BLACK INTELLIGENCE: THE MOST CLOSELY GUARDED SECRET IN AMERICA

Beneath the Spin * Eric L. Wattree

BLACK INTELLIGENCE: THE MOST CLOSELY GUARDED SECRET IN AMERICA 

.

KAI AND ERIC, JR.

Most Black people have well above average intelligence. We have to just to survive in America. Every day, from the time we get up, until the time we go to bed we have to navigate our way through all manner of bigotry, both overt and covert. Racism is so pervasive in the lives of Black people that many of us don't even have to think about the intellectual strategies necessary to outwit most bigots - we do it on autopilot. As a result, we've developed an intellectual muscularity that we don't even have to think about. 
.
As Naturalist Charles Darwin pointed out in his book, On the Origin of Species, all species of organisms arise and develop through the natural selection of small, inherited variations that increase the individual's ability to compete, survive, and reproduce.  In other words, the adversity that Black people have been forced to endure over the centuries has caused nature to step in to enhance our innate intellectual abilities in order to help us to survive in a hostile environment. So the adversity that we’ve endured over the centuries is serving to make Black people MORE rather than less. It is causing us to evolve as we speak, but it's up to Black people themselves to recognize, develop, and utilize that potential.
.

A HOME IN THE BLACK MIDDLE-CLASS

SUBBURB OF BALDWIN HILLS, CA.

President Barack Obama, and the Imafidon family at the bottom of this article, are graphic examples of the fact that the evolutionary process mentioned above may already be revealing itself. As the son of an African immigrant, in ONE generation Barack Obama rose to become one of this nation's greatest presidents, and he possessed the intellectual muscularity to handle the entire Republican establishment like they were a group of irate children.  He also saved the world from a second Great Depression, and if it weren't for the Republican Party's eight-year tantrum of ignorant, racist, and childish obstructionism, America would undoubtedly be experiencing the greatest era in its history at this very moment. And then there's the Imafidons, a Nigerian family, acknowledged as THE most brilliant FAMILY in the United Kingdom.
.

Those facts are significant when it comes to defining what Black people represent. But facts such as these tend to be ignored, or played down in a bigot drenched America, because they don't conform to America's preferred view of reality. America prefers to define Black people based upon the images of the most dysfunctional among us. But I intend to explode that myth, not only for the average uninformed White person, but for the many Black people who have been brainwashed by the mass media into embracing their tainted view of reality. If we portrayed White people in the same way that Black people are being portrayed, all White people would be seen as hillbillies.
.
As I've mentioned in a previous article, racists tend to be the mediocrity of White society, so they try to use the fact that they were born White to define themselves and to compensate for their lack of personal value. Their entire sense of self-esteem is based more upon group association than individual value and accomplishment, and their entire claim to personal significance is, "Well, at least I'm better than them."  Well, here are the facts:
.

.

In the Live Science Article, Low IQ And Conservative Beliefs Linked to Prejudice, it states unequivocally that "There's no gentle way to put it: People who give in to racism and prejudice may simply be dumb, according to a new study that is bound to stir public controversy." That's what drives radical conservatives so crazy about President Obama - he's walking, breathing, evidence that they cannot claim superiority by virtue of the color T-shirt they were born in, and that simple fact alone is causing them to suffer a severe attack of cognitive dissonance before the eyes of the entire world. That's also why they were so determined not to allow President Obama to be as successful as he could have been, even if it meant  destroying the country.
.

But Obama's not the only chink in their armor. These people feel such a desperate need to be superior that they’ll go to any length to try to substantiate that claim, even if they have to corrupt both logic and reality to make it conform to their point of view. For example, how can they claim to be superior to Black people while at the same time claim that America is such a devoutly Christian Nation? If Jesus Christ had been born in the desert with blond hair and blue eyes they wouldn’t have had to crucify him - he would have died of Sunburn. Jesus Christ was a man of color. So how can you claim to be superior to a man that you also claim to worship? One would think that a “superior race” would have recognized the flaw in that logic.
.
So now this entire nation, including the future of our children, is being threatened by the desperate attempt of a handful of insecure bigots to maintain their delusion of superiority, and as far as they’re concerned, if the country has to be sacrificed for that cause, so be it.  That's what makes it so important for Black people to begin to develope the innate intelligence that we've been both hiding, and/or, holding a cultural antagonism toward.
.
What do I mean by a cultural antagonism toward intelligence?
.
The root of the problem that we’ve traditionally had in the Black community among the more dysfunctional among us is not a lack of intelligence but our attitude toward knowledge. As a direct result of our history of slavery, we’ve developed a sort of hostility toward both knowledge, Black people who embrace it, and/or, tend to display an exceptional level intelligence. We tend to equate the pursuit of knowledge with selling out. We also tend to see the active pursuit of knowledge as part of the White man’s domain, so we look upon Black people who have a love of knowledge with disdain, because we see them as "trying to be White."
.

KRIS KROSS WEARING THEIR

PANTS BACKWARDS

The reason for that is simple. During slavery the only Black people we knew who spoke anything close to "proper English" were the "house niggas," and many house slaves had a tendency to look down their noses at slaves who worked in the field. As a result of that experience, many Blacks have an hostility toward "proper talkin'" Black people that persist to this day. So many highly intelligent Black people will often try to hide their intelligence, because, ironically, over the years we’ve developed an attitude where many feel that we have a moral obligation to remain ignorant in order to prove that we take pride in being Black.  Think about that. Isn't it ironic that many of us embrace ignorance as a sign of Black pride? That's why we can hear many educated young Black people going around saying things like, "What it is?", "What it be like?." and other obvious assaults on the English language. They know it's improper English, but they see it as giving credibility to their pride in being Black.  Some young people would put their shoes on backwards if they could just to show how unlike White people they are, and one hip hop group, Kris Kross, actually did wear their pants backwards.
.
That attitude among some Blacks was one of the weapons that was used against President Obama by many envious Black intellectuals. They tried to use his "all-American" conventionality against him. They attempted to convince the Black community of the following:
.
"I’m cool - see my long, wooly Afro, how cool I act, and how I can quote Lil’ Wayne when I’m on television? I’m one of y’all. I just have enough intelligence to speak the White man’s language, so I’m keeping an eye on him for the people. But that Obama, he’s not like us. He don’t have no Afro, he don’t never quote Lil Wayne, and he’s obviously much too intelligent to be trusted as a genuine Black man. He thinks like the White man."
.
So even as Black "intellectuals," many send the message to Black youth that intelligence is the White man's domain, and that being Black and intelligent are incompatible - and ironically, many Black people have become more wedded to that attitude than White people. The message isn't overt, because we claim to be seekers of knowledge, but it can be clearly seen in our daily interactions with one another.
.
An example of that is reflected in a joke that I wrote for a comedienne by the name of Frances Nealy.  I spoke of a new kid in school who continued to enthusiastically raise his hand to answer all of the teacher's questions.  Finally a kid in the back of the class said, "Who IS this dude!!!?  He must think he White or somethin'!" What made that a joke was it put it's finger on the underlying attitude of many Black people pointed out above.

.

Here's another  example of that attitude at work posted on YouTube:
.
"THE BLACK BOULE-NEGROS THAT HELP SELL YOU OUT "

WHAT DID THESE PEOPLE DO TO DESERVE BEING CALLED SELL-OUTS?
.
JIM CROW
.

Another reason that Black people have a tradition of hiding their intelligence is through necessity. During the Jim Crow era many White folks saw a smart Black man as an "uppity nigga," and it could get him lynched, because a smart Black man was a challenge to what bigots wanted to believe - that they were superior. Again, that's why they hate Barack Obama - and I've been surprised to see how deep seated that attitude is today, even among many White people who claim to be liberals. I've noticed over the internet that many White people believe that a Black person should defer to them in a debate, even if they're proven to be dead wrong. A Black person can say the very same thing to them as another White person, but they'll view the Black person as being arrogant - "How dare this spook try to make me look like an idiot!!!?" (Well, because you are).               
.
When my mother was in nursing school my grandparents virtually raised me - we were connected at the hip. and my mother was more like an older sister that they allowed to play house with me from time to time. But every year my grandparents would go back to Louisiana to visit for a week, and every year they had to keep their pending trip a secret, because the moment I found out about it, it was absolutely ON until the car turned the corner headed for the airport.  I wanted to go with them, but my grandfather wouldn't let me.
.
I could get them to cave-in on most things, but on this, my grandfather stood absolutely firm.  He said, "Eric, I wouldn't take you no farther South than San Diego, because you talk too much, and you could get us killed.You've got to learn to listen to what's on everybody else's mind, and never let anyone know what's on yours, because if you tell the another man everything that's on your mind, he'll then know everything you know, plus what he already knew, and that'll make him smarter than you. So that's why you have to stay home - because we can't afford to let those White folks down South know more about us, than we know about them." That was the thinking of many Jim Crow era Black people, and they also knew something that's true even today -  one of the fastest ways in the world to lose a job in America is to let your boss know that you're smarter than he is. So for all of those reasons, Black people have developed a tradition of hiding their intellect.
.

