I was born in Oakland, CA past the middle of WW 2 in 1944. At that time my paternal grandmother lived in the Fillmore District of San Francisco. My family, comprised of mother Louise, dad Charlie, Sr. and sister, Jacquelyn ("Jackie") Doloris, and me. We lived in the "Projects" in West Oakland. But, we'd visit grandmother Clemmie for Sunday dinner.
My father worked in Oakland and sometimes in San Francisco, that included chauffering musicians (but that's another story). And, once he had balconly tickets to a Lionel Hampton band performance. Charlie, Sr. took my mother, my sister and me to see the show and hear what was going on. It was there that I saw Lionel Hampton's band at age 5. The atmosphere was electric and loud and the band swung so hard people were screaming, shouting, dancing in the aisles and jumping for joy. But, when a drum solo errupted, I was immediately imprinted watching Gene Krupa play the drums. Whatever he was doing, I was hypnotized by the heat of the moment, the incendiary drive of the bass drum kick and fire from the syncopathion snare and toms, ingnited a excitement, awe and a fire that still burns oin the core my being.
We lived at 714 Center Street in the projects in Oakland, CA. My father day job was at Moore's Dry Dock. He was a foreman. But, he also hussled working at the dry dock every day. One other job he had was doing janitorial work at a drug store. He apparently believed learning about everything and anything to make an honest buck. Often, he was home in the evening after I went to bed. But, he always came home and was gone to work by the time I got up.
When I was around 4 years old, he once took us to see a second cousin, T-bone Walker (but that's another story). And, another time I remember he took us to see "Hamp" in San Francisco. We sat in the first row in the balcony. And, that's where I saw Gene Krupa. I heard and saw Hamp play "Flyin' Home" and witnessed three encores, and money being thrown to the stage literally three times. Tthe band left the stage, returned to stage only to swing again and leave and not come badk to the stage until the stage was showered with money. After the third return, the band didn't come back on and finally, some man in a suit came out with a push broom and began sweeping up.
I was born for music. I heard music continually all around me. One day my father brought a radio into the apartment. He said it a new thing that people can buy and "I don't know how it works. Some say sound come through the air. Some say the wires." He plugged it in. It crackled and fiddling with the knob, sound came from the speaker. AM radio! Soon I heard Boogie Woogie, Blues and, of course, Gospel (from having to go to church every Sunday. Also, on the Center Street, sometimes music blared from a speaker in front of a store. And, I also heard music from church where there was a speaker at the front door.
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My mother took care of my sister Jacqui, and me. She taught me prayers, and how to read and write. By 4 years of age reading made sense. One day, my father brought a phonograph machine into the apartment with records. Blues, gospel and even Ravel's Bolero on 78's in an album comprised of about three records. I listened to Bolero almost every day for months flipping over, playing the other side and then going to the next one to get the next movement of the song. I loved it, really. Also, Mahalia Jackson. Later my father had a piano delivered to the apartment. I liked playing on it. I could somehow bang out a melody on it based on what I heard on the radio. My dad was always amazed I could do that by ear. Whenever I heard a melody, I could see where that melody note was on the piano keys. Whatever that gift is it went away by the time I turned 7.
My family moved to Venice, CA around 1951. Violence in the projects motivated my father to leave Oakland to live somewhere else. His brother, Uncle "Bennie C" was established there, working for a Ford dealer. We moved out of Oakland and drove to Los Angeles around Christrmas time. Racism was palpable everywhere during that time, including in Venice, CA. We had a problem finding a place to stay. So, we started out my uncle-and-aunt's apartment. A few weeks later a Mexican family let us rent and move into a one room structure (a shack) in their back yard, where chickens ran around. Eventually, an apartment was found at 549 Brooks Avenue in Venice.
My first music lesson: Mr. Paul Powell lived across the street from us on Brooks Avenue. My father introduced me to him, saying he played viola. Paul played with the CBS orchestra in Hollywood. Also, the LA Philharmonic. Second chair. He had also taken up playing the French Horn as an man over 50 years of age -- something extraordinary. He got good enough to play 4th chair.
