Bestselling author ReShonda Tate presents a fascinating fictional portrait of Hattie McDaniel, one of Hollywood’s most prolific but woefully underappreciated stars—and the first Black person ever to win an Oscar for her role as Mammy in the critically acclaimed film classic Gone With the Wind.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from ReShonda Tate’s The Queen of Sugar Hill, which is out January 30th!
It was supposed to be the highlight of her career, the pinnacle for which she’d worked all her life. And as Hattie McDaniel took the stage in 1940 to claim an honor that would make her the first African-American woman to win an Academy Award, she tearfully took her place in history. Between personal triumphs and tragedies, heartbreaking losses, and severe setbacks, this historic night of winning best supporting actress for her role as the sassy Mammy in the controversial movie Gone With the Wind was going to be life-changing.
Or so she thought.
Months after winning the award, not only did the Oscar curse set in where Hattie couldn’t find work, but she found herself thrust in the middle of two worlds—Black and White—and not being welcomed in either. Whites only saw her as Mammy and Blacks detested the demeaning portrayal.
As the NAACP waged an all-out war against Hattie and actors like her, the emotionally conflicted actor found herself struggling daily. Through it all, Hattie continued her fight to pave a path for other Negro actors, while focusing on war efforts, fighting housing discrimination, and navigating four failed marriages. Luckily, she had a core group of friends to help her out—from Clark Gable to Louise Beavers to Ruby Berkley Goodwin and Dorothy Dandridge.
The Queen of Sugar Hill brings to life the powerful story of one woman who was driven by many passions—ambition, love, sex, family, friendship, and equality. In re-creating Hattie’s story, ReShonda Tate delivers an unforgettable novel of resilience, dedication, and determination—about what it takes to achieve your dreams—even when everything—and everyone—is against you.
The sounds of the orchestra filled the air as I marched toward the stage. I ignored the sour expressions of the faces to my right, refused to be bothered by the people on my left who wouldn’t make eye contact with me, and strutted with my head held high. Black actors had been invited into the Hollywood room – as servants and slaves, but as my friend Langston Hughes always said, we were never given a seat at the table. Tonight, I was claiming my seat.
The applause was still going as I neared the stage and had audibly picked up, then suddenly, the music stopped. In the three minutes it had taken me to walk from my seat at the back of the room, the orchestra music had ended.
But that wasn’t going to steal my joy either.
I had been banned from the film’s Atlanta premiere just a few weeks prior, where more than a million people lined the streets of downtown Atlanta to celebrate the movie’s release. So this was redemption. This was validation of my more than 30 years of blood, sweat, and entertaining – the triumph that made my tragedies worthwhile. All the rejections because I was too dark, too fat, too whatever. All the chances I was never given, meant nothing tonight. I’d accomplished something 90 percent of the people in this room could only dream of – I’d won an Academy Award.
From the first time I’d ever won an award, back in the sixth grade at 24th Street Elementary School in Denver, I’d been treated as less than. Back then, despite being the best performer, I couldn’t be recognized along with my friends because of the color of my skin. Now, not only was I on equal footing, dare I say, I was leaps and bounds ahead of my counterparts.
The NAACP protestors outside the hotel, the incorrigible security at the front who hesitated before letting me into the Cocoanut Grove tonight, the attendees who held their noses up in an air of superiority, insulted that they had to share a space with me. None of that was going to steal my joy, either.
I made my way up the steps. It wasn’t lost on me that the usher didn’t extend his hand to help me up the stairs like he did the other winners. But at this moment, my eyes were focused on the small gold award Fay was extending toward me. I took it, my heart swelling with pride. Yet, as proud as I was of this achievement, this was too big a moment for my personal back-slapping. I wanted this occasion to inspire Negro youth for many years to come.
I accepted the award and took my spot in front of the podium, then reached in my pocket for the acceptance speech that Mr. Selznick and his team had crafted for me. But just as my fingertips touched the piece of paper, I froze. I knew the marketing team had put much time and thought into my speech, but at this moment, I wanted to speak from the heart.
“Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences,” I began as I pulled my empty hand back, “fellow members of the motion picture industry and honored guests. This is one of the happiest moments of my life, and I want to thank each one of you who had a part in selecting me for one of their awards, for your kindness. It has made me feel very, very humble; and I shall always hold it as a beacon for anything I can do in the future.” I paused as tears filled my eyes. I inhaled, then continued. “I sincerely hope I shall always be a credit to my race and to the motion picture industry. My heart is too full to tell you just how I feel, and may I say thank you.”
This occasion was momentous, but I did not want to look like a blubbering fool. I was representing my race and I needed to do so with dignity. So I simply dabbed my eyes and added, “And God bless you,” before exiting the stage.
I was so overcome with emotion that I forgot to thank Mr. Selznick, the director, my costars and everyone else. Well, at least I’d left everyone out, I consoled myself. No one’s feelings would be hurt.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, my eyes connected with the brightest grin, eyes flanked with genuine happiness and the loudest applause in the room.
“I told you that you were a shoo-in!” Clark whispered as I approached his table. He had stood to applaud me as I exited the podium.
I wanted more than anything to throw my arms around my friend’s neck and tell him he was right. Let him know that it was his faith, his encouragement, and his support that had led me here today. But knowing that all eyes were on me – the only Negro woman in the room – besides the waitstaff, I did the only proper thing.
“You sure did, Mr. Gable,” I said with a slight nod of the head.
His smile faded slightly. Clark hated when I called him Mr. Gable. And generally, I didn’t. But I was on too much of a high to mess it up by creating conflict by calling my dear friend by his first name in mixed company.
But whatever apprehensions I was feeling, Clark was not. He reached out and pulled me into a big bear hug and I swear, the gasps were audible. First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt and Mary McCloud Bethune had shocked the world a few years ago with the first public interracial display of affection when they shook hands, but that was still frowned upon, especially in Hollywood. But as usual, Clark didn’t care. He’d solidified his place as the King of Hollywood and that’s why it shouldn’t have surprised me when he said, “If I want to celebrate my friend, then I’m going to celebrate my friend.”
I fought the urge to hug him back – and kept my arms by my side, though I rejoiced inside.
As he released me, I swallowed the lump in my throat, ignored the shocked stares, and then returned to my seat as the program continued.
