a role in the critically acclaimed high school football drama Friday Night Lights. Portraying Ray “Voodoo” Tatum, the quarterback who was displaced by Hurricane Katrina, he got the chance to show the emotional complexity he could bring to a character on a large stage. That led to a role on TNT’s Leverage, which ran for five seasons and had him working alongside Timothy Hutton.

And now — finally! — he has a leading role in a film.

In the film, Aldis Hodge taps into the emotional roller coasters that make up Brian Banks’ life.

Everett Collection

Opening on Aug. 9 is Brian Banks, the true tale of a former high school football star whose dreams of playing in the NFL were derailed by a false rape accusation.

This role is yet another indication that Hodge is on the brink of being the next big thing. Just please don’t call him that. Not to his face, at least.

“People have been telling me for years the thing that I could not stand. They’re like, ‘Yo, man, you next!’ I’m like, ‘Y’all have been telling me that for 10 years!’ ” he says before breaking into a quick laugh. “They’re well-meaning, absolutely well-meaning, but they don’t understand. For an artist who continually sees next, next, next, but you see all these other people come up in that time that they tell you, ‘Next.’ There’s a whole wave of cats coming up, but you’re like, ‘How long am I going to be next?’ ”


Coming later this year is more excellent work from Hodge in Clemency, a film that is already making critics’ short lists for award competitions.

In Clemency, Hodge plays a black man on death row who is hoping that the governor — the exact state is unidentified — will grant him clemency. The story was inspired by the 2011 execution of Troy Davis, who was convicted of and executed for the Aug. 19, 1989, murder of police officer Mark MacPhail in Savannah, Georgia. The case attracted widespread attention, including pleas for clemency from former President Jimmy Carter, Archbishop Desmond Tutu and former FBI director William Sessions.

In Clemency, Hodge plays a black man on death row who is hoping that the governor will grant him clemency.

Eric Branco

Although we’ve seen Hodge toiling on the small screen and in films for nearly 25 years, this moment and these two films mean Hodge is a name to be remembered.

In other words, Hodge acts his behind off. In Clemency, Hodge impresses alongside veteran Alfre Woodard, who plays the prison warden, and Juilliard-trained Danielle Brooks as the condemned man’s estranged partner — both of whom could hear their names nominated for top honors early next year.

Both Clemency and Brian Banks are films that you want to talk about and, in some cases, may make you want to get active after you see them. The real connective tissue, at least as of late, is stories where Hodge gets to find the humanity in characters who might normally be seen as inhumane.

“I’ve been doing this since I was 2 years old,” Hodge says. “Back when I was 14, I [said] that I want to stop taking particular types of roles. The stereotypical tropes or this or that didn’t represent the totality of black people, and I wanted it to show the other side of us because we grew up seeing a completely different side and wanted to represent that truth.”

“I want to stop taking particular types of roles, the stereotypical tropes or this or that didn’t represent the totality of black people by culture is, right? And I wanted it to show the other side of us because we grew up seeing a completely different side and wanted to represent that truth.” — Aldis Hodge

Hodge says he finally assembled the right team to help him find such stories. Not all of the roles he brings to life affect social change, but simply portraying a diverse representation of black men, he says, ultimately helps move the needle for how black men are treated in real life.

“Like my role on Leverage. It was a fun action show. It was cool, but I played a very intelligent hacker, and to me that spoke to truth because they saw the black man playing the hacker,” Hodge says. “My father used to take apart and build computers. That’s normal in the black community, but we don’t see it represented all the time. So for me, that was truth that hadn’t been exposed in that way.

“I’m an actor. I’m not a type of actor, not a dramatic actor, not a comedic actor. I can do whatever, whenever, however. … If we’re going to be funny, how can we make it better? How can we give the audience a better experience? If we’re going to do drama, how can I engage the idea of being with it all? Emotional impact in a completely new way that the audience hasn’t really seen yet?”


Hodge has been in films before: Hidden Figures (the husband of aerospace engineer Mary Jackson), Straight Outta Compton (as MC Ren) and most recently What Men Want (as the love interest to Taraji P. Henson’s sports agent). He laughs pretty hard when I remind him he once starred alongside LeBron James in a 2011 State Farm commercial. (“Back in the day!”)

But carrying the title character in Brian Banks? That’s major.

The real Brian Banks, who is now 34, knew he had found the man to play him in the movie almost immediately.

“Aldis was the first actor that was presented to me as one who would play me in this film. And I remember him most from Underground. And what he did with Underground was very powerful. I’ve seen him in Big Momma’s House, back when he was young, playing basketball, Straight Outta Compton and Leverage,” Banks said.

“And then, after meeting him, the first thing he told me was, ‘I don’t want to just act out this thing. I want to become you.’ And I really respect that. Hearing that from him, it really said a lot about him. It said a lot about his methods as far as how he was going to tap into the story.”

Banks’ story is well-known. He was wrongfully convicted of rape at age 16 and spent nearly six years imprisoned and five years on parole, during which he had to wear a GPS tracking device and register as a sex offender. His conviction was overturned in 2012 after the classmate who had accused him confessed that she made up the incident.

Before he was accused, Banks had verbally committed to USC during his junior year at Long Beach’s Polytechnic High School. His teammates there were future NFL players DeSean Jackson, Darnell Bing, Winston Justice and Marcedes Lewis.

Brian Banks attends a special screening of Bleecker Street’s Brian Banks on July 31 in Long Beach, California.

Photo by Phillip Faraone/Getty Images

After Banks was exonerated, he once again began to pursue the professional football career he’d dreamed of as a kid. After several tryouts with NFL teams, Banks began playing for the Las Vegas team in the UFL in 2012, but the league suspended the season because of “mounting debt” after he had played in only two games. The following year, Banks was signed by the Atlanta Falcons, for whom he played in four preseason games at linebacker before being released. In 2014, NFL commissioner Roger Goodell asked him to speak to league rookies, and he then joined the NFL as a manager in the Football Operations Department and assisted the Officiating Department on game days.

In the film, Hodge taps into the emotional roller coasters that make up Banks’ life.

“He’s phenomenal at giving you layers to a character and creating a three-dimensional character,” says Sherri Shepherd, who acts alongside Hodge as Banks’ mother. “There were scenes where every time you see him talk to his parole officer … and I just … I was in awe of the range that was displayed. It was this tenderness that he had … a searching, ‘Please help me, protect me,’ that he had.”

“Those stories gravitate towards me,” Hodge says. “I played basketball, terribly, on a league from 14 years old on up. But my real sport, growing up, was fighting.”

“I still train in martial arts to this day. But I used to compete with southern Shaolin kung fu, and then I moved up to wushu and jeet kune do, taking it to the traditionalist Chinese styles. I do a little bit of capoeira. And then … Philippine knife and stick fighting. And then also Muay Thai, which I love. … I absolutely love fighting. I love the physicality, the capability of what we can do with our bodies.”


Given the critical response to Ava DuVernay’s Netflix series When They See Us, Hodge’s two new films and an Emmett Till series coming to ABC, it feels like a moment.

“He’s phenomenal at giving you layers to a character and creating a three dimensional character. I was in awe of the range that was displayed. It was this tenderness that he had. … a searching, ‘please help me, protect me’ that he had.” — Sherri Shepard, who acts alongside Hodge as Banks’ mother

“I think that people are starting to finally understand just how serious this space of wrongful conviction really is,” Banks says. “We have a judicial system that ideally we like to protect the innocent and keep our citizens safe. But often, it happens where the wrong person is locked up, the wrong person is prosecuted. And to just imagine losing life, losing time that you will never get back for something that you didn’t do. Being placed in a cage like an animal for a crime you didn’t commit, watching the dismantling of your family and connection and bond that you have to friends and so forth, and your community. I think that people are starting to really see and understand that this is a very serious subject, just like any other serious subject that we give so much time, attention and money to.

