Ground Zero Blues Club

After the museum, we headed for Ground Zero.  Ground Zero is a Blues Club that is owned by Morgan Freeman and two other men.  It is the hub of the Blues featuring both local and national and even international talent.  From the outside, it looks much like a derelict, old building.  And it is.  The building stood 30 years or so vacant.  As Ground Zero began life, the building was left mainly as it stood.  The outside is covered in all sorts of car tags, stickers and other things, a hodgepodge reflection of life.  Once inside, it was sensory overload!  Every square inch of the building is covered in graffiti, even the tables and chairs!  Christmas lights hung from the ceiling along with flags and even a couple of pairs of old shoes.  There was a long bar on one side, a small kitchen on the other and at the far end a stage for performers.  Holy cow, what a place.  On the second floor of the building are several rooms that a person can rent for a night or two.  My niece and her husband stayed in one of them a few years back and reported that well into the night, the music seeped into their room from below serenading them into slumber.  Wow, what a night that must have been.

We settled in at a table with another couple and ordered beer and a nosh.  Of course, Jim had to have their wings that turned out to be spicy and good.  I had their version of nachos, smoked, pulled pork that is made on the premises served with chips, cheese, bbq sauce and jalapeños on top, interesting and quite good.  We asked questions about the evening music offering and when we would need to arrive to ensure a good table.  Stomachs satisfied, we headed back to the RV to feed the girls and freshen up a bit.

We returned around 7:30 and took seats at a table in the center and close to the stage, but not too close.  The tables seat ten and it is a share and share alike affair.  During the course of the evening a number of folks joined us and then drifted away.  The band is called Stone Gas Blues  Band.  If you want to hear them play, check them out on YouTube.  The leader of the band played bass guitar.  Bless him, he has what looked like curvature of the spine.  He walked with his posture curved toward the floor and struggled just to take steps.  When he played, he sat on a stool most of the time mostly looking downward but it did not matter a bit, he could “deal that thang son”.  There was a drummer and a lead guitarist and a harp (harmonica) player; each of them played and sang.  Funny how so many of these bands are mostly black with a token white — I do not mean that in anyway racist.  The harp player was a tall, lanky white guy with long hair pulled into a pony tail and sectioned with bands.  Finally the band began to play filling the room with the sounds of Mississippi Blues, ah what a joy.  Jim has trouble hearing music and understanding the words of the songs.  I kept watching him out of the corner of my eye and could tell he was enjoying the music, thank goodness.  Lee Tibbetts is our idea of what a harp player should sound like — full of emotion and talent galore; he can make a harp “talk”.  Billy is definitely talented and could make his harp “talk” but it lacked emotion somehow.  When the first set was done, we could not have enjoyed it more.

We headed back to the RV knowing that it was an evening we are not likely to forget anytime soon.  We sat beneath a huge picture of Morgan Freeman that hung from the ceiling and soaked up music that resonates in your bones.

Delta Blues Museum

Saturday dawned and we headed out, filled with a sense of excitement.  We have been talking about going to Clarksdale to hear some Mississippi Blues for some time now and today is the day.  The sky was filled with dark, grey clouds promising rain.  And it did.  As we drove past field after field stretching as far as the eye can see, the rain poured down.  Fortunately we drove into and out of the showers as we made our way to Clarksdale.

Our campground destination was the county fairgrounds.  We have stayed at fairgrounds before so knew generally what to expect.  There are lots of sites, some with full hookups and some with electric and water only and some just a place to park.  Since it is first come, first serve, we were lucky to get the last site with hookup even if the electric was 30 amps instead of the 50 amps we normally need.  In this muggy heat, it would be nice to be able to run both the front and rear air conditioners, however we can manage with only one.  The overall arrangement is a mix of full timers and transients.  We were set up in no time and hurried to get the girls settled before we headed out to explore the town.

Part of the city is more modern with fast food joints and other businesses.  The historic downtown, however was not unlike the other Delta towns we have visited.  That said, it also is home to a number of juke joints and clubs that on Saturday nights will be jumping with activity.  We started with a visit to the Delta Blues Museum.  It houses the largest collection of the history of the Blues from its start here in the Delta to the evolution of modern day music.  The Blues is a reflection of the joys and sorrows, dreams and realities, loves and loves lost and a host of emotions that reflect the times.  It was born out of the African American experience to bloom and spread to a much wider audience.  Names like Muddy Waters, Ike Turner and BB King and many others were honored.  There were a collection of Caricatures that I found very interesting.  I was taking pictures of them when Jim pointed to a sign that said no photos.  Oh well, I got a few.

The Blues is not a static genre but rather it has given birth to other forms up to and including Rock & Roll.  The museum is very large and it took us nearly two hours to completely go though it.  We came away in awe of all the musicians who brought Blues into mainstream.

