Interview with Martina Kunnecke, April 19, 2016

Wes Cunningham: This is Wes Cunningham on April 19th in the basement of the Humanities building in the digital humanities lab with Martina Nichols Kunnecke. 

Martina Nichols Kunnecke: Right. 

WC: If you could do me a favor and just say your name and spell it for the record and just kind of tell me a little bit about where you're from and if you're not from Louisville how you got here and so forth. 

MK: Ok. My name is Martina Nichols Kunnecke: M-a-r-t-i-n-a N-i-c-h-o-l-s K-u-n-n-e-c-k-e. I am a Louisville native and I've lived here all my life except for a number of years I moved down to Atlanta, Georgia-- so I lived there for a bit when I was married. So, that's how I ended up here-- I was born here (laughs). 

WC: Where'd you go to school growing up?

MK: I went to school-- I grew up in a neighborhood called the California neighborhood and I went to Phillis Wheatley Elementary and then Manly Junior High which no longer exists and then I graduated from DuPont Manual, class of '70. 

(Laughter)

WC: Can you tell me a little bit about the city life in Louisville around that time? If you lived in California but then went to Manual, was that a pretty regular thing for people?

MK: The California neighborhood is what I'm talking about. 

WC: Uh-huh, yeah. 

MK: Things are very different than growing up as-- in the late '50s, early 60's and '70 in Louisville. Of course, Louisville --it was coming-- that's the tail-end of Jim Crow. We were emerging from Jim Crow. I grew up in a neighborhood, however, that was not segregated. It was a poor, working class neighborhood. It's an historic neighborhood even though it's not being treated 2:00with the respect it deserves. So our next-door neighbor, you know, we just had such a mix of ethnic groups and so called races within our community. The neighborhood, the California neighborhood, was predominately African American but there was a pair of German sisters that lived across the street from us. We all lived-- my parents and my cousins and my brothers-- all lived in my grandmother's house. It was a camelback on 15th Street and my grandmother used to compete with my German sisters as to how they trimmed their hedges and kept their yards neat and that kind of thing.  And then, the nearest junior high, today that would be middle school, was a mile away and so it was very typical for a bunch of us to meet at the corner of 15th and Oak in the morning-- this is amazing for me to think this now. You would never see this today, but at 15th 3:00and Oak, our friends would gather and we would walk to Brook and Oak-- that's over a mile walk in the morning to go to school. Today, if you saw a hoard of mostly African American children walking up the street, the police would be called. 

WC: Uh-huh.

MK: But in those days, no one thought a thing of it. So-- very different. A real sense of community then that's not evident now. 

WC: What did you do after you graduated from Manual?

MK: Well, I had a scholarship to Centre College and the night before I was supposed to go to Danville, I called my mother and told her I was going to go live with the hippies at the Free Press of Louisville. So, instead of going to college right after high school, I went to work with the hippies on that underground newspaper which is now-- I think the Filson Club (?) has those papers now (laughs).  So, I became a student or a journalist for the Free Press 4:00of Louisville. And for a very short time, I was editor of that paper --for a very brief time, when they couldn't find anybody that would stand up to being editor. 

WC: Can you tell me a little bit about your experience at the Free Press? 

MK: I want to write about it and I'm sorry I didn't take notes on it then. I was just seventeen because I was an early-- I graduated kind of early-- because I was born late in the year, so I was always younger than my counterparts. And, I went there, it was a commune. I was probably the straightest person-- even at seventeen-- I was not a druggie, I was not one for free sex or anything. But I was very interested in politics, even then. And what I learned there was there are people who have authentic political interest and really want to make a difference. And then there are people who Tom-wolf call the radical chic and I 5:00found out what that meant long before I read that book --wherever that book-- whatever the name of that book is-- where he talks about that. But there are people who are interested in putting out a newspaper, gathering information, really challenging the establishment. And there are people who just like to hang out, do drugs, have a good time. And so, I was part of the former group. I happened to marry a person that was part of the latter group (laughs) which caused some-- but it was very interesting. I learned a lot of things-- I had been interested in journalism, I was the editor of my high school paper and that sort of-- so I learned a lot of practical things about laying out a newspaper-- none of which have any application today because it's all electronic. But, I'd spend many hours standing around a light table and piecing those pieces together. I became much more aware of the local politics. Before, I was kind of 6:00keyed into the national scene because it's mostly-- but not so keyed into how important our local politics are to our everyday life. I learned I did not like communal living.

