Stories From the Eastside of Riverside, CA 1940's - 60's - Alyce Smith Cooper

I am excavating stories from African Americans who grew up on the Eastside of Riverside in 1940’s - 60’s.  They have valuable lessons-learned to share with the current generations.  In these disruptive, uncertain times, African Americans who have achieved levels of success in career, community-building and family, have more stories than most about how to survive adversity.   Rather than recounting biographies on the Buddy Jones and Friends site, you will find stories of calamities, incidents, accidents that identify how today’s elders were instructed, coached and supported by their black elders of the 1940’s, 50’s and 60’s. Read on!!

Interview with:

Alyce Smith Cooper

THE GOLDEN BROWN FAIRY GODMOTHER  tm (GBFG)

Great Grandmother, Reverend, Ancestral Storyteller, GBFG, Alyce wears all these roles and more with ease. Some know her as  Reverend, Registered Nurse, poet, actress, community activist.   Along with two co-authors she has written:

THE GUMBO POT POEMS (Amazon. Com)

Recently she was named Poet Laureate of the Military Museum of San Diego.

No matter how you know Alyce there is always a story and a smiling word of encouragement included in the interaction. Alyce has told stories across the United States, Puerto Rico, and the Bahamas, at schools, libraries, museums, around campfires under the stars, at family reunions and in corporate board rooms. She is always ready to educate, excite and invite you to tell your stories about your own journey.

She has been invited to join the ranks of San Diego Culture Bearers by the African American Museum of Fine Art.

As an Ancestral Storyteller, Certified Psychodramatist and Actor, Alyce Smith Cooper has received many major awards. She has worked in both stage and film and has hosted of a cable talk show. She has performed: The Old Globe, Marquis Public Theatre, Fiesta Dinner Theater, La Jolla Playhouse, and the Lyceum.

Interview: August 2020

Andre: Do you think Buster Jones, the Eastside auto-body shop resident philosopher thought that 60 years later, we would be sharing his life lessons?

Alyce: To answer your question about Uncle Buster.  Yes.  He knew his stories would be carried on.  He was a man of vision and a man of great life force.  He was man of vital force.  He knew his kin.  He knew others in his world.  He knew that someone would tell of the grief under his nails.  Anytime I was near him I could smell the car oil under his nails.  I came around the shop to hear Uncle Buster and his friends tell stories.   They would tell stories of World War II.   

We young people were always getting in trouble.  And yet, those men knew what was going down.  They watched over us. They were always telling stories about the Espinosas, Johnny Harris and others.  At the same time, Uncle Buster was investing in us.   And he encouraged other parents to invest in us.  

Now, I was known to sashay down Park Ave.  Not all behavior was scolded.  The men realized that the women of their time could not have done what we did.  They did not have our freedom of expression we showed off in our dress, our hair and our outspoken ways.    

They observed us. They saw in us a greater future.  They saw our potential to take a tool and increase the usability of a piece of machinery.  Buster spoke life into them,   “Watch me make a tool.   Now that I have made a tool, let’s see you make one.“ 

We were members of Teen Canteen at the Settlement House.  Cinco de Mayo was the big annual event.  Bad ass, Cinco de Mayo.  Members of every generation attended.  Mamas brought tamales, frijoles to feed everyone.  There was a tradition of blowing the uncooked egg out of the shell then putting confetti inside.  The boy would smash confetti egg on your head as a sign of affection.  My grandma hated cleaning egg and confetti out of my hair. 

Pachucos: Not Just Mexican American Males

There was an acknowledgement of Mexican culture celebrated by everyone.  The event had Mexican music and traditional dancers.  And then there were the Pachucos.  The Pachuco guys were pretty good dancers.  But the girls were better.  Although the Pachucos tended to be gang members,  they had the respect of the community.  They were seen as protectors.  

We embraced the Mexican community.  In fact the Eastside was more of an economic ghetto than an ethnic ghetto.  Poor whites, Asians, Mexicans and blacks.  Economic segregation.

Andre: And what do we need to know about mother wit?

