- -- - - - -- - - - -- - I said hello, and she said hello, and a little later she walked over and said, "Would you like a drink?" I said, "I don't have much bread." She said, "I know that." She said, "What would you like?" I asked for a screwdriver and she brought me one, and from then on she kept dropping off drinks for nothing. She asked me, "Would you like to go and have some coffee after? If you can stick around until I get off ... " She took care of her checks, and then as we left I said, "How are we going to go? I don't have any wheels." She said, "I have a car."
We went around on Western to the lot. I said, "Which one?" There were five or six beat cars and one yellow Cadillac convertible, really pretty. She walked me up to that car and said, "This is it. Would you like to drive?" To make me feel like a man, you know, that style. I said, "This is yours? Wow, what do you do on the side?" She said, "I'm married, and I work, and I do whatever I want with my money." She gave me the keys.
This chick was fairly nice looking. As I said before, she looked Oriental but instead of the slender, oval face she had a square, squat, Filipino face, and her body was like her face, squat and kind of dumpy. She had black hair, but it was prematurely grey, and she didn't seem to know how to fix her hair right. She had something wrong with her upper lip. It was a little deformed, which at times was ugly, and at other times, it was a thing of beauty. Probably her best point was her eyes, a little slanted and black. And her skin was nice.
She said, "Where would you like to go?" I said I didn't care, so she took me to an all-night restaurant where the show people went, and we ended up just talking and talking. Finally I said, "Don't you have to go?" She said, "Yeah, I guess so." She drove me to my hotel and I said, "Why don't we stop someplace or park someplace?" No women were allowed at my hotel. She said, "Well, why don't we wait?" I said, "What do you mean?" She said, "I'd rather wait until ... we have a nicer setting." I said, "Well, you're married, so we can't go there." She dropped me off and she said, "I'll see you tomorrow." I said, "You know, all I need, all I wanted to do-I just have eyes, you know. I've been locked up a long time and I just want, I just want some female companionship. I don't want you ... It's a drag that you're married because, you know, I don't feel right about things like that." She told me that she didn't dig her husband and didn't ball him. He had begged her to stay with him; that was the only reason she was still there. She let me off and I went to my room. And then I walked out on Hollywood Boulevard. I walked along trying to pick up a chick, trying to thir,' of some chick I knew from before. I went to an all-night moo. Nothing happened. I just wanted to get laid.
I was supposed to have called Diane at the club the next night, but I decided I didn't want to get involved with her. I forget what I did that night, the same thing I guess. I wandered around looking for a chick, but I couldn't find anybody I knew so I went back to my hotel. It was late. I started up the stairs to my room, and there she was.
It was Diane. She was sitting on the stairs waiting for me. There she was and she said, "I thought you were going to call me." I said, "I don't want to get involved, you know. You're married." She said, "I told you how that is. I've really thought about you. I've seen you before, and I like you. Last night I didn't want you to think I was just some chick you could ball right away. I've thought about you every second since then. I couldn't sleep thinking about you. I want to make love to you. I don't care what else happens. I just want to make love to you. Let's go, please. Please." And so, you know, I hadn't balled in all that time. I said okay, she handed me the keys, and we drove down Sunset to a beat motel. We bought a jug on the way and had a couple of drinks, and then we made love. She was nice. She made love well and I enjoyed it because it was a release for me, but she didn't move me that much and I didn't want to get involved in anything. I just wanted to be left alone. I just wanted to have chicks I could ball when I wanted to ball. And I could tell she was really hung up on me. She drove me back to my room and I said, "Great." You know. I really tried to be nice. And I felt guilty because I didn't care for her and had made love to her. And she was married and had two kids, I found out.
From then on she was continually waiting for me. She called me. She left notes. She wanted to give me money. She wanted me to use her Cadillac. She wanted to drive me places. And it was just no good. You see, I've never wanted to take advantage of anybody: I didn't want to have them under false pretenses, have them believing something that wasn't true. I've always thought of myself as an honest person, and I really didn't care for Diane.
