as soon as I said black, or Negro, she a have to call you says Greenfield. “And said, ‘Oh wait minute. I’ll back,’ ” called me back, and she said, but he would be so embarrassed to play for all of us white “She ‘I’m awfully sorry, people. be like having my maid in the was the kind of It’d front row.’ That talk.” Greenfield leave it at that; she called Miami Herald columnist Jack Bell. After he wrote about didn’t Ford’s rejection, the woman called again. said, him Greenfield recalls. “She ‘All right, let play,’ ” She still has the program from that day in 1953 and Ford still remembers some of the sonata he composed. — As he demonstrates on Steinway, she beams. Greenfield’s The same year, with help from mother and other key figures, Greenfield founded the Fine Arts Ford’s Conservatory. (Future U.S. Rep. Carrie Meek was a volunteer dance teacher.) The school alternated between black and white neighborhoods, holding classes in private homes, a Masonic lodge, a YMCA even a funeral parlor in Overtown, in a second-floor space previously occupied by caskets. — oldest son, Charles, an arts reporter and the keeper of many of his Greenfield’s mother’s stories, interjects: “I think you should talk about the smell.” she replies, a little wryly. “I wasn’t into smells,” he exclaims. “Formaldehyde!” In 1961, the conservatory raised enough money to buy its own building around 60th Street, a white neighborhood near Liberty City. was just a little old cottage with a beautiful tree in the front and a big yard “It perfect for remembers Greenfield. But to her, was conservatory, chicken dinners,” “that absolutely Juilliard.” (The which closed in 1978, eventually had six branches throughout the city.) Greenfield was increasingly considered a radical. She says she was called a Communist sympathizer and blackballed from nearly every professional music association in Miami. An interracial concert series she hosted in her Palm Island home prompted neighbors to seek a cease-and-desist order, she says. When a Miami Beach
“And as soon as I said black, or Negro, she said, ‘Oh wait a minute. I’ll have to call you back,’ ” says Greenfield. “She called me back, and she said, ‘I’m awfully sorry, but he would be so embarrassed to play for all of us white people. It’d be like having my maid in the front row.’ That was the kind of talk.” Greenfield didn’t leave it at that; she called Miami Herald columnist Jack Bell. After he wrote about Ford’s rejection, the woman called again. “She said, ‘All right, let him play,’ ” Greenfield recalls. She still has the program from that day in 1953 — and Ford still remembers some of the sonata he composed. As he demonstrates on Greenfield’s Steinway, she beams. The same year, with help from Ford’s mother and other key figures, Greenfield founded the Fine Arts Conservatory. (Future U.S. Rep. Carrie Meek was a volunteer dance teacher.) The school alternated between black and white neighborhoods, holding classes in private homes, a Masonic lodge, a YMCA — even a funeral parlor in Overtown, in a second-floor space previously occupied by caskets. Greenfield’s oldest son, Charles, an arts reporter and the keeper of many of his mother’s stories, interjects: “I think you should talk about the smell.” “I wasn’t into smells,” she replies, a little wryly. “Formaldehyde!” he exclaims. In 1961, the conservatory raised enough money to buy its own building around 60th Street, a white neighborhood near Liberty City. “It was just a little old cottage with a beautiful tree in the front and a big yard perfect for chicken dinners,” remembers Greenfield. But to her, “that was absolutely Juilliard.” (The conservatory, which closed in 1978, eventually had six branches throughout the city.) Greenfield was increasingly considered a radical. She says she was called a Communist sympathizer and blackballed from nearly every professional music association in Miami. An interracial concert series she hosted in her Palm Island home prompted neighbors to seek a cease-and-desist order, she says. When a Miami Beach