Ayce: Mother Wit. I have always bemoaned the fact there is not enough cross generation communication.  We need ways.   We need the music of today, with imagery of the past protests.  I envision an up-stretched mother’s gnarly hand that holds the children in its palm, with fingers stretched out, pointing the way forward.  I have pithy and pissy sayings.  I am always intending to get attention.  I will get you with academic-ese or down-and-dirty talk.  That is mother wit.

We are known to call the old Guys to attention.  They cannot, should not retire.  They might die, but while still breathing, it is up to them to yoke up a young person.  Put fire underneath their butts.  Remember, the Phoenix rises because the hot coals are burning its’ ass.   We must shake up the young people and get them moving. 

The eyes of the children are looking for guidance.  We owe them that guidance.  

Andre:  And what were the Events Amongst The Trees?

Alyce: Sitting under the trees.  Revelation.  Transformation.  Pepper trees lined the streets, Fruit trees in every yard.  Mangos, prunes.  We travelled the neighborhood harvesting fruit.

Many a young man sat under the old fig tree.  I lived next door to the fig tree.  A fence between.  I could secretly see through the fence to watch the boys.  I did not understand all they were saying.  But I learned all about boys.

Across the street at Irving Elementary school was another hangout under the Pepper Tree.  During recess, Ed Bereal would entertain us with his monologues.  We learned about sexual reproduction.  He held court about life.   We grew up under that Pepper Tree.  

The Park – Many a love affair that happened in the park.  Still, under the watchful eyes of the local families.  We were the most observed, yet uncontrolled.  They talked amongst themselves to guide us.  Most went to church.  If not, you knew someone who went to church.  So word of any activity got around quickly.  

It was my sexual maturation process that guided me.  I was an only child.  My cousin Norma helped me learn how to meet other people.  I was the mascot.  I was the funny one.  Norma and Josie were my mentors and muses.  Their instruction was, “stop talking and start listening.”  Young mother wit. 

Cousin Bug Williams had the sharpest car and the finest clothes.  Slickest hair and a 1949 Ford when all others were driving model T’s.  He was as shiny as a new penny.  When he brought his car to Uncle Buster’s shop, he never got dirty.  He always had money to pay for the repair.

Now his sister, Carolyn was married to LB.  They opened up “The Place”, a Night Club in a gulley.  It was the happening place on the weekend.  They always booked a traveling band.  Carolyn cooked her butt off.  She could cook, then sell 100lbs. of chitlins on the weekend.  “The Place.” That is where I experienced my rights of passage.  And I learned where to go.  And where not to go.  You learned that you needed to leave with the person you went there with.

That was the place you showed just what you had grown into.  

Andre: And were there other role models? 

Alyce: The Dukes.  Another influential group.   We watched the Dukes, our all black softball team play other local teams.  James Cooper, who later became my husband, was a pitcher.  All the Scott brothers were athletes.   Anthony, the youngest Scott brother, was a pitcher. Other regional black towns had teams.  Rialto, Colton, etc., would get together their best players.  Dell Roberts, who still lives on the Eastside, would know more about the teams.

They were team players doubled as our lifeguards at the pool.  They were the strongest and most accomplished.  And mentors.  If you were out watching their game, they might call you over to the fence,  “OK, I saw what you did.  You are too good to do that.  You don’t need to use those kinds of words.”  Or,  “Keep doing that.”  Mother Wit does not always come from the women.

At one point, I had experienced trauma.  I expressed it behaviorally.  I was very unhappy.  It was showing up in my attitude.  One of the Dukes, Junie Jones (Buster Jones Jr.) pulled me aside.  

“You are blood.  Blood is thicker than mud.”  It was not that I told him what was going on with me.  But, it was his virility.  He had that Jones tenor in his voice and grease under his nails.  He knew how to work.  He commanded respect.  

Andre: What did it mean to you, “Blood is thicker than mud?”

I was an only child.  I was a foster child.  I was raised by my mother’s mother and stepfather.  I was living a very conventional life.  On the other hand, my mother was a party girl.  She was in and out of my life.  So I lived with a lot of insecurity.  What Junie was offering me was a taproot.  It was a lifeline.  A man who smelled like motor oil, with a big family offered to share his family with me.  That was like someone offering bread on a hungry day.

Next: Alyce Smith Cooper, Chapter Two

Local Heroes - Eastside Riverside, California 1940's -50's

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