Leland, MS

We spent early afternoon Friday searching the area for a place to eat.  I am sure that sounds odd, but out here in the rural Delta, communities are strewn across the landscape. Some are tiny and some just small but all of them are the embodiment of pictures one sees of the poor South.  We had several names of cafes whose menus listed all the Southern favorites that were candidates for our lunch.  Our first stop was Big Fellas just down the road a piece from our camp site.  Opening time was not for several hours later so with growling stomachs we moved on to the next stop.  At first we thought that the GPS was malfunctioning.  Over and over it directed us to places that were boarded up or non existent.  Covid has hit this area pretty hard leaving business after business closed.  But some of the closures are a result of the young folks moving out of the Delta searching for a better life in a larger town.  The result leaves what remains a sad, rundown neglected shell of what once was a lively community.  It is an agricultural society out here with field after field growing corn and soybeans.

We finally ended up at Leland.  Leland once was a hub of activity.  It’s train station and bus station brought musicians and others into the growing community.  There is a placard on one corner highlighting how the meeting place for so many was the Leland Cafe.  As we walked through the dusty streets, we were delighted to find that the cafe was still in business.  At last, we could get some food.  Inside the air was cool and filled with smells that made my stomach growl loudly.  Jim had circled back to the truck to get his mask while I went inside and got us a table.  I was greeted by a large, rotund woman who could have stepped out of the pages of a Tennessee Williams book.  Her skin was midnight black and glistened with beads of sweat.  Her hair was piled high on her head and covered with two colorful scarves.  She wore black athletic shoes whose soles had collapsed from miles of walking under her heavy girth.  Her mask dangled from one ear revealing a smile that lit up the room and her smooth, alto voice greeted me with a welcoming hellooooooo.  Her assistant, if you could call him that was just the opposite.  Tall and skinny as a rail, he spoke so softly from behind his mask that I could scarcely make out what he was saying.  It was a Peter Piper and his Wife moment.

I settled in with the menu expecting to see fried chicken and other fixin’s.  The Friday specials boasted local, fried catfish with a host of sides like fried okra and collard greens.  Hooray, my kind of food.  When the plates arrived, they were piled high with fried fish, quite generously I may add.  It was in a word, delicious.  The sweet iced tea that accompanied the meal was ice cold and gently sweetened, not cloyingly sweet.  Yummy.  We ask the woman about where in the area we might catch some Blues.  She dropped her mask and began to give us a history lesson of times gone past and what we might find in Leland that day.  Her smile widened as she spoke of a Blues Festival that is held each fall.  She shared that in her younger years, she sang with a band.  I could only imagine what her voice must have sounded like.  She shared that the vacant buildings were an indication not only of commerce now gone but also juke joints no longer in operation.  

Even so, the Blues lives on if you know where to go.  In the midst of what to us was a sad, poor area, we found that Southern hospitality and kindness is alive and doing quite well.  We might not find Blues today, but tomorrow we will be in Clarksdale and there we know we will.

A Farewell Brew for Two

As our time in Natchez winds down, there were two stops we could not miss, or should I say Jim could not miss.  Everyone who knows Jim knows he is addicted to chicken wings.  Natchez Under the Hill is home to several eateries that have great food.  Champs is one of them so we made our way there so Jim could sample the wings.  A picture tells the tale, they were tender, juicy and very flavorful.  They use a rub on the wings and then smoke them.  They were a winner.

The second must was the Natchez Brewery.  We arrived just as they were opening the doors for the day.  It is housed in an old building that was renovated to become the brewery.  The Tap Room displayed all their offerings mmmm, which one should we choose?  A sample flight seemed to be the best option.  They had sours, ale and lagers just to name a few.  Since I am a stout lover, I wanted to taste the Sticky Slicter Stout.  Just my luck, it was the most heavy with 8.3% abv!  Oh, well we added it to the flight.

In the end, the stout was the winner and we shared a glass — did not want to drink and drive!  It was a nice way to end our time in Natchez.  We experienced good foods, drink and the history for this remarkable Southern Beauty.

If the Dead Could Speak, The Natchez City Cemetery

We often hear people say, “if only the dead could talk, what tales would they tell”?  We took a tour of Natchez that was focused on history, culture and people more than the 1,000+ historic buildings of Natchez.  Our guide, Rev as he was called, included a visit to the Natchez City Cemetery.  I am not a big lover of visiting cemeteries however, this one was quite different.  The history of this place dates back to the 1700s even though the placard at the gates state it was established in 1822.  Those that are pre 1822 were originally buried in church cemeteries and other family plots.  They were disinterred and moved to what is now the City Cemetery thus graves dating to the 1700s.  The original land area was 10 acres.  Today, it covers 140 acres!  And the dead certainly do talk.

