#i’m just very proud of them whenever they communicate openly and healthy

[mudbloodpotter05]

Yes! Yes! Yes!

Thank you for this!!

[humwrites]

THERAPY

It’s ironic - I try to advocate for uncomfortable topics, things that would have been considered taboo. When it comes to talking about my own experiences, I struggle. A lot. It’s hypocritical in a lot of ways, but I’m also aware I’m being too harsh on myself for saying that. I’ve tried to get better with talking about it in the last couple of years, but I feel palpitations whenever I mention it in front of a new group of people. 

I’ve been in therapy, on and off, since I was 13. I was diagnosed with anxiety when I was 18. I’ll openly admit that I’ve done a lot of self-work over the years, and have been so proud of my own progress. But, there’s always more work I could do. My therapist and I talk about that often. 

With lockdown, and I’m sure I’m not alone in this, I worried about losing everything that I’ve built to be ‘mine.’ I couldn’t do the things that would help me feel better after an episode. I couldn’t reach out to my confidants, or be with them, in the same way as I would normally have done if I needed it. I’ve found myself cycle backwards into old habits, feeling ‘trapped’ again. I was obsessively finding and reading everything I possibly could about COVID-19. Comparing countries and trying to figure out statistics, predicting the next move. I knew it wasn’t healthy for it to be consuming my every thought, and yet it remained. A disconnect was slowly starting to build - I knew logically that it was okay for me to feel whatever I was experiencing, but I’ve found it harder than ever to practise that.

And then the world listened. And heard. Black lives matter. They always have. This time, we weren’t going to let it slide and we were not going to lose the movement to a 24 hour news cycle. As a result, the discussion surrounding racism - covert and overt - came into light. Personally, there was a necessity to stand and be an ally to the black community. History shows us that if it had not been for them, then South Asians would not have been allowed the opportunities we have now. It was not enough for us to stand with them, for them. We had to be using our privilege. 

However, it became more and more apparent of one thing. The discussion of racism meant unpacking and revisiting trauma that all BIPOC people have experienced. I watched President Trump address the nation, calling the protests “acts of domestic terror” (Trump, 2020) My anxiety caved in and caused me to have a panic attack, remembering comments and threats directed at my family and I whilst I was growing up - following 9/11. Whilst I tried to stay afloat, it’s hard for me to admit that the trauma I thought I had learnt from began to resurface. 

I found myself desperately trying to do what I could for the movement. If I wasn’t able to join a protest, I would help in other ways. Donating, reading, sharing, talking. A handful of the many ways we know now that we can help. But with nothing else, it became easy to sink into a cycle. One that’s stayed. One that’s drained me. Finding myself disassociating and having trouble staying in the present. 

But, I was a voice that had to be involved in the conversation, right? I don’t shy away from knowing I am usually a minority in the company I keep, so I simultaneously believe it to be an obligation and a duty to have to discuss these issues. (see also: sexism and homophobia, and how those intersect with issues of race and culture)

This happened to roll into Pride month, and the internet so rightfully redirected attention to Stonewall being led by Latinx and Black trans women. An intersection I’ve struggled to find - a cross-road between experiences of racism and homophobia. The acknowledgement of, once again, needing to unpack trauma. Trauma which was enforced by the belief that these could not co-exist. To be raised Muslim, to be raised as a Pakistani, a Bengali - I couldn’t be bisexual and vice-versa. Coming to terms with your sexuality will always have it’s own struggles, but couple that with wondering if you’d have to choose one over the other - the damage can be detrimental. 

