Two long unsolved mysteries involving Detroit blues artists, the whereabouts of both LC Green and Walter Mitchell, were solved in 1986. Regrettably, LC, who had been residing in Pontiac, Michigan, died in August 1985 before anybody had a chance to interview him. However, Walter Mitchell Jr. was then still very much alive and living in Toledo, Ohio.
Standing little more than five feet in height, Walter Mitchell can rightfully lay claim to the name “Little Walter Junior.” Born in New Orleans on March 19, 1919, he spent his formative years traveling and meeting an endless stream of musicians, all the while perfecting his craft, before eventually settling in Detroit in 1945.1
In 1948 Walter made his recording debut for the Hasting Street–based JVB Records with the eerie-sounding “Pet Milk Blues”/“Stop Messing Around,” with Robert Richard playing second harmonica. Two additional sides were earmarked for King Records but inexplicably never saw light of day; a fifth side, the chaotic “Broke and Hungry,” was issued in the 1970s.2 In 1952 Walter and his cousin LC Green traveled to Gallatin, Tennessee, and recorded eight sides for Dot Records. These sides rank among the finest recorded blues from any Detroit artists. The harmonica on the Dot session, previously thought to be Sam Kelly, is indeed Walter. A total of six sides were issued, all credited to LC Green, an unfortunate oversight, as it was Walter Mitchell who handled the vocals on the coupling “Come Back Sugar Mama” and “Little Machine.” Walter recorded one last session together for Joe Von Battle, but these recordings remained on the shelf until they were rescued from obscurity and reissued in the 1970s.3 Subsequent sessions, mainly in the role of accompanist, remain unissued. However, material recorded at a house party in Detroit in 1955, which features Walter leading a small band, were released on T-R-H CD 8001.4
It’s with thanks to BU friend Tim Healy that we finally had a chance to interview Walter, early in 1986. He spoke proudly of his fascinating life, his love of traveling the country, the Detroit blues scene, and his long relationship with his cousin LC Green. Walter Mitchell died in Toledo, Ohio, on January 10, 1990.
—Bill Greensmith
Playing Music Is All I Know: An Interview with Walter Mitchell Jr.
Bill Greensmith
Blues Unlimited #148 (Winter 1987)
I started playing harmonica when I was about four years old. I went to a barrelhouse in the country, in Ferriday, Louisiana, and a guy was playing the harmonica. I told him I could play the drums and they let me play the drums. Then I looked at the guy playing the harmonica and I said, lord, I’m gonna’ learn to play harmonica before I die. So my daddy used to whup me, I skipped school and go somewhere where they playing music. And that’s where I came from there.
My father was a farmer, sugarcane farmer, and I stayed with him for a while. My mother’s brother came and got me and they raised me in Detroit after my mother died. I was about six or seven years old when I came to Detroit. I went to school there and I left Detroit after I got—I hoboed back down there. ’Cause I used to run off, shoot, I left there the last time, run off from home, people hadn’t seen me in about six years.
I got me a group in Lake Providence, Louisiana. I was playing with a boy named Little Sam, he played guitar, and a boy called Buck, who played second guitar. William [?] played piano and Robert [?] played drums, and I was blowing harmonica and doing my own singing. Nobody sing but me, that’s the only one. So I went on and started playing music all through the country, every weekend I’d go play music. Tallulah, Monroe, Shreveport, Minden—Beaumont, Texas—Pine Bluff, Little Rock, Dumas, Arkansas. Little Walter Junior and His Boogie Blues Boys.
Were you just playing music or were you also working a day job?
Yeah, working in the sawmill, one of them groundhog sawmills that was on the ground. I left there and start working on the railroad. Left there and went to Tallulah working for the Illinois Central. I left there, they had a strike or something, and I came back to McGehee, Arkansas, and I joined some old group playing in the band in McGehee. McGehee almost near Dumas.
Walter Mitchell. Toledo, Ohio, March 1986. (Photo Bill Greensmith)
You told me earlier that you had met Muddy Waters?
Where did I meet him at? I been and met him a long time ago. He used to play in Dumas, McGehee, all them through there, all in Louisiana. He used to court my oldest sister, who lived in Dumas.
Who were some of the other people you ran into down south?
Yank Rachell, Boy Blue, both of the Sonny Boys. Sonny Boy [John Lee Williamson], he beat Rice Miller playing the harp.
Where did you meet Boy Blue?
Taylor, Arkansas. I ran into Sonny Terry in McGehee, it was a great big boardinghouse and I got me a room there. I was working in the [railroad] roundhouse and on the weekends I’d go where Sonny Terry playing at.
