The Great American Road Trip

Day seven. Hmmm. So the first f*ck up of the trip has hit us. Tropical Storm – Maybe Hurricane – Barry is headed towards New Orleans. The place where we were supposed to spend the next four days. After following the storm’s track the last two days, we have determined to avoid disaster, and we canceled our trip to NOLA. THAT SUCKS! I had four great days planned with a plantation tour, tickets to a jazz concert at historic Preservation Hall, and an air boat swamp tour to look for gators. CRAP!

So, I spent this morning looking for a Plan B. As of right now, it is still up in the air. The hotel refunded us our money and cancelled our reservations. Cancelled the swamp tour and got a refund. Cancelled the Whitney Plantation tour and got my money back. Still trying to work out the Preservation Hall concert tickets. I might get hosed on that one. Oh well. It is what it is.

After getting a late start, we headed out to the National Civil Rights Museum here in town. It is located at the old Lorraine Motel. If that doesn’t sound familiar, it is where Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot and killed. The site has been preserved and turned into a first class museum.

Pulling into the parking lot, I saw the sign above and was suddenly struck with a feeling of dread mixed with sadness. Was I ready for this? Since I teach several things surrounding Dr. King, this was a place I felt I had to go to. Yet, it is also a place of great tragedy. One of the things I have my students think about is to pretend April 4, 1968 didn’t happen. King lives. What would he think or say of today’s world? What causes would he be championing. Standing outside the motel, I was hit by that sadness like a brick. Although, ultimately, the thought is moot, you cannot help but feel the terrible loss this country suffered here on that terrible day.

At the end, Nathan mentioned how cool it was that this museum wasn’t just about that fateful day. It was a comprehensive reflection on the black experience, from the early days of the slave trade, and continuing on to the current struggles for equality and peace. It was fascinating to see the germination of rebellion, right from the beginning, which slowly snowballed into the Civil Rights Movement of the ’50’s and ’60’s. You could not help but be inspired by the struggle and the pain and suffering endured so that people could eat where they wanted, move about how they wanted, and to have representation – a vote. Guys like King, John Lewis, and others were featured, and the courage they had, knowing that they were going to be beaten, arrested, and possibly killed, and still marching on. How can one not be inspired, even in this day and age where intolerance and violence seems to be returning, and the cracks in Democracy are seemingly growing larger? By then end of the museum, when you finally get to April 4th, you understand that what happened to King was inevitable, yes sad, but just one more sacrifice in the name of freedom.

I teach King’s last speech, given here in Memphis just the day before he is killed. It is often referred to as the “Mountain Top” speech. King was in Memphis to support a sanitation worker strike which was occurring here. Black sanitation workers were not being paid the same as their white counterparts, and they were given the shittier work schedules. After the first march ended in violence, King promised he would return to march again. That was to happen on April 5th. By April of 1968, the Civil Rights Movement had sort of stagnated. The Civil Rights Act of 1964 had been passed. To King, this seemed like a cause that he could get behind. But he was tired. It had been a long, hard slog over the last 15 years. The night of April 3rd, he spoke to a large gathering of people at the Masonic Temple in Memphis. King’s speech talked about a near death experience in New York years before. He talked about how far they had all come. How, if he had died, he would have missed out on so many great moments in their struggle. He was glad he didn’t die then. He then talked about a few things which today seem prophetic. He tells the crowd that he is not afraid to die. He’s not afraid to die, because he has “been to the mountain top” and he has “seen the Promised Land”. He then says, “I may not get there with you,” but you will get there without me. He would be assassinated the very next day on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel. At the end, I couldn’t help but have moistened eyes as I once again listened to that speech, and then stepped out to see that balcony again.

The tour continued across the street at an old boarding house. This is where the assassin was when he shot King. That assassin, later identified as James Earl Ray, a drifter, would eventually be caught and convicted, spending the rest of his life in prison. It was chilling when he see the view that he saw through the scope of his gun. Again, the sadness, this time mixed with anger. I couldn’t imagine what I would’ve felt if I were a black man in 1968. I cannot blame them for their anger boiling over, resulting in riots across the United States. What more did they have to do? The struggle is still not over.

We ended the day with something less sad, sort of. We drove south, first through Clarksdale, Mississippi. Clarksdale is a legendary place in the blues music world, and one of the enduring stories involves a blues musician named Robert Johnson, and a certain little place called “The Crossroads”. Now as legends often are, there is a lot of “that’s B.S.” involved, but it is still fun. Legend has it that a crappy young blues wannabe named Robert Johnson was pretty much laughed out of the business, because, let’s face it, he sucked. He went away for a while, months, a year, and then returned a new man. Now he was an awesome blues man. He could do things with a guitar that nobody had seen before. He was Jimi Hendrix, before Jimi Hendrix. Soon, word was getting around that Johnson’s talent was otherworldly. Like literally. According to stories, one dark night, Johnson went out to the crossroads and sold his soul to the Devil. Old Pitchfork and hellfire himself. That is how he got so good. According to the good people of Clarksdale, the crossroads were the ones located just outside of town. To add to the mystery, Robert Johnson would die young, under mysterious circumstances. Old Satan had recovered what was due to him.

Our last stop of the day was in Indianola, Mississippi. That is where one of my favorite musicians has a museum dedicated to him, and it is where he is now buried. That man is the one, the only, the King of the Blues, Mr. B.B. King!

The museum was bigger and more extensive than I had imagined. All in all, it was a pretty cool place. I had to play my favorite B.B. King songs as we drove away. Some people think that the blues is sad music. Nope, that’s old country music you’re thinking of. Blues music is funny, raunchy, and optimistic. I felt much better as we headed off to Jackson, Mississippi for the night.

Some final thoughts for today:

• Is it me, or are these blogs getting longer? Sorry! I have always liked a good story. 🙂
• One last thing about Robert Johnson’s weird story. There are at least 3 different places in Mississippi which claim to be the final resting place of Mr. Johnson. Not sure why, but nobody really knows where he is buried. Even his relatives go to different sites to pay their respects. His mystery endures!
• The hurricane has certainly put a crimp into our trip. It is a serious curve ball. We still don’t know if United will alter Deborah’s plane tickets. We don’t even know if and when she will be joining us. She’s sad and pissed, and I’m mostly pissed. I had some prepaid tickets which have been affected, like the ones I purchased for Cape Canaveral, which now we will be going there four days earlier than planned! It’s either that or sit around in Florida or something for four days until those tickets are good. Crappy crap of craptastic proportions indeed.
• Ahead of the storm, there has been some pretty spectacular lightning and thunderstorms this evening, and there has been some serious Hawaii-like downpours where you can’t see where you’re driving. Kind of exciting, and scary at the same time. As I’m typing this, there are flashes outside and rumbling thunder.
• Tomorrow is Selma and Montgomery, Alabama. Saturday is Birmingham and Atlanta, Georgia. After that, who knows. Still looking for that Plan B…

That’s it for now. Bed time! Will let you know when we know. 🙂