Central Avenue Jazz: Los Angeles Black Music of the Forties

Author(s): Gary Marmorstein

Source: Southern California Quarterly, Vol. 70, No. 4 (WINTER 1988), pp. 415-426
Published by: University of California Press on behalf of the Historical Society of
Southern California
Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/41171337
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 Central Avenue Jazz:
Los Angeles Black Music
of the Forties
by Gary Marmorstein

YOU BEGIN BENEATH the Santa Monica Freeway in

downtown Los Angeles and walk south on Central Avenue to
103rd Street, you'll tour a narrow, semi-industrial, burned-
out street replete with liquor stores, boarded storefronts, auto
suppliers, fast-food franchises, the occasional Baptist church, a
few metal warehouses and, at 48th Street, the lone apartment
building that scrapes the sky though it stands less than ten
stories high. These days the sounds of Central Avenue come
mostly from buses and the cracked mufflers of battered cars.
Forty years ago, however, along and around this seven-mile
stretch of avenue, there was a sunburst of black identity and
activity orchestrated by the music we have come to call jazz.
During the 1940s, the decade connecting World War II and
the dawn of the so-called Eisenhower Era, Los Angeles was a
mecca for black musicians. Among the notable jazz musicians
who arrived in those days and hung around the scene were
Charlie Parker, Art Tatum, Nat "King" Cole, Howard McGhee,
Kenny Dorham, Ray Brown, Red Callendar, Jimmy Rowles, Oscar
Peterson, Barney Kessel and Shelly Manne; those who were
raised or came of age here include Charles Mingus, Dexter
Gordon, Eric Dolphy, Hampton Hawes, Zoot Sims, Art Pepper,
Teddy Edwards, Sonny Criss, Harold Land S г., Jimmy Knepper
and Art Farmer.

New York City has been the most notorious of black American
music cities: the Harlem nightlife of the 1920s, which included
the tail end of stride piano and the heyday of the dance band,
segued into the 52nd Street clubs of the 1940s. New Orleans has
long been acknowledged as the womb of ragtime, of Dixieland,
and - with Louis Armstrong's maturity - of the improvised

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Historical Society of Southern California

jazz solo. And Chicago was home not only to many big bands and
to Jelly Roll Morton but to the urban blues that make up the
foundation of most R&B in this country.
Somehow, though, Los Angeles's contribution to Afro-
American music is too often overlooked. One reason may be that
Los Angeles, despite its downtown, has never had a definable
geographic center. Its nightlife spots were, and still are, sprinkled
over dozens of neighborhoods and suburbs. Another reason may
be that Los Angeles was, musically speaking, a relatively late
bloomer; it did not become one of the major urban areas of black
population until the spring of 1942, when the Southern Pacific
Railroad Company imported hundreds of workers and their
families from southern states.1 By then the United States had
entered the war in the Pacific and able-bodied males were in
short supply. As black immigration to Los Angeles quickened,
Central Avenue, which ran parallel to the Southern Pacific line
down to Slauson Avenue (where it bisected the Atchison, Topeka
and Santa Fe line before tailing east), became the locus of black
business and recreation - which included black music.

The first wave of black migration to Los Angeles had actually

occurred in the late 1880s, a few years after a federal ban on
Chinese laborers went into effect; the then almighty California
Cotton Growers and Manufacturers Association brought south-
ern blacks west to work in the agricultural regions north of Los
Angeles County.2 Nominally "free" since the Emancipation
Proclamation (September 1862), blacks were still denied rights
and privileges routinely accorded whites. In southern California,
which was a weird amalgam of eastern and midwestern
Protestant influences draped over an essentially Hispanic cul-
ture, the prevalent attitude of whites toward blacks was one of
rampant fear and ignorance. (Los Angeles, as a political entity
off to the sidelines of the Civil War, was sympathetic to the
Confederate cause.) In Southern California Country, Carey
McWilliams quoted a comment typical of most editions of the
Los Angeles News of 1867, less than two years before passage of
the Fifteenth Amendment of the Constitution: "The soul of the
Negro is as black and as putrid as his body. Should such a
creature vote? He has no more capacity for reason than his
native hyena or crocodile."3

