英日対訳・マイリー・サイラス「Miles to Go」


<総集編>サッチモMy Life in New Orleans 第6章

chapter 6 (pp89-108) 


ARTHUR BROWN was one of my playmates at school. He was a quiet good-looking youngster with nice manners and a way of treating the girls that made them go wild about him. I admired the way he played it cool. He was going with a girl who had a little brother who was very cute. Too cute, I would say, since he was al ways playing with a pistol or a knife. We did not pay much attention to the kid, but one day when he was cleaning his gun he pointed it at Arthur Brown saying "I am going to shoot." Sure enough, he pulled the trigger; the gun was loaded and Arthur Brown fell to the ground with a bullet in his head. 

It was a terrible shock. We all felt so bad that even the boys cried.  




a way of treating the girls that made them go wild about him 

彼女達を彼に夢中にさせる女の子達の扱い方(that made them go) 


When Arthur was buried we all chipped in and hired a brass band to play at his funeral. Beautiful girls Arthur used to go with came to the funeral from all over the city, from Uptown, Downtown, Front o' Town and Back o' Town. Every one of them was weeping. We kids, all of us teen-agers, were pall bearers. The band we hired was the finest I had ever heard. It was the Onward Brass Band with Joe "King" Oliver and Emmanuel Perez blowing the cornets. Big tall Eddy Jackson booted the bass tuba. A bad tuba player in a brass band can make work hard for the other musi cians, but Eddy Jackson knew how to play that tuba and he was the ideal man for the Onward Brass Band. Best of all was Black Benny playing the bass drum. The world really missed something by not digging Black Benny on that bass drum before he was killed by a prostitute.  



The band we hired was the finest I had ever heard 

私達が雇ったバンドは私が聞いた中で最高だった(the finest I had heard) 

The world really missed something by not digging Black Benny on that bass drum before he was killed by a prostitute. 




It was a real sad moment when the Onward Brass Band struck up the funeral march as Arthur Brown's body was being brought from the church to the grave yard. Everybody cried, including me. Black Benny beat the bass drum with a soft touch, and Babe Mathews put a handkerchief under his snare to deaden the tone. Nearer My God to Thee was played as the coffin was lowered into the grave.  



as Arthur Brown's body was being brought from the church  




As pallbearers Cocaine Buddy, Little Head Lucas, Egg Head Papa, Harry Tennisen and myself wore the darkest clothes we had, blue suits for the most part. Later that same year Harry Tennisen was killed by a hustling gal of the honky-tonks called Sister Pop. Her pimp was named Pop and was well known as a good cotch player. Pop did not know anything about the affair until Sister Pop shot Harry in the brain with a big forty-five gun and killed him instantly. Later on Lucas and Cocaine Buddy died natural deaths of T.B.  



until Sister Pop shot Harry 




The funerals in New Orleans are sad until the body is finally lowered into the grave and the Reverend says, "ashes to ashes and dust to dust." After the brother was six feet under ground the band would strike up one of those good old tunes like Didn't He Ramble, and all the people would leave their worries behind. Particularly when King Oliver blew that last chorus in high register.  

ニューオーリンズの葬儀は、遺体が墓穴に埋葬され、牧師のシメの一言「灰は灰に、塵は塵に」によって悲しみの時間が終わる。アーサーが埋葬されると、バンドは当時人気のあった「Didn't He Ramble」のような曲を演奏し始める。そして参列した人々は悲しみに別れを告げるのだ。特にキング・オリバーが曲の最後のコーラスで高い音域のフレーズを高らかに奏でるときは最高の瞬間だった。 


the band would strike up one of those good old tunes 



Once the band starts, everybody starts swaying from one side of the street to the other, especially those who drop in and follow the ones who have been to the funeral. These people are known as "the second line" and they may be anyone passing along the street who wants to hear the music. The spirit hits them and they follow along to see what's happening. Some follow only a few blocks, but others follow the band until the whole 

affair is over.  



those who drop in and follow the ones who have been to the funeral 

途中から参加して葬式にずっと参加してきている人達の後をついて行く人達(who have been) 


Wakes are usually held when the body is laid out in the house or the funeral parlor. The family of the deceased usually serves a lot of coffee, cheese and crackers all night long so that the people who come to sing hymns over the corpse can eat and drink to their heart's delight. I used to go to a lot of wakes and lead off with a hymn. After everybody had joined in the chorus I would tiptoe on into the kitchen and load up on crackers, cheese and coffee. That meal always tasted specially good. Maybe it was because that meal was a freebie and didn't cost me anything but a song or I should say, a hymn.  



