When we use the word "hero," we rarely use it lightly. In order to be a hero, one has to have accomplished something extraordinary. A person has to go above and beyond the call of duty. That person has to often stick their neck out in some form or fashion knowing full well they might get their head cut off. When we talk about "blues heroes" we are generally talking about musicians. Someone who has put in their time in a big way. Someone whose life has been the blues. They live it, eat it, drink it, swallow it, sometimes chew it up and spit it out. But it is the force that drives them. Blues heroes have been around and done their time. Some heroes remain unsung, or perhaps, not sung about enough. I'm here today to sing.　

I was only a year old in 1957. I have no real firsthand knowledge of what life was like during post World War ll America. All over the country America was celebrating their recent triumphs over Nazism, Fascism and Imperialism. We were for the most part optimistic and as prosperous as our nation had ever been.

In the black community this was not the case. Segregation was still the norm. Most women worked as well as tended to the family, because without two incomes they couldn't survive. Such was the case with Mama, who worked at a car wash and at Douglas Aircraft Company when her husband was murdered. What happened in those times to the grieving family members who are left behind? What happened to a woman, now alone with children, in the times of Jim Crow? What happened in the case of one extraordinary woman in Los Angeles was she opened her own business. That business was called “Laura’s Barbeque.” This woman was special. She was made of nails.

Right now you're probably asking yourself if I am writing about my own mama and the answer is yes…and no. She didn't give birth to me, but she was my Mama. She was everyone’s Mama who walked through the doors of her club on Central Avenue. She later moved her club to the Leimert Park section of the city.

Her name was Laura Mae Gross. Anyone who knew her will tell you the same thing, and there
are a lot of people that knew her. She thought of anyone who supported the blues as family. You became her child. She would say "Call me Mama." You'd be blessed to have the opportunity.　

In 1964 Mama switched her business from a barbeque joint to a night club.It was called  "Babe's and Ricky's Inn" and was located in the hub of L.A.’s “Black” nightclub district known simply as Central Avenue. Mama would play hostess to virtually every major Los Angeles based jazz and blues act as well as the touring bands of the day.　

In 2005, I moved back to Los Angeles from the Southwest and began to settle into a new life. Live music is something I have never been able to be without for more than a few days. I began researching the local clubs, most of which I knew nothing about. When I left California a couple of decades earlier, the only clubs I knew were Madame Wong’s, the Troubadour and Gizzari's on the Sunset Strip. I could only see the blues in the periphery of my world then, but my focus was rock and roll. Now that I had become a blues hound, I had to find the blues clubs.　

The internet is an amazing tool for so many reasons. Typing in "blues clubs" I came up with several and checked them out one at a time. This particular evening, I found the page for Babe's and Ricky's and read Mama's story. I called the place, assuming that she had long since passed away and the place was now run by her family. But, that was not the case. A woman answered. I told her that I was fascinated by the history of the club and the story
of the incredible Laura Mae Gross. She laughed. "That's me!" Of course, I headed down to Babe's and Ricky's.　

I was immediately taken with her. Walking in the door, she was there, to my right, on a stool. Light reflected off of her purple shiny hat. She was taking money and greeting people as they came in the door. I introduced myself to her and told her I was "the woman on the phone." Her eyes left mine only to check out the room, usher in and acknowledge the next patron, and take the cash at the door "Ten dollars, please."

I felt as if I had known Mama forever. Of course, that's what everyone says. I felt like I was special to her over the very short period of time that I was in her gracious presence. She made you hope that you were one of her favorite people. She was picky about who she liked. If she didn't like you, you would in no uncertain terms, be made aware of it.　If you were “one of her own”, you knew that as well. At closing time, she'd ask me "Where are you parked?" If it wasn't directly outside the club, she'd say "Let me get one of your brothers to walk you to your car" It wasn’t necessarily that I needed an escort, more likely it was because Mama requested it.

Monday nights were my favorite nights at Babe’s and Ricky’s. Mama fed everyone in the community for free on Mondays and it was also open jam night. Anyone in the neighborhood could come in for fried chicken, potato salad and greens. She wanted everyone fed. The soulful, gritty sounds of Johnny Mastro and Mama's Boys could be heard from the bandstand. Ray Bailey, Tokyo Mississippi, and Mickey Champion were Monday night regulars and would share the stage with amateurs who showed up to get the chance play.

Patrons that came knew that there were unspoken rules to be followed. Mama didn't put up with inappropriate dress, "Way too much cleavage that woman is showing! And her dress is too tight!" she might point out. Loud mouths or drugs were not tolerated in her place. If a voice was raised it was probably her's, either in applause or appreciation of who was on the stage. You might on occasion hear her voice raised in disapproval of something she heard on stage. "SOMEBODY is singing off key up there. I think you know who you are so come on down here and take a seat" No guesswork involved in how she felt about any given thing.

 In the years that I went there, she rarely left her place at the door. Quite frankly I only saw her get up a time or two, and then it was with her cane and some difficulty. She wanted to be there where she had a bird's eye view of the place. Purveying, surveying and watching everything like a hawk. Her dedication to the blues was unfaltering. If anyone deserves an honor, a trophy, an award or a tribute, it's Mama who dedicated her entire life to this music. So I honor her today, as always. More than a hero. She is a blues saint.