Faith is a force that forges the tools you’ll need to construct the road of your destiny. Yes, there are rules to the road. Every chapter has its ups and downs. Things happen. You just have to know and believe in the power of your energy, your purpose, which will unlock doors that were meant for you and only you to open.
Since I’ve been on my path of poetry, since I found the courage and will to pursue this discovery, this dream of mine, blessings have fallen into my lap. My keys have miraculously revealed themselves. Opportunity has knocked before I was even conscious of the door. I have found that when you work hard on your loves and passions, the opportunities come. You hear stories of those making it overnight, but what has happened is they have made it their lifelong mission to not give up, and the Universe has complied. The needed energy you desire to make it to the next level is pulled to you. Magically, the muscle for your movement is magnetized to your moment.
You can get in where you fit in, or you can make room.
While living in Nashville in 2001, my slate was dirtied by messes that seemed unavoidable. At the time I didn’t have a job, Tarrey caught her boss going thru her purse and had to leave her job, shows had grown sporadic, at different points our lights and phones had been cut. The stress led us to arguments. And I would have sad, moody moments thinking about my dad being gone.
To top it off, one Monday I received a slew of calls from poets and friends back in Chicago asking me where was I that previous weekend. Apparently Def Poetry, a show that I had been hearing Russell Simmons was developing to follow up his infamous Def Comedy Jam, had held a competition over the weekend to find poets to represent Chicago. At this point the talk of Def Poetry had been going on for a couple of years, and earlier on I had been told that I would be a part of the Chicago show when it landed in town, but when it did, I didn’t know anything about it. Most poets in the country were dreaming of an opportunity like this, so hearing the news tore me up. I began beating myself up with guilt.
I was mad at myself for moving to Nashville. I was mad that I had taken myself out of the Chicago scene. I felt that I had missed out on a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Yes, I learned that the saying “Out of sight, out of mind” was true. Yes, you have to be present in order to receive your opportunities. Yes, nothing in life is easy, but still, my heart, which was still filled with hope, was hurt.
During this dragging spell, Tarrey’s intuition told her it was time to break up the monotony and my slump. One day she reminded me of a ticket voucher she hadn’t used from a flight she had changed earlier in the year. She said, “Let’s go to LA!” We were tight on money, but by planning ahead we could cover two tickets with the voucher, we had friends to crash with, and we would try to find work to do while we were out there. “Let’s Go!”
A couple of weeks later we were set to head out to California, aka the Golden State. Just the thought of the trip relieved some stress, as I was more than ready for the break. Wanting to line up possible gigs, I let Emmit, my manager at the time, know we were taking a trip to Los Angeles. Immediately he said, “You need to hook up with Michelle while you’re there.”
Months earlier, I had met his friend Michelle, who was a music supervisor for film and television. Michelle loved my poetry and wanted to help us get my work out there, but she said she was having trouble describing to people what exactly it was that I did. We all felt that it would be better to show the people rather than tell them, so when Emmit told her we were on the way, she said, “That’s perfect.”
And it was perfect. The timing couldn’t have been better. The weekend we were in LA “just happened to be” Michelle’s birthday weekend, and she was having a barbecue at her house to celebrate. She said a lot of her film friends would be there, and I should perform. I loved the idea. I loved performing. I loved meeting new people. So we were off!
Tarrey and I headed to LA on a Thursday, rented a red Firebird convertible, let our hair blow in the Cali wind, and got to work. Over the next couple of days, we linked up with one of our good friends, Marc “M. Doc” Williams, who had produced and remixed songs for Janet Jackson, Ce-Ce Peniston, Kelly Rowland, Chris Brown, Madonna, and others. Together, Doc, Tarrey, and I wrote and recorded a hot summer song called “Un-Huh.” The next day we linked with another good friend and producer named George Claiborne, and Tarrey recorded a beautiful ballad called “Another Love.” So far the trip was proving to be perfect.
When Saturday afternoon rolled around, we excitedly headed to Michelle’s birthday celebration. We stopped by the liquor store, grabbed a bottle of red Alizé and some flowers for Michelle and made our way to her house up in the Hollywood Hills. When we got there, we parked on her slanted street, fixed our clothes, and walked downhill to her house. Upon our ringing the bell, Michelle opened the door, greeting us with the warmest welcome and the biggest hugs. “J. Ivy!! Is this Tarrey?! Hey, girl! Welcome, welcome! Come on in!” Right away the love shown made us feel right at home. The smiles were endless.
