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Backstage in a Detroit vaudeville house sometime in 1896, a mild-mannered West Indian gentleman named Egbert Williams dipped his hands into a supply of oily black burnt cork and rubbed it over his face until his features all but disappeared. These gestures marked the end of a private moral battle and the beginning of a great career. Williams and his partner, George Walker, had been knocking about the minstrel circuit for three years, playing medicine shows and hoochy-coochy joints and, most memorably, a rough Colorado mining camp where, accused of being better dressed than Negroes ought to be, they had been stripped of their clothes and were lucky to exit with their lives. ...