As Yoki’s “faculty escort” during her visit to Smith as one of our 30 “Women of Distinction” (I was her theatre major adviser, and she took various courses and special studies with me, out of which her acting and playwriting skills joined happy forces), I reminded her of that particular moment when she transformed an entire class. Characteristically, she recalled that moment as having happened but without identifying her own role as catalyst. And then, for a split second, she allowed that identification to register, her smile as broad as the sun.
It’s little wonder that her professional career would embrace the formation of a theatre troupe with Malcolm X’s daughter. It’s little wonder that she would never seek to become a “star.” She had other things on her mind and in her heart. Her writing, her performances, her in-and-out-of-class dialogues at Smith, were signals of that. People, issues, societal struggles, the fabric of human interplay as impacted by place, time, character priorities and so much more, were what she knew theatre could effectively, even delicately, communicate. That said, what I recall more powerfully than anything was Yoki’s luminous warmth. Her very nickname (as lovely as her given names, Yolanda Denise) embodies that, and my grief at her loss is grinningly counterbalanced by my gratitude, my enormous gratitude, to have known her on this earth.
— Len Berkman is the Anne Hesseltine Hoyt Professor of Theatre at Smith College. This column is reprinted with permission from Grécourt Gate News.
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