Life on the Streets for a Kid

I was born October 12, 1953 in Houston Texas to a teenage mother with issues. I was one of the unfortunate children who were abandoned at birth. The reason for this I've never found out. My grandmother whom I was left with told me that my mother said that I would be better off with her. Perhaps she was right about this in that my mother was killed by her man when I was twelve years old. I could have died the night he went on his murderous rampage. A real possibility since I overheard my Grandmother state that he said he would not raise a boy who was not his own.

As for my father, he was a married man who liked to chase young girls. I had limited contact with him and he covered his extra-marital affairs with utmost care. The fact that he sired a number of children out of wedlock notwithstanding. Over the course of twelve years he only visited me perhaps five times. I can't remember any birthday or Christmas presents from either of them. My grandmother tried her best but we were very poor and she was a strict disciplinarian who believed strongly in the "Spare the rod spoil the child" theology.

Being that I was a bad and unruly child, I got the switch on a regular basis. Even though I had a large yard to play in and plenty of trees to climb; I was lonely living with the old woman. To add to my displeasure we had no running water or indoor plumbing. I felt like an outcast among my peers and I guess they picked up on it because they treated me as such.

Around the age of eight or nine I began my scandalous ways. I would steal whatever was there for me to take. I began by stealing whatever Mama sent me to the store to get. This made my basic math skills pretty good by adding the prices of what she sent me for, making sure to give her the correct change.

I can't remember how I learned to read and could do so when I began kindergarten. It was not from Mama because she had only a third grade education and could barely read and comprehend what she read. I on the other hand read everything I could put my hands on.

I was a good student but found that made me even more unpopular with my peers. So I began doing just enough to get by so as to not call undue attention to myself. This frustrated my teachers more than me, but I remained an undercover achiever. On tests and such, I would intentionally score a 75 when I could have scored 100.

On top of this Mama bought me what my peers called "country clothes". I didn't like being made fun of. so I developed a way to get my own. I began to steal them. Sears was my shopping ground. I would wear baggy pants and choose the time of day when there was few staff and customers. I would then put sometimes two pair of pants under the ones I wore in.

The only other residences in our area were warehouses and I graduated to burglary. From the ages of nine to twelve I perfected my entry into these warehouses without leaving a trace. There was boat storage and I would steal knives, radios, loose change and such. I would then walk to the main street in our area and sell them at the pool hall and garages. I found that having my own money made me feel so much better about myself.

I also went on bottle hunting expeditions and would cash them in for the deposit. I then upped the ante by stealing bottles from one store and getting the deposit from another and viseversa. It was so simple to lift up a piece of fence and crawl under. So from a young age, I was a thief without consequence. I was never caught.

As I stated, Mama was not adverse to whipping my ass and on a couple of occasions she broke a couple of bones with her no holds barred approach to discipline. I deserved it. I refused to mind her and she would see all of the things I would come up with without explanation as to where I got them.

At the age of twelve we got a call one winter's morning informing Mama that my mother had been brutally killed by her junkie man. Stabbed thirty two times with an ice-pick while cowering beside the toilet. Mama didn't tell me the horrible details, but I could be quite the silent one and overheard her telling someone of the event.

Even though I didn't know my mother I took the lost pretty hard. My behavior went from bad to worse. On one of these occasions I talked really disrespectfully to her. I always ran from her when she attempted to whip me and she would have to use clever ways to trap me. On this day she was so angry that she picked up a bed slate and beat me with it. This broke my thumb and gave me a compound fracture. Seeing the bones sticking out frightened the both of us and she rode with me on the bus to the emergency room.

After this incident I told Mama that I had to go somewhere. I had been reading a lot about California and I made up my mind to take off for the land of bright lights and movie stars. I told Mama and she knew that she could do nothing to stop me, so off I went with $200 in my pocket and map showing how to get there.

People always sound astonished That I as a 13 year old hitched across the country. I have to say though that it was not very difficult at all for me. I got two rides the entire way with very nice people. The first was with a trucker and the second, who took me all the way to 6^th and Main downtown Los Angeles, was with a couple who were headed to San Francisco.

The niceness of this couple helped to convince me that I had made the right decision. Added to that, they had a sack of marijuana and I smoked my first joint with them. They had a beat up old Rambler station wagon which looked bad but drove well and they taught me to drive as we cruised the country roads of Highway 10.

