https://www.npr.

org/2014/04/09/298760473/denied-a-stage-she-sang-for-a-nation

On Easter Sunday in 1939, more than 75,000 people come to the Lincoln
Memorial in ​Washington​, D.C., to hear famed African-American contralto
Marian Anderson give a free open-air concert.

Anderson had been scheduled to sing at Washington’s ​Constitution​ Hall, but

the Daughters of the ​American Revolution​, a political organization that helped
manage the concert hall, denied her the right to perform because of her race.
The first lady, ​Eleanor Roosevelt​, resigned her membership from the
organization in protest, and Anderson’s alternate performance at the Lincoln
Memorial served greatly to raise awareness of the problem of racial
discrimination in America.

Anderson had struggled out of a childhood of poverty in South Philadelphia to

become a world-renowned classical singer, first winning acclaim in the 1920s
and touring extensively in Europe during the 1930s. Though the great Italian
conductor Arturo Toscanini told her, “Yours is a voice such as one hears once
in a hundred years,” recognition came slowly for Anderson in her native
country. Even after her dramatic appearance at the Lincoln Memorial in 1939,
it was not until 1955 that she became the first African-American to be invited
to perform at New York’s Metropolitan Opera House. Three years later,
President ​Dwight D. Eisenhower​ made her an honorary delegate to the United
Nations, and in 1963 President ​John F. Kennedy​ awarded her the Presidential
Medal of Freedom. Anderson died in Portland, ​Oregon​, on April 8, 1993. She
was 96 years old.

https://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/marian-anderson-sings-at-lincoln-memorial

On April 9, 1939, American opera star Marian Anderson gave a free concert at
the Lincoln Memorial that became known worldwide as a public rebuke of
segregation and racial injustice.

More than 75,000 people gathered to hear this young black singer, who had
been lighting up stages from London to Moscow. Though internationally
acclaimed, she had been denied Washington D.C.’s leading music venue,
Constitution Hall, because of her race. Constitution Hall was owned by the
Daughters of the Revolution (DAR), an elite private women’s club that barred
blacks from performing on its stage.

Lesser known, though, is that the DAR was not the only entity to turn her
away. The segregated public school system also denied her a large
auditorium in an all-white high school. But because organizers had already
announced a concert date of April 9th, the show had to go on. It took three
months and a band of forward-thinking leaders — from show business,
government, education and legal advocacy — to mastermind one of the most
indelible scenes in the long fight for racial equality.

Of the 30-minute concert, only a small portion was captured for broadcast at
the time. The film footage shows her composed but emotional. She sings
“America” beautifully, yet with her eyes closed, as if in intense focus. The
program included two classical songs, followed by spirituals and an encore of
“Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen.”
The title of the encore could well apply to the behind-the-scenes work to make
the concert happen.

The seeds were planted three years prior. Washington D.C.’s Howard
University had been presenting Anderson regularly in a concert series, but by
1936, her fame outgrew the university’s venues.

Constitution Hall was the logical next step up. The university’s leadership,
believing that an artist of her stature deserved the 4,000-seat hall, requested
an exception to the racial ban.

The request was denied. In 1936 and again in 1937, Howard University
presented her at Armstrong High School, a black school. In 1938, with
demand growing, Howard moved the concert to a downtown theatre, writes
Allan Keiler in his biography “Marian Anderson: A Singer’s Journey.”

But 1939 would turn out differently.

In early January, Anderson’s artistic representative, the famed impresario Sol

Hurok, agreed to the annual concert, presented by Howard, and to the date.
On January 6th, university leaders again asked Constitution Hall for an
exception. Anderson’s voice was now renowned: She had charmed heads of
state in Europe; the great Italian conductor ​Arturo Toscanini​ had showered
her with praise: “What I heard today one is privileged to hear only once in a
hundred years.”

When again rejected, university treasurer V.D. Johnson pushed back, writing
an open letter to the DAR that ran in the Washington Times-Herald; the
newspaper followed up with a fierce editorial connecting racial prejudice to
Hitler​ and the Nazis.

As additional requests were sent, the controversy gained steam and

Washington heavyweights conferred. Leaders of the National Association for
the Advancement of Colored People joined with Interior Secretary Harold
Ickes, a progressive whose jurisdiction included Howard’s budget, and First
Lady ​Eleanor Roosevelt​, a known proponent of racial equality and justice.

Fearing no progress, Howard University changed course and asked the

Washington School Board for the use of a spacious auditorium — in a white
high school.

