Racial strife was high in the 1960s.
Melvin Ridgenal, 70, remembers it all too well. Ridgenal shared his story before a recent early-morning choir rehearsal for the National Veterans Creative Arts Festival – an annual event, which features works from veterans who use the arts to heal from trauma, post-traumatic stress disorder and other psychological issues.
Ridgenal looked back on painful memories of the racism and abuse he faced in the Air Force, which led to substance abuse and suicide attempts. He starts with, “It all began…” when his voice trails off, and silence takes its place. His eyes drift, then look back, and he admits that, 50 years later, it’s still difficult for him to talk about.
At 16, Ridgenal was already a talented musician in Chicago. He began as a kid making music on empty oatmeal boxes, he sang in the chorus, then, in high school, he became a skilled clarinet player, taking first chair in the high school band. After being wrongfully accused for breaking into students’ lockers, he was sent to a correctional school. Soon after starting at the new school, he passed a billboard saying “Air Force – Come join us.” He wanted to do something bigger with his life, and Ridgenal soon enlisted. He was first sent to “San Antone” for basic training before getting assigned to a base in Duluth, Minn.
It was his first year in Air Force, 1961, and a dance was being held on the base for the airmen. Although African-American airmen were allowed to attend, the only civilians invited were white women, and they were instructed to only dance with white airmen. One of Ridgenal’s friends said if another lady declined his request to dance, he would spill coffee on her dress. Ridgenal didn’t think he would actually do it, he says. But as his friend asked yet another lady to dance, again declining, he deliberately spilled coffee on her dress. A riot broke out. “I was outspoken at such a young age,” admits Ridgenal. “I wasn’t involved in the fight, but I was accused of starting the riot because I was so outspoken. The racism was just so blatant.”
He paused, looked down at his white tennis shoes. He gathered his composure, and his eyes were on me again. “Three white men – military police – woke me up in my barracks early that morning.” They told him to gather his things. He had been court-martialed and was ordered to come with them. When Ridgenal tried to speak up, he says they beat him over the back with a baton and slammed him into the jail bars.
“Back then they could put their hands on you, call you the N-word and talk about your momma,” Ridgenal says.
Ridgenal was sentenced to 60 days in the “brig” before being forcefully honorably discharged in 1962. “I didn’t want to be,” Ridgenal says. “I pleaded with them to not discharge me. I wanted to serve my country.” After sending a heartfelt letter to his commanding officer, pleading to let him remain enlisted, his request was denied. He was sent back to Chicago.
He returned to his musical roots on Chicago’s West Side, playing at the Playboy Club, eventually opening for James Brown and comedian Redd Foxx. But life on the road took its toll. Although music helped him cope with the past, he soon turned to alcohol and drugs to forget the pain he had endured. His mom and grandmother kicked him out of the house, and he started sleeping on the streets until his friend took him in, giving him a room in a rat-infested building. “I woke up one morning with a rat looking at me,” he says. He was trying to eke out a living, but the emotional baggage he carried made life difficult. Back then, there was no diagnosis for PTSD.
“I walked around for 30 years and didn’t know what was wrong with me,” he says. Ridgenal was determined to set his life straight and enrolled at Malcolm X College in Chicago for music and sociology. The last time he tried to commit suicide was in 2012, and he was then admitted into the domiciliary at the Milwaukee VA. He heard a voice come to him saying, “You can live, and you can make it through this. You will not die. Don’t give up on you, my child.”
Ridgenal is writing a memoir with his wife (his very first girlfriend) to share his story, the struggles and triumphs he’s seen throughout life. He laughs as he says his bride has a memory like an elephant and “doesn’t forget anything.” He plans to send the memoir to Oprah, Tyler Perry and Spike Lee. “No matter what I did, a power greater than me kept me, in spite of me.”
“Music is the key to me having peace,” admits Ridgenal. On Sunday, Nov. 2, you can see Ridgenal perform in the National Veterans Creative Arts Festival choir. For the first time in history, Milwaukee will be the host city for the festival, showcasing works from 120 veterans who placed first in art, music, dance, drama and creative writing at VA hospitals across the country. More than 3,500 veterans entered the competition.
An art exhibit will kick things off in the Grand Rotunda of the Milwaukee Theatre (500 W. Kilbourn Ave.) from noon to 1:45 p.m. The stage show, including Ridgenal’s choir performance, will follow at 2 p.m. Tickets are free but must be reserved by calling 414-801-4371.
“Of all of these vets performing, all have challenges, and all have overcome their challenges to be here,” says Ridgenal.
