An Interview with James Silcott December 18, 2007 Los Angeles, California

An Interview with James Silcott December 18, 2007 Los Angeles, California

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INT: Today is December 17th. JS: No, it’s the 18th. INT: December 18th? JS: Yes. Yesterday was the 17th. I have a friend whose birthday is the 17th, so. INT: I’m here with James Silcott. JS: You got it. INT: S-I-L-C-O-T-T. JS: Correct. INT: And first the basics -- when you were born -- who your parents were. JS: My parents were Joseph and Louise Silcott -- born, I guess, in Roxbury, Mass. on Northampton Street I guess it was. My parents were born in the West Indies. They came from the Island of Montserrat. They came in the 20s -- the 1920s. They didn’t know each other in Montserrat, and they met each other in , which is kind of interesting because the island only has about four or five thousand people on it, I guess, right now. It’s been ravished by the volcanoes here of late. They didn’t have that many people there, but yet, they didn’t know each other. And one of the ironies is that just everybody on the island is related. They were natives of the West Indies that came over at separate times. You might want to talk with Tom Queeley. He knows a lot of the history of those West Indians that came over, you know. INT: Tom Queeley? JS: Tom Queeley. I have his address. I think he lives near Sharon in Boston. But he grew up on Billwood Street in Roxbury. And he knows a lot of -- his father and my mother came over on the same boat. But at any rate, I think I mentioned that I had worked for my father. He was a chef at the Charlesgate Hotel, which is in the Back Bay Area -- not far from Fenway Park. And when I graduated from high school -- Boston

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Technical High -- he put me to work, and it was my worst experience I’ve ever had in my life, you know. INT: Let’s go back a little bit -- so your parents came from Montserrat? They met in Boston. JS: Right. In Boston. INT: Do you know when they first were married where they lived? JS: They lived on Northampton Street, which is not far from Columbus Avenue. There’s a Chambers there like -- an Arena Chambers -- that’s where they lived when they first came here. INT: Do you know what year that would have been? JS: That would have been in the 1920s, I guess. I had my father’s passport over there. So, I think he arrived around 1922. INT: And do you know why Boston? JS: Well, because there was a lot of West Indians there. I know my mother’s sister had been here for a while. So, she sent for my mother as well as she sent for all her other sisters. She had two more -- one, two -- three more sisters that she sent for. So, they all grew up in the Roxbury section. I guess the last one died in the 1980s. My mother died in 1973 -- December. So, anyway. INT: So, they were on Northampton Street, and at some point in December of 1929 -- the 21st -- you were born. JS: Right. INT: And did you have any siblings? JS: Yes, I had a brother and had a sister. They’re both deceased. My sister was born - - the last one -- my brother was born about a year after me, and my sister was born a year after him. And my mother decided that these babies were coming too soon. So, she

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decided to go back to the West Indies with us. So, she took us back to the West Indies. So, we spent about -- oh, I guess about three years -- maybe four years -- back there in the West Indies. INT: So, that would have been during the Depression? JS: Yes, the beginning of the Depression as a matter of fact -- yes. And we lived there for a while, and then we came back to attend the Hyde School. I got back in time. INT: I thought the Hyde School was a girl’s school someone told me. JS: Maybe later. But at that time, it was mixed -- boys and girls. INT: And the Hyde School -- you were living on Northampton Street? JS: No, we were living -- when we got back -- we lived on Hammond Street -- Hammond Street in Boston. INT: (Inaudible). JS: Oh, no. I could find the building. I know the building. It’s still there. INT: This photograph here -- JS: Of Hammond? It was just before you got to Shawmut Avenue. If you were to walk from Tremont Street to Shawmut Avenue, it would be on the right-hand side where we lived a few houses in. They were very tenement -- big houses. I wonder if they’re still there. Are they still there -- those big apartment buildings. INT: You’re going to the Hyde School. Did you start there in kindergarten or first grade? JS: Kindergarten -- right. Kindergarten. I went there -- high school. I remember my teacher in kindergarten. Her name was Mrs. Seymour -- Mrs. Seymour. And she was born during the Abraham Lincoln Administration. How’s that? That really gets back there. And the other teacher I remember was Ms. Horn -- a very uncomely looking woman -- I remember that as a child. And then I remember while at the Hyde School, I

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think, it was Franklin Delano Roosevelt who came to Boston, and my father came and got me out of school so I could see the President and the cars going downtown on Columbus Avenue. So, I got out of school. He released me out of school. It was kind of unusual because I never saw my father at school. He was always working. And this day he came up and told the teacher he wanted to take me to Columbus Avenue because he wanted me to see the President. So, at any rate -- INT: Was it 1935 -- JS: It was about that. INT: Do you walk to school? JS: Yes, well, I know the first day I went to school -- the first day my mother took me to school, and I just sat there in school. I didn’t know what school was all about. I was there. And I knew my way back home because I was just down the block -- the Hyde School -- and I remember the snow. The snow banks were so high when I was a kid that I didn’t know how I could get to school because you couldn’t see anything. And my mother would tell me -- just keep walking straight. And then when you find an opening - - (a chuckle) -- so that’s what I would do, and I would get over the street and then get over to the school. It was just amazing when I think back how tall those snow banks were, and how you couldn’t see anything. I don’t remember. I remember the cobblestones on Tremont Street. I remember that. They had these big cobblestones, you know. And I remember the streetcars used to go up and down, and the bad boys used to ride on the back of the streetcars. They wouldn’t go inside and pay -- it was a nickel, I guess, to ride them -- and then get them back. There was a device that was a long rope or string that held the connecting to the wires that electrified the car. And every so often, they would come off, and they’d take that long rope, and they’d pull it and guide it back up again and get it up there. And then

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there was a big light on the back because the streetcar worked both directions, I guess, you know. So, the guys would get on the back. They would ride. My mother told me if I ever did that, she would beat the crap out of me. So, I never had the nerve to get up there, you know. But the big boys -- you see them running after it, and they get on the back, and they’d ride it up and down. They’d go all the way downtown, as a matter of fact, and then come back. It was great fun, I guess, for them. And then there was Slade’s Barbecue. I don’t know if you remember Slade’s. It was right on the corner of Tremont and Hammond. And I guess a year or two -- maybe three years, four years later, I started delivering papers. I guess I was about 7 or 8-years-old. We moved to Canard Street, and I used to deliver -- INT: Do you remember the address? JS: 32 Canard Street. As a matter of fact, we had a lecture series at Howard University, and I was taking the -- what do you call it -- the train -- the metro from Howard University to -- I have a condo there, so I was riding to my condo -- and one of the girls who was at the lecture -- she saw me. She recognized me. We got into an interesting conversation. So, I asked her was she studying architecture. And she said -- yes. And I said where. She said I’m studying architecture at Northeastern University. I said when I got out of high school, Northeastern didn’t offer architecture as a curriculum. I said they do now. So, I asked her where she lived. And she said she lives on Canard Street. I think she said 33 or so Canard Street. I said, well, that’s where I lived when I was a baby, a kid, growing up. And she says -- oh, my goodness -- what a coincidence. And so, she’s studying architecture at Northeastern University. I took courses at Lincoln Prep -- was at Northeastern at night. When I got out of Tech High, I wanted to study architecture, so I took courses in geometry, I think, and trigonometry.