(Laughter) 

MK: --And it did not like me either. 

WC: So what got you interested in politics at such a young age? I feel like graduating high school seniors typically aren't as motivated to get into politics. 

MK: I feel like a lot of it has to do with growing up African American during that period. And I don't think we see it today as much as we did now, but my parents and my grandparents had a real role-- they had a real relationship with 7:00their environment-- and they understood very clearly what the limitations were. And they understood very clearly that they were still trying to-- having to fight for basic things. And one of the key weapons in those sort of key struggles is the vote. So, I grew up in a family where my father would get up --he was an early riser-- but on Election Day, he was always the first one up, he was usually the first at the polls. He would shave, put on his aftershave lotion, and be the first at the polls. So, we grew up with that and we grew up with folks in the household talking about national events usually. They didn't talk so much about what was happening locally. And when I became an historian later myself, I was surprised to learn a lot of the things that had happened in our community while I was around but I had not heard about these things. And I think many times in African American families, there was a tendency to not talk 8:00about those things because it was painful or they felt powerless. I'm not really sure. I wish they were around now so I could ask them. The presidential elections, Martin Luther King, almost anything on a national level, we would hear a lot about. But local stuff, not so much. 

WC: And did that kind of motivate you to want to educate others by being a journalist?

MK: Yeah, and I am. I think people are sort of born with certain core characteristics. And so, as a person, I've always been one that wanted to change things. If I saw something that was wrong, I was never one to say, "Oh, well that's too bad. That's just the way it is." That's just not in my makeup unfortunately for me. 

(Laughter)

So, I have a lot of stomach acid problems because apparently there's obviously a 9:00lot of problems that are difficult to solve. And, yeah so that was very much a motivating factor. I was an avid reader throughout, in fact, when-- before I went to school, my mother told me, "You're going to be going to school." Well, I didn't want to go to school because I'm sort of a hermit-- I didn't really want to go there. But she mentioned to me that there were books there and I really liked books. And growing up poor, we didn't have a lot of books, we had some. But the thought of going some place where they had a lot of books, that was ok. So, I went and I found that books were the best thing. There were a lot of bad things (laughs). So yeah, I think that yeah. 

WC: Can you tell me about how you kind of got involved in the local art scene in Louisville? 

MK: Sort of on the fringes and some of the other people you've interviewed are 10:00older than I am and so, I met them as sort of a-- not exactly-- but almost in a little sister kind of role. I have three brothers and the brother that was next to me, he and I were identified early on as sort of artistic prodigies. And so we first became involved in the arts through what's now called the Louisville Visual Arts Association. I'm not sure what it was called then, but consequently, we were identified as students that should pursue some sort of trained art activity. And so for a period of time, my brother Daniel and I would after school --a couple of days a week if I recall correctly-- walk from Phillis Wheatley at --old Phillis Wheatley's on 17th Street I think-- to Parkland Junior High and we would take art lessons from whoever-- there was somebody obviously 11:00an instructor. And we were very much encouraged at the time to-- and in fact my brother Daniel, who passed away some time ago, he became an artist. I did not because I was more into the writing and what not. But that's how I became interested.

And then, after I ran away with the hippies, I encountered these folks from the Louisville Art Workshop and came to know them as individuals and kind of brush with them from time to time because they would do a lot of community type of activities. There was a group --if I remember correctly, I hope I'm not mixing these up-- there was a group that opened up sort of an art-- I think they even called it art alley. Down just north of Westboro (?) at like 35th Street or 12:00something. And they had rented space in garages or whatever as I recall and they did art-- street painting and art lessons for kids in the neighborhood. 

WC: What do you remember as being kind of their motivating factor-- like why they engaged the community?

MK: Well, they were sort of emblematic of the time. First of all, I think many of them-- and my own brother found this when he went off to Concordia College out in North Dakota-- I think many of them faced challenges in terms of actually being artists. People did not take them seriously-- or their artistic culture did not take-- white artistic culture did not take them seriously. And sometimes, the way they expressed themselves artistically was not in the traditional sense. So you saw bolder colors, you saw bolder themes-- definitely 13:00a different flavor than what they had been raised with, probably. 

