Seven at Twenty-Five (Hooked on Hitting): The Autobiography of J. Eliot Smith

By J. Eliot Smith

My dad was thirty-nine years old when I was born. I was twenty-five when my seventh child was born, thus the title of this book. I would rather believe that thirty-nine is closer to the average age of a parent with seven children. The difference in my dad’s seven children and mine is that he had all of his children with the same woman. Mine was with four different women. Back in those days, it was quite rare for a man to father children with several women, but it’s very common now.

This book is basically about a young man who lost his virginity at fifteen to a girl three years younger than him, someone who had gotten him addicted to having sex with her; or as we often said back then, “hitting” her. I ended up having four children with her and three others with three other women. This book is set to show how I managed to maintain positive relationships with everyone involved.

I was talking to a friend who asked why I wanted to write my autobiography. He asked, “What makes your life so important to generate an autobiography?”

Then I replied, “How many guys do you know that have had seven children at the age of twenty-five?”

He pondered for a few moments and answered, “None.”

That, my friends, was my point.

Sit back and put your seat belts on. This book will surprise you, humor you, and even compel you to doubt its authenticity. But I assure you, everything you will read is true—no exaggerations, no lies, and no truth-bending. Nothing but the truth, so help me God.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9781645318811

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Seven at Twenty-Five (Hooked on Hitting)

The Autobiography of J. Eliot Smith

J. Eliot Smith

Copyright © 2020 J. Eliot Smith

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2020

Cover Photo by Edwina Banks

ISBN 978-1-64531-878-1 (Hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-64531-881-1 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Hooked on Hitting

Artesian Street

Monroe Street

Meeting Helen

Helen Gets Pregnant

I Am Not the Father!

Shirley—Wrigley Field

Three and Four at Eighteen—Joe and Peaches

Camp Lejeune (Six at Twenty—John)

Anger

Going Home

Seven at Twenty-Five

The Grim Reaper

Madison, Wisconsin

I Had a Dream

Aquarius:

Honest, probing, amiable, broad-minded, humane, unique, thoughtful, meticulous, popular; a realist.

This book is dedicated to my deceased parents, Willie and Jessie; my deceased siblings, Sonny, Joot, Donald, Bertha, and Eloise; my still-living sister, Micki; my deceased offspring, Sharon and William; my still-living daughters Jeanette, Peaches, and Bunchie; my sons, Snip and Chris; and to all of my grandchildren, great grandchildren, nieces, nephews, and cousins—way too many to name individually. I would also like to include the mothers of my children: Helen, Edwina, Shirley, and Lynn. I cannot forget the few others who urged me to write this.

Foreword

When I first sat down to pen my memoirs, it was the spring of 1979. It’s now the fall of 2017. I could write a whole other book on everything that has taken place in my life since 1979, such as the several deaths in my family I have had to deal with, all the baseball that I’ve played throughout the years, not to mention all of my romantic relationships and the memorable Vietnam platoon reunions all around the country. I have to thank God for allowing me to be around to see our first black president of the United States.

In 1979, I was living with my mother on the west side of Chicago. At the time, my only income was from my drawings of celebrities and the freelance decorating that I did for family and friends. My car was the CTA bus and El Train. I have to admit that I haven’t worked on this book from ’79 to the present, because I’ve been caught up in reality. I had to work to generate income to pay bills and to eat. I have, however, been keeping a daily journal as reference of my experiences. I actually began keeping the journal in 1972. After I finished the one while in Vietnam, I decided to continue in preparation for my memoirs.

In the summer of 1974, I was dating Dot. I kept my journals under my mattress because I was doing a lot of cheating on Dot since we began dating two years prior. While I was away from home, she was making up my bed and found them. I’m a very organized person, so my journals were catalogued by year: 1972, 1973, and half of 1974. She saw all of my cheating! Not only did she read them, she also tore them all up! Of course, we broke up, but eventually we started back dating again. Her trust in me was highly tainted.

I was done with keeping journals, but a few friends convinced me to continue. So I began back in 1975 and have been keeping them ever since. I didn’t do a lot of research for this book, because it would have taken a lot longer to finish, which means I have mostly gone off pure memory and notes.