There was one guy who went to every wake in town. It did not matter whose wake it was. In some way he would find out about it and get there, rain or shine, and lead off with a hymn. When I got old enough to play in the brass band with good old-timers like Joe Oliver, Roy Palmer, Sam Dutrey and his brother Honore, Oscar Celestin, Oak Gasper, Buddy Petit, Kid Ory and Mutt Carey and his brother Jack I began noticing this character more frequently. Once I saw him in church looking very sad and as if he was going to cry any minute. His clothes were not very good and his pants and coat did not match. What I admired about him was that he managed to look very present able. His clothes were well pressed and his shoes shined. Finally I found out the guy was called Sweet Child.  



Once I saw him in church looking very sad and as if he was going to cry any minute 


(as if he was ) 



For some time funerals gave me the only chance I had to blow my cornet. The war had started, and all the dance halls and theaters in New Orleans had been closed down. A draft law had been passed and everybody had to work or fight, I was perfectly willing to go into the Army, but they were only drafting from the age of twenty-one to twenty-five and I was only seven teen. I tried to get into the Navy, but they checked up on my birth certificate and threw me out. I kept up my hope and at one enlistment office a soldier told me to come back in a year. He said that if the war was still going on I could capture the Kaiser and win a great, big prize. "Wouldn't that be swell” I thought. "Capture the Kaiser and win the war." Believe me, I lived to see that day.  



the Kaiser:ドイツ皇帝 


Since I did not have a chance to play my cornet, I did odd jobs of all kinds. For a time I worked unloading the banana boats until a big rat jumped out of a bunch I was carrying to the checker. I dropped that bunch and started to run. The checker hollered at me to come back and get my time, but I didn't stop running until I got home. Since then bananas have terrified me. I would not eat one if I was starving. Yet I can remember how I used to love them. I could eat a whole small ripe bunch all by myself when the checker could not see me.  



I would not eat one if I was starving 

もし私が飢えていても一つも食べることはしない(I would not eat if I was) 


Every time things went bad with me I had the coal cart to fall back on, thanks to my good stepfather Gabe. I sure did like him, and I used to tease Mayann about it. 

'"Mama, you know one thing?" I would say. "Papa Gabe is the best step-pa I've ever had. He is the best out of the whole lot of them."  

Mayann would kind of chuckle and say:  

"Aw, go on, you Fatty O'Butler." 






That was the time when the moving picture actor Fatty Arbuckle was in his prime and very popular in New Orleans. Mayann never did get his name right. It sounded so good to me when she called me Fatty O'Butler that I never told her different.  



I would stay at the coal yard with father Gabe until I thought I had found something better, that is something that was easier. It was hard work shoveling coal and sitting behind my mule all day long, and I used to get awful pains in my back. So any time I could find a hustle that was just a little lighter, I would run to it like a man being chased.  



It was hard work shoveling coal and sitting behind my mule all day long 

石炭をシャベルで掻いてラバの荷馬車の後ろに座るのはきつい仕事だった(It was ) 


The job I took with Morris Karnoffsky was easier, and I stayed with him a long time. His wagon went through the red-light district, or Storyville, selling stone coal at a nickel a bucket. Stone coal was what they called hard coal. One of the reasons I kept the job with Morris Karnoffsky was that it gave me a chance to go through Storyville in short pants. Since I was working with a man, the cops did not bother me. Otherwise they would have tanned my hide if they had caught me rambling around that district. They were very strict with us youngsters and I don't blame them. The temptation was great and weakminded kids could have sure messed things up.  




weakminded kids could have sure messed things up 

誘惑に弱い子供達は間違いなく面倒を起こす可能性があった(could have messed) 



As for me I was pretty wise to things. I had been brought up around the honky-tonks on Liberty and Perdido where life was just about the same as it was in Storyville except that the chippies were cheaper. The gals in my neighborhood did not stand in cribs wearing their fine silk lingerie as they did in Storyville. They wore the silk lingerie just the same, but under their regular clothes. Our hustlers sat on their steps and called to the "Johns" as they passed by. They had to keep an eye on the cops all the time, because they weren't allowed to call the tricks like the girls in Storyville. That was strictly a business center. Music, food and everything else was good there.  