I’ll remind you again. I’ve been in therapy since I was 13. I’m 20 now. Seven years in therapy. This was the first in which I started talking about the trauma I’ve experienced with racism. My therapist is a white woman. If I, or my family, had acknowledged the need for representation, I would like to hope we would’ve found a South Asian therapist. But the truth of the matter, is that I’ve felt comfortable with my therapist. Enough so, that we were able to have an open dialogue about the ways in which things would probably be different, if that was the case. The reason I hadn’t brought it up before wasn’t because she’s white, it was because I had become so deeply uncomfortable with my own trauma that I wasn’t able to verbalise it. I had been taught to keep it to myself. To be ‘stronger.’ It somehow seemed easier to address my journey with my sexuality, if it didn’t coincide with my experience as a woman of colour. To hide amongst ‘bisexual/gay culture,’ which was dominated by white figures in the community - not knowing how that could translate into my own. 

It always felt untimely, inappropriate to be discussing the affect the current political landscape was having on my own mental health. That leads me to have to remind myself - that’s what I’ve always my identity was perceived. 

Untimely. Inappropriate. Impossible. 

I am not any of those things.

“I am inimitable. I am an original” - Hamilton (2015)*

So if not now, then when would I be able to express my experiences, and all the ways in which they interconnect with one another? BIPOC mental health month is now floating around on the internet. In the surfacing of this era, it remains crucial that we remain inclusive of all BIPOC stories - and that means looking at those in the LGBTQ+ community, those who were already impacted by class issues/pay disparities and how that becomes even harder during the pandemic.

Most importantly, the humane problems we all internally battle with on a daily basis.

It is very human of all of us to be going through what we consider to be universal problems - family, friendships, relationships. The truth of the matter is that we’re all working through those in our own ways, and there’s no one way to do that. Interactions during the pandemic are strained enough, so if you’re anything like me, you might be getting impatient with how long it’s taking you to overcome those. You might even be feeling as if they are insignificant in the grand scheme of things. I wish I had answers. I wish I had some wisdom to share. All I can say is that none of that is true. It’s what it is to be human. Taking care of yourself is just as important as it is to stand up for what you believe in. So many of us are right there with you, and maybe there’s some comfort in that. 

Do something you enjoy today. Remember that you’re loved and appreciated for everything you’re doing.

Take care of yourself x

https://issuesintheworld.carrd.co/

* = As someone who hopes to be able to return to the theatre landscape, as soon as it’s safe to do so, I found comfort in the release of ‘Hamilton’ on Disney+. Hope remains in the persistence and dedication of those in the arts. That we can come back stronger than ever. The hunger of those communal experiences, as seen through the eagerness of its release, helps reignite passion. I am aware that the show is far from perfect, and in fact remains to not be an accurate representation of Alexander Hamilton’s story - but I remain forever grateful as the show proved that parts for BIPOC individuals can exist, outside of supporting or stereotypical roles. 

[dankar-camoran]

If I don’t make this post, then in July, I’m gonna think “damn I sure wish I’d made that post last month” so here goes

I’m bisexual. Plenty of y’all who already know me already knew that, but what you may not have known is that it’s taken me a long time to feel comfortable openly saying that.

I remember being fascinated with bisexuality in middle school (I blame most of that on being allowed to watch Torchwood), but I never considered myself bi at that time. Through the years, I remember seeing men I was attracted to, and thinking “if I wasn’t straight, I sure would think he’s sexy” or even “I’m straight, but I sure think he’s sexy.”

Whenever I started to wonder about my sexuality, I contemplated how I might be bi, but never fully considered myself comfortable calling myself that. After all, there was a GSA at my school that I could have totally gone to, but never did. I had a family who I knew would accept me and support me if I came out to them. I knew that there were so many bi folks my age who would kill to be in my position and have the same resources, and here I was, acting not more than just a little bit bi. So I didn’t call myself that. I figured I must be straight, but with a healthy appreciation for how sexy men can be.

Closer to the present day, as I learned more about gender and sexuality, I started to become more open to calling myself bisexual, but still not convinced. I mean, now I was looking at all these different online communities of people who were extremely proud and forthcoming with who they were. All the flags and acronyms and history and culture, I didn’t know the first thing about any of it.

