family

A tree will go into shock if you rip it from the ground and try to transplant it elsewhere. The shock is even greater if the tree is splintered and planted in several different locations. Its fragments lack the foundation that made it a strong force against threatening elements. Our family trees have gained strength over the past hundred years, but still we have a long struggle before we can withstand the forces of ill-fated winds. DPR

a family tree, taking root

“Damn! A hundred thousand dollars for that little place.” Roman Robinson pulled his Ford Maverick away from the Open House in View Park, an upper middle class neighborhood. In the 1960s and 70s it was a magnet for affluent African Americans in Los Angeles.

What the hell is going on? He thought. Why is everything so expensive? "That house was not worth a hundred thousand dollars!" He tried to temper his voice, but the anger came out. "What's wrong with these people?"

"They're dreaming," his wife answered, knowing that his anger stemmed from his frustration and not directed toward her. She'd long lost count of the house hunting excursions they had taken during those last three years, starting in 1972. They drove around with eighty thousand in the bank and could've purchased any number of homes, even in the same neighborhood, but Roman wanted his family at the top of the hill. He didn't, however, want a mortgage hanging over his head for thirty years. The dream he shared with his wife had seemed realistic before, even when he was a boy, but it began to fade in 1975. The real estate market in California had started on an upward trend that wouldn't peak for nearly twenty years. An investor could buy a $60,000 house in January and sell in November for close to $70,000.

Roman began to see his family's savings devaluate on a weekly basis. As he drove the Maverick with no air conditioning on that hot July Sunday, his mind wandered through all of the homes they'd viewed. Maybe a small mortgage wouldn't be so bad. Though the idea of owing money scared him. It didn't seem right to work all those years, since he was 13, for a place that someone else actually owned. He focused on the last open house, two bedrooms, one and a half bath, family room, and a formal dining room. The place wasn't worth it!

He drove around looking for signs until the din in the back seat grew too loud. It made him pull over and slam on his brakes. "Dammit to hell! If you kids don't shut up, I'll whup everyone of ya!" It looked as though they would again return to Watts empty handed.

The three boys in the back seat hushed, knowing their father meant business. Their mother turned around and offered each one a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. This was not the McDonald's lunch they expected, but no one complained.

After doling out the sandwiches, she turned on the radio. The number one song, Let's Do it Again by the Staple Singers, changed Roman's mood. His head slowly began to bounce with the beat. Then he heard her say, "Honey, I was talking with Virginia the other day, and she asked how come we haven't looked in the hills on the other side of La Brea Avenue. There are some nice homes up there. You know, behind the Baldwin Theater?"

Roman looked at her, figuring it wouldn't hurt to drive over there. A few minutes later the baking Ford started up Cloverdale Avenue, on the other side of La Brea. As they ascended the winding road, homes appeared more stately than those they passed on the way up. At the end of the road was the old Baldwin Hills Dam, which caused much damage when it broke in 1963. They drove around the dam, and on the other side Open House flags, posted around an impressive two-story home, caught their attention. It was the last house on High Point Road. Out of curiosity, Roman stopped the car in front of it. A middle-aged black fellow came outside and approached them.

"Come on in and take a look. I'm Les Jones from Crenshaw Realty. This is its first day on the market, and it's not going to last. The owners have been transferred to Japan and are in a hurry to sell."

"I bet they're asking a hundred and fifty for this one," Roman turned and said to his wife in a hushed tone. Every home they had seen in the past two months edged closer to $120,000.

"Let's look anyway. You've already stopped, Honey Bunch." His wife could sense his frustration lingering and ventured to cheer him up with a playful term of endearment.

"Yeah, Snookums," added their nine-year-old, and they all started laughing.

"I think this house is looking for a family like you all," Jones said when Roman turned the ignition off. Then he made sure of all their names before the tour began.

From the outside the house appeared to be in perfect condition. New paint and concrete work complimented the well-landscaped front yard, and the pristine pool in the back invited the hot adventurers. Inside, a red brick fireplace sat to the left of a large picture window in the living room, featuring views that spanned from the Santa Monica Mountains on the west to the San Gabriel Mountains on the east.

"This house was built in 1961," Jones said, as he directed the tour. "The pool was put in three years ago by the current owners. You will make the third owners."