When that request was denied in February, the public joined the fray.
“Teachers were among the first to become indignant over the School Board’s
decision,” writes Keiler. “On the eighteenth, the local chapter of the American
Federation of Teacher met at the YWCA to protest the racial ban against
Anderson.”

The Marian Anderson Citizens’ Committee (MACC) was formed, leading

protests that were joined by more and more civic organizations. On Feb. 27th,
the issue became national when Eleanor Roosevelt wrote a column
announcing her resignation from the DAR: “To remain as a member implies
approval of that action, therefore I am resigning.”

With the DAR still unmoved, all eyes were on the school board. Washington’s
local bureaucracy eventually relented, but then in mid-March, the
superintendent unilaterally refused, fearing the slippery slope of integration.
An outdoor concert had been considered among Anderson’s team, but the
idea for the Lincoln Memorial is credited to ​Walter White​, head of the NAACP.
When all parties were on board, the planning went swiftly. Ickes granted
permission to use the public space. The press was alerted. NAACP and the
MACC rallied a massive crowd.

Anderson had been kept informed, but on the night before, she was rattled,
writes Keiler: “Around midnight, she telephoned Hurok, in an actual state of
fright, wanting to know if she really had to go through with the concert.”

As history shows, she faced her fears, taking a stand for those who could not.

The crowd on that Easter Sunday stretched from the Lincoln Memorial, down
the reflecting pool and to the Washington Monument. Just before she took the
stage, Ickes introduced her with inspiring words that speak to the possibility in
every human being: “Genius draws no color line.”

https://www.biography.com/news/marian-anderson-lincoln-memorial-concert

When Marian 
Anderson Sang at 
the Lincoln 
Memorial, Her 
Voice Stunned 
the Crowd, and 
Her 
Gold-Trimmed 
Jacket Dazzled 
With no color photos of her famous performance in
existence, the brilliance of Marian Anderson’s bright
orange outfit has been lost, until now

image:
https://thumbs-prod.si-cdn.com/UXtCZt8wTcCcWs7UIRfLqe7YRuI=/800x600/filters:no_
upscale()/https://public-media.si-cdn.com/filer/db/83/db8387e6-b149-4647-ace4-4f4069
599d74/anderson2.jpg
Beneath Anderson's coat is a bright orange velour jacket, a form-fitting number trimmed in gold
with turquoise buttons, now among the collections at the Smithsonian. (Photograph by Robert S.
Scurlock. Scurlock Studio Records, Archives Center, National Museum of American History)

By ​Jess Righthand

SMITHSONIAN.COM

APRIL 8, 2014

5.5K​1​1​1​2​5.6K
In the final months of her life, famed classical singer Marian Anderson moved from her
ranch in Danbury, Connecticut, to live with her only nephew, ​conductor James DePreist​,
and his wife Ginette DePreist in Oregon. In an effort to minimize the jarring effects of
the cross-country move for the singer who was now in her mid-nineties, Mrs. DePreist
attempted to replicate the singer's former bedroom in their residence. "Among the
things she really liked to see were her dresses," says DePreist.

RELATED CONTENT 

● Four Years After Marian Anderson Sang at the Lincoln Memorial, D.A.R. Finally Invited Her to Perform

at Constitution Hall

● Marian Anderson: Freedom Singer and Mentor To Generations

Anderson was, by all accounts, a meticulous dresser, with an elegant array of gowns and
suits to rival that of any performer of the time. “She carried herself in the way she
wanted to be seen,” said Dwandalyn R. Reece, curator of music and performing arts at
the ​National Museum of African American History and Culture​.

A seamstress herself, Anderson carted around a miniature sewing machine and passed
her free time on tour ducking into fabric shops and collecting fine textiles. Toward the
beginning of her career, she would sew her own stage attire while traveling on ships to
and from Europe, but as her reputation grew, fans and admirers made many of her
garments for her.

image:

https://thumbs-prod.si-cdn.com/YUlXqZCNvxGbqjSmcB7FSTzhiBk=/60x60
/https://public-media.si-cdn.com/filer/2b/90/2b907c9a-8063-4893-9144-62