Now, during that period --that was like the psychedelic la la la period-- and so you were seeing artists of all descriptions express themselves in a different way. But for African Americans, they were faced with that challenge of-- I don't want to say pursuing legitimacy, because they were legitimate-- but for acceptance. And so, consequently, I believe-- and of course they would speak for themselves better-- that they felt a social responsibility to help children express themselves, to feel good about themselves. So, besides being an artist, they felt they had a social mission. And I don't know that that was as common among non-ethnic artists at the time. And that's because of our different 14:00experiences. They had a social responsibility in addition to a need to express themselves. 

WC: Can you tell me about some of the main characters that you really remember from those--

MK: I remember-- you know what, I knew you were going to ask me that and my memories have gotten so bad that I won't be able to remember those (laughs). Of course Ed Hamilton comes to mind mainly because he's gone on to become so famous or popular. Elmer Lucille (?), of course. William Duffy, who I had forgotten he was involved with them until like maybe five or six years ago or fairly recently when somebody said, "Oh, don't you remember Duffy was part of that?" And actually, of them all, he is among my favorite I think, most talented and most underrated. There's the fellow that died, well, there's been a couple-- Fred Bond.

WC: Uh-huh.

MK: --Certainly one. Such an elegant person, quiet, very talented, serious artist, Fred Bond. Oh, what is that fellow's name, it may come to me as we talk--

WC: G.C.?

MK: G.C. Coxe

WC: Uh-huh

MK: Yeah, yeah. And then there was another-- try some other names. Do you remember?

WC: Uh, the main one's that I've come across are Fred Bond, G.C. Coxe, and then the few folks who moved well before the art workshop --the guys who kind of made it big before the art workshop was founded-- Dr. Douglas. 

MK: Yeah. Have you talked to Bob Douglas?

WC: Uh-huh (laughs)

MK: I'd forgotten about-- certainly Dr. Douglas. You know, they all had such a mystery about them. Some were more approachable than others. Have you talked to Laura Perlong (?) because she was sort of mixed up with them-- I don't know if 16:00you-- and she was not, she is not African American. She and her husband were the ones that established the Man Gypsy restaurant, so she hung out with them. And she was part of that art alley exercise. 

WC: Can you tell me what you remember of G.C. Coxe?

MK: All these folks were just so larger than life to me. And it would be interesting to see them now that I am an adult. But, they all-- they were all kind of-- I don't want to say otherworldly, I don't want to say they were spooky or anything like that (laughs) but they had a dignity that folks in my age group-- they probably were maybe five/ten years older than I maybe. But they had 17:00a dignity that I thought attracted them or made them attractive or appealing. They had their own vision about the world and they dared to express that vision in a time when people were still-- even though that was the 60's 70's whatever, it was a time of revolution of sorts. Most folks were still pretty conservative in many ways, pretty traditional. And they all stood out in that way. They all stood out in that way. And they used loud colors (laughs). I remember a lot of orange and black, browns. They use bold colors, bold strokes. 

WC: Do you remember there being any kind of interconnection between the political world and the art community?

MK: Very much so, I mean, it was very very politicized. And a lot of the themes if you-- now, what's the name of the art institute?-- Height (?).

WC: Uh-huh. 

MK: But I believe they have a lot of G.C. Coxe's works. John Bagely (?) at one point told me they had some of his work over there.  All of their work was --and maybe it's because I'm political-- but even in pieces-- paintings and sculptures that-- I don't know if they intended them to be political, they had political overlay. 18:34 And you're going to find that for African American artists. You're not going to find --I don't know-- posies and you know, still lives of fruit in a bowl. It all has a political root because of how we came to 19:00this country and how our relationship to this country has evolved and because we didn't have a voice-- we had no voice. And so, music, art, writing, that became a way to express an inner anguish and struggle to change things. All of it's political to me. And it seemed that way then.

WC: Did you see the arts as a way to further African Americans locally-- kind of boost them socially and get the word out as far as the African American culture in Louisville?