“There are so many people in this world that are uninformed about these types of traumatic experiences and things that go on. So I think that we have to be creative and innovative in a way to where we turn these real-life stories into works of art and some pieces of film so that people that are uninformed, that choose not to be informed, they will be informed by way of being entertained, going to see a movie and then learning something about their city, their community, their society, and hopefully be provoked to want to see change.”

And that’s the work that inspires an actor like Hodge.

“When it comes to digging into these roles, the harder it gets for the characters, and the more honest we get about the situations, the more excited I get,” Hodge says. “I get excited about those because people can see the truth. And what excites me most about these is that we are dignifying and honoring the characters that we play from a point of respect and deference.”

“And then, when I see people are affected, the thing that triggers in my mind is, ‘Oh, now we’ve hit them in the heart space!’ And, hopefully, in the mental space. Hopefully, these people can go out and leave here affected enough to help improve the situation that they just came from watching. Right?”

Some simple advice from New Orleans superstar Leah Chase shaped this chef’s career The Queen of Creole Cuisine, who will be buried Monday, ‘always made you feel loved’

Once small nugget of advice from famed chef Leah Chase shaped Damion Banks’ entire career.

“Continue the art of simplicity and you will go farther and farther in the culinary field,” the Queen of Creole Cuisine told Banks.

Since his first encounter with Chase about 15 years ago, Banks has worked to express himself creatively while also striving to keep it simple, just as Chase told him.

Banks was one of many chefs across the country mourning the death of Chase, who died June 1 at age 96 and is scheduled to be buried Monday in New Orleans.

Before Chase became known as the Queen of Creole Cuisine, she worked as a waitress in the French Quarter. In 1946, she married Edgar “Dooky” Chase Jr., a local musician. His father, Dooky Chase Sr., had opened a bar and sandwich shop in the Treme neighborhood. Eventually, Chase and her husband transformed the location into a dine-in restaurant. Besides serving locals and celebrities, Dooky Chase’s Restaurant often served as a meeting place for politicians and civil rights leaders, and was one of the few places where the races mixed and dined together.

Chase received a lifetime achievement award from the James Beard Foundation in 2016. In the past week, mourners took to the streets to celebrate Chase’s life and legacy with a traditional New Orleans second line complete with brass bands and banners to let passersby know whom they were honoring. Many former patrons, including former President Barack Obama, used social media to express their condolences.

The loss was especially tough for chefs who have followed Chase’s career and were inspired by her exceptional culinary skills.

“It’s hard,” said Banks, 46. “It’s not just that she was a local legend that we lost. It’s like family that was lost. She reminded me so much of my grandmother that I actually cried when I heard [the news of her death]. I feel like I lost my grandmother twice.”

Banks never took for granted the occasional moments he shared with Chase over the years. Each time, she offered a few words of advice that Banks added to his daily life as a chef.

Banks began his career with a summer job washing dishes in the kitchen of Austin Leslie, another world-renowned chef of Creole cuisine. Banks’ uncle, who was the sous chef for Leslie at the time, wondered whether Banks should stick to art, rather than food. Instead of being deterred, Banks was determined to prove his uncle wrong.

Before Hurricane Katrina ravaged New Orleans in 2005, Banks appeared several times with Chase at multi-chef events around the city, including a dinner for then-Lt. Gov. Mitch Landrieu. Both of them were also featured in a PBS documentary highlighting five black New Orleans chefs that was originally scheduled to air right before the storm hit.

President George W. Bush (left) holds the hand of Leah Chase (right), the owner of Dooky Chase’s Restaurant, where he and first lady Laura Bush took part in a dinner with Louisiana cultural and community leaders in 2007 in New Orleans.

Photo credit should read MANDEL NGAN/AFP/Getty Images

As busy as Chase’s life remained, she was never too busy. He would re-introduce himself to Chase and each time, she’d already known who he was.

“She was always available to talk,” Banks said. “Even at her restaurant. It always felt great when she remembered me. I know I felt special, but that’s how she made everyone feel. She treated everyone the same. We were all VIPs. No matter who Mrs. Chase talked to, she always made you feel loved.”

In 2011, years after Banks earned his position as executive chef at the now-closed Olivier’s Creole Restaurant in New Orleans, Chase and her family would drop by for dinner. Although Banks had come far in his culinary journey, including cooking for celebrities and international figures, the knowledge that Chase was in his dining room waiting patiently for one of his creations to be served still made him nervous.

Banks still remembers the first time she came to the restaurant and the entree he prepared for her: Roasted duck breast with a raspberry plum coulis, roasted asparagus, and dauphinoise chips.

“I remember she was tasting all the food and sampling everything and I was somewhat scared because this is a local legend,” Banks said. “I was doing Creole food and I wanted it to be impressive to her but I didn’t want to go too much over. But she enjoyed it. She was very impressed with it.”

Damion Banks (left) and Leah Chase (right).

Damion Banks

In one of their last encounters, Banks shared the news that he was starting his own business, Beauchamps Catering. And he knew exactly what he’d envisioned for the new company.

“I keep it simple, but at the same time, I love art,” Banks said. “I keep the art of simplicity, but I like for people to see my food and eat with their eyes. If I explain it, if I write my menu down, everything that you read in the descriptions, you’ll be able to taste everything that I’ve explained to you.”

In that chat, Chase left Banks with one last gem.

“I give a lot of effort because I’m allergic to failure,” Banks said. “I’m destroyed by it, but it’s also growth. Mrs. Chase told me to always work hard. Give all the effort that I could. No matter what I did, if I had that, I’d always be successful. It was the truth.”

That was Leah Chase, practicing the art of simplicity.

Trumpeter Terence Blanchard’s new album uses jazz to heal communities dealing with gun violence The multiple Grammy winner talks about working with Spike Lee, listening to the universe — and the real-life hurricanes of this lifetime

John Coltrane used to say that we’ve got to learn how to play in tune — and he meant with the universe, not in terms of pitch,” says trumpeter and composer Terence Blanchard, a man who has created 40-plus film scores and played on 50-plus. “That stuck with me. It’s about learning how to pay attention.”

The four-time Grammy winner (on 13 nominations) listened to the universe as it reminded him that young black men, women and children across the country are dying because of gun violence.

So he took his musical talents on the road to four U.S. locations afflicted by the epidemic of that violence. Along with his quintet, E-Collective — Blanchard on trumpet, Charles Altura on guitar, Fabian Almazan on piano and synthesizers, Oscar Seaton on drums and David “DJ” Ginyard on bass — Blanchard created seven songs for his newest project, Live (Blue Note), released April 20. The locations included Minnesota (Philando Castile), Cleveland (Tamir Rice) and Dallas (where on July 7-8, 2016, five police officers were killed).

“We’ve been trying to keep the debate alive, so we … recorded music in four cities that had [experienced] atrocities,” Blanchard said. His goal is to further the conversation on gun violence, and he hopes Live will help. “We hope the music can help people heal. We hope that the music can help take away from the frustration and anger. We hope that the music can help other people reflect.”

“They were picking us up, putting us in a boat right off the porch of our house, that’s how high the water had gotten. Men were in the water pushing the boat, trying to help us find dry land.”

Blanchard, via phone from his New Orleans home, describes the last two hurricanes his hometown experienced, catastrophes that changed the culture of America and shed light on the county’s socioeconomic breakdown.

Until Hurricane Katrina in 2005, 1965’s Hurricane Betsy was the largest storm to ever hit the city. Blanchard remembers both storms.