But at this point in our history it's time for Black people to come out of the closet and change that strategy, and for the very same reason - survival.  We're living in a different world today, a world where you can't survive without using all of the intellect and knowledge at your disposal.  So we've got to prepare our children to survive in a world of science, technology, and political manipulation.  They can no longer simply demonstrate and shake their fists at the establishment and expect results. All the establishment is going to do is wait a couple of weeks until they cool off, and then it'll be business as usual. We see that strategy currently being played out against the Black Lives Matter movement at this very moment. So our children have got to understand that we can't out-scream the establishment, because they control the media; and we can't out-fight them, because they control the military; thus, the only option left is to out-think them. So we've got to prepare ourselves to assume positions of power and authority, and we've got to learn, as a culture, not to be self-serving, and to recognize the advantages of sticking together in order to jerk the chains of political power most effectively.
.

TAYLOR WATTREE-JACKSON

THE BILL CLINTON AWARD FOR SCHOLARSHIP
OUTSTANDING STUDENT OF THE YEAR 
KIWANIS CLUB OF RIALTO 

Our children already have the intellectual potential to meet those challenges, but it's up to the parents to convince them of that fact, and to impart the importance of doing so. Life isn't about just being cute, or cool anymore, so they can no longer afford to just sit around, party, and get high like many of us did, because the election of Donald Trump sends a very clear and emphatic message - it's crisis time.  So we've got to stop letting our young people be programed regarding who they are by the corporate media, because as long as Black people are better known for dancing than we are thinking, we'll always be under the White man's thumb. That isn't to say we should ban our kids from consuming pop culture, but we should discuss these issues with them, and point out how they're being manipulated.
.
These are horrible times for this country, but they present a prime opportunity for the Black community to level the playing field . While the establishment is pulling every lever at its disposal to dumb the rest of America down, we have the opportunity to pull every lever at our disposal in pursuit of knowledge and leveraging our innate intellectual competence.  So it's all about thinking, instead of just shaking our fists.
.
For that reason, every time our children did anything exceptional, my late wife and I made a big deal of it - like when my daughter, Kai, taught me how to factor when she was in the 6th grade, while university professors couldn't do it. We made a big deal out of that - in fact, it was a big deal, because I was struggling with

TAYLOR WATTREE-JACKSON

PRE-MED

JACKSON STATE UNIVERSITY

that class.
.
For some reason my math professor just couldn’t get the concept of factoring across to me, but Kai did it in about 10 minutes by simply drawing a little tree and then hanging numbers on its branches. We praised her to high Heaven. That rewarded her for thinking, instead of just being able to dance. We also had this little game where you had to insert various geometric-shaped blocks into the proper slots before it popped up. Kai and Eric could do it with time to spare, but I never did master that game. They loved it, and it gave them confidence in their abilities, because it clearly demonstrated to them that they were better at some things than their parents were, and that's a big deal to children.  So we always went out of our way to let them know that they weren't average, because “average is the best of the worst, and the worst of the best,” and they were better than that. We also always treated them like peers rather than children, and while always respectful, they acted that way.
.
Today Kai is a Human Resources Specialist for her college alma mater and the Vice President of the California College Employee’s Association, And Eric is a Special Agent for the United States Department of Justice.  Here’s what the Air Force had to say about him:
.
23 April 2002

MEMORANDUM FOR OFFICER TRAINING SCHOOL SELECTION COMMITTEE
.

FROM: 92 SFS/SFO
2 E. ARNOLD STREET
FAIRCHILD AFB, WA 99011

SUBJECT: Recommendation for Staff Sergeant Eric L. Wattree

ERIC WATTREE, JR.

1. I wholeheartedly concur with Staff Sergeant Wattree’s request to attend Officer Training School. He represents the enlisted ranks with the highest standard and will bring that dedication and professionalism to the officer corps.

2. Eric continues to lead a stellar military career; his enlisted performance reports speak for themselves. His leadership and experience, especially in contingency environments, remains a vital asset to our unit and wing. As one of my primary Phoenix Raven team leaders, he’s propelled to the forefront of all major deployments throughout the world. He’s repeatedly secured aircraft and crews, supporting a wide variety of missions, in the most austere and terrorist-ridden environments where security is severely inadequate. The diversity of these missions never limited SSgt Wattree’s capacity to adapt to each situation. For this reason, Eric was selected as our 2000 Outstanding Phoenix Raven Member of the Year and the 2001 Air Force Reserve Component Airman of the Year for the 92d Security Forces Squadron.

3. Whether operating under peacetime or contingency operations, Eric easily assumes control and tackles every situation with meticulous tenacity, a quality highly desired in our Air Force officers. Requested by name, Sergeant Wattree, provided security for presidential Banner missions throughout Greece, Peru and Viet Nam. While deployed to Afghanistan, he flew numerous combat missions in our nation’s pursuit to eradicate terrorism through Operation ENDURING FREEDOM. Additionally, he provided round-the-clock force protection for aircraft in other high-threat environments including Uzbekistan, Pakistan and Oman.

4. Sergeant Wattree motivated his personnel during the worst conditions and raised the level of esprit de corps to integrate personnel from other Air Force specialties into a cohesive team. His leadership, integrity and devotion to our Air Force play an integral part in our future leadership. Eric has what it takes to become a commissioned officer and earns my full support to attend Officer Training School.

FRANK HELLSTERN, JR., Captain, USAF
Operations Officer
.

Phoneix Ravens
This Elite Force Protects Vulnerable Air Force Aircraft

In The Most Dangerous Places On Earth

When Eric was discharged after his four-year tour, he was contacted by the Air Force and asked to return by “Special Request.”  But that didn’t last long, because as an Air Force Raven (Special Forces) he worked in concert with the Secret Service, FBI, CIA, and various other security agencies, so the federal government snatched him up. The agent who did his security clearance came to my home and told me, “Your son could get any security job in the federal government - I’m just glad he doesn’t want mine.”
.
I couldn't help but get a little choked up when he told me that, because all I could think of was that timid little boy who used to peek out at the world from behind his older sister, and get into bed with me and Val at night because he was afraid of the dark. And on 4th of July he would get in the car and roll up the windows because he was afraid of the fireworks.  He was, literally, the family's pudgy-jawed little baby boy, and frankly, I was concerned about what was going to become of him when his sister grew up and moved on with her life.
.

ME AND MY BABY BOY - BEFORE HE EVOLVED 

But in high school he sprung up in just one year, and in college he continued to morph, and now the government was here telling me that he's this 6'6", 250 lb. American hero. "Wait a minute! Are you trying to tell me that my timid baby boy is Buck Rogers!!!? Where did that come from?"  I couldn't believe it, and neither could my wife. When they arranged for Val and I to be brought out to attend his credentials ceremony at Quantico, they had a congressman there, but they stopped the ceremony just long enough to talk about who Eric was, and his exploits even in training, and my wife asked me, "Are they talking about OUR Eric?"  And I said, Yes they are, baby. But I don't think she ever did reconcile the difference between her little boy and the man that he later became. Actually, even after all this time, neither have I. Is this evolution at work?  I can't say with any degree of certainty, but what I can say is, it's been a chilling and fascinating thing to watch. Today, when I look into his eyes, there's absolutely nothing left of that timid little boy that I once knew. All I see is a dead serious, no-nonsense manhood, and without a bit of posturing, pretentiousness, or macho swagger. What I now see, is what manhood is suppose to look like.
.