Shortly after we moved to the apartment on Brooks Avenue, Mr. Powell give me my first trumpet lesson. He told me to get a trumpet from the elementary school I was going to attend. And, he gave me a trumpet mouth piece. Later, after I got the trumpet he showed me how it worked and how to clean it. He said, "Always keep it in its case" when not being played. At one of the lessons, he showed me his tatoo he had. He had been in a German Concentration Camp and gotten out alive. But, outside of showing me his tatoo, he never spoke about that. He discussed embouchure, muscle development and how to avoid injury, how to learn to play without error and the importance of technique. He also talked about mental control and mastery. 'You must be the master of the instrument. You must control it. It cannot control you. You must control your mind, not the other way around.'
Unfortunately, the palpable discrimination resulted in me not being allowed into the elementary school band. The band met at Sunset Elementary School on Thursdays, at around 2:30 p, during school. Dispite my repeated attempts to get in, the music teacher said "No." I was really disappointed. I had heard the songs they were playing from outside the class room before I got the horn. After I got the horn when school started after the Christmas holidays I wanted to get into the music class. But, I couldn't get in. It had started in September and it was too late to get in before the end of the first half of the year.
I was told to wait until the next semester. So, when in school, I could hear the music being played from outside the class room. That's why I knew how the music went. I had also had the book. I wanted to play. We had moved to Venice at the end of the year and classes were already established. So, when the Spring semester began after New Years and Spring break I attempted to get in the music class. That's when I was told "no room." I begged to get in the class, but was told "no."
During that time, Mr. Powell took me to Hollywood one day and had me audition for the first chair trumpet of the CBS orchestra. I played a couple of scales. I had a two 1/2 octicve range. He said, "He's got a good ear." Notwithstanding that, there was "no room" in the elementary school band. About half way through the summer, I lost interest in practicing every day and soon lost the lip I'd developed. Mr. Powell inquired how I was doing about nine months later. I told him what happened. He was very sad and pained. Politics were getting hot (but that's another story).
My father was working with Uncle "Bennie C" at the Ford dealership in Santa Monica. And, of course, he had some side hussles. Ultimately, he quit working at Santa Monica Ford. He said he didn't like working for people who weren't as intelligent as they thought they were -- especially some white people. My dad started his own business in Santa Monica with brother Bennie C (who provided only about $500 bucks), washing and polishing cars. That fact played a big role in my musical journey.
I was a poor student in elementary school in Venice. They really didn't like African Americans. In fact, the Baptist church on the corner of 5th and Brooks Avenue had a sign that read 'Colored enter in back door.' Bullies and racist teachers were the norm. I had my share of fights. But, I was taught to do whatever was needed to not fight. Walk away, even if they said things about my mother or father was how my father instructed me about life. He said, 'Do everything in your power to walk or run away, and don't even think about what other might say or think.' "But," he added, "... if you have done everything in your power to not fight and have no choice, do whatever you have to do to survive -- anything and everything."
My father and mother managed to buy a house on Indiana Avenue around 1955-56'ish and my dad gave me an allowance. Also, I'd go to work with him on Saturdays before he left Santa Monica Ford (but that's another story). Mowing the law, taking out trash and working with him on Saturdays was required.
By the time puberty hit in the 7th grade, I hung out with the guys that were the outcasts. Believe it or not, there were some kids, white kids, fat kids, Mexicans and others mixed kid who even white kids, black kids or other Mexicans didn't like or accept because we were different, I guess. In any event, there were three or four of us who walked to school together, sometimes.
A couple of the kids in my affinity group were really bad or had a bad home scene. One white kid came from a really poor family. He was a dirty white youngster, who you could see was dirty and he didn't have shoes when he and his brotherts first moved into a duplex on Indiana Avenue. I'd played with him, sometimes. But, he'd start fights sometimes.There was no monther in the house. His dad drank and was very violent. Sometimes the cops would come out. After awhile, we wouldn't play or interract with him and he'd stay away. What does that have to do with music?
By the time I was half way through the 8th grade, I was sort of on my way to juvenile delinquency as a petty thief. Stealing hubcaps and sneaking a cigarette to smoke was about as far as I wanted to go in the criminal activity. But, I never stole any hubcaps. I'd been kicked out of several classes in Junior High and received a fair number of paddlings (aka "swarts") by teachers and the Vice Principle.
My journey back to music began after an incident in print shop. Music is related to it. The short version is I spaced out on Friday in the last period while listening to the rhythmic groove of the line-o-type machine I was operating and doing typesetting. I hit a lever on a down beat that injected lead into the type setting jig that contained the student newspaper, which to be printed that evening before five p.m., and delivered Monday morning.
