"Twin toddlers die in hot car, father charged"
"Trump walks back story"
We have avoided news as much as possible on this journey, except for the occasional snippet of Political Convention and Olympic Games, and it is always so sad to hear it again.
On our way to Memphis, we pass many "reliefs" and "sloughs" (rhymes with either "cow" or "moo," depending on what side of the road you are from) along the White River. And swamps - so different from country we were just in a few days ago, where there were dry gulches and "washes" that were really dry riverbeds. Here there is water everywhere, too much water in some places. We drive past fields of rice and beans, and Martha sees them harvesting melons in one field, laborers tossing them down a row like basketballs, a fire brigade of harvest. We pass by "Maggot Slough" and I try to imagine trying to market property there as a Real Estate Broker: "Property backs up on historic Maggot Slough. Minutes to Town."
We cross the mighty Mississippi again on a big steel bridge and then we are in Tennessee, in Memphis, home of the Blues and of Elvis. Our destination today is Graceland, which we have heard about for years but never visited.
But first we check into the "Heartbreak Hotel," directly across the street. In the lobby there are 50s-era TVs playing old Elvis movies continuously, and the decor is from that era as well, but it proves to be clean and efficient.
I admit that I had a little cynicism about Elvis from the outset - the gaudy outfits, the persona that he created, the bad movies - but I was very impressed with Graceland. The house itself is more modest than I thought it would be. And how endearing that he invited his Mom and Dad to come live with him - he always said he would take care of them when he made it big.
The rooms are decorated in 50s-era style (some might call it kitsch), but this was how the man lived, and my eyes were opened a little about the laid-back, low-key person he was at home, inviting friends over to play the music for which he had such a passion.
They were showing film clips of interview he had given in the 50s and 60s, and he came off, too, as a modest person. When critics complained about his early gyrating performances that made the girls scream, he would merely say, "I have always tried to live a clean and straight life, and I just want to make music that people enjoy."
And music he did make! All of his gold records are on display here, but also some sound clips about his early songs. I am not especially a fan of Elvis the Crooner or the Gospel Singer, but go to You Tube and listen to his first recording of "All Shook Up," and some of his other earlier music. He really did make a huge step forward in the creation of Rock and Roll, and that's how he got this plaque embedded in the sidewalk on Beale Street.
I was especially struck by this little portrait, down in the corner of a display case, where he is kneeling to just be nice to a little girl on one of his trips to Hawaii. He was a humble and generous man at heart, and I have come away with a new appreciation for this "King."
Although my nerves are already frayed from driving in Memphis traffic, Martha persuades me that our visit to the city would not be complete without a visit to Beale Street. So we make our way downtown and park in a big parking garage, and walk around a little to see what is going on in this place where the Blues began. Because I do love the blues!
There are families out strolling around everywhere, and the place seems safer than I had imagined (although we were told at our hotel to be sure to get out before 11:00 p.m., when it turns into a different kind of place entirely - one that I might have enjoyed at one time in my life!). Small black children are doing cartwheels down the middle of the street.
B. B. King's Blues Club is here (another King) and he has his own plaque in the sidewalk out front. What a legend he was, he and his guitar Lucille!
We follow the sound of LOUD and very good blues to its source, a makeshift stage in a little courtyard, where this guy is playing - I don't even know his name - a skinny little guy in a T-shirt, a bass player over to the side in his own world, and a ferocious drummer, playing some of the most awesome Stevie Ray Vaughn covers I have heard in a long time. He looks like he grew up out in the country listening to John Lee Hooker and B. B. King and Stevie Ray his entire life.
We enjoy a cup of very good gumbo, have a cold beer, and sit listening in awe to this band for a long time, while his manager (I guess) would come and pass a bucket around from time to time. This is what I came to hear in Memphis - the blues still being born and re-born, in new fantastic iterations, out here on the streets.
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