You might look at me and say, Hey, there's a happy kid; a little hyper, a little rambunctious, but happy all the same. And so there I was, humming along, when suddenly Dorothy would pop up out of the blue, snatch me up, and take me along on one of her lost weekends.
Catalog
Book
Rage to survive
One of the great women of American music, equally at home singing blues and jazz, Etta regales us with tales of her chaotic childhood, the stars she has known, and her troubled trip to stardom in this mesmerizing autobiography.
Characters
I just clung closer to her and knew the boogeyman couldn't get me, not as long as Mama held me in her arms, not as long as I didn't think about the little girl who had been cut up and stuffed in a trunk -- only a block away from our house -- the one crime that freaked me out when I was still very yo…
I was afraid of the boogeyman until I was fourteen or fifteen. The boogeyman was the devil who could appear in any form. Before I went to sleep, I had to look under my bed. The boogeyman was death and death was the greatest fear of all.
One mother was nurturing while the other was neurotic; one father was missing -- the eternal mystery -- while the other, who wasn't my father but the one I called Daddy, was around. He was a good man who liked his liquor.
All this insanity has made me wonder whether craziness was in my blood.
"Girl," Willie said to me one time, "you look just like your papa. You're the spitting image of Minnesota Fats."
I've tried to put the pieces together. I wish I could prove it by trotting out blood tests, but I can't. All I can do is tell you the story I believe, the one I've heard from people who were there and should know.
Didn't like being fenced in -- not then, not now.
I was as curious as the devil. Couldn't have been older than sixteen months when I started wandering out of the house by myself. I was a handful. Had to be kept on a short leash.
I remember Mama poured me milk and tried to show me how to drink from a cup, but I wouldn't wait. I didn't want to be shown anything. I took the cup and spilled the milk all over me.
Cozie and James also noticed my musical nature when I was still an infant. They said I was fixated on jukeboxes. I'd toddle over and point to one particular song -- "Honky Tonk Train Blues" by Meade Lux Lewis, a hot boogie-woogie instrumental. I'd holler until someone put a nickel in the box and pla…
Sounds weird, but I have memory flashes of being slipped into bureaus, where I'd pick up my little head and peek out to survey the scene. I've always been a peeker, eager to check out the world.
Hey, that could be the story of my life--no brakes.
But good ol'Uncle James, he had a heart. He talked her into it. It was Uncle James who told me about the night I was born. Driving Dorothy to the hospital, his raggedy old car didn't have any brakes. He had to ride around and around in circles until the car slowed down. Hey, that could be the story…
Cozie could be cold-blooded. Even though my name, "Jamesetta," was formed from "James" (her husband) and "Cozetta," she didn't want to adopt me. She thought I'd hurt her business.
But in this life she was a light-brown-skinned beauty who wore short skirts and fishnet hose and platform shoes with ankle straps.
But whose child was I? The question was there when I was born. It's still there. The question haunts me, worries me, troubles my sleep. You wouldn't think it would matter after all this time, but it does. Something deep inside me needs to know.
I had two mothers, two childhoods, lived two different lives in two different cities. Maybe that's why I became two different people.
I called myself "Etta James." It said "Etta James" on my records. Sometimes the emcee introduced me as "Peaches. Miss Etta James."