And even more than that, here I was, wondering if I was bi, while still only ever pining for relationships with women. I was keeping my bisexuality to myself, feeling pretty content enough to live life as though I was heterosexual and not very much bothered by that prospect. So was I really bisexual?

Today I can say yes I was, and yes I am.

Because up until relatively recently, I hadn’t been thinking of so many different factors affecting how I saw it all, such as heteronormativity influencing me to think of relationships primarily from a straight lense, or the underlying unconscious knowledge that openly expressing an attraction that wasn’t heterosexual would lead to stigma and negativity. On some level I knew that, I was more likely to go on a date with a woman, than a man, because what were the odds I’d find a mlm in this small town? (Definitely more than I’d think, but you understand my point).

So I’ve come to realize that being part of that aforementioned LGBT+ umbrella doesn’t hinge on participation in any specific activities. It’s a part of who you are, and how you choose to act in regard to that part of you is entirely up to you.

So I’m bisexual. And I’m gonna go through life being bisexual in whatever ways I want, and feeling happy and grateful that I can do so, hoping that other bis can do the same in whatever manners best suit each of them.

TL;DR: Merry Pride Month, I’m bi as shit.

[lauraramargosian]

Positive Celebrity Exclusive: Dezi Barr raising awareness with her film VAL! 

Positive Celebrity Exclusive: Dezi Barr raising awareness with her film VAL!

VAL a Dezi Barr Film

The short film, VAL, is a powerful inside look into the life of a young, essentially single-mother, during incredibly trying times. The film, written and produced by Dezi Barr, is easy to get sucked into. It’s raw and brutally honest, as it explores difficult topics that are not discussed nearly enough. Based on her own experiences, Dezi hopes for the film to raise awareness of the reality of rape, abuse, and mental illness.

VAL stars some of Utah’s best including, Brandon Grundy, Avery Pizzuto, Frits Tessers and more!

It takes a lot of courage and creativity to broach these sensitive topics well, but VAL does an excellent job of addressing them. We asked Dezi what drove her to write VAL.

“Good question. Being somebody that always talks about self-expression and being courageous, I knew that when it came time to write VAL, it had better be a film dedicated to using film as means to rip some band-aids off old wounds, in exchange, to hopefully encourage others to do the same. It doesn’t matter whether you are as raw and unfiltered as VAL is. What’s important is you tell your story, in your own way, for others to hear. Because your story will resonate with someone, and to be understood and heard is a catalyst for healing.”

Beautifully put. Many face some or all of the struggles VAL touches on. Even I can connect in a way with my past. Writing a script, and especially a script covering such tough subjects can be intense. We asked how Dezi approached writing VAL.

“Whenever (for me) I am writing something emotionally taxing, it takes a lot out of me. How was the writing process for me on such an intense and meaningful film? It was a unique experience that probably won’t happen again. Being honest, open and vulnerable with all eyes on you is scary. It felt like everyone who’s been a victim was watching me type – delete – retype. It was both energizing and exhausting. Everything written needed to speak my truth and honor victims as well as the cast and crew involved. The pressure I put on myself and the project was taxing, but worth it. 100%.”

After the screening we were invited to participate in, during a short panel with Dezi, someone in the audience brought up the question of what happened in the life of the abuser in the story that made him who he was, and influenced his vicious and abusive behavior. What in his past drove him into rape and violence?! This explores another side of the film. We were curious about Dezi’s thoughts.

“Mmmmm. Yeah. The man who asked that question was a scary man to me until that moment. It took everything I had not to cry and go hug him. It was very important to validate that, and openly so. He is right, and I think I’ve always had some sympathy for the perpetrator. That sympathy never excuses the behavior. They’re humans who were maybe once a victim themselves. Studies have shown that victims most likely victimize in some way (not always, and not always in the same way). The answer is: What Happens To A Person To Make Them Abusive, In Anyway? We need to start there. Entitlement? Environment? Privilege? Anger? Revenge? Victimization? What??? YES! Let’s ask these questions AND meet them head-on with an open heart and mind while not forgetting the victims. My hat is off to that man who asked. He shed a wound that evening. Proud of you, B.”

