My life is a chronicle of contemporary Black America, its triumphs and downfalls..Got a minute to listen?
I have always loved the sun and wind of autumn in Pacoima, a cozy little town in the East San Fernando Valley of Southern California. Dawn’s introduction to the day was a special occasion for me fall’s weather crisp, charged with Southern California’s famous Santa Ana winds, which gently stroked my face making me feel alive. Pacoima a refuge for Negroes or Coloreds, (as we were called then), was nurturing, warm and most importantly filled with love.
My home was a modern sixties tract style residence located on a little tree lined street called Claretta. Middle class Negroes moved to this Hamlet for its sense of community, beauty and protection. Claretta Street was picture postcard perfect all the lawns vibrant green and manicured; children played with endless energy and joy, traveling from one house to another surveying each other’s existence. Claretta Street will always be my home. When I feel sad, lonely or troubled, I close my eyes and remember…the joy.
Being five years old amongst a vast segment of what I can only describe as Africa was simply amazing. The neighborhood was a cornucopia of African shades and textures, possessing so many different family traditions, cultures and dialects that each home was a different experience. The fact that my parents were the youngest married couple on the block made me part of its Babies.
My father Lee worked on the assembly line of General Motors building automobiles. Working on the assembly line was a hard ass manual labor job, but it paid well and had good medical benefits important to a man with a wife, a kid and another on the way. That summer, my brother Lee Jr was born; Lee Jr was very quiet, but extremely intelligent, yet filled with unknown sadness.