Straight Life (5 page)

At that time Grandma had a chicken ranch over here in Nuevo. Grandpa Joe had died, and she had her brother helping her out there. She had traded her house for the ranch. Then she couldn't make the payments on it, so she traded her interest in the ranch for a house on Eighty-third Street in Watts.

Sandy was the man that Millie was going with while Daddy was off fishing, while they were still married. And he didn't like junior at all. But she went to live with him after she and Daddy separated for good. She used to tell me all kinds of things: when Daddy'd get paid, he did her like he did me, too, later; he'd give her all the money he brought in. So she was buying up pillows and pillow slips and sheets, towels; she was fixin' it all together. Then, when she got what she wanted, she told me, she intended to leave Daddy and go with Sandy. And she kept this stuff at my house.

Well, I knew what her plans was, but I think Betty Ward told Daddy 'cause he knew everything she did. Everything. So, one day, here comes Millie in Sandy's car. She came to get the suitcases with all these towels. And here comes Daddy. Nobody expected him. He looked around until he found the suitcases in my boys' closet, and he took each one of them towels and just ripped it in half, and they had a knockdown-drag-out fight right in my house. Well, that was the last time they were together. When she got back over to Grandma's house, she picked up Grandma's iron and threw it at Daddy and it just missed him. Would have killed him if it didn't. She went to stay with Sandy after that.

Now, Sandy wanted to marry her. Daddy was in the L.A. County Hospital for an operation on his head, some polyps or something. He was always having to have operations. Then, while Daddy was there, Sandy had a stroke and they took him to the hospital, too, same floor. I met Millie at the elevator, you know, and she told me she was hoping that Daddy would die so she'd get junior. But Sandy wouldn't have junior; he wouldn't even consider takin' him. Still, she thought if she married Sandy and Daddy died, she'd get junior. But Sandy died. That was poetic justice for you, I guess. Sandy died right there in the hospital.

Grandma used to tell me how sorry she felt for junior. Like one day, she told me she found him just sittin'. She thought he was reading a book, but he was just sittin' there, not making a sound, and the tears just rolled down his face. She asked him what was the matter, and he said he wished he had a mother and a father and sisters and brothers like other children had.

Junior was just little when he got interested in music. Mr. Parry was his first teacher, and I'm sure junior remembers him. He was about nine years old, and they were living in Watts, and Mr. Parry recognized immediately that he was very gifted. In fact, when they moved to 'Pedro, Mr. Parry was so impressed with his talent that he made the trip from L.A. every week to teach him.

Grandma was proud of junior's talent. Oh my, yes! She'd talk about it, too, to other people. She might not have bragged to him, but to anybody else who would listen she would brag to high heaven about junior's talent. Because she knew in her mind that he was going to be very rich and famous when he got grown. Junior kind of took the place of the children she lost. But she never was lovey-dovey, even with her own kids.

He could do no wrong, junior couldn't. She'd get out of patience and angry with him sometimes: he liked to aggravate her; he'd bait her-instead of using a spoon, he'd slurp his soup out of the dish. He'd put his head way down. Hahahaha! And Grandma firmly believed that when he grew up he was going to be an outstanding musician, and she used to tell him, "You're going to be in society. You're going to be in a position where you'll need to know manners!" And I remember him making the statement "I'm going to be such a great musician that it won't make no difference if I have manners or not!"

John and Millie Noble

(John) I can't say why it took place; I was only six or seven. I just went into their house there on May Avenue in Watts to get Art junior to play. We were always climbing trees. And here were Moses and Moham [Art Senior and Millie, Art's mother] going at it hammer and tongs. They were battin' one another around, calling each other all the names in the book. Art junior was squalling and a-wailing underneath the sink, and I was afraid to try to run for the front door to get out again, so I just went down on the kitchen floor with him. I was as scared as he was. They were bangin' one another around. She hit him with a pot or pan; some doggone thing clattered down on the floor. Moses had a very explosive temper, and Moham was like a wildcat; she'd fight anything and kinda kept us kids a little bit away.