I had been brought up around the honky-tonks on Liberty and Perdido  

私は以前はリバティー通りとパーディド通りにある売春宿の周りで育った(had been ) 


All of the cribs had a small fireplace. When our wagon passed by, the girls would holler out to Morris and tell him to have his boy bring in some coal. I would bring them whatever they ordered, and they would generally ask me to start a fire for them or put some coal on the fire that was already burning. While I was fixing the fire I couldn't help stealing a look at them, which always sent me into a cold sweat. I did not dare say anything, but I had eyes, and very good ones at the time, and I used them. It seemed to me that some of the beautiful young women I saw standing in those doorways should have been home with their parents.  



I couldn't help stealing a look at them, which always sent me into a cold sweat 


(I couldn't help stealing / , which) 


What I appreciated most about being able to go into Storyville without being bothered by the cops, was Pete Lala's cabaret where Joe Oliver had his band and where he was blowing up a storm on his cornet. No body could touch him. Harry Zeno, the best known drummer in New Orleans, was playing with him at the time. What I admired most about Zeno was that no matter how hard he played the sporting racket he never let it interfere with his profession. And that's some thing the modern day musician has to learn. Nothing ever came between Harry Zeno and his drums.  



no matter how hard he played the sporting racket he never let it interfere with his profession 


(no matter how / let it interfere) 


There were other members of Joe Oliver's band whose names have become legendary in music. The world will never be able to replace them, and I say that from the bottom of my heart. These musicians were Buddy Christian, guitar (he doubled on piano also); Zue Robertson, trombone; Jimmy Noone, clari net; Bob Lyons, bass violin; and last but not least Joe Oliver on the cornet. That was the hottest jazz band ever heard in New Orleans between the years 1910 and 1917. 




Harry Zeno died in the early part of 1917 and his funeral was the largest ever held for any musician. Sweet Child, by the way, was at this funeral too, singing away as though he was a member of Zeno's lodge. The Onward Brass Band put him away with those fine, soothing funeral marches.  



Not long after Zeno died talk started about closing down Storyville. Some sailors on leave got mixed up in a fight and two of them were killed. The Navy started a war on Storyville, and even as a boy I could see that the end was near. The police began to raid all the houses and cabarets. All the pimps and gamblers who hung around a place called Twenty-Five while their chicks were working were locked up.  



All the pimps and gamblers who hung around a place called Twenty-Five 

25と呼ばれた場所を徘徊していた全てのポン引き達と賭博師達(a place called) 


It sure was a sad scene to watch the law run all those people out of Storyville. They reminded me of a gang of refugees. Some of them had spent the best part of their lives there. Others had never known any other kind of life. I have never seen such weeping and carrying-on. Most of the pimps had to go to work or go to jail, except a privileged few.  



It sure was a sad scene to watch the law run all those people out of Storyville 


(It was to watch 


A new generation was about to take over in Storyville. My little crowd had begun to look forward to other kicks, like our jazz band, our quartet and other musical activities. 



My little crowd had begun to look forward to other kicks 

私の小さな集団は既に他の行動を見据え始めていていた(had begun) 


Joe Lindsey and I formed a little orchestra. Joe was a very good drummer, and Morris French was a good man on the trombone. He was a little shy at first, but we soon helped him to get over that. Another shy lad was Louis Prevost who played the clarinet, but how he could play once he got started! We did not use a piano in those days. There were only six pieces: cornet, clarinet, trombone, drums, bass violin and guitar, and when those six kids started to swing, you would swear it was Ory and Oliver's jazz band.  



Kid Ory and Joe Oliver got together and made one of the hottest jazz bands that ever hit New Orleans. They often played in a tail gate wagon to advertise a ball or other entertainments. When they found themselves on a street corner next to another band in an other wagon, Joe and Kid Ory would shoot the works. They would give with all that good mad music they had under their belts and the crowd would go wild. When the other band decided it was best to cut the competition and start out for another corner, Kid Ory played a little tune on his trombone that made the crowd go wild again. But this time they were wild with laughter. If you ever run into Kid Ory, maybe he will tell you the name of that tune. I don't dare write it here. It was a cute little tune to celebrate the defeat of the enemy. I thought it screamingly funny and I think you would too.  



it was best to cut the competition and start out for another corner 

競争を打ち切って別の街角へ向かったほうがましだった(it was best to cut) 


Kid knew how much Joe Oliver cared for me. He also knew that, great as he was, Joe Oliver would never do anything that would make me look small in the eyes of the public. Oftentimes when our band was on the street advertising a lawn party or some other entertainment, our tail wagon would run into the Ory-Oliver's band. When this happened Joe had told me to stand up so that he would be sure to see me and not do any carving. After he saw me he would stand up in his wagon, play a few short pieces and set out in another direction.  



