Gertrude Baker was a very important part of Jump-Start’s history. Please feel free to share your memories of her in our comment section.
Jump-Start Performance Co. at the Sterling Houston Theater, Downtown San Antonio
Experimental theater from San Antonio, Texas.
27 Comments
I have only one memory of Gertrude, but it’s become a story I tell often. She complimented me on a cinnabar bracelet, then said, “Can I have it?” I was taken aback. She said, “I’ve gotten a lot of things I wanted that way. Why not? You won’t get what you want if you don’t ask for it.” I liked the bracelet, but it didn’t have any sentimental value, so I promptly handed it over. It was a brief encounter, but a lesson I’ve carried with me everywhere.
In 2001, I joined a writing workshop titled Revolution, facilitated by Sharon Bridgforth at the Esperanza Peace and Justice Center. Gertrude was a guest “chingona-bad ass” writing and also sharing in facilitating our voices. Somehow, in the process of our ten week writing workshop, I began writing about, “a woman’s juices dripping down the side of my face, while she was wrapped tightly like a candy wrapper around me.” These amazing women not only were able to unleash my truth and begin my journey of sexuality and sensuality, but they birthed in me a fierceness in writing truth. Gertrude was amazing and gently powerful. Sharon insisted that I perform the work on stage. WIth a terrified, pasty white expression, I said, “um, i don’t perform.” About thirty minutes later I was upstairs, standing onstage (without a microphone) performing my piece. Gertrude was about 60 feet away, at the other end of the room, on a scaffold with her arm up in the air, hollering with her bass filled voice,”I can’t hear you. Hit my hand. I want to feel your voice on my hand.” Wow. Four years later I wrote a play titled Empanada, that has toured the US. Thank you Gertrude. I would not be the same person without you. I love you, Anel
I was so blessed to do a show with La Gert – La Cumbre at the Guadalupe. The rehearsal process was grueling – 5:30 p.m. to 10:30 p.m. for four weeks straight and full days on the weekends. And one day during the first week we were all so tired but they were running us and La Gert stood up during the rehearsal and said, “I can’t do this, shit! I’m OLD!!! And they may not be old but we got to rest. So we’re stopping.” And we did. She saved our ass more than naught. In fact, she caught me on-stage when I fainted. And when I came to her voice was the first thing I heard and her face the first thing I saw. I felt so safe. Of course after I was okay she said, “Are you fuckin crazy? Why did you perform if you’re sick. Shit!” I loved her so much. She was a fireball; I feel so blessed that I knew her and was able to work with her.
In 1980something my ex-wife Kathy Quanstrom wrote and produced a series of monologues featuring women at various stages of their lives. It was staged in a storefront place on the East Side, and featured four or six actresses, each doing her part. Gertrude’s segment was the voice of a young adolescent recounting in some detail her first abuse at the hands of a family member. To hear that story from a grown woman, delivered with Gertrude’s great power, gave deep gravitas to the indelible scar of abuse.
I improvised music for the series with Mim Sharlack and Ron Taylor, the series went for a weekend I think. That is all I knew of Gertrude, though I probably saw her on occasion several other times over the decades, I don’t think she remembered me. Such is the power of her performance, however, I can hear the dramatic curve of her voice delivering those words as I write this morning, some 25 years later.
Brava to Gertrude and to all the actors who lay upon the boards such unforgettable performances before small knots of audience weekend after weekend, decade after decade, the obscure yet – my word for Gertrude this morning – indelible impact of local theatre.
We were working on a show called Khmer Amerika at the Cadillac Building on San Pedro in the ’90s. It was a shell of a warehouse… no electricity, really, no heat etc. We met for our first rehearsal on the coldest night of the year ( it was one of the coldest winter nights in S.A on record). No one wanted to be the first to say they were too cold to work especially since our director had busted his ass to get the place ready. But after a minute or two of taking in the situation, Gert burst out with : ” I ain’t rehearsin’ tonight. It’s too damn cold!”. Which led to a chorus of pleas from the rest of the cast. So… no rehearsal that night after all. Thanks, Gert.
The first time I met Gertrude, I thought she was someone else.