BARACK - BEFORE HE EVOLVED

So we don't know what potential lies dormant within our children. Thus, we must begin to instill the pursuit of excellence and the power of knowledge in them at birth, and never let up. We must also become their number one “road dawg,” and not just sit back and expect them to be educated by others, because we ARE what we think. The very purpose of Jim Crow was to keep us from knowing that.  So think big, and teach your children to do likewise. Let us make the pursuit of knowledge and intellect the new "soul" within the Black community. We must set a goal where when the world thinks of Black people, they think of brilliance, competence, and accomplishment, not just "soul."

.

.

POPPI'S DREAM

Well, Taylor,

Well, Trey,

You’re on your way,

To add to the Wattree Clan;

It’s my conviction, not hope, you will surely both,

Add a page to the sojourn of man.

.

You’ll be loved and nurtured to take your place,

In this world that you now belong;

And when we’re through, we trust both of you,

Will help make our people be strong.

.

You’ll be taught that knowledge is the key to life,

And to harvest its essence you’ll strive;

Then combine that knowledge with the wisdom of Solomon,

To help see our people survive.

.

Think not of what is politically correct,

Seek to be independent of thought;

For group-think, indeed, is not thought at all,

But that of which fools are wrought.

.

Embrace truth over all as your clarion call,

Make integrity your moral code;

And when life’s so tough you think it’s too much,

Allow God to relieve your load.

.

Make the God you trust the God of your heart,

And not the God of man;

For the God of man is man himself,

And only just when it suits his plan.

.

And look to the note that your poppi once wrote,

A withered vine ignored as benign;

Make my words come true, what I said of you,

And make my legacy whisper through time:

.

“Neither scholar nor the head of state,

The most common of men seems to be my fate;

A life blistered with struggle and constant need,

As my legacy to man I present my seed.

.

More fertile, more sturdy, they both than I,

This withered old vine left fallow and dry;

The nectar of their roots lie dormant still,

But through their fruit I’ll be revealed.”

.

Love,

Poppi

ERIC WATTREE III
INVESTMENT/FINANCE

UNIVERSITY OF HAWAII

.

The Imafidons, a Nigerian family, is the smartest family in Britain

.

.

EVOLUTION IN PROGRESS

Eric L. Wattree
Http://wattree.blogspot.com
Ewattree@Gmail.com
Citizens Against Reckless Middle-Class Abuse (CARMA)

.

Religious bigotry: It's not that I hate everyone who doesn't look, think, and act like me - it's just that God does.

Sphere: Related Content

The Hustlers Revisited

Beneath the Spin * Eric L. Wattree

THE HUSTLERS
______________________________
It is not my intent to promote living outside the law.   I’m against that - period.   But knowledge is power, and the fact is, the hustlers of my youth had a tremendous impact on my life, just as the current wannabes have on the lives of many Black youth today.  So I want to do two things in this piece - first, I want to make it clear to the Black youth of today that most of what they think of as "hustlers" were not anything like they're being portrayed in the media; and secondly, I want to give the wider audience a perspective on how these Black "renegades" are perceived by Black youth by allowing them to view these hustlers through the eyes of my youth.
________________________________

Many young people in "the hood" are fascinated by the mystique of the hustler. While I see education as the preferred mode of upward mobility, I can understand how the renegade persona of the hustler mystique has captured their imagination. But their idea of a hustler has been forged by the media, where they're portrayed as murderous sociopaths who specialized in victimizing the community. As a result, many young wannabes seem to feel that they have to run around ravaging the community to build their "street creds" as a bonafide hustler.

.

VALDIE WATTREE

But that's not how old-school hustlers were at all. I know, because both me and my late wife, Val, were children of this culture. She was the niece of Big Joe Langford, a well known hustler in Los Angeles, and I was the son of Mac McClain (My maternal grandfather insisted that I wear his sir name so I wouldn't grow up with unnecessary baggage), and they brought Val and I together as teenagers (My mother, and Val's aunt).
.
When Val and I were about to go on our first date, a gigolo by the name of Shelton called me earlier that day from out of the blue and said, "Hey Eric, I hear you and Valdie are hooking up.  I was just thinking, man, you know, that's Big Joe's niece, so you're gon' have to come strong. So check this out. Why don't I scrape me up a chauffeur's cap and swing by your pad tonight and we can pick her up in my Bentley? We can give her a night she'll never forget. Just leave it to me" - and that's exactly what happened. We were in good hands with Shelton, because as a male escort, that was what Shelton specialized in, showing women a good time. He did it for the Hollywood studios.  My father had given me forty dollars to take Val out, but I didn't have to spend a penny of it. Everything was taken care of.
.
The night started with Shelton pulling up to Val's house with me sitting in the backseat, and then he went to Val's door and retrieved her.  Thereafter, he escorted her to the Bentley, and as he opened the backdoor to helped her in, he touched the front of his cap - and from that moment on, she got the Cinderella treatment all night long.  Essentially, this was Shelton's date, I was just along for the ride, and Val talked about that night until the day she died. She used to say, "That Shelton was the prettiest man I've ever seen in my life!" But that night, Big Joe made absolutely sure that what I smelled what'n cookin'.  I didn't realize that Shelton was actually our chaperone until I was grown. I had been what they called "finessed" by the best. But when I looked in Val's eyes, I knew it was just a matter of time - a very short time - because even now, long after her death, I'm still trying to live up to the man I saw reflected in her eyes.
.
When Val and I got married at 19 and 21 years old, our wedding reception looked like a peacock's parade. And then when Kai and Eric was born, in spite of our young age - and the fact that I was penniless - we always lived under palm trees and at the edge of swing pools. We never wanted for anything. Every time money got tight, something seemed to fall out of the sky. The guy at the liquor would say, "Hey Eric, I need some help around here. How'd you like to come help me out in the evenings after you get off from work?"  And I mean, from out of the blue!  I had just come to get a drink., not a job, but I sure could use it, because while the price of rent in the "Jungle" was only $165 a month, that was twice what most were paying at the time - and it was considered outrageous for a 22 year-old.
.
Then after I started working at the liquor store the local gangsters started coming in and selling me top-of-the-line ten-speed bikes for $15 a piece, which I would turn around and sell for a $100 dollars or more. I never bothered to inquire where they got them, but I knew they weren't being taken from kids, because they were brand spankin' new. Before long everybody in Baldwin Hills knew that if they wanted ten-speeds that I was the go-to guy. And again, this just started happening from out of the blue - and I was making a killin'!
.
Then we were encouraged by Big Joe to enroll Kai and Eric in Windsor Hills Elementary School. As a result, they went to school with the children of doctors, lawyers, and politicians. And once they got there, they were assigned a teacher, Ms. Faye Armstrong, who became their PERMANENT teacher.  They didn't change teachers every year like most kids.  We got so close with Faye that we used to go to dinner together, and Kai became so close to her that she began to take on Faye's Texas drawl. By the time Kai graduated, Faye had her so sharp that she was doing her class' valedictorian speech.
.
So I strongly suspect that something was at work here, because when I look back on it, Kai and Eric grew up like royalty. It seemed like even when I did something wrong, it somehow, miraculously, turned out right.  As a young man, I always wanted to think it was about what Val and I were doing right, but was it? Today I'm almost certain invisible hands were at work in the background, because the chances of two kids getting married at 19 and 21 years old and managing to raise two children into adulthood without hitting even ONE bump in the road severely challenges the odds of statistical probability. When we were raising Kai and Eric, we literally, never struggled. Life was one big party. Our home was a house with four kids in it, running itself . . . or so it seemed.



Kai Doing The Valedictorian Speech

So what these hustlers actually were, were flamboyant and bigger-than-life businessmen who didn't pay taxes - and that was during a time when Black people didn't have the opportunities that we have today. But, in spite of the fact they lived slightly outside the law, most were very responsible and caring people in many ways.

.