We called him Moses, Art Senior. Art junior made up that name. Him and I talked about it. He said, "He's as old as Moses and he's as wise as Moses." And from that time on it was Moses.

He was a self-educated man, very intelligent in quite a few ways because he educated himself in the field of diesel engineering, and he was a machinist, first-class. He had fantastic tools, and he was very meticulous. His greatest love, of course, was the labor movement. He started in Seattle. It was the IWW, the Wobblies, and he progressed in that field for as many years as he could until they finally kicked him out of Washington State, and he became acquainted with Harry Bridges and became an organizer for him to create the ILWU.

Moses was very one-way about his thinking. He researched what he was interested in and then that's the way it was in his mind. I learned a lot from him, and I'm quite certain that everyone that was around him did. He was a hard person to forget. You either loved him or you hated him. There was no middle road.

My next vivid thought about Moses was during the '38 strike, when he had a small Plymouth sedan, and they were going to go out and get some scabs. And they did a good job at that time on those people who were trying to break that strike.

He was about six foot tall, and he was lean, and he had that bad eye, and he had his right thumb cut off, let's see, by an accident in a machine shop after that '38 strike. He was there because they were trying to run him off the waterfront. He had to get off the waterfront there for quite a spell.

(Millie) What about that rumor about Pancho Villa?

(John) That wasn't a rumor. That was a fact. Moses and a friend of his took a boat out from San Pedro, and they were supposed to be going out fishing. Well, this friend-Moses never mentioned his name to me-headed due south when they got out of the harbor, and it wasn't until they were at sea that Moses learned that they were going to Mexico with a load of firearms for Pancho Villa's revolution.

There was another occasion in '29 or '30 where Moses had to leave the country because of his union activities, and he went to the Philippine Islands and ran a bar in Manila. When he came back, which was after the big depression had already set in and settled across the country, he came back with quite a little bit of money, and he was back commercial fishing again. He made several trips down to South America. I recall he brought back tuna fish, and being as the whole family was there-Grandma and Irma and Dick Pepper and us kids-well, he salted up some tuna in a big barrel and he put too much salt in it and it burnt the tuna up to where we couldn't eat it. But he tried. He wanted to do it on his own. And he was always out to help anyone. That was one of his big things. Even if he didn't like you, he'd try to help you. Later in life ... That probably explains how he was with Moham. My wife could never understand it. We'd go over to their house and here was his wife and his ex-wife sitting knitting on the same couch. The whole family stayed together all these years. That was very important to Moses.

(Millie) Remember that time Moses wanted to buy some property? He was going to have him and Mommy [Thelma] live on the middle of that property. On one corner was going to be Junior and Patti; another corner, Bud [John's brother] and his wife, Aud; us in this corner. He was going to be ...

(John) He was going to be the patriarch. He wanted to keep us together so we could always be in contact with one another, but there's one thing Moses didn't visualize, I don't believe, and that was such a fast-moving civilization coming up, going faster than he could think.

Grandma Noble was a very, very-hahahaha!-stubborn and hardheaded woman, but you had to love her. Art lived with her, you see, and was under her domination more or less. Grandma had set ideas, same as Moses did, and when she told Art Junior, "I don't want you smoking! I don't want you doing this!" well, she expected to be obeyed, and Art, of course, didn't obey very easily. She was the same way with me, but I loved her very much because she did so much in trying to help me, although I didn't agree with the way she went about it. She tried to make me be industrious, clean living. She was a very good woman. Her ideas about young people probably coincided with mine in this modern day and age.

Grandma and Moses fought hammer and tongs verbally, being both as stubborn and hardheaded as they were. They couldn't come to a meeting of the minds. Grandma didn't like the way Moses was living with some of the women he went around with. Moses was her son and she thought she had some control over him. Moses wouldn't conform at all. He paid her bills, made sure everything was there, furniture, food, but he didn't want her telling him what to do, the same way he wanted to tell other people what to do. It was a conflict constantly, always a friction.