In 1983, I took a train to Portland, Oregon, to spend a few months with a family I met while in the service to help my put my book together. I was feeling bad about not having a steady income and watching my mother go to work every day. I wasn’t gone a week before my mother passed away.

I was blessed with having the sort of personality that many were attracted to. However, even something such as a magnetic personality, if not properly maintained, can cause a lot of problems and discomfort.

In grammar school, I had several friends, more male than female. We had lots in common, and with my guys, I was often the center of attention. One day, not long after the Eisenhower Expressway was constructed, I put on a show for my friends that had them in awe. We attended Manley Upper Grade Center and had to use the Eisenhower overpass to get there from our neighborhood. One day, I decided to walk on the railing along the street all the way across the expressway. My guys were super-excited to see me do it. My female friends all ran off to the school because they were terrified that I would fall to my death.

While at Manley, I befriended a girl named Cookie. She wasn’t what one would call pretty, but she had some big breasts! We ended up becoming an item. There was a factory building across the street from the school. In the gangway next to the factory that was already emitting steam from the top of the factory, Cookie and I would go there to make out during our lunch period. She often would give me the green light to caress those big-ass breasts, the first ones I had ever touched. The first few times, I would feel on them through her clothes, and I was okay with that. Then one day, she let me enjoy her naked breasts. She raised her sweater, then her bra, and just as I imagined, they were flawless. I was in complete awe. She guided my hands to them, and although I was hesitant about touching them, when I did, I almost passed out. I was only twelve years old.

I was only at Manley for the seventh and eighth grades. Before graduating, I met my future wife and mother of four of my children, Helen Jean Washington. She is also who I lost my virginity to. I had never even experienced an orgasm before meeting her. In that gangway with Cookie, I do recall getting an erection. I didn’t know at the time that Helen was only twelve years old. She told me she was sixteen and surely looked like she was sixteen with the body she had. I was fifteen.

I was sending her money while I was in the service so she could help me establish a nest egg for when I was discharged, which was going to happen right after my current tour in Vietnam. When I arrived home in 1969, I came home to no money! I learned later that she didn’t bother to save any of the money I sent her, because she was under the impression that everyone who went to Vietnam was killed. We separated that very next month. I suggested that she avoid me the rest of her life, because at some point in the future, I may have ended up killing her! I was devastated.

About six months later, my mom and my oldest sister, Joot, convinced me to get back with Jean, because she was going to need help raising our children. As mad as I was, it still made sense. I even thought about my dad and how he helped my mom raise all of us.

Jean was living in the housing projects of Chicago and agreed to get back with me. I told her that I was only coming back to help raise our kids and there would be no intimacy, including sex! I had been there only for a couple of months when I realized we were too different to live together. She was raised on welfare and able to do whatever she wanted since the age of twelve, whereas I came from a home of well-off, concerned, and strict parents. When I left, Jean assumed I no longer cared for our children nor her. She couldn’t have been more wrong! Ever since we had our very first child, I felt the change in me, and it grew with each child after. Being a father, I think, made me a better person.

My four children with Jean basically raised themselves. She had our oldest, Sharon, when she was only thirteen years old. When I left her in the projects, Sharon was about seven at the time. Jean never attended high school and never told me any of the problems our kids faced, because she really thought I didn’t care. She lived in the projects for many years, during which time I fathered two other kids before she moved there, and my youngest came after her move. I would have all seven of them at once, several times. I wanted to make sure they all knew each other.

I was playing baseball at the time and I would go and get all of them and take them to my games. We also went out to eat often, even clothes shopping. I never abandoned any of them! I’m a firm believer of whatever you do follows you.

This book is basically about a young man who lost his virginity at fifteen to a girl three years younger than him, someone who had gotten him addicted to having sex with her or, as we often said back then, hitting her. I ended up having four children with her and three others with the same number of women. This book is set to show how I managed to maintain positive relationships with everyone involved.

As I write this, I’m faced with some heavy situations. I’m unemployed, no money in the bank, and the lease on my apartment is about to end. I have not had a physical exam in over eight years, and I’m up to my neck in debt. I have a fifteen-year-old daughter who will ultimately make me a grandfather at the age of only thirty-two.