Michelle and her husband had a beautiful home. From the layout to the furniture to the artwork, the modern abode felt very warm and relaxing. That warmth was easily seen in the forty to fifty people who were already scattered around the house and outside in the backyard. Being that Tarrey and I were two of the three black folks there, we immediately stood out, but since leaving the segregated ways of Chicago, I was learning time and time again that people from different walks of life really could get along.
About an hour later, as the sun was beginning to fall and the moon revealed itself, Michelle asked me if I was ready to perform. More than anxious, I said of course. Michelle gathered everyone’s attention, made an announcement, gave me a beautiful introduction, and asked me to take the made up stage area in the middle of the small yard. When I hit the performance area, I cracked a few jokes and then went into my thang, performing “Moon Cry.” Tarrey’s voice is so soothing and healing, so I asked her to sing her song “Still Will Love You,” which was the perfect transition into “Wings.”
I still will love you, no matter where you are,
If it’s near or far . . .
If you’re in Asia or Africa or even North America . . .
Hello . . .
I got a story to tell . . .
The performance was seamless. It was smooth. It was fun. Tarrey and I inspired one another and after leaving the stage area to the sounding of a thunderous applause, we knew that the audience had been moved as well.
We were showered with compliments and thanked for sharing our art. After leaving our rut behind in Nashville, it was such a good feeling to be standing there on the top of that hill being charged by the joy of others. It was so good to be receiving love from complete strangers so far away from home. It was reinvigorating, giving us hope to push forward, despite the challenges that we were eventually going back to.
The next day, after visiting some more friends, we sadly got on the plane, left the Golden State, and headed back to Nashville. Neither of us wanted to go, but we knew we needed to face our responsibilities, and so we did.
A few days passed, and Michelle called me. She asked if I had ever heard of Def Poetry.
“Yeah,” I said, “I’ve been trying to get down with that for a while now!”
“Well, my father was at my party, and he loved you,” she said. “He was having lunch yesterday with one of his good-good friends Stan Lathan, who is the director of Def Poetry, and told him he needs to check you out.” Michelle said Stan called her, and she told Stan, “Oh, J. Ivy! He’s great! He’s the best!” Stan wanted to see me perform, she said. My jaw dropped to the floor!
After the update, Michelle asked me if I could get back to LA. Knowing money was tight, but confident I could make it happen, I excitedly said, “Well, I’m just getting back, but I’ll find a way!” I asked her how long I had to get out there, and she said ’bout a month. The only thing was, Stan didn’t want me to come into an office. He wanted to see me perform live to see how the crowd would react to me, and I only had four weeks to organize it all. Damn, I need a show and a flight! I didn’t know how I was go’ pull it off. I just knew that I would!
The very next day I got a call from George Claiborne. He told me that this cat named Bruce Jones, who I had met earlier on in LA with George, wanted me to give him a call about an upcoming show he was putting together. When I got on the horn with Bruce, he told me that he wanted to book me for a show at this spot called the Knitting Factory out in Hollywood. He told me that they didn’t have a lot of money, but they could fly me out, put me in a hotel, and put my name on the flyers. I asked him when the show was, and he told me July 20, which was in three weeks, right inside of my month window. Man! This was too perfect! I couldn’t believe it. I prayed for a way to LA, with a show to go along with it, and God gave it to me.
As soon as I got off of the phone with Bruce to confirm the show, I called Michelle and told her about it. She said she would invite Stan.
The time came for me to head back out to the Wild Wild West. Long story short, after seeing a little of Hollywood, the show at the Knitting Factory went great. I found it to be a very sexy, sultry spot. It was a nice-size room, capable of seating a couple hundred people, and it housed a great vibe. I ended up performing over a jazzy, hip-hop flow for “Moon Cry” and brought the house down with “Wings.” I was on ten . . . thousand! I performed with so much precision and energy that I surprised myself. I felt great.
After the show, Stan shook my hand, walked me over to a quieter spot in the club, and told me that he really enjoyed my performance, especially “Wings.” He told me he loved the way I commanded the crowd. Then he started telling me about “the show”—the tapings for Def Poetry would be in New York, Mos Def would be hosting, and it would be aired on HBO. I was thinking, Damn, he’s telling me an awful lot for me not to be on the show.