I thought about Patti all the time. Patti would call me. She even came to visit me once. She came at about 8:30, when I was still in bed. I heard a knock on the door and, "It's me, Patti." I didn't have a robe so I threw my pants on. I didn't have any shirt on, no shoes. I opened the door and there she is. She walks in and she's wearing one of those flaring skirts with the pattern all bright. She's wearing a blouse that's cut down off the shoulders, and you can see the vee of her breasts. She had on pretty pink sandals, and her hair was fixed beautifully, and she smelled wonderful. Here's the woman I would have given anything to have had, I thought. She divorced me to marry someone else. We talked; it was awful; then she left. But she kept calling me, and she was hanging up everything for me as far as anybody else. I couldn't imagine how, under any circumstances, she could have married someone else. Why weren't we married? I loved her so much. I wanted her so much.
Right at this time I made an album. I think it was The Return of Art Pepper. I was recording a lot and playing beautifully. Diane kept coming around and coming around, and she finally talked me into going to her house one day. I met her husband. He told me that nothing was happening with them, that it was all over. He loved her, but she didn't care for him. They had a beautiful house in Burbank with a great big swimming pool.
One day Diane came to my hotel and said, "I'm getting a room. Would you please let me get a room with you?" I was scuffling. I'd started to use. I got weak. I said okay. The thought of having a car ... I just got weak. I'd told her all along that nothing was happening, that I was still in love with Patti, that it would take me a long time to get over it. She said, "I just want to be with you. I love you and I want to take care of you. I don't care how you feel about me. I'm happy being with you."
We moved to a house. I think it was on Fargo, on an incredibly steep hill. And it was nice at times, but the minute I moved in with Diane, Patti found out about it. Among musicians everything is known. She called: "I don't know why you want to live with that woman! She had two kids and a husband and left them. She's a tramp!"
PEPPER BACK; DATES PILE UP
Hollywood-After a 20-month absence from the jazz scene, altoist Art Pepper is once more active here. He has joined forces with composer-arranger-tenorist Jack Montrose and will record, work with, and go on the road with a new Montrose quintet.
In the offing are record dates for three labels on which Pepper will be featured-a Pepper-Chet Baker album for Pacific jazz; an LP for Liberty on which the alto man will play with Montrose and Red Norvo; a further album for Atlantic to be recorded this month.
Montrose told down beat he intends to use Pepper on his soon-tobe-recorded jazz ballet, which will be released later in the year on Pacific jazz, after which the two hornmen plan to travel east with a rhythm section.
Pepper's first gig after his long absence was a date at Paul Nero's The Cottage in Malibu June 29. down beat, July 25, 1956. Copyright 1956 by down beat. Reprinted by special permission.
ART PEPPER ... TELLS TRAGIC ROLE NARCOTICS PLAYED IN BLIGHTING HIS CAREER AND LIFE by John Tynan
"At the end of 1954 I was using 40 caps of heroin a day. . . "
This is not a random quotation from some detective thriller, nor is it to be found in the text or script of The Man with the Golden Arm. These tragic words were spoken by altoist Art Pepper in an exclusive interview conducted July 20, 1956, in the Hollywood offices of down beat a few weeks after Pepper was released from the federal penitentiary on Terminal Island, C
alif. He had just finished serving a term there for his second conviction on narcotics charges within three years.
There is ugliness in the story that follows, as there necessarily is in any frank discussion of narcotics addiction. But there's courage here, too, and a high mindedness of purpose on Art Pepper's part. For expressly to help others, this is his story, in his own words, of how he became addicted; what dope did to him; what he lives and hopes for today in his fight to kick the habit forever. Overriding all else is an obtrusive dissonance, a general tragedy that is not exclusively Pepper's but haunts the lives of all who seek to conquer reality through the jab of a dope charged needle.