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INT: So, tell me what it was like -- you were delivering paper. What paper are you delivering? JS: The Boston Record. I guess it’s not there anymore. Yes, the Boston Record. And I would deliver it up and down the streets -- on Tremont Street. And everyday I’d go into Slades. And Mr. Slades was there. He owned Slades Barbecue. And it was a very popular place for the folks in Newton. The white folks in Newton used to come there, and Mr. Slades -- I guess he was -- God -- I guess -- Mr. Slades must have been born, I guess, around the time of the Civil War. He was an old man. And he would talk about when he was a slave -- and his parents were slaves that they used to barbecue in the forest or somewhere down South. That’s how he learned how to barbecue. And he brought it to Boston. And he was barbecuing in Boston. And then white folks from Newton -- they just loved that barbecue. They’d come in all the time to get barbecue. So, I’d deliver the paper to Mr. Slades. So, I asked him one day because I had a cat -- I said -- Mr. Slades, can you give me some gizzards for my cat because she loved gizzards. So, he gave me a bag -- a great big huge bag of gizzards. It was enough to feed the whole neighborhood cats. I brought that home, and my mother says -- boy, this is too good for the cat. (Laughter). So, my cat never got a hold of them gizzards. Days later my mother said -- does Mr. Slade have anymore of those gizzards. Mr. Slade -- I’d go by, and he’d always have a bag of gizzards for me, you know. God, my mother used to make all kinds of gravy and all kinds of stews and all kinds of stuff from them damn gizzards. We’re talking Depression now. INT: So, when they started raising the tenements -- not my description -- what I heard they were called -- to build the Lenox Street Project -- do you remember that at all? JS: No. I just remember -- I remember they were there because my cousins, the

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Reiners, they lived over there, and they were very nice places, I thought. They were clean. Not like where I was living. I was living in a rat-infested place on Cunard Street. There were wall-to-wall rats down in the cellar. You didn’t want to go down there. And my mother decided that we just had to get out of this. We moved to 1081 Tremont Street. It was a building right next to St. Cyprian’s Church. St. Cyprian’s was on the corner, and this was right next to it. And downstairs was -- I think it was some kind of a business on the first floor. And we lived on the top floor, and it was six stories up from the store down below. And at the time, I had a bicycle, and I had to lug that bicycle all the way up to the sixth, you know. Oh, gosh, that was some terrible stuff. So, I decided one day that I better get a -- I got a big chain -- I got like a huge chain -- and I would chain it to the banister downstairs so that I was able to avoid having to lug it upstairs. And one day someone stole a back tire -- the back wheel -- God. So, anyway -- that was 1081 Tremont Street. And then when I went to high school -- (interviewer sneezes) Can I get you something? I can sympathize with you because yesterday was a terrible day for me. I was just sneezing to beat the band. Yes, it’s sinuses that’s giving you the blues. INT: So, 181 Tremont Street. JS: 1091 Tremont Street. Then we moved to -- my mother bought a rooming house on 586 Columbus Avenue. And that’s when she started buying real estate. So, she bought that building. And when I went to high school -- we went from high school from there. We lived downstairs, and then she’d rent out the top of the rooming house -- the people. And my old man still worked as a chef over there at the Charlesgate. After high school, she bought 750 and 752 Columbus Avenue right across from the old Armors meatpacking place on Columbus Avenue. Armors was right there. And then the park was right adjacent to Armors. I don’t know if you know where the baseball park is -- on

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Carter Field -- Carter Playground -- was right next door to the meatpacking place. Northeastern subsequently bought that and razed the meatpacking place -- Armors meatpacking place. When my mother died, she left me that building -- 750 and 752. And the interesting thing is my brother and sister wanted me to sell it. They said why don’t you sell it -- you live in California, and this is here in Boston. But I decided to hold onto it. As I said, Northeastern bought Armors, which is across the street. And then Northeastern was separated -- the school was separated from Columbus Avenue where I was by the railroad cars that were going to downtown Boston from New York to Boston. And so, what they did was -- they dug a hole and put the railroad cars down below so that it wasn’t serviced anymore. And what happened was that my property got very valuable. I looked up there one day, and there I was -- Northeastern was my neighbor. It was right there -- right across the street. (Chuckling). And it got very, very valuable. People anticipated it, and they tried to steal it from me. I know my mother’s lawyer told me that he’d give me $2,000 for it -- that he had some guy that wanted to buy it, and that they would give me a couple thousand dollars. I said -- no. That doesn’t make sense. INT: That old saying when somebody says -- I’ll take that off your hands. JS: Exactly right. So, I didn’t, you know. And so, that was before Northeastern was doing their number. And Dukakis was lowering the taxes. And things were getting very good in Boston. So, lo and behold, I had a very, very valuable piece of property there. So, I sold it to some people from the Near East. I forgot who it was -- finally I did. And I was able to make quite a bit of dough on it. And I took that, and I traded it for 35 units here in Los Angeles. And then I traded that again, and I did some more trades and the next thing you know I had about 70 units. So, that was the fertilizer from my -- INT: So, what was it like being a kid? Were there a lot of kids? Was it an all black neighborhood?

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JS: Yes, it was all black. It was, for the most part, we had a couple of -- well, maybe three -- there were the (Zimfalinos) that were Italians. And there were the Hassets that were Irish. Then there was Johnny Eaton who was my best friend -- my best, best, best friend. He lived right around the corner from us on Canard Street there. And he -- God, that boy -- he would never bath -- he was always smelling bad. And his father was a veteran from the First World War -- and he’s white, of course -- it was a white family -- I never saw his mother. It was just himself -- he and his father. And his father was disfigured. He lost his nose in the Second World War, so he had no nose. And he’d keep a bandage or something around his face. And every so often -- his voice was very nasal and stuff. And because of that, no one wanted to play with him. But he was my good friend. He’d come by -- Mrs. Silcott -- is James here. She’d say yes. James -- your friend is here. And we’d go out and play baseball and have a good time. And one of the saddest occurrences was when I was at the Asa Gray school -- he -- I’m trying to remember the incident. Now Johnny Eaton and I were sitting not too far from each other -- and in those days, they had corporal punishment. With the rap hand on your hands, you know. And some of those teachers could really do a number -- and they had all kinds of special techniques of dip it in water and soak it in water to make it sting more. And something happened -- and I snickered in the class, you know, and the kids laughed, and Johnny laughed too -- Johnny Eaton, my best friend. And so the teacher wanted to know who did that snickering, and no one would tell. So, she took my friend Johnny Eaton back there, and she started to rap hand him on the hands until he told her who did it. She kept working on his hands. He would never ever say it was me. And I felt so bad. And he wanted to still be my friend, but I just couldn’t be his friend anymore. He just never was the same. I should have said -- it was me. I just let him get that stick on his hand -- you know whack, whack, whack, and he never said I did it. That was my

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worst experience as a child growing up there in Boston.

INT: So, what school -- you told me you went to the Asa Gray.

Timilty up in Roxbury there on the hill. INT: When did you know you were different? JS: Well, I didn’t know what I wanted. When I graduated from high school, I think I was telling you, my old man thought I was just going to be a bum, I think, you know.

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Joseph Silcott (far right) at work at the Charlesgate Hotel

So, he made me come to work for him at the Charlesgate Hotel -- it was just turning into that dormitory for Boston University -- Charlesgate Hall. So, as I said, he had to be there 6:00 o’clock in the morning. Can you imagine that for breakfast -- to prepare the breakfast? And then, like I said, you have to wash -- they had you scrubbing floors -- washing dishes. They had a washing machine that was just -- you opened up the things, and you put it down, and you’d turn it on, and they would just wash it. And then the Dean of Women -- she had a staff -- her name was Dean Melville -- I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of her. She was the Dean of the school, and she had a staff, and they asked my father if I could wait on them. So, I waited on them for breakfast, and I waited on them for lunch. And we became fast friends. But the Dean --

