The line began to form in the dark on Monday, hours before anyone was admitted to the Abyssinian Baptist Church in Harlem. One 86-year-old member of the church woke up at 4:30 a.m. to ensure she would be one of the first people at stake. She was the third.
As daylight breaks and the cold continues, the line around the block grows. Some people wore full-length, mahogany-colored furs; others are wearing scarves with sequins and blocked puff coats with dog thread. Just best to see Cicely Tyson, who they called their native Harlem Queen, one last time.
Ms Tyson, who died on January 28 at 96, lay resting in the sanctuary of the church, surrounded by purple orchids, lilacs and hydrangeas. Fans from New York and far beyond, all inspired by her seven-decade active career, waited their turn for the last farewell of the revered actress.
She was a groundbreaking actress who won three Emmys, a Tony and an honorary Oscar, but her fame surpassed her awards. She challenged Hollywood on how it cast black actors and became an example of civil rights.
But in East Harlem, where me. Tyson was born and raised with immigrant parents from Nevis, she was even more than that. She co-founded the Dance Theater of Harlem in 1969 after a turbulent year in the civil rights movement and after Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King jr. Was killed in Memphis, and the arts still supported, albeit quietly.
According to Rev. Calvin O. Butts III, the senior pastor at the church, she has been a member of the Abyssinian Baptist Church for over three decades.
Members of Abyssinian reminded her of a quiet, graceful congregation that had bought the third pew from the front and named it after her mother, but would often sit in the back to worship.
“I’m here to continue celebrating the life of a national treasure,” said Lisa Hayes, 62, a Harlem lawyer. “We are here as we will do for all those we love.”
Ms Hayes, who was wearing a red face mask with the Greek letters for the Delta Sigma Theta sorority on it, went to Ms. Tyson is referred to as “soror Tyson” and attributed to her because she made her aware of the black beauty with the many covers of Jet magazine that she adorns. She remembers asking her cousin to braid her hair as a teenager. Her cousin did it in a style similar to me’s hair. Tyson on the cover of an issue of Essence magazine.
“I was just starting to feel who I was,” Hayes said. “Someone said to me, ‘Oh Lisa, it’s so beautiful, you look like Cicely Tyson. ‘At 62, I’m still eating out on that compliment! ”
Evelyn Jemmott-Jackson, a science teacher in the city and an intruder at Abyssinian, arrived from Brooklyn around 7 a.m., early enough to meet me. Tyson to see the church enter for the last time. Jemmott-Jackson said she felt compelled to see Ms. Tyson because she worshiped with her.
“We maintain our queen simply because she keeps us up,” she said. Jemmott-Jackson said when she showed someone a video of Tyson’s coffin in a Cadillac hearse. “That her family was able to show us the last honor is incredible.”
Bishop Donal Yarbrough, the 86-year-old member of Abyssinian, who was third in line, said she was planning to sing a song to Ms Tyson called ‘Coming Home’, and then suddenly offered a preview.
“She’s going home,” Bishop Yarbrough sang soulfully. “I can see God and his angels spreading their wings and it’s going to be wide open because she’s one of their angels,” she sang in a lively way that caused everyone behind her to dive out of their spots and look for the moving voice.
Shaquille Carbon, 27, looked at Bishop Yarbrough as she almost sang in amazement. He arrived in Harlem from Maryland at 7 a.m. because he grew up watching Tyson’s movies. Earlier, he dreamed of becoming an actor and watched the movies with his mother, who regularly plays ‘Sounder’ or ‘The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman’ on her video.
“All my life she’s been someone I adored,” Mr. Carbon trembled through a black knitted face mask. “We owned all her movies and watched my nausea in my household.”
“I will not miss it for nothing in the world.”