We also asked what Dezi hopes viewers are learning from watching VAL.

“As to your second question, understanding. People need to be heard and understood. The ONLY way that happens is if WE are listening to understand.”

Listening is such an important part of good communication. It’s vital. It’s all too common for people to pour their heart out, only for it to fall on seemingly deaf, or unempathetic ears. This makes healing difficult, if not impossible. By starting a conversation and spreading awareness of the suffering and abuse many silently face, we can help share the burden, and begin healing as a society and as victims.

Many women (and men) who are in abusive relationships stay with their abuser because of their fear of the unknown, and because they don’t realize that help and a better life exist beyond their abuse. We asked Dezi her thoughts and feelings on his subject.

“Boy. That hits me hard, as I’m sure it does others. How does that make me feel? Honestly? Sick. It’s a vicious cycle until the victim decides to no longer participate. I get it though. I would have, in the past, rather been with an asshole and KNOW his demons, than have been with someone who seems nice, but turns on you without notice. As for now, I would rather be alone than be with the devil. I know where he lurks, I know his signs. That is all I need to know.”

According to The National Domestic Violence Hotline, it’s not easy to leave an abusive relationship.

“Leaving is often the most dangerous time for a victim of abuse, because abuse is about power and control. When a victim leaves, they are taking control and threatening the abusive partner’s power, which could cause the abusive partner to retaliate in very destructive ways.”

And there are plenty of reasons people don’t leave, That may include a belief that abuse is normal, fear of being outed, embarrassment or shamed, cultural or religious reasons, lack of money or even disability.

Positive Celebrity Exclusive: Joseph O’Brien talks about AGT, music and his childhood! 

Dezi shared with us a little about the success and goals of VAL.

“At first, it was to be seen by as many people as possible. I submitted to many, many festivals, but it hasn’t been accepted into any but two. I didn’t care about winning an award. The goal was to get eyes on it. So, now the goal is to get eyes on it

Once the festival run is through, I’ll submit the script and trailer to other fests to hopefully gain interest and get feedback. Someone mentioned that I should tour with VAL, to ignite conversations much like that at Channel 801. Not sure what I think about that idea yet in terms of timing.”

We think that’s a great goal. Getting eyes on such an important film matters. It will help spark a conversation that will bring about change.

During the Q&A for the screening, one member of the audience mentioned how, even having never been in such a situation, VAL helped him better understand and feel “very empathetic and open to people’s hearts.” Dezi shared how it made her feel to hear that.

“Relieved. Validated. Cathartic. Moved. It’s working.”

Actors and actresses have to translate what they see on the script into an emotional and grabbing performance. There are times an actor or actress has a hard time going through with emotional scenes because when you act, you commit. You become that character for a short period of time. We wanted to know how the cast did on VAL during emotional and difficult scenes.

“The actors were phenomenal! It was far from easy on anyone that was on set. It took a lot out of everyone emotionally and physically. I had two child welfare crew members on set, one for the actress playing VAL and one for the baby, and another on standby for Avery (VAL). I set aside funds to pay for therapy to ensure everyone stayed intact during and afterwards. The offer will remain indefinitely.”

That’s great! It’s not easy to assume those roles, even for a moment. Right now, in the world, there are many people struggling with similar situations. Whether it be emotional abuse, physical abuse or mental illness, it’s happening. We wanted to know what Dezi would tell someone going through these struggles.

“Talk. Talk to anyone who will listen. Leave. The scariest thing to a perpetrator is someone who won’t back down, because that means they have no control over you. Try to put the protections you can in place and leave without delay. Lastly, get. It. OUT! Express it in ANY healthy way possible. Therapists work! The more you hold it in, the harder life is.”