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 Central Avenue Jazz

Such barely controlled racial hysteria was still very much in

evidence after 1900, when Los Angeles began to overtake San
Francisco as the urban center of the West. By the 1920s, blacks
all over the country, especially in those states that comprise
what is now called the Sun Belt, were feeling the depressed
conditions of farming regions and mining towns. For many of
them, the only logical migratory step was to the cities - and to
the West.4

At first, newly-arrived black families clustered around

Temple Street downtown. As more blacks arrived in the 20s, they
were shunted south toward "Mud Town" (probably named for
the wildcat oil wells that dotted the fields of south central Los
Angeles), otherwise known as Watts, which was annexed to the
city of Los Angeles in 1926.5 It was Central Avenue that most
directly connected the older black district with Watts.
One musician who arrived during Central Avenue's boom
period in the early 1940s was drummer/bandleader Roy Porter. A
native of a Colorado mining town that fell off the map once the
mines dried up, Porter came to Los Angeles in June 1944, a month
shy of age twenty-one. Cast adrift in this unfamiliar town,
Porter went looking for a drumming gig. He found one when he
replaced the crazy scat singer Leo Watson in the Spirits of
Rhythm. With Porter's muscular drumming, the Spirits garnered
a following among white afficionados and frequently played
Major Kayes', on Cahuenga Boulevard, then considered the west
side of town for a black group.6
"It was all over on the east side of town," Porter told writer
David Keller. "At the time Howard McGhee was working at the
Down Beat, there would be Johnny Otis with his big band at
Club Alabam, which was only three or four doors down. Across
the street would be Slim Gaillard with his 'Cement Mixer-Putty
Putty' thing."7
By the mid-1940s, Central Avenue had become the jazz
thoroughfare of the West. On Central itself, there were dozens of
legitimate nightclubs, including The Brown Bomber, Bird in the
Basket,8 and the lounge at the Dunbar Hotel, where pianist/
singer Nellie Lutcher held court for a time.9 And there were the
so-called breakfast clubs - after-hours places where you brought

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Historical Society of Southern California

your own booze and danced past sunrise. One of the most popular
of these was Lovejoy's, where singer Jimmy Witherspoon hung
out when he wasn't washing dishes at the old Owl drugstore, at
8th and Broadway.10 There were dances at the Masonic, at 52nd
and Central, and at the YMCA, at 28th and Naomi, where black
bands could play if they were sponsored, even though blacks
were not permitted to use the swimming pool.11 There were day
concerts at the South Park bandshell, at Avalon and 53rd. Black
musicians gathered at their own union, Local 767, located on
Central underneath the Santa Monica Freeway. Record stores
that featured black music were clustered near the corner of
Central and Vernon; someone called "Flash" had two or three
shops in the neighborhood, and a Dolphin's of Hollywood record
store stood there until the owner was shot and killed.12

There are widely divergent views on how safe Central was at

the time. "You could walk from 1st Street to 103rd all night long
and the police wouldn't bother you," music teacher Samuel
Brown said recently.13 The Red Car trolley was the mode of
public transportation, and riding south from downtown to Watts
on the "Vм line, you could watch pedestrians hopping from one
club to another and sleek cars cruising by to see who was playing
where. In his autobiography Raise Up Off Me, the late pianist
Hampton Hawes recalls, "On any weekend night on Central
Avenue in the 1940s you could probably see more blinking red
lights than on any other thoroughfare in the country."14 Ac-
cording to Hawes, whole clubs full of patrons were often taken
down to the Newton Street stationhouse, near 14th and Central,
by white cops searching for drugs and weapons.15 In his 1935
study Los Angeles: City of Dreams, white reporter Harry Carr
wrote:

