Читать книгу Lessons Learned - Katrina Davis Bias - Страница 7

I was six years old. The year was 1946 and the War had been over nearly a year. Appropriately, the 1946 Oscar-winning movie was The Best Years of our Lives, depicting the happiness and sorrow of the post-war years. TV had not yet come to our house. All our information came from the LA Times, which Aunt Lizzie and I still read daily. We followed the Nuremberg Trials and learned more than we cared to know about 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 54^th 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 the 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, we only knew of Carver and Booker T. Washington as the black people in 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 photos that we have with the four of them.