We then asked if there are any specific charities Dezi would recommend for those dealing with rape, abuse or mental health struggles.

“Several. UCASA, RAIIN, Joyful Heart, PAVE and SO many more. There’s a Women’s Conference in Dallas in April each year. You can get sponsored to participate, and it would be of great benefit. If you are local to Utah, UCASA has active events around the clock.”

The film was very powerful and brilliantly shot. We asked what camera was used.

“We shot on a Blackmagic Pocket and Cinema camera with Veydra lenses. We love Veydras!”

We asked what Dezi thought was the most “cathartic” moment in VAL.

“Someone asked me that once, and it isn’t a simple answer. It comes in waves. It was cathartic while writing, then producing, then dicerting and now while screening it with Q&A. The most? Mmm. Q&A sessions when I get others’ perspectives, and when people ‘get it’.”

We then asked if Dezi felt any degree of healing from her past while writing VAL.

“I feel like when I write, it’s pretty therapeutic. Especially when you turn your past struggles into art. Not sure? It felt like I held my breath until after the cast and crew screening. It’s triggering to me, and find I giggle at little mistakes. It helps to keep the river of emotions at bay, because if I’m not together, others won’t feel like they can talk about it and ask questions. Everyone needs to feel comfortable and be able to share.”

We followed that up by asking if Dezi is working on other projects we can look forward to.

“What a nice transitional question!! YES! Just finished producing and directing a cooking show. Packaging a few features, one of which is mine. Producing/directing a documentary, and we just opened up a small film studio for our local community. Lots of schtuff is cooking. We’ll see what begins to smoke first ;)”

To conclude, we asked what Dezi would like to share with you, our readers.

“It’s ok to not be ok. Tell your story. Don’t let anyone determine your future, especially if one of those people is you, getting in your own way. Don’t stop learning and growing. Love, because you deserve the absence of bitterness.”

  Meet Dezi Barr:

Meet Dezi Barr

Dezi Barr is a producer in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA. She is motivated to help talented filmmakers give voice to their stories. She has worked on several films, most of which went on to win awards. Dezi was born and raised in Missouri, family brought her to Salt Lake and that is when she became interested in Film.

Be sure to check out her Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram!

        The post Positive Celebrity Exclusive: Dezi Barr raising awareness with her film VAL!  appeared first on Positive Celebrity News and Gossip.

Related posts:

PCG Exclusive w/ Calysta Bevier: Her battle with cancer & inspiring journey!

Chris Pine: Happy Birthday & stay tuned for his film Wonder Woman!

Drake’s new short-film “Please Forgive Me,” just dropped! Check it out!

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

from WordPress https://positivecelebrity.news/2018/08/07/positive-celebrity-exclusive-dezi-barr-raising-awareness-with-her-film-val/

[jacksoncenter]

A Hollywood Ending

By Andrea Wuerth, Reposted from May 18, 2017

When Donny “Hollywood” Riggsbee tells his story about growing up in Chapel Hill in the years leading up to and following segregation and the civil rights movement, his story takes some unexpected twists.

Like when he remembers his interactions with white college students. He recalls when he was a housekeeper in one of the student dormitories fondly, chuckling as he describes how they would drink beer together on Friday nights.

Or like when he describes his reaction to the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr., and someone warns him that there’ll be riots in Chapel Hill:

“That ain’t nothing to do with us.” I said. He said, “There’s gonna be a riot, there’s gonna be a riot.” I said, “Oh, man, please, come on now. We ain’t about all that,” I said.

Or when he says that his most important mentor was Big John, the owner of Colonial Drug. The same Colonial Drug that in 1963 became the site for Chapel Hill’s most significant sit-in.

Unlike most of the other life histories of Northsiders, Hollywood’s is shaped by the conviction that it’s important to “get along” and, alternatively, to “let bygones be bygones.”

I think it would be a mistake to take this as a dismissal of remembering the years of segregation. His life is informed by lessons he internalized while living through an era shaped by violence and conflict.