I want my children to know about my life, before they were born, and why I was not in their lives more. My quest is to write this book while I have to face reality. So far, I’ve been married, I have lived with another woman, but I’m presently living with my mother. I abandoned my apartment and a woman that I lived with there, a woman that at the time I believed was sent to me by God, but I was just too blind too see it. Leaving her was the biggest mistake of my life so far. The second biggest mistake was in 1983 when I left my mother to go to Portland, after she begged me not to go.

I was talking to a friend who asked why I wanted to write my autobiography. He asked, What makes your life so important to generate an autobiography?

Then I replied, How many guys do you know that have had seven children at the age of twenty-five?

He pondered for a few and answered, None.

That, my friends, was my point. Sit back and put your seat belts on. This book will surprise you, humor you, and even compel you to doubt its authenticity. But I assure you, everything you will read is true—no exaggerations, no lies, and no truth-bending. Nothing but the truth, so help me God.

Introduction

Hooked on Hitting

On the seventeenth of February 1947, my dad and a doctor were summoned to 325 N. Artesian in Chicago, because my mother went into labor with me. My dad was at work at the time. Over the radio came news of the winning nickname for the fighter, Johnnie Bratton. The winning nickname was Honey Boy. Although my dad didn’t enter the contest, his personal choice was Hit ’Em Boy. Just as my dad and the doctor were discussing how close my dad’s choice was to the winning name, his seventh child began making his way into the world. Since there were four daughters and two sons already part of the family, Dad was hoping for another son.

People back in those days named their children after they were born and had their children at home. When Dad learned he had a son, he said to the doctor, I’m a big fan of Johnny Bratton and I’m not gonna be wrong with this name. I’m naming him Johnny!

My dad was thirty-nine years old when I was born. I was twenty-five when my seventh child was born, thus the title of this book. I would rather believe that thirty-nine is closer to the average age of a parent with seven children. The difference in my dad’s seven children, and mine is that he had all of his children with the same woman. Mine was with four different women. Back in those days, it was quite rare for a man to father children with several women, but it’s very common now.

Being born in 1947, I consider myself more of a Jackie Robinson baby than a baby boomer, because that’s the same year that Jackie broke the color barrier in major league baseball. I must have felt in in my blood, because I played a lot of baseball.

My dad was the epitome of being a family man. He referred to all his children as thoroughbreds. He and my mom separated soon after I got my very first job. I had dropped out of high school and got a job stocking shelves at a local grocery store. He figured, Since my youngest is working and able to do for himself…I’m outta here! I sensed that he wanted to leave sooner because he was a drinker, and my mom got on him about it a lot. The house was paid for, so he moved a few blocks away with my youngest sister, Eloise, and her husband, Sam.

My Thoughts

My letters are like movies: you understand them more the second time around.

It’s not easy for a woman to date a man who keeps a daily journal of his life.

You’re never too old to learn something from the person who knows best—your father.

Love is…a competition to show it.

Confidence is positive thinking.

Picture this: a black guy goes to an NHL hockey game. His main reason for going is to see another black guy on the visiting team. The black player scores a goal, and the black guy who came to see him is the only person to stand up and cheer for him.

Some of My Favorite Quotes

We real cool. We left school. We lurk late. We strike straight. We sing sin. We thin gin. We jazz June. We die soon.

—Gwendolyn Brooks

There’s a brand new way of looking at your life, when you know love is by your side.

—From the song, Baby Come to Me

If it’s so popular, why is everyone drinking it? Only two words to say: Gotta have it!

—Yogi Berra

I have two choices in Hollywood: to be a maid for $7 a week, or play a maid for $700 a week.

—Hattie McDaniels

A friend is someone who would die for you.

—Muhammad Ali

I don’t have an enemy in the world. I’ve outlived them all!

—Marlene Dietrich

Trust, but verify.

—Ronald Reagan

Four things that tells you what a man is: his house, his car, his wife, and his shoes.

—War of the Roses

Knowing when to quit, is the first sign of wisdom.

—In the Heat of the Night

Success has many fathers. Failure is an orphan.

—Boardwalk Empire

He’s so crooked, he can hide behind a corkscrew!

—Pittsburgh

It’s what you learn after you know it all, that really counts.

—John Wooden

A man’s attitude determines the way his life will be.

