Greg Tate’s colorful array, 2017. Tricia Romano
I only knew Greg Tate to nod hello to in the hallways of the Voice offices, back in the late 1980s and early ’90s. I wasn’t writing for the paper yet, but like so many readers, I had long been dazzled by his uncompromising, often funny, always incandescent prose.
How about this, from a 1982 Voice Literary Supplement article, “Harlem When It Sizzled”: “Consider Harlem’s ’20s as a kind of funked-up Weimar Republic for bloods, and you’ll have a grasp on why that era has gone down in Afro-American lore and literature as a
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