On the Avenue

CLUB ALABAM WAS ONE OF LOS ANGELES’ MOST FAMOUS NIGHTSPOTS ON CENTRAL AVENUE. Formerly the Apex Club, it started up in the early 1930s and was still going strong in 1952, when Josephine Baker performed there. When talking about the heyday of Central Ave, Club Alabam was the name on every musician’s and partier’s lips.  But, as all things do, the good times would come to an end shortly after Miss Baker’s performance. Despite a major remodel around 1944, the club was becoming worn around the edges. No longer the dramatic backdrop for some of the country’s greatest musicians, resplendent chorus lines, and famous patrons, Club Alabam seems to have all but disappeared by 1953.

Central Avenue itself, in addition to being the place for African Americans to go hear music, secure lodgings, or have a meal, performed as the eastmost unofficial boundary of the city’s racial segregation. Black Angelenos could move south, but Central was as far as they were going to go east. The Avenue started mostly with restaurants, but when Prohibition came some folks found a market for homemade whiskey. Central Ave became an ideal place to share their product. To be clear, moonshine production was not unique to Los Angeles during this time. In New York City’s Harlem neighborhood and Newark, New Jersey’s downtown – really, in urban spaces nationwide – speakeasies arose to satisfy the need for some fun in the midst of hard times.

NB: the word “urban” will not be used here as the all-too-typical code for Black, but in its general definition as a densely populated city space.

Club Alabam once sat next to the equally famous Dunbar Hotel (formerly the Somerville) at 4015 Central Avenue, the only hotel in the area to allow African American guests for quite some time. Run by drummer Curtis Mosby, the club provided many new jobs for African Americans while also offering a variety of entertainment to integrated audiences. Although not everyone agreed that “genial” Mr. Mosby ran the club in an above-the-board manner, the club thrived.

As with the clubs in Harlem, white people also ventured to Central Avenue’s majority-Black arts scene. In fact, according to saxophonist Brother Woodman, “Most of the clientele were white people from Hollywood…. That’s what kept the Alabam open, really.” Pianist Fletcher Smith remembered that “movie stars used to come over there.” * Lots of racial mixing was going on, much to the chagrin of most city leaders. But with so many famous people coming to the Avenue – Black and white alike – the police had to respond accordingly. Certain blocks would, in fact, be roped off for a sort of valet parking performed by LA’s finest. Club Alabam was the go-to place, the proverbial Cotton Club of the west. However, unlike Harlem’s segregated Cotton Club, Blacks were welcomed as both clientele and performer at the Alabam.

During this time the area was dubbed The Eastside, and the mostly Black community was called The Eastsiders. (See PBS’ The Eastsiders: History of an African-American Community (1920-1965). As the Avenue started picking up, white business owners saw opportunity. Slowly, markets and other enterprises began opening. However, the owners were not necessarily interested in hiring the people who patronized their businesses, such that eventually Don’t Buy Where You Can’t Work protests erupted — another common thread connecting the west coast to the east coast during this Great Migration era.

Meanwhile, Club Alabam was hopping. Singer Ivy Anderson frequently performed there, famously singing “Rocks in her Bed” with the Duke Ellington Band. Being both a woman and an African American, historians of the past might not have put quite the same effort into preserving her story as they did some others. She is said to have been born on July 10, 1904. (I include this mostly because it is my birthdate as well and I just think that’s cool. And we both share this birthdate with the great Arthur Ashe)! Because I am bent on highlighting the Black women of this era, I will endeavor to note a few of the women musicians and singers connected with Club Alabam.

Notably, at this time there were not many women entertainers on the Avenue, in part because they were told it was “unsafe” for them to be in the clubs. Now, one can only wonder if there was perhaps some protection of men’s jobs in this warning. While there were clearly many talented women musicians in the country at this time, as with other industries, it was not really until World War II when women were provided openings into typically male professions. With so many men off to war, including artists, women finally had some room to make their own music. The Rosie the Riveters of jazz, one might say.  And still, they were combatting so many issues, including the reputation that –  especially if they played “manly” instruments –they must be gay. This was something that, at the time, many found offensive.

Trumpeter Clora Bryant recalls, “…I never let them forget that I was a female, because I always dressed as a female…at the time they had these mesh stockings with the seam up the back. I’d get a whistle every time.” Artists from Melba Liston to Vi Redd to Winona Winder broke through during this time. For some it would be the beginning of an illustrious career.

At the Alabam, one regular all-woman group was The International Sweethearts of Rhythm, who performed throughout the summer of 1944, and were led by Anna Mae Wilburn. There was also trumpet player Clora Bryant and jazz violinist Ginger Smock. Singer and pianist Nellie Lutcher is said to have inspired the one and only Nina Simone. And accomplished musician and writer Betty Hall Jones made a name for herself during this time as well. These are just a few of the many women whose stories are barely known – sometimes erased altogether by the predominance of men’s stories. Just as an example, out of the twenty interviews done in the well-researched, exhaustive book which I reference here, Central Avenue Sounds, onlytwo are with women. I hope you take a moment to review some of the previous links I have shared that begin to tell these important stories.

There are different explanations as to why things started to shutter around Central Avenue: an increase in crime (blamed upon various parties); the slow desegregation of businesses; post-war economic and geographic changes; and the rise of television as entertainment. There will always be a feeling of nostalgia for communities like Central Avenue. And yet we cannot forget, this summer as we acknowledge the 250^th birthday of this complicated country, that behind these spaces were some very dark places. I have touched upon the ways that many women were kept from sharing their talents. And while the police were forced to perform a certain way in public, violence against Black and brown Angelenos was a constant. And, of course, what makes such vibrant spaces like this exist in the first place is often radical racial segregation, which most – although not all – people see as a scourge.

Throughout this summer I hope you will join me in looking behind the celebratory curtain that is draped over the festivities around this country’s 250^th birthday. It’s not all gloomy behind the curtain, but it’s just that there are a lot of stories still waiting to be heard.

*Some information here is based on a collection of interviews from the book, Central Avenue Sounds: Jazz in Los Angeles