—Mulholland Drive

He has the charm of an open grave.

—The Equalizer

Do not judge a person by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.

—Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Lie only to save a friend, only steal a young girl’s heart, only cheat death, and drink to be merry.

—Unknown

Making choices is hard for some people. For others, it’s also hard to accept the choices made for them.

I’ve never been so connected to anyone in my life.

Ike Turner was King of the Wife Beaters. Until OJ took his title.

The only blacks in Minnesota are Prince and Kirby Puckett.

Two things that are hard for some of us to do: What we don’t know how to do, and what we don’t want to do.

When you break the law, it means you don’t have the brains or the courage, to stay in line with the rest of us.

One out of every four black males between the ages of twenty to twenty-nine is either in jail or probation or on parole; more of the same are in college.

Best friends make the best marriages.

Ecstasy: sustained intensity.

C—Considered

U—Useless

B—by

S—September

A man stands up for himself, looks you in the eye, shares his strength and protects his children.

The best way to lose weight and keep it off, is to eat right.

If it’s good…always!

Gracefully mind your own business.

Honor and collaborate.

Love for another can border on obsession.

It’s too obvious to require elaboration.

The past is coming.

He’s stronger than a garlic milkshake.

Shoes: invitation or rejection.

Marriage: The ultimate expression of love.

Relentless logic.

In the past, a stranger in the community causing a disturbance would be confronted. Today, he is ignored.

The most important thing in life is not to triumph, but to struggle.

What a tangled web we weave when we practice to deceive.

We choose the course of our lives and we are held responsible.

If a man hasn’t found something to die for, he isn’t fit to live.

Look like a girl, act like a lady, think like a man, and work like a dog.

Uncompromising and single-minded behavior, is idiotic.

If you wanna be sure, then make sure!

Don’t be afraid to be yourself.

Stand up and face the music or run for cover.

We’re incomplete without the right people in our lives.

Law of the universe: Choose your own destiny.

If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything.

If you can’t say what you mean, then you can’t mean what you say.

How do you keep an idiot in suspense? I’ll tell you tomorrow.

May we all love each other as we are and as we hope to be.

Horizontal mambo.

Tonsil hockey.

This administration believes, not I believe…

If your word ain’t shit, you ain’t shit!

—My Dad

May you live as long as you want and never want for as long as you live.

Sure, I missed you, just like Booth missed Lincoln.

It takes one to know one.

1

Artesian Street

In Chicago, just one block west of Western Avenue, is a street called Artesian. 325 N. Artesian is where I was born. February 17, 1947.

It was a dead-end street blocked by railroad tracks to the north and lined with houses only on the east. On the west side of the street was a steelworks factory called Delta Star. It took up the entire block, a block where everyone knew each other.

I remember several of the adults from that block, like Mrs. Hill. She was an elderly widow who lived alone, and the highlight of her day was having us kids over to her place. She loved children. I remember her being a small woman. She wore horn-rimmed glasses, had a high-pitched voice, blue veins on the back of her hands, and seemed to always wear her an apron. I think when she got up every morning and put her clothes on, that apron was as much a part of her attire as was her underwear. I also remember having my very first peanut butter and honey sandwich on wheat bread at Mrs. Hill’s house.

I also remember Hans. He was a security guard for Delta Star and always sat outside in his chair, watching us play. He was a white guy from Germany, and everyone else on the block was black. Looking back on it now, I guess him sitting in his chair all day watching all these black kids play was like watching television. He seemed to be in his twenties, had dark hair, a chiseled face, and a deep voice with an infectious smile. I used to stop playing sometimes and go and sit with him, and he would teach me a little German. The only German I remember was "Danka shern which meant Thank you."

Another adult I remember was Mr. Hightower. He seemed to be a junk man, because he drove a pickup truck that was always filled with junk! I don’t think he had a regular job. His skin was black as coal. I don’t recall ever hearing him talk. He was just always focused on his junk and always wore bibbed overalls and a brown fedora hat.

Back to Mrs. Hill, I forgot to mention a song she used to sing to me:

Oh, I wish I were an apple

hanging on a tree.

And every time Jonny passed by,

he would take a bite of me.

Old Mrs. Hill would always get teary eyes whenever I had to leave her house.