“I was a little kid,” he said. “We lived in the Lower 9th Ward, and … there was just a lot of rain, and they were picking us up, putting us in a boat right off the porch of our house, that’s how high the water had gotten. Men were in the water pushing the boat, trying to help us find dry land. We wound up at this woman’s house.” He said he doesn’t even know who she was. “We were sleeping in [her] front living room on the floor trying to get dry. And we couldn’t find my dad for a couple of days, didn’t know where he was. … I remember there was another little girl in the boat with us, just crying hysterically the entire time. The rest of us were like in shock, in a daze, trying to figure out what was going on.”

Forty years later, Blanchard was in the midst of Hurricane Katrina and became part of a documentary that detailed the crisis. His longtime colleague, Spike Lee, with whom Blanchard has scored films as far back as 1988’s School Daze, produced When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts.

“I was very angry,” Blanchard said. “Angry because Hurricane Katrina, to me, is the manifestation of everything we hate about politics. There have been politicians who will kiss your a– … kiss your baby and do whatever they need to do to get your vote, but once in office they don’t serve the public. They serve themselves.”

He says the tragedy for him was that New Orleans never even got hit by Katrina. “The hurricane bypassed us,” he said, “and we still had that high level of devastation. To me that means that somebody didn’t do their job. Somebody should have … went to jail for that. … Hurricane Katrina should have been a wake-up call for America. And it was. For a hot second. It was.”

Blanchard has always used his music to make powerful statements about race, culture and American tragedies past and present for most of his long career. His film scores include 4 Little Girls, Malcolm X, Mo’ Better Blues, When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts, Jungle Fever, Eve’s Bayou, Chi-Raq, Jungle Fever, Red Tails and Inside Man and his own legendary discography. He also stepped into the opera world with Champion at Opera Theatre of Saint Louis.

“I’m working on my second opera now, and when I sit down with my mind thinking that I have to write an opera, my ego freaks out,” Blanchard said. “It’s like, man, that’s a lot of work. But when I throw the ego aside and allow the creative process to take hold, then ideas start coming.”


When did you start working with Spike Lee?

It was probably 1989. I was hired to play a session for School Daze. I walked in and I had on my Lakers hat, a Lakers T-shirt, and purple and gold Converse. And Spike, he looked at me and says, ‘Lakers fan, huh?’ I say, ‘Yeah.’ And next thing I know, he was giving me tickets to the Knicks. Sitting courtside. I played some solos and then he heard me playing the piano, and that’s when everything started with the relationship and me scoring his films.

What can we expect of your new score with Lee for the upcoming BlacKkKlansman?

It’s a really great movie with John David Washington. Spike always wants to have a good orchestra for his scores, which we did for this one. But we also have a little twist … we use electric guitar and … an R&B rhythm section for some things to create a ’70s type of R&B sound for some of the score. That’s going to be a little different.

How did you begin infusing culture and art in your work?

My influences were Miles Davis, Dizzy Gillespie, John Coltrane, so the people that I admire were people who contributed greatly to American culture. They did it by having a high standard of excellence … and being themselves and sticking true to life. I’ve tried to model myself after those guys. When I was at the Monk Institute teaching, I was working with Herbie Hancock and Wayne Shorter. Herbie’s never shied away from tackling topics. And when you watch what he does with his music, he’s trying to manifest his beliefs into his music.

How old were you when you first picked up an instrument?

I started playing piano, my mom started making me take lessons, when I was about 5 years old. We lived in this double house, and the piano teacher lived in the other side of the house. So I could never miss a lesson. Every weekend. I’d come outside and go right next door to Miss Francis’ house and get my lesson and come on back. It was fun.

How did you become involved in education?

I come from a family of educators. My mom was a teacher’s assistant when I was a little kid. Her sister taught voice and piano in high school for years, and then I have cousins in Lake Charles, they are all educators. One of my other cousins, Lawrence, he’s Dr. Lawrence Blanchard. Education has always been big for me because it turned my life around. It introduced me to some great people, and those great people were very generous … helped turn my life around and allowed me to see a bigger world … have broader experiences. It’s through that that I see all things are possible for anybody who wants to work hard.

Where do you find yourself most creative?

Creativity can happen anywhere. You just have to allow yourself to be open to it. All too often our egos get in the way when we say, ‘Oh, this must be this way, it has to be that.’ But being an accomplished human being in this universe, you’ve got to constantly listen to the universe itself. It’s always talking to you. It’s always telling you what’s going on. You have to learn how to tap into that. I do it at various times through chanting, through prayer, whatever you want to call it. But the main thing about it is to let it do its thing.

‘My Cause My Cleats’: The top 24 Week 13 customs — and why players wore them Reppin’ everything from the American Cancer Society to the Trayvon Martin Foundation to Kaepernick

Week 13 in the National Football League, at least since last season, is all about creativity, customization and cause. Through the “My Cause My Cleats” campaign, which the league started in 2016, players can bend uniform guidelines and wear cleats designed to represent a cause of their choice.

Typically, players are only allowed to wear custom-painted kicks during pregame warm-ups. Then switch to uniform footwear while the game clock is rolling. But in Week 13, flashy cleats in vibrant colors, featuring unique illustrations and messages, are the norm. Athletes all across the NFL, from every position group, commission the hottest designers in the sneaker game to create the perfect pair of cleats for their cause. This year, around 1,000 players reportedly took part in the initiative, and after games ended, select cleats were sold at auction, with 100 percent of the proceeds benefiting causes such as the #BringBackOurGirls campaign, Colin Kaepernick’s #KnowYourRightsCamp, Habitat for Humanity, autism, POW and MIA families, anti-bullying, social justice and criminal justice reform, the Trayvon Martin Foundation and more.

“This weekend, you’ll really see the impact art has had on the NFL,” Los Angeles artist Troy Cole, aka Kickasso, tweeted before Sunday’s games. Last season, he designed every pair of New York Giants wide receiver Odell Beckham Jr.’s anticipated pregame cleats. “Art is a powerful way to tell a story #MyCauseMyCleats.”

Here are The Undefeated’s top 24 “My Cause My Cleats” customs, along with the players who wore them, the causes they supported and the artistic geniuses who brought charitable creativity to life.


Chidobe Awuzie, Cornerback, Dallas Cowboys

Cause: #BringBackOurGirls campaign

Joe Barksdale, Offensive Tackle, Los Angeles Chargers

Instagram Photo

Cause: Fender Music Foundation

Designer: DeJesus Custom Footwear Inc.

Michael Bennett, Defensive End, Seattle Seahawks

Cause: National League of POW/MIA Families

A.J. Bouye, Cornerback, Jacksonville Jaguars

Cause: American Cancer Society

Designer: Kickasso

Antonio Brown, Wide Receiver, Pittsburgh Steelers

Instagram Photo

Cause: RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network)

Designer: Corey Pane

Kurt Coleman, Safety, Carolina Panthers

Cause: Levine Children’s Hospital

Designer: Ryan Bare, SR Customs

Mike Daniels, defensive end, Green Bay Packers

Cause: Anti-bullying

Designer: SolesBySir

Stefon Diggs, Wide Receiver, Minnesota Vikings

Cause: American Heart Association

Designer: Mache Customs

DeSean Jackson, Wide Receiver, Tampa Bay Buccaneers

Instagram Photo

Cause: Brotherhood Crusade

Designer: SolesBySir

Malcolm Jenkins, Safety, Philadelphia Eagles

Cause: Social Justice and Criminal Justice Reform, Players Coalition

Designer: Sixth-grade class at Jubilee School, Illustrative Cre8ions

Eddie Lacy, Running Back, Seattle Seahawks

Cause: International Relief Teams, Hurricane Katrina

Designer: Bizon Customs

Jarvis Landry, Wide Receiver, Miami Dolphins

Instagram Photo

Cause: Cystic Fibrosis Foundation

Marshon Lattimore, Cornerback, New Orleans Saints

Cause: Social injustices and honoring close friend Dayton Williams, who was shot and killed in 2010 in Euclid, Ohio.

