Ad Age is marking Black History Month 2023 with our third-annual Honoring Creative Excellence package. (Read the introduction here.) Today, our guest editor Billy Porter turns the spotlight to Charles Randolph-Wright, the noted director (of theater, film and TV), producer, screenwriter and playwright.

“Charles Randolph-Wright opted out of medical school to go into theater,” says Porter. “Years later his mother told him, ‘You have healed far more people with your work than you ever could have as a doctor.’ Ain’t that the truth. Charles is a healer, a unifier and a truth-teller, so his voice had to be part of this series.”

Here, Randolph-Wright shares his thoughts on the heroes who gave him permission to forge his own creative path.

I grew up in a small Carolina town during the very segregated ’60s. Fortunately, I descend from a long line of professionals, entrepreneurs and activists who gave me the greatest gift to face this still-unequal world—the gift of permission. And through that gift, I was able to find my heroes who showed me that as a Black man, my journey would be more difficult, and I would have to work harder and always have to prove myself. My heroes showed me that the journey would be worth it.

In the summer of 2010, I received a phone call regarding meeting Berry Gordy about directing a Broadway musical based on Motown. Berry Gordy. I was speechless. In my world of permission, Berry Gordy was one of my idols. There were very few people who looked like me that owned mega businesses. Watching Mr. Gordy’s creations in music, film and TV told me that I could one day tell those kinds of stories.

Mr. Gordy always said that everything he created came from his desire to make people happy, and that resonated so much to this young kid from the rural South. I didn’t live in Detroit, but Mr. Gordy made me realize that geography does not limit your dream. After a first phone call with him, I was flown out to meet in his house in Bel Air. And yes, driving up those hills felt like I was approaching Oz. My main thought was, “If I don’t get this job, I at least got inside his house!”

We had an extraordinary lunch, and my life changed in an instant. Mr. Gordy tells this story that he said to me, “You’ve never done a big Broadway musical.” And I immediately responded, “Neither have you.” To this day I can’t believe I actually said that to the Berry Gordy, but I was never more confident about working on a project. I knew every song. I knew the B sides of songs. I had read every book. Motown was in my DNA. I knew that it was more than music—it was a movement. And several years later, we had a huge hit on Broadway, all over the U.S. and the U.K. We assembled an unusual team for Broadway—a Black producer, director, writer, music director, choreographer, stage manager, costume designer, female creatives and more.

The man that gave me permission as a child gave me one of the greatest opportunities of my career, which enabled me to give many others opportunities.

Through Mr. Gordy at the opening of “Motown” in Los Angeles, I reconnected with Sidney Poitier—the other man who gave me permission in my youth. Years later we had meetings and I was asked to write his story. Again, speechless. Sidney Poitier. Mr. Poitier passed before he could see “Sidney”—my words about his words—performed, but I hope that the story I’ve created also will give back the permission he long ago gave me.

I first met Mr. Poitier at a show I co-wrote and directed starring the brilliant Jenifer Lewis. He took us to dinner after, and the entire time I was in shock that I was sitting across from him. I finally summoned up enough words to thank him for his inspiration and he responded, “If I have inspired you in any way, you more than paid me back with what I saw tonight.” I remember looking around to see if someone else also heard that, trying to be sure I wasn’t dreaming. Those words I will never, ever forget.

I was the producing director and executive producer (with Oprah Winfrey) of the OWN TV show “Delilah” and had the thrill of shooting in my hometown, employing many people when COVID had eradicated their incomes. The following fall I directed the play “Trouble in Mind,” 66 years after the astounding writer Alice Childress had written it. It was planned for Broadway but canceled when Ms. Childress would not tone down its message. It took me two decades to get it to Broadway, and now we’re making a film of it. I hope that everything I do in the worlds of TV, film, and theater can give permission to those who need it, and especially to those who have been overlooked, like the genius Ms. Childress.

I realize that advertising has that power, that this publication has that power, to help someone envision something that they can attain, that they can be.

Images are everything.

Sidney Poitier reportedly was the influence who told his friend Alice Childress to start writing.

I first read her work in college and have been obsessed with her writing ever since. And I was listening to Motown as I was reading. And I was watching Sidney, then later watching Oprah, who also had been watching Sidney …

Mr. Poitier said, “My journey was not impossible; it was just harder.”

My heroes gave me permission, and I use that to keep me going, despite it never getting easier.

The journey continues ...