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she really liked me -- but I just hated going to work there. So, I was at the YMCA on Huntington Avenue -- I’d go there -- between the noon lunch, we had about two or three hours off in the afternoon where we could either stay at the hotel, or we could go out. I chose to go down to the YMCA and throw some basketballs. I played basketball. So, the head of the YMCA saw me. He said -- Jimmy, what are you doing now that you’re out of high school. What do you plan to do with yourself? I said I don’t know. He says have you thought of anything? I said no. I said one thing I want to do is get out of my father’s kitchen. I’ve got to get out of that kitchen (chuckles). He said, well, let me give you -- he said what we can do is we can give you an aptitude test, he said, and we can figure out just what your interests are. You’re cold. You’re wrapped like an Eskimo. Comfortable? I’ve got the heat turned up. INT: I’m not used to -- JS: These high ceilings. It’s nice to be home. So, anyway, I took this test at the YMCA. I guess it took about three days or so, and then it came back, and the results were that I should be an architect. And I didn’t even know anything about architects, you know. So, the director of the Y -- I’ll never forget -- his name was Mr. Johnson -- he said let me get you some schools, and you can apply to them. So, I did. This is in 1948, I guess, it was, shortly after World War II. So, you had the competitions of the veterans coming back -- entering college. And then you had half the schools in America were foreclosed to blacks -- no University of Virginia -- no University of South Carolina -- North Carolina -- no University of Georgia -- none of those schools. So, it was very, very few schools. And in , we only had two schools that offered architecture. That was M.I.T. and Harvard. And it was very, you know, forget about it. So anyway, I applied to a number of schools, and I wasn’t getting anywhere. So, the Dean saw me -- I’m sorry not the Dean -- but Mr. Johnson saw me, and he said, Jimmy,

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how are you doing with those schools. I told him what happened. I said I’ve got a problem with the veterans coming back, and half the schools in America are foreclosed to black people -- Negroes at the time. He says I know a school in Washington D.C. that you’re not going to have that problem. So, he gave me the address of Howard University. And they had a great school of architecture. It was the first black school to have a school of architecture. And as a matter of fact, I was the lecturer for the 95th anniversary of the school. And I applied there, and the registrar -- I’ll never forget -- his name was Frederick Douglas Wilkinson -- he says -- oh, and the Dean of women I told you about -- she wrote a letter of recommendation for me -- and that was all I needed. I just went right down there and the rest is history as they say. So, that’s how I got started in architecture. And I was so grateful -- looking back, I was so grateful that Howard University took me in that I set up the Dean at the School of Architecture -- oh, I guess about -- oh 20 years ago -- 20 years ago -- he was given a real plead about graduates supporting the school. And he asked us -- we were there at graduation -- asked us to come back and support the school -- do whatever we can to support the school. So, I called him and told him I wanted to do something. And he said -- well, we can set up a fund in your name. So, I said fine. So, he says what do you want to contribute to the fund. I said, well, every year, this was a little over 20 years ago, I said every year, I’ll give you $10,000. And that way, it could go to the kids, and they can use it for -- if they don’t have tuition -- if they don’t have a meal -- because I know when I was a student, I missed a lot of meals. And that’s what I did. And so, we started the James C. Silcott Fund at Howard University. And interesting to note, the new Dean there now -- I met with him with the new director of the School of Architecture, and he showed me the books. That fund has accumulated $360,000. Can you imagine that?

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INT: Interest. JS: Not only interest, but I used to -- INT: Oh, I see other people -- JS: Yes, right. Others have contributed to it. And then I sold some buildings one time, and I sent them $50,000 extra. And then on my 50th anniversary graduating from the Howard University, I sent them another $50,000. And then I would work as an expert witness when I retired -- architects would get in trouble, and they can’t get their fees or something, and they’d call me in as an expert witness. And I said rather than give me the money, I said, send it to the James C. Silcott for the Howard University. So, as a result -- $360,000 -- that’s quite nice. Then my brother died, which was a blow to me because we were so close. He lived in New York, and he taught at NYU. He taught at Springfield College in Massachusetts. He graduated from Springfield, and he taught there, and he was a trustee there, too. And he was a good friend of the Rockefellers and so forth. And so, when he died, I asked the school -- is there something I could do in his memory. So, what they did was they set up the school gallery -- there’s a big gallery in the school, and they named it for him, and also I set up the first chair in the School of Architecture, and I gave them a little over a million dollars, and they set that all up. And I felt very, very good about that. So, we had a big program in February -- on my brother’s birthday -- February 19th -- no -- twenty thousand and two. I’m looking for the -- it’s not here. They made out commemorative paperweights for it. And I thought I had one there. I was going to show it to you. But anyway --. Yes, you’re in the School of Architecture. Well, that incident happened, of course. When I graduated from Howard, I went to work for Arthur Hellmann Cohen on Newbury Street in Boston.

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INT: How unusual was that? JS: Well, I think of growing up in Boston, I didn’t like it. I never did like it. But it’s a lot better now that I’ve gone back. INT: What didn’t you like about it? JS: The poverty -- dire poverty. I mean it wasn’t until my mother started getting into real estate and buying these properties, you know, that we were able to get ourselves in any semblance of order. I worked my way through college. I got drafted. There’s two junior years in architecture -- lower junior -- upper junior because it’s a five-year curriculum. I think it was my lower junior year, I got drafted. I was in college one day, and I was in the army the next day. And I ended up in Korea. And I just didn’t understand what that was all about. The registrar of the school said that they’re trying -- well, it all began with I got hepatitis when I was in college. And I had to drop out of school. Well, when I dropped out of school, I dropped out of ROTC, and the draft board came after me. It was a Major Feeney from Boston, and he went after me like I was the plague or something. That man -- the registrar of the school called him and said - - look, he’s going to be graduating next year. So, why don’t you let him finish school. And Major Feeney in Boston who was head of the manpower said that he has to serve -- he has to serve. He’s needed. And I didn’t know what that was all about until I finished basic training. I was down in Georgia. I went from South Carolina to Georgia, and I was back home in Boston, and I ran into my brother who I hadn’t seen in years -- quite a few years because he was married, and he was living in Springfield, and I was living in Washington for the most part because I wouldn’t come up to Boston too often. And so, he was asking me -- I thought you were in school. What happened to you? Are you getting drafted? I told him what happened. He says -- who did the registrar of the university speak to. I said Major Feeney. I’ll never forget him. He said -- well, let me

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tell you what happened, he says. I’ve been a conscientious objector, and they tried to get me in the army, and my brother at the time -- I was working for the YMCA -- and they got him lawyers, and he beat them. And so when I came along, Silcott, you know -- they were the only Silcotts in at the time -- the only ones. Now we’ve got quite a few from what I understand. So, he knew who I was. And he got me. Ironically my good friend -- I don’t know if you know John Bynoe Yes, John Bynoe had that job 30 years later -- as manpower director that Major Feeney got -- Major Feeney. I was just saying -- hey, John, you came too late. (Laughter). So anyway, that’s -- I’m trying to think of something. INT: You came back from the war -- and you finished school -- you graduated -- and then you come to Boston -- or back to Boston -- JS: I was working on Newbury Street there in Boston for an architect named Arthur Hellmann Cohen. There was just two of us in the office. It was just a very small -- he would go out looking for the work -- and I’d be in there doing the drawings and stuff. And his office wasn’t quite the size of this room here. As a matter of fact, it was half the size of this room. INT: So, now it’s about -- JS: This is 1957. INT: And so where are you living? JS: I’m living with my folks. And we’re living on -- my mother bought a house on Hutchins Street in Roxbury. I don’t know if you -- in Dorchester, I guess, it was, Dorchester -- Hutchins Street. INT: And so what made you decide to come to California? When did you come to California? JS: Well, when I was working for Mr. Cohen, I had a good social life. I had a great