Rishard Matthews, Wide Receiver, Tennessee Titans

Instagram Photo

Cause: Colin Kaepernick, Know Your Rights Camp

Designer: SolesBySir

Gerald McCoy, Defensive Tackle, Tampa Bay buccaneers

Instagram Photo

Cause: “The Life of a Single Mom”

Designer: The Hulfish Project

Eric Reid, Safety, San Francisco 49ers

Cause: Colin Kaepernick, Know Your Rights Camp

Designer: Tragik MCMXCIII

A’shawn Robinson, Defensive Tackle, Detroit Lions

Cause: Leukemia patients

Jaylon Smith, Linebacker, Dallas Cowboys

Cause: Autism

Designer: The Hulfish Project

Torrey Smith, Wide Receiver, Philadelphia Eagles

Instagram Photo

Cause: Torrey Smith Family Fund, Show Your Soft Side, Players Coalition, NO More Campaign

Designer: Kreative Custom Kicks, Dez Customz

Shane Vereen, Running Back, New York Giants

Cause: Children’s Hospital of Los Angeles

Designer: Kickasso

Anthony Walker, Linebacker, Indianapolis Colts

Cause: Trayvon Martin Foundation

Designer: Desmond J. Jones, Art is Dope

Deshaun Watson, Quarterback, Houston Texans

Cause: Habitat for Humanity

Designer: 5-year-old twins Kayla and Jakwan; Evan Melnyk, Nike

Russell Wilson, Quarterback, Seattle Seahawks

Cause: Why Not You Foundation

Designer: Kate Neckel and Dash Tsai

 

Daryl Worley, Cornerback, Carolina Panthers

Instagram Photo

Cause: CeaseFirePA

Designer: SR Customs

Fats Domino and the death of rock As another ‘Rockstar’ goes on to that heavenly venue, is the genre dead?

Fats Domino, a member of the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame’s 1986 inaugural class, a recipient of the Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award and a recipient of the National Medal of Arts, died Oct. 24 at his home in suburban New Orleans. He was 89. Just as Domino helped push swing music to the margins of cultural relevance in the 1950s, so does Domino’s death mark a complete torch-passing from the rock- and rhythm and blues-loving baby boomers to the rap-loving Gen Xers and millennials. It’s impossible to overlook the musical frame of Domino’s life.

It would be the grossest of understatements to say Fats Domino was ahead of his time. Decades before Big Pun, Notorious B.I.G. and Rick Ross boasted of their luxuriant meatiness, Antoine “Fats” Domino had been there and done that. Indeed, Domino’s first single was a hard-rocking track entitled “The Fat Man,” in which the singer crowed about his scale-crushing weight. Domino’s single was recorded in 1949, six years before Chuck Berry, Little Richard and Elvis Presley codified a new musical sound called rock ’n’ roll.

A recent Nielsen Music report revealed that hip-hop/R&B has surpassed rock in online streaming and sales to become the nation’s most popular musical style. Combine that with the recent deaths of rock titans Chuck Berry, Tom Petty and founding members of the Allman Brothers Band, Steely Dan, Soundgarden and Linkin Park, and it can seem like Domino’s death serves as a eulogy for rock itself, a solemn epitaph for the music that defined a huge and authority-questioning generation of the past century.

While Domino inspired the Beatles and Neil Young, the singer himself rarely, if ever, raised his own voice. Much like the pioneering black actor Robert Guillaume, who also died Oct. 24 at 89, Domino most often let his work speak for itself. Just as Guillaume enjoyed the distinction of being the first African-American performer to win an Emmy Award for best actor in a comedy series, Domino had the distinction of being the first rock artist of any consequence: “Well, I wouldn’t want to say that I started it [rock ’n’ roll],” Domino said, “but I don’t remember anyone else before me playing that kind of stuff.”

Domino’s death serves as a eulogy for rock itself.

Though Domino lacked Little Richard’s wantonness and Chuck Berry’s poetic aplomb, the piano-playing singer demonstrated world-beating clout. After a string of R&B hits on Imperial Records, Domino finally broke through to Billboard’s pop charts in 1955 with “Ain’t That A Shame.” Co-written by Domino and his frequent composing partner, Dave Bartholomew, the single bore all the hallmarks of Domino’s subsequent hits — emotionally vulnerable songs performed to the spare yet powerful accompaniment of guitar, bass, drums and small horn section. Together, Domino and Bartholomew would chart a string of hits, including “I’m In Love Again,” “I’m Walkin’ ” and “I’m Gonna Be a Wheel Some Day.”

From 1950 to 1963, Domino placed 63 hits on Billboard’s U.S. pop charts and 59 songs on the R&B charts. His biggest success was “Blueberry Hill,” a tune composed in 1940 by Vincent Rose, Al Lewis and Larry Stock. Previously recorded by popular artists including Gene Autry, Kay Kyser and Louis Armstrong, Domino’s simple arrangement and woebegone vocal delivery transformed the shopworn tune into a strolling, rock ’n’ roll standard. Domino’s version topped the R&B chart for nearly two months, peaking at No. 2 on the Top 40. Within a year of its release, the single had sold more than 5 million copies worldwide, establishing Domino as one of rock’s crossover artists.

By the end of rock’s 1950s golden age, Domino’s record sales had surpassed those of Chuck Berry, Little Richard and Buddy Holly combined. And although Presley sold more records, the so-called “King of Rock ’n’ Roll” always acknowledged his debt to Domino. Paul McCartney has said that the Beatles’ hit “Lady Madonna” was influenced by his New Orleans hero.

Domino’s triplet piano style, in which three notes are sounded per beat, inspired a wealth of pop ballads, from Percy Faith’s 1960 ‘‘Theme From A Summer Place,” to Otis Redding’s 1962 ‘‘These Arms of Mine,” and Sly & the Family Stone’s 1969 “Hot Fun in the Summertime.” Original Domino compositions such as 1955’s “I Hear You Knocking ” and “Ain’t That A Shame” would become hits for Billy Haley & His Comets, Cheap Trick, Tom Petty, Dave Edmunds and others.

Born Feb. 26, 1928, Domino was raised in New Orleans’ 9th Ward, the region that served as his home base for most of his life. It was only after 2005’s catastrophic Hurricane Katrina that he would leave the region for new digs in the New Orleans suburbs. “I traveled the world for about 50 years,” Domino told USA Today. “I love a lot of places and I’ve been to lots of places, but I just don’t care to leave home.”

Decades before Big Pun, Notorious B.I.G. and Rick Ross boasted of their luxuriant meatiness, Antoine “Fats” Domino had been there and done that.

After learning music fundamentals from a relative, Domino was good enough in his teens to perform in a popular New Orleans group led by bassist Billy Diamond. It was Diamond who nicknamed Domino “Fats,” lending Domino a jolly, Falstaffian image that contrasted sharply with his skinnier contemporaries. In his 2007 book Blue Monday: Fats Domino and the Lost Dawn of Rock ’n’ Roll, author Rick Coleman describes the neuron-tickling impact of “The Fat Man,” Domino’s 1950 debut single. “There was a touch of blues braggadocio, though bragging about being fat was hardly the stuff of ego … (the single) contained radically puzzling and pulsating sounds — the raucous musical cadence, emotion, and distortion that would echo through popular music for the rest of the century as ‘rock ’n’ roll.’ ”

Now, well into a new century, it appears that the music Domino helped invent is being put out to pasture. Today, the upper echelons of the Billboard Hot 100 singles chart brim with rap and R&B tracks. So far, Kendrick Lamar has the best-received album of the year.

Yet, even as we bid rock ’n’ roll and Antoine Domino adieu, The Fat Man’s large-living iconography haunts contemporary culture. As of this writing, the top tune in the U.S. is a decadent track by rappers Post Malone and 21 Savage — it has close to 75 million views.

