Lincoln McGraw-Beauchamp is standing in almost the exact center of the room, greeting his guests. He is a big black man; his approximate six-and-a-half feet and 280 pounds are hard to miss in the small gallery at Water Tower’s Rizzoli bookstore. There is a patch of tan fuzz in the middle of the black fuzz, covering his head and face, and his tan jacket and pants match it.
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He also writes: he published his first book of poetry 17 years ago in England. And he’s traveled around the United States, West Africa, and Europe, where he met some of the contributors to Literati Chicago. From 1976 to 1983, in an effort to moderate his own idealism, he worked as a commodities broker.
There are only about seven people at the reception so far, and Beauchamp circulates among them, smiling. Cecile Savage, an occasional bass player with Beauchamp’s band, offers to submit some of her poetry to him. She is French, with long, black hair and bright red lips, but she writes her poetry in English. Beauchamp is enthusiastic, but apparently he wants an international tone to his magazine. “Could you translate it?” he asks.
Beauchamp started the project last August by approaching book stores, blues clubs, and arts organizations to see if they would buy space, though his magazine then was still just an idea. “Other people call them ads,” he says, “but I call them graphic endorsements.”
“I’ve got my henchmen everywhere,” he says. “If a person’s got knowledge, he shouldn’t be so elitist as to keep it for himself.”