Moses always admired my mom when she was a young woman. He was in love with her for many years before they finally got married. My dad treated my mom very shabbily. And Moses didn't believe that a man should treat a woman shabbily. He could knock her down and kick her-that's fine-but he had to feed her and give her the necessities of life. With Shorty, he'd go down and work, longshoring, and leave Momma with no money. He'd spend it all in the bars. He wasn't like Moses. He wouldn't take care of the family first and then go drink it up. He'd spend all the money down there and come home broke. We didn't have food in the house.

Dad left in 1939, '40, and Mom and Moses got together. He was always quite attracted to her, and he, in her eyes, was a good provider even though he drank and horsed around. He'd been divorced from Moham, oh years and years. In 1942, when I entered the navy, Mom told me he was staying at some hotel in San Francisco, so I went to see him before I shipped out. I woke him up in his hotel room; his gang was workin' up there. We spent one evening and all night together, and he told me, just before I left, he says, "Well, John, I'm gonna go back and marry your mom." And I says, "Well, that's okay with me, Moses. I hope you have a lot of fun."

They started living together, and by the time I came back from the service, Momma could legally get married again. By that time, Moses was in his fifties, and he always treated my mom like a queen because he saw what my dad had done to her and to me, beat me up, threw me out. Moses loved kids, and the old man would beat the poop out of my brother Bud and I. Moses couldn't stand to see children mistreated, beat, and without food. And he brought us food, gosh yes! Moses'd come to the house and bring us food and sometimes clothing because my old man would feed us. all canned tomatoes and then he'd tell my mom, "Cook me up a steak."

When we were in grammar school, Bud and I used to go over to where Art lived with Grandma and build little wooden stick airplanes and play on the floor or outside. We flew kites together. Now, everybody called him junior, and he didn't like it, and I didn't blame him. I always called him Art. And when the other kids wanted to fight or beat him up, he was always protective of his mouth because even when he was a small kid he was playing the horn. Mr. Parry, his teacher, was always warning him about hurting his mouth; he said that was his livelihood to come. So I'd get into arguments with Art, but I never fought with him like Billy Pepper did, and Bud. I'd intercede on the few occasions I was around when it happened, and Art always respected me for that. I think that was more or less the bond between us.

I used to go over, to go swimming or something with Art, and I'd have to wait while he finished his lessons. Art was excited about his music to the extent that when I came over he'd show me a music lesson or passage that Mr. Parry had left him and he'd say, "How does this sound, John?" He'd play it for me. I didn't know one note from another, but I listened and I could see just how enthusiastic he was. The last time I saw Mr. Parry and Art practicing in the living room there, Mr. Parry said, "Art, you keep this up and your name will be in lights all over this whole country." Of course, Art was a little puffed up about that.

We used to talk. I had my mom, who showed a lot of love and protection for us kids; whereas Art, his mother was not there and he had to depend on Grandma and her strictness and Moses and his very vocal-he was very forceful in the way he spoke, especially when he was a young man. Art used to love to get away; we spent a lot of time together just because of that. And he'd often say, "I wish I could just get away from Grandma, from Moses." He talked very little about Moham. Very little. Because, you see, she was too young then to be very maternal toward him. She went her way and let Art junior go his, and he resented that very much. But he liked my mom real well. Momma was always loving toward him and she petted him, which he didn't have because Grandma Noble wasn't a loving type of person in that respect except to me. She never expressed any affection or love for Art when he was a little boy.

When we got older, we did a lot of drinkin', both of us. We'd go to a drugstore; they didn't demand your identity. We'd buy a pint of Four Roses, take our girls out on a date, and we'd drink it up. Usually, I went back to Grandma's house with Art and slept in the same bedroom there, and we'd get up in the morning and drink up all Grandma's milk outta the icebox because we both had hangovers. We'd guzzle it down. And then we'd go to the beach, Cabrillo Beach. We'd mostly finagle some beer to drink down there. We'd swim, sit out on the rocks.

After the war, and just before the war started, Art took me out on some of his jam sessions that he'd go to on Central Avenue. He'd take me to these clubs, and they were mostly black people that he associated with very closely. They were fine musicians, and they accepted him when he'd come in there because he was that good.