1980 New Yorker review of Straight Life by Whitney Balliett
In Henry Mayhew's great nineteenth century oral history "London Labour and the London
Poor," a boy with "long and rather
fair hair" speaks of the rigors of his
childhood:
I'm a native of Wisbeach, in Cambridgeshire, and am sixteen. My father
was a shoemaker, and my mother died
when I was five years old, and my father
married again. I was sent to school, and
can read and write well. My father and
stepmother were kind enough to me. I
was apprenticed to a tailor three years
ago, but I wasn't long with him; I
runned away. I think it was three months
I was with him when I first runned
away ... I stopped in lodging houses until my money was gone, and then I slept
anywhere - under the hedges, or any
where .... I had to beg my way back ...
but was very awkward at first. I lived on
turnips mainly. My reason for running off
was because my master ill-used me so;
he beat me, and kept me from my meals,
and made me sit up working late at
nights for a punishment.
And here, a hundred and twenty
years later, in the autobiography
"Straight Life,"
is the alto saxophonist Art Pepper
speaking of his childhood:
One time when my father had been at
sea for quite a while he came home and
found the house locked and me sitting on
the front porch, freezing cold and hungry. She [Pepper's mother] was out
somewhere. She didn't know he was coming. He was drunk. He broke the door
down and took me inside and cooked me
some food. She finally came home, drunk,
and he cussed her out. We went to bed.
I had a little crib in the corner, and my
dad wanted to get into bed with me. He
didn't want to sleep with her. She kept
pulling on him, but he pushed her away
and called her names. He started beating
her up. He broke her nose. He broke a
couple of ribs. Blood poured all over the
floor. I remember the next day I was
scrubbing up blood, trying to get the
blood up for ages.
Most of Mayhew's four-volume
work consists of interviews he conducted with London street people
prostitutes, beggars, flower girls, pick
pockets, sweeps, peddlers. Pepper's book
is largely a self-interview. He is a drug
addict, and seven years ago, after he
had finished three years in Synanon,
he began talking his life into a tape recorder as an act of catharsis and stabilization, and this letting loose continued
for several years. There is a plethora of
tape-recorded set down
in a false prose, whose authors have
sidestepped the hard, distillative act of
writing. But "Straight Life" demonstrates again and again that Pepper has
the ear and memory and interpretative
lyricism of a first-rate novelist. He describes what happened to the tenor
saxophonist John Coltrane:
He got on that treadmill and ran himself ragged trying to be new and to
change. It destroyed him. It was too
wearing, too draining. And he became
frustrated and worried. Then he started
hurting, getting pains, and he got scared.
He got these pains in his back, and he
got terrified. He was afraid of doctors,
afraid of hospitals, afraid of audiences,
afraid of bandstands. He lost his teeth.
He was afraid that his sound wasn't
strong enough, afraid that the new,
young black kids wouldn't think he was
the greatest thing that ever lived anymore. And the pains got worse and
worse: they got so bad he couldn't stand
the pain. So they carried him to a hospital but he was too far gone. He had
cirrhosis, and he died that night.
Here is the sort of subterranean soul
Mayhew relished:
I looked around the club and saw this
guy there, BIinky, that I knew. He was
a short, squat guy with a square face,
blue eyes; he squinted all the time; when
he walked he bounced; and he was always going "Tchk! Tchk!"-moving his
head in jerky little motions like he was
playing the drums. Sometimes when he
walked he even looked like a drum set:
you could see the sock cymbal bouncing
up and down and the foot pedal going
and the cymbals shaking and his eyes
would be moving. But it wasn't his eyes;
it was that his whole body kind of
blinked.
Pepper was born in 1925, in Gardena, California. His father was a tall,
tough, handsome merchant seaman and
labor organizer, and his mother, raised
by an aunt and uncle, never knew her
parents. Pepper's parents were twenty-nine and fifteen when they were
married, and he was born with rickets
and jaundice. There was little to the
marriage. Pepper's father was at sea,
and his mother was irresponsible and
dissolute, and the relationship soon
broke up. Pepper was sent to his paternal grandmother in the California
countryside when he was five. He was
a lorn, fearful child. "I'd wander
around alone, and it seemed that the
wind was always blowing and I was
always cold," he recalls. "I was afraid
of everything. Clouds scared me: it was
as if they were living things that were
going to harm me. Lightning and
thunder frightened me beyond words.