MK: It would be interesting what these artists have to say about that. Back in the day, I viewed them with great admiration and I'd think, I'd like to do that. 20:00But everybody knew that being an artist was going to be a pretty tough road to hoe in terms of making a living. And then later, after my time at the Free Press of Louisville and after I'd been around a lot, I realize how difficult Louisville --living in Louisville-- was for these artists, where they were under-appreciated. And consequently, I think they formed sort of a-- I don't know, a secret society. But it was a-- of course you see that anyways historically among artists, you'll see bands artists that come together in Europe. Or you know, African American/not African American as a way to sustain each other, encourage each other, criticize each other, to work together. So, that happens naturally. But I think in particular for this group of folks-- Mr. 21:00Hamilton and Duffy and-- I later came to think that there was a spirit of feeling misunderstood and not appreciated as artists and then it sort of changed. Maybe it's because of Ed's sculptures, then they somehow became sort of trendy. And, so that's kind of interesting to see that. So now everyone wants to know Ed Hamilton and everybody likes the idea of having a sculpture of Duffy or Miss Lucille's textile art-- everybody wants that now. There's a long time when they were considered avant garde, I guess. 21:43 

WC: Did you see a lot of activism among the artists? 

MK: Well, remembering --this is kind of interesting-- so, before I graduated 22:00from high school, I was part of a group known as the West Side Players, which you may or may not have heard of. And so we did socially relevant theatre, we traveled around in the region. And so, in that capacity, I met a lot of political activists, from all walks of life. So for example, there was a fellow, he was a priest-- Father Vernon Robinson (?). So, actually, he was Episcopalian originally and then he decided he wanted to become Catholic. He came from a fairly wealthy family. So, he and his family were patrons of some of these artists and of artists in general. And so, I ran into people like that, and then people that were associated with SCIF (?)-- I forget was SCIF stands for-- 23:00Southern Conference of-- isn't it horrible, I can't remember what it stands for. A lot of folks that sort of coalesced around the Brighton (?) Center and Anne Brighton (?). So, I met that level, of that type of activist. Then, shortly before I graduated from high school, there was a big riot, which was sort of over blown, really. But, something did happen-- two people did get killed. And those activists, both the Black Unity League of Kentucky-- Sam-- I can't remember Sam's last name-- Kuyusims (?) These were activists that were of a different ilk. They were more like activists of the CORE genre-- I forget what CORE stands for. Stokely Carmichael type of folks. Black Panther type of folks. 24:00So that was a different form of activism.

But these folks in particular --and I may be wrong about that because I certainly didn't travel with them every day or anything like that, I was just aware of them-- they never struck me as activists in that way. They struck me as activists in terms of their artistic expression and trying to work in the community to instill a sense of pride and possibility among young folk.

WC: You mentioned that you were a part of the West Side Players-- I'm actually including quite a bit about the West Side Players in my thesis. So, if you'd be willing--

(MK laughs) That's so hysterical

WC: --to just kind of expand on that and kind of just tell me a little bit about what it was like being a part of the West Side Players and how you got involved 25:00and what the motivation was?

MK: Well, there-- a gentleman named Carol Schimp (?) who was from Baltimore, he was a visa (?) volunteer and he came to town and decided he was going to start this theatrical group-- I don't know that Carol had artistic training in that regard and I don't really remember how he became involved but I did become involved when I was in the eighth grade and there were good things about it and bad things about it. The good thing was that it gave the opportunity for African American children to act and to be able to tell a story and we did a lot of what we used to call social drama back then. A lot of it was improvisational. We did The Girls in 509, it was a funny play which involved someone having to do a 26:00fireman's lift-- which you probably know what that is-- but it's where you pick up someone to take them from a burning building, you throw them over your shoulder. So, I was the person that got thrown over the shoulder and taken. 

So, we did a play or a cycle or a social drama. It wasn't all racial. So, The Girls in 509 was just a funny little play. And then we did a piece, we had an ongoing relationship with a play called In White America (?) and it was about race in America. But then we would do quirky things like we did as social drama on an ongoing basis about interracial dating which was like "Whoo!" that was so wild. And I remember one time, we went out to Bullitt County to a Catholic Church and did this play and people were outraged with us. And most of us were 27:00African American. We had a couple of white members, but we would wear a black or white mask to note what our so-called race was. We did a funny piece on a dead horse-- it was based on something that actually happened in Louisville, Kentucky where somebody went out into their alley and found a dead horse. So, it was a funny piece about how to get rid of the dead horse out in the alley. So we did (laughs). 

