Speaking of 1931 - we did call ourselves Vipers, which could have been
anybody from all walks of life that smoked and respected gage. That was
our cute little name for marijuana, and it was a misdemeanor in those
days. Much different from the pressure and charges the law lays on a
guy who smokes pot - a later name for the same thing which is cute to
hear nowadays. We always looked at pot as a sort of medicine, a cheap
drunk and with much better thoughts than one that's full of liquor. But
with the penalties that came, I for one had to put it down though the
respect for it (gage) will stay with me forever. I have every reason to
say these words and am proud to say them. From experience.
Now I'll relate a few incidents from the West Coast in California when
Vic Berton (the top drummer then in all Hollywood) and I got busted
together. It was during our intermission at this big night club which
were packed and jammed every night with all sorts of my fans, including
movie stars. Anyway, while Vic and I were blasting this joint - having
lots of laughs and feeling good enjoying each other's company. We were
standing in his great big lot in front of some cars. Just then two big
healthy Dicks (detectives) came from behind a car nonchalantly - and
said to us, we'll take the roach boys. (Hmm).
Vic and I said nothing. So one Dick stayed with me until I went into
the Club and did my last show, he enjoyed it too. Because when he and I
were on our way down to the police station we had a heart to heart
talk. First words that he said to me were, Armstrong I am a big fan of
yours and so is my family. We catch your program every night over the
radio. In fact, nobody goes to bed in our family until your program's
over. And they're all great - which I was glad to hear, especially
coming from him. Ho Ho. Then I confidentially told him since you and
your family are my fans they'd be awfully sad if anything drastic would
happen to me, the same as the other thousands of my fans. So please
don't hit me in my `chops', when he said to me, why, I wouldn't think
of anything like that. That's all I wanted to hear. Immediately I said,
OK let's ride. I also told him - after all I'm no criminal. I respect
everybody and they respect me. And I never let 'em down musically.
Hell, he said, you ain't doing any more 'n' anybody's doing. It's when
they get caught is when they're found out.
Then this Dick confidentially told me, he said, Armstrong, this
wouldn't have happened if that band leader - he probably smoked
marijuana himself - who's playing just up the road from you, and the
big name that he's supposed to have, didn't get jealous because you are
doing bigger business than him. So he dropped a nickel on you (meaning)
he dropped a nickel into the telephone and called us and stoolpigeon on
you. They sent me and my partner to come up for the assignment, and
when we found out that you was the one we must nab (arrest) it broke
our hearts. They told me, you must understand we can get you six months
for a roach (meaning) the stub of a joint of gage. That's when they
laughed when I pulled my whiskers and said to them, `Ooh no, don't do
me no favor such as that.' I was so relaxed on the way down to the
station until I forgot I was being busted.
When we reached the police headquarters there were several officers,
including the man at the desk, sitting around. And the minute we came
through the door they all recognized me right away. They too had been
diggin' my music nightly over the radio. Oh boy, were those guys glad
to see me. They gave me one look (with glee) and said, what' ta' hell
are you doing here this time of night away from the club? So we yakity
yakity while I was being booked. That's one reason why we appreciated
pot, as y'all calls it now. The warmth it always brought forth from the
other person - especially the ones that lit up a good stick of that
`shuzzit' or gage, nice names. Now, when it came to summing it up, the
difference between the vipers and those using dope and all other kinds
of drastic stuff, one could easily see who were actually dope addicts.
First place they were never clean, and they stays dirty-grimey all the
time. Show most addicts a bucket of water and they'll run like hell to
keep it from touching them. But a viper would gladly welcome a good
bath, clean underwear and top clothes - stay fresh and on the ball.
