The train from Greenwood arrived in New York at six in the morning, and Marcus Johnson stepped of...
The train from Greenwood arrived in New York at six in the morning, and Marcus Johnson stepped off it with two suitcases, a letter of recommendation, and a guitar case that contained more hope than he had ever owned. Harlem hit him like a physical force. The noise—the streetcar bells, the shouting newsboys, the jazz bleeding from a basement on 135th Street that had started rehearsing at five...
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