I thought if I just called him, he would come clean and explain why hed done what he had. I dialed the private number hed given me expecting to hear his voice on the other end. But he didnt answer. A little shocked, i quickly identified myself to her in the most respectful way possible and then asked to speak to bill. Camille politely informed me that it was very late, 11:00. And that they were both in bed together. I apologized for the late call and explained that I was in Los Angeles and had forgotten about the three-hour time difference. I added that I would call back tomorrow.
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I somehow managed to tell the driver my address and before blacking out, i looked at the cabbie and asked, as if he knew: Did I really just call Bill Cosby a motherfucker? Why that online was even a concern of mine after what Id just been through is still a mystery to me? I think my mind refused to process. The next day i woke up in my own bed after falling into a deep sleep that lasted most of the day. I had no memory of how I got into my apartment bag or into my bed, though most likely my doorman helped me out. I sat in there still stunned by what happened the night before, confused and devastated by the idea that someone i admired so much had tried to take advantage of me, and used drugs to. Had I done something to encourage his actions? In reality, i knew Id done nothing to encourage cosby but my mind kept turning with question after question. It took a few days for the drug to completely wear off and soon I had to get back to work. I headed to california for an acting audition. Not long after arriving, i decided I needed to confront Cosby for my own sanitys sake.
By the fifth, i could tell that I was really pissing him off. At one point he dropped his hands from my waist and statement just stood there looking at me like id lost my mind. What happened next is somewhat cloudy for me because the drug was in fuller play by that time. I recall his seething anger at my tirade and then him grabbing me by my left arm hard and yanking all 110 pounds of me down a bunch of stairs as my high heels clicked and clacked on every step. I feared my neck was going to break with the force he was using to pull me down those stairs. It was still late afternoon and the sun hadnt completely gone down yet. When we reached the front door, he pulled me outside of the brownstone and then, with his hand still tightly clenched around my arm, stood in the middle of the street waving down taxis. When one stopped, cosby opened the door, shoved me into it and slammed the door behind me without ever saying a word.
Bill Cosby in 1978., by revelation david cooper/Toronto Star. My head became woozy, my speech became slurred, and the room began to write spin nonstop. Cosby motioned for me to come over to him as though we were really about to act out the scene. He put his hands around my waist, and I managed to put my hand on his shoulder in order to steady myself. As I felt my body go completely limp, my brain switched into automatic-survival mode. That meant making sure cosby understood that i knew exactly what was happening at that very moment. You are a motherfucker arent you? Thats the exact question i yelled at him as he stood there holding me, expecting me to bend to his will. I rapidly called him several more motherfuckers.
I told him I didnt drink coffee that late in the afternoon because it made getting to sleep at night more difficult. He wouldnt let. He insisted that his espresso machine was the best model on the market and promised Id never tasted a cappuccino quite like this one. Its nuts, i know, but it felt oddly inappropriate arguing with Bill Cosby so i took a few sips of the coffee just to appease him. Now let me explain this: I was a top model during the 70s, a period when drugs flowed at parties and photo shoots like bottled water at a health spa. Id had my fun and experimented with my fair share of mood enhancers. I knew by the second sip of the drink cosby had given me that Id been drugged—and drugged good. Editors Note: Cosbys attorneys did not respond. Vanity fairs requests for comment.
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Looking back, that first invite from Cosby to his home seems like part of a online perfectly laid out plan, a way to make me feel secure with him at all times. It worked like a charm. Cosby suggested I come back to his house a few days later to read for the part. I agreed, and one late afternoon the following week i returned. His staff served a light dinner and Bill and I talked more amy about my plans for the future. After the meal, we walked upstairs to a huge living area of his home that featured a massive bar. A huge brass espresso contraption took up half the counter.
At the time, it seemed rare for someone to have such a machine in his home for personal use. Cosby said he wanted to see how I handled various scenes, so he suggested that I pretend to be drunk. (When did a pregnant woman ever appear drunk. Probably never, but I went with.). As I readied myself to be the best drunk i could be, he offered me a cappuccino from the espresso machine.
The cosby Show seemed like an excellent way of getting Hollywoods attention. Id appeared in one or two movies already, but my phone wasnt exactly ringing off the hook with acting jobs. Cosbys handlers invited me to a taping of the show so i could get the lay of the land and an idea of what my role required. After the taping I met all the cast and then met with Cosby in his office to talk a bit about the hell Id been through in my marriage. He appeared concerned and then asked what I wanted from my career going forward.
