My work for Scholastic writing black history plays is just a tiny blip on the civil rights radar, a minuscule contribution when compared to real civil rights heroes such as John Lewis and Sheyann Webb. But given Storyworks magazine’s truly cosmic readership, I realize that over my twenty-plus year association with Scholastic, my reader’s theater has influenced—at least in some small way—millions of kids. Millions. I think it’s fair to take some pride in that.

I often ponder, however, how a scrawny white kid from rural Oregon, a kid whose family spent their Sundays watching Hee Haw and Gunsmoke, how does that kid end up writing black history plays? 

Well, for that I have to thank Stevie Wonder–and maybe a bit of divine intervention. When I was around ten years old I stumbled across a discount record bin at Payless department store. I’d recently set up my brother’s old Zenith “Stereophonic” record player so I could listen to my dad’s Tijuana Brass record, but I was on the lookout for something more, something of my own. Thumbing through the discs, I came across Stevie Wonder’s 1971 album, Where I’m Coming From. I had no idea who this Wonder guy was, but he had a cool name, and the cover seemed the antithesis of a Tijuana Brass album. So, I asked my mom if she could buy it for me.

My mom was never openly racist. She was generous to a fault and spent many hours volunteering to help less-fortunate people. But looking back, I recall that she’d voted for George Wallace in the 1972 presidential primary, so I suspect had she taken a closer look at the album, she would have nixed the purchase right there. None-the-less, I went home and cued up Stevie on the Zenith. I wonder what she thought when she heard “Do Yourself a Favor” blasting from behind my bedroom door. This was no Clark and Owens. Not the music or the message.

And I was hooked. Thus, Stevie Wonder became one of my most profound influences.   

Frankly, Stevie doesn’t get enough credit for his contribution to civil rights. Despite Motown’s determination to mold him as a “black Bing Crosby”—a crooner—Stevie broke free and produced music that called attention to societal inequity, to the plight of minorities, to the struggles that come with poverty. While he wasn’t the first African-American artist to produce music with politically-charged, socially-relevant music, he was among the first to crossover into white culture. If a kid like me could get hooked on Stevie Wonder, then surely, around the country millions of other white kids must have been doing the same.

I never set out to be Scholastic’s black history playwright. I kind of stumbled into it. But it was Stevie Wonder’s music that had prepared me for the task. Without that influence, my poignant plays about MLK, Claudette Colvin, Ruby Bridges, and many others wouldn’t exist. And when I see those same plays presented by organizations such as the Palace Theater and most recently, Crete Monee Middle School in Illinois, I’m amazed at the reach Stevie has had.

If you’re using any of my Black History plays this month, please give a well-deserved nod to Stevie Wonder.

Happy directing.