Cadillacs, Preachers and Rock & Roll

by FoodSpook

I was a little kid in the early 1950′s. I remember Elvis‘ big hit, ‘You Ain’t Nothing But A Hound Dog’, like it was just yesterday.

My daddy was a preacher. Back at that era, preachers had to travel to other towns and cities as a visiting pastor to pick up extra cash from the congregation of the day. They all did it. It was also a way of building your reputation as a minister and growing your own congregation.

 I remember my father’s Cadillacs. Even before the day I was born, my father always purchased a brand new Cadillac every two years. He always had a least 2 or 3 jobs besides his ministry that allowed him to provide for the family and maintain his public image.  This car was the American counterpart of the European Mercedes. In the U.S. the Cadillac was the king of cars at that time.

I remember seeing pictures of the great blues singer Bobby “Blue” Bland Bland in Jet Magazine always standing with one foot inside a 1950′s Cadillac convertible. Having a Cadillac was a sign of major success, especially for Black men. A lot of entertainers and sports figures arrived in town in fancy Cadillacs. It seemed to me from my perspective as a little coloured boy, all Black ministers had Cadillacs. In the Black community back in that day, a successful preacher was treated like today’s rock stars. In Oakland we had a minister that called himself “King Narcisse”. He lived in Piedmont area of the Oakland hills and traveled in a chauffeur driven Rolls Royce. Wherever his foot touched the ground, a red carpet was waiting. Cars at that time were a real measure of status. He was really successfull.

If you were successfull in your profession, you drove a Cadillac. Of course there were Buicks, Pontiacs, Chryslers and Fords, but the Cadillac was king. Lincolns came along a few years later. The Lincoln was reserved for White doctors or lawyers. Black men generally could not get financing for a Lincoln. When James Brown hit the Bay Area, he came in on his tour bus. He was driven around Oakland, San Francisco and Richmond in a Cadillac. Count Basie, Miles Davis and so many stars of that time came to the Bay Area and were furnished Cadillacs to use by various establishments and local hustlers. If you could get a sighting of these visiting celebreties they would always be in some late model Cadillac.

In 1955, my father was the proud owner of a brand new sky blue Cadillac sedan. In the summer of that year our church was holding its annual summer youth convention in Bakersfield, California. My Mom could not attend the convention because I think she was very much expectant.. I had two younger sisters but somehow it was decided that I would travel with my father to this convention. I was 7 years old. My Dad was highly resistant to the idea of me spending the week with him at a out of town convention. He was furious! My mother prevailed. I realized much later in my life that my mother was using me as a chaperone to my dad. Wives didn’t want to let their preachers go gallivanting away at a out of town convention alone because they knew what goes on after church meetings.

Reluctantly my dad gave in and took me with him. I was ecstatic. Just me and dad in a hotel in another city. Because I was a preacher’s son , I was allowed to sit beside my father in the minister’s dining room. That was a real special privilege. The 30 or so ministers sitting in that room swapped stories about women in their congregations and their experiences on the road that I have not forgotten yet. And I was a little boy. 

We stayed a week in Bakersfield. On Sunday morning we left at daybreak on the return trip back to Richmond in the Bay Area. We were driving up Highway 99 through the heart of the beautiful San Joaquin Valley. A rainbow of colors of the fruits ripening in the trees was being broadcast by the rays of the rising sun to the motorists zooming down Highway 99. My father and I began to to smell a slight hint of burning rubber.

We had not reached Fresno. I told my father, yes I could smell somthing burning. We traveled on. By the time we reached Merced the smell was a little more pronounced. I remember looking over at my dad while he was driving. He was a handsome man and very G.Q. for that time. I admired his style and  elegance. He dressed well. That morning before we left, he had shaved and dressed in a suit and tie just to drive home! As I looked at him I thought, my God nothing can go wrong, my daddy is in charge! He asked me, “son, do you still smell rubber”? I answered “yes daddy, I do”.