Joe Oliver would never do anything that would make me look small 

ジョー・オリバーは僕のメンツを潰すようなことは決してしない(make me look) 


One day when we were advertising for a ball we ran into Oliver and his band. I was not feeling very well that day and I forgot to stand up. What a licking those guys gave us. Sure enough when our wagon started to leave, Kid Ory started to play that get-away tune at us. The crowd went mad. We felt terrible about it, but we took it like good sports because there was not any other band that could do that to us. We youngsters were the closest rivals the Ory band had.  



there was not any other band that could do that to us 

それを私達にやれるバンドは他になかった(not any other band) 


I saw Joe Oliver the night of the day he had cut in on us. 

"Why in hell,” he said before I could open my mouth, "didn't you stand up?"  

"Papa Joe, it was all my fault. I promise I won't ever do that again."  

We laughed it all off, and Joe brought me a bottle of beer. This was a feather in my cap because Papa Joe was a safe man, and he did not waste a lot of money buying anybody drinks. But for me he would do anything he thought would make me happy.  






he did not waste a lot of money buying anybody drinks 



At that time I did not know the other great musicians such as Jelly Roll Morton, Freddy Keppard, Jimmy Powlow, Bab Frank, Bill Johnson, Sugar Johnny, Tony Jackson, George Fields and Eddy Atkins. All of them had left New Orleans long before the red-light district was closed by the Navy and the law. Of course I met most of them in later years, but Papa Joe Oliver, God bless him, was my man. I often did errands for Stella Oliver, his wife, and Joe would give me lessons for my pay. I could not have asked for anything I wanted more. It was my ambition to play as he did. I still think that if it had not been for Joe Oliver jazz would not be what it is today. He was a creator in his own right.  




I could not have asked for anything I wanted more 


(could have asked) 


Mrs. Oliver also became attached to me, and treated me as if I were her own son. She had a little girl by her first marriage named Ruby, whom I knew when she was just a little shaver. She is married now and has a daughter who will be married soon.  

One of the nicest things Joe Oliver did for me when I was a youngster was to give me a beat-up old cornet of his which he had blown for years. I prized that horn and guarded it with my life. I blew on it for a long, long time before I was fortunate enough to get another one.  




a beat-up old cornet of his which he had blown for years 



Cornets were much cheaper then than they are today, but at that they cost sixty-five dollars. You had to be a big shot musician making plenty of money to pay that price for a horn. I remember how such first rate musicians as Hamp Benson, Kid Ory, Zoo French, George Brashere, Joe Petit and lots of other fellows I played with beamed all over when they got new horns. They acted just as though they had received a brand new Cadillac.  



Cornets were much cheaper then than they are today 

コルネットは今日よりもずっと安かった(than they are today) 


I got my first brand new cornet on the installment plan with "a little bit down" and a "little bit now and then." Whenever my collector would catch up with me and start talking about a "little bit now" I would tell him:  

"I'll give you-all a little bit then, but I'm damned if I can give you-all a little bit now."  







Cornet players used to pawn their instruments when there was a lull in funerals, parades, dances, gigs and picnics. Several times I went to the pawnshop and picked up some loot on my horn. Once it was to play cotch and be around the good old hustlers and gamblers. 



to play cotchカマをかける(ジャマイカ英語のスラング 


I can never stop loving Joe Oliver. He was always ready to come to my rescue when I needed someone to tell me about life and its little intricate things, and help me out of difficult situations. That is what happened when I met a gal named Irene, who had just arrived from Memphis, Tennessee, and did not know a soul in New Orleans. She got mixed up with a gambler in my neighborhood named Cheeky Black who gave her a real hard time. She used to come into a honky-tonk where I was playing with a three piece combo. I played the cornet; Boogus, the piano; and Sonny Garbie, the drums. After their night's work was over, all the hustling gals used to come into the joint around four or five o'clock in the morning. They would ask us to beat out those fine blues for them and buy us drinks, cigarettes, or anything we wanted.  



a gal named Irene, who had just arrived from Memphis, Tennessee 

アイリーンという名前の少女で、テネシー州メンフィスから来たばかりの子(named / who had just arrived) 



