When I left home: my story (2015)

Before I Left Home

Mitchell

At the start of the 1950s I was sitting on a porch in Baton Rouge, playing that same guitar my daddy bought from Coot. I was fifteen years old and had moved from Lettsworth to live with my big sister Annie Mae. I was about to enroll in high school. Mama and Daddy encouraged this move for one simple reason: they wanted me to go further than they did. There was no high school in Lettsworth, and if I was to advance my education, Baton Rouge was the only place. I was a little uneasy about the move because our shack on that great big plantation was all I ever knew. Back then Baton Rouge couldn’t have had many more than 120,000 people. Compared to where I was coming from, though, that was a lot. It wasn’t no New York or Chicago or even New Orleans or Memphis, but it would take some getting used to. Looking at it now, I see it as a kicked-back rural kind of city, a country town, but when I arrived fresh off the farm, there was an adjustment to make. And that lil’ ol’ two-string guitar helped me make the adjustment.

Out there on the porch I was fooling with a new song by John Lee Hooker called “I’m in the Mood.” Every John Lee song said something to me.

“You sound like you’re serious about the guitar,” said a man passing by. His skin was black as coal.

“I am, sir.”

“That there guitar looks mighty beat up,” he said.

“I got it from a guy who had it for a long time.”

“I see it’s only got two strings. Ain’t guitars supposed to have six?”

“I think so,” I said, “but I’m happy to have any guitar at all.”

“I bet if you had a good guitar, you’d get more better playing it. You’d probably get more better in a hurry.”

“Maybe so.”

“Say, son, you gonna be around tomorrow?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday and I don’t gotta work. I’ll pass by here tomorrow and look for you.”

“I’ll be here.”

Had no idea what the man had in mind, but I was back on the porch on Saturday, still fooling with “I’m in the Mood.”

In early afternoon that same man passed by.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Ready for what, sir?”

“Ready to get you a guitar.”

“How am I gonna do that? I got no money for a guitar.”

“I do. Let’s go downtown to where they sell them things.”

And just like that, the man took me downtown in his raggedy old car, walked me into a music store, and had me pick out a Harmony six-string guitar.

“How much is that?” he asked the store owner.

“Fifty-two dollars.”

To me, $52 was all the money in the world. Who in hell had $52 to spend on a guitar?

This man did. He reached in his pocket, pulled the cash out of his wallet, and handed it to the owner. The owner carefully counted the money. It was right. Then he handed me the guitar.

All I could say was “thank you.” I thanked the man who bought it, I thanked the owner of the store, and in my silent mind I thanked the Good Lord in heaven.

On the way back to Annie Mae’s house, the man stopped to buy himself a quart of beer. At Annie Mae’s he and I sat on the porch while I played and he drank. The Harmony was made of golden brown wood with a tone so pretty you could cry. It was clear and pure and strong. I didn’t exactly know what to do with them strings, but I was learning fast. The strings were tight and felt good to the tips of my fingers. Wasn’t long before I was playing “Boogie Chillen” with all six strings. What a difference between two and six! Was like I had a whole orchestra in my hands.

Before long Annie Mae arrived, talkin’ ’bout, “What’s this here country boy doing with a shiny new guitar?”

The man said it was a gift and offered Annie Mae some beer.

“Don’t look like you got enough for two,” she said. “I better run and get us another quart.”

“I’m doing the buying today,” said the man, who got up, went off to the liquor store, and returned with more beer.

As they was drinking and I was playing, Annie Mae got an idea.

“You know where Lettsworth is?” she asked the man.

“Sure enough,” he said. “Know it well.”

“Well, it’s Saturday night. Let’s ride on out there in that car of yours and visit our folks. We can bring ’em some beer and they can hear this little brother of mine playing on his new guitar. What you say?”

The man said yes. I said yes. We put a dollar’s worth of gas in his car and rode the fifty miles north from Baton Rouge to Lettsworth. We pulled right up in front of the wooden cabin where I’d been raised.

My dog started barking his friendly bark. Out in the country no one had locks on their doors. Your dog was the only warning you needed to hear whether it was a stranger or friend come to call. My dog was licking my face when Daddy came out to greet us.

“My, my, my,” he said. “Annie Mae and Buddy. This is a right beautiful surprise.” Then he looked at the man and said, “Ain’t you Mitchell? Mitchell Young?”

“That’s me,” said the man. “And ain’t you Sam?”

“I’m Sam Guy and you’re the same Mitchell I grew up with when we was little boys.”

The two men shook hands before giving each other a good hug.

“Mitchell just bought Buddy a new guitar,” said Annie Mae.

“Knowing he was my son?” asked my daddy.

“Knowing nothing about that,” said Mitchell. “I heard something in this boy that said he needed a real guitar.”

By then Mama had come out of the house and taken me in her arms. She’d heard the whole story.

“Lord, have mercy,” she said. “Ain’t this a beautiful night!”