Tuesday night, May 15, 2007, Yolanda King died. Mike called me with the news Wednesday morning and I was stunned. How could this be? She's younger than me.Yoki lived in the limelight as well as the shadow of an amazing father. During the 3 years I knew her in graduate school, she tried not to capitalize on her notoriety. She was kind and gentle and thoughtful and above all else, she wanted to be liked for herself, not for her position in the Black society of the early 70's. She wanted a career in the theatre and for this reason, she placed herself in one of the most rigorous acting programs of that time. We were there in the years of Peter Kass and Olympia Dukakis.
I remember our tears in acting class as we tried to find our individual "truths." I remember when it was just Yoki, Bil, Claire, and Roy. Looking back, I can see we were just five very dysfunctional friends trying to "make meaning" by mashing up modern dance, poetry, and theatre. We were pretty darn interesting despite all the craziness. I remember the gospel music. I remember going to Harlem churches with Yoki... a much different experience than going to Harlem alone. I remember going to Atlanta for a summer residency at the King Center and meeting the extended King family of sister, brothers, uncles & aunts. I remember Ebenezer Baptist Church. I remember sunbathing in Coretta Scott King's backyard (what was I thinking?). I remember the house: a museum to Dr. King ... every inch of wall space covered with pictures of him and his family, friends, and political contacts. I remember seeing his Nobel Peace prize.
I remember Yoki's apartment on 8th street. I remember her kitten falling out of the window. I remember her diets. I remember the times we would hang out at Lady Astor's. I remember the rehearsals ... endless rehearals on one of Bil's pieces. I remember the parties. I remember celebrating my baptism. I remember celebrating her birthday. I remember dressing up. I remember her beautiful, sensuous lips. I remember her confusion as she struggled with the demands of her heritage.
I remember Mrs. King coming to our graduation ceremony in Washington Square. Yoki arranged it so my own mother and brother could sit with Mrs. King. It was a high point for my mother ... and for me.... to have my graduation pictures sprinkled with the King family. Mrs. King was one of the most gracious women I have ever met. She taught her daughters to be the same.
I remember the last time I saw Yoki, many years later, when she came to Maryland on a Black History month whirlwind. I met her latest boyfriend and she met my husband. We talked about the old days over dinner. And then, like a throwback, the tires of her rental car were slashed so we had to take them to the airport. Some things never seem to change.
Over the years, I have always received Christmas cards and announcements from Yoki, but of course, I was no longer on her truly personal list and most of the correspondence was done by her staff. All the same, I counted her friend for three intense years of my life.
May God give peace to your soul, Yoki, old friend.