I was just back from 10 years in Germany. I rushed over and exclaimed, “Oh, it’s been such a long time since I’ve seen you! I’ve missed you so much!” and I hugged the stuffing out of her.
Unflappable, she smile and hugged me back, saying, “I didn’t know I was gone.”
She laughed when I realized my mistake.
Much, much later, we had the pleasure of actually getting to know each other through the Renaissance Guild.
I’m so glad I got that hug.
I’m keeping this hug forever so she will never – ever – be gone.
I met Gertrude when I was waiting tables at Zinafandeli’s across from San Pedro Park in the early 80s. She made friends with waitstaff at many restaurants because she sometimes dined alone. and also because she made a lot of–very picky– special requests. I clearly remember the day I met her. We connected instantly. Through the years, she walked me through my sadness with my divorce and, after a period of time, pretty much let me know that if I wanted to get out of myself, I had to help others. That is the Great Fact of Life that she taught me. She taught many of us to show up, be on time, and don’t waste anybody’s time.
Gertrude was one of the first people I told outside of my family that I was pregnant. I told her–near the end of a lunch shift–that I wanted to tell her something. I kind of whispered it to her because I hadn’t made any big announcements yet. She screamed and hooped and hollered. She said, “Sorry, black people make a lot of noise when they’re excited.” Our friend Lynn was also pregnant at the time. Gert took her to some appointments and was at the hospital when we both delivered within days of each other. She referred to our girls as her babies. She remembered my daughter CC–her baby– last time we visited even though she didn’t know who I was. I’ve been sad for a long time… I makes me sad to think of the pain that Alzheimer’s caused her. How it must have felt for Gert who didn’t tolerate tardines and forgetfulness and not being on top of your game.
Send your special prayers, meditations, and thoughts to Victoria and Marion who took over her care and personal business.
ps: Gert also pissed me off more than a few times, too.
To my soul sister, I love you. We formally met in Michael Casey’s screened in porch the night of one of his birthday parties. (I say formally because I knew Gertrude before from her performances at Jump-Start.) I went up to Gert and asked her if she would model for a painting for a series called Mujeres de Fuerza. That evening we talked to the wee hours of the morning about women of strength, all the mujeres we knew who were in control or out of control. When she came to my studio at 618 E. Guenther, it was after her first trip to Ghana, Africa. She told me a story about her visit to an island that held people who would be sold as slaves in America. I did her portrait with that story and the spirits she met on that island. Gerty was a strong spiritual woman. You could feel her intense connection to “el otro lado”. To some this intensity was too much. For me it was exciting, inspirational, a challenge to live life mindfully. I have no biological sisters, but I have many soul sisters. We all were connected to Gerty through her spiritual intensity and her fierce loyalty. Gerty all of your soul sisters will miss you immensely.
Gertrude had tremendous style and often a hat. Wherever she was Gertrude created community and made people feel less alone.
I love Gertrudes laugh! loud and meaningful. one night i sat next to her during some performance and I looked at her beautiful profile and i looked again and she was missing one of her lenses in her glasses. she turned to me and said she could still see.
Being a product of SAISD it was programs like Jump-Start that helped nurture my talent and people like Gertrude Baker who helped influence me to pursue a career as a professional singer. I moved to NYC two years ago to become an opera singer and it is hard to imagine how different my life would have turned out had it not been for mentors like Gertrude.
My fondest memory of Gertrude goes back to my childhood when Sterling Houston asked me to participate in his adaptation of “On the Pulse of Morning”, with Maya Angelou. I had painted a portrait of Ms. Angelou in art class as part of a project titled, “Heroes”. Sterling wanted to mount my painting on a platter and have me present it to Ms. Angelou during the performance. He sent me to spend the day and work with Gertrude which ended up being a marathon of painting, sculpting, and non-stop laughing. Even though I was only a kid, she insisted that I call her by her first name- she had not only become my mentor but also my dear friend.
Though I no longer create with paint, I dedicate my next vocal performance to YOU Gertrude, my other hero. I will carry your smile, humility, and grace with me always.
