Hats off to a Happy Cowboy

A Salute to Herb Jeffries 

by Donna L. Halper
 Journalism Department
Emerson College
Boston Massachusetts

 Part 1

©2004. Donna L Halper, Boston, Massachusetts

Herb Jeffries is an amazing person.  As I write this, he is 93 years old and still performing.  He has had a successful career in the music industry—as a vocalist with Earl “Fatha” Hines and Duke Ellington in the 30s and early 40s; as a solo performer who appeared on radio in the 40s and on TV in the 50s and 60s; and as a recording artist who has continued to put out new records and get good reviews throughout the 80s and 90s.  He has also been an actor in TV westerns and he even did some directing.  But to this day, there are old-time movie fans who still remember him as the first black singing cowboy.  And although he only made four films in that era, he helped to change the way African-Americans were portrayed. 

When Herb made his first western in 1937, America was still segregated and opportunities for black actors in Hollywood were limited.  It was an era when black performers were relegated to stereotypic roles, often as buffoons or as domestics.  But Herb Jeffries was nobody’s fool and nobody’s servant.  He was a heroic figure, a black cowboy who was doing the same things that white cowboys like Tom Mix or Gene Autry did.  He rescued people in trouble, defeated the bad guys, won the heart of the beautiful girl.  And he brought his own unique style to the roles he played. The critics who wrote about him said he was ‘handsome and athletic,’ and it is not surprising that young black movie fans of the 1930s adored him.

If you saw his movies, you  know that his name was sometimes “Herbert Jeffrey.”  But interestingly, advertisements for his first two movies, published in such black newspapers as the New York Age, never referred to him that way.  Print journalists usually wrote about “Herbie Jeffries,” undoubtedly because that’s what the music critics called him.  In one of his first appearances in Harlem, where he sang vocals for Ralph Cooper’s newly formed band in late April 1935, the New York Age reviewer headlined it “Herbie Jeffries Steals Show at Apollo Theatre.”  But whether known as Herbert Jeffrey or Herbie Jeffries, or eventually Herb Jeffries, he was a light-skinned black man who rode a white horse named Stardusk and portrayed a good guy named Bob Blake. His movie theme song was “I’m a Happy Cowboy,” and that seemed to express his attitude.  Over the years, he would tell many interviewers that the cowboy represented honesty, hard work, and ethics.  And the cowboy didn’t have time for prejudice—he treated others as equals.   Jeffries starred in four black westerns:  “Harlem on the Prairie” (1937), “Two-Gun Man from Harlem” (1938),  “The Bronze Buckaroo” (1938) and “Harlem Rides the Range” (1939).  [It was customary during that era of so-called “race movies” to use coded language in the title; such words as “Sepia”,  “Tan” and “Harlem” let fans know they would be seeing black entertainers.]  He was also scheduled to appear in at least one other cowboy movie, “Ten Notches to Tombstone.”  But although it was begun, it was never completed, probably due to the fact that by the end of 1939, Herb was singing with Duke Ellington’s orchestra. He would have his first hit record in 1941, a song called “Flamingo,” which over the years, would sell a million copies. 

While Herb Jeffries was undoubtedly the first black singing cowboy, he was not the first black actor to be in a western.  During the silent era, there had been a handful of black westerns, such as a 1919 film from Oscar Micheaux called “The Homesteader,” and a 1921 film featuring rodeo cowboy Bill Pickett, “The Crimson Skull.”   There was also a comedy short called “A Chocolate Cowboy,” from 1925.  But fortunately for Herb Jeffries, by the time he made “Harlem on the Prairie,” talking pictures had long since worked out their technological problems.  And although most critics regarded the black westerns as “B movies” (Jeffries himself joked that they were so low budget they might more accurately be called “C minus movies”), Jeffries soon proved that he could be a very competent actor. 