But I wasn’t a shoe-in yet. He asked me if I had a tape with me doing an a cappella version of “Wings.” He said that he wanted to be fair and submit me to the talent committee, so I told him I could get him a tape the next week. While we talked, people kept kindly interrupting us to compliment me. I was feeling funny about the interruptions, but then again it was great that Stan could see how people responded to me. It was great standing there in this moment. It felt so surreal. A month earlier I was mad about missing my opportunity—now, here I was being invited to the show by the director himself.
After I made and submitted the requested tape, it was just a waiting game. I called and got great feedback from the Def Poetry people, I was feeling good, but the official word hadn’t yet come down from the top. One day, after some weeks passed, I received a message from Bruce George, cofounder of Def Poetry. I immediately called back . . .
Ring
Ring
Ring
Bruce answered on the other side, and I said, “What up, Bruce?!”
“Who’s this?” he asked.
“It’s J. Ivy!”
“Ohhh, J. Ivy! I got something to tell you. Are you standing up or sitting down?!”
“Uh, I think I’m ’bout to sit down!”
Then he replied, “I just wanted to congratulate you. You’ve been selected to be on HBO’s Def Poetry!”
“Whattttt?!!!”
I lost it! I screamed to the top of my lungs, dropped the phone, ran out the room, ran back into the room, jumped up and down, then picked up the phone out of breath saying, “My fault, man, my fault. This is like a dream come true!”
“Don’t apologize,” Bruce said. “Celebrate. You deserve it. You’ve worked hard for it!”
He told me that everyone loved my tape and that I was one of the best. He gave me some details about the show and told me if I didn’t have a manager, I should get one, cause six million people would be watching. I told him that I was on it. He said that they would be in touch, and then I got off of the phone. “I did it! I did it!”
I said, “I,” but “we” had done it. The guidance, belief, and ideas of my mother; the positive reinforcement of my brothers; the support, love, and inspiration of Tarrey; the help of Emmit and Michelle; the encouragement of my guys, my city, and everyone who ever put two hands together to cheer me on had propelled me to this moment.
• • •
The next few months were exciting—they had their ups and downs—but the anticipation of the upcoming show was fuel to keep me going. Individually and collectively Tarrey and I were rocking some cool shows, but at times we fell victim to the strain of inconsistent cash flow. I had to find a day job.
After an interview at a temp agency, I was hired as a sales rep for Dell Computers, which was a little crazy, ’cause I had never had a sales job before. I knew nothing about the field, but I didn’t care. The money was good, and I was tired of struggling. I started on September 10, 2001, figuring that it would be temporary, with the high hopes of my career taking off after being on Def Poetry—especially seeing how Def Comedy Jam furthered the careers of comedians like Martin Lawrence, Chris Tucker, Chris Rock, Steve Harvey, Dave Chappelle, Mo’Nique, Cedric the Entertainer, D. L. Hughley, and Chi-town’s own Bernie Mac.
And then 9/11 happened. The entire world was shaken by the crashing towers in New York City. It was a sad day in America, but it was especially sad for New Yorkers. Family and friends were lost on that day. Children were lost. Parents were lost. Brothers and sisters were lost. Coworkers and business associates were lost. City officials were lost. Policemen and firefighters were lost.
Like most people, I remember exactly where I was when terror struck. I remember watching the television at Dell’s offices, thinking, It’s about to be WWIII, and I’m sure a lot of other people felt the same way.
When terror strikes, the earth shakes,
And mourns the hurt that we’ve caused,
Without cause, we destroy one another,
Tear each other down,
Scatter fear across the landscape of our minds,
We’re grounded by uncommon ground,
Disagreements,
Bereavement follows,
We’re led by death,
The cold of the reaper’s breath,
Our steps are haunted . . .
Hunted,
Our growth is stunted,
Stalled,
Our hope for heaven is hauled away,
With every innocent soul we slay,
We pray,
We forget,
Anger erases our memories,
Fury guides our ways,
We black out and become something we’re not,
Filled with hate,
Love escapes,
And is lost to the hands of remorse,
The course of history is forever changed,
The beauty of our being is forever stained,
By terror . . .
The day after was the first day I didn’t see a plane in the sky—not one single plane. The world was grounded. Fear filled the air, along with conspiracy and millions of evaporated tears. It was a very sad time. It’s a very sad memory for America. To all the families, God bless you. To the fallen souls, may you rest in peace.