Then, his mother walked in. She told them that the men in the house were with the FBI and reporters were there as well. She told them that the motel had been bombed.
“We broke away,” he said. Long and his brother wanted to make sure their father, who had worked at the motel the night before, was OK.
The boys’ mother also told them that Reverend A.D. King’s home had been bombed. The King boys were Dale and his brother’s friends. He was relieved to know that they weren’t hurt.
Dr. King’s brother A.D. called Martin to tell him about the devastation.
“Then, in the background as he talked, I heard a swelling burst of beautiful song,” Dr. King wrote.118 People began to sing “We Shall Overcome.” “I marveled that in a moment of such tragedy the Negro could still express himself with hope and with faith.” 119
Dr. King said that people showed the support of the movement by sending letters, donations, piggy banks and checks to the motel.120 The bombing just inconvenienced the Gaston for a little bit but did not stop it, the Gibsons said.
With all that was going on, there was an issue about whether the motel bomb threat had been received by the FBI. “I personally called the FBI, everybody, but the FBI from Washington said I never called,” Gibson said. “I think that was in the New York Times that I refuted the fact that they said that I did not call.”
That made Carolyn nervous. “So you can see my tension,” she said. “I felt, ‘Now you have refuted the FBI, we need to get out of here.’”
Even after the bombing, though, many staff and locals weren’t afraid to continue patronizing the motel. So much security was added after that, Springer said, both A.G. Gaston’s security people plus a lot of plainclothes men.
But there were other things to fear.
On May 15, 2,500 members of the Ku Klux Klan burned two twenty-foot crosses minutes outside Birmingham in Bessemer to denounce integration. The area blacks felt more was brewing. That same day, Dick Gregory claimed to have been beaten in a Birmingham jail.
Days later, on May 18, it was reported that ex–heavyweight boxing champion Floyd Patterson and baseball great Jackie Robinson flew into town to meet with King and Abernathy to urge Negroes to avoid violence. But while they were preaching nonviolence, violent acts continued to plague the nonviolent.
While living in Birmingham, Stephanie had made lots of friends, including Denise McNair, daughter of Chris and Maxine McNair. Their parents were dear friends, too, the Gibsons said. Chris McNair was a young entrepreneur and took a lot of pictures of the movement.
On Sunday morning, September 15, Stephanie asked if she could go to Sixteenth Street Baptist Church. It was Children’s Day, and she wanted to see her friend Denise participate in the program. Ernest and Carolyn agreed. As Stephanie was preparing to get dressed, however, a bomb at the church exploded.
“Everyone heard it,” Stephanie said, “and it was sadly familiar, because you knew probably what had happened.”
“It was terrifying,” Long said. “You quickly had to learn how to conduct yourselves in Birmingham. Your parents couldn’t do it for you.”
He and his brother Ken were in the church during the explosion. His dad was at work at the motel when it happened. The elder Long ran toward the church praying that his sons were okay. “I had never seen my dad run before,” Long said. “I found Ken, and we were standing there holding on to each other.”
By the time his dad made it to the corner, police had roped off the area, Long remembered. “Dad said, ‘Those are my boys, you gotta move.’”
His father took them to the office in the Gaston Motel. He looked them over to make sure they were all right. Then, he tried to call his wife to let her know that Long and his brother were OK. They couldn’t make the call because there was pandemonium, Long said. There were two to three pay phones in the lobby, and the many journalists were trying to call in to report the bombing. A fight broke out over the phones. Black and white reporters were coming to blows.
“The phone kept ringing,” Long remembered. “I didn’t know anyone had been killed. Bombings were a way of life.”
Then, the news came. The victims were Cynthia Wesley, Carole Robertson and Addie Mae Collins, all fourteen, and little Denise McNair, who was just eleven.
“We knew everyone in the church,” Long said. “Carole’s funeral was at St. John’s on Tuesday. The others were Wednesday.”
