While I was in the prison yard I did not realize that Matranga had contacted his lawyer to have us all let out on parole. I did not even have to appear in court. It was part of a system that was always worked in those days. Whenever a crowd of fellows were rounded up in a raid on a gambling house or saloon the proprietor knew how to "spring" them, that is, get them out of jail.
Nevertheless, I'll never forget that experience as a stay-a-whiler with those long termers.
It's a funny thing how life can be such a drag one minute and a solid sender the next. The day I got out of jail Mardi Gras was being celebrated. It is a great day for all New Orleans, and particularly for the Zulu Aid Pleasure and Social Club. Every member of the Club masquerades in a costume burlesquing some famous person. The King of the Zulus, also in masquerade costume, rides with six other Zulus on a float giving away coconuts as souvenirs. The members march to the good jumping music of the brass bands while the King on his throne scrapes and bows to the cheering crowds. Every year Mr. Jamke, the gravel and sand dealer, invites the King and his cortege and all the Zulus to come to his offices for champagne. He has been doing this as long as anyone can remember, and many of the Zulu members have been working for him ever since I was born.
When I ran into this celebration and the good music I forgot all about Sore Dick and the Parish Prison. Most of the members of the Zulu Club then lived around Liberty and Perdido Streets, but now Mardi Gras has become so famous – people come from all over America to see its parade – that it includes doctors, lawyers and other important people from all over the city. Later on a Lady Zulu Club was organ ized. It had been my life-long dream to be the King of the Zulus, as it was the dream of every kid in my neighborhood. A new king for the year is elected the day after Mardi Gras.
Garfield Carter - or Papa Gar as we called him - was the proudest stepper in the whole parade, and he had the nerve to parody Captain Jackson. He paraded disguised as the captain of the Zulu Police Force. The crowd used to go wild when Papa Gar strutted by with his face blackened and with big white lips.
Monk Story was King of the Zulus that year, and he was a colorful character too. He could always keep a crowd doubled up with laughter at his stories, and he talked very much like Mortimer Snerd. However, he was not as good-looking. Monk was really in there that year as King of the Zulus. I finally got my wish to be King of the Zulus, and I can hardly wait for a chance to be it again.
Johnny Keeling, one of the nicest boys in our neighborhood, got into trouble with the downtown bad boys that Mardi Gras, and as usual Black Benny came to the rescue and sapped up those guys beautifully. It was better not to try to mess up the boys of our neighborhood when Black Benny was around. Of course, Black Benny had to go to jail for the job he did. But that did not make much difference. As usual he was allowed to leave the jail when he got a job to play the bass drum. As a matter of fact, the very next day Bunk Johnson went down to the prison and asked the warden to loan him Benny for Frankie Dusen's Eagle Band which was playing at a funeral. After the shindig was over Benny returned to jail with a little extra change in his pocket. Sore Dick did not throw any brooms under Black Benny's legs; if he did they would have had to build a new jail.
One time Benny had a run of luck when he was gambling at Savocas' with George Bo'hog, Red Cornelius, Black Mannie Hubbard, Sun Murray, Ben Harding and Aaron Harris. George Bo'hog was running the cotch game, and he was sore as hell at Benny because he was winning all the money. But he wasn't saying anything to Benny.
Isaiah Hubbard, Mannie's brother, was leaning on the rail around the table watching the game. He hadn't cared much for Benny for years and he insulted him every chance he had. Benny, who always tried to avoid trouble whenever possible, ignored Isaiah as much as he could, particularly since Isaiah was a tough man with his dukes. He was the only guy Benny allowed to get in his hair with slurring remarks about his ragged clothes. Isaiah himself had practically everything: money, clothes and the women who made the most money.
Isaiah was a real black man, with a thick mustache, who carried a big pistol even the cops knew he had. That day it seemed as though something had to happen. When Benny finished playing cotch he went to cash in his chips. The joint was as quiet as a church mouse when Isaiah spoke.
"You black bastard," he said to Benny. "You've won all the money, so now you can get your clothes out of hock. Now you can quit flagging that ragged ass of yours around the block."
Benny stopped in his tracks and walked right up to Isaiah.
"I don't like that remark/' Benny said. "And furthermore I am tired of you slurring me. If you've got anything against me get it off your chest right now. We can settle the whole thing right here."
"No. I don't like you," Isaiah said, "and I never did."
As he said that Isaiah made a pass at Benny. Now Benny was fast on his feet; he knew something about ring fighting and he had been in a great many battle royals. He ducked and came up with a right that floored Isaiah. When this happened the crowd started to edge toward the door getting ready to cut out any minute. But they stayed when they saw it was going to be a fair fist fight, which was to Benny's advantage. They fought like two trained champions, and nobody dared to touch them. Finally Benny feinted and hit Isaiah with everything he had, which was plenty. Isaiah landed on his tail and went out like a light. Nobody said a word as Benny put his money in his pocket with tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Thank God," he said, "that's over. This man has been hounding me for years. I knew this was going to happen someday, but I never knew when. But when it did happen I knew it was going to be he or I." And he walked out.
No one said a word and no one followed Black Benny as he walked down Perdido Street shouting at the top of his voice: "Thank God, I finally got a chance to settle with Isaiah Hubbard."
As a matter of fact, Benny and Isaiah met frequently after that, but they never fought again.
Poor Benny was always getting into trouble. Now that he had won enough money he went to get his clothes out of the pawnshop where they had been for nearly a year: a nice looking brown box-back suit with thin white stripes, tan shoes from Edwin Clapps, a brown Stetson hat and a real light pink shirt with a beautiful tie. Oh, he looked very good! And we all rejoiced to see him so well dressed again. It had been raining heavily and the streets were muddy, and water from the overflowing sewers was backing up in the gutters and smelling like hell.
In those days when kegs of beer were finished they were rolled out on the sidewalk so that they could be picked up by the brewers' wagons. The fellows who hung around the neighborhood used to sit on these barrels and chew the rag. After he had gotten his clothes out of pawn Benny was sitting with the gang on a barrel – he was so happy – when a cop came up to him and told him to come to the station for questioning by the Chief of Police. The cop they had sent to bring Benny in was one of the oldest men on the force. He interrupted Benny in the midst of one of his funny stories.
"Benny," the old cop said, "the Chief of Police wants you down at the station."
"Man," Benny answered, "I haven't had these clothes on for damn near a year. There ain't no use of you or nobody trying to take me to jail, because I ain't going to jail today for nobody. Nobody. Do you get it?"