Cutlure: When Dino Met Gloria

Dino Di Filippi

As a child in Mount Vernon, New York the African American folks lived on the other side
of town. I’d see them on the streets or in school, but they were nowhere to be found in
my neighborhood. (Ironically a large portion of the population today is African American,
particularly Jamaican.)

Not only was my father a bigot, but many of my relatives and
friends were as well. In Italian slang, they were called the derogatory word “Tizzone”.
What began at one of the auditions for Visigoths was certainly a life changing
experience. There was a character in the cast who was a female black revolutionary.
(This was early 1970.) I was sitting in the second row center with my girlfriend Kate, a
tall blonde starlet, when I felt moved to turn and look over my shoulder up the aisle as a
black woman with a large Afro strolled down the aisle in what, believe it or not,
appeared, slow motion. (She exuded a feeling of total self-confidence.) Accompanying
her was a white guy. She sat down about mid-way in the theater and the white guy

Gloria Jones

ambled over to me.

As a child in Mount Vernon, New York the African American folks lived on the other side
of town. I’d see them on the streets or in school, but they were nowhere to be found in
my neighborhood. (Ironically a large portion of the population today is African American,
particularly Jamaican.) Not only was my father a bigot, but many of my relatives and
friends were as well. In Italian slang, they were called the derogatory word “Tizzone”.

What began at one of the auditions for Visigoths was certainly a life changing
experience. There was a character in the cast who was a female black revolutionary.
(This was early 1970.) I was sitting in the second row center with my girlfriend Kate, a
tall blonde starlet, when I felt moved to turn and look over my shoulder up the aisle as a
black woman with a large Afro strolled down the aisle in what, believe it or not,
appeared, slow motion. (She exuded a feeling of total self-confidence.) Accompanying
her was a white guy. She sat down about mid-way in the theater and the white guy
ambled over to me.
He said, “You the director?” I said “yeah”. “Ok! That is Gloria Jones and she is here to
audition for the revolutionary part.”” Great”, I said. Who the heck is Gloria Jones? He
informed me that she was playing the lead in “Hair” down the street on Sunset Strip and
that she had no intention of leaving the show, but simply wanted to get some
experience auditioning. He then launched into a PR campaign. He let me know that she
was a prolific writer for Mo Town, mentioned some of her hit songs, and that she sang
back up for Ike and Tina Turner and the Supremes among others. “That was quite a
marketing piece” I said. “Listen, I’m her manager. It’s my job.” “Ok! She can audition.”
When the moment came for me to work with Gloria on the stage, I became aware that I
had never been that close to a black person before. All the indoctrination from my father
about black people descended into my experience. I kept looking at her hair. I assumed-
having had no experience with black people-that her hair was a mound of Brillo. You
know a scouring pad. Can you imagine!
As I said, when I stepped up to the stage and came within three feet of her, I felt a
strange feeling in my body. I had never felt that way before. She was feared, but there
were others aspects of the feeling that I could not identify. Gloria had a perfect voice for
the part and was indeed a living representation of the revolutionary character in the
play.
Her audition complete, she and her manager left. I thought nothing of it until the next
morning when I received a call from her manger informing me that Gloria had decided
that she would leave “Hair”, if I wanted her. “Leave Hair” I said. “Listen man, she calls
the shots.”
I hired her. We began rehearsals. My girlfriend Kate went away to shoot a movie. One
evening after rehearsal, I was sitting quietly chatting with the stage manager when
Gloria approached me with her East L.A. vernacular,” You wanna go out tonight”. I will
tell you this; a terror came over my body; my throat contracted and my eyes could
barely stay in my head. I had been unexpectedly hit in my solar plexus by a cruise

