John A. Williams and Chester Himes

Another cold and rainy morning. I'm sick of it. I thought I was living near the District of Columbia, Washington DC, and not Seattle, Washington. Ugh.

Spent the morning reading a collection of letters between writers John A. Williams and Chester Himes. I recall as a child being introduced to both these writers by my mother. One summer we were taking a road trip to New York. My father was driving while my mother sat in the front seat of the car laughing her head off while reading a Himes' novel. Undoubtedly, I picked up the novel behind her, which I was inclined and allowed to do. As a child, I was permitted to read anything that I wanted to, provided I consented to discussing the book with my mother after I read it. So you can imagine the type of trouble I got into with my English teachers for reading literature that was not age appropriate. But that is another story for another blog.

Years later, while on the faculty of the University of Rochester, I arranged a colloquia and invited John A. Williams to speak. Williams' papers are housed at the university. They seemed of little or no importance to the faculty until I brought to their attention the value of having Williams' papers there, or so it seemed. An hour before I was to meet Williams and his wife Lori for dinner, my computer ate, devoured, extinguished, did something to my introduction of Williams. I was so crushed because I finally in my own way wanted to give Williams his due. Williams, like Baldwin, held a prominent place in my mother's mind as one of the most formidable Black writers of his generation. So I was not only letting down Williams, but in some way my mother too. Luckily, at the time I had committed most of Williams' biography and works to heart, having re-read all of his work in print in preparation for my introduction, and had spent hours in his papers at the University of Rochester skimming through boxes and boxes of personal correspondences, letters to the utility companies, post cards, etc. While I did not necessarily give Williams his due, I am certain that he was not terribly disappointed. We had a good evening, the reading was excellent, and almost everything came off without a hitch; except the university had neglected to cut a check for Williams' honorarium. Having read more than enough about Black writers not getting paid, I was very uncomfortable telling Williams that I did not have a check for him at the end of the reading. But I promised my first born to him if I did not get the check. (Williams was kind enough to correspond with my child months before the reading). I got Williams' honorarium mailed off to him and did not have to give up my first born (not that Williams and Lori even wanted another child to raise).

In reading the correspondences between these two men, I am intrigued by their mobility throughout Europe, Africa, and the United States. Men, who it seems, moved every few months trying to find ideal conditions under which to live and write, and how difficult it was for them to find a place where they could settle down. The challenges with agents and editors appear to be so daunting it's sheer wonder that either Williams or Himes was able to get any writing done.

But both writers have given us bodies of work that are incredible and attest to their commitment to the craft despite the obstacles. If you haven't picked up any works by Williams or Himes in a while, please do.