We traveled on. In those days when you traveled on Highway 99, there were stop lights. Yes, you had to go through each town, like Fresno, Madera, Merced and other small towns and stop at the one or two traffic lights in town. After two or three blocks, Main street became Highway 99 again. Bakersfield is about 280 plus miles one way, from Richmond. As we traveled home, my dad and I figured that farmers along Highway 99 all had to be burning something in their fields that smelt like burning rubber.

We had driven about 250 miles and our baby blue Cadillac sedan had gotten us back to San Leandro and the Nimitz Freeway. We were 30 miles from home. I said to me father, “daddy smoke is coming out the back of the car”. He looked in the rear view mirror and said “what the h***! So we stopped on the side of the freeway. We both got out and went to the rear of the car. The rear tire on the driver’s side or left side of the car was smoking. It wasn’t a lot of smoke but it was steady. My dad said “son help me throw some dirt on this tire so we can cool it down”. So that’s what we did. We were on or hands and knees, grabbing dirt and gravel by the hand full and throwing it underneath the Cadillac to try to cool that back tire down. Then the tire caught on fire. It was a little flame so we new we could put it out. We just needed more dirt. We kept throwing more dirt and the flame kept getting bigger. By now I started to have doubts about how much control does my father really have over this situation. My dad must have read my thoughts because at that exact same moment he told me, “boy, don’t worry, we’ll handle this”. He said “we” and my chest filled with confidence and exhilaration. I was going to help my dad put out this fire!

The flames were getting bigger. My father told me, “son, let’s get our luggage and the spare tire out of this trunk just to be on the safe side”. I said “sure dad”. I was so proud to able to help. The flames were getting bigger. Black smoke was now billowing from underneath the back of the Cadillac. A Safeway Foods truck driver with a tractor and two trailers stopped on the other side of the freeway and reached behind his driver’s seat and grabbed a fire extinguisher  and bounded across the lethal freeway to help us. I was 7 years old. This was the first time I witnessed a White person willing to help Black people in distress and put their life in jeopardy as well. This man was a teamster and a White truck driver. In my young life I thought no White people could be caring. But I was wrong.

At least 10 or 12 big rigs stopped along both side of the treacherous Nimitz Freeway to help me and my father. The drivers were both White and Black. The firefighters eventually arrived and fought heroically to try to save my daddy’s car. I mean they really tried. I was only 7 years old and I remember that fire like it happened yesterday. I will always remember the men that came to our aid without a moments hesitation and even endangering their own lives so maybe this preacher and his young son could make it home safely. The firefighters were all White. It did not make any difference as to their color. All of these men were looking out for the safety of this preacher on the road with his little son. That was 53 years ago. Many, many years before most of you reading this blog were born. I will never forget the dedication and compassion of the men that came to our aid. In the end, the car burned to down to the axles. You could not recognize it as a Cadillac. 

We were driven home by a representative of the San Leandro Fire Department. On the way my father whispered to me, “son, you know I had been driving with the emergency brake on since we left Bakersfield”. I was only 7. However I had figured that out. I told him, “yes, I know”. He asked me “promise me you won’t tell your mother how I screwed up”. I was so proud to be able to keep a secret with my father, “yeah daddy, I won’t talk”. I never did. My dad had to put his rock star/ minister persona on hold for 6 weeks while the 1955 sky blue Cadlliac sedan was rebuilt from scratch. Both my mom and my dad have passed but I still smile sometimes when remembering my little secret. My mom outlived my dad and now I wish I had told her how the Cadillac burned up. She would have  had a good laugh!

My dad owned a Cadillac until his last day with us. I’m positive those mighty GM road warriors brought him much joy on the road.