Central Avenue has jazz nightclubs, tough Negroes with

razors, joints as rough as Beai [sic] Street, Memphis .... My
boot-black tells me that the race feeling here is perverse and
dangerous. "Yah suh, Boss," he says. " Down in Mississippi I
know where I belongs; but in California I don't know kin I or
kint 1. 1 stand in front of a soda fountain uptown and I asks
myself: 'Black boy is you ain't or ain't you is.' Do I dare go in
or don't I?"16

Although Carr's point of view seems to derive from another

century, he was, to be fair, trying to convey the Los Angeles

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 Central Avenue Jazz

practice of Jim Crow, which was subtler and therefore potentially

more hateful than in other parts of the country. If a black male
was suspected of holding narcotics, spotted driving a car with
out-of-state plates, or found consorting with a white woman, he
was harassed, if not booked, by the police.
Black men and white women together, in the Los Angeles of
the 1940s, were part of a larger set of complex social issues that
were hardly abstract to patrons and musicians of the Central
Avenue scene. Just as white New Yorkers sashayed up to Harlem
earlier in the century to sit in whites-only audiences to hear
black entertainers such as Cab Calloway, so white Hollywood
and west side residents drove over to Central Avenue to take in
the wilder, harder swinging black music that filled the clubs. In
Beneath the Underdog, the somewhat fictionalized biography of
bassist Charles Mingus, scenes abound of east side liaisons
between black male musicians and the white women who came
in from the Hollywood Hills to experience the music - and
whatever kicks came along during the night.17 "Our music was
catching on/' wrote Hampton Hawes, "drawing. . . the white
middle-class chicks, the rebels who were turning away from
Horace Heidt, pulled by the realness of the black music and the
excitement and hipness of the atmosphere/48 A Los Angeles
native, Hawes was raised at 59th and Budlong, near USC, in
what was referred to before World War II as the "green-lawn "
district, and he and his childhood friends "identified with Errol
Flynn, Ann Sheridan and Gloria DeHaven" - white movie stars
who conceivably stepped downtown now and then to take in a
scene that barely resembled Romanoff's or The Brown Derby.19
When blacks and whites mixed socially, it was only on the
east side; it simply wasn't done north or west of downtown; and
downtown itself was riddled with Jim Crow policy. Samuel
Brown recalls the eerie humiliation of being forced to sit in the
balcony (derisively called "Nigger Heaven") of the one-time
RKO Theater, at 8th and Broadway, to hear Ethel Waters sing.
Brown often ran into pianist Art Tatum after hours on Central
Avenue, but he could not go hear Tatum play at the Swanee Inn, a
white-owned club on West wood Boulevard, because "they didn't
want you there." As a general rule, it was all right for a popular
black musician to play a white club, providing there were no

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Historical Society of Southern California

union hassles - a black artist such as Tatum, in fact, was in

great demand at Hollywood parties, where his playing was often
captured by wire recorders - but it was definitely not all right
for a black patron to venture too far west to hear that same black
musician. It's no wonder that Bill "Bojangles" Robinson, a
universally loved black entertainer, quietly amassed his fortune
playing "darky" parts in Shirley Temple movies while militantly
carrying a gun to protect himself and his family from white
harassment and building himself the finest house on the east
side, at 37th and Vermont.20
It was into this Jim Crow atmosphere - this air of quiet
bigotry and unspoken geographic sanctions - that the great
altoist Charlie "Bird" Parker arrived in December 1945 to play
Billy Berg's in Hollywood. Already highly sophisticated in
recognizing and deflecting the most subtle forms of racism,
Parker would still have a tough time in Los Angeles during the
next eight months. Almost immediately upon arrival, Parker got
strung out on bad heroin procured on Central Avenue, and he
remained aloof and irresponsible until the evening he met one
Emry Byrd - otherwise known as "Moose the Mooche."21
"A personable, sanguine man," Ross Russell wrote in Bird
Lives!, "the Moose once had been an athletic star and honor
student at Jefferson High."22 The Moose's legs, however, had
become paralyzed by a bout with polio, and his Central Avenue
shoeshine stand, which featured racks of records for sale, was
actually a miniature drug warehouse. After scoring from the
Moose, Charlie Parker, on his way to a recording session on
Santa Monica Boulevard in Roy Porter's car,23 wrote the now
famous "Moose the Mooche," and subsequently signed a contract
with Dial Records in which he turned over half his Dial royalties
to Emry Byrd. Within a few years, the Moose was behind bars up
in San Quentin and writing to Dial's attorney asking for his
money.24
Parker remained in Los Angeles after the rest of his band had
gone home to New York. Ross Russell, then a proprietor of Tempo
Music Shop, at 5946 Hollywood Boulevard, across from Floren-
tine Gardens, had recently begun the Dial label. Russell subse-
quently recorded Parker and Roy Porter at the C.P. MacGregor
Studio on Western Avenue.25 Parker was invited to play in the