He seemed genuinely interested in guiding me to the next level. I was on cloud nine. I brought my daughter to the next taping i attended. Afterward, cosby asked if I could meet him at his home that weekend to read for the part. My ex-husband had primary custody of my daughter at the time, and i usually spent my weekends with her. Cosby suggested I bring her along, which really reeled. He was the jell-o pudding man; like most kids, my daughter loved him. When my daughter and i visited Cosbys New York brownstone, his staff served us a delicious brunch. Then he gave us a tour of the exceptional multi-level home.
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He was the first African American to star in a dramatic television series, i spy, a show my family in Buffalo, new York, always watched. Cosby cut a striking figure on-screen then. He was funny, smart, and even elegant—all those wonderful things many white Americans didnt associate with people of color. In fact, as I thought of going public with what follows, a voice in my head kept whispering, Black men have enough enemies out there already, they certainly dont need someone like you, an African American with a familiar face and a famous name, fanning. Imagine my joy in the mid-80s when an agent called to say bill Cosby wanted me to audition for a role on the. Cosby played an obstetrician, and he sometimes used models to portray pregnant women sitting paper in his office waiting room. It was a small part with one or two speaking lines at most, but I wanted. I was in the midst of an ugly custody battle for my only child. I needed a big break badly and appearing.
Did they courageously stand up to right-wing demagoguery about black communities? Did they help usher in a new era of hope and prosperity for neighborhoods devastated by deindustrialization, globalization, and the disappearance of work? when Bill Clinton ran for president in 1992, urban black communities across America were suffering from economic collapse. Hundreds of thousands of manufacturing jobs had vanished as factories moved overseas in search of cheaper labor, a new plantation. Globalization and deindustrialization affected workers of all colors but hit African Americans particularly hard. Unemployment rates among young black men had quadrupled as the rate of industrial women employment plummeted. Crime rates spiked in inner-city communities that had been dependent on factory jobs, while hopelessness, despair, and crack addiction swept neighborhoods that had once been solidly working-class. Millions of black folks—many of whom had fled Jim Crow segregation in the south with the hope of obtaining decent work in Northern factories—were suddenly trapped in racially segregated, jobless ghettos. Like most Americans, i spent the 60s, 70s, and part of the 80s in awe of Bill Cosby and his total domination of popular culture.
2008, but its a measure of the Clinton allure that Hillary led Obama among black voters until he started winning caucuses and primaries. Now Hillary is running again. This time shes facing a democratic socialist who promises a political revolution that will bring universal healthcare, a living wage, an end to rampant Wall Street greed, and the dismantling of the vast prison state—many of the same goals that Martin Luther King. Championed at the end of his life. Even so, black folks are sticking with the Clinton brand. What have the Clintons done to earn such devotion? Did they take extreme political risks to defend the rights of African Americans?
And it seems were eager to get played. The love affair between black folks and biography the Clintons has been going on for a long time. It began back in 1992, when Bill Clinton was running for president. He threw on some shades and played the saxophone. The Arsenio hall Show. It seems silly in retrospect, but many of us fell for that. At a time when a popular slogan was Its a black thing, you wouldnt understand, bill Clinton seemed to get. When Toni morrison dubbed him our first black president, we nodded our heads.
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Hillary and Bill Clinton in reviews 1992. Hillary Clinton loves black people. And black people love hillary—or so it seems. Black politicians have lined up in droves to endorse her, eager to prove their loyalty to the Clintons in the hopes that their faithfulness will be remembered and rewarded. Black pastors are opening their church doors, and the Clintons are making themselves comfortably at home once again, engaging effortlessly in all the usual rituals associated with courting the black vote, a pursuit that typically begins and ends with Democratic politicians making black people feel. Doing something concrete to improve the conditions under which most black people live is generally not required. Hillary is looking to gain momentum on the campaign trail as the primaries move out of Iowa and New Hampshire and into states like south Carolina, where large pockets of black voters can be found. According to some polls, she leads Bernie sanders by as much as 60 percent among African Americans. It seems that we—black people—are her winning card, one that Hillary is eager to play.