Good Morning Class of 2023, I salute and applaud you!
Thank you to the Board of Trustees, President Nayef Samhat, the faculty and staff for your embrace and generosity. Your acknowledgement and invitation, bestowing this honorary degree and allowing me to address this amazing body of Wofford grads.
I want to acknowledge my distinguished fellow honorees and recognize all the parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, sisters and brothers, friends of the families as well as any and everybody who helped you arrive at this moment entering the world of your tomorrows as graduating seniors.
I am filled with pride, excitement and honestly a touch of anxiety. Yet here I am where it all began - front and center and for these few moments, I am excited to have your attention.
I want to tell you about my hungry years, coming of age and the role Wofford College played in my life because it is from these life experiences that I can offer you advice today. Recognizing your journey here was not a solo flight; you had to have had support from many and I am living proof of that. If you are lucky to be a part of a village like Spartanburg was for me, then you are blessed.
Today we commemorate years of your hard work, and as part of my send off to you, I’d like to share some of my stories of growing up, mentorship, and what I hope you’ll bring into the world as you go forth.
From an early age I was curious and relentless when it came to understanding people and my surroundings. I felt most people were well meaning, had goodness within them. This of course would prove to be part of life’s lessons which are challenging and disappointing at times but insightful and informative, even rewarding...understanding human nature and myself.
Now music was fortunately my refuge – my language. It was where I fully became the best version of myself. I would burst into song at the drop of a hat…so don’t drop your hat! But cooking and eating was a close second. I learned to cook, spending hours in the kitchen with my mom. Coming from a family of cooks and chefs, it was second nature to me.
Blessed to have two loving parents, Johnnie Mae and Alex Smalls, hardworking parents who were very involved and engaged in both my life and my sisters. Their greatest gift to me was they never said “no” or discouraged me when I’d come home with the next big idea of what I wanted to be when I grew up.
They allowed me to dream out loud and often. They were hoping I’d become a teacher, doctor, or a lawyer – even the president of the United States would be fine. Yet I declared I was going to be an opera singer – a performer which simply confused and frightened them. They worried I would never have a job.
Becoming an opera singer was different, on so many levels. Nobody who looked like us was an opera singer. They had never seen one in person. They certainly didn’t trust the one inside the TV. But as uncomfortable as the idea was, they never said no. They just supported me. When I needed ballet lessons, fencing lessons, voice lessons and meditation classes, they supported me. Now mind you this was the sixties…in the South…in America!
When I was 8 years old, my aunt Laura, a classical pianist/teacher and my uncle Joe, a seasoned chef and renaissance man took center stage in my young life. Uncle Joe taught me the language of cooking…how to put my culture and imagination on a plate with every dish I created. “Cooking is a true art form,” he would say. Because of him, I loved cooking just as much as singing. And because of him I am a chef.
They moved back to Spartanburg from Harlem, New York, reuniting with the family and as my uncle put it to “oversee my education.” I was the first and only boy of my generation. Having helped raise my dad, my uncle didn’t trust him to get it right.
Uncle Joe bought me my first piano, and Aunt Laura taught me to play my first song. Her long nails danced upon the keys as we played melodies together. They immersed me in a world of fine literature,
John Dunn, Bryon, Shelley, the great French writers Voltaire and Alexandre Dumas not to mention Shakespeare, Hall Johnson, and Langston Hughes - writers of the Harlem Renaissance. Imagine how the neighbors talked about us. I would often recite loudly under the old oak tree in the side yard monologues and sonnets. If you thought “The Cosby Show” had proper Black folks with flare and “highfalutin airs,” in the eighties and nineties, my aunt and uncle were their precursors in the sixties right here in Spartanburg, South Carolina.
My parents wondered why an 8-year-old needed this exposure but allowed it all…even yoga classes. My aunt and uncle introduced me to symphonic music, opera, and chamber ensembles. My favorite opera singers, Brigit Neilson, Marian Anderson, Caruso, Maria Callas, Corelli and Tito Gobi (whom I later in life studied with in in Rome), were all in my top ten play list. I was unique in this venture; this was something NONE of my friends were into and you can imagine why - lol!