598d4eae97/before-and-after.jpg

image:

https://thumbs-prod.si-cdn.com/jSjhFg8mEZoWJ2FcfQhuiyH80Ac=/60x60

/https://public-media.si-cdn.com/filer/ed/cd/edcd91cb-05bf-49ed-8917-6f61

4d04feea/anderson.jpg

image:

https://thumbs-prod.si-cdn.com/szcfL1hAGPnuPJqawY8z5llUsNY=/60x60/

https://public-media.si-cdn.com/filer/d3/56/d35628ea-6b74-42c4-a34a-375

95ac0ead4/marianandersondress.jpg
 image:
https://thumbs-prod.si-cdn.com/tcf-aLu-qR1_11EyPkReOe_rb_0=/fit-in/1072x0/http
s://public-media.si-cdn.com/filer/2b/90/2b907c9a-8063-4893-9144-62598d4eae97/b
efore-and-after.jpg

For her 1939 performance at the Lincoln Memorial, Marian Anderson wore a bright orange jacket,
which recently joined the collections of the National Museum of African American History and
Culture ((Carl Van Vechten via ​Wikimedia Commons​);Gift of Ginette DePreist in memory of James
DePreist, Photo by Hugh Talman)

Shortly before Anderson's death in 1993, DePreist asked to borrow something from the
singer’s closet to wear at a gala honoring her late husband. She settled on a long, black
skirt and a distinguished bright orange velour jacket, a form-fitting number trimmed in
gold with turquoise buttons. The orange fabric had all but disintegrated, and so DePreist
had it reconstructed by a French tailor, using a shantung silk of exactly the same orange
hue (the tailor confirmed that the jacket was likely custom made for Anderson from a
velour of French origins).

It was only later, while looking over photos from Anderson's career, that DePreist
realized the outfit she had picked out was what the singer wore the day she became an
iconic figure in the fight for civil rights.

Now, DePreist has donated the outfit from that day to the African American History
Museum, which is scheduled to open on the National Mall in 2015, just steps from
where the singer made history.

It was on ​Easter Sunday April 9, 1939​, before a crowd of 75,000 people that Anderson
sang from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, after being denied access by the Daughters
of the American Revolution, the DAR, to ​Constitution Hall.

No known color photographs were taken when the virtuosic contralto performed that
chilly day. The historic black-and-white images depict the stony backdrop of the Lincoln
Memorial, the dark curves of the grand piano, the daunting sea of onlookers. The shots
capture a moment in the history of a country rife with injustice and on the brink of yet
another world war. But something in the picture gets muted. Beneath Anderson's heavy
fur coat is the bright orange velour jacket, a form-fitting number trimmed in gold with
turquoise buttons. The garment, which appears nondescript in black-and-white, would
have radiated like a starburst from the center of it all.

Most anyone familiar with Anderson's ​life and career​ will tell you that she had little
appetite for activism. She was an artist above all else, and that is how she wished to be
seen. "Aunt Marian was a very humble, very sweet lady," said DePreist. "She always
said, 'All I want to be remembered for is the voice the Lord gave me, [which] hopefully
made people happy.'"
But, being an African American artist at a time when Jim Crow laws were still very much
alive in the United States meant having to confront certain obstacles. From the time she
first discovered her voice as a young girl, she had no option but to teach herself, or pay
for private lessons, in order to hone her craft. When her family couldn't afford to pay for
high school, Anderson's church pitched in and raised enough money for her education
and a private voice teacher. After graduating high school, she was then refused
admission to the all-white Philadelphia Music Academy (now University of the Arts) on
the basis of her race.

By the early 1930s, Anderson ​had already sung​ with the New York Philharmonic and at
Carnegie Hall. But she would often be denied hotel rooms, service in restaurants, and
musical opportunities due to the rampant discrimination stacked against her. Her career
was not picking up at quite the pace she had hoped. So, Anderson decamped for Europe,
where she studied under a new teacher and embarked on her first European tour, to
wild success.

"I’m not going to go as far as saying that there was no racial prejudice in Europe," said
Reece. "But if you look at different styles of music, you look at jazz artists and writers
and whatnot, it was more hospitable."

By 1939, Anderson had returned from Europe a world-renowned classical singer, and
her management began to explore venue options for a concert in D.C. In the past,
Howard University had more or less sponsored her by securing smaller auditoriums
around town for her performances. Now, these venues seemed unfit for an artist of
Anderson's stature. Her management requested a concert date at Constitution Hall, the
historic venue presided over by the DAR. Their request was turned down.
It wasn't the first time this had occurred. In fact, the DAR had refused Anderson at least
a few times before. The DAR had a strict "whites only" policy, and there would be no
exception for Anderson, no matter how accomplished an artist she became.

