The Club

(An excerpt from Soul Deep, a novel recently completed. It’s 1968 and the 12-year-old protagonist [along with his older sister Amanda] has just come from Los Angeles to spend the summer in New Orleans with his great-aunt and great-uncle.)

Uncle Samuel stood up and stretched. “C’mon,” he said, “we’re gonna take a walk.” He opened the front door and stepped into the foyer. “Amelia,” he yelled out as got his hat from the coat closet, “me and Malcolm are goin’ to the club!”

“Sam Jumper, you can’t take that child to that heathen club o’ yours!” she yelled down from the second floor.

“Mind your own business, old woman,” he called back after smiling and winking at me, “we’ll be back in an hour or two.” Uncle Samuel closed the door without waiting for further comment from Aunt Amelia.

We walked down the stairs and down the walk to the sidewalk. Uncle Samuel lit another cigarette as we walked leisurely down the street. Everyone seemed to know Uncle Samuel. People waved from their porches and called out his name. A couple of folks came and shook his hand and he put his hand on my shoulder and, proudly it seemed to me, introduced me as his nephew from California.

“Lots’a good folks in this neighborhood,” Uncle Samuel said proudly at one point. “Didn’t think I would ever take to big city life but now I can’t imagine livin’ anywhere but in this old city.”

We walked down three blocks and then up two to a busy street. We went into a nondescript storefront that was “the club” (it really had no other name I would come to find.) The club was a private men’s club where Uncle Samuel and other men in the neighborhood gathered to drink, smoke cigars and cigarettes, play pool, and, most importantly, socialize. Uncle Samuel would later tell me that it wasn’t exactly legal…it had no liquor license…but it was generally accepted (and the police looked the other way as long as there was no trouble…and the members of the club made sure that troublemakers were dealt with quickly.)

The club was dark and smoky and it took a couple of minutes for my eyes to adjust. There was music…Billie Holiday, B.B. King, Etta James, Jackie Wilson…playing softly from a jukebox in the corner but the predominant sound was that of raucous laughter, jovial teasing, and unabashedly affectionate cursing. The club smelled of beer and sweat, cigar and cigarette smoke, whiskey and leather…it was, I thought at the time, the smell of men.

The men in the club welcomed Uncle Samuel heartily. He introduced me to so many men that I couldn’t possibly remember all of their names. The men ran the gamut of thin to rotund…cream-colored to blue-black…some smiled, some didn’t, but they all made me feel at home. Uncle Samuel bought a bottle of beer for himself and a bottle of grape soda for me. Then Uncle Samuel, a very dark, very muscular man with unsmiling eyes (but with a friendly, if somewhat reserved, demeanor just the same) named Vernon and a squat light-skinned man with freckles and reddish hair (who was, of course, called Red) led me over to one of the two pool tables in the cavernous space. Uncle Samuel, Vernon (who was the only man in the club wearing a tie), and Red patiently taught me how to play pool.

It was dark when Uncle Samuel, Red, Vernon, and an unflaggingly-chipper guy they called (for reasons nobody could really articulate) “Wha’sho” came out of the club. The men shared a few more minutes of talk and then we went our separate ways.

Uncle Samuel put his arm on my shoulder as we walked. “Did you have a good time?”

I smiled up at him. “Yes, sir,” I said truthfully, “that’s a cool club.”

Uncle Samuel gave my shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “Your aunt doesn’t think so,” he said, “but we like it. Sometimes a man’s gotta have a place where there ain’t no women.” I thought I caught just a hint of rueful bitterness in his voice but if it was there it was fleeting.

When we got back to the house, the savory aromas of pork chops, mustard greens, and cornbread greeted us as we opened the door. Amanda, who looked like she was in good spirits, was setting the table in the dining room.

Aunt Amelia peered out from the kitchen trying to affect as stern a face as she could manage. “Bout time you brought your skinny butt home, Sam Jumper,” she said gruffly. “Bad enough you always goin’ off to drink and whatnot wit’ those no-account friends of yours but now you’re exposin’ that poor child to all that sinfulness…”

Uncle Samuel just shook his head and walked over to her. He kissed her dark cheek and then reached around and patted her ample behind. “It smells good up in here, girl,” he said as Aunt Amelia giggled coquettishly before remembering that Amanda and I were there and then she pointedly glared at Uncle Samuel.

“C’mon Malcolm, let’s wash up,” he said, ignoring her look with a rakish smile, heading for the downstairs washroom.

“Aren’t you afraid she’s gonna get really mad at you sometime?” I asked as we washed our hands.

Uncle Samuel chuckled patiently. “Son, me and your Aunt been really mad at each other more times than we c’n count…the trick is that we don’t stay mad at each other for long. Life’s too short to waste on bullshit like stayin’ mad…when push comes to shove we know that we got each other t’ count on no matter what.” He looked down at me and smiled. “Now let’s get out there and get some of them pork chops before they get cold.”