|
It was a fairly short drive to pick up my friend Alex at the north edge of
Memphis then head to the city's oldest restaurant for breakfast. The GPS
was not needed for this little excursion. Alex is one of the few people
who I enjoy getting directions from. They are always given at the right
time in exactly the right amount. Our first thought on seeing the
construction blockade on Main Street was that a detour was in order, but
we quickly realized that the street was open just far enough. Waiting at
the light gave a guy in a pickup truck just enough time to leave his
parking place for us, and the counter stayed empty just long enough for me
to grab a picture after we got inside. I knew that the
Arcade was
the oldest restaurant in Memphis but I didn't realize exactly how old. It
opened in 1919 so this is its centennial year. Glad we could help
celebrate.
|
|
I'm not sure what to call this giant standing in front of a big fireworks
store south of Memphis. He's clearly not a Muffler Man. I'm thinking
Towel Bar Man. A sign just beyond takes the guesswork out of knowing what
road you're on.
|
|
My one stop in Clarksdale, MS, was near
Ground Zero
Blues Club which I popped into for a beer. I initially thought I'd
lucked into some live music then realized the lady playing saxophone was
with a group of Italian tourists and she was playing requested snippets to
entertain her companions. She soon left the stage, packed up her sax, and
took a seat with the group. Did she bring the instrument from Italy just
for such occasions? I'll never know.
thought
|
|
I walked to
Red's and Cat Head, and did drive-bys of the Riverside Hotel,
Abe's BBQ, and the crossroad marker. Inside Cat Head, I had a great
conversation with Frank, who described himself as owner Roger Stolle's
only employee. Among the stories he shared was one about a guy who entered
the store asking when Red's had burned. Frank, pretty sure he would have
heard of any such fire, said it hadn't. "Oh yeah", the fellow
assured him. "I was just by there and it's all boarded up." With
a laugh, Frank explained to the first time visitor that Red's looks like
that all the time.
|
|
My day ended in Indianola at the B. B. King Museum. For the second day in a row, I'd
failed to check an establishment's schedule and arrived barely an hour
before closing. I wasn't worried and thought that would be enough but I
was wrong. The story of BB's life and the world he came from is an
absorbing one told with recorded interviews, video clips, and artifacts. I
hurried through the last few displays and exited only about ten minutes
late with the accommodating staff locking doors behind me.
The brick building was formerly a cotton gin where BB once worked. An
expansion of the museum, which I believe will at least partially cover the
grave site, is planned for later this year.
I'll be back and I'll arrive much earlier next time.
|
|