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time, you know -- fresh out of college, you know -- and oh, a good job -- and there were a bunch of folks I was hanging out with. And my old roommates in Boston -- I mean at Howard -- was Bill Brown. He was from Boston. He lived close to downtown -- where was it -- Rutland Street or one of those streets. It was right on the side of the railroad tracks this way in Boston -- this way. Bill -- I still see him now at Howard University. And he teaches at Morgan State College. So, he was a real social butterfly. He would turn you on to all the parties, and he knew what was going on. INT: Did you go to clubs or --? JS: Yes, Bynoe had a place on Mass. Avenue. It was called the Businessmen’s Club or something like that -- on Mass. Avenue. I never hung out in the Big M, you know, because that was too rowdy for me. If you were to -- Columbus Avenue going to West Cambridge on the right-hand side, you cross over the bridge -- there’s a bridge there. Then you keep walking. There was a club right there called the Business -- is it that side of the bridge? I’ve forgotten now whether it was this side or that side. But anyways, it was a club there called the Big M. And you could go in there and drink beer and stuff, and they’d have musicians there. But my mother’s good friend was Wally’s. And that was down near Columbus and Mass. Avenue -- Wally’s Place. He was a good friend of my mother’s. I didn’t go into Wally’s because he’d tell my mother I was there, so. (Chuckles). Oh, gosh. INT: I want to ask you about maybe some of the things that you did, whether it be in the community -- you went to the Shaw House. JS: Yes, I went to the Shaw House. I was a Boy Scout in Troup 6 in Roxbury at the Shaw House -- and I got to the rank of Tender Foot, and Mr. Smith, our troop leader ran off with our money. That man ran off with our money, and I never graduated more than Tender Foot. I was just a Tender Foot. I at least got my badge for Tender Foot. And I

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always remembered that. Yes, Mr. Smith. I remember -- I’m trying to think of some of the -- I remember my mother -- a couple of incidents -- my mother -- we were home, and my mother said to me -- she said -- James, I’ve got a taste for fish. I said, yes, ma. She said let’s go to the market to get some fish. So, I don’t know if you knew Fulton’s Fish Market was up there on Washington Street. It’s the railroad tracks up in the sky then, you know -- those tracks. And it was -- oh, Lord -- it was near -- it was not too far from the cathedral -- the Catholic Cathedral -- maybe about a half a mile this way. So, my mother didn’t believe in buses and streetcars and stuff like that. That costs money. (Chuckles). So, we would walk up there, you know. So, we walked up to the market -- my mother and I -- and we got there, and they were just closing up. So, my mother tapped on the window, and they recognized her and let her in. So, she ordered some fish. And we got the fish, and we went back home with it, you know. And we walked all the way back home. And she opened up the fish, and it wasn’t fish. It was the receipts of the day -- all the money was in the bag -- wrapped up like a bundle like, you know. Oh, James, we got to take this back. (Laughter). I was just a little kid, you know, I guess, about 7 or 8-years-old. And she said we got to take this back. So, we went back. And she tapped on the window again, and they were still in there. And she said -- oh, they went crazy. Oh, Mrs. Silcott -- oh. (Laughter). My mother said they gave her fish. They didn’t even give her water or anything. And we got back home, and my mother was telling the incident to her sister. And she says, Ann, if I didn’t have such a taste for fish, I don’t think I would have taken that money back. (Laughter). Oh, boy. That was an incident at Fulton’s Market. Bolt Market -- do you know Dolly in Bolt? It was a market -- I think if you were to go straight up -- it was on Shawmut Avenue near Williams Street and those streets up in

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there, you know. And my mother used to always go there to buy food. She later on started going up to Blue Hill Avenue because she felt the kosher foods were better up there because a lot of Jews were up in that area, and they had these nice kosher markets. So, she started going up there. But she was going to Dolly. Dolly was a black man who had this -- he called it Bolt Market. And my mother had a habit of going to funeral homes to see dead people. If she remotely knew you, and you died, well, she was there looking in your face to see whether she remembered you and so forth, and she loves to go to funeral homes. So, Dolly was saying to her -- he said, Mrs. Silcott, I’m tired of hearing you running around to these funeral homes and looking at dead people. When I die, I’m going to have them bury me upside down, so you see the back of my head. (Laughter). So, one day -- oh, I guess, it had to be in the ‘60s -- I guess it was in the 1960s -- I got a call from my mother. She said James, Dolly died, you know, and his face is looking up at me, and I saw his face. He didn’t get his wish. He didn’t get his wish to be buried upside down. So, it was one of her gotcha's, you know. Yes, Bolt Market -- a lot of them knew that -- knew Dolly. As a matter of fact, my cousins -- are you comfortable -- because we’ve got all kinds of chairs for different comforts. (Chuckles). My cousins -- she’s young -- she’s, I guess, well, she’s young -- she must be about 60-years-old, I guess. But she knows a lot of -- she lives in Randolph now. She moved to Randolph. She knows a lot of what’s going on. INT: What’s her name? JS: Her name is Jennie -- Actually, it’s Virginia Reiner, but they call her Jennie -- Jennie Reiner. And she lives in Randolph. Her father died just a few years back, and he was close to 100 -- very close to a 100. And Isabelle Lawrence who is another friend -- her brother is the one who runs that over-the-hill thing. She has two brothers. And Isabelle’s father just died at 104, I think, a couple of year’s ago. She was so disappointed

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that he didn’t get on Channel 4 -- you know the Willard Scott’s things. She was so disappointed because they tried to get him on there for many years -- and he died at 104. I can’t think of --. INT: Do you remember -- Father Divine’s Dining Room is still there? JS: Yes, I remember Father Divine -- it was on -- what is that -- oh, Cabot Street -- it was Cabot Street at Douglas Square. Douglas Square -- it was Tremont Street and Douglas Square kind of came together like -- I don’t know if you recall that. I don’t know if that’s still there. I guess it must be. But at any rate, Father Divine had a place right there I think it was on Cabot Street just before you got to Hammond Street. And I think for 10 cents you can get a meal, you know, when I was a kid. I must have been about 8 or 9-years-old. And if you said thank you Father -- something like that, you get some more food. That was a big help during the Depression from what I understood. That was Father Divine. Folks knew --. INT: It sounds like your parents were working a lot -- at least your father was -- so, were they involved in any sort of political things or social? JS: No. My Uncle Edgar was a Garvey man. And they were getting -- if you go down to his basement -- they lived on Warwick Street -- Warwick Street -- I’m trying to think of -- Warwick and Stillman Street -- yes, Stillman Street and Warwick Street -- right near there. And down in the basement, he’d have all these pictures of Marcus Garvey and stuff. And they’d be talking about Marcus Garvey. And every so often, my father would go down there -- not very often -- he didn’t have the time -- but my Uncle Edgar, he was a big Garvey man. INT: What did that mean to you? JS: Growing up -- not that much. I was every bit of 8-years-old, I guess, but I knew that there was all this conversation about Marcus Garvey and the Black Star and all this

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kind of stuff. They would talk about it, and there were pictures on the wall, down in the basement, you know, and so forth. It just didn’t mean anything. I guess mostly what I remember about him is -- he was an abuser. He used to beat the crap out of my aunt. And my mother would have to go down there and rescue her. My mother was a hell- raiser. (Chuckling). He knew --. And I used to go to the Seventh-day Adventist Church on Shawmut Avenue there. And my mother had us go there on Saturdays. It was a good babysitting proposition -- so early on Saturdays. And on Sundays, you’d go to St. Cyprian on Sundays. So, there was a community center -- I think it was on Williams Street -- I’m not sure, though, but we used to go by there, and you could make stuff out of wood and stuff. And I used to go there on one day. And then I was a junior policeman. So, I would go to the junior police. INT: What is that -- junior policeman? JS: Well, Station 10 in Roxbury -- up the hill -- one of the cops -- they had assigned to us all the kids in the neighborhood. And we were so-called junior policeman. And they’d take us to the gardens -- what was it -- what was it called where they had basketball games now? Well, we’d go there, and they’d take us to the circus, you know, and on Saturdays -- sometimes on Saturday, they’d take us to a movie, you know. The kids let us in -- they’d let us in to see a movie -- see the old movies. And loved to see Paul Robeson. INT: Was that Dudley? JS: The Dudley Theater and the Roxbury Theater. But we’d see Paul Robeson. Now there was someone that you could identify with. He’d be going down into the mines and rescue all those white folks, you know, bring them up. I never saw that. Yes, yes, Lord yes. (Laughter). He was right here -- Paul Robeson

