[Congressional Record Volume 140, Number 95 (Wednesday, July 20, 1994)]
[Extensions of Remarks]
[Page E]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Printing Office [www.gpo.gov]


[Congressional Record: July 20, 1994]
From the Congressional Record Online via GPO Access [wais.access.gpo.gov]

 
                      EVA ISAAC: AN APOLLO LEGEND

                                 ______


                         HON. CHARLES B. RANGEL

                              of new york

                    in the house of representatives

                        Wednesday, July 20, 1994

  Mr. RANGEL. Mr. Speaker, I would like to bring to your attention and 
to the attention of my colleagues here in the House, a story which 
recently appeared in the Washington Post about one of Harlem's Apollo 
Theatre's most famous and adored fans--Eva Isaac.
  I share this story with you in tribute to a woman whose spirit and 
vitality is a trademark of one of the most exciting and vibrant cities 
in the world: New York.

                       [From the Washington Post]

                     Front and Center at the Apollo


         AMateur Night Draws a Tough Crowd. Just Ask Eva Isaac.

                          (By James Earl Hardy)

       New York.--The moment she walks into Harlem's famed Apollo 
     Theatre, all heads turn. Some gasp. Others tap their 
     neighbors, pointing and declaring in hushed tones, ``It's 
     her.'' A few ask for her autograph, even though they don't 
     know her name.
       And, as she is led by an usher through the lobby and to her 
     seat--first row, center, No. 108--she is met with applause, 
     blinding camera flashes, calls of Woof! Woof! Woof!'' and 
     shouts of ``You go, girl!''
       Eva Isaac is an ``Apollo Legend,'' without a doubt the 
     Apollo's most famous Amateur Night audience member.
       Every Wednesday night since 1935, the Apollo has hosted one 
     of the liveliest open-mike talent competitions in the 
     country. A dozen or so brave souls have graced the theater's 
     stage each week and faced what many consider the toughest 
     audience in the world. How tough are they? Ask Luther 
     Vandross. He was booed four times before he won.
       Isaac has been a witness to this and many other hits and 
     misses over the past 40 years. (``It's Showtime at the 
     Apollo'' airs tonight at 1 a.m. on Channel 4.) Neither rain 
     nor sleet nor 12 inches of snow (through which, on one 
     particular night, she trekked for several miles between her 
     apartment in the Polo Grounds housing project and the 
     theater) will stop her. She's only missed the festivities 
     once. In 1987 she returned to Emporia, Va., where she was 
     born and raised, to attend her mother's funeral.
       ``Folks know they can count on me to go out or do something 
     for them, any time during the week--except Wednesday night,'' 
     explains Isaac, as she peels off her coast and settles in 
     what a young man sitting directly behind Isaac calls ``her 
     throne.''
       ``If I go on vacation, I'll leave after the show and make 
     sure I'm back in time for next week's. I just can't miss 
     it!'' says the diminutive, bespectacled 56-year-old woman, 
     whom some around here call ``Miss Apollo.''
       ``She weaves this magic over the place that you just can't 
     explain,'' says Leon Denmark, executive director of the 
     Apollo Foundation, the group that runs the theater. ``Stars 
     fade, fads come and go, but Eva doesn't. She's always there 
     to help strike up the band.''
       Isaac usually gives the first ``thumbs up'' or ``thumbs 
     down'' sing to contestants, and does it in a way only she 
     can. There was the time a male dance trio from the Bronx 
     called Rhythm in Motion strutted their stuff off of the house 
     version of Janet Jackson's ``if.'' No more than 15 seconds 
     into their performance, Isaac jumped out of her seat, 
     pointing to the stage and screaming, ``Ya'll betta dance!'' 
     She started gyrating her own hips and shaking her rump, even 
     working the groove with one of the fellas when he came to the 
     foot of the stage. Her energy was infectious. Many in the 
     audience followed her lead, bopping along to the beat or 
     clapping and cheering.
       Another act was not as lucky. A young woman from Newark 
     tried her best to belt out Mariah Carey's ``Hero,'' but had 
     barely gotten through the first few lines when Isaac calmly 
     rose out of her seat, placed her hands on her hips and 