I hit the feed lever on a down beat and moltent lead spewed out of the machine all over the inner workings and the type flew out of the set box. It was a mess. I argued in vein, that it was an accident and that I could redo the type setting and even come in on Saturday to get things back. But the print shop teacher was livid, yelling, "Out! Out! And never come in here again ..." along with other invectives and expletives. That event signaled the end of my vocational training, as I was not allow into any other shop class agqain!
Apparently, swats didn't work on the academic side. And, vocational training didn't work as I had been ordered out of the shop classes without any possibility of ever returning (insisted the teacher) So, the following week I was sent to a room by the vice principal. In that room was a person. Anyway, that peron asked me what I wanted to do and said maybe putting me in the art tract was all that was left. I stilll had to do academics, but I'd get to do art. That was OK, I said. I enjoyed classes in artwork, painting and theatre. Also, for the last period, seventh, I got into beginning band.
I started playing drums during middle of my second year at Mark Twain Jurnior High School. I'd been a problem in many classes. My grade were like, "B" "U" "U" in subjects I liked and "D" "U" "U" in those I didn't. The grade in the second position was for "cooperation" and the grade in the last position was "citizenship". And, the the incident in print shop was, ultimately, the fateful last straw.
Music truly transfored me. The "D's" went to "A's" and "B's". Citizenship and cooperation got bettter, too. Later, 1959 or so I attended I was mercifully transferred out of the Los Angeles Unified School Districts and into Santa Monica High School. I was able to go to SAMOHI, because my dad's business was in the Santa Monica Unified School District and I worked in his business after school! In that school district, I was in the choir, marching band, orchestra and pep band until 1962. Also, I did marching band at Santa Monica City College. In both high school at junior college, I was aquainted with or friends with guys like John Densmore, one of Carmen Dragon's sons (Dennis Dragon, I think) Barnard St. Clair Lee, Tim Weisberg and others.
My father had astutely pointed out that there was going to be a war around 1962-63. There was mandatory draft in the country, unfortunately, bad grades in a couple of classes resulted in a loss of my draft deferment as a college student. I was drafted in 1964, but joined the U.S.N. to avoid death in Viet Nam on the gound.
In the USN, I was in a music company in Great Lakes, Illinois where I completed basic training. But, I never went to Viet Nam. I was sent to Germany. But, not as a musician. I was a Communications Technician (that's another story). In my first (and only) deployment I picked up an acoustic bass playing at the urging of another draftee named Les Stewart (great tenor voice and guitarist). I also got to see and hear Maceo Parker a lot of times and talk to him over beers once. Maceo was stationed on the same duty station in Bremerhaven, Germany. All the cats (mostly brothers and a couple of hip white cats) would hang out Saturnday nights at a bar ran by a Nigerian named Chico. Maceo played at Chico's Place. That's where I actually got to have a beer or two with Maceo one morning.
Returning to SMCC in 1967 after active duty, I redeemed myself as a college failure. I attended UCSC (graduated with Honor's in Psychology) and untimately chose to attend UCLA Law School. By 1974, I decided I didn't really like law, got married and practiced poverty law in San Jose in 1974-1977. I passed the California Bar exam, I found I truly wanted to be a professional musician. However, life and love and children had interviened by that time. There truly was not space for family and professional music. I abandoned the desire to be a musician, without looking back. After all, I had made the decision to have a family. I didn't get married to be a great musician!
In 2001, Jan (my life partner and wife of 27 years) passed and all kids were grown and out of the house, graduated or graduating from college. So, in 2002, I looked in the mirror and asked, "What's next?" My ears work. My hands work. My eyes work. So, it looked like it was my turn to be what I am. I finally had made enough money to buy a good bass to learn on. So, I resolved to learn how to really play the thing. So, as a single unattached free man, I bought a good bass from Steve Swan. I joined International Society of Bassist, and put on a CD from my collection callled 'The Best of John Coltrane' (or somethding like that) and I began by transcribing with the bass by putting on 'Trane' tracks.
All having been said, What you hear is what you get!
Awards
I wake up and become aware of my existence!
Gear
Agular bass gear. Acoustic Image bass gear. A couple of upright basses (one Chinese made and the other German, circa 1950). 5 string fretted and fretless and a 4 string electric bass. Several guitars. You know, the usually suspects. A couple of computers and the usual technological toys and software applications.
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