I noticed that everyone was having a good time except Irene. One morning during an intermission I went over to talk to her and she told me her whole story. Cheeky Black had taken every nickel she had earned and she had not eaten for two days. She was as raggedy as a bowl of slaw. That is where I came in with my soft heart. I was making a dollar and twentyfive cents a night. That was a big salary in those days ― if I got it; some nights they paid us, and some nights they didn't. Anyway I gave Irene most of my salary until she could get on her feet.  



as raggedly as a bowl of slaw 



That went on until she and Cheeky Black came to the parting of the ways. There was only one thing Irene could do: take refuge under my wing. I had not had any experience with women, and she taught me all I know.  



We fell deeply in love. My mother did not know this at first. When she did find out, being the great little trouper she was, she made no objections. She felt that I was old enough to live my own life and to think for myself. Irene and I lived together as man and wife. Then one fine day she was taken deathly sick. As she had been very much weakened by the dissipated life she had led her body could not resist the sickness that attacked her. Poor girl! She was twenty-one, and I was just turning seventeen. I was at a loss as to what to do for her.  



being a great little trouper she was 



The worst was when she began to suffer from stomach trouble. Every night she groaned so terribly that she was nearly driving me crazy. I was desperate when I met my fairy godfather, Joe Oliver. I ran into him when I was on my way to Poydras Market to get some fish heads to make a cubic yon for Irene the way Mayann had taught me how to cook it. Papa Joe was on his way to play for a funeral.  



the way Mayann had taught me how to cook 

メイアンが私にどのように作ったらいいか教えた方法(the way Mayann had taught) 



"Hello, kid. What's cooking?" he asked.  

"Nothing," I said sadly.  

Then I told him about Irene's sickness and how much I loved her.  

"You need money for a doctor? Is that it?" he said immediately. "Go down and take my place at Pete Lala's for two nights."  







He was making top money down there a dollar and a half a night. In two nights I would make enough money to engage a very good doctor and get Irene's stomach straightened out. I was certainly glad to make the money I needed so much, and I was also glad to have a chance to blow my cornet again. It had been some time since I had used it. 



I would make enough money to engage a very good doctor 



"Papa Joe," I said, "I appreciate your kindness, but I do not think I am capable of taking your place.”  

Joe thought for a moment and then he said:  

"Aw, go'wan and play in my place. If Pete Lala says anything to you tell him I sent ya."  





go'wan = go on 


As bad as I actually needed the money I was scared to death. Joe was such a powerful figure in the district that Pete Lala was not going to accept a nobody in his place. I could imagine him telling me so in these very words.  

When I went there the next night, out of the corner of my eye I could see Pete coming before I had even opened my cornet case. I dumbed up and took my place on the bandstand.  




I could imagine him telling me so in these very words 

私は彼がその言葉そのまま私に言うところを想像した(in these very words) 


"Where's Joe?" Pete asked.  

"He sent me to work in his place," I answered nervously.  

To my surprise Pete Lala let me play that night. However, every five minutes he would drag his club foot up to the bandstand in the very back of the cabaret.  

"Boy," he would say, "put that bute in your horn."  

I could not figure what on earth he was talking about until the end of the evening when I realized he meant to keep the mute in. When the night was over he told me that I did not need to come back.  







Pete Lala let me play that night 

ピート・ララはその晩私に演奏させてくれた(let me play) 


I told Papa Joe what had happened and he paid me for the two nights anyway. He knew how much I needed the money, and besides that was the way he acted with someone he really liked.  

Joe quit Pete Lala's when the law began to close down Storyville on Saturday nights, the best night in the week. While he was looking for new fields he came to see Irene and me, and we cooked a big pot of good gumbo for him. Irene had gotten well, and we were happy again.  






The year 1917 was a turning point for me. Joe Lindsey left the band. He had found a woman who made him quit playing with us. It seemed as though Joe did not have much to say about the matter; this woman had made up Joe's mind for him. In any case that little incident broke up our little band, and I did not see any more of the fellows for a long time, except when I occasionally ran into one of them at a gig. But my bosom pal Joe Lindsey was not among them.  



He had found a woman who made him quit playing with us 

彼は私達と演奏することを彼に辞めさせた女性を見つけていた(had found / who made ) 


When I did see Joe again he was a private chauffeur driving a big, high-powered car. Oh, he was real fancy! There was a good deal of talk about the way Joe had left the band and broken up our friendship to go off with that woman. I told them that Joe had not broken up our friendship, that we had been real true friends from childhood and that we would continue to be as long as we lived. 



he was a private chauffeur driving a big, high-powered car. 