And there was singing. We had a couple of folks that did interpretive dance, in fact, I heard from one of those folks just the other day-- her daughter died a couple of weeks ago-- she was in the players with us. We had the --you know what was interesting about that was that we were so sheltered as kids and so even 28:00though we were doing this social relevant drama, many of us had been shielded from that-- from racism, because we looked inside our little communities and you didn't go outside the community very much. And so, the Westside Players-- it was through the West Side Players that I actually went someplace where someone called me "nigger" for the first time-- I was sixteen years old or fifteen or sixteen. We had gone to U of K (University of Kentucky) to do-- I guess In White America or-- for a performance and we were staying overnight and for some reason, they put us up in a frat house down there. So it must have been spring break or something, because the frat house was empty and we were staying. And the night before, the night after the performance, a gathering of folks could be 29:00seen down below. They stood in front of the building and were screaming, "nigger" up at us. And so, I can't speak for everyone-- I had never had that experience, that was very very strange. One time, we were in Terre Haute I think it was, about to perform. And this was the day when black student activist groups would seize buildings

(WC laughs)  

MK: -- And even out here, at University of Louisville, the late Dr. Blaine (?) Hudson did that-- a group of them actually seized the dean's office or something. We were at-- it is Terre Haute? That's Indiana State University. 

WC: Uh-huh. 

MK: Ok, that's where we were. Or, it may have been Notre Dame. I forget which place it was --it was some place in Indiana-- and just that day, something had 30:00happened. It may have been when Martin Luther King was-- no, I don't think it was when he was-- something had happened and on campus, there had been an event and we were told maybe we shouldn't go on that night. But we did go on that night, and there were people in the audience that heckled us and said, "Why are you doing this? Blah blah blah." So all that to say, these were my first introductions into the realities of racism because as a student at Manly Junior High School, even though it was a bunch of African American kids walking a mile or so to go to a predominately white school, it just didn't occur to me some of these things. So it was valuable in that I learned how to memorize lines and I learned blocking on the stage and that kind of thing but also I learned a lot about what it's like being black in America-- something my parents didn't teach us. 

WC: How did you initially respond to that as a fifteen/sixteen year old who's 31:00being faced with that for the first time? Did it push you away from everything or did it motivate you to get even more involved and bring things more to light?

MK: It's just interesting --and part of it may be because I'm sort of an odd person-- I looked at it sort of in an analytical way. I couldn't understand why people would take the time to come out and walk across campus or whatever to stand up in a window and shout -- call people names that they had never met. It was just weird. I don't even remember feeling threatened, although I must have at the time, but it was just odd. And I still look at bigotry that way, be it 32:00from African Americans or white Americans. I had an associate-- recently a group of us have been working with a group in town called the Coalition for Sustainable West Louisville, and we were fighting the building of methane plants across the street from homes. And one of my associates, she likes to say, "White people, they always want to do this and they always want to do that." Or, "Republicans always do this." And I can not go there. I know that there are people who are bigots, I know that there are republicans that I do not agree with. But there are democrats I don't agree with, there are black people that are bigots too. And so, I've always been able to stand back and sort of look at that. I don't-- I hope I don't-- I know I have my prejudices like-- I have prejudices. But they are not like racial, they are more like I can't stand stupid people.

(WC laughs)

MK: So we all have them but I have to say that those experiences with the West Side Players taught me a lot about human nature-- taught me a lot, I've learned a lot. 

WC: What would you say was the main motivation bringing almost controversial scenes to places with white audiences like--

MK: Interracial dating in Bullitt County

WC: And you know --the white America and things like that-- what do you think were the motivations? Were you just seeking to educate or just kind of food for thought? How do you remember feeling when you were--

(MK) Frankly, at that age, even though I was always politically minded, my 34:00participation in the players was mainly because of my love of theatre. I really loved theatre. And even in high school, away from the players, I-- that was something that I wanted to do that was not made available to us. So the players gave me the opportunity to explore drama a little bit and that sort of thing. I can't say that I fully appreciated the political impact of it. And, nor the historic value of it. It was only years later when I-- at some point in my career, I became the Director of Exhibits at the Kentucky Center for African American Heritage and my job was to do the research. I'm a researcher by profession-- my job was to do the research to determine the stories that were 35:00supposed to go into what was supposed to go into a history museum. They haven't done that, shame on them. But we actually designed exhibits that was to fill that big-- I don't know if you remember that big hall--

WC: Unh-uh.