Then there was Mr. Rudy. He lived in the house on the corner of Artesian and Fulton Street. Fulton was the border street to the south of the block. Mr. Rudy was the Bob Cratchit of our block. He always had a nasty attitude about everything. He was always arguing with someone about something. The actor Robert Ryan reminds me of him: tall, light-skinned, and thin. My only personal encounter with Mr. Rudy was one Halloween when a few of us kids went to his place, trick-or-treating. When he opened his door, we all enthusiastically yelled, "Trick or treat!"

He replied, Y’all wait a minute, and then he closed the door. When he returned and opened the door, he threw a bucket of water at us and screamed, "Stay away from my house!!"

Then there was Ms. Annie Mae. Like Mr. Hightower, Ms. Annie Mae was black as coal. I remember that she had lots of cats in her house. She lived with a man named Mr. Pink who was bedridden (I think he had polio). Whenever we would see him, he had difficulty speaking and was always eating bananas. One day, I was there with my sister, Eloise. I believe we were going to the store for them. We were sitting in the living room, watching her in the kitchen, frying pork chops. As we sat there and waited, we saw her drop one of the pork chops on the floor. One of her cats immediately ran to it and, as expected, licked and nibbled on it before Ms. Annie Mae noticed. When she bent down, she shooed the cat away, picked up the pork chop, and put it right back in the frying pan! Eloise and I looked at each other with childish disgust and started busting up laughing!

Our block also housed a couple of families. The Nelsons, my mother’s brother and his family, lived upstairs from us in our two-flat. He and his wife, Sarah, had two daughters, Elise and Adine, but we called Elise Sugar Baby and Adine Deanie.

Another family were the Wilkins who lived in the house next door to us. Mozel was the mother, and I think she was a single mom because I don’t remember seeing a man living there. She had three sons: Ronnie, Bobbie, and Gregory. I think her mother lived there too. They also lived on the second floor of their two-flat. I liked their building because they had a staircase that went to their apartment on the outside of the building! It was so cool!

On the first floor of their building were the Gentry’s, like the Wilkins, another single-parent home. Ruth Gentry was the mother and had lots of kids: Frank, Alvin, Thelma, Dorothy, Jean, Walter, Rochelle, Teenie, Mary Alice, and Samella.

Helen

Then there was the Spann family. They lived next door to the Gentrys. The parents were Edna and Mark, and they had four kids: Fred, Helen, June Bug, and Willie Pearl. Fred was dark skinned and had some very big lips; so big that there was a rumor that he once got them stuck in a peanut butter jar!

On the other side of the Spanns was the Germans. All I remember about the Germans was they had both parents living there with a very cute daughter who they kept a tight rein on. I don’t remember any of their names, but Mr. German was a car mechanic. He would work on cars in the alley that ran behind all the houses. One day, while he was working under a car out back, the jack malfunctioned and the car fell on him! I was looking right at him when it happened! I remember him yelling, "Help me! Somebody, please help me!" Although I don’t remember him being rescued, I’m pretty sure he was; none of us remember him dying that day.

Moving on, down the street was the Williams family. They were the only family on the block who lived in an actual house; the rest of us all lived in two-flat buildings. I can’t remember the parents’ names, but the kids were Edna, Helen Frances, Ernest, Raymond, Ronnie, and Bonne.

On the other side of them was a vacant lot, and on the other side of that lot was another two-flat housing Mrs. Hill on the first floor and Mr. Hightower upstairs. And in the last building on the block lived a family with two sons, Chico and Corky. They lived in the two-flat upstairs from Mr. Rudy. At the end of the block, right on the corner, was a huge boulder! I have no idea why it was there, where it came from, or what purpose it served, but you can believe we played on it every time we got near it!

Also close by were two grocery stores, one right around the corner on Western next to the alley that ran behind all our houses. Most times, we’d take the alley to get to the store rather than walk down the street. It was owned by a Jewish man named Max who I’m reminded of every time I see Jimmy Durante. His store looked like the general stores I see in Western movies and on TV. He had everything in there. Max was very friendly and kind. What do I most remember about his store? He sold eggs, individual eggs, for $0.03 each!

The other store was on Campbell and Fulton (one block west of Artesian) and owned by a black family, the Collins.