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 Central Avenue Jazz

"Jazz at the Philharmonic" series, which derived its name from

the old Los Angeles Philharmonic Auditorium, on Pershing
Square, and which kept the name long after the dance-inciting
black music had been banished from its hallowed halls. For
much of his Los Angeles stay, Parker would thrill his young
worshippers by taking their prof erred "axes" and blowing a bar
or two, and he often sat in on gigs at the Club Royale (Highland
off Hollywood Boulevard), the Hi-De-Ho (Western and 50th), or
the Club Finale.26
The Finale was located at 115 South San Pedro Street in
what was actually the Little Tokyo section downtown but was,
during the war, variously called "Little Harlem" or "Bronzeville"
because American blacks had replaced the area's Japanese-
Americans, most of whom had been placed in internment camps
for the duration.27 The Finale was a breakfast club owned by
vaudevillian Foster Johnson, who liked to station himself below
the bandstand and dance to Parker's solos. When Johnson
wearied of paying off the cops, he closed the club. The Howard
McGhees reopened the Finale, but they had their own hassles
with the cops because the great trumpeter was black and Mrs.
McGhee was white. Parker, meanwhile, was becoming increas-
ingly crazed by a combination of heroin and local Jim Crow and
finally blew his lid at the Civic Hotel, up the block at San Pedro
and First, where he was found wandering through the lobby
wearing nothing but a pair of socks. His next whistle stop was
Camarillo State Hospital.28
Musical luminaries other than Charlie Parker had already
made Los Angeles their home base. Louis Armstrong, who did
not much care for the bebop purveyed on Central Avenue (al-
though without him bebop would not have existed), was often in
town for movie work. Lionel Hampton was here so often he began
to use saxophonist Dexter Gordon's father as his regular physi-
cian. Art Tatum was a fixture. Nat Cole, who had often played
the 331 Club on 8th Street and served as intermission pianist at
the Swanee Club, had recently become the first black pop singer
with a commercial appeal to both blacks and whites.
But there were other musicians coming of age. Charles
Mingus grew up on 108th in Watts, attended the One Hundred
Eleventh Street Elementary School,29 between Central and

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Historical Society of Southern California