The upstairs view provided a broader look at the city from the huge master bedroom, which was one of five. It also featured a full bathroom to go along with two and a half other baths in the house as well as a den, a large dining room, a breakfast nook, a pantry, and a laundry room. The two-car garage had a workroom attached.

"This is going to be my room," said the nine-year-old, as they toured the upstairs.

"So, I can see the pool from my room," said his younger brother, claiming the habitat next door.

The adults laughed, prompting the realtor to say, "You have a beautiful family." Then he opened the sliding door to the backyard. "There's something I need to show you folks." He took them around the pool where they could see that the backyard dropped down a slope of maybe ten feet and then flattened out again into a secluded lot of weeds and tall grass.

"This whole area goes with the house. It's a good hundred by fifty feet back there. If you wanted to, you could build a guest house."

"Or a tennis court," the nine-year-old said.

"Exactly," the realtor agreed.

"I want this house," Roman heard his wife say in a tone that convinced him she wasn't just happy with the place but in love with it.

"Like I said," Jones started again, sensing the wife's readiness to buy. "The owners are willing to deal."

Roman wanted the house too, but he kept his poker face. This was by far the most desirable home they'd seen in months, but he felt sure the price would be out of their range. He began to believe that stopping was a mistake, as the late afternoon sun beat down on his dark skin without mercy.

He gazed into the pool. Its silky shimmer invited him into a refreshing embrace. His eyes turned toward his sons whom he wanted to give everything he didn't have as a boy. Not many people owned swimming pools where he grew up on 119th Street, on the border of Watts and Willowbrook. He thought back to the days when he first dreamed of owning a View Park home. His life had changed many times since, and there was much suffering. Through it all, though he never lost focus of the aspirations that took form 12 years earlier.

In 1963, when Roman turned 13, if one didn't have the fifteen cents to get into Will Rogers Park on Central Avenue, he either played in a sprinkler on his front lawn or found someone with a Slip'n'Slide. But most days Roman could get the fifteen cents by cashing in soda and beer bottles found in the neighborhood. A regular size bottle returned three cents while the larger quart-sized fetched a nickel. A Mother's Pride soda bottle earned a dime.

"You goin' swimming today?" asked his grandmother, Rose Pruitt, as he walked her to the bus stop on the corner of Central Avenue and Imperial Highway. It was an August morning in 63' and the day that gave life to his dream. Rose worked as a cleaning lady, though at the time, Roman didn't know where.

During the summer vacation he walked her to the bus stop in the morning and then returned in the afternoon to wait for her. Their stroll took them past Saint Leo's Catholic Church in front of which they made the sign of the cross. Her white cleaning uniform helped against the heat though not as much as she hoped. She wore nothing on her head, streaked with gray. The deep set lines in her face showed the character she had developed in her 58 years.

Roman loved to swim and planned to go up to Will Rogers or the new pool at Enterprise Park later on. "Yes, I'll see if Virginia wants to go, but if she doesn't, I'll go by myself." It was only eight o'clock and already the searing sun pounded their dark complexions. He couldn't wait to dive into the cooling water even though the chlorine burned his eyes.

Roman would start the eighth grade that fall, already five feet nine inches tall and 165 pounds. With his size, also came the physique with which he could intimidate most kids at school. Those who challenged him got their asses kicked. He kept his hair short on the sides and medium height on top. His father passed on to him strong facial features, made more noticeable by a squared jaw. That day he wore his jeans cuffed at the ankle, showing a hole in the back of his right sock. The white t-shirt he wore displayed his muscular build.

They waited at the bus stop with all of the regulars. Many knew Rose by name and envied the fact that she had an escort. "That Roman, sho' is a sweet boy," people said. Some offered him money as old folks do, but he never accepted it. He knew his grandmother wouldn't like that.

"I'll see you this afternoon, Grandma," Roman said when the bus approached and people jockeyed for boarding positions. He leaned down so that she could kiss his cheek. Then he moved back and waited until she boarded safely.

He walked home to his grandma`s house, this time neglecting to make the sign of the cross in front of the church since his grandmother was not with him. At home he passed by his sister, Virginia, in the living room, watching Hobo Kelly. He went to the kitchen and found one scrawny piece of bacon in a pan of hardening lard. "Why'd you have ta eat all the fuckin bacon!" he cussed, knowing their mother had left for work.