But when it was beautiful and sunny
out my feelings were even more horrible because there was nothing in it
for me." His grandmother was a cold
German woman, who had her own
sorrows, and when his father, who
paid her to raise the child, visited between sea trips, Pepper was caught in
a cross fire:
My grandmother cooked a lot of vegetables, things I couldn't stand-spinach,
cauliflower,beets, parsnips. And [my
father would] come and sit across from
me in this little wooden breakfast nook,
and my grandmother would tell me to
eat this stuff, and I wouldn't eat it,
couldn't eat it. He'd say, "Eat it!" My
grandmother would say, "Don't be a
baby!" He'd say, "Eat it ! You gotta eat
it to grow up and be strong!" That
made me feel like a real weakling, so
I'd put it in my mouth and then gag
at the table and vomit into my plate.
And my dad was able, in one motion, to
unbuckle his belt and pull it out of the
rungs, and he'd hit me across the table
with the belt. It got to the point where
I couldn't eat anything at all like that
without gagging, and he'd just keep hitting at me and hitting the wooden wall
behind me.
Pepper took up the clarinet at nine,
and his father would sit him in hars in
San Pedro and make him play "Nola"
and "The Music Goes 'Round and
'Round" while his friends nodded approvingly and said, "That's Art's boy.
He plays nice music." Pepper switched
to the alto saxophone when he was
twelve, and by the time he was seventeen he was married and working for
Stan Kenton. He was in the Army
from 1944 to 1946, and then spent
five more years with Kenton and made
his name as an original and graceful
alto saxophonist. But his true career,
the weight and heat of this book, began in 1950, when he became addicted
to heroin. He was already an alcohol-
ic, and he had long popped pills and
smoked pot. None of these gave him
surcease from the demons of loneliness
and self-hatred. The heroin did- particularly the first time he tried it: "I
could feel it start in my stomach. From
the whole inside of my body I felt the
tranquility ... Sheila [a singer] said,
'Look at yourself in the mirror! Look
in the mirror" And that's what I'd always done: I'd stood and looked at myself in the mirror and I'd talk to myself and say how rotten I was ... I
thought, 'Oh, no! I don't want to do
that! I don't want to spoil this feeling
that's coming up in me.' ... But she
kept saying, 'Look at yourself! Look
how beautiful you are!' ... I looked in
the mirror and I looked like an angel."
In 1953, Pepper was arrested and sent
to jail for possession of narcotics. During the next thirteen years, he spent
more time in jail than out of it. He
did five years in San Quentin, and his
descriptions of life there are relentless
and brilliant.
Pepper hit bottom just before he
put himself in Synanon. He was an
alcoholic and a junkie, and his career
as a musician was in abeyance. His
girlfriend had thrown him out, and he
found himself, aged forty-four, sitting
on his mother's porch, surrounded by
his few belongings, and drinking brandy in the midday sun:
My mother had changed a lot over
the years. She had found God. She had
accepted Christ as her personal savior,
and she'd stopped drinking and smoking ... She said, "What happened?
Where's Christine?" I said, "Christine's
gone. She's gone. She's finished. She's
gone. She left me here." My mother
said, "Oh, Junior, you can't stay here!
You know that. We've tried that before.
It won't work." I said, "Don't get upset.
Don't start flipping out, rna! I know it
isn't going to work. I'm not asking to
stay with you. I'm not going to stay with
you. I know you don't want me to stay
with you. You'd rather have me lay in
the gutter and die than have me stay
with you!" She said, "You don't have
to talk like that." I said, "Well, it's
true, isn't it?" She said, "Oh, Junior,
please!"
Pepper has married again, and he is
playing and recording. He is in a
methadone program. He has no illusions. ("And that's what I will die as-
a junkie." ) Nor does he have any remorse or self-pity. He has lived the inverse of the straight life, and he has
lived it as well as he knows how. He
does not rail against the laws that treat
addicted human beings as criminals: the
straight world has its hangups. He is
an eloquent and gifted man.
-WHITNEY BALLIETT