soldier had tried to tip me, I had waved it away, telling him I was just doing him a favor. They must
have agreed that Joe Baker should just scare me.
I didn't know enough to be aware that I wasn't taken to the desk and booked. Joe Baker took me
back inside of the precinct building, into a small room. In the next room, we could hear somebody
getting whipped. Whop! Whop! He'd cry out, "Please! Please don't beat my face, that's how I
make my living!" I knew from that it was some pimp. Whop! Whop!" Please! Please!"
(Not much later, I heard that Joe Baker had gotten trapped over in New Jersey, shaking down a
Negro pimp and his white prostitute. He was discharged fromthe New York City police force, the
State of New Jersey convicted him, and he went off to do some time.)
More bitter than getting fired, I was barred from Small's. I could understand. Even if I wasn't
actually what was called "hot," I was now going to be under surveillance-and the Small brothers
had to protect their business.
Sammy proved to be my friend in need. He put the word on the wire for me to come over to his
place. I had never been there. His place seemed to me a small palace; his women really kept him
in style. While we talked about what kind of a hustle I should get into, Sammy gave me some of
the best marijuana I'd ever used.
Various numbers controllers, Small's regulars, had offered me jobs as a runner. But that meant I
would earn very little until I could build up a clientele. Pimping, as Sammy did, was out. I felt I had
no abilities in that direction, and that I'd certainly starve to death trying to recruit prostitutes.
Peddling reefers, Sammy and I pretty soon agreed, was the best thing. It was a relatively
uninvolved lone-wolf type of operation, and one in which I could make money immediately. For
anyone with even a little brains, no experience was needed, especially if one had any knack at all
with people.
Both Sammy and I knew some merchant seamen and others who could supply me with loose
marijuana. And musicians, among whom I had so many good contacts, were the heaviest
consistent market for reefers. And then, musicians also used the heavier narcotics, if I later
wanted to graduate to them. That would be more risky, but also more money. Handling heroin and
cocaine could earn one hundreds of dollars a day, but it required a lot of experience with the
narcotics squad for one to be able to last long enough to make anything.
I had been around long enough either to know or to spot instinctively most regular detectives and
cops, though not the narcotics people. And among the Small's veteran hustler regulars, I had a
variety of potentially helpful contacts. This was important because just as Sammy could get me
supplied with marijuana, a large facet of any hustler's success was knowing where he could get
help when he needed it. The help could involve police and detectives-as well as higher ups. But I
hadn't yet reached that stage. So Sammy staked me, about twenty dollars, I think it was.
Later that same night, I knocked at his door and gave him back his money and asked him if I
could lend him some. I had gone straight from Sammy's to a supplier he had mentioned. I got just
a small amount of marijuana, and I got some of the paper to roll up my own sticks. As they were
only about the size of stick matches, I was able to make enough of them so that, after selling
them to musicians I knew at the Braddock Hotel, I could pay back Sammy and have enough profit
to be in business. And those musicians when they saw their buddy, and their fan, in business: "My
man!" "Crazy, Red!"
In every band, at least half of the musicians smoked reefers. I'm not going to list names; I'd have
to include some of those most prominent then in popular music, even a number of them around
today. In one case, every man in one of the bands which is still famous was on marijuana. Or
again, any number of musicians could tell you who I mean when I say that one of the most
famous singers smoked his reefers through a chicken thighbone. He had smoked so many
through the bone that he could just light a match before the empty bone, draw the heat through,
and get what he called a "contact" high.
I kept turning over my profit, increasing my supplies, and I sold reefers like a wild man. I scarcely
slept; I was wherever musicians congregated. A roll of money was in my pocket. Every day, I
cleared at least fifty or sixty dollars. In those days (or for that matter these days), this was a
fortune to a seventeen-year-old Negro. I felt, for the first time in my life, that great feeling of
darsice
(darsice)
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