Many of these people had a lot of class, wisdom, and knowledge. When my father was arrested and sent away, they came together and got my mother a job as a greeter at the world renowned Dynamite Jackson’s jazz club, and then, helped send her through nursing school. She later not only became a nurse, but a PA (Physician’s Assistant) - the closest you can come to a doctor, without actually becoming one - thanks to her close friend and mentor, Dr. Morris P. Atkins. They opened the 55th St Medical Group together. That's where I met Val. My mother hired her when Val was only 14 years old to send Christmas cards to the patients.
.
In return for the assistance that my mother had been given by people in the community, when people in the neighborhood needed medical attention but couldn't afford to pay, my mother would treat them right there in our home - for free. And the community was good to her as well. A multi-faceted  hustler by the name of Big Eddie Carr pulled up one day with a huge box (I'll never forget Big Eddie; he was a very suave and elegant brother who used to always wear cummerbunds. He was also a singer - "It's Hard But It's Fair").  He told my mother, "Hey, Ver, I ran across this the other day and it had Verlee written all over it, so I thought I'd pick it up for you" - a FUR throw rug.  It became one of my mother's prize possessions - not only because it was so beautiful, but because Big Eddie was thoughtful enough to get it for her. And Buddy Cox, who dealt in clothing, kept me as clean as a young man could be in top-of-line slack suits.
.
As early as junior high school I used to go to school dressed like a grown man.  I had acquired the hustlers' taste and style, so I used to go to school wearing expensive slack suits, Floresheim's, and jewelry - not gaudy and ostentatious stuff like you see today (quiet style was what it was about back then), but I dressed much too old for my years, and that caused me a few problems. It brought suspicion upon me, and I was looked upon by many of the staff as a bad influence on the "kids." Every time something went wrong at school they would come and pluck me out of class, even though I wouldn't know a thing about what was going on. And the irony was, I was probably one of the few students there that was there for the right reasons. The hustlers taught me to respect knowledge, so I was there trying to soak up everything I could get. But I was profiled, much like the hustlers themselves. None of the administrators liked my image, and that haunted me, and caused me a lot of trouble until I was 19 years old - but it also led to the event that changed my life.  

.

So while old-school hustlers weren't all angels, and they were capable of emphasizing a point quite brutally when necessary - that was simply a matter of survival - that wasn't their preferred method of operation.  For the most part, they weren't vultures going around victimizing the community like they're often portrayed in the media. Many contributed to the community in many ways, including participating in assemblies and "May Day" parades that was put on by Holmes Ave. Elementary School. And I personally benefitted greatly from my exposure to them. They taught me a lot, which I try to pass on in my writings. So I look back upon them with much fondness.

 *

THIS IS WHAT IT WAS REALLY LIKE

.

.

So as I stroll down memory lane, thinking about the old-school hustlers of my youth, I can't help but think about how different they were than many of the wannabes that we see around today. First, they weren't in it for show. They were hustling to maintain a lifestyle that society was doing it's very best to deny them.  No joggin’ suits, baseball caps and tennis shoes for these brothers, it was Florsheims  and very expensive Brooks Bros. suits all the way - and you’d never see ‘em in the same one for weeks. And they weren't loud and crude cutthroats. While they undoubtedly lived outside the law, they reflected a style that was all their own - elegant and laid back, although, with an edge that said to anyone with anything less than the purest of motives, "I'm not the one." 

.

Billy Dee Williams would have fit right in with these brothers, because he has their persona down to the last digit. Their most pronounced characteristic was class and style, not brutish swagger as they're often portrayed. They were the product of an era where class was everything.  These were gentlemen . . . illegitimate businessmen. And again, unlike the young brothers you see today, they weren't in it for show. They were dead serious about what they did.
.
My father explained it simply - it was all about surviving in a White man's world without having to carry a tin cup. It was about living with dignity. He told me that what he and his friends engaged in was no more criminal than what White business men do every day, within the law. He said, crime is robbery, theft, mayhem, and taking from others what doesn't belong to you. They didn't engage in that kind of activity. What he and his friends did was provide "services" for consenting adults, just like the White man does routinely, and legally, on a daily basis. According to my father, the only difference between what they did, and what the White man does is they don't have politicians in their pocket to sign off on it. So the crime wasn't what they did - the crime was not giving the White man his cut.

.

My Father, Mac McClain, and Brother, Virgil, in 1966.
Mac was a good neighbor and loving father,
but he wasn't one to toy with. He had one mindset
for dealing with his neighbors, and another for dealing with
people on the street.

I remember how Ronnie, who was something of a hustler himself, would open up his barbershop just for them every Monday so they could get their domes laid. Monday was Hustler's Day at Ronnie's barbershop. The shop was closed for everybody else. What was funny about that, and the hustlers used to joke about it inside, was how the up-and-coming wannabes would try to get in there on Monday through hook-or-crook, because just managing to get their hair laid at Ronnie's on a Monday could make their reputation on the street. It would also allow them to rub shoulders with the movers and shakers, and maybe gain the attention of one of them, which meant a tremendous boost in both prestige, and pay grade.

.

I recall how one Monday even a preacher tried to get in there. After Ronnie politely turned him away, they waited long enough for him to get out of earshot, then everybody fell-out laughing. Wakeen, who used to run "the book," said, in his slow and draggin' voice, "You should have let 'em in, Ron. He got more game than anybody in buildin' - and his game is Betty Crocker approved." Everybody started laughing. Then the ladies started telling stories about the good reverend. That taught me very early in life that no matter where you go, you just cannot escape politics - or jackleg preachers.

.

So every Monday around noon, the whole block would be lined with a row of shiny new hogs, and the beauticians who worked for Ronnie (only on Mondays) were the cream of the crop. They were the most fabulous sisters in the hood, and everyone of them smelled like a freshly picked rose after a Spring rain. I can still smell their aroma to this day. They were absolutely, the cream of the crop - they had to be - because they were servicing the royalty of the Black community.

.

Robert Beck (Iceberg Slim) after he moved
to Los Angeles in the 60s.
 He was a little different - he had an East Coast
edge to him . . . a dangerous edge.

And these weren't silly wannabes with delusions of grandeur, trying to pattern themselves after someone they'd seen on television. These brothers were the real deal. They were the aristocrats of the darker side of the Black community, those who simply chose not to allow a racist society to hold them hostage. Any one of them could have thrived on Wall Street had they not been blessed with various hues of Black skin. And the community recognized this, so while many "mainstream" Black people weren't crazy about their lifestyle, they understood the rationale behind it. So the community not only accepted them, but they even treated them with a grudging respect and deferment.
.
My father was a part of that lifestyle, but you would never have known it by the way I was treated as a child. When I was a young boy and visiting my dad, the neighbors wouldn't hesitate to whip my butt if they caught me doing something I wasn't suppose to do. I was treated just like the other kids in the neighborhood, because they knew they had nothing to fear from my dad. He reserved his wrath for the people who lived the street life.  

.

Ronnie was a friend of the family, so during the Summer, every Monday at 11 a.m. I was headed for his shop. That was my hustle. Between working Ronnie's on Monday, and working the candy concession at Mr. Pierce's liquor store after school, I made a young boy’s fortune. At Ronnie's, just going back and forth to the store and taking messages around the corner to the various people who worked for these impressive brothers could fill my pockets up - all the way up - and all four of them.  But I didn’t just love the money, it was a thrill just being acknowledged by these bigger-than-life personalities who made such a huge impression on my life, and I'm not the least bit ashamed to admit it. Sometimes in my writings even today, I'll take on the persona of one of them to make a point, because they had a dry, bottom-line wit about them that cut straight through all  manner of bullshit. Listening to them taught me to look beneath a person's words and address the motive behind what he were saying. I also learned to never tap dance around the edges of an issue - get to the point. That's why I call my column "Beneath the Spin."

.
One of the reasons I could see through Cornel West and that I'm so relentless against him in my column is due to the words of a friend of my father that they used to call "Sweet Willie."  When I was about 16 years old he told me, "Never trust a brother who's always trying to be the coolest thing in the room, because he's using so much of his brain power trying to maintain his image that there's nothing left for him to think with. The primary reason he's trying to be so cool in the first place is because he's insecure, which means that inside, even HE knows he ain't shit, and he's trying his best to hide that fact from the rest of the world.  It also means he's scary, so if you're ever busted with him, he'll turn out to be a turncoat and a snitch every time."  And I began to read "Psych-Cybernetics," and later, majored in psychology in college based on the words of another hustler that they used to call "Genie Boy."  He told me, "The human mind was one of the most powerful forces in the known universe, so if you don't control it, it WILL control you." Later, as a student of psychology, I found that the words of both men were valid. Carl Jung, a protégé of Sigmund Freud said, everything we do, short of seeking to satisfy our homeostatic (biological) needs, we do in an attempt to reduce our feelings of insecurity.
.
So yes, I really admired these people. I loved just hearing them say my name. It made me feel like I was a part of an inner circle, or a world that others couldn't gain access to - and indeed I was.  But I especially loved hearing those gorgeous and pretty-smelling women say my name - "Eric, honey, will you run around to the drug store and ask Mr. Reed to send me a large jar of this?" And then they'd hand me an empty jar of something. "Thank you, baby." How I loved that - especially when Harriett did it, and she'd rubbed her hand against my face or shoulder.