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-- I just loved to see him, and he would sing, and he would come into this village in Scotland somewhere, and he was just singing -- the folks -- he was coming into the village, you know. And then they would ring the alarm because the mine caved down there. And they sent Paul Robeson down to rescue them folks, you know. And he was my hero. (Laughter). Bring them up there -- he was singing. Oh, yes, Paul Robeson. INT: Do you remember the -- Jesus -- Dr. Fisher’s -- he was the forerunner of the big televangelist one out here -- a huge church on Tremont Street. JS: On Tremont Street? I didn’t know that. Well, St. Cyprian was a full day because we had Sunday School, and we had church, and then they’d have something in the afternoon. They’d have a -- you know. INT: Did you ever go to the M.F.A. or any of the other -- JS: The M.F.A.? Oh, yes. My mother would take us over there. We’d go over there -- with the Indian up there. Massasoit, I guess, it was. That’s my -- I guess you can’t see it. Can you see it? There’s the of Massachusetts right in the middle. Also, that’s the 54th infantry regiment battle flag from Glory. Well, they look out for blacks -- that’s because they’ve got the 54th infantry regiment on City Hall -- State House -- in front of the State House there. Then they got Paul Revere -- not Paul Revere -- but Crispus Attucks -- is mixed up with the rest of the heroes -- the Boston Massacre. INT: Did you play sports -- JS: No, I was a manager of the football team -- one of the managers of the football team. INT: Which team? JS: I beg your pardon. INT: Which team?

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JS: Boston Technical High -- Boston Technical High. I love football. I used to like to watch it -- not watch it -- but listen to it on radio -- you know Blanchin Davis and so forth. So, in my senior year, I said to myself -- let me go out to be the manager so I can get to all the games free, you know. So, I did. And I was just talking to Peter Roach. Peter Roach -- there’s only one black player on the first string and that was Peter Roach. He played end. And he was a great player. And he was very knowledgeable about the game because a lot of the guys didn’t understand the game, but Peter understood the game, and the coach just loved him. (Bethcy) Holland was the coach, and he loved Peter. When the ball was punted, Peter would run down to watch the punt -- to make sure that the other guys don’t grab it and run with it, and he’d get down there, and he’d get his hands out there -- they’d wait till the ball was dead, and the coach just loved that. The coach said -- did you see that -- did you see that. That’s what you’re supposed to do. That’s what you’re supposed to do. And a very emotional guy was Coach Holland, you know. They used to call him Dutch. And he was trying to explain something to a kid named (Carlin), a big tall Irish kid, you know. And he was talking to him. And the kid was just not paying any attention to him. The coach took football cleats and whammed him the head -- struck him (chuckles) -- he was groggy. And the coach was -- he was stuttering and stuttering -- and couldn’t stutter anymore, and he just walked out of the room. But that was Coach Holland. I heard this story -- when I couldn’t stay in my father’s kitchen anymore, and I was going to school in the fall I guess it was, and I had some time, and so, I quit there, and I went to work for the Boston Photo Service on State Street downtown. A man named Mr. Canter ran the place. And I was very interested in photography. I took a lot of pictures. I did a lot of freelancing. I did weddings and stuff like that when I was out of high school on the side. At any rate -- I’m making up two stories at the same time. Mr.

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Canter told me this story -- who I worked for. One day Coach Holland came in -- same coach, and I had not seen him in years -- not since I was in high school. And they were talking out there, and finally the coach left, and he said hello to me. He still called me manager -- good to see you again, manager. He left. And so, Mr. Canter said to me -- did you know what Coach Holland just told me. I said no. He said when you went to work as his manager, the principal of the school told him to get rid of you. He didn’t want you out there as the manager on that team. I said what. I didn’t know that. He was a racist. His name was DiLeo Dailey. And so Mr. Dailey told the coach to get rid of me. And the coach said -- well, he’s doing a good job. He said I don’t care. I don’t want any colored people out there with the team. The coach wouldn’t do it. I didn’t know about it until Mr. Canter told me. And the worst part about it was that they promoted DiLeo Dailey to the superintendent of schools, and the coach came up for a promotion, and he didn’t give it to him because he didn’t get rid of me. No good deed goes unpunished, I guess. And that’s what happened to him -- yes, Coach Holland. He was a veteran from the Second World War. And when I arrived in school, he had just come back from the Second World War, and he was a colonel. And he used to walk so erect and so forth and everything. He was quite a person. (Chuckles). Well, I think the racism extends from the Irish and their competition for jobs in the 1870s and ‘40s and ‘50s. They competed with blacks for jobs. And I think that’s where the racism started. And they alluded to a little bit of it in Glory. Remember the Sergeant and Debussy laid on the black troops. And they saw the opportunities and they grasped them. That was one of the things, too, because a lot of them were businessmen and entrepreneurs and so forth. They ran stores. Mrs. Simmons was a barber. And then there was another one who was a cobbler. And they all had their businesses. Oh, my goodness. You got all your stuff. There’s

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something else I wanted to tell you, but I forgot. That’s okay. That’s what they call a senior moment, I guess. Good plan. (Laughter). INT: Walter Byers -- JS: He was a boxer, yes. I remember on the Ed Sullivan Show, they announced him - - Walter Byers, from Roxbury, Massachusetts, is going to fight so and so and so and so. And everybody was so proud to see him on the Ed Sullivan Show. He was in the audience being pointed out by Ed Sullivan. INT: You’ll probably think of things that you may have said today that are not on the list. JS: Dr. Corbin -- Danny Corbin. He taught piano. Coventry Street -- that’s by Tremont -- I’m sorry -- Columbus Avenue and Coventry. That’s my building. And then the next street over is Canard. How interesting. There’s the Dearborn School -- Corbin -- Lillian Corbin -- I didn’t know her. Ebenezer. There’s David Lang -- but no Nancy. Estelle -- INT: You said Big M -- is that what you said? JS: The Big M -- yes. INT: I don’t think it’s on there. JS: No, that was a -- yes, I had a good friend, Reggie Banks, who died. He was an architect who died. We went to the same high school, although he was five years older than me. So, I missed him in high school. But he was so good that they kept him on as an assistant to Mr. (Van Hammond) -- Boston Technical High. And then so, I met him in high school as the assistant. And then he went on to the service in World War II, and then I didn’t see him for years and years. And lo and behold when I was a freshman at Howard, he was at Howard, too. He came in from the army. He was a sophomore, and

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he had been discharged, and he was a sophomore there at Howard University. But he lived on (Albamar) Street. I don’t know if that’s still there -- (Albamar) Street. There was Arena Chambers. The arena -- there’s an arena on that same street right at Mass. Avenue -- there’s an arena. I knew about a Hammond Terrace -- I didn’t know that. Hammond Street -- the Hyde School -- Gus Cecile -- I saw him at the -- Over the Hill -- yes. I always see him. He teases me a lot. He says to me -- what are you doing for yourself. I said I’m just clipping coupons. (Laughter). You know him? It was a high hat. There was Roy Haynes, of course. INT: Oh, that’s what it was -- when we were talking about the clubs, you were talking about your social life when you were working on Newbury Street, and you had said the Big M -- but then you started talking about something else. I was wondering if you had gone to any of the other --? JS: The only other place that I -- I’m trying to think. Storyville -- is it Storyville? Yes, Storyville. His name is Wine -- is that right -- he started the first jazz concert in Newport, Rhode Island. He was the one who started that. He owned Storyville on Huntington Avenue. Yes. We kind of grew up in that Y.M.C.A. on Huntington Avenue. That’s where Farrakhan was -- he used to play basketball there -- Gene Walcott was his name then. And -- oh, God -- I have something that I wanted to give -- I didn’t get a chance to copy it -- I just -- as a trustee at Howard University, I nominated Farrakhan for an honorary degree and mix stuff on it. And I wanted to send my nomination to Sarah Ann. Do you see her at all? So, maybe I can send that. She’s not on the Internet. I can’t understand that. I was shocked when she told me that she wasn’t on the Internet. There was this woman on television and all that kind of good stuff, you know.