MK: We designed exhibits and the exhibits were eighty percent built and they destroyed them in Nashville, Tennessee because they did not hear from anybody here what was supposed to happen. The folks that designed those exhibits had been-- you know, we were let go. But in doing that work, working with Blaine Hudson, (?) he was one of our-- we had a full panel of political advisors that helped us identify those stories. So decades later, the history that I was acting out years ago in the West Side Players that it didn't really penetrate back then. In doing the work years later, I began to understand, "Oh wow, this 36:00is very important and oh wow, this has had an impact on how we as a society have evolved how we still can't really get it right." I wish I could say I was politically motivated in working with the pla-- but it wasn't-- it was more. And in fact, I was frustrated with the players because I wanted to do Shakespeare and Ibsen (?) and they weren't- Carol Schimp (?) didn't want to do that. 

WC: Can you talk a little bit on --your all's director Carol was a white man and in Louisville Art Workshop, a lot of the founding members-- it was an interracial group? 

MK: Uh-huh.

WC: It seems to be kind of different than how other cities during the time were operating. I'm saying instead of just African American artists-- there was an integrated group that worked together in the community-- and you know, instead of a black director directing kids from the West Side, it was a white guy. Can 37:00you talk about that kind of interracial movement in the arts in Louisville?

MK: I guess that is sort of an interesting thing and I have to say personally, because I grew up in a family where we never really talked about race and I don't want to say we didn't identify as African American-- we thought of ourselves as being colored back then-- that's the way we talked, or Negro back then. But we weren't really, in my family at least, taught to think in terms of they're white, they're-- because as I said, we had neighbors that were white, there were white kids at our school. And so it did not seem unusual to me to have someone like Carol to be in the center of all that at that time but then 38:00later, and consequently, there have been players, or relatives of some of the players that have grumbled about that and felt that in some ways, we were being exploited. I don't think of it that way but I have heard relatives of some of the West Side Players say that we were exploited and that we should have been spending more time doing A, B, or C and that it set us up for failure in some ways because it didn't really encourage us to do anything too-- that would prepare us for a future really. I don't know what I think-- I don't think that way.   I mean I've seen Carol and talked to him several times and will in the future. I don't know. But you're right, there was a lot of that. There was a lot 39:00at the Brighton (?) Center, there was-- every, all the social movement that I was familiar with in Louisville, was very much interracial and to my knowledge, no one felt badly about that. There was an incident once at-- for a period of time, I worked at-- and a lot of the players did-- worked at a little coffee house down on 35th and Broadway called The Happening. Have you heard anything about The Happening?

WC: A little bit. If you could talk a little more on it, that'd be awesome. 

MK: The Happening was-- the building is still there. And it's down the street from where a fire department was. And during the Wright (?) riots, they stationed the national guard at this fire department building like, in the next 40:00block or something. But The Happening was in a building that was owned by Vernon Robertson, (?) Father Robertson and the fellow I just mentioned to you. And, he was of an artsy kind of avant garde spirit. He was very much a patron of the arts and musicians and that sort of thing. And so, there would be poetry reading, music, whatever and just basic food-- no alcohol, probably Kool aid. And we would work, we would work there. But one night, so Father Robertson, who was a white priest from a wealthy family here in town-- one night, Father Robertson brought his parents in. So here he was, Father Robertson and his little mother and his father, and they come in and they sit down in the coffee house. And there was a take over that-- I can't remember what the group was-- it 41:00my have been the Black Unity League-- I can't remember who it was, but they came in and took over the space-- they commandeered the space. This is a-- I forget remember how they put it but they-- it was like a sit in-- "We're taking over and we're going to make these political statements" (laughs). And so, we were all sort of held captive. I mean it was not violent, they didn't have guns or anything, they just came in and they said they were going to take over. And Father Robertson-- I can still see him doing this-- he sort of just gathered up his elderly parents and ushered them out the door. That was radicalism in Louisville, Kentucky. He could leave peaceably and the drama went on. And then I do remember that there was some-- and I do remember that night that there was some talk of Carol being a white-- "Why are you letting this white director direct you?" Or-- I forget the nature of the argument-- but there was some 42:00reference to Carol's race that night. And we sort of barked back and forth and then everybody came home. 

