Lady Sings the Blues - Billie Holiday [42]
Papa may have
But God bless the child that’s got his own
That’s got his own.
Yes, the strong gets more
While the weak ones fade
Empty pockets don’t
Ever make the grade
Mama may have
Papa may have
But God bless the child that’s got his own
That’s got his own.
Money, you’ve got lots of friends
Crowding round your door
But when it’s done
And spending ends
They don’t come no more
Rich relations give
Crust of bread and such
You can help yourself but don’t take much
Mama may have
Papa may have
But God bless the child that’s got his own
That’s got his own.
I stayed at Café Society steady for two years, seven nights a week, no nights off, for seventy-five dollars a week.
One night a little girl came in with her mother and wanted to audition. Barney had turned her down when I heard about it. We had quite a little row in my dressing room over it. I told him to give the girl a chance, what did he have to lose? Barney refused, said she wasn’t pretty—she was too dark.
“Too dark?” I asked him. “Hell, this is supposed to be a cosmopolitan joint. What do you care what she looks like as long as she’s got talent?
“Besides,” I told him, “I need a vacation and I’m going to take one.”
So Barney gave an audition to this dark little girl in her pink mammy-made dress. She played the piano real good. I got my vacation, and Miss Hazel Scott got the job.
*Copyright, 1941, by E. R. Marks.
Chapter 10
The Moon Looks Down and Laughs
I opened Café Society as an unknown; I left two years later as a star. But you couldn’t tell the difference from what I had in my sock. I was still making that same old seventy-five dollars a week. I had made more than that in Harlem. I needed the prestige and publicity all right, but you can’t pay rent with it. Joe Glaser was supposed to be my manager and getting me more loot, but it didn’t work out that way.
So when I left I got tough with my manager and demanded $250 a week in theaters and $175 a week in clubs. The first job I got at $175 a week was one I got myself in a new joint in the San Fernando Valley. And I made my first trip to California.
The valley joint belonged to Red Colonna, Jerry’s brother. Jerry had put up the dough and they decided to call it Café Society. They had no business using the name. Barney had copyrighted it, and in the legal scuffle over that we got closed up after the third week. But Red was a wild one and I had my kicks while it lasted.
Martha Raye was married to David Rose then, and they used to come in the joint every night and fight. She loved him, but they couldn’t make it. Martha loves to ball. She’s my girl, I’m crazy about her.
A lot of the real dicty people with talent used to come and hear me. They were wonderful to sing to, but as usual it only took one cracker in the audience to wreck things. I had just started doing “Strange Fruit” then; the record was selling and I always got a request for it in about every show.
I remember the night this white boy stayed around just to bug me. When I started singing it, he’d start kicking up a storm of noise, rattling glasses, calling me nigger, and cursing nigger singers.
After two shows of this I was ready to quit. I knew if I didn’t the third time round I might bounce something off that cracker and land in some San Fernando ranch-type jail. I didn’t have fifteen cents on me, and if I walked out I didn’t know how I was going to get out of the valley, but I was quitting anyway.
It was then that Bob Hope came in. He came over to me, God bless him, with Jerry Colonna and Judy Garland and I’ll never forget it.
“Listen,” said Hope, “you go out there and sing. Let that sonofabitch say something and I’ll take care of him.”
So I did, and he did. It was a real mess. When the cracker boy started, I stopped singing and Bob took the floor. Hope traded insults with that cracker for five minutes before he had enough and left. After Hope had finished him, I went back singing.
When I did my last encore, the joint was still ringing with applause and Bob Hope was waiting for me in the dining room with