I was also lucky enough to have incredible mentors. One such person was Ms. Beatrice Cleveland, my piano teacher and first choral director, who took me under her wing and nurtured my young talent during the early years. Upon transferring to Spartan High, Mr. John Mabry, master choral director, saw the growth and musical maturity and polished me into a real performer. He was the first to declare that I had what it took to be a star.
These mentors helped change the trajectory of my life into a world that had not made room for my dreams. They saw my promise and pushed me forward - a lesson about the gift of human kindness; that forever changed me. They taught me to never underestimate the power you have to lift up others – make a difference – change the course of someone’s life with generosity.
I then met the amazing Martha C. Chapman, philanthropist and socialite, my champion and cheerleader. She was a wife and mother. Her daughter and my very good friend Dorothy Chapman Josey is here today. Martha Chapman was fearless - my “Auntie Mame!” She was a highly accomplished and duly respected White woman, and I was her willing protégé. She would take me from one social event to the next. We would on occasion go to the country club for lunch which was not integrated until we arrived. I was the only Black person being served to the amazement of both staff and the club members who stared at us like we were a mirage!
She would ignore all of them. No one dared to question Martha Chapman. She set the rules of engagement - under her breath she would whisper, “Look at that old fart over there, he’s in shock.” And he was! She would stare back at anyone who attempted to make me uncomfortable - engaging them or worst, completely ignoring them. I wanted to be her when I grew up. She helped prepare me for a world I would learn to navigate and claim as my own. Thanks to her, I continue to this day to work hard for what I believe is right—and like her in my own way.
So, l, like many of you, dreamed of going to several colleges and was weighing all my options. Wofford was the last place I imagined I would land since I didn’t apply. I sent applications everywhere, including far off places I dreamed of visiting and collected acceptance letters like dividends, but then something would happen that changed everything.
I would meet Paul Hardin, president of Wofford College, and all bets were off. President Hardin was a man of great charisma – a big smile and intentional in his actions, a man with the care and the heart of a person who lived with kindness and wisdom. He wrapped his arms and influence around me and made me his personal project and a part of his family. Keeping me in Spartanburg was the goal. He felt strongly that allowing the most talented students to leave home in search of bigger horizons was unacceptable, and he was going to change that starting with me. He created a place for me here at Wofford for my academics, and I became the first Wofford student studying at Converse in music to guarantee my education so both disciplines could be served. Paul Hardin did that for me.
At Wofford, I thrived. As we were only about 10 African American young men on campus, two of us decided to rush a fraternity my first year, which if anyone knows me, it is more than evident that I am not fraternity material. I didn’t make the cut!
But I did join the Glee Club and became the soloist. A couple of other Black students also helped fill out the roster, making us an integrated choir.
Those were challenging and changing times in America in the shadow of the Civil Rights Movement. A young Black man, as the soloist of the Glee Club and a Black pianist, was revolutionary at a historically traditional all-white college. In the South, the dream of President Hardin and my parents seem to take root. Showcasing my talents for the college was great, but, sometimes when life seems perfect, it takes a sudden unexpected turn – and that is what happened next. In an instant, reality slapped me stupid. I would no longer be able to avoid the truth of the Black and White of my world. I had to face the music – the ugly power of racism – and it humbled me to my core.
When the Glee Club set out on tour as part of a campaign to show off the choir, garner donor support and excite interest in the diversity and excellence of the college once segregated now integrated, we performed throughout the Carolinas and Virginia and concluded with a concert in Washington, D.C. All was going well. We were generously received in every city and our spirits were high.
Late one afternoon, our bus drove into Goldsboro, North Carolina, and into a parking lot filled with beautiful shiny cars and people waiting for us like a welcome committee. We were excited. The Choirmaster announced that we would not be staying in a hotel, because Wofford families would be hosting us. The Black students were asked to remain on the bus while the white students grabbed their bags and were met by waiting families who ushered them in those beautiful cars and one by one drove away. As we sat wondering our fate, the choir director in a limp, apologetic voice told us that no families offered us space. They found a Black worker from the country club where we were performing the next day who volunteered to take us, and some kids were waiting to take us there. We didn’t know where or what the accommodations would be like. Stunned and wrestling with feelings of rejection, borrowed shame and bewilderment, we grabbed our bags and followed the two young boys who walked us along the railroad tracks about a mile to our host’s house. At a small residence we saw an older Black woman who was wearing a huge welcoming smile standing in the doorway. She made us a modest dinner and put us to bed in her home.