"I left you some!" she screamed from the living room. Though she was 14 and a year older, he could take her out in a fight. They bonded more than most siblings, however, and hadn't had a fist fight since they were six and seven. Roman could become angry with his sister, but he would not hit her. "And you'd better not cuss at me again!" she yelled.

He picked up the dripping bacon but tossed it back into the frying pan. Then he opted for two bowls of Cheerios, which he ate in the living room with Virginia. They watched cartoons until nine and switched to the channel two line-up of I Love Lucy, The Andy Griffith Show, and the Dick Van Dyke Show. Both adolescents knew how to squeeze the round knob or bang the side of the television just right to get the best picture. After their morning programs, Virginia tuned the radio to KGFJ, 1230 on the AM dial. Roman vacuumed and dusted while she cleaned the kitchen. Then they made their beds, which were in the same room.

"Do you want to go swimming?" he asked after the housecleaning.

“No thanks, I'm goin' next door," she replied, referring to their neighbors, the Mesa family. There, she spent time with her best friend, Carla, and would surreptitiously glance at her brother, Manuel, for whom she had a crush. Only Carla knew this information.

Virginia stood nearly as tall as her brother, though slender and statuesque. Her face showed the feminine side of the Robinson genes, not chiseled like his but round and smooth. The brightness of her smile could light a room, and her inquisitive eyes always made people wonder what she was thinking. She kept her hair short and neat, tied in the back of her head all day.

"Why don't you and Carla come to the pool with me? I can find enough bottles to pay for all of us."

"No thanks," she said again. She remembered the last couple of times she went swimming. Some boys in the pool tried to feel on her, which made Roman want to fight them. He protected his sister fervently, not allowing any type of mistreatment. She, however, hated trying to control him once he became enraged.

With a scowl on his face he looked to be seventeen or so. His smile, however, exposed his youth.

Later that day the mannish scowl made him attractive to Claudia Mitchell, seventeen and a slave to her sexual cravings. He passed by the back of her garage early that afternoon, as he walked home from Enterprise Park near Central and El Segundo. He'd heard about a new swimming pool there and wanted to try it out.

The first swimming session at Enterprise lasted from noon till two o'clock and he swam the duration. He stayed in the water so long the chlorine turned his dark complexion to a fine ashy gray and irritated his eyes. After the swim the hot sun punished him on the long walk home, which made him tired and hungry. He trudged through the alley hoping to find some bottles to cash in for a snack. He also looked for a box from which to tear a piece of cardboard to put in the bottom of his warn P.F. Flyers.

He stopped at the sound of his name. "Hi." He didn't think anything of the greeting at the time, though Claudia was known to be easy. He'd seen her around, riding in some cool cat's car. That day she wore a pair of tight cut-off Levi`s that hugged her hips snugly. She also had on a cut-off t-shirt exposing her belly button.

She was a stout girl, about five feet five. A red barrette, which matched her lipstick, held her short hair in place at the back of her head. People said she had big lips, but their fullness attracted many men. The look in her eyes usually projected sensuality, and that day was no different.

"It's easy to tell where you're comin' from. You need some Vaseline, boy." She referred to his ashy skin.

The remark insulted his youth. Fuck you, he wanted to say but blurted out, "Forget you. I need to see yo' titties." He took a chance that she might be horny and he'd get to lose his virginity. He saved the "fuck you" for later.

"You're a vulgar little asshole, aren't you? I was only gonna' ask yo black ass to get me some plums from up in that tree." She pointed to the tree on the other side of the alley.

Roman turned and saw that the only pieces of fruit hung near the top. He and some friends had already raided it several times. "Th'ain't nothin on that tree."

Claudia turned on her feminine persuasion to get what she wanted. "There's some up there." She pointed to the top of the tree. "Come on, Roman, please. Just two."

"Damn, if I go up there, I gots to see me some titties." He really didn't want to make the climb and threw out the demand to dissuade the idea, so he could start back on his way home. She ain't showin' me no tits.

"Is that all you want? I was gon' let you touch'em."

Her remark aroused his interest, but he still had some doubt. Things like this don't happen to me. "Aw, you lyin' now," he said to procure an assurance of the deal.

"No I ain't. I'll let you."

