the terrible war crimes committed by Nazi leaders. There was usually a story about our new President, Harry Truman, who had just taken office the year before, after our beloved Roosevelt died. The Negro community liked Truman because he hired Negroes to work in the White House and integrated the armed services. It didn’t take much more for us to be on his side. We also paid attention to the stories about the new United Nations, meeting for the first time in London. Aunt Lizzie, always in tune to world affairs, said this was the first step toward a better world.
Jazz was the popular music. The big bands like Duke Ellington’s and Count Basie’s had been playing in Negro clubs since the 1920’s. Their musical style was now replicated by Harry James and Glen Miller and other mainstream bands. All the big bands were swinging for the white folks at the big clubs in the big cities, where the Duke and the Count were kings. The Negro big bands continued to come to our part of LA, playing in the clubs up and down Central Avenue. “ Race music” was exclusively featured at our clubs. This music was performed by, made for and listened to by Negroes. It became the foreshadowing of rock and roll and featured artists like Muddy Waters, Billy Holiday, Jimmy Witherspoon, and Lionel Hampton. Mom and Dad went out most week-ends to the Central Avenue night clubs. The Club Alabam was named for those transplants from Alabama, the Barrel House had tables and chairs made from barrels, and the Five Four Ballroom was located on 54th Street. They always dressed in the latest fashions. Dad wore suits with loud hand-painted ties and Stacy Adams two-tone wing tip shoes. Mama wore cocktail dresses in the draped style which wrapped her figure, and a little hat. High heels and short dresses showed off her beautiful legs.
It was post-war America and everybody had jobs, homes, and money to spend. The family moved to the suburbs, as did most families when dads came home from the war. We moved to an area that was considered far away: 20 miles south, to the very edge of Los Angeles—where LA, Compton, and Gardena come together, still on the East side of Los Angeles. It was a housing tract made for Negro families (you always checked that first) and was called “Carver Manor,” named after George Washington Carver, the historical Negro scientist. At that time, Carver and Booker T. Washington were the only prominent people from our history.
Our house was on Stanford Avenue, where Uly Junior, Sondra, and I lived until we married, Mama stayed on for more than fifty years. Mama says the brand-new house cost $12,000 and they paid $100 down. She says she had a hundred-dollar bill for the down payment and that she was nervous, never having had that much money in her hand. We were one of the first families to move in. I remember empty houses being filled with families while my siblings and I watched for any children our ages.
We had three bedrooms with a large living room and dining room. The kitchen and service porch were also large, with space for our eat-in kitchen. Our backyard was huge, large enough for another house or a big swimming pool. We had a single-car garage and a driveway that accommodated two cars. The three of us slept in one bedroom with Uly Junior’s bed at the end of Sondra and my twin beds. Aunt Lizzie had one bedroom and Mom and Dad had the third. When I was about twelve, our garage was converted to a bedroom for Uly Junior, who suddenly needed his own room. We weren’t told why, but had to go along with it. Later I understood that boys and girls should not share a bedroom after puberty.
Ezie had been my dad’s best friend since third grade. He had always been single. He met Merinel after we moved to Carver Manor and they were married within a week of their first meeting. Right away they bought a house and moved in down the street from us. They were our “godparents” without the title. They got a new car every year and they were the first ones to get the new Oldsmobile that didn’t require shifting. They too remained in their house for more than fifty years.
Much can be for living in a stable neighborhood. Families came to Stanford Avenue and remained. We have kept those friendships and learned from our experiences.
Mom and Dad at a Nightclub
Merinel and Ezie with Mom and Dad at our home for Dad’s birthday party. All are about seventy years old, except Merinel who was younger. It is one of the few that we have with the four of them.
Merinel—another mother
Perhaps my first mentor was Merinel. She was married to my dad’s best friend Ezie and lived five houses down from us on Stanford. Growing up, I saw her nearly every day.
Merinel was a few years younger than my mom and glamorous. Her hair was dyed red and she smoked long Hebert Tareyton cigarettes. She was artistic and shared with me her sewing and home decorating skills. She had gone to college, had no children nor did she work, which was a phenomenon in our neighborhood. She had a toy poodle that wore bows; the fact that the dog, Ribbons, stayed inside the house was another phenomenon.
Merinel made jokes and kept a straight face. We had to pay close attention to be sure it was a joke. An example: if Michael complained that he didn’t have anyone to play with, she would tell her son to go play at the Jones’ house, saying since they had ten kids he was bound to find a playmate.
We played table games at both houses. Checkers, dominoes, tonk, canasta, whist, black jack, and monopoly were our favorites. Tonk is a game I thought everyone knew, but have found that white people aren’t familiar with it. Tonk is a card game with discards, similar to gin rummy. It has subtle nuances and requires verbal taunts towards one’s opponents. Whist is another game I thought was common until my white friends asked, “What’s whist”? It is similar to bridge and requires bidding on how many books you and your partner might make. It too requires subtle nuances and taunting your opponents. I guarantee everyone who attended college with more than four black students in the population has played whist.
Having been friends since boyhood, Ezie and my Dad spent a lot of time together, playing dominoes and tonk after work and during their free time on week-ends. I tagged along to keep score and observe, picking up the nuances of the games.
One Saturday night a month was saved for time when the two families got together. Alternating houses each month, the adults played canasta or whist. Dad’s enchiladas or gumbo or Ezie’s barbeque were some of the special meals they served on these special Saturdays. We kids hung out watching TV, observing, or helping with the refreshments and dinner. Neither these friends nor any of my family’s friends were drinkers, so we did not experience any of the unpleasantness that some families had to endure when too much drinking led to ugliness. I have wonderful memories of these nice Saturday evenings.
After school and summers I hung out at Merinel’s house where I helped her make and sew beautiful children’s clothes that she designed and sold to neighborhood ladies. Sometimes she had fashion shows and my sister Sondra was her favorite model. I was recruited to help during the crunch of finishing garments before a show.
We sometimes ate breakfast with Merinel, including buttered toast. For years Roscoe tried to make his toast taste like Merinel’s but could not. Later he found that the secret was the use of butter rather than the margarine we used.
Merinel was patient in teaching me things. I helped with her flat ironing, for which she had an ironing machine that was quite a contraption. I had trouble putting the sheets into the roller and operating the knee pedals. When teaching us something she would first let us try on our own. When it didn’t work out right, she’d, say, “This is how you do it.” and we’d try again, as she offered
