My friend, Earl Cameron, rarely saw himself as a pioneer, but he was one

On a beautiful summer day in August 2017, I felt excited and honored to celebrate acting legend Earl’s 100th birthday with family and friends. Cameron.

It was the first of several major celebrations. This event, for approximately 40 friends and family members, took place outdoors in a large backyard.

Earl and I had been good friends for decades, despite our 50-year age difference, and on that special day I was delighted to find Earl – who was essentially a shy person – as charming and ‘there’ as ever, just a a bit overwhelmed to receive so much attention and affection.

I took a photo of him that day, surrounded by helium balloons, proclaiming his venerable age. During the afternoon I took the opportunity to pull Earl aside to record an interview with him, when he asked me if I knew of any upcoming productions he could audition for!

Because Earl wanted to continue acting even at the age of 100.

By then he was an icon, especially admired by fans of James Bond (Earl appeared in Thunderball), Doctor Who and The Prisoner. His film career had begun with 1951’s Pool of London, in which his character was involved in the first interracial romance in British cinema.

For that reason alone, we should celebrate Earl today during Black History Month. But more than that, he was perhaps the first actor to break the color bar in British film and television, becoming a household face and household name from the 1950s through the 1970s.

He continued to act into the 21st century, with a small role in Inception (2010).

But his career was far from easy, as I learned in recent weeks while helping Earl’s daughter edit his memoirs, which he dictated to her when he was just 96 years old.

Born in Bermuda in 1917, Earl describes how he railed against racial injustice from his earliest years.

When he went to silent films as a boy, the best seats were reserved for white audiences; the 10 rows closest to the screen were for black moviegoers.

During his travels with the British merchant navy, he was shocked by the racism he witnessed in Cape Town and the poverty in Calcutta.

He arrived in London in 1939. Destitute and hungry, he worked long hours in hotel kitchens during World War II – both for scraps and the meager few shillings he earned – before a friend managed to get him a role on stage. musical Chu Chin Chow.

Despite never studying acting – or having any acting experience – Earl was in exactly the right place at the right time. Depictions of a more multicultural Britain – and often its racial tensions – began to find their way into plays, films and television.

A steady stream of theater roles led Earl to audition for the film Cry, the Beloved Country. The role was given to Sidney Poitier – but Earl would go on to play leading roles in films such as Sapphire (1959) and Flame in the Streets (1961) and in TV films such as The Dark Man (1960), in which he played a London taxi driver faced with racial prejudice.

There was no doubt that bigger and better roles would have come Earl’s way had he been white, and he often gave the impression that he saw himself only as a groundbreaking actor – without drawing attention to the historical significance of e.g. reportedly the actor’s role. first black actor to play an astronaut on screen, in Doctor Who.

And yet, as he describes in his memoirs, when he later learned through colleagues that both the first Doctor Who, William Hartnell, and The Prisoner’s Patrick McGoohan had reservations about having a black actor appear in their episodes, Earl was not hurt – he always said: that he was never embittered by racism.

He may not have been bitter, but he was aware of the issue and actively campaigned to change things for the better.

He met with Equity many times to prevent Americans from getting roles in British films that he and other black actors would have played.

He set a rule for himself early on that he would only accept roles that portrayed black characters with dignity and sensitivity, and would turn down jobs if they were demeaning to black people.

In 1963, Earl embraced the Bahá’í Faith, which promotes the unity of humanity – and it was at the wedding of some of my parents’ Bahá’í friends that I first met Earl.

I was about 10 years old and he would have been in his late fifties. I remember my father pointing him out to me, saying he was a famous actor, and then pushing through a crowded reception desk to ask for his autograph. He was so kind and I still have his autograph in my childhood autograph book.

Our paths would cross many more times over the next 50 years. I saw Earl at several Bahá’í meetings and, because I was also involved in the arts and media, I called on him to lend his talents – especially his beautiful voice – to various projects.

Once, at a residential summer art event in the 1990s, I interviewed Earl in front of an audience of about 300 people about his life and work. He was especially proud of The Message, about the prophet Mohammed, in which he played the Ethiopian king who gave shelter to persecuted Muslims. It matched his strong sense of justice and compassionate nature.

He was also thrilled when, at the age of 87, he was asked to star opposite Nicole Kidman in The Interpreter. It was the first film to be shot in the United Nations building in New York.

“When I saw the names of all the countries on the desks in front of me, I got a good idea of ​​the importance of the UN,” he often said. ‘The world is desperate for peace and there is no other path than towards greater cooperation at the global level.’

Despite his natural shyness, Earl possessed the unusual combination of determination and genuine self-effacement: When he was awarded a CBE in the 2009 New Years Honors list, he thought it was a mistake.

He spent his final years quietly in Kenilworth, taking daily walks with his wife Barbara to favorite coffee shops where he became known as a local celebrity.

I may have only seen him a few times after his 100th birthday. He was tired – who wouldn’t be? – but still alert and happy to see me.

Naturally, I was saddened when he passed away in 2020, just a month before his 103rd birthday.

But he died peacefully, and the body of work he left behind feels like it’s not far away.

It has been enlightening in editing his memoirs. Anyone expecting salacious behind-the-scenes gossip about some of the biggest stars of the last century might be disappointed; Earl was always polite and generous to everyone he worked with.

His sonorous voice and hearty laugh resonate through his fascinating life journey, and I also enjoyed revisiting his performances to get a better sense of his remarkable achievements.

It never dawned on Earl that he was a pioneer. “It wasn’t until later, looking back,” he said in an interview, “that it occurred to me that I was.”

I will continue to remember his life and achievements, especially now during Black History Month; and indeed, until I reach 102 myself.

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