missile. I was speechless. As she strolled back up the aisle, (she always appeared to be
moving in slow motion) she quietly said. “I know where you live. I’ll pick you up at 8
sharp.”
“Oh my god, oh my god, what am I going to do.” I became hysterical. The stage
manager did his best to calm me down. “Take it easy man. It’s not a big deal. She’ll pick
you up. You go out to dinner. She’ll take you home. And that will be that. No big deal.”
All I could think about was my father; and her hair. What if my father Nick, back in New
York, found out? Oh my god.
In an attempt to bring myself back into reality, I repeated what the stage manager’s
words: “She will pick me up. We will have diner. She will take me home.” I calmed down
a bit. The stage manager assured me that that was what was going to happen. As John
Lennon so adroitly put it, “Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans.”
Gloria did pick me up at 8 PM sharp in a brand new black Cadillac Eldorado. The door
opened and I slid into a red leather bucket seat. Almost immediately, not having been
this close to a black person before in my life, I found that my eyes transfixed on the
mound of “Brillo” on her head. She picked it up immediately and asked. “You wanna
touch it”. OMG. “Touch it”? Yeah “Touch it?”. Listen friends, the last thing in this world
that I wanted to do at that moment was to touch her hair. I was so terrified and yet so
sexually aroused, it was deeply disturbing.
She grasped my hand-she was strong- and thrust it into her hair. I had an epiphany. In
others words, my mind was blown. The softness and sensuality of her hair captured my
being and a feeling of wonderment and peace came over me. I reached up and put my
other hand into her hair as well. Being so close to her, she whispered, “I’m going to take
you upstairs.“ My puppy dog response: “OK!” We became lovers.

If I remember correctly, Gloria’s father was a minister in East L.A. I had never been to a
black neighborhood before. She taught me so much about discrimination, particularly
with the police and the price of things in the stores was outrageous, as I remember it.
Again it was 50 years ago. I will always be grateful for her love, guidance and
mentorship.
Somehow everyone in the cast learned about Gloria and me. My girlfriend Kate returned
from her shoot. As she and I sit in our usual seats in the third row. Gloria steps off the
stage at the ending of a scene and gives Kate a look that could melt a glacier. My
girlfriend is taken aback. “Honey, did you see how Gloria looked at me. I think she hates
me. You think she could kill me?”. “Oh Kate, it’s your imagination. Why would she hate
you?” “Don’t tell me. I’m a woman, and I know these things”. So we let it go at that.
The next night we had a cast party. Gloria was nowhere to be found. We were all
wondering what had happened to her. But about an hour later Gloria makes her
entrance, excitedly in a not slow motion way. Something must be going on. She waves
at us all to come to the piano. She had written a new song. As she sang, perspiration

gushes out of my pores. The lyrics of the song were penetrating my consciousness and
the consciousness of the entire cast who knew about her and me. The cast could hardly
contain themselves. My girlfriend’s remark was: “What a nice song.”

As I said, when I stepped up to the stage and came within three feet of her, I felt a
strange feeling in my body. I had never felt that way before. She was feared, but there
were others aspects of the feeling that I could not identify. Gloria had a perfect voice for
the part and was indeed a living representation of the revolutionary character in the
play.

Her audition complete, she and her manager left. I thought nothing of it until the next
morning when I received a call from her manger informing me that Gloria had decided
that she would leave “Hair”, if I wanted her. “Leave Hair” I said. “Listen man, she calls
the shots.”

I hired her. We began rehearsals. My girlfriend Kate went away to shoot a movie. One
evening after rehearsal, I was sitting quietly chatting with the stage manager when
Gloria approached me with her East L.A. vernacular,” You wanna go out tonight?”. I will
tell you this; a terror came over my body; my throat contracted and my eyes could
barely stay in my head. I had been unexpectedly hit in my solar plexus by a cruise
missile. I was speechless. As she strolled back up the aisle, (she always appeared to be
moving in slow motion) she quietly said. “I know where you live. I’ll pick you up at 8
sharp.”

“Oh my god, oh my god, what am I going to do.” I became hysterical. The stage
manager did his best to calm me down. “Take it easy man. It’s not a big deal. She’ll pick
you up. You go out to dinner. She’ll take you home. And that will be that. No big deal.”
All I could think about was my father; and her hair. What if my father Nick, back in New
York, found out? Oh my god.

