black-ish

Everyone's got a family tree...

a record of who they are and where they come from,

ancient branches that reach back in time

to the deepest roots of identity.

Okay. Maybe not that deep.

We're so getting an "F."

Hope you love summer school, friend.

Can we beef up our family tree with dead pets?

Won't help.

Lyla Chilton's family came here on the Mayflower.

Hey, you tell your teacher we sailed over on a boat, too.

But unlike Lyla Chilton's family,

- we came with a receipt. - Dre.

Hey, it's not my fault nobody shows

any love to the history of the enslaved and the oppressed.

All we get is a boring mini-series every 400 years.

Well, babies, I know a lot about your heritage.

I actually did a genetic swab once.

- Let me see if I still have that e-mail. - Swab.

They don't need no damn Q-Tip telling them where they're from.

Pops, DNA analysis is amazing. You get a whole rundown.

Oh, oh! Here it is. Here it is.

Okay, put this on my part, okay?

23% Yoruba, 19% Gaelic,

and... no doubt for some horrific reason...

1% Mongol.

Ha! That's where you're from.

A weird, old-timey five spot.

Mm-hmm.

Thanks, but we'll just eat the "F."

Oh. Okay.

Guess you don't want to hear about how your Pops' Pops' Pops

used that to bet the future of our whole family

against a notorious and ruthless gangster.

- A gangster? - Oh, no. Go ahead. Go ahead, go ahead.

Watch another one of your "SpongeBob ShirtPants."

Okay, guys. Buckle up.

You're in for a real Pops special.

It all went down in the year of our lord 19 and 27,

during the Harlem Renaissance.

Oh, those dudes are hilarious

with their trick dunks and the confetti bucket!

Agreed.

But what I'm talking about, baby boy, is a golden age

when black writers and artists and musicians

planted our cultural flag deep in the soul of this country.

I don't mean your great-great-grandpa Drexler.

He was just a butt-ugly dope who delivered ice.

Looked a lot like your dad.

Thanks, Pops.

But one of his regular stops was the legendary Savoy Club.

It was electric, children.

The hottest dancers wowed them every night.

The gents came for the dames. The dames came for the game.

Running it all

a shrewd and moody gangster Elroy Savoy.

Send two women and four bottles to the G-Men at table 6,

and do something about this music.

This music is terrible.

Keep it the same but different.

Hey, ice boy.

Uh, excuse me, did you say "ice boy" or "ass boy"?

What I said is next time you come through here,

use the service corridor.

You're dripping all over my rug.

I caught malaria in Peru looking for this rug.

I ain't peed the same since.

Okay.

The only one who could warm Elroy

was the soulful songbird Mirabelle Chalet.

Hey, baby, you looking fine.

Well, you ain't got to tell me that.

Right.

But seriously, I-I... I do look good, don't I?

You look great.

I know, but you think I need to change?

'Cause I got something in the back that's a little better.

But the hippest cat in the joint

was the legendary sports bookie Bippy Barnes.

Call you back in a few ticks, Mac.

Dolly, go collect on the markers from today's bangtail races.

With pleasure.

Jolly, go buy me a bag of bullets.

45s for the Tommy?

You bet your sweet Bippy.

Where were...

Hold on.

You're saying, "you bet your sweet Bippy"

came from a bookie named Bippy?

Who's telling the story?

- All right. Oh. - And besides, that's not the point.

The point is that ice wasn't the main reason

that Drex was at the Savoy.

He was there for Bea.

Who's Bea?

Only the love of his life.

A dancer with lustrous ebony locks,

The smile of an angel

And getaway sticks that went on for days.

I actually saw a picture of her once.

She looked just like your mama.

- Ah. - Oh, I...

Pops, that don't even make sense, man.

She wasn't even related to Bow...

zip it, ass boy.

Go on, Pops.

- Thank you, Rainbow. - Mm-hmm.

And we're off.

Drex and Bea were crazy about each other,

but they really couldn't go public

in a place that stamped both their meal tickets.

Hey, Drexy. Oh! Oh!

- Drexy. - What?

Not here. Way too many eyes.

I swear, Bea, one day, you'll never have to work again.

Oh, really?

Just a breezy life raising our 10 children,

cleaning our house,

mending our clothes, and stomping on rats.

Rats.

Mm-hmm, we gonna be rich.

Oh, Drexy. Oh, God.

- What? - Moon rash.

Oh?

I swear, one of these days,

that thing's gonna tip over and kill me.

- You know what, Bea? - Hmm?

You and the rest of the girls should organize into a group

and demand safer working conditions.

Wow, I never thought of...

Hold on.

You're saying our great-great-grandfather

invented unions?

Who's telling the story?

Besides, he didn't just do it for Bea.

He did it for everyone.

Like, uh, Zora the coat-check girl

in her dangerously unventilated closet.

This was an exquisite creature...

copper-colored, timeless beauty.

She looked a lot like you, Zo-Zo.

Continue.

Very well.

_

Hi.

Yeah, yeah. Hold your horses.

I'll get your coat in a jiff.

I didn't bring a coat.

Coat thief, huh?

- Uh... - okay, here's how it goes...

you can pinch up to three furs, we'll split the fence 50/50.

What? No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

I figured a hardworking girl like you

stuck in this sweat box smelling like dead fox deserves some ice.

Now we're talking.

I've been looking to score a good diamond heist.

But... no, not that kind of ice.

Ice, ice, baby.

Oh... Thanks.

You're welcome.

_

So you see, children,

while there might have been a renaissance in Harlem,

downtown they were still in the dark ages.

So, in keeping with the triumphant past campaigns

of Kimble, Kollins & Klark, I give you Madsen coffee beans.

"Mammy said you like it dark."

Outstanding! Now you're on the trolley.

Very triple "K."

But I think we should make the servant child a little darker.

I don't want people mistaking her for a Mexican.

Ah.

She should be as dark as, uh... As him.

Ooh, that's dark.

Oh, honored, Sir... and smart.

That's why you're the big cheese,

and I live under a train.

Shall we pop the breakfast bubbly?

Oh. Why is this still warm?

Gentleman, uh, sorry about the late delivery.

Ah, young Drex.

You look a little more haggard than usual.

Mooning over your dame all night at the Savoy again?

Ooh, now that's a frolic pad I'd like to cut a rug at.

Love that negro music and negro dance and negro style.

Just a huge negro lover.

Wow, you really like using that word, huh?

Now, I know it's the exact right word for our times,

but, mm, just the way you say it.

Hey, janitor, you say it.

Uh, uh, negro.

See. Fine. Your turn.

- Negro. - Whoo-hoo-hoo.

Makes my fists ball up every time you say it.

Listen, Drex, if you want to take it to the next level

- with your little Barlow... - What?

You got to make her feel like she's the cat's pajamas.

Uh, uh, and you have to dress to the nines

to show you deserve her.

Drex, love is all about outward appearance.