We didn't do much drinking lush. When we did we always figured that pot
would cut liquor any time. And being physic minded like we were we
would take, a good laxative (of some kind) and keep our stomachs
cleaned out, because that good stuff we were smoking gave you an
appetite. And drinking makes you eat like a dog. A good cleaned out
stomach makes one feel like any human deserves to feel, and I've always
been physic minded. Mayann (Mother) used to tell me and Mama Lucy (my
sister) always stay physic minded. You may not get rich but you won't
ever have those terrible ailments such as cancer etc. And she would go
out by the railroad tracks and pick a lot of peppers, grasses,
dandelions, etc. and she'd bring it home and boil that stuff and give
us kids a big dose of it. And my gawd - we'd make sprints to the toilet
and afterwards feel `oh so good', all cleaned out 'n' stuff.
Every time I'd `light up' with a cat (viper) I'd mention laxatives and
was happy to know that everybody got the message. Because for a while
we were drinking Abalena Water. It came from a well in Abilene, Texas.
We drank that well dry, so had to get another kind of physic. So we
started taking Pluto Water, which was great. Then here come this book -
a health book written by Gaylord Hauser. When I read down to the part
where he recommended some `herbs' - herbal laxatives - I said to
myself, `erbs, - Hmmm, these herbs reminds me of the same as what my
mother picked down by the tracks in New Orleans.' Right away I went to
the Health Store and bought myself a box of Swiss Kriss and took a big
tablespoonful - make sure and see if it worked me the same as the other
laxatives. Yes it did. Wow! I said to myself, yes indeed, this is what
I need from now on - and forsake all others.
But back to the time I was busted on the coast. I spent nine days in
the Downtown Los Angeles City Jail, in a cell with two guys who were
already sentenced to 40 or 45 years for something else. Robbery,
pickpocket, or whatever they were in for, didn't make any difference to
me, and they cared less as to what I was in for. The most important
thing was we were so very glad to see each other. Because it was a week
ago I was blowing some good shuzzit with both of those characters. We
reminisced about the good ol' beautiful moments we used to have during
those miniature golf days. We'd go walking around, hit the ball, take a
drag, have lots of laughs, and cut out.
Anyway, one night real late - those two cats started fighting amongst
themselves over something, and the first words they said to me was,
move out of the way `Pops', we don't' want to hurt them chops. And they
fought their asses off until the jail keeper came and stopped them. One
of them bit the other's finger off. They were intelligent, highly
educated guys too. And they loved Pops' horn. It was actually a drag to
me when I had to leave them in their cell and go to trial. They also
expressed sadness. So we finally said goodbye.
As we walked through the cellblocks, where prisoners of many many
nationalities were locked up, they looked up and saw me walking with
this great big deputy sheriff and (en mass) they hollered Louie
Armstrong over 'n' over. They also hollered sing Old Rockin' Chair,
etc. etc., and I smiled and said, "Fellers, I don't have time right
now, nothing but to concentrate on what I am gonna tell this judge."
They all laughed and cheered, saying Good luck Louie. On the way to
court we stopped at the clothes room to pick up the suit I went in
there with. The man handed me my suit, which was torned all through the
lining, looking for some stuff I guess, stronger than pot. Referring to
me, he said, Why this man is no `Heeb' (their word when talking about
dope fiends).
So I got to trial. Everybody were there - which takes in my boss,
manager and a whole gang of lawyers - and I said to myself that I was
straight. Meantime the Chicago papers were all on the stands, with big
headlines saying Louis Armstrong will have to serve six months for
marijuana, and things like that. The judge gave me a suspended sentence
and I went to work that night - wailed just like nothing happened. What
strucked me funny though - I laughed real loud when several movie stars
came up to the bandstand while we played a dance set. and told me, when
they heard about me getting caught with marijuana they thought
marijuana was a chick. Woo boy - that really fractured me! Every night
I would run across those same detectives who arrested me, glad as ever
to see me, and me back on the mound blowing again.
Now I'm back in the club, and everything's running along very smoothly
when one night the washroom boy comes up to the bandstand and says
there is a white boy in the washroom who wants to see me in there. I
asked who it was, and he said, I don't know but he just came up from
the south and he has a large croaker sack (meaning Burlap bag) full of
something that he said is especially for you. (Hmm). I went into the
men's room and there was this fine ofay musician (a good one) who's
father was big judge down south, so you can easily see he was well off.
