Jackie
Jackie and I were friends. He lived on 131st Street, about five houses away from where we lived on Wilmington Avenue. We would play together every day. Jackie was short, medium complexioned, and had green eyes. He had a lot of toys to play with and I enjoyed going over to his house to play with him and his toys. On his sixth birthday, his parents purchased a go-cart for him to ride through the neighborhood. My father wouldn't buy me a go-cart like the one Jackie owned. I guess he felt I would get into trouble or get hurt.
One Saturday afternoon Jackie and I rode our bikes over to the Sears and Roebuck store in Compton. We were planning to steal some items for our bikes. Neither one of us really needed to steal anything. We both probably could have asked our parents for the money, and we would have gotten it. I think it was more about the thrill of getting away with something for nothing. I found a generator to power the lights on my bike for riding at night and Jackie found a mirror for his handlebars. We cautiously scanned the area to determine if anyone was watching us and then we both shoved the items into our pants. We thought everything was going well as we proceeded toward the store's exit. As soon as we reached the exit doors, we were both apprehended by the seat of our pants by two plainclothes detectives. They cuffed and escorted us to a holding room in the basement of the store. They searched our person and recovered the items we had stolen and held us for further questioning. They notified our parents we were in police custody and for them to plan to pick us up. We were fortunate that day as we got off with a warning. We signed an agreement to not come back inside the store for one year. When my mother heard about our arrest, she became very upset. She had already decided in her mind that it was Jackie who was the bad influence on me, and we were restricted from playing together for about a month. Our restriction lasted for about a month and then we were playing together again.
One afternoon I arrived home from school, only to find my mother packing my suitcase with many of my clothes and toys. As I looked on curiously, she knew I was waiting to hear what fate my life would hold. She looked at me and slowly began to speak, "Junior, as you know, your mother has not been feeling well these days. I've decided to go away for a little while. The doctor says, if I'm going to get better, I need to get some rest. I am taking you to the Johnsons' house to stay for a few days until I am able to make other arrangements."
I replied, "But Mama, I don't want to stay with the Johnsons. Why can't I go with you?" She replied, "Because you'll be better off if you stay with them for now. Besides, you're still in school and have a lot of homework to do. You have already missed too many days from school this year. This way you can still play with your friends and be close to your father." I frowned, kicked, and fussed, but I knew I would eventually have to give in because it was a battle I could not win.
I said, "All right, Mama, but please don't leave me there for a long time."
A few weeks later my mother rented a small, two-bedroom house located on Denker Avenue and Santa Barbara Avenue, in Los Angeles. This was the first time I had my own bedroom, and I didn't have to share with anyone. Although my room was small, I could set it up any way I wanted. I was delighted to be living at home with my mother again. I kept my emotions guarded continually for fear of the possibility she would have to leave again. It seemed like the advice she received from her doctor about taking some time away from her family had helped. For the first time in a long while, she was looking full of life and vigor. The following week she took me to the 39th Street Elementary School on Western Avenue in Los Angeles to enroll me into class. After she left me, I was escorted by the Assistant Principal to my new classroom and was introduced to my new teacher. Then the teacher stood me in front of the entire class and said, "Attention, class, we have a new student joining us this morning. I want everyone to say hello to Elmo and welcome him to our group." Upon hearing my name, the class broke into loud laughter uncontrollably and then they started poking fun at me. I was so embarrassed and humiliated, I felt so out of place and not accepted. My embarrassment caused me to vow to someday change my name when I was old enough to do so.
I remember walking home from school one afternoon with Suzie. Suzie attended my school and was in the second grade. Although I was in the first grade, I believed Suzie liked me because she constantly flirted with me every day at school. She came over to my house that afternoon to meet my mother and we were given permission to go outside to play. We were having a lot of fun playing together and then she wanted to look inside of our garage. We went inside the garage, and she closed the door behind us. Before I knew it, Suzie had taken her panties down and said to me, "Come on, baby, let's do it." I had no idea of what she was saying but I suspected it had something to do with me pulling my pants down as well. As I played "follow the leader," she instructed me to lay on top of her and I nervously tried to do so. Then we slowly began to move our bodies up and down and around and around together. My dick was hard as a rock, and I was beginning to feel a lot of excitement.
Just when I finally got the nerve to stick my dick inside of her, suddenly the garage door opened, and my mother stood there looking at the two of us with disdain. When she realized what we were up to, she yelled, "What in the hell do the two of you think you are doing? Boy, get your ass up from there and pull your pants up." Then she continued, "Young lady, you need to put your panties back on and pull your dress down and I think it's time for you to go home. I am going to contact your mother and let her know what you were doing here today." This was the very first time I had ever been intimate with a girl before and it sure felt exciting. I was looking forward to what the future would hold for me.
In 1957, my father propositioned my mother with an opportunity to operate her own record shop. They agreed to open a store close to where we were living on Denker Avenue. They identified a rental space on Santa Barbara Avenue near Western Avenue and began to renovate her new store. Then Bridges Music Den number two was opened for business. This building was slightly smaller than the Compton store and was located on the west side of town. The demographics appeared to be different than Compton. Bridges Music Den 2 was tidy and pleasant to the eyes. It didn't have the stigma of being a storefront gambling joint. My mother appeared to be happier with this store than the one in Compton as she began to make her elegant touches to the store's interior.
My parents were seeing one another more frequently. I guess it was because they were in business together. He agreed to keep my mother's store stocked with merchandise. The two of them appeared to be getting along a lot better these days. I suspected they may have even been contemplating getting back together, which made me very happy. I remember vividly spending time with my father. He would take me with him to purchase merchandise from the wholesale distributors on Pico Boulevard in Los Angeles. I would constantly keep my eyes on him for fear he would disappear again.
Bridges Music Den 2 had been open for several months and was still not generating enough revenue to cover the expenses. Additionally, my mother's sickness fluctuated from day to day. There were times when she needed to go to the hospital and my father would hire a temporary replacement to man the shop in her absence. Sometimes the store would stay closed until she was well enough to return for business.
Mama Went Away
In July of 1958, my mother was hospitalized again. This time her health had taken a turn for the worse. The doctors could not provide a prognosis. Occasionally I would overhear people making little comments like, "I know that the Lord is in control and will help us get through this situation. God is good all of the time, and His mercy endures forever." Whenever I would hear these sayings, I would wonder to myself, what could God possibly be thinking about my mother's situation? How could He see all the pain she was going through and not do anything about it? For years, I carried a lot of hostility and resentment toward God for not healing my mother's body and for not restoring her health.
One day, while we were visiting my mother at the hospital, the attending physician pulled my father aside and suggested she might benefit by consulting with a specialist in Chicago, Illinois. He wrote the information down on a piece of paper and handed it to my father. My mother's doctor had recommended a highly respected physician in the medical community for his innovative medical procedures. Upon my mother's release from UCLA, my father arranged for her to see this specialist. Dr. Billings was the Chief Practicing Surgeon of Internal Medicine at the Institute of Medical Research at Chicago, Illinois. As I watched her board the United Airlines jumbo 727 jet, headed to Chicago, I knew it would be quite some time before I would see her again.
My father and I lived together without my mother for the very first time in my...
