Will It Be Denzel's Day?

The paltry number of statuettes for African-Americans is just one of the reasons the Rev. Jesse Jackson and the NAACP's Kweisi Mfume have taken Hollywood to task in recent years. Although some progress has been made--most notably on TV with the crossover successes of Bernie Mac and Damon Wayans, and on the big screen with comics Martin Lawrence and Chris Tucker--few avenues are available to black actors who want to do more than just comedy. "The new generation of actors like Mekhi Phifer and Omar Epps aren't even getting the vehicles Denzel got 20 years ago,'' says black-film historian Donald Bogle of New York University. Sitting in a canvas chair inside a hangar at the San Diego naval yard, where he is wrapping his as-yet-untitled directorial debut film, Washington is well aware of the problem. "There is a ceiling for black actors, no doubt about that. I mean, I'm not getting dozens of roles at my door either,'' he says. "But I try to keep thinking of it as a glass ceiling, one that can be broken at some point. I might not see it or do it, but somebody will.''

Pay close attention to any character Washington has portrayed in his 20-year career, and you'll see at all times a very proud black man: focused, strong and always in control. Washington doesn't stray far from those traits in real life. Few actors have been able to sustain a career as multifaceted and multilayered. From a rebellious slave in "Glory'' to a homophobic lawyer in "Philadelphia'' to a pioneering black coach in "Remember the Titans," Washington has covered the dramatic bases, and along the way slowly erased the boundaries that once limited black actors to "black" roles. "He's not going to shuck and jive for anybody," says director Singleton. Though just 47 years old, Washington's demeanor is that of a much older, and perhaps wiser, man who's seen and heard it all. A man who is keenly aware of the many ways in which prejudice could have limited his trajectory, but who isn't about to use that as a cop-out.

In that sense, Washington is just like his mentor. It was in the late '70s that a struggling Washington first encountered the man considered the greatest black actor of his time: he spotted Sidney Poitier in a Beverly Hills hotel, chased him down and tried, unsuccessfully, to hand him his head shot. Nearly a decade later, when Washington was offered his first starring role on the heels of "Power" and "A Soldier's Story," it was Poitier he turned to for advice. "So I get this script that I like to call 'The Nigger That Wouldn't Die'," Washington says with an incredulous laugh. "I don't remember the exact name--tried to forget it--but it was about a black man who raped and killed a white woman in the '40s. They tried to execute him but he wouldn't die, and then they tried to hang him but he wouldn't die. So he became a celebrity," Washington says. "It was nuts and I was sick about it. But it also was paying more money than I ever made." Poitier's counsel tipped the balance. "Son, your first three or four films will dictate how you are viewed your entire career. Choose wisely, follow your gut and wait it out if you can'," Washington recalls his saying. "It was hard, but I did it. And about six months later I got 'Cry Freedom','' the story of South African activist Steven Biko that garnered him his first Oscar nod, for best supporting actor.

One on one, Washington is more folksy than you might expect. His broad smile and signature "don't mess with me" strut are present, but a sense of the guy next door comes through. A Hollywood outsider by his own admission, Washington shies away from the in circles and red-carpet premieres. Washington rarely sits in his high-priced, courtside seats at L.A. Lakers games anymore, just so he won't be in the camera's eye. "You know how they want you to do those promos all the time about 'I love this game.' I decided to love this game at home. I want to see the game, not work.''

The son of a Pentecostal minister and a hairdresser, Washington dotes on his wife, Pauletta, and their four children. The Washingtons have been especially preoccupied these past several months as their eldest son, John David, gets ready to leave the nest. The 17-year-old just won a full football scholarship to Morehouse College in Atlanta, and his proud papa can barely contain his pride. "My son did that on his own. This is all his, and he won the scholarship because of his talent,'' Washington says. Since the family can afford to send John David to college, Washington plans to pick up the tab for several disadvantaged students if his son takes the scholarship. When he's not with the family, Washington hangs with a close-knit group of black men, among them rocker Lenny Kravitz. "We both have daughters," says Kravitz, "so we just kick it and compare whose daughter is doing what and the stuff all parents worry about. He's like a big brother."

That quiet reserve might be part of why it's easy to overlook the tremendous impact of Washington's presence in Hollywood. The actor became a standout almost from the start when he landed the part of Phillip Chandler on NBC's "St. Elsewhere" in 1982. Coming on the heels of the sitcom buffoonery of Jimmie (J. J.) Walker, Washington's portrayal of a serious young black doctor on the network's most successful show was definitely noteworthy. But Washington, then 23, had his eyes on the big prize. He proved that in the 1984 film "A Soldier's Story," which dealt with intraracial conflict among Negro military troops in the 1940s. "The first time you see Denzel, you see a movie star,'' says Bogle.