Reviews
Los Angeles Times
In her latest book, Get the Show on The Road, some of the main characters are upper class, well-spoken and well educated. "I feel writing is a responsibility," Johnson said. "I try to give black men and women role models." She knows there is a more positive side to the African American experience that people should not ignore."
Atlanta Daily World
A 'feel good' story that shows a different and refreshing twist on black romance fiction. Good reading for those who want to stereotype Blacks and emasculate the strong African-American male role model outside of Sports and Entertainment.
The Birmingham Times
It should be mandated by the law of the land that everyone read Get the Show on the Road by Evelyn Allen Johnson, for it will be an everlasting experience. Herald Dispatch Get the Show on the Road is a story full of love, hope and inspiration, so skillfully woven with emotion, humor, passion and surprise that one can't put it down until finished. Readers need more books like this.
Los Angeles Watts Times
A book that paints positive images of African men and women, especially men, is worth its weight in gold....Finally, a novel that doesn't sell Blacks out as buffoons or sexual deviants....Evelyn Allen Johnson weaves a colorful love story of black passion and romance.
The New Pittsburgh Courier
Get the Show on the Road is a must read. A modern day love story that paints a positive picture of African-American relationships. Evelyn Allen Johnson has outdone herself.
Excerpt
Chapter 1
It had been raining all morning, and now the sun was trying its best to shine. The air was fresh. Two days of rain had washed away the smog. The palm trees swayed and waved skyward, thankful that the rainy season had arrived and their thirst of months would be quenched. The traffic was slow, and ambulance sirens screamed loudly, all over the city, as they rushed auto accident victims to the nearest hospitals. This was not unusual at the start of the season. For months Los Angeles streets and freeways had collected oil from millions of vehicles, and now this mixture of oil and water made a slick as hazardous as ice for many motorists.
The Rapid Transit Bus, which seemed to have taken hours to reach its destination, stopped at the corner of Washington and La Brea. A lithe, young woman dressed in a yellow rain slicker, white nurse's oxfords, and white stockings jumped agilely onto the side walk avoiding the rushing gully water, as it poured downward to flood the next intersection. She carried an armful of heavy textbooks and a yellow umbrella. Looking into that pretty face one could quickly discern anxiety. She didn't want to be late, which she already was, and she was trying to memorize the fetal heart circulation, which was certain to be on the Pediatric midterm tomorrow morning.
Africa Jones' body moved quickly forward, as her strong, shapely legs kept up an almost running gait. The yellow rain hood bounced on her shoulders, and served as a receptacle for the thick, almost black, wavy hair that filled it.
I've got to get out of there earlier, but I get so involved, she thought. If only she could just go to school, become a Registered Nurse, and forget this job. She was up at five thirty every morning, so that she could get to her eight o'clock class, then she had to rush away at three to be on the job by four. This was an exciting last year, and she would often get so absorbed with her classes or patients that she couldn't break away in time. Miss Thornton, the Director of Nurses at the New Hope Convalescent Hospital where she worked, had told her that just one more time and she was through. But surely today with the rain and traffic she would understand, Africa felt.
Oh Lord, she thought, please let her understand. Mama, Billy, and Brenda were counting on her, and they just wouldn't be able to make it if she lost her job. A lock of hair fell over her eye, but she couldn't free an arm to brush it away. It was always annoying when her hair got in the way. For that reason,and because she was usually in uniform, Africa pinned it back into a soft bun. Evidently, when the hood slipped from her head, it had loosened her hair. Now she would have to take extra time to put her appearance in order. She cringed thinking about Miss Thornton and what a stickler she was when adhering to the dress code. It was indeed stressful having a rigid disciplinarian breathing down your neck all the time. Africa knew she wasn't one of her favorite persons. At last she neared the hospital. Maybe, I'll be only ten minutes late and they'll still be in report she thought. If so, I can just stand in the hallway by the door and she won't know when I came in. She was now pleased that the room in which the change of shift report was given was too small to hold everyone inside, and some of the nurses always remained in the doorway.
With this new surge of hope, Africa's face brightened. Her dark eyes seemed to glow in her chocolate colored skin, which had a texture so smooth and soft that the finest velvet would appear coarse in comparison. A speck of a mole, just above her left upper lip, was truly a beauty mark. With renewed energy, she darted up the broad cement stairs of the hospital entrance, taking them two at a time. She tried to glance at her watch, then bam! There was a strong resistance and she realized that she had collided with another being. She watched in dismay as her thick, eighty-six dollar, surgical textbook slid down the rain soaked stairs. Somebody said, "Shit!" She realized it was her, and with tremendous embarrassment as she stared into the face of a young man, who had jumped around her, retrieved the book, and now placed it back on its perch, atop the others she held.
"Now, that's a heavy one," he said with a smile. "I'm really very sorry."
"It's O.K. I'm sorry too. I don't usually curse like that, but I'm late and this book is rather expensive."
His good looks stunned her. Evidently, he was equally effected by her, because they stood as if electrified, staring at one another until a sharp, brittle voice brought them back to reality.
