Carole Boston Weatherford - Becoming Billie Holiday

Summary: Jazz vocalist Billie Holiday looks back on her early years in this fictional memoir written in verse. Includes bibliographical references. ISBN 978-1-59078-507-2 (hardcover : alk. paper) ISBN: 978-1-62979-173-9 (ebook) [1. Novels in verse. 2.

Holiday, Billie, 1915-1959Fiction. 3. African AmericansFiction.] I. Cooper, Floyd, ill. II. Title.

PZ7.5.W31Be 2008 [Fic]dc22 2007051214 WORDSONG An Imprint of Boyds Mills Press, Inc. 815 Church Street Honesdale, Pennsylvania 18431 When you listen to her, its almost like an audiotape of herautobiography. She didnt sing anything unless she had lived it. Tony Bennett, jazz singer CONTENTS Note: Unless marked with an asterisk (*), poems borrow titles from Billie Holidays songs.

I was proud too till I read what that two-bit critic wrote. Called me roly-poly; said I wouldnt diet, was stuck on my own voice, and cared for tunes but not the words. What did he know about my taste in food or music? I never even talked to the cat, but hed better not cross my path. If he dares, hell get a mouthful, hear just how I got to Harlem and became Lady Day. Oh, the tales Id tell. Why Was I Born? Because Sadie had one day off a week from her job as a live-in maid and crammed as many thrills as she could into the few hours she called her own.

Cause teenagers flocked to the carnival in July for rides, cotton candy, and sideshows. Cause Clarence had rested his banjo for the evening, hoping to sneak a peek under the tent during the burlesque show. Cause he and Sadie bumped into each other at the hot-dog stand and shimmied all night long in the sultry summer air. Cause Clarence whispered in Sadies ear, sweet-talked his way right up her skirt. Cause that one time was all it took for two dumb kids to make a baby. Cause Sadie went to Philly with full belly to keep from shaming her Baltimore kin.

Cause I could not wait a minute longer to burst on the scene, and 2:30 a.m., April 7, 1915, was as good a time as any to gasp my first breath, cry my first chord. Cause I no more chose my folks than chose my name Eleanora. Love Me or Leave Me I was two weeks old when Mom sent for her daddys folks; the same ones who shut the door on her as a child when her daddy got a girl from the wrong side of the tracks in trouble. Mom knew they wanted no part of her, but she hoped theyd take me off her hands. She couldnt be a live-in maid and nurse a child. She turned to her half-sister Eva, betting that blood was thicker than shame.

But Eva had just wed and didnt want a crying baby spoiling her honeymoon. So Aunt Evas new husband rode up to Philly and carried me to Baltimore. Baby in tow, he showed up, like a stray dog, on his mamas doorstep. Miss Martha took me in and cared for me, just as she had other neighborhood kids down on their luck and without a home. I came to call her Grandma Martha. My First Impression of You Tall, dark, and dashing distant relative passing through with empty pockets and promises.

You pinched my cheeks and bounced me on your knee, but music was your sweetie pie. You were the envelopes Mom kissed, the letters she read over and over, and the dollar bill she tucked in her bra. You were the one she blamed when rent was due and I needed new shoes; the thief who stole her heart and her youth. A happy-go-lucky, banjo-playin, whiskey-swiggin papa gone in the blink of an eye. How Could You? How could you pack your banjo and big-band wishes and run to New York, leaving Mom to care for me as best she could alone without a cent from you? What kind of father would do that, Clarence Holiday? Not that you ever came around much even before you left.

We were staunch Catholics who lit candles before saints, ate fish on Fridays, and had the priest over for Sunday lunch. At St. Francis Xavier, the oldest black Catholic church in all of the United States, I was baptized with holy water. Between Latin chants, I kneeled while Mom prayed Hail Marys. I knew how to cross myself before I could tie my shoes. Left Alone Soon as I got used to having Mom around, she was gone again.

She left town more times than I can count, each time leaving me in different hands. Grandma Martha, Aunt Eva, Miss Vi, and Miss Lu did their best by me, but they had troubles, too. Mostly, I was on my own. Say It Isnt So Love, oh love, oh careless love,Love, oh love, oh careless love,Love, oh love, oh careless love,Cant you see what love has done to me?I love my mama an my papa, too.I love my mama an my papa, too.I love my mama an my papa, too.Gonna leave em both an go wid you.What, oh what will mama say,What, oh what will mama say,What, oh what will mama sayWhen she learns Ive gone astray? Aunt Eva frowned on the bawdy songs I learned from kids at school. In her house, only hymns allowed. Shed wash inside my mouth with soap whenever I broke that rule.

I can still taste those nasty bubbles. Eeny Meeny Miney Mo I didnt have china dolls in frilly dresses like other girls. All I had was a bunch of boys with naps in their hair, rocks in their pockets, and holes in their knickers, willing to let a tomboy like me join their games. I could beat every one of them at stickball and out-skate any kid on eight wheels. I played softball better than any boy on the block. I may have had pigtails, but I struck out every Tom, Dick, and Harry who swung a bat.

I earned my braggin rights. (You Aint Gonna Bother Me) No More I could keep up with the boys shooting marbles and dice, but not catching bugs. Crawly things gave me the creeps, and all the boys knew it. Once, after a ballgame, I was sitting on the curb and a sore loser swung a rat by the tail right in my face. I begged him to stop, but he just grinned. Then that rat brushed my cheek.