Wow,
The first show I was ever paid to direct ($30 – and I still have the check…good luck and all) was (with Joyce L) A…MY NAME IS ALICE at Main Ave. Studio. I was scared of both Gert and judge Bonnie. I was smart to be scared. You see, the only time I had ever seen Gert was at the old Blue Star – she played a demonized clown hitting people over the head with a dildo, I do believe. My group of religious friends were horrified… so was I.
So, rehearsals for ALICE were not going well. I did not know what the hell I was doing. She knew that. She stormed off stage right AFTER a break, and said “Kev’rn..I don’t mean to be rude or nuthin’ but… you really SUCK!” – and I did. She came back ten minutes later, took a deep personal moment on stage…and said “ok now, lets do it”… and we did.
Yes, Gert dined alone often and my father and I loved running into her. She almost always asked us to join, but one Sunday afternoon at El Matadore, I think (I have been gone for 13 years) we waived hello to her and proceeded to her table. She held out her hand like a stop sign and said “babies, I need my soupa Azteca ALONE today…”
And that was that. Gert, every time I direct, and often do suck, I think of your warning, your care, and most of all that amazing deep velvet laugh that belongs only to you…
OMNI-O-ORAN-GUE-KIO. I never quite knew how to spell it, but this was Gertrude’s mantra, sounds that rolled out of her like her laughter, a velvet explosion, bringing her peace and power. This I learned in a day I spent with her in a theatre workshop at the Esperanza Peace and Justice Center, part of Sharon Bridgeforth’s Women Writers Roundtable series. Gertrude hadn’t been part of the long term writing series, but she came in to work with Sharon that day to help us develop as performers of our own work. We paired up for the day. I’ll never forget it. I had known Gertrude since I began performing my poetry. She was a source of tremendous motivation, a person who often found a way to communicate on that perfect edge that can exist between challenge and support, a place only a master teacher can speak from. If she saw me at an event she would often holler out across the room, “Where’s my poem? What’s taking you so long?” That day at the Esperanza we got up real close; I recall us inspecting each others’ teeth and knuckles and toenails, stuff like that. We listened to each other talk about our strengths, our bodies, our fears, and told stories through movement together. Staring straight into her eyes, I could see she knew her own power in all its ferocity and tenderness. One of our projects for that day was to each write a short text that could be the song of the other. I guess I told Gertrude she was going to get that poem she was always asking me for if it took her all day. She liked what I wrote that day, but we both agreed that it wasn’t done yet. Trying to write Gertrude’s song inspired me to develop a performance piece called Mujer Arco-Iris, along with Gertrude and my dear friend Cristal Gonzalez. We performed it together at the Esperanza for the culminating performance event of Sharon’s rountable series. That was the only time the 3 of us performed the piece together. My song of Gertrude was part of the performance. I addressed it directly to her and found that ,in the performance, it changed a little. We both thought it was getting there, evolving. In this act today of remembering Gertrude, my song for her has changed a little bit more. I’m quite sure she is liking it; not quite ready to say it is done. With much love to Gertrude.
Jaguar warrior woman of peace
OMNI-O-ORAN-GUE-KIO
power sculpted from face
OMNI-O-ORAN-GUE-KIO
crouching comes wisdom to her
sneaking through her veins
snagging on a knuckle readied for the pounce
in her throat a storm gathers
long teeth glint her mouth wide open
she rains on us her healing laughter.
Jaguar warrior woman of peace
OMNI-O-ORANG-GUE-KIO
Janet Jackson had nothing over Gert. The original wardrobe malfunction, as I recall, occurred in 1991. The show was CHEAP TALK, one of Sterling Houston’s early works at Jump-Start. Gert portrayed a second rate lounge singer named Wanda Jamal. Her costume, in part, consisted of a very tight-fitting red tube top. I remember how she would constantly wrestle with it backstage, trying desperately to keep it from inching its way down. Cursing costumer John McBurney for dressing her in such a get up, Gert managed to suck it up like the trooper she was and go on with the show. During one performance however, the inevitable happened. As she sang “My Hot Number”
Wanda’s wretched tube top had slipped down past the point of no return and her “number” got hotter. Sorry Janet, Gertrude made wardrobe malfunction history long before your Super Bowl faux pas.
