“Legacy of the Stage: Leon Claxton’s Rhyme” by Leslie Cunningham (2017)
My grandfather, Leon Claxton—
was a wealthy showman,
with a lavish home on the West Side of Tampa
and a shiny new sedan.
At filling stations in the South,
racism hit him hard.
They’d say,
“No gas here, nigger,
unless you’re driving a white man’s car!”
So he acted like a chauffeur,
just to get by,
because a rich Black man telling lies
during segregated times
was a matter of live or die.
One of the first Black moguls—
before Russell Simmons, before Tyler Perry, or P. Diddy.
He rocked custom-made suits from Saskatoon,
and puffed on cuban cigars hand-rolled in Ybor City,
His leading lady Gwen—
was the perfect little wife,
like Beyoncé to Jay-Z,
a real woman in his life.
When it came to show biz, Gwen came in heels to seal the deal.
managed the home, the troupe, and stayed fly
and helped Claxton stack his mills.
One of Florida’s first Black Shriners,
a noble of Harram 23,
master of handshakes, rituals,
and thirty-three degrees.
Claxton was Freemasonry—
ritual and mystery.
With brotherly love.
He gave to the needy,
and helped build a thriving city.
I remember the motel he owned on Cypress Street—
his portrait hung behind the bar,
a king watching over his kingdom,
his people, his star.
Yet when revolutions burned in Cuba and at home,
when the streets filled with rage,
Claxton and his brown-skin troupe
fought back from the main stage.
At a time when people of color
were still fighting for basic rights,
Claxton was pushing showbiz to brand new heights—
spreading Black and Cuban music and burlesque dance along the way,
“Harlem in Havana” washed away the tar mask
from Canada to the U.S.A.,
and created a multicultural arts movement
that still resonates today.
But history buried his name
under Jim Crow’s weight,
and still—
his legacy burns through me,
because his story won’t wait.
Leon Claxton
had the best damn girl show
in all of carnival history—
and I will continue to speak his name
so the world remembers its beauty and his glory.
BROWN SKIN SHOWGIRLS by Leslie Cunningham (2026)
Sequins catch the light
feathers brush the air
Brown Skin Showgirls, alive and
Untamed everywhere.
Fans spinning
hips swaying
every step a story,
Every glance a tease,
every shimmer a glory.
Leon Claxton had a dream,
His wife Gwen made it real,
They kept the troupe moving
so every night would thrill.
From Harlem streets,
where jazz first called,
To Havana nights,
where Latin rhythm enthralled.
Chorus lines in perfect step,
Beautiful and bold,
They redefined the gaze,
their power untold.
They teased
they sparkled
they lit up the stage
In front of white crowds just a tent away
from Gypsy Rose Lee and Sally Rand’s parade.
They took old stereotypes
and made them new,
exotic, fierce, bold, and true.
From the carnival’s glow
At the end of the Midway,
The showgirls rose up,
dazzling every day.
On Harlem in Havana,
they rose to fame,
and the Brown Skin Showgirls
carved out their name.
Every shimmy a rebellion,
every sway a claim,
They moved with power,
owning the game.
I’ll lift my voice
to honor their flame,
So, Brown Skin Showgirls
will forever reign.
HARLEM IN HAVANA 