In an attempt to bring myself back into reality, I repeated what the stage manager’s
words: “She will pick me up. We will have diner. She will take me home.” I calmed down
a bit. The stage manager assured me that that was what was going to happen. As John
Lennon so adroitly put it, “Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans.”
Gloria did pick me up at 8 PM sharp in a brand new black Cadillac Eldorado. The door
opened and I slid into a red leather bucket seat. Almost immediately, not having been
this close to a black person before in my life, I found that my eyes transfixed on the
mound of “Brillo” on her head. She picked it up immediately and asked. “You wanna
touch it”. OMG. “Touch it”? Yeah “Touch it?”. Listen friends, the last thing in this world
that I wanted to do at that moment was to touch her hair. I was so terrified and yet so
sexually aroused, it was deeply disturbing.

She grasped my hand-she was strong- and thrust it into her hair. I had an epiphany. In
others words, my mind was blown. The softness and sensuality of her hair captured my
being and a feeling of wonderment and peace came over me. I reached up and put my
other hand into her hair as well. Being so close to her, she whispered, “I’m going to take
you upstairs.“ My puppy dog response: “OK!” We became lovers.

If I remember correctly, Gloria’s father was a minister in East L.A. I had never been to a
black neighborhood before. She taught me so much about discrimination, particularly
with the police and the price of things in the stores was outrageous, as I remember it.
Again it was 50 years ago. I will always be grateful for her love, guidance and
mentorship.

Somehow everyone in the cast learned about Gloria and me. My girlfriend Kate returned
from her shoot. As she and I sit in our usual seats in the third row. Gloria steps off the
stage at the ending of a scene and gives Kate a look that could melt a glacier. My
girlfriend is taken aback. “Honey, did you see how Gloria looked at me. I think she hates
me. You think she could kill me?”. “Oh Kate, it’s your imagination. Why would she hate
you?” “Don’t tell me. I’m a woman, and I know these things”. So we let it go at that.
The next night we had a cast party. Gloria was nowhere to be found. We were all
wondering what had happened to her. But about an hour later Gloria makes her
entrance, excitedly in a not slow motion way. Something must be going on. She waves
at us all to come to the piano. She had written a new song. As she sang, perspiration
gushes out of my pores. The lyrics of the song were penetrating my consciousness and
the consciousness of the entire cast who knew about her and me. The cast could hardly
contain themselves. My girlfriend’s remark was: “What a nice song.”

No matter how we tried, we couldn’t get Visigoths to work. The show opened and
closed. If I had been more conscious at the time, I would have known that that would be
the outcome. I listened to the voice that wanted to be a somebody and sacrificed my
artistic integrity. My agents in L.A. had me convinced that the show was going to make
me into a famous film director. Little did I know what was in store for me! From the point
of view of my quest for TA, the evolution of my consciousness, it is all for the expansion
of consciousness, no matter how painful. Nothing can be any different than what it is.

Now that the play was a flop, I broke off with Kate. Gloria and I drove across the
country. A white guy with a black woman in certain parts of the country was not kosher
in those days, but nevertheless we made it to New York City.
Gloria and I lived together in my brownstone apt just off 87 th Street and Central Park
West for about six months. One day she turned to me, “You know, honey, I wanna go
back to L.A. I wanna be with my son. (She had a young son who I believe was living
with his father.) I wanna write.” It was cool. Our relationship was easy. We cared for
each other and yet both knew that it was time. She returned to L.A.

Six months later, sitting in my living room, I heard the song that Gloria had written
coming from my next door neighbor’s apartment. I ran down the hall and pounded on
his door. It opened. I erupted, “That song! that song!” “Yeah, don’t you listen to the
radio”. “No!” I was jumping out of my skin. “Well, it’s, “If I Were Your Woman” by Gladys
Night and the Pips. It’s number one on the charts. “Where you been?” he snapped. “I
know, I know; that song was written for me. “For you?””Yeah, by Gloria the woman that
was living here with me. He lit up: “No shit”.

My father never knew about my relationship with Gloria. It changed my life forever. He
has probably turned over in his grave a thousand times. Or possibly, he has arrived in a
dimension where, “the color of someone’s skin is a distinction that has no distinction.”
My two grandchildren’s father is a Jamaican and I am married to a Jamaican woman.
It’s the evolution of my consciousness, and the evolution of consciousness.
I believe that future generations will be shocked by all the uproar and reactivity to the
color of someone’s skin. Of course, they will know that it was the result of an attempt at
differential advantage over others, driven by scarcity and the fear of survival.