Thank you Gert for many sweet memories on and off stage.
called out to her, “hey, girl!” once . . . only once. she swung around and lowered her voice, eyes narrowed, and said black women had fought hard enough to be recognized as adult women, “i don’t need to march back and be called a child again.” she was on the outside what she was on the inside: a rare, honest person. makes my heart hurt to know she’s gone.
I think Andrea is citing the chant common to the practice of Nichiren Shoshu Buddhism:
“By chanting Nam Myoho Renge Kyo, therefore, one is essentially repeating the phrase: “I express my devotion to the perfectly endowed Mystic Law of the Lotus Sutra.” The lotus is the most fitting of symbols, for one, because at the time of full bloom both the seed and flower are readily apparent, thus signifying the merging of cause and effect, and the immediate attainment of Buddhahood. And also, since a lotus blooms in muddy water, it is commonly recognized as a metaphor for the attainment of enlightenment while immersed in the realities of existence” (http://www.nichirenshoshumyoshinji.org/sermons/intro.php).
To hear about Gert chanting is to reveal one more facet of a very complex, someone who approached each moment with a personal clarity and integrity:
-She could and did speak bluntly, as she appeared to think and feel things deeply.
-She could be confrontational, and yet she gave of herself completely when she gave her time.
-She loved San Antonio, her veteran friends, her theatre work, her commitments with a love that expressed itself in time well spent.
Like many people, I first saw Gertrude Baker on the stage – in Sterling Houston’s White Lily/Black Lily. She was magnificent; she and Kim Corbin played the tensions between the Lilys beautifully. I think that is the only time I saw Gert perform without a wig – as Gert would tell you, her afro was her Gert persona, and she had to change hair to become a character.
As I got to know Getrude more, I realized she was a person who had lived in three worlds in succession: the New York of her youth, her Army service work, which included her tour(s) in Vietnam, and her life in San Antonio, which included her theatre studies at University of the Incarnate Word. Having grown up moving around, I found the idea of one who takes root in a community very inspiring.
Working on SIMPLICITY (photo above) with her in 1994, a play about a Vietnam vet, made me fear for how theatre, and particularly theatre drawn from anecdotes, might move one closer to the abyss of memories not healed. Still, Gertrude was giving in her approach. After the show was done, we went to lunch; she told me of how difficult it had been to do the work; she gave me a pin and a mug, both bearing the insignia of Army nurses, and she said, “We’re tight; we went there.” I was overwhelmed and humbled by her generosity.
Over the years, the depth of her gifts and the fullness of her commitment, reflected not only show, but especially her life in the community, became all the more apparent to me.
I cannot be at the funeral – I am rewriting another show in another city – but you are all on my mind: Gert, and all of us kindred spirits who have had the fortune to know Gertrude Bakers absolute presence.
Paul
Gert has been our pal for many years, and although sometimes she would get cranky, bossy and argumentative, she was always honest, generous and loving at the same time. After the Alzheimers got so bad and she had to go to the home, Terry and I would visit her together because it was too tough to go alone. On one particular Terry birthday, I was elected to bring Gert to the party because I lived fairly close to the home, but I dreaded the thought of trying to get her back to her “dorm” after drinking and having fun again with all of us. As the night went on, Gert had more and more fun. and I got more and more anxious, but finally Terry said, “Gert can spend the night,” which made Gert happy and got me off the hook. I remember how happy she was to see everybody again and enjoy her friends, which had always been a big part of her life. In those last years, she wore her Vietnam Vet hat almost constantly, which made me realize what a big part of her life that period was. And maybe because it came in a prickly package, I don’t think we realize how many people she influenced in a positive way.
I remember working with Gertrude on Khmer Amerika. I also remember she donated two kerosin heaters so that we might warm up every once and a while during the reahearsals. I have fond mememories of us hudled in front of those heaters. High Yellow Rose was the first and last show I worked on with Gertrude. She was the perfect Joe. I will miss her bamboozling me on stage, I will miss her big brown eyes and bosterous laugh.
Here’s a video that Jen Simmons directed for the Esperanza’s tribute to Gertrude in 1997.