At his young age many people around the neighborhood knew Roman, for Claudia Mitchell wouldn't have stopped any twelve-year-old. Not that she was the finest girl in the area. She wasn't. At school some kids called her a bald-headed tar-babe. Only older men admitted having sex with her, though several young studs gave her their virginity.

Roman began to feel his skin tingle with anticipation from the thought of her breasts in his hands. He looked dead at her chest, unable to stop the excitement from bulging in the front of his pants. "You'd really let me touch'em?"

"Yeah, if you hurry." Her ears caught the beginning of one of her favorite songs. Goin out of My Head. "Ooh, that's Li'l Anthony and the Imperials." She started to sing with the song. “Well, I think I`m goin out of my head; yes I think I`m goin out of my head.”

Roman stood dumbfounded in the alley. Should I leave or stay to see those tits? Man, she ain't showin' me no titties. I'm leavin'.

"Roman, you hurry up before I change my mind." She said and went back inside the garage, still singing..

His black skin began to oil itself with perspiration while the hot Los Angeles sun did its best to punish anyone silly enough to challenge it. What would Marcus do? He thought of his juvenile delinquent friend, Marcus Brown, who was more than two years older. Roman's mother and grandmother discouraged him from associating with the boy who stayed in trouble. They figured him would drag Roman along into some disquieting predicament. To their dismay, however, Roman looked up to his older friend, who had stolen three cars without being caught. Marcus also had knowledge about the opposite sex that seemed endless. He once told Roman, "A lot'a girls will let you touch their tits, and then they'll stick their hands in yo pants to see if you gettin' hard."

Marcus will be proud of me when I tell'em about Claudia's milkers.

Roman would place high on a neighborhood aptitude test, though his grades in school were only average. He had climbed this fence before and knew exactly where to put his feet as he did most fences from 103rd Street and Broadway to where the railroad tracks crossed Rosecrans. He knew the yards dogs guarded and how much noise he could make before it would stir and start to make a ruckus.

Roman scratched his arm badly reaching for the fruit in the tree. He had begun to envision Claudia's huge breasts bouncing in front of him and became a bit impatient. Instead of a strong branch, he set his foot on a weak one, which cracked loudly under his bulk. He almost fell into the yard where a mean German Shepherd became aware of the intruder. The dog barked profusely, as Roman struggled to stay in the tree. He got his footing back on the fence and then started back up. Where are those fuckin plums? The noise began to disturb his concentration, so he moved his feet carefully on each branch to avoid falling. A few seconds later, he grabbed the fruit with extreme care. At the same time he heard a door open from the house.

"Prince! What is it, boy?" An old lady came outside into the yard. The dog looked back for a moment, and then resumed its job. "Prince! Come here, boy!" The dog started toward the house and then returned.

Roman didn't want to be seen but gave up on that when the dog came back. He made a quick move to the fence, and the dog's wild barks alerted the old woman.

"Hey you, get yo ass out of my yard! Get out of my tree! Why me? Why my stuff?" At the same time she moved toward the tree with a broom in her hand. "A person can't have nothing no more!"

Roman scurried out of the tree before the old lady took ten steps. He would've cussed at her but the ordeal had annoyed him enough. With both feet on the fence he leaped into the alley and disappeared into the garage.

The woman peeked through a hole in the fence and wondered where the little nigga could've gone so fast. "Good boy, Prince,” she said, glad to have such a dog and smiled because of his loyalty to her.

Roman, however, was disappointed for getting only two plums. He had no money and an empty stomach. It cost twenty cents to get into the pool and his mother never gave him anything during the summer. Claudia had asked for two plums, but maybe she would give him one.

The only light in the garage came through cracks in the garage door and the window on the opposite wall. A 20-transistor radio sat on the back of the couch, and it was tuned to KDAY. In the dim light, Claudia sat topless on a sofa next to the west wall. She had waited impatiently for her afternoon snack of the crispy, tart fruit. "What took you so long?"

"I..." Roman couldn't finish his sentence when he saw Claudia's breasts hanging freely. His 12-year-old crotch reacted, and he made no attempts to conceal his excitement. "You want these?" He held the plums out to show that he had come through with his part of the bargain. If she'd told him to leave at that moment, he would've been satisfied. He had doubted all along that she would keep her promise, but the proof sat there before him. Her sizeable breasts sloped on her chest.