Ironically, the song is titled “Rockstar.”

Author Jesmyn Ward talks about enduring hurricane season, the South, and what it means to be a MacArthur ‘genius’ She has a deep love for the South, but isn’t sure she wants to finish raising her children there

Winning a MacArthur “genius” grant can be a little bit like winning the nerd lottery.

Not only are you recognized for your intellectual prowess and contributions to society, but it’s publicly announced to every major media outlet in the country that your bank statements will be a bit bigger. MacArthur fellows get $625,000, with zero strings attached, spread over five years.

“It didn’t feel real until everyone knew, and then, of course, you speak to people that you haven’t spoken to in years, and everyone congratulates you,” said author Jesmyn Ward, one of 24 people honored by the John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation this month. “It’s a huge, huge honor, but it is overwhelming. It is overwhelming. Everyone immediately wants to borrow money.

“Everyone is already like, ‘Oh, so we’re rich now. We’re rich.’ ”

Ward, 40, was already a superstar. Her novel Salvage the Bones won the 2011 National Book Award, and this year her latest novel, Sing, Unburied, Sing, is short-listed for it. Inspired by James Baldwin, Ward also edited a 2016 essay collection, The Fire This Time, which assembled thoughts from luminaries such as Isabel Wilkerson, Kiese Laymon, Clint Smith, Edwidge Danticat and Emily Raboteau.

Ward, who teaches at Tulane University, grew up in Mississippi with modest means. After stints in Ann Arbor, Michigan, and New York, she elected to return, buying a home in DeLisle, Mississippi, a 57-mile drive to New Orleans and her university job. Salvage the Bones, which followed a poor black Mississippi family in the days leading up to Hurricane Katrina, was inspired by her own experiences living through the storm. Despite her deep love for her home state and its most vulnerable citizens, Ward is not sure how much longer she’ll remain there.

We talked about writing, the strangeness of becoming a public figure, making it through this year’s harrowing hurricane season, and the hyper-abbreviated nature of black childhood, which Ward explores in Sing, Unburied, Sing. Her latest novel follows a 13-year-old boy named Jojo, and his young mother, Leonie, who serve as alternating narrators. They’re poor and live in rural Mississippi with Leonie’s mother, who is dying of cancer, and Leonie’s father. Leonie decides to take a road trip with Jojo and her toddler daughter, Kayla, to pick up their white father, Michael, from prison. Every generation of the family is grappling with death and unresolved loss in some way, but Leonie is particularly striking because of her inability to reckon with the death of her brother, Given, who was murdered by a white schoolmate.

This interview has been edited and condensed for length and clarity.

What is the moment like when you find out that you’ve been awarded a MacArthur grant?

It’s totally surreal. When it’s happening, when they’re telling you that you’ve won a MacArthur grant, it just doesn’t feel real. It’s such a huge award and such a huge honor that it’s never the call that you expect to get. I don’t think it feels real until the announcement. When everyone else finds out, that’s when it feels real. [The MacArthur Foundation] prepares beforehand, because they send a video crew out to your house and you spend an entire day with them.

Most writers are not extroverts. Once you started accumulating this snowball of acclaim, what did that do to you?

It’s difficult, especially because I am naturally a shy person, or at least I was, in high school and afterwards for years. One of my friends … while I lived in New York, would introduce me, and he would jokingly say, ‘This is my mute friend,’ because I would never speak. It’s really odd for me to now have to develop and assume a public persona and to share. I have to figure out how much of my private self am I willing to reveal. How comfortable am I, will I attempt to be, when I’m sharing my life with other people? It’s something that I have to work at.

When did you first realize there’s Public Jesmyn and Private Jesmyn?

I didn’t really realize that I would have to develop a public persona until Salvage the Bones was nominated for the National Book Award. That’s when everything changed for me, because I wrote Where the Line Bleeds as my first novel, my baby novel. A fair amount of people read it, but it didn’t get a ton of serious reviews and I didn’t do a lot of interviews. And then Salvage the Bones came out, and the reception was better, but it was before it was nominated for a National Book Award. Then everything changed, and then of course once I won, everything really changed.

I devoted years of my life to becoming a better writer. I’ve learned how to read like a writer. I worked on my craft and just tried to improve with everything that I produced, with everything that I created, but I never really thought about what it would mean to actually get better and get good enough to the point where other people start recognizing it, and then you’re reaching more people, wider range of people, reaching lots of readers. Suddenly you have an audience.

“One of my friends … while I lived in New York, would introduce me, and he would jokingly say, ‘This is my mute friend,’ because I would never speak.”

Writing is such a solitary thing, so it was a total surprise for me when I realized that my life as a writer would not just consist of me sitting in a room typing or reading.

But you know what helps? Teaching, because I’m a professor, and that helps me a lot. I was put in plenty of situations where I had to think quickly, speak quickly, plenty of situations where I had to attempt to be eloquent and to learn how to talk about something that I was very passionate about, because that’s what teaching demanded.

Is it more difficult talking to a roomful of college students or talking to reporters?

It’s definitely talking to a roomful of college students! This has not happened to me at Tulane, but I’ve definitely taught at other schools where the college students I’m teaching do not think that I am the smartest person in the room, and in fact they think they are the smartest person in the room. That’s always a little difficult to navigate.

What did you mean by “learning to read like a writer”?

For me, that meant reading poetry to attempt to figure out how figurative language can create beauty, how figurative language can make a reader feel. I read poetry to also figure how sentences can create rhythm, how paragraphs can create rhythm.

I read literary fiction to attempt to figure out what was pleasing to me as far as a prose style. I also read literary fiction to figure out how to develop a character, how to make a character come alive on the page. I read literary fiction to figure out pacing and how to balance narration and scene, and what was pleasing to me as a writer, what kind of balance was pleasing to me, whether I liked lots of dialogue and a little narration or more narration and less dialogue.

And then I read other genres, like fantasy, like sci-fi, like children’s books, middle-grade books, YA books, even romance, because I feel like those genres taught me different things about — I feel like I wasn’t necessarily reading them to learn lessons about prose and about what I felt worked well and what didn’t. I think that those books taught me things about how to create suspense, about plot.

What are you excited to be reading right now?

I have a poetry anthology next to my bed. Czeslaw Milosz. A Book of Luminous Things. That’s nice, to have books that I can open up and read a short piece and get some satisfaction from knowing that I’ve read something.

I recently read a children’s book called The Girl Who Drank the Moon, which was amazing. In the last two chapters, I was tearing up the entire time. It was insane, but it was such a pleasure to read that because I could just enjoy it. I feel like it’s easiest to turn off my writerly brain when I’m reading children’s lit. It’s just a lovely, beautiful book.

You have spent a lot of time thinking about Hurricane Katrina and its aftermath. What was it like for you living through this hurricane season?

It’s been difficult, especially seeing the devastation in Houston, seeing the devastation in Puerto Rico, seeing the devastation in Florida, being witness to the current administration’s ambivalence towards that suffering, and sometimes outright hostility that echoes some of the ambivalence and hostility that at least New Orleans, and somewhat the Mississippi Gulf Coast, that we experienced during Katrina. It’s hard, and I didn’t realize how difficult until I saw Houston was flooding, and I thought, ‘I should write something about this,’ and I couldn’t write a thing. I couldn’t write anything, and then I realized how deeply affected I was and how haunted I was by Katrina and by what happened after Katrina.

And then I realized that again, when we were preparing for Hurricane Nate. Nate was a Category 2 storm, and we were losing our minds. I was trying to get a solar-powered generator. I was stocking up and preparing in a way that you would prepare for a Category 5, and yet so was everyone else. It wasn’t just me. It was everyone else here, on the Mississippi Gulf Coast, in New Orleans. That’s the long shadow of Katrina. I think that every time it happens, that we’ll react like that, because of Katrina, because we’re still struggling with it. I think there’s a lot of unresolved anxiety and terror that people carry from our experiences in Katrina.