One day, when I was about six or seven years old, Corky, Ronnie Williams, and I were heading to the Collins’ store, the same store that my mother said was off-limits because we had to cross the street to get there. As we crossed the street, this woman came around the corner in her car and hit all three of us!! I was still conscious, so as I looked around to see what happened, I saw Corky laying across the hood of her car, and Ronnie was all the way across the street, struggling to get up. It was then that I noticed that the impact made me pee on myself, and as I got my legs together, I ran home as fast as I could!

I remember Hans running behind me to make sure I was okay. I was determined to not tell my mother what happened, but as soon as I got in, the first thing she noticed was my pissy pants! Jonny, did you pee on yourself?

Before I could decide to tell the truth or lie, Hans bust through the door checking to make sure I was okay. Lucky for me, when he told her what happened, her anger quickly turned to concern. For a minute. Hans went on to tell her that all three of us had gotten hit crossing Fulton Street. "Crossing Fulton Street? Didn’t I tell you never to try and cross that street? Go get me a belt!"

As Hans was filling her in on the details of the accident, she grabbed me to make sure I was physically okay, looking for broken bones, scrapes, anything that she may need to attend to. I had no real indicators of being hit, because I was on the outside of the group as we got hit and got the least amount of the impact. The car struck Corky first, then Ronnie, then me. But as I was sent to get her belt, I couldn’t help but wonder, How many other kids get a whipping after being hit by a car?

I forgot to mention my family’s building was next to the first building from the railroad tracks. In that first building were two families. The Stamps lived on the first floor. I can’t remember the name of the family on the second. And I don’t recall anything else about them.

I also forgot to mention a lady by the name of Mozell Wilkins. Mozell had breasts that were as big as watermelons! She was a short, feisty woman. She and my Aunt Sarah had a fight one day out in the street. Aunt Sarah ripped off Mozell’s blouse and bra, and we all got a good look at those breasts! And at some point in the fight, somehow I got a peek to notice that she also wasn’t wearing any panties!

Our alley in the back of the houses was pretty much a dirt road. One day, I was out there playing marbles by myself when I looked up and noticed a couple of very cute dogs nearby playing outside the Williams’ garage (I later discovered them to be Doberman Pinscher puppies). I stood and walked toward them to play because they were so cute! As I got closer, they retreated into a hole in the wall of the garage. I got down on my knees to see if I could see them, but I didn’t. I reached inside to see if I could feel for them. When I looked back in the hole again, I saw the mouth of a bigger Doberman quickly approaching. I wasn’t fast enough, because although I yanked back as quick as I could, the Doberman reached through that hole and bit me in the face! I was terrified! I cried and trembled for two hours! I even still feel the dog’s hot breath on my face. It was a moment I will never forget and is the main reason why I don’t like dogs to this day.

Joot cutting my hair (seven-years old), Artesian St.

The first school I ever attended was called Mitchell. It was on the other side of the railroad tracks on Ohio Street, I think. My only memories of that school are that they served cheese toast in the lunchroom, nothing more than a piece of cheese melted on a slice of bread.

My other memory of the school was a kid named Cecil. He was a white kid who periodically would beat me up and take my $0.30 lunch money. Until that point, I had never had a fight on my block, so this was traumatic for me to be attacked! Cecil was skinny with blond hair, and what made him start beating me up was that he asked me for my slice of cheese toast and my chocolate milk (which, back then, was only $0.02 and served in a glass bottle). He didn’t want some of it; he wanted it all! But when I refused, he just walked away.

The next day was my first beatdown from him. He put that blond hair of his straight in my chest and proceeded to punch me in the stomach. Gimme your lunch money, black boy! he said as he kept hitting me. I remember seeing his waist jacket flailing in the air as he kept swinging. After that, when I’d see him, I’d try to avoid him, and other days when I couldn’t avoid him were when the beatings would happen. Sometimes teachers would see him kicking my ass and would come break us up, but I don’t remember him ever getting in trouble for it. Mitchell was a predominantly white school, which I attended until we moved off the block when I was ten years old in 1957.

My two brothers, Sonny and Donald, hardly ever did anything with me. It was Mom’s oldest sister, Joot, and my youngest sister, Eloise, who I spent the most time with.