Letter to My Daughter

Asked to give an introductory speech at the American Film Institute in tribute to William Wyler, Angelou sat amongst the movie stars who had shaped her childhood and remembered attending the segregated movie house with her brother in Arkansas. She writes, “There we sat, knees to chin, in the cramped space, our feet crunching discarded candy wrappers and other debris on the floor. We perched there and studied how to act when we grew up and became beautiful and rich and white” (34). This memory paralyzed Angelou and she forgot her speech entirely. Instead, “Anger thickened [her] tongue and slowed [her] brain” (34). She restrained herself from shouting, “I hate you. I hate you all. I hate you for your power and fame, and health and money, and acceptance” (34). She was afraid she might also say the truth: that she loved them because they were everything she ever wanted to be. Angelou composed herself, mumbled some words, and walked off the stage. A rumor began to circulate that Angelou had been on drugs that night. 

Television producers contacted Angelou asking to produce an adaptation of one of her short stories. While attending the lunch meeting, Angelou instantly recognized the leader of the group.