In Sing, Unburied, Sing, you bounce back and forth between Jojo and Leonie, who are both young, as narrators. Jojo is forced to grow up faster than his years, and Leonie, his mother, doesn’t quite feel like a real grown-up yet.

I think that black childhood is not something that’s granted to black children in America, and so I think that my characters reflected that. Jojo, his experience reflects that in the present moment, as he’s going through it, but I feel that Leonie is the kind of character who comes to life when a black person has — when their childhood has been denied. When that childhood has been stolen, she’s the result, where she’s sort of stuck in this extended adolescence, especially with her selfishness and her inability to process hardship, to face hardship and to live with hardship and to thrive, really. That’s what happens.

“I feel like it’s easiest to turn off my writerly brain when I’m reading children’s lit.”

It’s funny, because then I think about Richie’s character, who is a ghost. He’s a ghost, and he should be nearly as old as Pop is, but yet he, too, is stuck in some sort of adolescence because his childhood was taken away from him, because he was robbed of his childhood.

I think about Mam and I think about Pop, and I wonder why they did not break, why they don’t seem broken in the way that Leonie’s broken, or that Richie is broken.

When I think about Kayla and Jojo, I don’t think that they will be broken people like Leonie or like Richie. I think that they’ll be like Mam and like Pop, and maybe the reason why I don’t think that they will be broken people, and maybe the reason why Pop and Mam aren’t broken, is because there was something there that sustained them. I think for Mam, it was the love of her family, and also these things like black spiritual traditions, voodoo and hoodoo and herbal medicine. I think that that sustained her. With Pop, I think it’s family. I think that that definitely sustained him, and maybe a sense of community that he has or a sense of responsibility that he had to that family and to that community.

You go so hard for the South. So often it’s discussed as a place where the best thing about it for black folks is that they can leave. What makes you want to stay there?

I am writing about the kind of people who I grew up with. I’m writing about people who are like my family members. I’m writing about people who are like people who live in my community. I think, because I’m writing from that place, that I can love them, but I can also be critical of them. And I think, too, that I’m very aware of how history bears on the present in the South, and of how it complicates people’s lives, and how it is this really underacknowledged force in the region. I want to acknowledge that, and I think that that’s also what is fueling some of that critical eye.

I wanted to come back for so long, and I am here now, but I have gotten to this point in my life where I can’t say that I will stay here forever.

Why not?

It’s just motivated by my kids, because I have a 5-year-old daughter and I have my son, who [is now] 1. I love my kids, and I want the best for them, and I don’t know. I feel like, in some respects, that I would be failing them if we stayed here through the years when they were teenagers, because this is not a kind place, in many ways, and I worry for them. I want them to live, and I want them to thrive, and I don’t know if this is the best place for that to happen.

Is there any place in America that’s safe for them, where they can be children?

I know that there’s nowhere in this country where they could be completely safe, but I do feel like there are places in this country that would be safer, and made safer, because of where I have worked, because of where I’ve gotten in my life. Classwise, I could afford them different opportunities that if I were poor, or if I lived in poverty, and if I were moving to the Northeast or Chicago or the West, they’d face more dangers. But there’s some opportunities that I can give them because of where I am right now.

I don’t know a single educated black person who has risen to a certain place in society who doesn’t have family members who aren’t as lucky.

It’s difficult. I do what I can, but I think that — how do I say this? I do what I can for my extended family, but I think that their ideas of what I have and the demand on what I have are different from my knowledge of what I have and what I have to give. It induces a lot of guilt, because you want to help. When you’re personally in that situation, you want to help your extended family. I feel guilty because I’m in this position, and they’re not, and then I also feel guilty that I can’t do more. But I can’t. I’m not a millionaire. I’m not a billionaire. I’m a thousandaire.

How much did the death of your brother figure into Leonie and the way she’s working through Given’s death?

I was worried about that when I discovered Given’s character, when it worked out that Leonie had a brother and that he died when they were teenagers. I was worried about writing him, because I know that readers know about my brother, and I didn’t want them to confuse me with Leonie. I didn’t want them to confuse my brother with Given, but I felt like Given was the key. Given was the key to understanding Leonie. His death was the key to understanding her — who she was, her trauma, and understanding why she does what she does. And so I felt like I had no choice, in some respects. I had to write him.

But then, those fears eased a little bit once I got further into the manuscript because their relationship took on a life of its own. It became real, and it was very different from my relationship with my brother. And so, once I got to the point where I felt like their relationship took on life, I was like, ‘Oh, we’re nothing like each other.’ But knowing that Leonie lost a sibling helped me to really understand her, understand that pain that she basically shies away from dealing with and living with.

You talk about the resilience of Mam and Pop, but I wonder if her cancer is basically her internal grief welling up inside her?

I read an article … that was about health and racism. The article was making the argument that racism is a stressor, and that that stressor affects black people’s health in many different ways, and that when you control for class, that still you see a big difference in the health outcomes for black people at a certain class and health outcomes for white people in a certain class.

That was really striking to me. They’re looking at things like heart disease, like diabetes, like maternal health. They’re looking at things like premature births, and then the health outcomes for the children. The article was really making the argument that racism has lasting effects, health effects on black people. I was thinking about that a lot while I was writing Sing, Unburied, Sing.

Ten years after Kanye West’s ‘Graduation’ — and mine Yeezy and a whole generation meet real life and wonder ‘what it all really mean?‘

A cloud of marijuana smoke hovered in the apartment. It was early September 2007. Some of us lay on the floor. Some on the couch. Some at the kitchen table that had been used to roll the seven or eight jays. None of us said much. Per the rules of that summer’s “listening sessions,” no one spoke over the music. In this case, Kanye West’s new LP, Graduation, was the reason for the cypher.

Over that summer, these sessions had become a fixture. Thanks primarily to Lil Wayne’s run of mixtapes (it felt like they dropped every week), there was always a reason. But this session was different. On a day leading up to the start of our senior year at Hampton University, West spoke into existence our own existence.

Up to that moment, his music had always held collegiate and coming-of-age allusions, starting with 2004’s The College Dropout and Late Registration the following year. Often forgotten in the grand scheme of his catalog, West’s May 2007 Can’t Tell Me Nothing mixtape featured “Us Placers” featuring Pharrell and Lupe Fiasco (aka the short-lived supergroup Child Rebel Soldiers), “C.O.L.O.U.R.S.” featuring Fonzworth Bentley, Wayne and UGK, and my introduction to a rapper named Big Sean on “Getcha Some.” Graduation arrived when we were all about 21 years old — adults by age, but kids with so much life and the hurdles that came with it in front of us.

Kanye West spoke into existence our own existence.

At that time, it seemed West spoke for our entire generation. On Sept. 2, 2005, with New Orleans crippled by Hurricane Katrina, close to 2,000 people dead and even more displaced, West stood next to comedian Michael Myers and famously declared that President George W. Bush “doesn’t care about black people.” He spoke for us and to us. Several students who evacuated from New Orleans-based historically black colleges and universities (HBCUs) such as Xavier and Dillard transferred to Hampton. We read the reports. We watched CNN in horror, like the rest of the country. The anger we felt about seeing (mostly) black people referred to as “refugees” in their own city while their entire lives were submerged underwater left us enraged. Even when it’s a natural disaster, it’s somehow still our fault. West’s angst reflected our own.

Kanye West performs on stage at the Concert for Diana at Wembley Stadium on July 1, 2007 in London, England.