Long remembered the funeral for the three girls. “For a moment, I am watching three bodies,” he said. Then, he spotted King. “I [had seen] him on TV, never ten feet away. He was looking at me.”
Carolyn and Ernest were devastated for their friends the McNairs. At the time, the McNairs had only one child. “They did not plan to have more children,” Carolyn said, “but when Denise died, they quickly decided to try again,” Carolyn said.
The day Denise was killed, Carolyn was one day out of the hospital after having had a miscarriage. She had a lot of maternity clothes leftover. “Later on, when I found out Mrs. McNair was pregnant, I sent her the maternity clothes,” she said. “That made me feel very good that I was able to share with her.”
With everything that was going on, Gaston was not happy with all the movement people coming in and out of the motel, Gibson said. “Gaston came to me and said, ‘Ernie, too many of these white folks are hanging around this motel and coming in from Washington, D.C. I just don’t like this, and I don’t like that King,’” Gibson remembered. “‘You have to get them out of here.’”
“I said, ‘Whether you like it or not, there is nothing you can do about it. Two things: We have an agreement and this is my motel, and I am running it as a first-class business. Secondly, this is Alabama. I can’t tell white people they can’t come in here and eat at my motel. Now they can tell me not to eat downtown. Yeah, there are white folks living here. Whether you know it or not, Bobby Kennedy spent two nights here.’
“Gaston said, ‘Well, this is still my property.’ He was very arrogant, and I was on his list then,” Gibson said. “We then began to prepare to try to get out of this business,” he said. “It was more difficult to get out than get in.”
“Gaston was happy for me to get out,” Gibson said, but “he gave me a hard time. When you are in business like that, you just don’t walk away.”
The tables had turned for Gibson, who had been one of Gaston’s friends. “A lot of those boys in his organization didn’t like it because I was favored,” he said. “I went up in the penthouse, got massages and steam baths. I was ‘the best thing since sliced bread,’” Gibson remembered. Because of that, he met resistance with several members of Gaston’s leadership. “They were fighting me. They were poisoning Dr. Gaston against me. They were saying that I was with Dr. King, and I would say, ‘Yes, I am with him 150 percent.’”
Ernest and his family ended their tenure at the Gaston Motel and moved out. While they worked out severing ties with Gaston, they moved into the old home of a friend who had just built a new house. Ernest began working as the assistant to the president of Miles College, as well as at a country club over the mountain.
In May 1964, Stephanie’s parents sent her and her sister to New Jersey to stay with family. “It was during that time that my parents said we were moving,” she said. “I don’t have a clear memory of returning to Birmingham, but I know that when I did, it was to pack and leave. There was no grand celebration. I was gone.”
With the help of a local attorney, the Gibsons were emancipated and left Birmingham by the summer of 1964.
“It was almost two years of not a good situation,” Carolyn said. “It was a relief to walk away. A relief from all the stress.”
“In spite of all the things that happened, the one thing we learned from the experience, it made us stronger people,” Carolyn said. “We did not leave with a chip on our shoulder. We weren’t bitter.”
They moved to Illinois.
Chapter 9
MUSIC IN THE AIR
It was the place
to do. It was like Cheers, where everybody knows your name.
—George A. Washington
With the Gibsons in Illinois and the legal matters regarding their departure resolved, the restaurant and motel saw several changes in management. Among those who, at one time, took the helm as the manager of the restaurant and lounge was T.A. Peevy Jr., a dapper army veteran with good business acumen. Peevy had worked as a debit-building agent with Booker T. Washington Insurance Company. After only nine weeks in that position, he was transferred to the Internal Auditing Department. Next, he was given the task to run the Gaston.
“I find it very interesting and challenging,” Peevy said of his new role.121
The Birmingham native received his BS degree in business management from Miles College. He was a member of Omega Psi Phi Fraternity, Inc. and had also done graduate work at the University of Maryland.