.

Harriett was so beautiful that she didn't even look real. She was the finest and most refined of them all. She looked like someone had painted her. And when she moved she was so sensuous that as she walked I imagined her thighs must've even made one another feel good as they rubbed up against each other. That's right!  That woman was tough. Yet, she didn't even seem to notice how beautiful she was.  That's where the class came in.  Every man who knew her yearned for her, but they also knew not to cross the line, because Harriett wasn't the kind of woman that a man could just choose - she had to choose you.

.

And Harriett was the one I knew best. We had a special relationship, because we had Jimmy in common. She was Jimmy's girlfriend, and how I envied him that accomplishment. But actually, it wasn't an accomplishment on Jimmy's part. Harriett just sort of dropped into his lap. Jimmy was a guy my father hired to teach me to play the saxophone. He had a serious heroin addition at the time, and he used to drink a lot too. So we'd see him nodded out in alleys and behind the pool hall, or getting sick and throwing up in public. So everybody used to look down on him - everybody, that is, accept Harriett. She went to high school with Jimmy, so you'd often see her waking him up, and scooping him up from behind the pool hall. He probably would have died if it weren't for Harriett, because his wife left him for another man, and she and the other dude would walk right past Jimmy nodded out somewhere without even looking down. So he didn't have anyone who gave a damn about him - except Harriett, the finest thing who ever lived. Go figure it.

.

So just think about the character of that lady. Harriet was a woman who was so beautiful, sexy, and classy that she could, literally, get any man she wanted, at any station in life - in or out of the hood. Yet, she catered to the needs of a man who had been a dope fiend for years, and had degenerated to the point that he'd become the neighborhood joke. Jimmy wasn't simply at the bottom, the bottom was sitting on him.

.

The situation with Jimmy was one of my first big eye-openers in life. Jimmy was a metaphor for the direction that many of our young people are headed today. But Jimmy turned out to be a guy who had more character, more class, and much more talent than any of us (I tell his story in a link below). But when Jimmy was down and needed us most, we not only stepped over him, but laughed at him as we were doing it - and as young as I was, I was a big part of it. When it came to Jimmy, I was one of the most prolific practical jokers against him.  If I found him passed out somewhere, it seemed like I just couldn't get myself to pass by without playing some kind of practical joke on him, like tying his shoes together or something childish like that.  To this day I wonder if he knew that.  I'll never know, because he had so much class, that even if he did, he would have never let me know about it. So as I sit here, I agonize over that decades later, because that miserable dope fiend ended up teaching me about everything I know about the importance of maintaining a sense of humanity, and he nurtured everything that sustains my life today.  But Harriett was the only one with the empathy to see the inhumanity in the way we treated Jimmy, and she had the courage of her convictions. She dropped lifelong friends over Jimmy, including Jimmy's wife - and I don't mean temporarily; I mean, permanently!  She even got on my ass over him once, but she gave me a pass because I was so young.

.

But Harriett had the last laugh, because by the time that's being discussed here, Jimmy had become one of the most impressive and respected personalities in the community. While Jimmy wasn't a hustler, he could walk into Ronnie's any day of the week and command the respect of everybody in the place, and everybody loved seeing him coming - ESPECIALLY, if he had his gig bag slung across his shoulder. Harriett helped to make that happen - and not because she wanted him, but because she was a devoted friend. I think the only reason they ended up together was because Jimmy made such an impressive comeback, and so fast, that it made her fall in love with him, as it did the entire community, including his wayward wife - who USED to be Harriet's best friend, until she deserted Jimmy for another man and left him to die in the street. But when she deserted Jimmy, Harriet immediately dropped her as a friend, and due to Harriet's stature in the community, that meant Wanda also lost a lot of other "friends." She went from the A list to the Z list, almost overnight. The love between Harriett and Jimmy was one of those rare stories in the hood that had a happy ending. It was clear to everybody who knew them that Jimmy was the man that Harriett had been waiting for. It was also clear that Harriett was the woman who Jimmy needed. They were very happy and devoted to each other, because they DESERVED one another.  But that's another story - and a very tender one - but I digress.

.

I used to hang on to every word of these ghetto aristocrats. I would listen to their stories, and live a vicarious life through theirs. But what I really loved most was their music. It literally painted a portrait of who they were. They’d fill Ronnie’s juke box up with coins and one monster after another would flow from it’s speakers - Miles, Trane, Bird, and they loved Jimmy Smith.  Areatha was the new kid on the block. She hadn’t really established which direction she was going at that time, but everybody assumed that she was going to be a jazz star, because the only thing by her on the juke box was "Sky Lark."

.

Yeah, those were the days, but what I remember most was how suave and gracefully those enigmatic products of adversity would glide across the floor. With diamonds gleaming from their manicured fingers gently pinching the seam of their trousers, and the light altering the colors of their sharkskin suits, they seemed to be dancing on a cushion of air as they did the "Soft Shoe" to what they seemed to have adopted as their collective theme song - Killer Joe.

.

.

No, we don't see nothing like 'em today, and I don't think we ever will again . . .  because they're the product of a bygone era - an era that I miss tremendously, and one that will continue to live, as long as I do.

The Eulipians
.
Some of the greatest minds I've ever known
held court while sitting on empty milk crates
in the parking lot of ghetto liquor stores.
At their feet I embraced the love of knowledge,
And through their tutelage defined self-worth
In my own terms.
.
These were the "Eulipians" — writers, poets,
musicians, hustlers, and uncommon drunks —
those shade-tree philosophers who
contemplate the fungus between the
toes of society;
Who danced with reckless abandon,
unfettered by formal inhibition,
through the presumptuous
speculation of the ages;
Who live in county jails, cardboard boxes,
alley ways, and luxury Apartments.
Insignificant here in Great Bruteland,
but of ultimate significance in the eyes of God.
.
While these obscure intellectuals
stood well outside the mainstream
of academy, I watched
with astonished delight as
they sang, scat, and scribed their various
philosophies into the mainstream of human knowledge.
.
Their philosophy?
knowledge is free, thus,
will transcend attempts
to be contained through barriers
of caste or privilege,
leaving man's innate thirst
for knowledge free to someday
overwhelm his passionate lust for stupidity.
.
The Eulipians
http://wattree.blogspot.com/2014/11/the-eulipians.html
.

So yes, I'm the quintessential hood rat, but if you think that your education from Harvard or Yale is superior to my own, I hereby challenge you to bring it on:

.

THE HOOD RAT

.

Baby,

I’m sure you know that I love you.

You’re everything I need.

You fit the bill of all my desires,

a perfect match for all of my dreams.

From the moment I first laid eyes on you,

You were everything I craved -

that luscious vision

from across the tracks,

that delicate flower,

just beyond this hood rat's blade.

*

But what you ask is foreign to me.

You need something that I’m not.

You said, just tweak my nature a little bit,

and you’ll give everything you’ve got.

*

But that "tweak" you need is who I am -

it’s my essence, can’t you see?

So how can you speak of loving my soul,

yet, not the hood rat that makes me, me?

*

While "hood rat" may seem trite to you,

it’s the very essence of my being.

So forget about what other’s say,

here’s what it means to me:

*

I’ve been brutally dragged through the pits of hell,

yet, managed to survive,

well educated, and fully functional,

when I came out the other side.

I scrounged the lessons taught at Harvard -

because knowledge, I found, was free.

But they’ll never obtain the lessons I’ve learned -

or my knowledge of adversity.

*

While the "elite" may have heard a mournful Trane,

or Miles muted on a Summer night,

not in the context of hunger and pain,

or hopelessness, hatred, and blight.

*           

So while I've lived the life of a hood rat,

I’ve reaped a knowledge that money can't buy; 

a knowledge passed on to my son and daughter,

which has greatly enhanced their lives.