Who was he playing with?
I think he was playing with, what’s that boy called? It wasn’t Brownie.
Blind Boy Fuller?
No, Blind Boy Fuller always go by himself, he plays guitar and do his own vocals. Anyway Sonny was blowing the harp, so I sit in and they want to take me with them but I didn’t go. I met Robert Johnson, I met him in Leland, Mississippi, playing at the—it’s in Elizabeth. I lived in Leland, I lived there for a couple of months.
I also met Peetie Wheatstraw in a little place called Sondheimer, Louisiana. Little country—had a big sawmill each side and right over there, they called it the quarter, little shotgun houses. And the man built a big ballroom over there. That’s where I met him, he played over there. Sondheimer, Louisiana, that’s about 20 miles from Lake Providence going down to Tallulah. He played piano down there. He had some more guys playing, three or four more guys playing. [looking at BU 146.] See that old man, who—Joe Reynolds, yeah.
One time, that was in Minden, Louisiana. One time played at the Dew Drop Inn, I mess around and got me a little combo, ’cause I was working about five streets over, called Chat ’n’ Chew. You go there to drink, when you get hungry you can buy something to chew. Minden, that was out from Shreveport.
LC Green.
You were in the army. Where did you receive your papers?
In Detroit, but I left all my induction papers in the mailbox, every doggone thing. You know where they caught me? Key West, Florida. I’d got a job at the sugarcane mill, and a white guy, boy, he was raggedy—I thought god damn, look at this raggedy motherfucker coming down here. I always call him Cat. I said, “Hey, Cat, you for it this morning?” He said, “Yeah, I’m for it.” I said, “Let’s get like a bird.” See, I’m weighing the sugar, he’s taking it off the scale. So Friday he comes sharp, I say, “Hey, Cat!” He pulls that badge out. He said, “We’ve been looking for you for nine months. What you been catching when you leavin’ town?” I said, “Freight train and truck, that’s all I did.”
Get on the railroad of a night, you hit the ditch, see, when it pick up. Shoot, I’d be on that thing, man, between them bars riding. One foot on this car, other one on that car, one down back down going somewhere, all out in Texas. My uncle used to say, “Boy, you gonna’ get killed ridin’ them trains like that.” I had a cousin standing in the middle of the track to catch a train, don’t see how he did it.
Anyway, they brought me back to Monroe, Louisiana. I lay overnight in jail. Next morning, passenger train comes, I got on there, they carried and put me on there. I asked the detective can I call a girl. See, I used to live in Monroe, had a woman that lived there. I said, “Can I make a call?” and I called the girl. I said, “I’m on my way to the army, do you have any whiskey at the house?” She brought me a whole gallon jug of corn whiskey. When I got to the induction station, man, I hadn’t turned cold water on me in three days. Shreveport, Louisiana, that’s where I got the induction at, October ’41. I was in the 92nd Tanks, I didn’t like that. I goofed up, wouldn’t do nothing. So they put me on quartermaster, that’s about as good as I want, drive a truck. So I drove a truck, then they throwed me right back in the tank unit, I said god damn, what they gonna’ do?
Robert Richard and Friends. Detroit, mid-1950s.
I fought the Germans first, then the Japs. We shipped out to England, then to France. I got wounded fighting the Germans. Then I got in special service, that’s all I did, play music. I had a bunch of guys who played with me. I was wounded in the foot fighting the Japanese, so that time they said, “You’re going back to the States.” So after I got where I could walk pretty good I came back to Detroit.
I was discharged January 15, 1945. I didn’t work for about six or seven months, then I start working at Ford Motor Company; from there I work for Chrysler, Desoto. Construction, I did that, too.
Did you form a band when you got to Detroit?
Not right off the reel. I had to go around, see, pick up on the guys where they playing, practicing at. So I got some guys, got them all together, I rent me a house myself, and all practicing at my house and that’s where all the musicians—Baby Boy Warren. And I named it Little Walter Junior and the Boogie Blues Boys. Well, I went and got my cousin LC [Green], we played a long time together.
Yeah, rock the house too!
Walter Mitchell, JVB.
Where did LC come from?
Minter City, Mississippi. It should be near Greenville. First time I met LC I didn’t know he was any relation to me.
Where were some of the places you and LC played?