By choosing to focus on a former segregationist as his mentor, he isn’t saying that the past doesn’t matter. He is saying that an avowed segregationist who consciously is moved to hire a black man is more complex than one might think. And it took a bold black man to ask the man, point blank, why he believed what he did. A question, rather than a statement or an action, opened a door.

As Hollywood tells it:

In Hollywood’s version of the story, the tone is never deferential. He walked the streets of Chapel Hill with an unassuming sense of self-respect that comes across as chutzpa in a segregated town governed by written and unwritten rules of “knowing one’s place.” Everyday actions normally reinforced the boundaries between black and white, separate and unequal, boundaries policed by each and every one in town, reinforced by the threat of violent consequences. He was a trespasser who often redefine the rules for himself. And there’s a Hollywood ending to this story that begins with a question, rather than a statement. Here it is, in his own words:

Why do you don’t like Blacks? He said, he was just tellin’ me, he said, it’s not [unclear] ‘cause he don’t like Blacks. He didn’t just want them tearin’ up his store. And then I said, “Well, how about me?” He said, “You seem like a very strong young man.” And he said, “Well,” he said, “I’m gonna give you–” he said, “Would you like to work for me?” I said, I said, “Yeah, I’ll work for you.” He said, “You get outta school this time every day?” I said, “Yep.” I said, “I walk this way.” He said, “You know how to use a mop?” “Yeah, I know how to use a mop.” He said, “Well, you got you a job, after school.” And then I come there after school, get out of school, ‘bout 3 o’clock we get out of school. The bus get uptown ‘bout 3:15 to 3:30, and then he, he let me, um, make this drink called “Orangeade.” And he showed me how to make that. And he showed me how to do coffee. Then he showed me how to, you know, make, make sandwiches and stuff like that.

So, you know, I help him and, um, he give me about 25 dollars, you know, a week. ‘Cause I told him, I said, um, I told him, “I don’t, I don’ t want my money every day.” He said, he said, “I can give you 25 dollars a week.””You help me,” he says, he says, “I pay you.” He says, “I pay you pretty good.”

And that’s when I broke the black barrier. Then everybody start comin’.

Big John’s brand of racism distinguishes between Blacks who cause trouble, bad (violent) Blacks and “good” Blacks, who don’t.

To me, this rings like, “You aren’t like those other folks,” but in Hollywood’s telling, Big John is just judging people by their actions rather than their skin color… alone. Hollywood reads this as a conscious decision to open the door.

It seems as though, by revising his perspective in this way, Hollywood and Big John have found a place to begin a relationship, the nature of which is determined by both of them. To Hollywood, that’s what matters and he boldly grabbed the opportunity.

So, what can we learn from Hollywood about the nature of segregation? Is there more than one way to tell the story?

There are as many ways as there are people who lived it. Each story can tell us something about what it took to live through a time in which people made sense of an unjust reality in different ways. Just because one lives through difficult times doesn’t mean that one’s life necessarily has to be defined by the greater historical narrative.

The biggest take-away for me is realizing that the narrative centers on a sense of agency, something segregationists felt black people should not possess. The way he tells it, Hollywood believed he had been privy to a white man’s transformation:

He said, ‘I used to be a bad person.’ He said, ‘Now,’ he said, ‘I’m a good person.’ He really opened up my eyes. And let me see the world. ‘Cause, you, I mean, we said, I would talk and, you know, he said, ‘I did some bad things.’ And he said, ‘I,’ he said, ‘I want, you know, the people to forgive me.’ But if a, it’s a forgive and forgot. You gotta go on forward.

By placing himself in a position to understand and interpret Big John’s actions, he reaches the conclusion that Big John had somehow fundamentally changed. Hollywood has taken on proudly the title of first black man to break the color barrier in this segregated establishment. He is the author of his story and writes his own version of history.