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Now with me, I’ve even graduated to that call waiting and stuff -- so when you called, I was talking to the guy in Texas -- the Dell guy. And I heard the buzz, buzz. So, I answered it, and there you were. I mean God -- this is the 21st Century. Ninety-four. Oh, sure I made one too. INT: Did you -- tell me about it? JS: They’re little crystal and then there’s the little kind of a cat hair -- wire-like that fits on top of the crystal. And you’d move it around, and you got your earphones on until you got a station. My cousin, Josh (Diot), he and his buddy, they started making crystal sets, you know. And then I put one together. And they told me that mine was just not -- you know anywhere. They had the latest stuff, you know. So, I went by there, and I asked them -- can you show me the latest stuff, you know. They didn’t have nothing. (Laughter). There was a Dr. Hall who was next to -- there was a Dr. Hall who was next door to the Sherwin School. He lived in a little house right next to the Sherwin School -- an immaculate house. The bricks were sparkling and pointed. I remember how nice and clean this place looked -- you know -- Dr. Hall. And then Dr. McKurty was another doctor in Boston when I was a kid growing up. INT: Now, did you ever play or go to any events in Madison Park there across the street from the Sherwin School? JS: No. I ran through there a lot of times when the big boys were chasing me to kick my ass. I’d run through there, and they’d chase after me and all. I was always fast on the feet. They never could catch me. And I remember that bicycle that I was telling you about. It was on the corner of Stillman Street -- and I can’t think of it -- it was right near the park as you indicated. There’s a store there. And these guys had a store. I walked in there. I had my bike with me. And I had parked the bike right in front of the store, you know. And I had one eye on the bike, and I was buying something. And all of a sudden, I

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saw someone taking off with my bike, and I ran him down, boy. And I caught him, boy. And I snatched my bike, and he took off. So, I came back. And these old Jewish dudes that were running the store -- they’re -- ha, ha, you can’t steal from a thief. I went home and told my father. He went back there and had something to say to them. (Laughter). He had a lot to say to them. Oh, boy. I was every bit of 8-years-old, I guess. The Sherwin School -- Sarah Ann Shaw. Oh, James Silcott. How did you find my name? Where did you find me from? You need to get Tom Queeley -- let me get my -- And the Lawrences -- these guys --. INT: Want to do it again? JS: Can you hear me? Right there? Okay. Yes, Link played for the Eagles. That was the Sandlot Football Team. It was the Eagles and the Panthers. The Eagles were in town, and the Panthers were up the hill like. And every Thanksgiving they’d play. And it was quite an occasion to see them play. And Tom played. My mother would never let me go. Actually, this is Queeley -- Q -- okay, here we are. He lives in Sharon, Mass. Shall I just -- could I put the microphone -- okay. Okay, Tom Queeley -- his phone number is area code -- INT: How do you spell his name? JS: Q-U-E-E-L-E-Y. He gives a lot of good detail on folks -- on the West Indian side. He’s not very much on the homey side -- that’s what the West Indies was called -- (laughter). INT: And what’s his first name again? JS: Tom -- Tom Queeley. His older brother died. Tom played for the Eagles. And Billy Rainer -- did you -- I guess Billy Rainer died. But he was the coach of the Eagles. And he had a lot to -- sorry about that -- Billy Rainer -- he had a lot to say. Also, Jack Crump -- I don’t know if you’ve heard of Jack Crump. Yes, he was a coach -- Coach

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Crump. He coached Farrakhan and all the young kids coming up. He died maybe 30 years ago -- 40 years ago -- Jack Crump is a big guy -- very sweet disposition person. I remember coming home from college for, I guess, Thanksgiving or something, and I was walking by the park there, and I saw Jack Crump and his team out there. And he yelled - - Jimmy. I came in, and he said hello and stuff. He said -- if you don’t have anything to do, why don’t you watch us play football. I said, okay. He says it’s up at state prison. (Laughter). I jumped on the bus and went up to the state prison at Walpole. And my God. I never knew all the folks I was missing around town. Oh, gosh. Buster Gibson was there. Oh my God. Who else was up there. Anyways, a lot of folks there. But they beat Crump’s team pretty badly. Who else did I want to give you? Willy. Willy Lawrence. I’m okay now. I did my sneezing, and I’m okay. Okay, that’s Willy. Now, I’ll give you his sister. She’s very good. Her name is Harrelson. Isabelle Harrison -- H- A-R-. INT: Can you tell me the man that you just gave me his number before -- what did he do? JS: Tom Queeley? INT: No, you gave me Tom Queeley, and then you just gave me another man’s name. JS: Oh my God. Oh, Willy Lawrence. Yes, Willy Lawrence. He’s the guy who runs one of the Over-the-Hill gang thing. And he’s a good friend of Farrakhan. I think I told you that I recommended Farrakhan for a Doctorate. And the school said that they wanted to know how they can reach him. I didn’t know how to reach him, so I called Willy Lawrence, and he was able to contact some of Farrakhan’s people. And we got the message to them. I hope they got it to him. But he’s very, very reclusive. He’s not out there so that you can -- you know. That’s Isabelle. She’s Willy Lawrence’s sister. Now

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she has a twin brother, but I think Willy will do the same thing. I’m trying to think of somebody else here. Tom Queeley could give you a very lot of information about those old West Indians who grew up around there. (Phone ringing). You’ve got two different phones. I think I’ll give you Charlie Frazer. They call him Jerry. He’s in New York. But he’s one of the older guys -- we call him older guys. I guess he’s about five years older than I am. And he went to Jamaica Plain High School. And my mother rendered to his family over on Columbus Avenue. And I don’t know if you knew Herb McKinley. He was the Jamaican track star. Herb died last month. But Herb when he came to town -- he would stay with the Frazer’s on Columbus Avenue. He was an Olympic champion. And he went with the girl across the street on Columbus Avenue -- was living next door to the meatpacking place. Her name was Francis. God. She married a policeman who died. So, she’s a widow -- and then heard recently that she has Alzheimer’s. But they were very pretty pretty girls. The youngest one was (Una) -- she died about four years ago in Los Angeles. She worked for the State of California. And then Johnnie Francis -- that’s the oldest brother -- he lived on -- I forgot where he lived -- but I think he’s working for M.I.T. right now. I’m not sure though. And then there’s another sister, Vera, who lives in Hollywood, and she played in The Ten Commandments. But she’s one of the slave girls in The Ten Commandments. That looks like my kitchen. The Woodhouse. Is that (Enoch)? That’s Mrs. Woodhouse. His sister was married to my cousin, Benny Reiner. Remember I was telling you about my younger cousin? (Enoch) was my mother’s lawyer -- because he was the one that tried to bamboozle me on my property. I didn’t think you knew (Enoch). He has a son now who’s doing well. He was a late child. I didn’t even recognize Mrs. Woodhouse there because she was a fixture in the community. INT: What do you remember about her?