Detroit and all around Detroit. Little Son at Hastings and 4th; Brown Bar, Watson and Hastings; Lee Sensation at Owen and Russell. We played at Uncle Tom’s Cabin on 8 Mile Road. Played at Mount Clemens, Michigan. Flint Bridge Club, played for the Veterans Post there, start at nine till six in the morning. Saginaw, me and Robert Hurd, LC played a big club. Robert Hurd played guitar, Little Al he’s drummin’, and a boy called Jimmy Williams he’s on piano. But they can’t sing good, they want me to sing all the time. LC, he sing some now, he help me out. When I want a break I’d let LC carry it on.
Do you know who LC learned from?
He just go around like I did, that’s what he was doing. Now, these two fingers [index and middle] on each hand growed together, webbed fingers on each hand. They tried to get him to have them split, he said, “No, I was born that way, they can stay that way.” That cat can play, man.
Where did you meet Joe Von Battle?
He seed us play on Hastings at Watson bar. It was Watson Street and they named that bar Watson. Joe used to come in there and sit down and look at me playing harp. I hired a boy, Robert Richard, I hired him to sit in when I be gone somewhere, see, ’cause different groups get me and take me out of town. And, shoot, they make a mess of it when I come back, they don’t be did nothing, and I got rid of Robert Richard.
Whose idea was it to have more harmonicas on the record?
Joe’s. He [Robert Richard] played on there. I didn’t want him on there, because I know he’d mess up. That wine, man, I know that boy will mess up. He still screwed up. I like to go by myself, get my thing together, I know where it’s coming from.
You were one of the first people to record for Joe?
Yeah, I am the first, I am the first one. Joe said, “Come here, I heard you playing harp down on Vernor Highway, I’m coming down there. I want you to cut one for me.” I took my harp and cut it myself. Cut “I Had a Woman She Loving Everyway to Me.” I don’t know what he did with that.
Robert Richard also recorded and you played harp for him?
Not that date.
You went to Gallatin to cut the sides for Dot?
Me and LC both. Gallatin, Tennessee.
Do you know how the deal with Dot Records came about?
I don’t know, man, ’cause LC had the contract and I ain’t seen no contract, and I got narn pay out of it. I don’t know, LC’s sister told me he did get a—
So you didn’t get a penny out of it?
No.
Was it through Joe Von Battle that the deal with Dot came about?
No, it was a woman where I was playing at Harry’s Bar.
Idessa Malone?
I don’t know, I forgot. However, she called Randy [Wood] and Randy sent us our fare there and back. We rode a bus there and back. We spent overnight, there’s some more records ain’t published.
Where did you record there?
He’s got a studio right where he sells records at. Go right through the record shop right on back in the room.
And you sang on a couple of numbers too?
Yeah, let’s see, I cut “Sugar Mama,” “Something Wrong with My Little Machine.” I cut another, “My Home Ain’t Here.”
“Little Machine” and “Come Back Sugar Mama” were issued under LC’s name.
I know it, I know they did.
How many songs did you guys do that day?
Oh, we did about—I don’t know, man, we did right smart, half of them ain’t come out.
In the middle ’50s you cut some stuff live at a house party?
Yeah, that was down on Lafayette in Detroit.
Boogie Woogie Red. Detroit, 1950s.
Recorded by Von Battle?
I don’t know who cut them, two or three guys had the tape.
Who were you playing with?
All of ’em. Little George [Jackson], [Boogie Woogie] Red. Now, I made two or three records with Baby Boy and I ain’t heard none of them. I blow the harp for him. I believe Bobo Jenkins record them, he had a studio right in his house, this was in the ’50s. Bobo come and pick me up, got all them guys, car loaded up and go to his house and he had a recording machine there.
Do you remember Bernie Besman?
Besman, yeah, he stayed in the Bottom, off Lafayette and Dubois at that time.
Did you ever do anything for him?
No.
Did Lee Sensation have any interest in Sensation Records?
Lee don’t, it was just a bar selling drinks and dancing. All he do [is] hire bands [to] play in this place, and he pay good too. I played there, I played for Lee, about, gosh, a long time. I had a swinging group, man. I had some guys playing horns, all that kinda stuff. That was a long time ago. I had two sax, two trumpets, one slide [trombone], piano, drums, bass. This was right around in the ’50s.
Did you used to play with Washboard Willie?
Yeah, I used to have that group in Detroit. Red, he used to be my piano player. We used to play down there on Russell at the Granary [?], Russell and Alexandrine.
Yeah, Rabbit used to play, we were playing on Vernor Highway, they were playing on Vernor Highway, out from Joe Louis Restaurant across the street.
Playing music is all I know. I played with Little George, I played with Baby Boy. I played with another guy, Left Hand Louis, he played guitar bottom side up. I had a boy here from Mississippi I played with, he got a guitar that got four strings on it, I don’t see how he play it, he says, “That’s the way I learned.”