The entire interview was taped by local jazz disc jockey, Don Clark, who also participated in the questioning. The truth, unfolded softly, often slowly by Art, now becomes public domain with his permission.
John Tynan: Art, who introduced you to the use of narcotics?
Art Pepper: Well, it was just friends.
JT: Musicians?
AP: Yes.
JT: Here or on the road?
AP: On the road. I think possibly if I had been here ... Well, maybe it would probably have happened anyway. I think I had to go through it first.
Don Clark: Are there pushers in the music business that you know of?
AP: No. Outside the business-outside, definitely. There are none in the music business.
JT: No matter how badly a musician may get hooked, you've never seen any who would push dope?
AP: No. Absolutely not. As a matter of fact, you'll find that any musicians who're users still won't do it, even if they see turning another person on will help them personally, because they have enough respect for the other person's life. They won't do it unless the other person himself asks them. But I've never seen any musician go out and collect a -recruit or something.
JT: Art, did you mess around with marijuana before you used heroin?
AP: Oh, I went through the whole routine. I started drinking at a very early age, maybe when I was about 15, getting drunk and so on. Then pills. I started smoking pot (marijuana) but found that I wasn't able to manipulate. It was too difficult, too much of a strain. I didn't have control of myself. I'd go on the stand in a night club and feel I wasn't able to do what I wanted with my horn.
JT: How old were you then?
AP: In my late teens or early 20s. Then I saw that it couldn't go on, that I couldn't continue that way. I had to abstain completely from the use of any type of stimulant or else go onto something that would be more desirable.
JT: Can you recall the circumstances of the first time you used heroin?
AP: Oh, yes. It's just as if it happened yesterday.
JT: Would you describe it?
AP: I'd been on the road for quite some time, away from my wife. Being as unstable emotionally and as immature as I was at that time, I couldn't stand the thought of being away from her. I needed a woman. I had like a mother complex, and I was always searching for some thing that wasn't there. So this particular night we played a concert and I went up to the bar in the hotel afterwards. The bar closed at 4 o'clock in the morning. I went up to the room and these people were there. I was just in one of those, uh, moods.
And I felt a strong desire then and there to leave the band and go home. I guess I was pretty down. I saw that there was this thing going on up there in the room and I realized, that as weak as I was, I should never try it once because I knew what it would lead to. But just in one of those moments it was offered and I accepted. When I made it, it seemed at the time to be an answer to all the problems.
DC: Did you think about making heroin before that night?
AP: Oh, yes, yes. I had it offered to me for several years prior to that. But I knew, I knew inside of myself that if I ever once gave in to it, that it would be fatal, so I just kept from it. If I had been stronger, a little more stable, I maybe would have been able to withstand the temptation altogether, which I wish I'd done.
JT: After that night in the room when you first took heroin, when was the next time?
AP: Well, I started horning it at first. I didn't shoot it. In other words, I sniffed it through my nose. At first it was all right. I could make it just whenever I would run into it. If somebody would have some, I'd make it and I was all right. Maybe next day I'd feel a little funny, but I was still juicing and everything and felt fine. But then, just little by little, it got more and more-and I got to the point where my nose would bleed constantly and my stomach was getting upset from swallowing the mucous... I realized I just couldn't make it to horn it anymore, so I fixed and that was it.
The minute that I fixed-from that moment on it was just an everyminute thing. My whole life was just stopped. Everything that I'd ever wanted, everything that I'd loved was destroyed... You become selfish, you care for no one but yourself. You're scared of everyone, of everything. You don't trust anyone. You can't possibly enjoy any type of an emotional or intellectual scene at all because your mind is so completely taken up by the fear and pressure that you're under.
Being hooked on junk becomes a way of life. You exist for it and it alone. Nothing else matters because it gives you a purpose in living. And that purpose is to get more junk. You haven't got a true, honest thought in your head. And as far as creating anything, it's impossible. There's no creation at all.