I was asleep when we arrived in Los Angeles. I remember it was 10:30 p.m. on a Friday night when we said our goodbyes and there I was in the big city. I was dazzled by the lights and activity of Main Street in those days. There were so many people out and about. I stopped at a hamburger stand between 5^th and 6^th streets. It was a busy outdoor establishment with a variety of characters seated and walking past. I ordered a burger and a coke while soaking up this new and different atmosphere.

As I sat there being amazed by sites I'd never witnessed before, I began to second guess the bright idea of mine. It was to late now because here I was, and even though I didn't have a clue how I was to survive, going back to Mama's house was not a choice.
As I sat munching down my burger, a tall woman with long flowing hair sat next to me. She was dressed very provocitively, her lips glittering from the dark red lipstick, her nails long and painted the same deep red. She began talking to me and this unnerved me to no end. I wasn't used to having women approach me like this. I was not dumb though and knew that she had to be a prostitute. But she offered to buy me another coke and hamburger if I was still hungry.

I hastedly agreed and she introduced herself. She really had a deep voice for a woman, and she was so tall. She told me her name was Violet and asked mine. "Henry", I replied timidly. She went on to ask me where I lived and I told her of just arriving from Houston and that I didn't have anywhere yet. To my amazement, Violet invited me to come to her place. I couldn't believe my good luck and then I thought about it and informed her that I had no money. She told me that I didn't need any. "You look like a nice young man and you seem to need a friend. I'll be your friend."

The counter-man had been listening to Violet and my conversation. She got up and went to the cigarette machine and he took the opportunity to ask me; "You know that's a man right?" "A man??", I asked as I looked at her bending over to recieve the pack of smokes she had just purchased. Her skirt was short, baring the long expanse of her legs up to mid thigh.

At first I didn't want to believe him but he told me to look around. The street was crowded for this late hour and I thought that this was just the way of the big city of Los Angeles. But what caught my attention was the fact that there were a lot of women who were tall and dressed like Violet. Then another woman saw Violet and began yelling. "Hey Girl!! I haven't seen you on the set for a while." "I caught a case last week and they locked a bitch up for a minute."

What I noticed was the fact that this new woman had the same deep voice as Violet. I did get scared then and asked the counter-man, who informed me that his name was Hector, what should I do. He pulled me to the side and told me that unless I wanted to be trade, I should get the hell away from that sissy.
He told me if I had any money that the Cecil Hotel was the best and safest downtown. He informed me that he himself lived there. He pointed the way and as I attempted to leave Violet grabbed me by the arm asking where was I going?

E ven then I knew that decretion was the better part of valor and I told her/him that I had to find a bathroom. "The nearest one is at the bus station on 6th and Los Angeles. Wait a minute and I'll walk with you." I said alright but kept on walking. As I crossed 6th Street I heard Violet yelling for me and I stepped up my pace. The last I heard she/he was calling some vile name I'd never heard. I saw the Cecil Hotel's banner and I rushed to it.

Entering and walking the long walk to the front desk I expected Violet to appear at any second, demanding payment for the hamburger and coke she had offered. But no deep voiced screams followed me. I informed the clerk that Hector had told me I could get a room here. The clerk barely glanced at me as he gave me the rates. "$15 a day or $75 a week." I rented for a week, signed the register, was given a key, directed to the elevators, and up I went to the 10th floor.

When I got off the elevator the hallway was dark and forbearing and I hurridly searched out 1015. I fumbled the key in the lock and entered my new home.
The room was not half bad. As a matter of fact, it was bigger and better than the room I had at Mama's. The bedspread was a floral print of bright colors that were brighter in times before. There was a bathroom with towels laying across the toilet top neatly folded. And to top it off, there was a TV sitting in the corner of the room.

Imagine, I am thirteen years old, I have my own place in a brand new city, and I have one of my favorite things, a TV! With a full stomach I lay across the bed revelling in my newfound freedom. I remembered that I had a few joints in my pocket thanks to the hippie couple who dropped me in this wonderful new city.
I flipped on the tube, fired one up and relaxed into what I perceived as Heaven. Thus Part One of my new life began. I thought of tomorrow as a bright and sunny adventure.