Do you remember Sonny Boy Williamson playing in Detroit with Baby Boy Warren?
Yeah, and I played on Vernor Highway and Beaumont [?] at the Spot Bar, and I couldn’t get down there and get in with ’em. They were playing at Adams and Hastings. I forgot that club name, it’s been so long. I played with Bobo, too. I played a whole lot with him.
Charley Mills?
Yeah, ole big Charley Mills, yeah, I played with him. Charley Mills, he could play, but he couldn’t handle like Baby Boy Warren could. He and Baby Boy get into it about he got the wrong beat and any doggone thing, and I’d laugh at both of them. “It’s my guitar, I play it like I want it, you won’t tell me how to play.”5 Me and LC look and laugh at them. Last time I played with Baby Boy Warren was at a great big duplex house.
Did you know Sam Kelly?
Yeah, I know him. I don’t know where he come from. I met him in Detroit. Sam Kelly, he’s dead, I heard he’s dead. He stayed on Forest and Bowman [?] the fourth house this side of Bowman. He played pretty good, I learnt him everything he know. I sure taught him right there in my house.6 We owned that big hotel called Forest House Hotel.
Do you remember a piano player called Detroit Count?
He must have played more out in Delray. Piano players played more out there than they did downtown Detroit. Boy, you could go out and see the after-hours houses, joints, all out through there, man, shoot. Delray—go out past the army camp and go way on out there in the country. It would be jumping out there, I’m telling you. I used to go out there all the time. Wasn’t no fights, no nothing out there. I don’t know any names, but I know where you go, though, houses, house parties, and everything. Me and LC would go out there and rake up, man, pay good out there.
Yeah, you know, John Lee worked with me out at Hinds Farm whole lot of times—that’s a place out near the airport in this area [Toledo]. Yeah, he worked with me all the time, I had him working with me out there.
Did you know Playboy Fuller—Rocky Fuller—Louisiana Red?
Now, I know Blind Boy Fuller. Louisiana Red, I knowed him. He didn’t stay here, he was probably running around just like I was. Played like Elmore James, I know Elmore James, I know his brother, sure do. I met Elmore in Meridian, Mississippi.
Eddie Burns?
Me and Eddie Burns used to play together with LC, played together down on Lafayette.
Did Eddie play harp or guitar?
He couldn’t do too much. He give it to me. I was playing the harp with LC and him and one old boy used to play drums. But we would still practice in that old house down there.
Did you ever run across Grace and John Brim?
Yeah, they were playing in Delray, he was playing at a house party out there and we went out there one night. I played maybe five or six numbers with them. I didn’t stay out there long, I had to go home then, ’cause I had been out about two or three nights and hadn’t been home.
Henry Smith?
I might have known him.
Clarence Posey?
Do he wear glasses? I knew a Clarence playing piano had some glasses on, sort of stocky cat.
Chuck Smith, played piano?
Chuck, yeah, he passed. Chuck stayed on Erskine and Russell. I didn’t play with him, I have been around when he played. When I didn’t work I’d go around and see them other guys, sit in with them and like that.
Elder Wilson?
Yes, I heard him play at a house party out in Delray, Michigan. He was a preacher, he’s dead now.7
I heard him play on West Grand Boulevard for Lee Sensation. I never played with him.
Did you ever see Willie “61” Blackwell?
I ran across him way on the west side of town in Detroit, he was playing way across the railroad. He had a little group playing in there. He from Mississippi.
Harvey Hill?
He stayed on 8 Mile Road. When he get ready to play he had his right foot throwed out. He cuss you out, boy, talk about “Put your god damn foot down, boy,” he cuss you out then. I didn’t play with him.
Did he play around Detroit much?
Well, when somebody take time, like his brother, his brother Charles, he take him around spots. Otherwise he want to stay around out there on 8 Mile Road. You’d get a whole lot of nickels and things out there, house parties. Let’s see, what you call that old place where you go there and eat barbecue? And you could steal all you want if they don’t act right. I have stole so much I was afraid to go out there. I sent LC out there and they catch LC. And the old cop, “Which one of you stole Fred Rooney’s barbecue?” I said, “That ole LC, he’d steal sweetnin’ out of gingerbread and not break the crust.” But Fred owed us some money. “Well, I’ll pay you guys tomorrow night, I’m busy tonight.” I took nine slabs of barbeque and a bucketful of sauce and I got eight loaves of bread. I told LC, “You go in there and keep him company,” and I got all the barbecue. Went on down the street and I sell it, 50 cents a sandwich, and got my money, boy.
Sylvester Cotton?