Wilmington,30 and, with his family, attended Grant's Chapel

First A.M.E. (African Methodist Episcopal) Church at 108th and
Compton. After a long, painful stint playing cello with the Los
Angeles Junior Philharmonic, Mingus went to Jordan High, on
103rd near Alameda. Mingus' education in composition accel-
erated under Lloyd Reese, who had a studio on McKinley Avenue
two blocks west of Central and taught many of the musicians
then growing up in the city.31 One of Reese's other students was
Eric Dolphy.
Dolphy, too, was born in Los Angeles, played clarinet in the
West 36th Street School band, learned oboe at Foshay Junior
High (on Western between Jefferson and what was formerly
Santa Barbara and is now Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard),
cut the grass for Lloyd Reese to help pay for his lessons, and,
while at Dorsey High, on Coliseum near Crenshaw, came under
the tutelage of horn expert Merle Johnston. Before Dolphy left
town to join the Navy and begin the musical explorations that
would place him at the forefront of postbop musicians, he played
at Los Angeles City College with saxophonist/vocalist Vi Redd,
as well as in the bands of Roy Porter and Gerald Wilson.32 One of
Wilson's other alumni was trombonist-turned-pianist Horace
Tapscott.
Tapscott attended Lafayette Junior High, near 14th and
Central, where he came under the influence of municipal
conductor Percy MacDavid. In the late 40s, Tapscott attended
what was probably the most musically active of public schools,
Jefferson High, at Jefferson and Central. While a student,
Tapscott could attend the dances at the Elks Club, which was a
stone's throw from the high school, or the popular talent shows
at the nearby Lincoln Theater, on 23rd and Central.33
But at the Down Beat, "we'd stand outside and go in at
intermission" - unless, of course, he and his friends had a
mature individual to accompany them.34 Usually that job fell to
Samuel Brown, the first black teacher at Jefferson High and the
educator who has probably taught more great young jazz
musicians than any other in Los Angeles.
"I went all the time with the kids," Brown said recently. He
remembers walking down Central, poking his head into places
such as the Crescendo or Club Araby, and it wasn't unusual for

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 Central Avenue Jazz

him to see his students up on the bandstands. Brown grew up on

33rd Street, took piano lessons from his grandmother, and
graduated from Jefferson High in 1926. He began teaching at the
night school there in 1933. "I was fresh from USC," he said.
"Jazz was an obscene word then. We'd say, 'Do you play jazz?'
and you'd say, 'Oh, no!'"35
For his students' solid musical foundations, Brown gives
much of the credit to the black church. "The church," he said,
"was the focal point of all blacks everywhere - socially,
politically, musically."36 Black leaders such as W.E.B. DuBois
visited Brown's church, the People's Independence at 18th and
Paloma, where Eric Dolphy's mother Sadie sang in the choir.
Horace Tapscott, who attended the New Hope Baptist (formerly
also at 18th and Paloma, now at 52nd and Central), which had
not one but two orchestras, said, "Dancing, playing horns and
drums in the churches in the 1930s - that's where it all
started."37 Eric Dolphy briefly taught Sunday School at the
Westminster Presbyterian, where Hampton Hawes's father
preached.38
In the 1920s and 1930s in Los Angeles, black children went to
church as a matter of course. As Horace Tapscott said, "Most of
the young black kids in my generation had to go to church.
That's not true today."39 Without the church as a musical
training ground, young black musicians frequently had to go
outside their communities to pick up a musical education.
But it was not just the change in church attendance that
began to transform Central Avenue, which, by 1952, had lost
much of the nightlife electricity it had had during the war. In
fact, Samuel Brown insists that the war itself catalyzed both the
rise and fall of Central Avenue. "We gained and we lost," he said.
"The nightclubs had begun to jump; things were thriving. They
were trying to get the boys to enlist. A lot of the kids went and
came back drunk. Everything was completely segregated every-
where. It had its effect."40 When writer David Keller asked Roy
Porter why the Central Avenue jazz scene broke up, Porter
replied:
There's really no one answer. First off, the war ended, and
all the soldiers who had money in their pockets went home.
Then the Red Car electric trolleys were taken off the

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Historical Society of Southern California

streets. . . . Some of the younger musicians started using

drugs because they wanted to be like Charlie Parker. . . .
But the music had to move on. It couldn't stay on Central
Avenue forever.41