Everything had gone all right for Seefus, as we called Joe, so long as he was just a poor musician like the rest of us. But there's a good deal of truth in the old saying about all that glitters ain't gold. Seefus had a lot of bad luck with that woman of his. In the first place she was too old for him, much too old. I thought Irene was a little too old for me, but Seefus went me one better he damn near tied up with an old grandma. And to top it off he married the woman. My God, did she give him a bad time! Soon after their marriage she dropped him like a hot potato. He suffered terribly from wounded vanity and tried to kill himself by slashing his throat with a razor blade. See ing what had happened to Joe, I told Irene that since she was now going straight, she should get an older fellow. I was so wrapped up in my horn that I would not make a good mate for her. She liked my sincerity and she said she would always love me.  



did she give him a bad time 

誠に彼女は彼にひどい人生を与えた(did she give) 


After that I went to the little town of Houma, La. ― where the kid we called Houma, at the Home, came from ― to play in a little band owned by an undertaker called Bonds. He was so nice to me that I stayed longer than I had planned. It was a long, long time before I saw Irene or Joe Lindsey, but I often thought about them both.  



He was so nice to me that I stayed longer than I had planned 

彼は私にとても良くしてくれたので私は前もって計画していたよりも長く居た(so that) 


Things had not changed much when I returned to New Orleans. In my quarter I still continued to run across old lady Magg, who had raised almost all the kids in the neighborhood. Both she and Mrs. Martin, the school teacher, were old-timers in the district. So too was Mrs. Laura  ― we never bothered about a person's last name ― whom I remember dearly. Whenever one of these three women gave any of us kids a spanking we did not go home and tell our parents because we would just get another one from them. Mrs. Magg, I am sure, is still living.  



When I returned from Houma I had to tell Mrs. Magg everything that had happened during the few weeks I was there. Mr. Bonds paid me a weekly salary, and I had my meals at his home, which was his under taking establishment. He had a nice wife and I sure did enjoy the way she cooked those fresh butter beans, the beans they call Lima beans up North. The most fun we had in Houma was when we played at one of the country dances. When the hall was only half full I used to have to stand and play my cornet out of the window. Then, sure enough, the crowd would come rolling in. That is the way I let the folks know for sure that a real dance was going on that night. Once the crowd was in, that little old band would swing up a breeze. 



I had my meals at his home, which was his under taking establishment. 

私は彼の家で食事をした、それは彼が人の面倒をみるやり方だった( , which) 


Being young and wild, whenever I got paid at the end of a week, I would make a beeline for the gambling house. In less than two hours I would be broker than the Ten Commandments. When I came back to Mayann she put one of her good meals under my belt, and I decided never to leave home again. No matter where I went, I always remembered Mayann's cooking.  



Being young and wild 



One day some of the boys in the neighborhood thought up the fantastic idea to run away from home and hobo out to get a job on a sugar cane plantation. We rode a freight train as far as Harrihan, not over thirty miles from New Orleans. I began to get real hungry, and the hungrier I got the more I thought about those good meat balls and spaghetti Mayann was cooking the morning we left. I decided to give the whole thing up.  




the hungrier I got the more I thought 

より腹が減ると、もっと私は考えた(the hungrier the more) 


"Look here, fellows," I said. "I'm sorry, but this don't make sense. Why leave a good home and all that good cooking to roam around the country without money? I am going back to my mother on the next freight that passes."  

And believe me, I did. When I got home Mayann did not even know that I had lit out for the cane fields. 

"Son," she said, "you are just in time for supper."  

I gave a big sigh of relief. Then I resolved again never to leave home unless Papa Joe Oliver sent for me. And I didn't either. 






Why leave a good home 



I don't want anyone to feel I'm posing as a plaster saint. Like everyone I have my faults, but I always have believed in making an honest living. I was determined to play my horn against all odds, and I had to sacrifice a whole lot of pleasure to do so. Many a night the boys in my neighborhood would go uptown to Mrs. Cole's lawn, where Kid Ory used to hold sway. The other boys were sharp as tacks in their fine suits of clothes. 

I did not have the money they had and I could not dress as they did, so I put Kid Ory out of my mind. And Mayann, Mama Lucy and I would go to some nickel show and have a grand time.