From the moment Nebraska native and playwright Mona Z. Smith became aware of Canada Lee, she was captivated.
At the time — six or seven years ago — one of her part-time jobs was as a booking agent for a jazz singer, and she was reading a lot of jazz history. Bebop particularly interested her because it was an outgrowth of the alienation felt by African-American soldiers who had returned from World War II to find they were still subjected to Jim Crow laws. On the heels of that period came McCarthyism. Canada Lee’s name cropped up in books on both subjects. In fact, he was called the greatest black actor of his generation and one of the few whose deaths were directly attributable to blacklisting.
Hmmm. If he was the greatest black actor of his generation, Smith thought, why hadn’t she heard of him? She was involved in theater. She lived in New York City, also Lee’s home. She was an avid reader of theater history.
Her interest tweaked, Smith began to look for more information.
“I couldn’t believe how few references there were,” says Smith. “It was like Canada Lee has just disappeared.”
For five years, Smith continued to seek sources. On the verge of giving up, she discovered that the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture in Harlem had seven boxes of data on the actor.
“When I get there,” says Smith, “I can’t see them. They are too fragile and they haven’t been microfilmed. But — one glimmer of hope — I’m given the name of the donor’s lawyer. I write him. He writes back and says the materials were given by Lee’s widow. She is alive but frail. He says if I want to write her a letter, he will forward it to her, which I do.”
Then Smith describes her great breakthrough.
“Canada’s widow, Frances Lee Pearson, calls,” says Smith. “She lives in Atlanta and wants me to come down.”
Smith says she immediately made travel arrangements and flew into Atlanta, arriving at 4 a.m. the next Saturday.
“When I reached her house, all the lights were on and she was waiting for me,” says Smith. “When she came to the door, I was shocked to see she is white. She is 82 and blind but very sharp.”
The two women talked eight hours straight. During the course of the weekend, they compiled 12 to 14 hours of tape. Pearson has kept copious records and opened all of them to Smith.
“She is so much to be admired,” says Smith. “Even after all these years, she is committed to making sure Canada’s story is told. She has always known that some day, somewhere, somebody would come along to tell it.”
And what a story it is.
Born Leonard Lionel Cornelius Canegata in Harlem in 1907, Canada Lee seemed possessed of the desire to distinguish himself.
He was a classically trained violin prodigy and made his concert debut at age 11 in New York’s Aeolian Hall. There were few black classical musicians at the time, and feeling he could go no further, at 14 he ran away. He became a stable boy but soon advanced to jockey. He built a successful career with important wins at Belmont, Saratoga and the Aquaduct. Despite great promise, he was pushed out after four years by the all-white Jockey Guild which was actively working to ban African-Americans from the sport.
He returned to Harlem and took up prize fighting. Ring announcer Joe Humphries, unable to pronounce Canegata, re-christened the young man Canada Lee. He won every East Coast prize and became the world’s eighth-ranked welterweight. Two fights away from the title, he had a freak accident in the ring at Madison Square Garden that left him with a detached retina and shattered any chances he may have had of continuing his boxing career.
By that time, Lee had married and had a young child. He had no education and no prospects. Finally, broke and despondent, he headed for the unemployment line, but his pride wouldn’t allow him to take the money. He ducked into the theater at the YMCA. It happened to be holding auditions and, on a whim, Lee tried out. Thus began his 16-year theatrical career.
In the early years, he was associated with the WPA Negro Theatre Project where he played diverse parts. His career flourished, garnering him important jobs on stage, screen and radio. Among his important roles were: Banquo in Orson Welles’ famous voodoo “Macbeth,” Bigger Thomas in Welles’ Broadway production of “Native Son,” Joe in Alfred Hitchcock’s film “Lifeboat,” Caliban in Margaret Webster’s “The Tempest” and the Rev. Stephen Kumalo in Korda’s film “Cry, the Beloved Country.”
Lee’s portrayal of Daniel de Bosola in the Broadway production of “The Duchess of Malfi” marked what is believed to be the first incidence of whiteface on the American stage — a black actor playing the role of a white character.
Smith says the actor passionately believed in social justice and his prominence as an actor gave him a platform from which his voice could be heard.
“He was an activist,” says Smith, “but not just for black people. He worked for every liberal cause — for civil rights for all people.”
Canada Lee’s downfall came in the form of Judith Koplan, a Justice Department employee, who was brought to trial for espionage.
“Judith Koplan was caught red-handed passing secrets to her Russian boyfriend,” says Smith. “The notes were in her hose. She had a clever lawyer who forced the court to bring in the entire FBI files. They were filled with innuendo and half-truths and that’s where all these names were: Helen Hayes, Frederic March, Canada Lee.
“For Canada, the work just stopped,” she says.
He made one last film, “Cry, the Beloved Country” with Sidney Poitier, filmed in South Africa, Smith says. Still, he was unable to find work in the United States. As he returned from a promotional tour in 1952, Lee’s passport was confiscated. Weeks later, he lapsed into a coma and died.
Smith’s play about Canada Lee, “Becoming Something,” was scheduled to open at the Kraine Theater in New York City May 9 and run through May 26. She has also received a contract from Faber and Faber to write the actor’s biography.
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