He led me to the corner and showed me this sack. It was full of gage in
the rough-dirty looking and had to be cleaned.
He said "Louis this muta (one of the names lots of the Ears used) came
from out of the back yard where the chickens trampled all over it, so
it should be well seasoned." He and I went to the hotel over on Central
Avenue, rolled up our sleeves, cleaned it real beautifully and rolled
up one a piece. We dragged on down halfway to a "roach" and he was
right. When we got on down there we could taste the cackling, the
crowing and the other things those chickens did. Beautiful.
We finished at the club with a big closing night, and a big farewell
celebration from everybody. With a promise to return, which I did a
year later, I left the coast - arriving home in Chicago on a Sunday
morning. Had a sleep up into the afternoon, then had my supper while
listening to some of my records. Lil was out visiting some place. The
door bell rang. I went to the door and found one guy standing there,
pointing towards four other youngsters getting out of the car. I said
Boys, I'm very glad to see you. It's been a long long time. The minute
they came in they told me, "Pops, we came to serenade you." Those boys
pulled out their guitars, ukes etc. and wailed awhile with a perfect
beat which lifted me up just beautifully. Then they put up their
instruments, one cat pulled out a big `bomber' - lit it - took two
drags and looked straight into my eyes as he passed it to me, saying,
"Pops, we all feel you could use this stick after all you've been
through." I said, "Aw boys, Y'all didn't have to do this, reaching for
that joint at the same time." Each of them pulled out a stick a piece
and started blowing and talking about a lot of interesting things.
That moment helped me to forget a heap of ungodly things. Made me have
the right frame of mind for my opening day at the theatre on the South
Side, which was really something else. After all, the vipers and fans
in Chicago thought I was actually serving time from the incident on the
coast with my boy, Vic Berton, whom I still think is the greatest
drummer of all times. So the theatre was packed to the rafters. They
came to hear what their boy Louis had to say, and when I was introduced
you can imagine the house coming down with thunderous applause which
lasted for a whole gang of minutes. Made my heart flutter with
happiness.
Soooo, when they quieted down I said Yea, you thought I was. But I
wasn't. And that did it. Such yells . . . Dipper, Satchelmouth, etc,
we're glad to see you back. We went into our show and every tune was a
gasser. We did three shows a day, each one packed 'n' jammed. After two
weeks in Chicago I formed a band and went on the road, playing theatres
in different cities and towns.
One stop was the Royal Theatre in Baltimore, Maryland, located in a
poor negro neighborhood. The people were so poor until they couldn't
afford to buy hard coal. When we arrived in the town it was as cold as
a well-digger's you know-what. Freezing. Well, I heard about these
people who were too poor to get coal to keep themselves and their kids
warm, so I bought some for them. Yass I did. Went to the coal yard,
ordered a ton of coal and had the company to deliver it to the Lobby of
the Royal Theatre. Then I had all of the folks who needed coal, to help
themselves, it made them very happy. And they made it their business to
come backstage and thank me personally - of course it all caused me to
stick out my chest with pride. I came up through life the hard way just
like those folks.
As we always used to say, gage is more of a medicine than a dope. But
with all the riggermaroo going on, no one can do anything about it.
After all, the vipers during my haydays are way up there in age - too
old to suffer those drastic penalties. So we had to put it down. But if
we all get as old as Methuselah our memories will always be of lots of
beauty and warmth from gage. Well, that was my life and I don't feel
ashamed at all. Mary Warner, honey, you sure was good and I enjoyed you
'heep much'. But the price got a little too high to pay (law wise). At
first you was a 'misdemeanor'. But as the years rolled on you lost your
misdo and got meanor and meanor. (Jailhousely speaking). Sooo "Bye Bye,
I'll have to put you down, Dearest."
[signed] `Soul Foodly, Satchmo'.