* 

Thus, I wouldn't change a thing about my life -

I’ve faced hell and passed the test.

I have a PhD in adversity, and

it's made me much more,

rather than less.

*

So unlike the people at Harvard and Yale,

who try to buy intellectual clout,

they only study the genius of Miles and Trane,

while I'm who they’re talkin' about.

*

So when snobs try to slur me as "just a hood rat,"

I say, "thank you," and don’t take offense.

I take great pride in surviving the pits of Hell -

That’s what gives me my confidence.

*

The Ivy League degrees of those of means

are only paper compared to mine;

they merely have a "receipt"

for what's suppose o be  knowledge,

while my  knowledge is ETCHED in my mind.

*

I can TEACH philosophy to Aristotle and Plato

with the adversity that I’ve endured,

and any snob who seeks to match my wit,

will come up short, and

that’s for sure.

*

Snobs walk about quoting Socrates and such,

because through their "education" they are prone;

but while they’re spewing the thoughts of various dead men,

I spend my time developing my own.

*

Because we should never give the thoughts of ANY man,

living or dead, priority over our own;

collect the facts, and think for yourself,

that’s where

Harvard and Yale has gone wrong.

*
Preacher, politician, potentate or monk,

whatever their tale or point of view,

God didn't give them anything,

that he failed to also give you. 

*

And being seen as a hood rat has its advantages -

especially against racists of limited wit;

I simply quietly wait for their condescension,

then show ‘em that they ain’t shit.

*

God made birds to fly, fish to swim,

and man to think and that's the key.

So any man who claims to be superior

will have to PROVE his wit to me.

*

Thus, knowledge is the key to set us free -

it doesn’t matter what the people say,

and there’s nothing more formidable than

a knowledgeable hood rat, and

that’s what you’re looking upon today.

.

Yet, these are the things you want me to purge -

you want me to spurn the life I’ve led,

but I’m sorry, my love,

as much as I adore you,

the soul of a hood rat is my edge.

.

.

RELATED CONTENT

.

One For Jimmy

http://wattree.blogspot.com/2014/01/one-for-jimmy.html

 .
'Cha Cha'
http://wattree.blogspot.com/2014/02/beneath-spin-eric-l.html
.
Blues For Mr. C
http://wattree.blogspot.com/2011/06/blues-for-mr-c-on-fathers-day.html
.
The Sounds of Central Avenue
http://www.laphil.com/tickets/chjo-sounds-of-central-avenue/2000-05-10

 Eric L. Wattree

Http://wattree.blogspot.com

Ewattree@Gmail.com

Citizens Against Reckless Middle-Class Abuse (CARMA)

.

Religious bigotry: It's not that I hate everyone who doesn't look, think, and act like me - it's just that God does.

Sphere: Related Content

The Hustlers

Beneath the Spin * Eric L. Wattree

THE HUSTLERS
______________________________
It is not my intent to promote living outside the law.   I’m against that - period.   But knowledge is power, and the fact is, the hustlers of my youth had a tremendous impact on my life, just as the current wannabes have on the lives of many Black youth today.  So I want to do two things in this piece - first, I want to make it clear to the Black youth of today that most of what they think of as "hustlers" were not anything like they're being portrayed in the media; and secondly, I want to give the wider audience a perspective on how these Black "renegades" are perceived by Black youth by allowing them to view these hustlers through the eyes of my youth.
________________________________

Many young people in "the hood" are fascinated by the mystique of the hustler. While I see education as the preferred mode of upward mobility, I can understand how the renegade persona of the hustler mystique has captured their imagination. But their idea of a hustler has been forged by the media, where they're portrayed as murderous sociopaths who specialized in victimizing the community. As a result, many young wannabes seem to feel that they have to run around ravaging the community to build their "street creds" as a bonafide hustler.

.

VALDIE WATTREE

But that's not how old-school hustlers were at all. I know, because both me and my late wife, Val, were children of this culture. She was the niece of Big Joe Langford, a well known hustler in Los Angeles, and I was the son of Mac McClain (My maternal grandfather insisted that I wear his sir name so I wouldn't grow up with unnecessary baggage), and they brought Val and I together as teenagers (My mother, and Val's aunt).
.
When Val and I were about to go on our first date, a gigolo by the name of Shelton called me earlier that day from out of the blue and said, "Hey Eric, I hear you and Valdie are hooking up.  I was just thinking, man. You know, that's Big Joe's niece, so you're gon' have to come strong. So check this out. Why don't I scrape me up a chauffeur's cap and swing by your pad tonight and we can pick her up in my Bentley? We can give her a night she'll never forget. Just leave it to me" - and that's exactly what happened. We were in good hands with Shelton, because as a male escort, that was what Shelton specialized in, showing women a good time. He did it for the Hollywood studios.  My father had given me forty dollars to take Val out, but I didn't have to spend a penny of it. Everything was taken care of.
.
The night started with Shelton pulling up to Val's house with me sitting in the backseat, and then he went to Val's door and retrieved her.  Thereafter, he escorted her to the Bentley, and as he opened the backdoor to helped her in, he touched the front of his cap - and from that moment on, she got the Cinderella treatment all night long.  Essentially, this was Shelton's date, I was just along for the ride, and Val talked about that night until the day she died. She used to say, "That Shelton was the prettiest man I've ever seen in my life!" But that night, Big Joe made absolutely sure that what I smelled what'n cookin'.  I didn't realize that Shelton was actually our chaperone until I was grown. I had been what they called "finessed" by the best. But when I looked in Val's eyes, I knew it was just a matter of time - a very short time - because even now, long after her death, I'm still trying to live up to the man I saw reflected in her eyes.
.
When Val and I got married at 19 and 21 years old, our wedding reception looked like a peacock's parade. It seemed like every hustler and musician in the city was there. Jug was even in town, and did a set with my good friend and sax instructor, Jimmy. Jug was so impressed with Jimmy that he had him do a gig with him at the Tiki Lounge, and they became lifelong friends, but that's another story that I'll touch on later.
.
And then when Kai and Eric were born, in spite of our young age - and the fact that I was penniless - we always lived under palm trees and at the edge of swing pools. We never wanted for anything. Every time money got tight, something seemed to just fall out the sky. The guy at the liquor would say, "Hey Eric, I need some help around here. How'd you like to come help me out in the evenings after you get off from work?" And I mean, from out of the blue!  I had just come to get a drink, not a job, but I sure could use it, because while the price of rent in the "Jungle" was only $165 a month, that was twice what most were paying at the time - and it was considered outrageous for a 22 year-old.
.
Then after I started working at the liquor store the local gangsters started coming in and selling me top-of-the-line ten-speed bikes for $15 a piece, which I would turn around and sell for a $100 dollars or more. I never bothered to inquire where they got them, but I knew they weren't being taken from kids, because they were brand spankin' new. Before long everybody in Baldwin Hills knew that if they wanted ten-speeds that I was the go-to guy. And again, this just started happening from out of the blue - and I was making a killin'!
.
Then, when they reached school age, we were encouraged by Big Joe to enroll Kai and Eric in Windsor Hills Elementary School. As a result, they went to school with the children of doctors, lawyers, and politicians. And once they got there, they were assigned a teacher, Ms. Faye Armstrong, who became their PERMANENT teacher.  They didn't change teachers every year like most kids. We got so close with Faye that we used to go out to diner together, and Kai became so close to her that she began to take on Faye's Texas drawl. By the time Kai graduated, Faye had her so sharp that she was doing her class' valedictorian speech.
.
So I strongly suspect that something was at work here, because when I look back on it, Kai and Eric grew up like royalty. It seemed like even when I did something wrong, it somehow, miraculously, turned out right.  As a young man, I always wanted to think it was about what Val and I were doing right, but was it? Today I'm almost certain invisible hands were at work in the background, because the chances of two kids getting married at 19 and 21 years old and managing to raise two children into adulthood without hitting even ONE bump in the road severely challenges the odds of statistical probability. When we were raising Kai and Eric, we literally, never struggled. Life was one big party. Our home was a house with four kids in it, running itself . . . or so it seemed.

Kai Doing The Valedictorian Speech
.

