Brian Copeland's 'Not a Geniune Black Man'
written by Bill Kopp
Brian Copeland is a stand-up comic and actor. The Bay Area native's credits also include extensive work as a TV program host, radio personality, author and playwright. He's also a Black man, but at least one member of his audience actually challenged him on that point. Responding to the assertion in that maddening letter, Copeland created Not a Genuine Black Man, a one-man stage play in which he takes on the idea with wit, depth, candor and nuance. Launched in 2004, Not a Genuine Black Man has since achieved the status as the longest-running solo show in Bay Area theatrical history.
Against the backdrop of the current Federal administration's hostility toward diversity, equity and inclusion, Copeland's show is more timely now than at any point since its inception. Brian Copeland returned to City Lights for a South Bay performance on January 25.
Copeland stumbled upon the idea for his show almost by accident. "Back in 2000, I was going through a divorce and a career change," he says. He had been hosting the morning show on Bay Area Fox affiliate KTVU for five years, and had two decades of experience as a standup comic, opening for Aretha Franklin, Natalie Cole, Dionne Warwick and other big names. But he was ready for a change.
"Comics were just starting to mess around with one-man shows at the time," he recalls. "I thought, 'I've got a one-man show in me, but I have no idea what to write about.'" Copeland got some valuable advice from a guest on his KGO radio show, famed actor/writer/director Carl Reiner.
Reiner recounted some advice he received in 1959, when production wrapped on Caesar's Hour, a TV show he wrote for with Woody Allen, Mel Brooks and Neil Simon: "Find the piece of ground that you alone stand on, and write from there."
For Carl Reiner, that meant developing what would become The Dick Van Dyke Show, winner of 15 Emmy Awards. For Brian Copeland, his inspiration came weeks later when an anonymous letter was delivered to him at the radio station. He vividly recalls the letter's message: "As an African American, I'm disgusted whenever I hear your voice. You are not a genuine Black man."
Copeland was taken aback, but he also immediately knew that he had found the piece of ground upon which to build his one-man show. "I had heard that kind of thing all my life," he explains. "I heard it from Black people and white people: 'Oh, you're an Oreo.'" When he was eight, his family moved to San Leandro, which was 90 to 99 percent white. "So I decided to to write a play about what it was like to be different, to be the only Black face in the room."
He would also draw from historical research. Copeland discovered a sociology paper written in the late '60s for a class at Cal State Hayward. The paper documented how San Leandro's ten homeowners' associations -- with help from real estate agents and cops -- conspired to keep the city white. Copeland made a realization: "My story's changed. It's not just about me; it's the story of the evolution of a city."
As he wrote Not a Genuine Black Man, Copeland took care to give it a rhythm: "Heavy, funny, heavy, funny," he explains. "I can write a joke. And the thing is, if there were no jokes in this, it would just be depressing." The skilled use of comedy, Copeland believes, makes the tragedy that much more impactful. "I'll say something that will have you laughing hysterically, and the next minute I'll kick you in the gut and you'll cry. And then you'll be laughing again."
When the show premiered, he planned it as a six-week run sandwiched between dates touring with Smokey Robinson. Halfway through the run, Reiner called him on the phone and said he wanted to put Copeland in touch with his son Rob. "A couple of days later, I got a call: Rob Reiner wanted to meet me," he recalls. In the years since, Copeland had been working with Reiner to bring Not a Genuine Black Man to the screen; with Reiner's tragic murder in December, the project's future is now uncertain.
Nonetheless, Copeland has performed his one-man play in more than 30 cities. And Not a Genuine Black Man has taken on a life of its own. His 2006 book version of the work is used as a text in several schools across the country. Copeland knows of at least four high school students who have created their own monologues based on Not a Genuine Black Man. "Kids in Alabama, Illinois and Texas won state speech championships with it," he says with pride.
But that honor is leavened with deep frustration. "It pisses me off that it's still relevant in 2026," he says. "It should be a relic!" He recalls that when Not a Genuine Black Man premiered 20 years ago, the audience vibe was along the lines of, "Thank God those days are over." But when he performs his one-man show today, the reaction is closer to, "Oh, my God. This is [still] going on now."
Copeland poses a rhetorical but important question: "What happens when you erase history?" His play emphasizes his commitment to an idea: "The history of the experiences of people of color in this country is important, and it needs to be preserved so that it's not forgotten again."
Inspired by the enduring success of Not a Genuine Black Man, Copeland has ventured into fiction. To date he has published two mystery/adventure novels, with three more on the way. And the themes of racial injustice, marginalization and bigotry persist into his engrossing tales, just as they do in modern society.
Not a Genuine Black Man leverages all of Brian Copeland's skills in service of its story and message. "It's part investigative journalism, part social commentary, part comedy," he says. "It started out as, 'This is where we were.' Now it's 'This is where we are, and where we're headed... unless we do something.'"