Minus the economic boom and patriotic fervor of the war

years, there was a less celebratory feeling, and the music between
downtown and Watts took on a grittier edge: many musicians
turned to what they knew first and best - the blues. R&B clubs
such as Johnny Otis's Barrelhouse, at 106th and Wilmington,
and the Sawdust Inn began to attract a wider clientele. Tied in
with airplay and commercial time, juke box records could better
accomodate the three- or four-minute R&B hits than the longer,
more improvisatory jazz recordings. The West Coast purveyors
of "Cool Jazz/' who were primarily white, were receiving more
ink. The old Jim Crow policies downtown began to lift, and
blacks were - at least officially - welcome on the west side.
The black and white musicians' unions amalgamated in 1952,
throwing open more professional doors.
Many of the musicians dispersed. Mingus and Dolphy both
landed in New York, where, separately and together, they made
jazz history before their relatively early deaths. Dexter Gordon,
Hampton Hawes, and scores of others settled in Europe, where
their music was better appreciated. Some, such as bassist Red
Callendar, stayed in town and did session work; live radio was a
thing of the past, but all those movies and television shows had
to be scored by professional musicians.
Samuel Brown is now retired and lives in a spacious home
near Hamilton High School. Horace Tapscott continues to play
around Los Angeles, on solo piano and with his ' Arkestra." Roy
Porter, who emerged from San Quentin where he served drug
time in the 50s, manages an apartment building he owns in
the mid-city district of Los Angeles, frequently composing on his
Mason upright and overseeing the publication of his auto-
biography.
If, as Roy Porter said, the music had to move on, then at least
it left its mark on east side residents and visitors of the decade.
And all along the street that connects the Japanese Temple with
the Watts Towers and Civic Center with the most famous black

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 Central Avenue Jazz

suburb in the nation, arpeggios, rim shots and glissandos echo in

the night air.

NOTES

Acknowledgment. Another version of this article appeared originally i

Herald and is reprinted in revised form by permission.

'Keith E. Collins, Black Los Angeles: The Maturing of the Ghetto,

Angeles: Century Twenty-One Publishing, no date given), p. 5.
4bid.

*Carey McWilliams, Southern California Country (New York: Duell, Sloan & Pearce,
1946), p. 324.
'Collins, Black Los Angeles, p. 6.
"'McWilliams, Southern California Country, p. 325.
Conversation with Roy Porter, August 1984.
'David Keller, 'An Interview with Roy Porter,"/«^ Heritage Foundation Newsletter, IV,
No. 5 (Los Angeles: Jazz Heritage Foundation, September/October 1983): 14-15.
^Conversation with Roy Porter.
^'Whitney Balliett, Night Creature (New York: Oxford University Press, 1981), p. 262.
'"Arnold Shaw, Honkers and Shouters (New York: Macmillan, i980).
"Conversation with Samuel Brown, August 1984.
12Shaw, Honkers and Shouters.
'^Conversation with bamuel brown.

"Hampton Hawes & Don Asher, Raise Up Off Me (New York: Coward, McCan
Geoghegan), p. 29.
4bid.

u] Harry Carr, Los Angeles: City of Dreams (New York: D. Appleton-Century, 1935), p.
248.

17Charles Mingus, Beneath the Underdog (New York: Penguin Books, 1980).
'»Hawes and Asher, Raise Up Off Me, p. 29.
4bid., p. 3.
^'Conversation with Samuel Brown.
21 Ross Russell, Bird Lives! (London: Quartet Books, 1972), p. 202.
¿¿Ibid.

^Conversation with Roy Porter.

¡"Russell, Bird Lives!, p. 217.
'¿4bid., p. 221
24bid., p. 206.
^"McWilliams, Southern California Country, p. 325.
^Russell, Bird Lives!, p. 229.
2S) Mingus, Beneath the Underdog.
M)Gillespie's Guide to Los Angeles City and County (Los Angeles: California Map Co.,
1950).
:u Mingus, Beneath the Underdog.

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Historical Society of Southern California

*2Vladamir Simosko & Barry Tepperman, Eric Dolphy (New York: Da Capo Press,
1979).
^Conversation with Horace Tapscott, September 1984.
'•"Ibid.
35 Conversation with Samuel Brown.
4bid.

^Conversation with Horace Tapscott.

i8Hawes and Asher, Raise Up Off Me, p. 2.
^Conversation with Horace Tapscott.
^Conversation with Samuel Brown.
41 Interview with Koy rorter, p. 1У.

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