So what these hustlers actually were, were flamboyant and bigger-than-life businessmen who didn't pay taxes - and that was during a time when Black people didn't have the opportunities that we have today. But, in spite of the fact they lived slightly outside the law, most were very responsible and caring people in many ways.

.

Many of these people had a lot of class, wisdom, and knowledge. When my father was arrested and sent away, they came together and got my mother a job as a greeter at the world renowned Dynamite Jackson’s jazz club, and then, helped send her through nursing school. She later not only became a nurse, but a PA (Physician’s Assistant) - the closest you can come to a doctor, without actually becoming one - thanks to her close friend and mentor, Dr. Morris P. Atkins. They opened the 55th St Medical Group together. That's where I met Val. My mother hired her when Val was only 14 years old to send Christmas cards to the patients.
.
In return for the assistance that my mother had been given by people in the community, when people in the neighborhood needed medical attention but couldn't afford to pay, my mother would treat them right there in our home - for free. And the community was good to her as well. A multi-faceted hustler by the name of Big Eddie Carr pulled up one day with a huge box (I'll never forget Big Eddie; he was a very suave and elegant brother who used to always wear cummerbunds. He was also a singer - "It's Hard But It's Fair").  He told my mother, "Hey, Ver, I ran across this the other day and it had Verlee written all over it, so I thought I'd pick it up for you". It was a FUR throw rug.  It became one of my mother's prize possessions - not only because it was so beautiful and expensive, but because Big Eddie was thoughtful enough to get it for her. And Buddy Cox, who dealt in clothing, kept me as clean as a young man could be in top-of-line slack suits.
.
As early as junior high school I used to go to school dressed like a grown man.  I had acquired the hustlers' taste and style, so I used to go to school wearing expensive slack suits, Floresheim's, and jewelry - not gaudy and ostentatious stuff like you see today (quiet style was what it was about back then), but I dressed much too old for my years, and that caused me a few problems. It brought suspicion upon me, and I was looked upon by many of the staff as a bad influence on the "kids." Every time something went wrong at school they would come and pluck me out of class, even though I wouldn't know a thing about what was going on. And the irony was, I was probably one of the few students there that was there for the right reasons. The hustlers taught me to respect knowledge, so I was there trying to soak up everything I could get. But I was profiled, much like the hustlers themselves. None of the administrators liked my image, and that haunted me, and caused me a lot of trouble until I was 19 years old - but it also led to the event that changed my life.  

.

So while old-school hustlers weren't all angels, and they were capable of emphasizing a point quite brutally when necessary - that was simply a matter of survival - that wasn't their preferred method of operation.  For the most part, they weren't vultures going around victimizing the community like they're often portrayed in the media. Many contributed to the community in many ways, including participating in assemblies and "May Day" parades that was put on by Holmes Ave. Elementary School. And I personally benefitted greatly from my exposure to them. They taught me a lot, which I try to pass on in my writings. So I look back upon them with much fondness.

 *

THIS IS WHAT IT WAS REALLY LIKE

So as I was strollin’ down memory lane, thinking about the old-school hustlers of my youth, I couldn't help but think about how different they were than many of the wannabes that we see around today. First, they weren't in it for show. They were hustling to maintain a lifestyle that society was doing it's very best to deny them. No joggin’ suits, baseball caps, and tennis shoes for these brothers, it was Florsheims  and very expensive Brooks Bros. suits all the way - and you’d never see ‘em in the same one for weeks. And they weren't loud and crude cutthroats. While they undoubtedly lived outside the law, they reflected a style that was all their own - elegant and laid back, although, with an edge that said to anyone with anything less than the purest of motives, "I not the one." 

.

Billy Dee Williams would have fit right in with these brothers, because he has their persona down to the last digit. Their most pronounced characteristic was class and style, not brutish swagger as they're often portrayed. They were the product of an era where class was everything.  These were gentlemen . . . illegitimate businessmen. And again, unlike the young brothers you see today, they weren't in it for show. They were dead serious about what they did.
.
My father explained it simply - it was all about surviving in a White man's world without having to carry a tin cup. It was about living with dignity. He told me that what he and his friends engaged in was no more criminal than what White business men do every day, within the law. He said, crime is robbery, theft, mayhem, and taking from others what doesn't belong to you. They didn't engage in that kind of activity. What he and his friends did was provide "services" for consenting adults, just like the White man does routinely, and legally, on a daily basis. According to my father, the only difference between what they did, and what the White man does is they don't have politicians in their pockets to sign off on it. So the crime wasn't what they did - the crime was not giving the White man his cut.

.

My Father, Mac McClain, and Brother, Virgil, in 1966.
Mac was a good neighbor and loving father,
but he wasn't one to toy with. He had one mindset
for dealing with his neighbors, and another for dealing with
people on the street.

I remember how Ronnie, who was something of a hustler himself, would open up his barbershop just for them every Monday so they could get their domes laid. Monday was Hustler's Day at Ronnie's barbershop. The shop was closed for everybody else. What was funny about that, and the hustlers used to joke about it inside, was how the up-and-coming wannabes would try to get in there on Monday through hook-or-crook, because just managing to get their hair laid at Ronnie's on a Monday could make their reputation on the street. It would also allow them to rub shoulders with the movers and shakers, and maybe gain the attention of one of them, which meant a tremendous boost in both prestige, and pay grade.

.

I recall how one Monday even a preacher tried to get in there. After Ronnie politely turned him away, they waited long enough for him to get out of earshot, then everybody fell-out laughing. Wakeen, who used to run "the book," said, in his slow and draggin' voice, "You should have let 'em in, Ron. He got more game than anybody in buildin' - and his game is Betty Crocker approved." Everybody started laughing. Then the ladies started telling stories about the good reverend. That taught me very early in life that no matter where you go, you just cannot escape politics.

.

So every Monday around noon, the whole block would be lined with a row of shiny new hogs, and the beauticians who worked for Ronnie (only on Mondays) were the cream of the crop. They were the most fabulous sisters in the hood, and everyone of them smelled like a freshly picked rose after a Spring rain. I can still smell their aroma to this today. They were absolutely, the cream of the crop - they had to be - because they were servicing the royalty of the Black community.

.

Robert Beck (Iceberg Slim) after he moved
to Los Angeles in the 60s.
 He was a little different - he had an East Coast
edge to him . . . a dangerous edge.

And these weren't silly wannabes with delusions of grandeur, trying to pattern themselves after someone they'd seen on television. These brothers were the real deal. They were the aristocrats of the darker side of the Black community, those who simply chose not to allow a racist society to hold them hostage. Any one of them could have thrived on Wall Street had they not been blessed with various hues of Black skin, and the community recognized this. Thus, while many "mainstream" Black people weren't crazy about their lifestyle, they understood the rationale behind it. So the community not only accepted them, but they even treated them with a grudging respect and deferment.
.
My father was a part of that lifestyle, but you would never have known it by the way I was treated as a child. When I was a young boy and visiting my dad, the neighbors wouldn't hesitate to whip my butt if they caught me doing something I wasn't suppose to do. I was treated just like the other kids in the neighborhood, because they knew they had nothing to fear from my dad. He reserved his wrath for the people who lived the street life.  

.

Ronnie was a friend of the family, so during the Summer, every Monday at 11 a.m. I was headed for his shop. That was my hustle. Between working Ronnie's on Monday, and working the candy concession at Mr. Pierce's liquor store after school, I made a young boy’s fortune. At Ronnie's, just going back and forth to the store and taking messages around the corner to the various people who worked for these impressive brothers could fill my pockets up - all the way up - and all four of them.  But I didn’t just love the money, it was a thrill just being acknowledged by these bigger-than-life personalities who made such a huge impression on my life, and I'm not the least bit ashamed to admit it. Sometimes in my writings even today, I'll take on the persona of one of them to make a point, because they had a dry, bottom-line wit about them that cut straight through all  manner of bullshit. Listening to them taught me to look beneath a person's words and address the motive behind what he were saying. I also learned to never tap dance around the edges of an issue - get to the point. That's why I call my column "Beneath the Spin."

