the last book I ever read (Satchmo: My Life in New Orleans by Louis Armstrong, excerpt five)

from Satchmo: My Life in New Orleans by Louis Armstrong:

The funerals in New Orleans are sad until the body is finally lowered into the grave and the Reverend says, “ashes to ashes and dust to dust.” After the brother was six feet under ground the bad would strike up one of those good old tunes like Didn’t He Ramble, and all the people would leave their worried behind. Particularly when King Oliver blew that last chorus in high register.

Once the band starts, everybody starts swaying from one side of the street to the other, especially those who drop in and follow the ones who have been to the funeral. These people are known as “the second line” and they may be anyone passing along the street who wants to hear the music. The spirit hits them and they follow along to see what’s happening. Some follow only a few blocks, but others follow the band until the whole affair is over.

the last book I ever read (Satchmo: My Life in New Orleans by Louis Armstrong, excerpt four)

from Satchmo: My Life in New Orleans by Louis Armstrong:

Mama Lucy and Sarah Ann both had a great sense of humor, and I loved them both. The three of us struggled together pretty near all our lives, but despite our hardships I would gladly live it all over again. With fifteen cents Mayann could make the finest dishes you would ever want to eat. When she sent me to the Poydras Market to get fifteen cents’ worth of fish heads she made a big pot of “cubie yon” which she served with tomato sauce and fluffy white rice with every grain separate. We almost made ourselves sick eating this dish.

I thought her creole gumbo was the finest in the world. Her cabbage and rice was marvelous. As for red beans and rice, well, I don’t have to say anything about that. It is my birth mark.

the last book I ever read (Satchmo: My Life in New Orleans by Louis Armstrong, excerpt three)

from Satchmo: My Life in New Orleans by Louis Armstrong:

Before I lucked up on store trousers I used to wear my “stepfathers’” trousers, rolling them up from the bottom so that they looked like plus fours or knickers.

Mayann had enough “stepfathers” to furnish me with plenty of trousers. All I had to do was turn my back and a new “pappy” would appear. Some of them were fine guys, but others were low lives, particularly one named Albert. Slim was not much better, but the worst of all was Albert. One day Albert and my mother were sitting on the bank of the old basin canal near Galves Street quarreling about something while I was playing near by. Suddenly he called her a “black bitch” and knocked her into the water with a blow in her face. Then he walked off without even looking back. My God, was I frantic! While Mayann was screaming in the water, with her face all bloody, I began to holler for help at the top of my voice. People ran up and pulled her out, but what a moment that was! I have never forgiven that man, and if I ever see him again I will kill him. However, I have been in New Orleans many times since that day, and I have never run into him. Old timers tell me he is dead.

the last book I ever read (Satchmo: My Life in New Orleans by Louis Armstrong, excerpt two)

from Satchmo: My Life in New Orleans by Louis Armstrong:

Old Buddy Bolden blew so hard that I used to wonder if I would ever have enough lung power to fill one of those cornets. All in all Buddy Bolden was a great musician, but I think he blew too hard. I will even go so far as to say that he did not blow correctly. In any case he finally went crazy. You can figure that out for yourself.

the last book I ever read (Satchmo: My Life in New Orleans by Louis Armstrong, excerpt one)

from Satchmo: My Life in New Orleans by Louis Armstrong:

It was my first experience with Jim Crow. I was just five, and I had never ridden on a street car before. Since I was the first to get on, I walked right up to the front of the car without noticing the signs on the backs of the seats on both sides, which read: FOR COLORED PASSENGERS ONLY. Thinking the woman was following me, I sat down in one of the front seats. However, she did not join me, and when I turned to see what had happened, there was no lady. Looking all the way to the back of the car, I saw her waving to me frantically.

“Come here, boy,” she cried. “Sit where you belong.”

the last book I ever read (Black Wings Has My Angel (New York Review Books Classics)) by Elliot Chaze, excerpt fourteen)

from Black Wings Has My Angel (New York Review Books Classics) by Elliot Chaze:

I asked her again if she felt all right.

“I feel like a ghoul. I feel all right for a ghoul.”

the last book I ever read (Black Wings Has My Angel (New York Review Books Classics)) by Elliot Chaze, excerpt thirteen)

from Black Wings Has My Angel (New York Review Books Classics) by Elliot Chaze:

“Kenneth,” I said, “I cannot tell a lie. I shot them because I wanted to see their blood squirt.”

“Now, Kenneth,” he said, frowning, “don’t talk like that.”

We kept Kennething each other for ten minutes, maybe more, and my face was killing me and my right arm hung down as if there were no bone in it. I was polka-dotted with pain from the cigar burns and the places on my buttocks hurt especially. I Kennethed him and he Kennethed me and we got nowhere, because he wanted what the others wanted, for me to get down on my knees and sob out the whole thing, the color of the getaway car and who I’d been with. The woman and girl in the white frame house on North and Fourth had got a glimpse of the car as it skidded away from the corner, but in the excitement they hadn’t paid much attention to it. Or so Kenneth Hawkins, prosecuting attorney for Mulvaney County, Mississippi, told me. Virginia was probably back in New Orleans, bathing with Loralee and Eddie. Maybe they were floating chocolate-marshmallows in the tub. I grinned, but cut it short when it seemed my right cheekbone might fall off in my lap. I didn’t want that to happen, because I didn’t want to see my right cheekbone any sooner than I had to.