sponsored in part by
Page 3 On one horribly hot day, when I was just about seven, I decided to venture across the railroad tracks that divided our town to the other side, the good side, the white side. I was just skipping along singing out loud and smiling at the people that I passed. They commented on my voice saying how nice I sounded and encouraged me to keep singing as I skipped along. As I remember, it was an extremely muggy summer afternoon and, despite my dry throat, I kept on singing hoping that some admirer would give me a nickel or so to buy an ice cold soda pop. As I continued on my journey, I began to admire all the big luxury cars, especially those sleek, long Cadillacs. In my era all the really flashy cars, and even some of the trucks had great running boards on them. Tyler was for the most part a monied suburb where a lot of the rich oil people built their magnificent mansions. On this side of the railroad tracks money seemed to be no object at all.
I continued to sing some song, I think it was a ballad, and I strolled my way down the street. That's when I spotted a shiny new pickup truck as it came speeding down the block in my direction. Standing on the pickup truck's running boards were about five white kids just having the time of their lives. They were all laughing and eating some red, juicy looking watermelon. For a moment, I imagined them to be myself and my brothers and sisters. Oh, how happy they all seemed. What fun they were having hanging on to those running boards on a brand new shiny truck on a hot summer day.
Just as they neared me, one of the little white boys, who appeared to be around my same age, reached out his arm towards me seemingly to offer me a slice of his watermelon. Delighted, I got myself into position to receive the welcome refreshment. As the truck neared me, the little pickup began to speed up, and just as the group of children passed me by I reached out my hand to grab my gift. I turned around and there it was, pow, boom, bam, right in the kisser. The white boy slapped me full in the face with the slice of watermelon. All I could do was yell, scream and curse at him and the rest of them as they laughingly continued down the road.
As a child and young man, I went through a lot of terrible times in Tyler. I knew very early that I definitely had to get out of there. It was its own special kind of hell.
Mom was always my biggest fan. She was always pleased with my voice and would always enjoy my singing. Sometimes I would sit her down and give a whole show that I had put together. I could mimi any ballad that I happened to hear on the radio, any tune at all. Mom would just sit there and be totally amazed with me and say, "Carl, you sing so wonderful. How is it that you could make your voice sound exactly like anybody else? You have a real gift."
My talent came from my mother and from God, but at that young age I really didn’t realize that yet. It wasn’t until years later, when I was ready to leave for California, that I got my one and only chance to hear my mom sing. I had snuck up on her in the kitchen when she was home alone. I had come early and there she was in the kitchen singing her heart out. I said, "Mom, is that you?" She kind of smiled shyly and said, "Yes, honey, that’s me." I said, "Mom, you sing so good. Why didn’t you ever try to pursue a career?" She claimed that she was just too shy and too afraid to appear publicly before people. She asked me not to tell anyone, especially my father. She was very afraid of him at times and didn’t want him to know that she still, all these years later, really wanted to sing. All of her family and friends had told her repeatedly that she had been foolish to marry so young, that she had been ridiculous to marry beneath herself. Wasn’t she one of the great beauties of the town? Everybody knew when she married him how talented she was. No one thought it would last. Somehow it did.
Mother decided to keep her vocal talent hidden and she was forced to live a life that she was not at all totally happy with but she didn’t let us kids see it. At times, I guess she felt it was too late for her. With a jealous husband and five kids, I guess she felt her window of opportunity had long since passed.
I’m sure any mother would agree having any number of kids is indeed a handful, but to be the mother of five kids with a jealous husband and no money is a job in itself, and we kids were a handful.
CHAPTER ONE
BLACK GOLD TEXAS TEA