Arthur Mitchell grew up on the streets of Harlem, a world apart from the skyscrapers of New York. Harlem was a place where many African-Americans had gathered at the turn of the century, unwanted by white society. It was also a place of music, especially jazz: in the 1930s, all the great singers and musicians passed through Harlem’s clubs and concert halls. Arthur Mitchell grew up with music all around him, shaped by jazz and the gospel tones of protestant church services. He had rhythm in his blood, and loved to give himself up to the music, feeling the vibrations of the saxophone resonate in his breast, the scratching of the violin in his stomach, and the chopping of the rhythm guitar in his hands. His entire body became alert, at one and in harmony with the music. His limbs trembled, his hair stood on end, and his limbs unfurled; his great dark eyes rolled back and as he allowed the rhythm to take him away. Music was a means of escape; it was his refuge, his momentum, his vital energy. When he danced, he could forget the misery of Harlem. He could forget about having to work his fingers to the bone at the age of just twelve to support his brothers and sisters. His father had been sent to prison, and he didn’t write often. Arthur Mitchell had been left alone, suddenly responsible; a grown-up before his time. So he danced, in between the trash cans and among the starving rats; ignored by the bicycle thieves and the wayward youths, he danced. In the centre of their empty living room, between the peeling walls and amidst the cries of his bickering siblings, he danced. In the schoolyard, keeping his distance from the hard fists and pranks, the sneaked cigarettes and stolen kisses, he danced.
Arthur Mitchell was making his debut as the principal dancer for the New York City Ballet. He was the first African-American to be given this honour, and he had earned it – he danced like an angel, always with the power to lift the emotions of the audience, and so he had been chosen for the role of the young lead in a ballet by George Balanchine. Arthur Mitchell performed to perfection, but the audience complained about seeing him dance with a white ballerina (mixed-race couples were not tolerated, this being the era of segregation). But George Balanchine, the director and choreographer of the New York City Ballet, refused to change dancers, and the ballet was performed to widespread consternation. Arthur Mitchell would not get his TV début, for the ballet was not broadcast. It was hoped that the public would forget about him, but Arthur Mitchell had not played his final card. After the assassination of Martin Luther King, Arthur Mitchell returned to Harlem with a mission to get the children of his hometown dancing. Dancing had been his salvation, his ticket out, and he had decided to do his part to help the next generation of this ill-famed district of New York. He had decided to combat segregation through the power of dance. Theirs were bodies that people did not want to see on stage, all dressed in fine costumes under the bright lights of the projectors. These bodies were hated and feared, but he would make them sublime. These bodies, once ridiculed, would become divine. So it was that Arthur Mitchell founded the Dance Theatre of Harlem in the basement of a church, where thirty children practiced their leaps, arabesques and échappés under his patient tutelage. Two months later, there were four hundred young people dancing there in Harlem. Four hundred children saved; four hundred children who might now dream of conquering the world’s greatest stages. Harlem became fertile soil for the dancers of the future, and many of Arthur Mitchell’s students would go on to become great performers, musicians, stage technicians or teachers of the arts. The world of classical dance would never be the same.
Alan Alfredo Geday