The most famous statue in the Natchez City Cemetery is “The Turning Angel” that seems to watch people as they pass by the cemetery at night.  When cars pass by on the main road outside of the cemetery's gates at night, the headlight shine on the angel who seems to turn to watch the passersby.

On March 14, 1908, an explosion at the Natchez Drug Company killed twelve employees and destroyed the business. The owner purchased this lot to bury his employees and erected this beautiful angel statue in their memory.

There are many sections in the cemetery that represent how the people of Natchez saw themselves.  One of the largest is filled with monuments of the upper class, the wealthy part of society.  For the most part, the cemetery is no longer a place of burial.  However, the plots that represent the wealthy families to this day remain a place of rest for the remaining descendants of the once insanely wealthy elite.  In its heyday, Natchez was home to more millionaires than any other place in our country.  Cotton was King.  Plantation owners had wealth that is hard for me to even imagine.  They had huge plantations and a home in Natchez.  It is said that the wife of such a man had only two purposes, to provide him with an heir and to spend as much of his money as possible!  The homes in Natchez were a display of wealth.  The sky was the limit and she pushed that limit at every turn.  So it is not surprising that the monuments they left behind are equally lavish.

There are sections dedicated to the Jewish population, the Irish Catholics, Italian merchants as well.  These people represent the “middle class”.  They were prosperous but not ridiculously rich.  The tombstones tell their stories.  One especially sweet one tells of a Southern Lady who went abroad.  While there she met a man and fell in love.  When time came for her to leave, he had to remain behind but told her “I will come to you my love”.  Every letter he wrote ended with those words.  Finally he boarded a ship bound for America.  When he arrived, he booked passage on two different river boats that would bring him to Natchez.  His letters still ended with “I will come to you my love”.  During his trip, he caught dysentery and died.  She had his body shipped to Natchez where he is buried.  The head stone has these words, “You could not come to me but I will come to you my love”.  She was later buried beside him.

There are many stories but one of the most mysterious is the headstone that reads “Louise, The Unfortunate”. No one know for sure who she was but it is told that she came to Natchez to meet her fiancé and marry.  When she arrived, he either jilted her or was married already.  Too ashamed to return home or without enough money to return home, she ended up at Natchez Under the Hill working in a house of ill repute.  Over the years, a doctor befriended her and gave her medical attention.  When she died, he paid to have her buried and put this enigmatic inscription on the stone.

In all of the cemetery, there are only two people of color buried within its ornate gates.  A true reflection of the times.  It is said that we die twice.  Once when our life expires and once when our name is no longer spoken.  Here the dead speak and they are remembered long after they left this world.

Natchez, On the Banks of the Mighty Mississippi

Our campground lies just below the levy nestled against the Mighty Mississippi River.  As I sit here having coffee, it is interesting to watch the activity on the river.  The Mississippi invokes images of Huckleberry Fin and his adventures.  Here at Natchez, the river is about an ⅛ of a mile wide.  Other places along her length, the river is a good mile wide and the muddy waters flow lazily along.  But here, it is a different story.  When you watch the river, you notice the lack of recreation vessels of any sort.  The reason is clear when you look closely at the water.  It churns and swirls and rolls creating an environment that is too dangerous for swimmers or jet skis or any sort of small vessels to navigate. But there are those who still make their living plying these muddy waters.

Barges are the lynch pin of the commerce trade on the river.  These small, powerful vessels push huge barges loaded with railroad cars and truck trailers filled with goods.  The hardy men and women who captain these vessels are highly trained and fearless.  They know all the twists and turns, rocks and whirlpools that may lie in their path and most importantly how to navigate around them.  As I watch, a tug is slowly moving up stream pushing a block of barges that are four wide and six deep lashed together by strong cables.  I won’t bore you with details but these tug or “tow” boats as they are referred to on the river are the tackles of the football field  - strong, low to the water and powerful.  Control is the name of the game as once these barges start to move they can easily lose control and accidents are costly and deadly.

Behind the barge configuration came a paddle wheel cruise vessel.  She moved faster than the barges but not by much.  I counted five decks with cabins facing the river for a good view of the world sliding slowly past.  There were no passengers visible, a result of Covid I suspect.  Back in the day, it would have been a lively affair with gambling and drinking and all sorts of chicanery going on.  Oh, wait I think that is what we have to look forward to when we board one of these vessels in November!

Whether it is moving goods or moving people, the Mighty Mississippi is still one of the most economical modes of commerce transportation.  She may look lazy but like the story of the Tortoise and the Hare, slow and steady wins the race.