     declared, ``Sorry, baby, but you can't sing!'' She waved at 
     the woman before sitting down, which seemed to be a cue for 
     the audience. A somewhat scary chorus of boos and hisses 
     erupted, and Sandman Sims, the resident clown and bearer of 
     bad tidings, pranced out with his cane to ``rope'' the young 
     woman off the stage.
       Giving someone the boot isn't something that Isaac really 
     enjoys, though. ``Whoever comes from behind that curtain, I 
     want them to win. And I know that it takes a lot of courage 
     to come out in front of some strangers and try to do your 
     thing, so I give them all the utmost respect for that and 
     give them the benefit of the doubt. But you shouldn't half-
     step, because we are hard to please.'' So hard, in fact, that 
     some contestants are smart enough to seek out Miss Apollo's 
     advice before they go on.
       Isaac vividly recalls her very first Amateur Night, not 
     long after she stepped off a bus from Virginia for a new life 
     at the tender age of 17.
       ``It was another world for me,'' she explained. ``You got 
     to remember that I was a farm girl. I milked the cows and cut 
     the wood and picked cotton and pulled tobacco. There was 26 
     of us''--her parents, eight blood-related siblings including 
     a twin sister, and another couple and their 13 children whom 
     Isaac's father took in after they lost their land. ``It was 
     crowded, honey! I guess I felt smothered, lost in the mix.
       ``So picture me coming to New York and seeing, for the 
     first time, the people I would read about in the paper or 
     hear on the radio in the town store. They were live, for 
     real, onstage. They were larger than life, so pretty and 
     handsome, dressed to the nines, you know? All that glitter 
     and gold, the sequins and gowns, and all that hair! I don't 
     know, but something took over me--the lights, the feeling of 
     being with so many other people--it made it seem like a big 
     family. It just set me free, let this other me inside come 
     out. I was ready to party, you hear?''
       And the party has continued every week since. Isaac didn't 
     slow down when she married (her husband, who died in 1992, 
     joined her when he wasn't working). Nor did she let children 
     get in the way. Unless they had chores or homework, all five 
     of hers, now ages 22 through 38, also came along. ``It was 
     certainly better than letting them run the streets,'' says 
     Isaac. And all the exposure to show biz paid off in one 
     instance: Her son Erskine is a booking agent.
       It was after one or her stellar performances--climbing up 
     onstage and demanding that a male crooner ``Sing it!''--that 
     Ralph Cooper Sr., who began Amateur Night in 1935 and served 
     as its emcee until his death two years ago, came up with the 
     idea of ``booking'' the woman he addressed as ``my girl, 
     Eva.'' Isaac was awarded a lifetime pass in 1962.
       And she has seen a lot from that seat. ``Little Stevie 
     Wonder, little Michael Jackson and the Jackson 5, Gladys 
     Knight, the Supremes, the Temptations, all the biggies. And 
     there are, of course, the wannabes, those people who want to 
     be the next Michael or Gladys. Some of them cried, some of 
     them laughed about bombing out. But I loved them all because 
     they dared to dream, they took a chance. They will be a part 
     of me always. I feel like I know them all personally, like 
     they are all my children.''
       Because the amateur competition, which helped launch the 
     careers of Ella Fitzgerald, Dionne Warwick and James Brown, 
     is seen internationally on the tube, Isaac is also seen 
     around the world. Fans from other countries have sent her 
     flowers and letters. Such musical giants as R&B diva Patti 
     LaBelle, blues legend B.B. King and ``Quiet Storm'' crooner 
     Keith Washington have given her their props from the Apollo 
     stage. Washington's rose has been wrapped in aluminum foil 
     and stored in her freezer for the past three years.
       Isaac has no thought of retirement, even though there is a 
     home in Scottsville, Va., left to her by her father. She 
     rents it out to her children, and to hear her tell it, they 
     may end up living in it for the rest of their lives.
       ``Even if I do decide to--how do they say it, chill?--it'd 
     be hard leaving the Apollo behind,'' she admits with a smile. 
     ``It really is my second home, you know.''

                          ____________________