.
One of the reasons I could see through Cornel West and that I'm so relentless against him in my column is due the words of a friend of my father that they used to call "Sweet Willie."  When I was about 16 years old he told me, "Never trust a brother who's always trying to be the coolest thing in the room, because he's using so much of his brain trying to maintain his image that there's nothing left for him to think with. The primary reason he's trying to be so cool in the first place is because he's insecure, which means that inside, even HE knows he ain't shit, and he's trying his best to hide that fact from the rest of the world.  It also means he scary, so if you're ever busted with him, he'll turn out to be a turncoat and a snitch every time." And during that time, I began to read "Psych-Cybernetics," and later, majored in psychology in college based on the words of another hustler that they used to call "Genie Boy." He told me, "The human mind was one of the most powerful forces in the known universe, so if you don't control it, it WILL control you." Later, as a student of psychology, I found that the words of both men were valid. Carl Jung, a protégé of Sigmund Freud said, everything we do, short of seeking to satisfy our homeostatic (biological) needs, we do in an attempt to reduce our feelings of insecurity.
.
So yes, I really admired these people. I loved just hearing them say my name. It made me feel like I was a part of an inner circle, or a world that others couldn't gain access to - and indeed I was.  But I especially loved hearing those gorgeous and pretty-smelling women say my name - "Eric, honey, will you run around to the drug store and ask Mr. Reed to send me a large jar of this?" And then they'd hand me an empty jar of something. "Thank you, baby." How I loved that - especially when Harriett did it, and she'd rubbed her hand against my face or shoulder.

.

Harriett was so beautiful that she didn't even look real. She was the finest and most refined of them all. She looked like someone had painted her. And when she moved she was so sensuous that as she walked, I imagined her thighs must've even made one another other feel good as they rubbed up against each other. That's right!  That woman was tough. Yet, she didn't even seem to notice how beautiful she was. That's where the class came in.  Every man who knew her yearned for her, but they also knew not to cross the line, because Harriett wasn't the kind of woman that a man could just choose - she had to choose you.

.

And Harriett was the one I knew best. We had a special relationship, because we had Jimmy in common. She was Jimmy's girlfriend, and how I envied him that accomplishment. But actually, it wasn't an accomplishment on Jimmy's part. Harriett just sort of dropped into his lap. Jimmy was a guy my father hired to teach me to play the saxophone. He had a serious heroin addition at the time, and he used to drink a lot too. So we'd see him nodded out in alleys and behind the pool hall, or getting sick and throwing up in public. So everybody used to look down on him - everybody, that is, accept Harriett. She went to high school with Jimmy, so you'd often see her waking him up, and scooping him up from behind the pool hall. He probably would have died if it weren't for Harriett, because his wife left him for another man, and she and the other dude would walk right past Jimmy nodded out somewhere without even looking down. So he didn't have anyone who gave a damn about him - except Harriett, the finest thing who ever lived. Go figure it.

.

So just think about the character of that lady. Harriet was a woman who was so beautiful, sexy, and classy that she could, literally, get any man she wanted, at any station in life - in or out of the hood. Yet, she catered to the needs of a man who had been a dope fiend for years, and had degenerated to the point that he'd become the neighborhood joke. Jimmy wasn't simply at the bottom, the bottom was sitting on him.

.

The situation with Jimmy was one of my first big eye-openers in life. Jimmy was a metaphor for the direction that many of our young people are headed for today. But Jimmy turned out to be a guy who had more character, more class, and much more talent than any of us (I tell his story in a link below). But when Jimmy was down and needed us most, we not only stepped over him, but laughed at him as we were doing it - and as young as I was, I was a big part of it. When it came to Jimmy, I was one of the most prolific practical jokers against him.  If I found him passed out somewhere, it seemed that I just couldn't get myself to pass by without playing some kind of practical joke on him, like tying his shoes together or something childish like that.  To this day I wonder if he knew that. I'll never know, because he had so much class, that even if he did, he would have never let me know it. So as I sit here, I agonize over that decades later, because that miserable dope fiend ended up teaching me everything I know about the importance of maintaining a sense of humanity, and he nurtured everything that sustains my life today.  But Harriett was the only one with the empathy to see the inhumanity in the way we treated Jimmy, and she had the courage of her convictions. She dropped lifelong friends over Jimmy, including Jimmy's wife - and I don't mean temporarily; I mean, permanently!  She even got on my ass over him once, but she gave me a pass because I was so young.

.

But Harriett had the last laugh, because by the time that's being discussed here, Jimmy had become one of the most impressive and respected personalities in the community. While Jimmy wasn't a hustler, he could walk into Ronnie's any day of the week and command the respect of everybody in the place, and everybody loved seeing him coming - ESPECIALLY, if he had his gig bag slung across his shoulder. Harriett helped to make that happen - and not because she wanted him, but because she was a devoted friend. I think the only reason they ended up together was because Jimmy made such an impressive comeback, and so fast, that it made her fall in love with him, as it did the entire community, including his wayward wife - who USED to be Harriet's best friend, until she deserted Jimmy for another man and left him to die in the street. But when she deserted Jimmy, Harriet immediately dropped her as a friend, and due to Harriet's stature in the community, that meant Wanda also lost a lot of other "friends." She went from the A list to the Z list, almost overnight. 
.
The love between Harriett and Jimmy was one of those rare stories in the hood that had a happy ending. It was clear to everybody who knew them that Jimmy was the man that Harriett had been waiting for. It was also clear that Harriett was the woman who Jimmy needed. They were very happy and devoted to each other, because they DESERVED one another.  But that's another story - and a very tender one - but I digress.

.

I used to hang on to every word of these ghetto aristocrats. I would listen to their stories, and live a vicarious life through theirs. But what I really loved most was their music. It literally painted a portrait of who they were. They’d fill Ronnie’s juke box up with coins and one monster after another would flow from it’s speakers - Miles, Trane, Bird, and they loved Jimmy Smith.  Areatha was the new kid on the block. She hadn’t really established which direction she was going at that time, but everybody assumed that she was going to be a jazz star, because the only thing by her on the juke box was "Sky Lark."

.

Yeah, those were the days, but what I remember most was how suave and gracefully those enigmatic products of adversity would glide across the floor. With diamonds gleaming from their manicured fingers gently pinching the seam of their trousers, and the light altering the colors of their sharkskin suits, they seemed to be dancing on a cushion of air as they did the "Soft Shoe" to what they seemed to have adopted as their collective theme song - Killer Joe.

.

.

No, we don't see nothing like 'em today, and I don't think we ever will again . . .  because they're the product of a bygone era - an era that I miss tremendously, and one that will continue to live, as long as I do.

The Eulipians
.
Some of the greatest minds I've ever known
held court while sitting on empty milk crates
in the parking lot of ghetto liquor stores.
At their feet I embraced the love of knowledge,
And through their tutelage defined self-worth
In my own terms.
.
These were the "Eulipians" — writers, poets,
musicians, hustlers, and uncommon drunks —
those shade-tree philosophers who
contemplate the fungus between the
toes of society;
Who danced with reckless abandon,
unfettered by formal inhibition,
through the presumptuous
speculation of the ages;
Who lived in county jails, cardboard boxes,
alley ways, and luxury Apartments.
Insignificant here in Great Bruteland,
but of ultimate significance in the eyes of God.
.
While these obscure intellectuals
stood well outside the mainstream
of academy, I watched
with astonished delight as
they sang, scat, and scribed their various
philosophies into the mainstream of human knowledge.
.
Their philosophy?
knowledge is free, thus,
will transcend attempts
to be contained through barriers
of caste or privilege,
leaving man's innate thirst
for knowledge free to someday
overwhelm his passionate lust for stupidity.
.
The Eulipians
http://wattree.blogspot.com/2014/11/the-eulipians.html
.

.

RELATED CONTENT

.

One For Jimmy

http://wattree.blogspot.com/2014/01/one-for-jimmy.html

 .
'Cha Cha'
http://wattree.blogspot.com/2014/02/beneath-spin-eric-l.html
.
Blues For Mr. C
http://wattree.blogspot.com/2011/06/blues-for-mr-c-on-fathers-day.html
.
The Sounds of Central Avenue
http://www.laphil.com/tickets/chjo-sounds-of-central-avenue/2000-05-10

 Eric L. Wattree

Http://wattree.blogspot.com

Ewattree@Gmail.com

Citizens Against Reckless Middle-Class Abuse (CARMA)

.

Religious bigotry: It's not that I hate everyone who doesn't look, think, and act like me - it's just that God does.

Sphere: Related Content