Gaston also rehired Arzell “Skippie” Skipwith to serve as the official hostess of the restaurant and lounge. She had worked as a greeter for the Bob Savoy Café for twenty years and as a cashier for the Gaston Motel Restaurant from 1956 to 1962. The “reclamation of Miss Skipwith brings to the restaurant and general public an extensive background of training and experience,” Gaston told Birmingham World.
“Miss Skipwith has garnered a vast number of friends and satisfied patrons, resulting from her pleasing personality and immeasurable service.” A bartender nicknamed “Sister” was part of the team, too.
Birmingham World news article. Courtesy of Birmingham Civil Rights Institute.
With his new team in place, Gaston began an advertising campaign in Birmingham World, touting his chicken dinners and such. Gaston also became more strategic with marketing language, branding the place as an “after the theater retreat” “where fine food is served with distinction.”
Birmingham World advertisement. Courtesy of Birmingham Civil Rights Institute.
Birmingham World advertisement. Courtesy of Birmingham Civil Rights Institute.
Birmingham World advertisement. Courtesy of Birmingham Civil Rights Institute.
Advertisement for the A.G. Gaston Motel. Courtesy of Birmingham Civil Rights Institute.
The place had gone through several expansions since opening in 1954, from housing thirty-two single and double units to forty-eight and then sixty-five. Free TV and radio were added to each room, as were courtesy coffee and ice-making machines. There was a twenty-four-hour switchboard and bellhop service and one-day service on laundry and dry cleaning. And now, it was air conditioned year round. Advertising beckoned, “Stop at the cool, comfortable, air-conditioned A.G. Gaston Motel.”
Throughout the years, management continued to go through various changes. Skipwith became the manager, as did Carlton “Sargent” Patton, who led the place in later years. “He was retired from the military and walked around with a gun. He was a security person for Gaston and always carried a big bankroll. He loaned you five dollars, you paid him back ten,” Washington said.
At the same time, Gaston was always thinking of ways to draw people in. One day, he called a local musician into his office to help with the next big idea.
John Springer, who was thirty-nine years old at the time, was summoned into Gaston’s office. The man talked to Springer about the idea of his performing during the weekends. Springer, who played the bass, had been a musician in the navy and taught music at different schools around the city.
The Gaston Motel. Photo by Chris McNair of Chris McNair Studios.
Springer loved the idea and approached fellow musicians Fletcher “Hootie” Myatt, a vocalist and drummer; and Alfonzo Bogus, a pianist, to join him. The Cool Strings trio was born. The men became the official house band for the motel, performing contemporary jazz and a lot of Frank Sinatra. Their music was described as “cool” and “light” by Springer. That’s how they got their name.
They performed “music while you dine” on Thursday and Saturday nights, kicking off on August 12, 1965. The men were a hit among the crowd, Springer said. “It was just about the only thing you could go to for something live like that,” he said of the motel. “We dressed admirable, considerable, didn’t have anyone who had their hair all hanging down.”
Gaston nicknamed Springer “Mr. Musician.” The men would often play in between sets and even be joined on stage by guest performers who would play the lounge. Every time he came to the motel, Springer said he was surprised by who would come through the doors: jazz alto saxophonist Cannonball Adderley; pianist Ike Cole; baritone bass singer Arthur Prysock and his brother Red Prysock, a tenor saxophonist; jazz pianist Ramsey Lewis; and jazz instrumental ensemble Young Holt Unlimited, to name a few.
Springer remembered that once Arthur Prysock, who was known for hits that included “I Didn’t Sleep a Wink Last Night,” came without a band, so he asked the Cool Strings to back him up. It was a treat, he said.
Several local musicians wanted a chance to perform with Springer and his band. “We had one fella who wanted to jam with us. He sounded pretty good the first night, so I said come back the rest of the week.” Springer agreed to pay the man and let him join along.
“That second night, though, when he came back from the break, he was so drunk, he fell off the stage,” Springer remembered. Springer kept playing while the man lay in a stupor on the floor. When it was time for a break, he dealt with him. “I said, ‘I tell you what, when you are able to handle your drink, let me know. Until then, see ya.’”