"Bring'em here." Claudia held her hand out. Her eyes looked intently at the excitement in Roman's pants that became obvious to her, as he slowly approached. He gave her the plums, and she took a bite of one. "Sit down, Roman." She found him to be obedient. "Is this what you wanted to see?" She asked and then rubbed herself while watching his expression. "Wanna touch'em?"

"Yeah." He tried to stay cool.

She didn't mind his fumbling. To her, sex was like a drug. She would do it with just about anyone to experience the high. She could not suppress the craving and wouldn`t hesitate admitting to that fact. "Take off your pants."

Roman quickly got up and kicked his shoes off without untying them. Then he unfastened three buttons of his Levis and pushed them off. His eyes bulged when her shorts fell to the floor. A few moments later he smiled proudly, no longer a virgin.

"Wow!" he managed to say. This girl may be a bald-headed tar-babe, but I love her. I'm never going home. I'll move into this garage and screw all day.

"How'd you like your first time" she asked him.

"Nice," he replied. He tried to think of other superlatives to express his gratitude. He knew others from television but couldn't bring himself to say, "Swell!" or "Neat!" or even "Great!" The only other word he could think of was, bad, which meant good, but he didn't want her to get the wrong idea. "It felt real good," he added.

Roman couldn't wait to tell Marcus what he'd done, lost his virginity only weeks before turning 13. He also couldn't wait to pee. Once in the alley, he emptied his bladder for over a minute. Then primal instinct took over. He was starving and still had to walk eight blocks to 119th Street and Success.

In those days collecting bottles was something kids did a lot of in Watts. Roman was good at it, which is why it didn't matter whether or not his mother gave him money during the summer. He walked through three alleys, feeling lucky to find two Mother's Pride bottles. He also found a large Pepsi and two small Coke bottles. The total came to 31 cents, enough for three tacos and a medium soda pop at Mama Maria's taco stand on Central, a couple blocks from his house. He took the bottles to a small market on Imperial Highway and got his money. Then he quickened his pace because his stomach began to send out emergency calls. Next time I get some pussy, he thought, I'm gonna make sure I eat first.

He headed east on Imperial Highway after crossing Central Avenue to get to the gas station. Not too far ahead, he saw a string tied across the sidewalk. Someone had tied it from a tree to a stick in front of a house. As he approached, two boys on bicycles, each about 14 years old, rode from the house and stopped in front of him. Two other boys joined them on foot.

Roman wondered about its purpose, but his thoughts focused mainly on the tacos.

"That'll be ten cents."

Roman looked at the boy, who spoke, and recognized him from around the neighborhood. He wore a T-shirt, cut off at the sleeves and a pair of faded jeans rolled up maybe three times, exposing his blue argyle socks. He appeared to be a tough guy because he was ugly and had a front sticking up at the top of his forehead. Tough guys styled with the front of their hair brushed straight up. The higher the better, though, few fronts went over three inches.

"Ten cents to cross in front of this house." The same boy spoke.

"I ain't got no money." Roman hoped the kids in his way would accept his lie. Damn, I'm hungry, he thought. I ain't got no time for this.

"Den you ain't goin home," said the other boy on a bike. The other two boys laughed, and one started a string of rhyming curse words meant to demoralize Roman.

"You a super sucker, mother fucker, blue balled bitch, you got a ring around yo dick to make a po man rich." The poet laughed with the others and then quickly moved over to tap Roman's pockets. The 31 cents jingled loudly and the poet asked, "Why you lie, asshole?"

"I didn't lie. I ain't got no money ta be given y'all. I'm starvin'." Roman started toward the string, but the poet who moved to block his way.

"Where you think you goin?"

"I'm going home after I get me somethin ta eat." He started to go around the poet pushed him backwards.

"Punk! Gimme the dime!" The poet yelled and pushed again. On the third push, Roman grabbed his hands and held tightly. The boy struggled to get his hands free. "Let me go!"

Roman`s vise like grip held him tight. "I'm gon' let you go, but if you get in my way again, we gon' fight." Roman's hardened eyes showed that he was not playing around. These motha fuckas are stoppin me from getting to Mama Maria's.

"All right, man," said the poet. "We was jus playin'. Can't you take a joke?"

Roman smiled, half believing the lie. "Not when I'm hungry." He went under the string and headed to the taco stand.

“Man, he was gon kick yo ass,” he heard one of the boys say.