The first arrivals push through the door of the Davis Speed Wash on Roosevelt Road just past five o’clock on a frigid February morning. They walk to the rear counter, where owner Hughzell Davis is dispensing cups of thin coffee for 50 cents.
“Lousy coffee,” remarks Dupree, as he sips Hughzell Davis’s brew. Dupree dropped his wife off at work and now he’s at the Speed Wash. There’s a $5 bill tucked into his hatband in case he needs it. “I’m a hustler,” he explains. If he’s lucky, he says, a friend will pick him up soon to do some jobs. “If the guy stands me up, I’ll go home to my son. He’s eight, and his teeth should get brushed before he leaves for school.”
The Davis Speed Wash is a small oasis, not only a laundromat but a notions store, coffeehouse, community center, and economic success. The residents of Lawndale find friendship, safe haven, and a measure of respect while drinking Speed Wash coffee and watching their dirty clothes hit the spin cycle.
As the men talk, nibble pastry, and drink coffee, Tucker stands watch. “You got to keep your eyes open,” he says. “I know who is who and what is what. I don’t take no shit from nobody.” The smallest infraction riles him. He will reprimand someone for sitting on the folding tables. Wash your hands in the sink in back that’s only for washing and drying clothes and you’re likely to be confronted by Tucker, talking tough and brandishing a small billy club.
The Speed Wash has 22 washers and 18 dryers. “Bedspreads, blankets, comforters come cleaner here,” claims a sign. Over the folding tables in front is a fisheye security mirror.
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The camaraderie is one of the reasons many of the women are here. “This place is nice and homey,” says Carolyn Jones, a young welfare mother with two kids. “I always get to jabbering with the other people.” Patrice Henry, a young mother, processes five loads of wash every Saturday. “When you come up in here, you be having fun,” says Henry, “getting together to do laundry, talk, and laugh. You catch up on what your girlfriends are doing.”
Davis tries to make his establishment comfortable. He addresses each customer as “mister” or “young lady,” and as a rule they call him “Mr. Davis.” He’s a softie about making change to catch the bus. “I also take messages for people,” says Davis. “Someone will have a mother living down south and the mother’ll call here and I’ll pass on the message. We’ve got several customers in their 80s who we pick up and bring over.”