Yeah, I knew him, but since I started living over here I haven’t kept up with these people.
Big Maceo?
Maceo? Yeah, I worked with him. I worked with him in Pine Bluff, Arkansas, at the Black Cat place. This was before I went into the army.
Did you run into him in Detroit?
No. I tell you who I run into, Joe Williams. He stayed all night with me, Big Joe Williams, before he died. I was living on John Olive Street [?] in Toledo. Me and that scoundrel high, we sing and played all night.
Did you know him from years back?
Yeah, I met him in Pine Bluff.
Yeah. I’ve met so many people, man, I’ve forgotten. Wherever I stop at I get me a job for a front, see, keep the peoples off me. Then I go and find me some guys to play music, that’s my game. I’d go to a town, like I’d leave here and go to Memphis, hang around Memphis. I’d hang around with some of the guys, musicians.
Who did you meet in Memphis?
B. B. King, Wolf—“I’m de Wolf!” Met Tommy McClennan, I met him on Beale Street in the park, sure was. Me and LC—we playing there.
You know this man, he plays harmonica, that’s my first cousin, Little Walter. My mother’s sister, they’re Jacobs. He’s from, ah, I’ve been there and met some of my people, Areola, Mississippi. I’ve been right to his house. My daddy was born in Areola and my mother she was born in New Orleans. I don’t know how they got together at that time.
Did you ever do any radio shows?
No. Me and LC used to come over here and play, we used to go to bars and play, sure did. I was on TV here in about 1957, a local thing from James Stroller, I was on TV twice.
Who were some of your favorite harmonica players?
Well, I used to like Sonny Boy, Sonny Terry, Boy Blue. Any harmonica player, they can play, but when you know how to cup ’em, some of them let the harp get away from them, mistune, out of time, all that kinda stuff. Can’t tell ’em nothing, they know more than you. I tried to learn some of them here, man. I tried to learn someone playing guitar. “Man, I know now.” I said, “Well, you go on out there, you gonna’ be the last stop of the world.” Where I left ’em at, they still there playing the same thing.
Had a group came out of Mississippi, Art Griswold and them. I hired all of them when they first got here, didn’t have no job, couldn’t get no job. I carried them playing music all in Dayton, Ohio, carried them all up in there, they get up there, they want to fight among themselves. I got rid of them. I hired some more, they want to fight. They slippin’ down there gettin’ the money unbeknown to me. When it come down to pay-off at night they sittin’ down there ballin’ over the girls. I got rid of all of them. I call ’em my used-to-be group out of Detroit. We jammed the house when I played on Indiana at the Long Bar in Toledo. When these guys are late coming in, I be done, hired me another guy. Bandleader is something else, man!
1. There appears to be some discrepancy regarding Walter Mitchell’s date and place of birth. According to 1920 census records unearthed by Bob Eagle and Eric LaBlanc and published in their book Blues: A Regional Experience, a birth date and place of March 19, 1918, in Pickens, Arkansas, is given. This information is totally at odds with that given by Walter Mitchell. Some credibility must be given to the new information, as the month and day are too much of a coincidence to ignore. While official records have proved a good source of information to researchers, it’s perhaps wise to remain somewhat skeptical of data gleaned from census records and death certificates, as the information collected and recorded was occasionally supplied by unreliable informants.
2. The personnel for the session includes Walter Mitchell, vocal/harmonica; Robert Richard, harmonica; Boogie Woogie Red, piano; Little George, bass. “Broke and Hungry,” St. George, STG 1002. “Big Stick Candy”/“I Can’t Say It,” King Records, unissued. Walter Mitchell plays second harmonica on Robert Richard’s JVB/King sides.
3. LC Green and Walter Mitchell, “38 Pistol Blues”/“Hastings Street Boogie,” JVB Records, late 1940s/early 1950s, reissued on Barrelhouse LP BH012 in 1977.
4. “Watercoast Blues,” “Lowdown Dirty Shame,” “Shadyland Blues,” T-R-H CD 8001, 1998.
5. Charley Mills is usually known as the piano player on Baby Boy Warren’s Staff recordings. It’s not entirely clear whether Walter is suggesting that he played guitar as well. Despite rumors to the contrary, Mills was still alive in Detroit in 1985.
6. The LC Green/Sam Kelly Von42/3 is another Joe Von Battle two-harmonica opus. The harmonicas are Kelly and Robert Richard, as Walter denied ever recording with Kelly.
7. Despite the suggestion, Walter denied recording with Elder Wilson. [As of December 2014, a 104-year-old Elder Wilson was still living in Detroit.]