FoodSpook

‘Lil FoodSpook Remembers Fried Chicken

In the 1950′s WWII was over. People all over the world had to take a breath and realize the war is over. What now? We were faced with another war in Korea. We sent our young men to maintain our vision of democracy in another country. So, what does this have to do with fried chicken? The 1950′s were boom years for America.  President Eisenhower decreed that a national highway system would be built. It was. The highway system created suburbs which in turn, created tract homes and shopping malls.  America was on the fast track to all out consumerism. Fast food restaurants had not taken over Americans eating habits yet. There were many famous burger stops along Highway 99 in California and Route 66 going coast to coast. MacDonald’s hadn’t taken over the country yet. People still ate most of their meals at home.

My Dad was a preacher.  His church was 280 miles from Richmond, California in a town off Highway 99 in the heart of San Joaquin Valley, called Madera. That’s 22 miles north of Fresno. We left Richmond at 5:30 AM on Sunday mornings to drive down Highway 99 to be at Sunday School in Madera by 8:30 AM. My dad drove us up and down that  highway every Sunday morning before daybreak for five years.  On Saturdays my mother would wash a dozen white shirts in a galvanized tub, add the bluing agent and bleach, and then iron them all to a professional finish.  We grew chickens in Richmond.  Most Black families raised their own chickens and some pigs. My mother would ring the necks of three hens on Saturday morning, put them in boiling water to loosen the feathers. She would cut them up and fry them and that would be our Sunday morning snack and lunch at the church. My sisters and I used to chase the chickens around the yard after their necks were snapped and they didn’t know they were dead yet. That was fun for us in Richmond in the 1950′s. My people were right out of the south. Success in working with the land was not a southern acquired life skill, but a lifetime of living skills handed down through our African ancestors brought by them to this alien land.                   

As a kid , I grew up with fried chicken. My mother fixed smothered chicken feet, which cost 29 cents a pound back then. Do you eat chicken feet?  These dishes were really good to eat. Mashed potatoes and gravy was one of my favorites. Collard greens and salt pork was mandatory at least twice a week. This diet was not healthy but it was traditional in Black homes and nobody questioned whether our diet was safe or not. Our health was not an issue. The food industry today is not concerned about anybody’s health. It will package and sell you anything. The F.D.A. is a joke. This government is not  protecting us from our own American food companies,  and now we are  being invaded by poison food products from abroad, like from China. There is a reason for the epidemic of diabetes in this country.  It is NOT an accident of nature!  

My parents were good people.  They pooled all of their energy to raise 7 children. The foods they grew up with in the South was the only food they knew about. My siblings and I were well nourished but not so much nutritionally nourished. I am still alive at age 60. I’m trying to tell you to Not trust adults with your nutrition. If you are young, be a maverick. Try to eat healthy. If you can, do your research and try to convince your parent or parents that you are aware of a different blueprint of living. This is your life. One day the people you know as parents, aunts and uncles, will die. Please think about yourself and your long-run life presence on Earth. A different way of eating can change your life in marvelous ways.

Fried foods are not good for you. Of course one can eat fried chicken on occasion, but not on a frequent basis. People are dying because of the food choices their parents handed down to them. Your parents didn’t know about fast food.  They trusted America and our food industry. What we have learned about food is not enough to offset the bogus advertising we are being bombarded with in the media by the food industry  This is no Joke! You don’t have to live with eating Macdonald’s and Burger King.  Don’t trust our food industry dictate to you and  your children what we should eat. Don’t trust our food industry to regulate itself. It won’t. This industry will sell you as much garbage as they can convince you to buy. My parents only knew nutrition as it was handed down to them from the slavery days. They handed the same eating traditions down to me. People today have access to unlimited information for nutrition and healthy living. Take advantage of this information. Do not take for granted that life will inherently take care of you. That’s a crap shoot. Trust in yourself, do some research and take charge of your future. 

This blog site is dedicated to providing information about avoiding diabetes and maintaining one’s good health. I beg you, do not trust what you see, or listen too about foods in this country. You are being deceived. You can lose your life!

“New Sugar” in Our Diet