Dave Hogan/Getty Images

He was confident — or arrogant, depending on the crowd — but inquisitive about himself and a world moving at warp speed. West seemed poised to carry rap into the next decade and beyond. And his music spoke louder than even he did. These were the pre-Tidal, pre-Apple Music, pre-Spotify US days. New albums leaked online roughly 10 to 14 days early, and it felt like blank CDs were single-handedly keeping places like Circuit City open. The summer-long wait for Graduation was an event itself, and “Can’t Tell Me Nothing” and “Stronger” were the summer’s anthems.

With senior year washing ashore, and us thinking the world lay at our fingertips, hearing West’s defiant proclamations — Man, it’s so hard not to act reckless — were more a way of life than a hot single. Plus, we all knew Yeezy was good for a cohesive, intricate and beautifully sequenced album.

So when the word traveled, via text, Facebook and word-of-mouth, that the album had leaked, we all knew what to do.

Each person bring a pre-rolled jay — something to drink, too, and a stash for one more if the vibe called for it. (Spoiler: The vibe always called for one more.) None of the seven of us, roughly an even mixture of guys and girls who just loved chiefing and good music, believed we were doing anything illegal. We were college kids getting high and listening to great music — an American tradition if there ever was one.


You ever wonder what it all really mean?/ You wonder if you’ll ever find your dreams? — “I Wonder

In retrospect? We probably looked like the HBCU version of the cutaway scenes on That 70’s Show. Via nonverbal communication, we vibed out. I can’t forget what it felt like hearing “Good Life” for the first time. The Michael Jackson “P.Y.T.” sample is classic Kanye. But T-Pain’s outro — Is this good life better than the life I lived? / When I thought that I was gonna go crazy / And now my grandmamma/ Ain’t the only girl callin’ me baby — now that was a moment.

Rapper Kanye West performs onstage during the Hot 97 Summer Jam presented by Boost Mobile at Giants Stadium June 3, 2007 in East Rutherford, New Jersey.

Roger Kisby/Getty Images

“Flashing Lights” felt more like a movie than a song, and the hook from “Everything I Am” (Everything I’m not made me everything I am) became away messages on AOL Instant Messenger — they seemed like the world’s first tweets (Twitter technically existed then). And, in the moment, we didn’t know what to think about West’s ode to Jay-Z, “Big Brother.” We couldn’t see the joy of “Otis” yet. We couldn’t see how friendships sometimes go.

We ran West’s third effort back two or three times that night. The number of jays in rotation is lost to history, but the discussions following were incredible: Where does this place Kanye in terms of the game’s current greats? What is Kanye’s ceiling? And, of course, is anyone trying to order food? The Graduation listening session, at an off-campus apartment with smoke billowing from the screen door balcony, ranks as one of the most innocent moments of my entire college experience. We understood the magnitude of the senior year ahead of us, but what a time to be alive — just being there, in the moment.

That kind of innocence also applied to West. None of us, including West, knew it then, but life would forever change after that album. Most of us in that room graduated the following May and entered the “real world” just as the economy was diving into the worst pit since the Great Depression. Two months after Graduation’s release, West lost his combination best friend/mother, Donda West, who died as a result of complications from cosmetic surgery.

Donda West and Kanye West

Johnny Nunez/WireImage

By April 2008, Kanye West and then-fiancée Alexis Phifer called off their engagement. West secluded himself as he prepared for his celebrated Glow In The Dark Tour (with Lupe Fiasco opening, and N.E.R.D. and Rihanna on the bill as well). Within months, West lost the first woman he ever loved and had broken up with the one who was by his side when it happened.

The summer-long wait for Graduation was an event itself, and “Can’t Tell Me Nothing” and “Stronger” were the summer’s anthems.

By 2009 he was running up on stage interrupting Taylor Swift and then escaping to Hawaii. So now what? It’s a question we both had to face. A question that would haunt us both. Where West fled to the islands to create new music, I fled to Georgetown University. Not necessarily because I wanted to go back to school, but it provided an escape and a way for me to think I wasn’t just wasting my time working dead-end jobs in the restaurant and retail industries. In college, it’s customary to think “graduation, job.” That’s embedded in your head since high school, if not earlier. But by ’09, the economy had completely tanked. Some of us had jobs, more of us didn’t. A lot of us were living at our parents’ homes, humbled by bedrooms we grew up in. Applying for jobs was no more than uploading resumes into a digital Bermuda Triangle: CVs were never heard from again. About the only positive from that year was the Obama family in the White House.

By 2012, the Obamas had returned for an encore. West held his first ready-to-wear show, married Kim Kardashian in Florence, Italy (as featured on special episodes of Keeping Up With the Kardashians), and captured Grammys with Jay-Z for 2011’s “N—as in Paris,” which sold 5 million copies alone. The recession apparently ended in late 2009. Some of us moved to new cities to chase original dreams. Some did OK. More were left wondering when and how the sleepless nights, rejection letters and no callbacks would be worth the heartbreaks.

Kanye West attends the Louise Goldin fashion show during MADE Fashion Week Spring 2014 at Milk Studios on September 7, 2013 in New York City.

Ilya S. Savenok/Getty Images

And West’s celebrity increased. As he continued to search for peace in his, we searched for our own. At what point is sacrifice for a dream worth the pain? And at what costs do dreams become real? Life after Graduation, figuratively and literally, came with no road map.


Kanye West in 2017 is of course different from the one who created his own Graduation 10 years ago Monday. We all lose our innocence — it’s what happens if you’re blessed to live long enough.

West has a son and a daughter now (and another baby girl on the way carried by a surrogate) and is married to a mob. With Yeezy, he doubled down his dream of being a fashion innovator and changed for the better the fortunes of Adidas. West and Jay-Z aren’t on speaking terms in part because of West’s unpredictability. West’s life has become progressively more discombobulated: Paparazzi rants. Calling out Jay-Z at his shows. Blasting Wiz Khalifa in Twitter rants. Shaming ex-girlfriend Amber Rose. Supporting Trump. The hospitalization. But the three albums that follow Graduation — 808s & Heartbreaks, My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy and Watch The Throne — still get burn.

The few from that original Graduation-day cypher who I keep in touch with have gone on to find some sort of peace in life, even in these times. We remain connected to Graduation because it helped define us with its unabashed confidence and unfiltered vulnerability. That’s what West represented perhaps more than any artist at that time. Volatile, charming and impulsive, he was rap’s most astute mama’s boy — and its most massively sensitive Gemini since Tupac Shakur. West’s waves not only topped charts and made headlines but also stirred emotions on a deeply personal level.

I know people wouldn’t usually rap this/ But I got the facts to back this / Just last year, Chicago had over 600 caskets / Man, killing’s some wack s—/ Oh, I forgot, ’cept when n—as is rappin’ / Do you know what it feel like when people is passin’?

We laugh about the cypher during Hampton homecoming weekends. But we also talk about how it doesn’t seem like West has found any peace. I don’t know. But I do know his mother was an integral part of the making of his first three albums — of the “old Kanye” he rapped about on last year’s entertaining, uneven The Life of Pablo. According to bereavement expert Phyllis R. Silverman, we lose not only the person who has died but also a relationship and the sense of self that existed in that relationship. It could be that West is searching for a sound that no longer exists because a large part of the inspiration for that sound no longer exists.

We remain connected to Graduation because it helped define us with its unabashed confidence and unfiltered vulnerability.

A couple of months ago, around the time West was seen chopping it up with Donald Trump, I had a conversation with a homey from that Graduation cypher. “I can’t believe this n—- is rocking blond hair now. … I wasted good weed on this dude,” he told me. “But I really believe this all boils down to his mom’s passing. He never took the time to cry, it seems.”

