Or as the Greeks say "salut and death to your enemies!" The global round of cheers came last night while a fellow pisces celebrated her birthday at one of the "hipper" eating establishments in the hood. She invited an interesting collection of women to come and toast her 49th year. My pork loin was excellent and everything looked and smelled perfect. She received some thoughtful gifts and gave out amazing party favors. It was a very civilized and pleasant evening and in some ways very sobering!
Mr. Beloved was down the street with a bartender buddy pow wowing about something of great portent. He arrived home shortly after I but in a very wobbly state indeed! Oh, he was oblivious to it but he was wearing an Andy Capp with minimal grace. Andy may have slept on the couch but at least he could hold his liquore. Mr. Beloved was puking over the sounds of Keith Olberman's Countdown. Too bad. I was hoping he'd notice that the cats and I were waiting for him to come to bed. sigh.
More years than I want to remember I was celebrating a birthday or maybe it was a holiday with a group of friends who were all a little older than me but who share my sense of adventure. We took off one night after work (I was a night cashier in a large union grocery chain.) Everyone was in a celebratory mood. I was 16 or 17 going on 26. We began the evening at the Mattress (not ON it!); a former Mattress Factory, the Mat was a white boys version of a juke joint on the outskirts of town. We sauntered into the dark and heard an early version of this amazing
band.
Most of all we were surprised to hear Charlie J. (the blonde in the aviator shades) playing his harmonica in front since Charlie wasn't much older than I was and he was already notorious for his eccentric habits. I don't remember much about that smoke filled shack except that I hated leaving. It was always amuseing to read the graffiti written in the dust-covered Buicks and Fords in the parking lot... "Les, will you SKK my dKK, and Jamie, U can come too!" etc, etc. Dust Graffiti... is so ZEN! Another delta resident remembers the same night and tells the story on this
link.
Afterwards the boys in our group weren't ready to go home but it was too late to buy more beer. They knew of an afterhours place they'd take us to. What's an afterhours place I wondered?
We wound up at this
place in the pitch black of night. It was the first time I was one of the few white faces in a crowd although it was so dark inside it probably didn't matter to anyone but me. It felt like I was being stared at - either because I was white or under age or a combo of both. One thing I now know - it was the same juke joint described in the article linked above and I'm so happy to know it is still entertaining the locals near Merigold.
We left with beer in tow and whoever was driving managed to drive us into a ditch beside one of the dirt roads one still takes to find the place. It was very dark, very early in the am and raining! We laughed but it was very dismal. Eventually a hero approached us from the horizon. I can't count the number of times farmers have saved me... moew times than I can keep track of. We all piled into the back of a generous farmer's truck. I arrived at my friend's around dawn to find out that the emergency brake on my Dodge Dart had slipped and it had rolled into the street. I can't remember if it was towed or ticketed or both. It was one of those epic evenings where I was pretty sober but overwhelmed by the vastness of possibilities... even in our little part of the world. If you look at the map of Mississippi included in the NYC article I grew up on hwy 61 between Clarksdale and Merigold.
I miss the friends I had then... especially Kellie M. I wasn't hanging out with her that night but she would have had something to say about it. She grew up in Merigold and I think by the time she was 16 she had just seen it all. She was always an old soul with a heart of gold. She would be a great teacher if she were alive today.
Most of my highschool friends live elsewhere now. California, Memphis, Atlanta, Virginia, New York. There is one thing about the south that I'll always love. If you avoid the box stores (the Walmarts, etc) you'll find that it's not as homogenized as the rest of the US. I'm always ISO of authenticity wherever I go.
Anyone interested in the history of "jook" should check out Birney Ime's great
"Juke Joints". Of course the House of Blues used this book as the design source for their interiors (true story)... but what they hey. At least they got close to the source.
Labels: birthdays, delta, juke joints, vice
