The Story of Josephine Baker

The free artist is a madly vulnerable one. She lives between blank, white walls and a bold, red door, dancing for eternity in the daydream theatre. And when her heart yearns to stir the stars, she cranks the doorknob and flees. Sashaying out of the stale, white chamber, she leaps into the vulnerable realm of risk. This artist is an angel. She blows kisses to fear. She winks at fate. Then, slipping on a halo of jazz and jewels, she calls herself Josephine Baker.

The life of Madame Baker was a series of these risky leaps. By 19 years old, she had leapt from the slums of St. Louis, to park benches in New York City, all the way onto theatre stages in the City of Light. Shaking her rump and crossing her eyes before the polished people of Paris, she shocked her audiences by merging the colorful energy of African culture with the more formal European culture. For decades, she was a hot topic in the discussion of race, but her own rosy soul transcended race. Still, Baker was a daring and passionate force in the Civil Rights movement, often using the theatre as a tool of integration. She craved justice and took impressive risks in seeking it out. During World War II, when racism held Europe tightly by the throat, Josephine worked as a spy for French intelligence, touring with secret information written in invisible ink on her sheet music. Her life was devoted to advocating equality. In fact, in her later years, she adopted 12 children from all stretches of the globe, which she called her Rainbow Tribe, in an effort to prove that people of all races and nationalities could live together in peace and harmony.

Reading the story of Josephine Baker was like opening a jar of butterflies. When I feel confined by the expectations of society, thinking of her bold character, her giving heart, and her spontaneous nature inspires me to spread my wings and be free. A child at heart, she expressed herself regardless of society’s standards. Her cross-eyed grins paired with glamorous wardrobes neglected the conventions of beauty, while her signature Charleston, with its loose form and swinging movements, embodied the free spirit. Beyond that, her generous heart reminds me of my duty to show love to those who those who need it most. Throughout the war, she would put on free shows for soldiers as a way of boosting morale, and she even used her fame to obtain visas for people fleeing Nazi control. Even further, she bought small homes for some of these refugees. Her generosity put her in debt many times, but Josephine didn’t mind. The idea of building up from a blank slate excited her. “Isn’t it wonderful?” she would say. Breezing along with the breeze was Josephine’s specialty, which moves me more than anything. Because, living in such a serious world, we could all use some more jazz, leaping around boldly on the stages of our souls.

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