That was a moment in my life I never forgot. The sting of rejection and disappointment. The message delivered - that I was not good enough - was devasting. I had convinced myself that I was the exception. I had managed to escape the indifference of those who saw me as less than what I knew myself to be. I was forced to dig deeper into myself for the strength and courage it would take to be everything I knew I could be – most of all as good as anyone else.
Being the best became the only way I could be the exception. I had to overachieve, over prepare, to never allow my sense of worth or value be determined by others - especially people who discriminated against me. The disappointment of that experience became fuel in my tank.
The moral of the story is in life, we all have our cross to bear. Yours may not be the same as mine. You have to overcome the burdens others attempt to place upon you. Persevere beyond the noise because life demands that you do. If you are to accomplish your goals and realize your dreams, you have to do more and be more.
Years later, after winning a Grammy and a Tony, I was rejected constantly at opera houses in America. Told, I didn’t fit the part, the color of my skin still an issue. I would endure indifference and disregard, blatantly and sometimes in less obvious ways. My talent was not in question, but it was never enough.
I realized if I was going to be everything I wanted to be, I had to not only have a seat at the table, I had to own it. I could not own an opera house, but I could own a restaurant. So, I traded one stage for another. One I could control and own. I opened the first fine dining African American restaurant in New York City, over 30 years ago – Café Beulah.
I had no money, and no banks would give me money. My only option was friends and family. Thank God, they rallied for me. I had no idea what I was doing. I had a dream and was committed to do whatever I had to.
My friend, the great writer, Toni Morrison, wrote the first check and hosted her Nobel Prize party there. Actress Phylicia Rashad wrote the second check to support me. Phylicia, who back in 1971, I met while at Wofford College. She was starring in the musical, HAIR, that came to Spartanburg. Imagine becoming part of her circle. Recapturing the moment of being on Wofford’s campus and later in life able to share the memories, she became an investor in my restaurant and now over 40 years of friendship. Hey, maybe Wofford should give her a doctorate degree. I can help arrange that, Mr. President.
I went on to open five critically-acclaimed restaurants in New York City. Won dozens of awards and opened the first African dining hall in Dubai. 22,000 square feet, 12 concepts. I wrote three critically-acclaimed books because they needed to be written. Won the James Beard Award for the second book, and I am writing my fourth book for Phaidon Press about modern African chefs and publishing a children’s book in 2024. Recently, I have been named Culinary Ambassador for the Spice Island of Grenada in the Grenadines. It all started here at Wofford College!
This, graduates, is what I urge you to do: Don’t let others shape your narrative…who you are. YOU are the one who needs to determine your worth…who you are. Always recognize your strengths, your value, your intelligence—your beauty inside and out. And never let that go.
I want to give you some food for thought to take with you on your journey. As an artist, a full-time dreamer and at times a magician, I have learned the value of a good recipe in everything I do.
Always start with the best ingredients.
Most of these ingredients come from within you – the best you.
Your list should include a positive attitude and a caring heart.
Be supportive, intentional, purposeful, responsible, dependable, kind, honest, truthful, accountable, courageous, confident. Show up for others, AND especially yourself. Never be afraid of being uncomfortable. It is how you grow, how you make life work, how you succeed in overcoming your uncomfortableness. Become your best self in everything that you do. Be the best person you most want to meet.
That’s a perfect recipe.
I want to say to the graduating Class of 2023 starting out in life, dreams are the fuel of the soul. They are your power, your secret weapon, the impetus to reach your goals. My dreams are why I stand before you. My dreams are why, I can look back on a life full of challenges, fights, highs & lows, wins & setbacks, despair & triumphs. If there were failures, I never acknowledged them as so. A failure is a lesson to learn from...not a defeat...not a reason to quit.
In life the greatest gift you give yourself...is yourself.
You are your best recipe for your best life.
Discovering the wonder of your authentic truth is how you uncover your greatness. Hold on to your moral fabric and excite your humanity with generosity and kindness. Don’t be afraid to care about others. It is life changing. Never ever quit.
Always finish what you start with the intention to win.
Thank you!