INTRODUCTION

Selling the Southern California lifestyle has never been particularly difficult. Sunshine and palm trees have lured millions to Los Angeles since the moment the city was incorporated in 1850. Its ceaseless sprawl has steadily spilled into the surrounding desert with the dubious promise of health and prosperity. For all those lucky enough to actually soak up the Pacific Ocean sunsets, there were twice as many denied that natural beauty in order to keep the illusion paved, electrified, and smelling of orange blossoms. Many of those optimistic transplants flocked to Los Angeles to escape the inhospitable climates of places like the American South only to find things were as rigidly segregated as anywhere else.

Los Angeles is composed of over 150 neighborhoods, many of them identifying themselves with one particular ethnic group. Some of these divisions were happily self-imposed while others were written into law. Central Avenue, which strikes like a dagger from downtown Los Angeles through Watts to northernmost Long Beach, was the strip allotted to African Americans, focusing primarily on a five-mile line between First Street in downtown and Slauson Avenue to the south. Due largely to restrictive covenant laws that allowed home owners to refuse sales to anyone whose color they did not approve, African Americans (both native and foreign) were confined to this narrow residential parcel, leaving few options in the nearly 500 square miles of Los Angeles county.

As a result, South Los Angeles was united solely by skin color with a diversity of educations, incomes, and aspirations changing from one home to the next. Doctors and lawyers lived next to dockworkers and janitors, and high-society opera singers borrowed sugar from barefoot bumpkins. The resulting cultural diversity led to a working-class, landlocked island alternative filled with hotels and nightclubs that hosted and nurtured some of the most significant jazz musicians of the 20th century.

The cliché of beach bunnies and boardwalks was applied to all of Los Angeles’s exports. West Coast jazz was no exception, becoming synonymous with the scene at Hermosa Beach’s famed Lighthouse and the sun-dappled swingers with saxophone cases full of sand and a year-round wardrobe of short-sleeve shirts and khakis. It was a predominantly Caucasian facade, and it took a lot away from the hard-edged innovators toiling away 24 hours a day in the backrooms of Central Avenue chicken joints. It may not have been as charming on the Avenue, but an honest and impassioned sound arose from the cramped venues that could rival New Orleans or New York in terms of forward-thinking musicianship.

As jazz rose from ragtime in the early 20th century, it learned to walk in the 1910s on the blood-splattered streets of New Orleans’s Storyville. Musicians like Jelly Roll Morton, Kid Ory, and Louis Armstrong created a new musical language that was uniquely American and full of swing and inspired improvisation. When Storyville was closed with the battered end of a police baton in 1917, the musicians who were making a living there spread in every direction. Midwestern cities like Chicago and Kansas City inherited a few horn players while New York attracted a few more. Those uninterested in shoveling snow headed due west.

The most concentrated commercial strip of Central Avenue revolved around the Dunbar Hotel, which is on the corner of Forty-second Place. Built in 1928, it was originally known as the Hotel Somerville; however, the collapsing state of American economics caused ownership of the towering edifice to change hands by 1930, and it was renamed the Dunbar Hotel. Lodgings were not easy to come by for African Americans, but the Dunbar Hotel was African American friendly and catered to a high-class clientele. When Hollywood came knocking for jazz musicians, artists like Duke Ellington, Louis Armstrong, and Cab Calloway would haul their trunks down from the equally grandiose Union Station to set up at the Dunbar Hotel. On off nights, they would visit the dozens of clubs within walking distance of the lobby.

In the 1920s, Los Angeles’s African American population was less than 40,000. Cities like Watts and Compton were still farmland, and folks of every ethnicity could find a small parcel to call their own. By the 1940s, that population had doubled but the space remained the same. In 1945, alto saxophonist Charlie Parker arrived in Los Angeles for a nightclub stint, unaware that he would be spending the next year and a half of his short life in and around Central Avenue. He was welcomed with open arms by young modern jazz practitioners like pianist Hampton Hawes and trumpeter Howard McGhee, who brought him around to jam sessions and soaked up as much knowledge as Parker’s deteriorating body could dispense.

Less than 10 years later, the Central Avenue scene had all but disappeared. After World War II ended, the booming defense industry in Southern California no longer needed to keep their plants running 24 hours a day. As a result, many African American employees were the first to be let go. Their cash-rich pockets quickly emptied, leaving entertainers low on the priority spending scale. In 1948, after years of fighting, restrictive covenants were repealed in Los Angeles, opening up a wide array of suburban options for those who could afford to escape the overcrowded confines of Central Avenue. Many of the wealthiest residents headed west for the vistas of Baldwin Hills, and numerous entertainment options followed them to streets like Western Avenue and Crenshaw Boulevard. Another civil rights victory, the amalgamation of the segregated musicians union, was finalized in 1953. The merger resulted in the closing of the Central Avenue musicians union, and that focus and fraternity shifted to the Hollywood offices. The rise of R&B and rock and roll further commandeered the record charts, and many jazz musicians were forced to adapt or lower their already dubious living standards.

By the 1960s, it was all gone. The Dunbar remained standing but quickly fell into decline. Jazz fans were scattered across the county and seemed to agree to congregate in Hollywood, a location considerably more glamorous than South Los Angeles. Riots and poverty dismantled the remaining evidence of a once-thriving neighborhood. In the mid-1990s, the Central Avenue Jazz Festival was started to preserve what memories remained. It has continued to draw thousands annually to hear jazz greats (and future greats) carry on a treasured tradition in the shadow of the Dunbar Hotel. A nightlife resurgence is unlikely to reoccur on Central Avenue, but a concentration of nightlife is unlikely to organically pop up anywhere again because of all of the affordable entertainment options available to the 21st-century man. That is why it is essential to remember that for nearly half a century, a small, neglected strip of South Los Angeles was home to some of the greatest innovators of American music.