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JS: What? INT: What do you remember about her? JS: She and her husband -- her husband was a minister -- Reverend Woodhouse. And then he had a son that was a bad boy. He was younger than (Enoch). I can’t think of his name. Oh, what’s his name? But he died many years ago. As I said, my cousin knocked up (Enoch’s) sister. And they had to get married. And they had a son who died about four years ago. That was my cousin Benny. My, my. I never thought of them living in the projects, you know. Victor designed my mother’s garages. He was an engineer -- a civil engineer. And he designed -- because my mother bought all that -- the buildings on Columbus Avenue and right behind this big lot. So, she had a great idea to put some garages up there. So, she got Victor to design them and build them. He was the -- I guess you could call him the construction manager. He built them, and he designed them. Victor (Bynoe). And he later married a friend of my mother’s daughter, Jessie Chambers. I don’t know if you know Jessie. She and her mother -- they were very close. She and her mother were very close. The mother died. And Lord have mercy. The woman never got married. And when I heard that Victor and her were in love with each other, I couldn’t believe it. (Laughter). And they got married. Who’s that guy there? J.A. -- that’s down the street from my building on Columbus Avenue -- next block. There’s a bus there. And who’s that guy leaning over looking at drawings. Is that the drummer? One of the Haynes brothers? That doesn’t look like Miles [Davis]. With the shirt on? Right here. Oakburn. These are great pictures. Look at the man size roof over there -- the building. What street is it? Oakburn. Where was Oakburn? I can’t place it. The name sounds familiar. This is a great montage. J. A. Wright -- sure. That’s a block away from my

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building on Columbus Avenue. Gus wanted to buy it so bad. Oh, my. Who’s that? Oh, for goodness sake. Good Lord. That looks like a picture from the turn of the century. Oh my goodness. That’s fantastic. I’m going to try to turn up some more heat here because I thought -- hmm, I’m going to try to get it up to. You know I had so many pictures, but when I went off to college, Louise didn’t see any use for them. So, she just chucked them. I used to take so many pictures black and white, of course, you know. Speed Graphic? They were out of vogue then, I guess, huh. What is this crap? (Laughter). That gives you a nice --. You went before me. I was holding on to film for the longest. (Beeping sound). Is that you? How many mega pixels are you working with now? You’re up there because you’ve got the big one. It’s a good-looking camera. It is heavy. One would think it would be lighter. His name was Gene Walker -- that’s what we called him when we were kids. Trotter Court. This is a picture of -- that’s Tom Queeley there with Billy Young. Now Billy Young is an ex-Boston cop -- was a detective. He died last year. He was my very good friend. We went to Boston Tech High School together. But he got some kind of -- I think it was diabetes or something. They chopped off his legs. And then they -- you know. It was very sad because he was a baseball player -- basketball player. He played at St. Mark’s. He was on the Cherokees. Did you hear about the Cherokees? That was the big basketball team up on the hill. In the ‘40s and the ‘50s, the Cherokees -- Billy was a star. Sherwin School. Farrakhan’s mother was Mae Wolcott, and she was a choir mother. And she would tie your bow ties -- put your color buttons on because we kids couldn’t do that. Mrs. Wolcott. (Ringing sound). It’s dinging -- dong, dong. That’s Minister Street. The big funeral parlors in those days were Johnson. I guess Mrs. Johnson is still there. I heard she’s sick now. But I remember her husband -- Mr. Johnson -- she was a very young woman when she married him, and he died, and he used

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to bury the poor people. They used to say that he’d put you under cheaply. He was very good that way. And then Mr. Morrison -- well, he tried to get all the West Indians. He was the undertaker. He was on Mass. Avenue -- Mass. Avenue and Washington Street, I think he was -- Mr. Morrison, the undertaker. And then there was Mr. Green. He had a place on Tremont Street. They had a lot of undertaker places in those days. They had a lot of tuberculosis and stuff. People were splitting. My professor at Howard University in mechanical engineering was Davis -- Steve Davis. His brother was the owner of the Davis Funeral Home in Roxbury. And as a matter of fact, they took care of the arrangements for Mr. Lawrence who died at 104. But Steve Davis was my mechanical engineering instructor at Howard. And then later on, he became head of the Department of Engineering. INT: Do you want to speak to the sort of what I call tensions between the West Indians and Southern -- JS: I don’t think it was as pronounced as one would think. I think it was a lot of -- oh, he’s an American, you know. Hmm. Those Americans they don’t do anything but complain all the time and that sort of stuff, you know. I don’t think there was any direct conflict so to speak. It was just that if you married an American, my mother would think that you married down instead of a nice West Indian girl. I never heard of any real conflict there. It was just a lot of badmouthing. And I think it was only on the part of West Indians because West Indians tend to be very pompous -- some of them. St. Cyprian’s Church was run by the Reverend Ferguson. He was a preacher there for many, many years. Did anyone talk to you about him -- Reverend Ferguson? Well, Reverend Ferguson died, and then we got a minister who came in, and he turned the church into high Episcopal -- those old West Indians didn’t go for that high Episcopal stuff. And they went down to the bishop -- down on Tremont Street downtown and complaining. And

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the bishop didn’t seem very sympathetic, you know. And then -- I’m trying to think of the man’s name -- he got wrapped up in the Civil Rights Movement -- the preacher -- Wright -- Father Wright. Remember him? Father Wright. So, a bunch of Jamaicans went down there to the bishop and said that Father Wright should be taken off -- should not be the minister there. And the bishop wanted to know why. They said he was too black to preach. (Chuckles). Yes. Well. Elma Lewis -- there’s a person that’s missing from this thing here -- Cynthia Belgrave. Did anybody ever mention Cynthia Belgrave? Cynthia Belgrave -- she studied drama -- at St. Cyprians’ though, she used to teach recitation at St. Cyprian’s Church during the summer. INT: What time period would this have been? JS: In the ‘30s. In the ‘30s -- about 1936 -- ’37 because I remember Joe Lewis was fighting, and everybody was listening to him. INT: She taught -- what did you call it? JS: Drama and recitation. And she later went on to be an extra on Law and Order. You’d see her -- in the early Law and Orders, you know, you’d see her there. And she had a home in , and then she died. Cynthia Belgrave. You might not have a cold. And I don’t think that -- I hope you’re not chilly because I can get you a blanket or something to wrap up. What I don’t like about Boston, and I like about California is Boston is so dirty. It’s an old town. INT: Isn’t it dirty? JS: It’s an old town. People let their dogs do their duty on the sidewalk. Oh, yes, yes. That bothered me no end, you know. Get out of here. Oh my. It tends to be clannish. In other words, now West Indians will talk to each other -- especially if you’re from the same island, you know. They’ll speak to each other. That’s right. Yes. Well, I

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forgot. My brother was very much interested in pedigree and background and so forth. And he went to Montserrat -- and he went and interviewed a lot of folks there trying to discover where he came from. And he found out that my father came from the northern part of the island, and he went up there and that’s where all the Silcotts are, you know. He got a chance to meet some of them, you know. I remember he called me. He went there by himself. We went up there together the year before, I guess, and he went there by himself. He wanted to do some more research, and he couldn’t find my mother in the Census. So, I told him you have to look for Annie Louise Silcott -- not just Louise -- Annie Louise. And he did. He found her. She changed her name when she came to Boston from Louise to Annie -- I’m sorry -- from Annie to Louise. And my mother was just weird that way because now my sister has gone to her grave not knowing that her name was not Cecilia but it was Mary. I just found her passport here. Her name is Mary Cecilia Silcott. Everybody called her Cecilia. INT: Like I said surprises. JS: You’re right. (Both laughing). But I don’t understand why that chick would do that, you know. And then my brother, of course, she changed his name. His name was Thomas George Silcott, and she just called him George, mainly because my father liked Thomas. So, she’s just going to -- I’m going to do it my way. So, his name was George. Everybody called him George. I can’t think of any black woman who had more money than Louise when she died. She had so much real estate. She sold a lot of it. And then she, as I said, she left me some of it in Boston. She didn’t trust my sister or brother because she felt that they wouldn’t treat it right -- wouldn’t do it right -- and she’s probably right because --. Yes, I think so -- yes, Louise. INT: I’ll just scan this one photo.