I mostly remember Graduation as the last album Donda West heard. The closest West’s come to addressing the effects of his mother’s death, and his burden living with it, came on 2015’s “Only One” — the meaning of his birth name. I can’t help but hear Graduation songs in “Only One.” If for no other reason than the 2007 Kanye could have never believed he’d have to make that song.

Positioned as an open letter to Kanye and Kim’s daughter, North, from her grandmother Donda, the record is a very specific emotional canvas of the pain Kanye carries. I talked to God about you/ He said he sent you an angel / And look at all that he gave you, Kanye sings. You asked for one and you got two / You know I never left you / ’Cause every road that leads to heaven’s right inside you. Playing the record back, with North sitting on his lap, Kanye couldn’t recall singing the words. He came to the conclusion that the words didn’t come from him, but through him. “My mom was singing to me,” he said, “and through me, to my daughter.”

It’s this burden, and this pursuit of peace, that Kanye Omari West has been living with since Graduation. In 2015, he said his biggest sacrifice was his mom. “If I had never moved to L.A., she’d be alive,” he told the U.K. music magazine Q. “I don’t want to go far into it because it will bring me to tears.”

That’s what Graduation means. It’s not just the album itself and some of the greatest songs he’s ever recorded that live on there, and how we were higher than telephone wires that late summer night. It’s not just how Graduation accurately reflected a period when so many of us believed we had life under control — and then we didn’t. Life happens. We found out the hard way, after graduation. Kanye, too, found out after Graduation.

Anheuser-Busch sends more than 155,000 emergency cans of water to Harvey victims The company temporarily halted beer production to can water for victims in areas devastated by the hurricane

In the midst of chaos and destruction left behind by Hurricane Harvey, brewing company Anheuser-Busch is coming to the aid of those affected by delivering canned emergency drinking water to devastated areas.

On Aug. 28, Anheuser-Busch sent its first truckload from Georgia to Baton Rouge, Louisiana, to be delivered to the city’s local American Red Cross. In the upcoming days, other truckloads will deliver canned water to American Red Cross facilities across Texas, including Arlington, Corpus Christi, Houston and Austin.

“Putting our production and logistics strengths to work is the best way we can help in these situations,” said Bill Bradley, Anheuser-Busch’s vice president of community affairs. “Having successfully delivered three truckloads of clean, safe drinking water, when we received the request for additional shipments of water, we were happy to be able to help. By pausing our production line to produce more emergency drinking water, we are ensuring that we are always ready to support American communities in need.”

The company felt the need to act after Harvey made landfall on Aug. 25 near Port O’Connor, Texas, as a powerful Category 4 storm, producing winds of 130 mph. Since then, about 27 trillion gallons of rain have fallen over Texas and Louisiana, more than 200 shelters are housing nearly 32,000 displaced residents in Texas, and more than 72,000 people have been rescued. As of now, the storm-related death toll stands at 46, but that could rise as floodwaters recede.

The trucks are set to deliver more than 155,000 cans to the various facilities.

Anheuser-Busch has a history of halting beer production throughout the year to prepare the emergency canned water. In most years, the company has been one of the first to ship water during natural disasters, including Hurricane Katrina in 2005, Superstorm Sandy in 2012, and the Texas and Oklahoma floods in 2015.

Will Hurricane Harvey prompt NBA players to replicate 2005 Relief Game? Charity game lifted the spirits of Hurricane Katrina survivors

Then-Detroit Pistons star Chauncey Billups and I were nearly in tears from what we saw in a mammoth space inside the George R. Brown Convention Center in Houston in September 2005.

There were hundreds of cots occupied primarily by mothers resting with young children and the elderly. They were displaced victims of Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans, stressed and trying to figure out what to do next. Whatever possessions they had left sat next to their makeshift beds. The lines for medical help were long. Portable toilets were up front.

With former NBA player Kenny Smith leading the charge, NBA players, including Billups, Kobe Bryant and LeBron James, were there to witness the pain, bring financial aid and offer a smile through a charity basketball game.

“It’s hurtful man, hurtful,” Billups told me at the time for a story in The Denver Post. “The only positive is at least these kids got to smile for a couple minutes.”

Hurricane Katrina was one of the five deadliest hurricanes in the United States, causing destruction along the Gulf Coast from Central Florida to Texas and most notably in New Orleans. The August 2005 storm contributed to the deaths of more than 1,200 people and more than $100 billion in property damage. Many people affected by Hurricane Katrina relocated temporarily and then permanently to Houston.

Now Houston is suffering the nightmare that haunted New Orleans 12 years ago. Hurricane Harvey has dumped torrential rain on the city, with ABC News meteorologists forecasting historic rainfall totals of up to 50 inches by Wednesday. Houston has had more than 1,000 calls for rescue, and people were forced to their rooftops.

NBA All-Stars such as James, Stephen Curry, Kevin Durant, Chris Paul, James Harden and DeMarcus Cousins have tweeted well-wishes and prayers to the people of Houston and elsewhere in Texas. Paul and Cousins also tweeted information on how to give to those in need through Youcaring.com and the Red Cross. Paul donated $50,000. Houston Rockets owner Leslie Alexander pledged $4 million to the relief effort on Monday and reportedly increased that donation to $10 million on Tuesday.

Chrysa Chin, executive vice president of strategy and development for the National Basketball Players Association (NBPA), said Monday that the union is “exploring options” to help hurricane victims.

“We’re concerned and want to help,” Chin said.

Perhaps this time they can do it in New Orleans, where locals can certainly relate to the pain. Maybe Cousins and fellow New Orleans Pelicans All-Star Anthony Davis — along with Paul, who is president of the NBPA and a former Hornets star — could host a charity game at the Smoothie King Center in The Big Easy. Or maybe Paul and Harden, both Houston Rockets stars, could host it in Houston when possible. If a charity game and weekend is anything like it was in Houston during the 2005 NBA Players Hurricane Relief Game, it could be one of the most fulfilling moments of their NBA careers. It certainly was one of the most memorable moments for me in 18 seasons of covering the NBA.

Turner Sports NBA analyst and ex-Rockets guard Smith spearheaded putting together the star-studded rosters, the venue and television rights in 30 hours. Participating players each gave a minimum of $10,000. More than $1 million in funds, food and goods were collected before the Toyota Center doors opened in Houston. A crowd of 11,416 included Hurricane Katrina survivors, who were given free tickets in the upper deck, while the lower deck seats were sold for charity. The game included Billups, James, Bryant, Kevin Garnett, Dwyane Wade, Carmelo Anthony and Allen Iverson, who coached. There was even a brief performance by Kanye West.

“There’s never been a basketball game of more importance,” Smith said at the time.

Anthony cut short a vacation in the Bahamas to play and wore a T-shirt that read, “PRAY.”

“I’m doing this for the cause,” Anthony said.

Before the charity game, emotional NBA players visited several local shelters housing survivors. Then-Nuggets forward Kenyon Martin, who was recovering from knee surgery and didn’t play, donated shoes to the Fishers of Men Christian Church. Former NBA player and New Orleans native Robert Pack was also there. His aunt Debbie Mason was still missing at the time.

Perhaps James best described the emotions the NBA players had that day.

“If you’re not humble, everything we saw today made you put things in perspective,” James said.

It isn’t necessary for the players to do this. But whether it’s a financial donation or an autograph signing or picture taking, that could lessen the pain for a moment.

I’m sure the Hurricane Katrina survivors who went to the charity game or met the players still appreciate the help and smiles they received from the hoop stars 12 years ago. From what I witnessed, those NBA stars gave them great memories during one of the worst times of their lives.

Said then-12-year-old Diamond Hudson of New Orleans: “I wanted to faint when LeBron James kissed me on the forehead. I love every one of these basketball players.”

“It means a lot,” said Ronald Gabriel of Algiers, Louisiana, who landed several NBA player autographs at the time. “It means that they care, mindfully, thoughtfully. It matters.”