Herb Jeffries was born in Detroit MI on 24 September 1911.  His family tree was an interesting mix: his mother was of Irish descent, his father was Sicilian, and he had at least one great-grandparent who was Ethiopian.  He told me that his family name was Balentino, and that he  was originally named Humberto.   He also said he didn’t really remember his dad, who died when Herb was very young.  In some interviews you may have read, he was quoted as saying that his father had abandoned the family.  But whatever the facts, there was little involvement.  Herb’s mother Millie supported her children by operating a rooming house, and her work ethic was an inspiration to him.  He was also influenced by a grandfather who owned a dairy farm  in Northern Michigan.  His grandfather had some horses, and that’s where Herb learned to ride, a skill that would eventually help him in his movie career. 

Herb fell in love with music at a young age, and sang in a church choir.  But he was especially attracted to jazz and blues.  While he liked school, he was attending during the Depression, and money was scarce.  He decided to quit high school and go to work.   Years later, he would go back, graduate, and even get several degrees, but at that time, the goal was to earn enough money to help his family.   Blessed with an excellent singing voice, he began performing locally in Detroit, and then made his way to Chicago.  By 1934, he caught the eye of jazz great Earl “Fatha” Hines, and began doing some tours with Hines’s band. 

While on the road in the south, he tells the story of seeing a young black boy being made fun of by his white friends. They were all playing Cowboys and Indians, and the boy wanted to pretend he was a cowboy, but his friends told him he couldn’t because there was no such thing as a black cowboy.  The story may be apocryphal, but it exemplifies a very real problem black children had in those days of segregation.  Few if any movies accurately portrayed the black experience in America, and even fewer showed black characters who were doctors or teachers or business executives,  even though such people existed.  The major movie studios would not challenge the social codes of the times, so even though there really had been black cowboys in the development of the west, their existence was totally ignored.  Wanting to correct that, Jeffries decided the answer was to help make some black westerns.  At first, he didn’t plan to star in them; he intended to find some backers and get the pictures made.  But soon, his plans would change. 

Partially because of racism and partially because it was believed by white studio executives that the majority of black movie fans couldn’t afford to attend many movies, the major studios were not eager to make films that catered to the minority audience. A lack of funding also limited the number of films that black studios could make.  But Herb knew that a real demand existed for films that could both inspire and entertain black audiences.  And depite segregation, there were plenty of available venues —one movie historian has estimated that there were about 430 “all negro” theaters in the late 1930s.   Unfortunately, Herb’s attempts to persuade wealthy businessmen to donate money for black films proved unsuccessful.  So, he sought out a producer who might be able to get a cowboy movie made, someone who would not see the black audience as a liability.   That led him to Jed Buell. 

Buell was a veteran of the movie industry.  He had gotten his start as a theatre manager on the west coast, and then went to work for Mack Sennett, for whom he became director of publicity.  Eventually, Buell became the Sennett Studios’ assistant general manager.  During the mid-30s, he went out on his own and set up an independent production company.  He produced baritone Fred Scott in a couple of singing westerns (including “The Roaming Cowboy” and “The Rangers’ Roundup”), and was also working with a former comedian from the silent era, Andy Clyde.  By the late 30s, he would become known for taking chances on the unusual— he did an all-midget western (“The Terror of Tiny Town”), and was planning to do an all-female western (to be called “Follies on Horseback”).  It was Buell who was willing  to produce an all-black western. 

What became Herb Jeffries’ first movie began its life as a script originally called “Sunset on the Prairie.”  When it was completed in the autumn of 1937, it had been re-named “Harlem on the Prairie.” (Variety noted in its review of the film that its original title was supposed to be “Bad Man of Harlem”; the name was changed so people would know it was a western.)  The film was distributed by Associated Features, the company started by Buell, along with several other partners, including songwriter Lew Porter and Yale graduate and famous former athlete Sabin Carr.  The 54 minute film was billed as the “first outdoor action adventure” to feature an “all negro cast.” Among the actors  were Spencer Williams Jr. (who played “Doc Clayburn”, a former outlaw who had turned over a new leaf).  The lone actress was Corrine Harris, who played Doc’s daughter Carolina.  Music was provided by the Four Tones, as well as by Jeffries, and comic relief came from Mantan Moreland.  Sam Newfield was the director; he directed a large number of low budget “B movies” during the Golden Age. 