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JS: Of whom? Are you scanning that photo? Oh, my old man. Oh -- yes. Good for you. Did it come out? Oh gee whiz. Let me peak at it. There’s Chris with his bad self. He was a little dude. He raised more hell. That’s him. That’s him. Oh, yes. That is him. INT: You have his eyes. JS: You think so? Yes, probably so. I had five eye surgeries on both of my eyes. I put a hole in my retina, and then they had to operate on the exterior of the eye because the lids were falling. And this one here has still got to have the operation again. So, but that’s the old man. That’s him. Good Lord. You do fantastic work kiddo. I’m telling you. It does the job. It’s a lightweight. Oh, this is from Canon, too, huh. That’s fantastic. It looks good. You did a nice job. Joseph Christopher -- Chris Silcott, I guess, they called him. INT: And then his name is? JS: Joseph. Are you on the Internet here? INT: Yes. Want me to e-mail it to you? JS: Oh, that’s a thought. INT: His name is -- Joseph -- JS: Christopher Silcott -- Joseph C. Silcott. But everybody calls him Chris. Did you take your medicine? Good for you. Good. Because there’s orange juice in there -- I think there’s some orange in there. INT: You’re familiar with this area of the college? JS: Sure. INT: So, he was called -- JS: Joseph C. Silcott but everybody called him Chris. But he was -- sometimes I wish I had -- able to bring him to California and put him to work out here. He would have

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done well because he was a fantastic cook. You’re looking for what now? INT: I don’t know what I’m looking for. JS: Yes, you do. INT: I’m looking for my brain. JS: Give me a break. Lighten up. I’m trying to see if I can find any other pictures. Let me do another scan. These are all latter day pictures I call them because these are pictures that I took. (Penny) Wall gave me this sweater. That’s why I thought of her -- for my birthday -- ten years ago. Now here’s my mother.

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She thinks she’s cute here. Now this is an old girlfriend of hers and her husband. She married him late. And they were -- my mother and her were domestics. And she was an American because she was born in Hampton, Virginia. And my mother went down to Hampton and took a picture of them -- that’s where this picture came from in 1948 I think it was. Here’s my mother here. And that’s -- INT: So, the first picture was James -- see photo one. Tell me your father’s name again. I’m sorry. I don’t remember. JS: I’m sorry. INT: Your father’s name. JS: Joseph C. Silcott. INT: And he was known as -- JS: Chris. C-H-R-I-S. INT: Do you know approximately what year that was? JS: Yes, that was in 1947. INT: And that’s at the Charlesgate? JS: Yes, the Charlesgate Hotel -- then Charlesgate Hall. INT: So, it was the hotel -- it’s a dormitory right now? JS: It was a dormitory. It just turned over in that year -- I think -- ’47. But he was there for 35 years at the hotel. INT: Thirty-five years -- whoa -- I just said that’s so much work -- cooking -- and it’s physical. It starts early in the morning and goes late at night. JS: I couldn’t handle it. They had a little competition at the Seventh-day Adventist Church that if you colored these tracks -- you could get a ticket, and you saved so many of these tickets, they had prizes for you. So, I was very good, and I was coloring them up

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to beat the band. And I had me a whole bunch of these tickets, you know. So, this little girl came by. I remember her name was Bessie. And she came by, and she wanted some of my little tickets I got. I told her -- no. You get your own. And she said I want one of yours. I wouldn’t give it to her. This woman hit me right in the eye and knocked me right down on my butt. I was out on the floor. And so, they rushed to get me assistance, and they got water, and they got me to. At the time, I was about 8-years-old, I guess. And Elder Davis -- that’s Clifton Davis’ father now -- he told me when I got my senses -- don’t tell your mother -- because they know my mother is a hell-raiser, you know -- don’t tell your mother. So, I said okay. Okay. And they took me home. So, when I got home, my mother was vacuuming or doing something -- I guess -- it wasn’t a vacuum -- it was one of those floor sweepers. And she looked over at me, and she says -- boy, what’s wrong with you? I said nothing ma. And she says -- come over here. And she looked over her, and my eye was black and closed up. She said what have you been fighting. I said, no, ma. She said you must have been fighting. Why do you look like that for? I said, well -- I explained to her what happened. I said Elder Davis said not to tell you. Oh, my God. That chick took off, boy. (Both chuckle). I was there when she came back. And I heard that she raised so much hell down there, boy, they almost had to call the police. I don’t know. I don’t know. These mothers are really something. So, that was the last day I was a Seventh-day Adventist. No more. I said no mas -- no mas. Pieces? Accent. INT: Now you were talking about on Cunard Street -- horse drawn carts? JS: They would have these horse drawn carts that would deliver oil and gas because the oil stoves in the front room used to heat the back of the house, and the front of the house is heated by coal. And my mother had a little garden -- it’s like -- she’d have plants and so forth. And she tried to grow tomatoes in the house. And soon as the horses went

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by, and they were dropping their apples, boy, she said -- James, go get it! Go get it, James! And I’m sliding down there with a little shovel -- a little small ash shovel -- that used to shovel the ashes out of the stove, you know. And I’d run down there and pick them up. They were steaming, you know. And my mother told me she had to let it cool down. But I know one time, the guy who was delivering the ice to us -- we had ice -- they’d have a card -- and the card you’d put in the window -- and so when he’s coming by -- they’d look up because they’d recognize his card from the color and shape and so forth. And you’d have it up in one position, and that would be a 15 cent piece of ice or a 20 cent piece of ice or a ten cent piece of ice -- depending. So, Louise would be waiting for him to come by. And there was no Tony. Tony was in the town -- and she was waiting for days. And she said to me -- James, my food is going to spoil if I don’t get some ice. Let me go and see what happened to Tony because Tony lived around the street -- around the corner on Cabot Street. So, Louise and I went down there to check out Tony. And she rang the bell, and no one was there. And so, she opened up the door, and there was Tony lying on the floor in repose with his hands on his chest like that and a coffin stacked up on the side. Tony was dead, and nobody knew about it. And they were going to put him in the coffin, I guess. In those days, they would have your body lie in state at home. So, we went by there, and my mother walked over to Tony and looked down on him. She said, Tony, are you dead. And he was dead. And one day she said to me -- James -- well, I think I told you Bynoe did the garages for her. And those garages went like hot cakes. She just rented them. And there was a guy who was in jail -- at Charles Street Jail -- and he had a garage, and he didn’t want to lose his garage because -- if a person didn’t pay their rent, you’d just get another guy in there. So, he got word to my mother that he was in Charles Street Jail. And the both of

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us -- my mother and I went down there. (Both laugh). We went down there and got his rent. She was a very good person. She would bail you out of jail if she knew you. And Mrs. Allen who lives over on -- I can’t remember the name of the street -- right -- St. Cyprian’s is on the street. But her son got arrested for fighting or something. Louise bailed him out of jail. She was good at that. She had something like 35 Godchildren. People knew that she was generous, so they’d make her -- you know. Get Mrs. Silcott to be your kids’ Godmother, and you’d be sure to get a present for Christmas. And she had a closet in her house that she would stack presents that she would pick up at Filenes. You know Filenes -- and pick up all kinds of stuff down there and put them in the closet. It’s full of stuff. I think I’m finished now. INT: Do you think you’re finished now? That’s enough walking down Memory Lane because you went a whole lot of places. JS: Very nostalgic here. I was thinking about Louise and stuff. Louise was a trip. She had contracted cancer. And she wouldn’t have anybody see after her. And so, my sister went up to Boston to see how she was doing. My sister lived in New York. And seeing Louise -- Louise said, well, you didn’t have to come here. But since you’re here, why don’t you drop me off at Peter Bent Brigham. So, my sister took here there. And Louise always paid her way. No one paid her. And so, when they came back -- they came in a cab. And you could tell she was really sick because she got in a cab. And when she got in the cab, my sister got out of the cab, and she helped my mother up the steps, and she gave my sister some money to give to the cab driver. Exact change with ten cents for a tip. She went up the stairs, you know. And my sister said to the cab driver -- took the dime and looked at it -- gingerly-like, you know. So, my sister says -- ma, you only gave him a dime tip. She said that’s enough for him, and that’s why you don’t have anything. (Both laugh).

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Especially Bostonians. Those Brahmins out there -- they got every dime they ever made.

END OF INTERVIEW +++

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