That was the end of him.
One of the perks to performing was that you got a chance to eat in the restaurant, Springer said. “Did I eat there?” he asked with a hungry grin. “Sometimes I would leave home early in time to eat. I would carry my wife and children there when I wasn’t playing. The food was good.”
Springer said he would often stop by to eat breakfast with Gaston. “Mr. Musician, what you want?” Springer said Gaston would always ask. “I would say, ‘Egg and sausage.’”
The men would chat while Gaston read the newspaper. Gaston read the Wall Street Journal religiously. Then when he would finish, he’d get up and leave.
Springer remembered that Gaston was a tough man. He and his vice-president, Kirkwood Balton, were discussing some changes to the bar area, and Springer tried to offer some input and was quickly reprimanded. “I said something, and Gaston said, ‘Mr. Musician, when I want your word, I will send for it,’” Springer recalled. “That’s him. You don’t get mad. You accept it. In other words, he was saying, ‘I pay this man to make the decisions. I didn’t ask you.’”
“Dr. Gaston was real smart,” Springer said. “He said the right thing at the right time. Don’t cross him.”
After a while, Springer added new performers to the band: a new piano player, Willie Cole Smith, and alto saxophonist Charles Clark. From time to time, local soul and gospel artist Roszetta Scofield Johnson would sing with the band. “She was really good and recorded some albums that were popular overseas,” Washington remembered. In 1970, Johnson had a Billboard Hot 100 hit with “A Woman’s Way.”
“That was our entertainment,” said Washington of sitting in the lounge taking in the jazz music and the regulars. “We weren’t looking at the historical aspect.
“I had a tab there,” Washington said. “I paid them at the end of the month and the first of the month just like I paid the white folks. People thought I didn’t have to pay because I was related to Gaston, but that was not the case, especially when I started drinking beer and liquor. They wouldn’t give that away.”
While hanging out at the lounge, Washington remembered when singer Gloria Lynne—famous for her hits “I Wish You Love” and “Speaking of Happiness”—performed one night and they had an exchange. “I was sitting at the bar with her and having a drink,” he said. She autographed one of her albums and gave it to Washington. He mistakenly dropped it behind one of the booths and has not seen it since.
Many big-name superstars would perform locally at large venues but lodge and ha
ng out at the motel. Samuetta Drew remembers one Sunday when she and her sister were at the motel. They had been to a concert to hear the Four Tops. One of the group members walked into the lounge and started flirting with her older sister. “That was how it was,” she said. “You would be eating there and could run into just about anyone.”
Long remembers hearing countless groups at the lounge like the “Queen of Memphis Soul,” Carla Thomas, and tenor saxophonist Eddie Harris out of Chicago. According to the Birmingham News,122 former guests included Harry Belafonte, Nat King Cole, Aretha Franklin, Count Basie and Duke Ellington. “Dad and I used to slip in and hear them play,” Long said.
The Gaston was also still the place to have your social event, said Bob Dickerson—the place to have dinner after prom, etc. He remembers that his high school football banquet was held there in 1967. He also remembers that after graduating from college, he could go to the lounge. He saw the Commodores perform there. “That was the place during that time,” Dickerson said.
My parents, Marvin and Brenda Jones, had their wedding reception there. The 1971 Christmas Eve wedding was celebrated with festive colors. The groomsmen wore tomato red crushed velvet tuxedos with seafoam green shirts. The bride’s mother, Jimmie Elliott, ordered a champagne fountain to add to the gaiety. The ornate spout gurgled with bubbly drink and was tempting to the young kids, who thought it was soda. After slipping drink after drink, several of them were tipsy and had to call it an evening.
With segregation outlawed, lots of competition began to pop up, not just from the surrounding black businesses but also from the white businesses that were opening their doors.
The wedding reception of Marvin and Brenda Jones. Courtesy of Brenda Jones.
Courtesy of Brenda Jones.
The A G Gaston Motel in Birmingham Page 9