Michael, Thank you! When we were working on Gert’s tribute 12 years ago, who would have ever guessed this video would–so appropriately–reappear as a tribute to her at the time of her passing? This was healing for me. Plus, I felt like I got to visit with Sterling again. Thank you.
Here’s Gertrude in High Yellow Rose.
I first met Gertrude at Incarnate Word College where we both took Group Voice together with opera singer and music professor Debbie Bussineau back in the 80′s. I remember her recital song. She did a wonderfully moving rendition of “Send in the Clown.” ‘I already miss her strong voice. Since then I had the honor — granted by her! — of being her friend.
We worked together on stage and I even had the rare opportunity of directing her! Oh yea! You can imagine what that was like! Me, tell Gertrude what to do?! I don’t think so — so I didn’t! I learned how to be “strongly suggestive” and how to draw from her what was needed for the production–or at least what she thought was needed for the production. She was great and she taught me alot.
I already miss her strong voice… but, mostly I miss her laughter.
Oh, my dear dear Gert, I will miss you. Gert and I became friends during our two productions of A….My Name is Alice. We continued to meet on a semi-regular basis at the same Mexican restaurant on the west side. I never knew which Gert I was going to greet, the happy, wildly excited Gert, the animated angry Gert, the dark and troubled Gert, or the soft caring, devoted Gert. Sometimes I got them all. It could be exhausting but I never missed the opportunity to be with her. She had such courage and once she got something in her head there was no shaking it loose or even tempering it. She was what she was. She thought what she thought and that was it. Take it or leave it. She could make me full out laugh better than anyone I know. The joy she got out of life, her friends, her work was all in her face. What a beautiful face.
When I would visit her at the nursing home it was still Gert, just a gentler one. I missed the edgy, frustrated, angry Gert. I fed on her energy, her strength, her determination. I often wished I had her power, the power that made others take notice, listen up and even fear her. She brought that same energy to her complete and total loyalty to those she loved. I will always cherish the fact that I was included among her many friends and the beneficiary of her great love. I am so sad.
Circa 1998
Don’t know for sure if you were there that night
Lisa Mellinger had in tow the woman who brought the house down—
wish you were here to tell it.
How the music surged and she began singing
When everything stopped
not a breath wasted
all eyes turned and muscles released in rhythm
to R-E-S-P-E-C-T,
Aretha, the Divine
with a little help from
the Barkeep,
throwing his towel down in time with the beat;
A Stranger at the next table,
androgynous at best;
the Busboy
and Waiter who’d just brought bread
All became Herculean
and you, so alive
in the Liberty Bar—just the way I suppose
your friend, Drew, would have wanted it.
I remember Gert as a no nonsense woman, but she was willing to help and give a part of herself to others. I attended Romero and Juliet in the park once and was intranced by her performance, I can still feel the chills going down my spine. She was the one who always spoke her mind at Debra (Fatimah) Medows parties and leave us breathless with laughter. I was grateful for her as a director in 2001. I had lost my mother the year before and couldn’t write. Through her direction and Sharon Brigeforth’s encouraging us to write I not only wrote but came back to me.
Thank-you Gert I will always treasure you.
Whatsa Gert? A good fun-loving friend, a mentor, and a pleasant well-spoken woman. I am certain that Tony, Janice and Charley are ready with a coctail–cause it’s 5 o’clock somewhere and they are just waiting on you. God Bless.
Gert was the first friend I made when I moved to San Antonio. I’ve been trying to find her for at least 3 years, since I last called her and it was a wrong no. Thank you for posting this, so now I know. Even after I moved to pastor, we still would pick up the phone and talk like we’d just spoken the day before. One day I stopped by her house on the way to see my partner in the hospital. Gert wanted to show me something. She showed me pictures she’d had taken to be sent in to the Black Nurses’ Assoc. where she was being honored that year – ’81, I believe. I took one look and got goose bumps. I told her, “Do you realize this is a classic?” She gave me one, and I still have it. It hung on my wall for years.
I’ll miss Gert – I miss the late night talks we had – and I’ll never forget her. No, I wasn’t part of her theater friends, but did used to go see her act. She dearly loved it. Thank you for allowing me to know even more about her and letting me express how I feel too.