(Laughter)

WC: Can you talk a little bit on one theme that I've seen through the interviews and the readings and research and stuff is that a lot of what these groups --these art groups in Louisville were doing in the '60s and '70s were a lot more community based and were very much about engaging the community as opposed to having some kind of agenda-- it was all about educating and including the community. Is that-- can you kind of talk on that and expand a little? 

MK: And it's actually something I have pretty deep feelings about in terms of the integrity of black communities now or ______ (?) --the loss of sense of 43:00community. So, at that time, people-- there was a connectedness, there was a feeling of connectedness. Now, you didn't always agree with other folks and you didn't always express yourself in the same way but you felt part-- you felt a connection to others and a responsibility to others. So, as an artist-- be it visual arts, be it dramatic arts, whatever it was-- you were-- it was more a case of expressing yourself, imparting beauty, making some kind of artistic statement. It was not to be considered, it was not being practiced to be considered important, to being considered apart from other people, better than other people. And I feel that there was less of a sense of competitiveness. I 44:00see competitiveness now and I see almost no expression of social responsibility. I'm not saying it's not there, but it's almost secondary, it's almost like, "Well, we don't need to do that anymore." And actually, now more than ever, we need to do that.

A lot of the work that I do now in terms of community activism-- I'm president of an organization called Neighborhood Planning and Preservation and so, we work with communities all over metro Louisville, West, South, Southwest, East, for justice for communities. And one of our big harangues is why are we letting them tear down West Louisville? You know, you tear down a community, you're tearing 45:00down the infrastructure that enables it to be a community and so essentially, in my lifetime, West Louisville has gone from being a collection of communities where people used to walk to the grocery, they used to-- I was telling somebody a couple weeks ago, I learned to swim at 18th and Wilson, there used to be community pools. So, by contrast, what you see today in West Louisville is like the homelands under Apartheid. It's like Bantuland. 

And yet we-- and see there was a time when the artistic community, back in the '60s and '70s, they would have said "Wait. Wait a minute." Our communities are important, they have a sense of a broader vision that included everybody. But now, it's like "It's too bad it's the way it is. I'm going to move to the Highlands." Or. "It's too bad it's that way but I'm going to move out in the 46:00East End and I'm not really going to fight to save these communities that made me what I am." I had an associate recently, I was trying to get him involved in an effort to save some historic houses-- now, they're not historic houses like big columned, Victorian-- these are historic houses by virtue of their age. And clearly, those houses, we're never going to be able to build houses like that again. And if you tear them down, you're tearing down structures-- no matter what we build in their place-- the structures that will replace them will not have the potential that these that we're tearing down. They're just better built. So I was trying to get him to help me save these houses and because in their place was going to go yet another dollar store. There are so many dollar 47:00stores, my god. And so he says to me, I drove by there. He said, "Yeah, I grew up in houses like those but I'm not interested in doing that." And what I wanted to say to him, and I probably will still say this is that, "It's because you grew up in houses like that in communities like that, where you walked to school in the community, or maybe some folks from the Louisville Art's Workshop were doing art alley behind yourself. It's because you grew up with that configuration of things that you've gone on to become an engineer. Are you wondering why most young black men are not going to grow up to become engineers that are growing up right in that neighborhood where you grew up? But instead of them growing up the way you did, around homes where people cut the grass and they owned the homes or they rented the homes, they went to school in the neighborhood, their teacher lived in the neighborhood, they got part time jobs 48:00in the neighborhood. Because you grew up that way, you are sitting on top of the world in comparison to where-- they're never going to end up there. 

WC: Uh-huh.

MK: That sense of-- so that sense of what the community does for each one of us. And I'd say I didn't even realize it until fifteen/twenty years ago. But now that I see it, it annoys me that so many just have sort of this "Oh, isn't that too bad." But they don't want to connect the dots to make it different for this generation, for the next generation. 

WC: That's most of my questions. If you could, I always like to end with if there's anything else that you'd like to add relating to the arts community or some-- maybe a funny story or anything like that then, I'd love to hear it. 

MK: Hmm. A funny story (laughs). I think my funniest story was Father Robertson guiding his little parents away from the black radicals (laughs). 

WC: We really appreciate you for being willing to sit down and-- you've been very helpful 

MK: Oh, you're welcome. I'm sorry I got so mixed up on the time and location.