The refusal gained a national platform when First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt ​resigned​ from
the DAR in protest, famously writing to the group, "You had an opportunity to lead in an
enlightened way, and it seems to me that your organization has failed." It was around
that time that Secretary of the Interior Harold Ickes and Walter White, Executive
Secretary of the NAACP, conceived of the idea to have Anderson sing a concert on the
National Mall. They received permission from President Roosevelt, and set a date.

"I think this time the feeling was we weren’t going to take no as an answer," said Reece.
"This was part of a larger strategy. . . the NAACP was also actively involved in this, and
there were people behind the scenes seeing an opportunity to break down some of these
barriers. . . Like maybe they felt that the timing was right to raise the profile of this kind
of activity."

Such was the climate leading up to the day of the concert, with Anderson a reluctant
participant the whole way. And when she finally stepped before the microphone in her
orange jacket and long black skirt and readied herself to sing "My Country 'Tis of Thee"
to a crowd that had come from all over to take part in that moment, it was plainly visible
that, like it or not, she had come to represent something larger than herself.

Anderson went on to pave the way for generations of African American opera singers
and musicians to come. She was the first African American to be invited to sing at the
White House, and the first to perform at the Metropolitan Opera. She took the stage
again at the historic March On Washington for Jobs and Freedom in 1963 and she
received the Presidential Medal of Honor that same year. But it was that first concert on
the National Mall, in open defiance of those who would have deprived the world of her
talents, that laid the groundwork, not only for future generations of African American
artists, but for the Civil Rights Movement going forward.

"I think it’s also important to remember that the fight for civil rights is not defined by
just a 50-year-old history. It pre-dates that in many ways. And there are small moments
and big moments that really help lead to change. This is a big moment," said Reece.

Visitors can see the jacket and skirt on display at the entrance to the African American
History and Culture Gallery, located at the National Museum of American History.

Said Mrs. DePreist, "I think that it goes without saying that [the museum] is the perfect
guardian for what African American history is all about in this country... It's like going
home again."

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https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smithsonian-institution/when-marian-anderson-sang-lincoln-m
emorial-her-voice-stunned-the-crowds-her-gold-trimmed-jacket-dazzled-180950454/

A voice like yours is heard only once in a hundred years.” — Arturo Toscanini to the American
contralto Marian Anderson

Born in Philadelphia in 1897, Marian Anderson’s long life spanned much of the 20th century
and, in myriad ways, both mirrored and helped shape the age in which she lived. She sang on
the world’s greatest stages and graced, with her presence and her soaring voice, historic events
like Dwight Eisenhower’s and JFK’s inaugurations and the 1963 March on Washington. She
counted international figures like Albert Einstein among her friends and was honored with a
Congressional Gold Medal, the United Nations Peace Prize, a Grammy for Lifetime
Achievement and countless other accolades and awards.The story behind how Anderson ended
up on the steps of the great memorial on that April day, performing before 75,000 people on the
mall and millions more listening on the radio, is well-known enough that it needs only a brief
recap here. How her friends tried to arrange a concert for her at Washington’s famed
Constitution Hall; how members of the Daughters of the American Revolution, the group that
owned (and today still operates) the hall, refused to allow her to perform because she was
African-American; how First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt, the NAACP, the American Federation of
Teachers and others protested the DAR’s refusal; and, finally, how Anderson’s 1939 Easter
concert marked, in many minds, a seminal moment in the American civil rights movement.

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[See and hear Marian Anderson at the Lincoln Memorial in 1939]

Here, LIFE.com celebrates Anderson’s 1939 concert and, in a broader sense, her extraordinary
life and career through the signature photograph made in Washington, D.C., that day: Thomas
McAvoy’s portrait of the singer as she stands before Daniel Chester French’s statue of a seated,
brooding Abraham Lincoln.

At the end of her concert, an emotional Anderson addressed the appreciative throng, and the
multitudes listening on radios across the country, with these simple words: “I am overwhelmed. I
can’t tell you what you have done for me today. I thank you from the bottom of my heart again
and again.”

All these years later, a grateful nation might well address those very same words to the regal
Marian Anderson herself, in recognition of the courage and artistry she displayed on a blustery
Easter Sunday three-quarters of a century ago, and on so many stages throughout her life.

http://time.com/3764037/the-concert-that-sparked-the-civil-rights-movement/

The Sound of Freedom: Marian Anderson, the Lincoln Memorial, and the Concert ...
By Raymond Arsenault

My Lord, what a Morning: An Autobiography

By Marian Anderson

But no single moment in her distinguished public life was more significant or memorable than
the landmark concert she gave at the Lincoln Memorial on Easter Sunday in 1939.