JT: Besides heroin, what else did you shoot?
AP: Everything. Even pills. But shooting pills has a very bad effect on you.
JT: Art, when was the last time you worked steadily?
AP: That was in November, 1954, at jazz City. I was guest instrumentalist with the Barney Kessel quartet. I'd come on and do just about 15 minutes.
DC: When did you get arrested the first time?
AP: 1953, in Hollywood.
DC: How long were you in that time?
AP: I did 15 months. A little time in the county jail, then I went to Fort Worth. That's a public health service hospital.
DC: Was it a gradual withdrawal?
AP: No, just a cold turkey. You got arrested and just thrown into the county jail to sleep on the floor and sweat it out.
DC: Was there any treatment there? Did anybody talk to you about treatment or about anything that could help you?
AP: At Fort Worth, yes. But outside of Fort Worth there's no treatment.
DC: What did you do when you got out?
AP: Well, I got out in May of '54 and felt I had things pretty well under control. But during this time my wife sent me a divorce and had remarried just before I got out. I think I used that as an excuse to go on heroin again. I still hadn't gone through enough agony ...
JT: When were you arrested the second time?
AP: Dec. 7, 1954. I spent nine months in the county jail, then about 10 months in the federal pen on Terminal Island for parole violation. Of course, this makes me a two-time loser. If I goof again and get busted, I can get 30 to 40 years in prison under terms of a new federal law... At the end of 1954 I was using 40 caps of heroin a day. I was really in terrible shape. Weighed 128 pounds and I wasn't able to do anything. I couldn't play at all. My blowing was-was just cold. There was no soul, no nothing in it. It was just something I was doing because I needed the money.
JT: If you were using 40 caps in a 24-hour day, how often did you have to take heroin?
AP: Well, I would fix maybe five or six caps every time. Actually, I could've been using maybe a hundred caps a day in another month if I had access to that much, because the demand just builds and builds. Using that much junk you're just the same as you are right now. You know, it's like getting on one of those little assembly line things that are moving. You get on it and you can't get off.
DC: Do you think that working in clubs was part of the cause for your falling into this?
AP: Yes. Yes, definitely. But with me there were other things, too. I got married at a very young age, when I was 17 years old, and in a way I was successful too quickly. Things were too easy and I think it was a little over
whelming to me. I started playing professionally and almost right away I went with a big name band and things were going fine. Then, in 1943, I was drafted into the army and I just couldn't understand why I should have to go. I wasn't old enough at 18 to accept the fact that I had to go. So it was a very hard thing for me to do. I started drinking quite a lot in the army. I guess I felt sorry for myself. I was very immature.
After 21/2 years in the service, when I came out, I wanted to be free in a way. You see, my wife had since had a child and the responsibilities were, I think, a little bit too much for me at that time. I resented my wife and child because I felt they were holding me back in my career. My wife could no longer travel on the road with me. Then I started going on the road again-and the road itself is such a difficult thing. One-nighters with a big band, you know. Little by little I ran into these ... "opportunities"-and through my own immaturity I, like, sought an escape.
The escape proved to be heroin. So, I'd make the heroin and it would satisfy all my frustrations from being away from my wife whom I really loved. (Long pause.) It seemed to be an answer at the time.
DC: Did you ask yourself at that time what the eventual outcome might be?
AP: Well, I just didn't want to admit it to myself. I just wouldn't look at it... I thought of what so many people had told me and I'd seen examples of guys who had been completely ruined by it. I guess I thought I could be the one who could do it and still be all right. But I knew really deep down in my own heart that I couldn't possibly end up any other way than the others.
JT: You mentioned recently that for all the years you made good money you now have absolutely nothing to show for it, not even clothes...
AP: Nothing. I have an old blue suit that was given to me when I got out of the joint, the time before this, and a couple of pairs of slacks that were bought for me by a girl friend-and that's it.
Straight Life Page 22
