We all cried, but it was useless. Mr. Jones called the four strongest boys in the dormitory to help him. He made two of them hold the culprit's legs and the other two his arms in such a way that he could only move his buttocks. To these writhing naked buttocks Mr. Jones gave one hundred and five lashes. All of the boys hollered, but the more we hollered the harder he hit. It was a terrible thing to watch the poor kid suffer. He could not sit down for over two weeks.
I saw several fools try to run away, but after what happened to that first boy I declined the idea.
One day we were out on the railroad tracks picking up worn-out ties which the railroad company gave to the Waifs' Home for fire wood. Two boys were needed to carry each tie. In our bunch was a boy of about eighteen from a little Louisiana town called Houma. You could tell he was a real country boy by the way he murdered the King's English. We called him Houma after his home town.
We were on our way back to the Home, which was about a mile down the road. Among us was a boy about eighteen or nineteen years old named Willie Davis and he was the fastest runner in the place. Any kid who thought he could outrun Willie Davis was crazy. But the country boy did not know what a good runner Davis was.
About a half mile from the Home we heard one of the ties drop. Before we realized what had happened we saw Houma sprinting down the road, but he was headed in the wrong direction. When he was about a hundred yards away Mr. Alexander saw him and called Willie Davis.
"Go get him, Willie."
Willie was after Houma like a streak of lightning while we all stood open-mouthed, wondering if Willie would be able to catch up. Houma speeded up a little when he saw that Willie was after him, but he was no match for the champ and Willie soon caught him.
Here is the pay-off.
When Willie slapped his hand on Houma's shoulder and stopped him, Willie said:
"Come on kid. You gotta go back."
"What's the matter?" Houma said. "Ah wasn't gwine no whars."
After the five hundred lashes Houma did not try to run away again. Finally some important white folks for whom Houma's parents worked sent for the kid and had him shipped back home with an honorable discharge. We got a good laugh out of that one. "Ah wasn't gwine no whars."
As time went on I commenced being the most popular boy in the Home. Seeing how much Mr. Davis liked me and the amount of time he gave me, the boys began to warm up to me and take me into their confidence.
One day the young bugler's mother and father, who had gotten his release, came to take him home. The minute he left Mr. Davis gave me his place. I took up the bugle at once and began to shine it up. The other bugler had never shined the instrument and the brass was dirty and green. The kids gave me a big hand when they saw the gleaming bright instrument instead of the old filthy green one.
I felt real proud of my position as bugler. I would stand very erect as I would put the bugle nonchalantly to my lips and blow real mellow tones. The whole place seemed to change. Satisfied with my tone Mr. Davis gave me a cornet and taught me how to play Home, Sweet Home. Then I was in seventh heaven. Unless I was dreaming, my ambition had been realized.
Every day I practiced faithfully on the lesson Mr. Davis gave me. I became so good on the cornet that one day Mr. Davis said to me:
"Louis, I am going to make you leader of the band."
I jumped straight into the air, with Mr. Davis watching me, and ran to the mess room to tell the boys the good news. They were all rejoiced with me. Now at last I was not only a musician but a band leader! Now I would get a chance to go out in the streets and see Mayann and the gang that hung around Liberty and Perdido Streets. The band often got a chance to play at a private picnic or join one of the frequent parades through the streets of New Orleans covering all parts of the city, Uptown, Back o' Town, Front o' Town, Downtown. The band was even sent to play in the West End and Spanish Fort, our popular summer resorts, and also at Milenburg and Little Woods.
The band's uniform consisted of long white pants turned up to look like knickers, black easy-walkers, or sneakers as they are now called, thin blue gabardine coats, black stockings and caps with black and white bands which looked very good on the young musicians. To stand out as the leader of the band I wore cream colored pants, brown stockings, brown easy-walkers and a cream colored cap.
In those days some of the social clubs paraded all day long. When the big bands consisting of old-timers complained about such a tiresome job, the club members called on us.
"Those boys," they said, "will march all day long and won't squawk one bit."
They were right. We were so glad to get a chance to walk in the street that we did not care how long we paraded or how far. The day we were engaged by the Merry-Go-Round Social Club we walked all the way to Carrolton, a distance of about twenty-five miles. Playing like mad, we loved every foot of the trip.
The first day we paraded through my old neighborhood everybody was gathered on the sidewalks to see us pass. All the whores, pimps, gamblers, thieves and beggars were waiting for the band because they knew that Dipper, Mayann's son, would be in it. But they had never dreamed that I would be playing the cornet, blowing it as good as I did. They ran to wake up mama, who was sleeping after a night job, so she could see me go by. Then they asked Mr. Davis if they could give me some money. He nodded his head with approval, not thinking that the money would amount to very much. But he did not know that sporting crowd. Those sports gave me so much that I had to borrow the hats of several other boys to hold it all. I took in enough to buy new uniforms and new instruments for everybody who played in the band. The instruments we had been using were old and badly battered.
This increased my popularity at the Home, and Mr. Davis gave me permission to go into town by myself to visit Mayann. He and Mr. and Mrs. Jones probably felt that this was the best way to show their gratitude.
One day we went to play at-a white folks' picnic at Spanish Fort near West End. There were picnics there every Sunday for which string orchestras were hired or occasionally a brass band. When all the bands were busy we used to be called on.
On that day we decided to take a swim during the intermission since the cottage at which we were playing was on the edge of the water. We were swimming and having a lot of fun when Jimmy's bathing trunks fell off. While we were hurrying to fish them out of the water a white man took a shot gun off the rack on the porch. As Jimmy was struggling frantically to pull his trunks on again the white man aimed the shot gun at him and said:
"You black sonofabitch, cover up that black ass of yours or I'll shoot."
We were scared stiff, but the man and his party broke out laughing and it all turned out to be a huge joke. We were not much good the rest of that day, but we weren't so scared that we could not eat all the spaghetti and beer they gave us when they were through eating. It was good.
Among the funny incidents that happened at the Home I will never forget the stunt Red Sun pulled off. He had been sent to the Home for stealing. It was a mania with him; he would steal everything which was not nailed down. Before I ever saw the Home he had served two or three terms there. He would be released, and two or three months later he would be back again to serve another term for stealing.
After serving six months while I was at the Home he was paroled by the judge. Three months passed, and he was still out on the streets. We took it for granted that Red Sun had gone straight at last and we practically forgot all about him.
One day while Mr. Jones was drilling us in front of the Home we saw somebody coming down the road riding on a real beautiful horse. We all wondered who it could be. Mr. Jones stopped the drill and waited with us while we watched the horse and rider come towards us. To our amazement it was Red Sun. Above all he was riding bareback. We crowded around to tell how glad we were to see him looking so good and to admire his horse.