There has been some question about where “Harlem on the Prairie” was filmed.  The most likely location was a dude ranch owned by husband and wife Nolie and Lela Murray, in Victorville, CA, a two hour drive from Los Angeles.  Theirs was one of the few ranches that welcomed people of color, and several other black westerns were shot there, including “The Bronze Buckaroo” and “Harlem on the Range.”   The total cost to make “Harlem on the Prairie” was estimated at about $50,000 (although one source says it may have cost as little as $20,000). Although Herb was the star, he was only paid about $5000 for his work, which included singing, acting, and doing his own stunts.  Herb won the starring role after auditions of other black actors failed to find one who could do all the things that Herb could. 

Unlike his other films, where his character was called “Bob Blake,” in this film, Herb played “Jeff Kincaid.”  The bad guy in the film was “Wolf Cain,” played by Maceo B. Sheffield.  Sheffield, when not working as an actor and a bad guy, was a night club owner, and a partner in Buell’s Associates Features.  Prior to his show biz career, Sheffield had been a Los Angeles police officer.  The story goes that while Jed Buell was impressed with Herb Jeffries as a singer and believed he would be able to do the required riding and roping, there was one concern about using him as the leading man:   Herb was very light-skinned, and Buell was worried that black audiences wouldn’t believe that Herb was black, despite his having sung with several black jazz and dance bands by this time.  Fortunately, it did not turn out to be a problem, although Herb notes with amusement that stage makeup was used to darken his skin tone a little. 

In addition to being the first all-black singing cowboy film, “Harlem on the Prairie” was unique in several other ways.  Black films of that era usually played in black theatres only. (One estimate stated that there were as many as 500 black theatres nation-wide around the time when Herb Jeffries’ first movie came out.)  But this movie was not just relegated to the segregated movie houses; it was also shown in a few East and West Coast theaters where the audiences were mainly white.  Black films were frequently ignored by the white movie critics; Hollywood didn’t consider these films for Oscars, and mainstream movie annuals of the day didn’t even list them because they were made outside of the Hollywood studio system.  But “Harlem on the Prairie” received more attention than many black films of that era.  It got positive write-ups in Motion Picture Herald and Variety.  And, proving that no publicity is bad publicity,  it got nearly a full page write-up in Time magazine. Unfortunately, the review was often quite patronizing.  The critic seemed surprised to see black actors doing a western, rather than a musical, for which he felt they were better suited.  He praised Herb’s voice and also liked the harmonizing of the Four Tones.  But he believed that only a black audience would take a black western seriously, saying that white audiences would probably regard it as a parody. 

Interestingly, the influential black newspaper the New York Age did not seem especially impressed with the movie, although their movie critic, William K. Clark, praised the comic skills of Mantan Moreland.  Clark seemed more concerned that one of the songs, “Love in the Rain”, sounded very much like a recent Bobbie Breen song, “Love on the River.”  In a somewhat scathing review, he implied that the songwriters for “Harlem on the Prairie” were guilty of plagiarism. This caused Bessie Miller, wife of veteran entertainer Flournoy Miller (and also a cast member in “Harlem on the Prairie”) to write a heated reply in which she took Clark to task for being negative and making unfair accusations.  And Flournoy Miller himself took pen in hand to write to several other black newspapers.  He basically asked them to be kind to the movie, saying that while it certainly could not match the big-budget Hollywood westerns, it still was worthwhile entertainment and deserved praise for calling attention to the existence of actual black cowboys such as Bill Pickett. 

Whether the critics liked the film or not, “Harlem on the Prairie” seemed to find a niche, and it even made a profit, grossing over $50,000 in its first year.  But unfortunately for film scholars and Herb Jeffries fans, today’s viewers cannot see this film and draw their own conclusions, because no print of it has been found.  It only lives on in the memories of those who saw it and those who were in it, as well as those who collect old movie posters. 

[Part 2]