Once Big John made the first step, Hollywood then chose to give him a chance to build a bridge. Hollywood tells the story in a way that dignified both him and Big John. His narrative rests on mutual respect. Hollywood’s self-respect is a radical thing in the face of someone who had been refusing to let any black person enter his store. Hollywood just simply rejected that and set the terms for their relationship.

Hollywood has chosen to focus his life narrative around the moments when he forged connections, when he found a way to realize his ambitions. And so he reaches the conclusion that he has lived “a good life, a happy life.”

But there’s another thing. Hollywood says — unapologetically– why he took the job at Big John’s, aka, Colonial Drug. As he put it: “I was into, like, makin’ a buck, makin’ a dollar.” And he sensed that most people would not hold this against him:

Interviewer: So, wh-, how did people, like, did you ever know how people viewed you for working there?

Hollywood: No, everybody, I mean, like I told ‘em, you know, and, I told ‘em, I said, “Well,” I said, “I’m working here.” I said, after school, I said, I tell ‘em, like, “Look. I got to work somewhere, ‘cause you know what, I’m tryin’ to, um, not depend on my parents to help me, to bail me out of my tr-. I mean, you know, I, I like good shoes and I like to have me, you know, my own money.

He openly asserts his right to live a good life, to pursue happiness. And happiness meant he had to earn the money to pay for a little fun. For a black person living in Chapel Hill, the options were very limited and required stringing together the jobs you could get. Very few establishments were black-owned, and so he had to work for white people, and disregard their prejudice, more or less, resisting whenever possible.

His peace-loving, jovial, practical, scrappy nature was his most valuable asset. And if he worked it, he could get himself the $12 suit and the $5 hat that made life really worth living, that gave him his unique identity.

He’d wanted to be a movie star when he was a kid. But he earned his nickname for bringing a bit of “Hollywood” to Chapel Hill:

Hollywood: [laughs] Yeah, yeah. Dancin’ in talent shows and all that. Man, that’s– I used to be a catbird, boy.

Interviewer: What is a catbird? How do you define that?

Hollywood: How do you …

Interviewer: What does that mean to you?

Hollywood: Is like, you dressed up and you, “Yeah, man,” in your Super Fly suit. We go to, we go to Roses. We buy a Super Fly suit for 12 dollars. [laughs] Go to Roses and buy us a Super Fly suit for 12 dollars, man. That’s about, uh, big, baggy pants, man, and um, Super Fly collars. And man, you know, we used to go to, um, over in Durham, man. Go to this store, this store. I forgot the name of that store. Man, you go there and get them old big collar shirts. Man, the collars over there. … And man, them old brims over there for–

Interviewer: [laughs]

Hollywood: For 5 dollars. [laughs]

Interviewer: I’m learnin’ more and more why you’re still called “Hollywood.”

And I, for one, am really glad that by sharing his story, he has brought back memories of flashier times. Hooray for Hollywood!

But there is one more thing. Hollywood began telling his story when the Jackson Center director, Hudson Vaughan, ran into him at the St. Joseph’s CME food bank. Hollywood was volunteering, giving back to the community he calls “home.” He babysits (though not always voluntarily, he says), he distributes food contributed to Northsiders by local restaurants (though he also likes to get some for himself, he says), he sings in the church choir (though he refused to sing in the interview). And yet, he adamantly resists efforts to make him a hero of any sort. He is self-deprecating and has nothing to hide.

Hollywood is most proud of just being healthy enough to keep on living, living in the house he originally bought, together with his siblings, for his mother. And though he’s lived elsewhere and lived through countless efforts to put him in his place here in his hometown, he says,”Man, you can walk free. You can walk free in Chapel Hill…”

Now that’s a Hollywood ending.

Andrea Wuerth is a volunteer participant in the Center’s Learning Across Generations local history curriculum and our Oral History Archive. She agreed to let us post her blog entry after archiving Hollywood’s oral history interview. Access to Andrea’s full blog can be found here.