Filled with wonder as I approach the exit to downtown Memphis off I40, a warp in time, a portal to a past, begins to form as I get closer to my final destination. After a total of just under eight hours from North Carolina, these last few miles to Madison Ave on this cool Tuesday evening only propel me further and further into the time-warp. Old buildings now vacant are reminiscent of a time that has passed, a more prosperous that has left the city. The writing on the wall points to a time past where life here on the Delta was not for the weak of spirit. The currents of the Mississippi have no mercy for it has seen many societies fall and many more rise.
Suddenly however, bringing me back to the present moment; a scratch on the record, a pop to the balloon, a puncture to the skies dressed in the simplest of self-supported shapes. A structure unequivocally inspired by a structure which has stood the tests of time and continues to bewilder the research community. It too, situated on the banks of an equally vital river, the Pyramids along the Nile are now superimposed onto the Mississippi River. Shocked by the disharmony and many chuckles after, the parallels between Memphis and Egypt begin to settle.
As the distribution capital of cotton, Memphis is a reflection of the spirited folk that have willingly and unwilling chosen to reside alongside the banks of the River. As a river that has served as the artery of the New World it became a distribution channel for an enormous amount of wealth for the unchosen few at the cost of many that were chosen. Needless to say that Memphis ain’t for the weak. The occasional flooding of the lower banks work as a kind reminder that we are not in control. A reminder that uncertainty sits in the shallows of life, slowly rising; like the steam that is shaved off the river by the sun until it reaches a point of inflection and so comes the rain, down to settle again. Memphis is a place where anyone can emulate the sun and dictate the cycle of renewal, and thus, make it rain on these hoes and bring about a bit of change.
As I watch the sun set over the Mississippi visions of a past begin to reveal themselves. The time-warp presents itself for onlookers to behold. A bridge to a time where the sunset would serve as a signal that the work day was almost over fully opens and the world around me diverges from the present and onto the past. When folk come together to sing the blues with the likes of Robert Johnson and Albert King. Maybe folk get lucky and score some reefer and some whiskey. That’s when the party really starts, and the white woman come, and then, the trouble come.
A few paces away, up the river, a man and a woman are indulging themselves in conversation.
“Man you heard what Dr. King said today?” said the man; with it an air of hope and similarly generations of exhaustion. “He’s been spending more time here in Memphis hasn’t he?” replied the woman, “Word round town is he staying over at the Lorraine Hotel” she continues. “He said” interrupting the woman, “that either the movement lives or dies in Memphis — this man is asking for a death wish. He crazy!” he exclaims with no relief from the words that continue to ring in his head. In awe the woman replies “He said all that?” and after a brief pause, the man continues, “he said that he don’t care no more and that he’s been to the mountain top, that he’s seen the Promise Land!”. His eyes, big and wide, as he launches the two of them deeper into a feeling of vigor with the words of Spirit, a feeling of necessity, a pressing need, an itch that has to be itched emanating from of a man taller than any Pyramid. “Oh dear Jesus please let it be so” the woman replied looking towards the heaven. “Folk are tired and we got so little spirit left”. With feelings of apprehension of what is to come mixed with a desire to stand against that which ain’t saint, the pair continue to overlook at the fleeting sun and together they disappear in a similar fashion as to how they appeared. Tomorrows newspaper will read “R.I.P Dr. King” and thus the date that is now April 4th 1968 will be immortalized.
This pyramid wannabe, while tacky and filled with irony, to me looked in all its awkwardness like a salute to a mother culture. A reminder that like the Pyramids of Giza in Egypt, we too can stand tall and wether the floods that follow the storms and the drought that follows the summer heat. That we too with a solid foundation can harness the strength that is required to overcome anything from social injustice to global pandemics. That nothing in this world is permanent and that this too shall pass. That from a place of strength, leaps through time and positive bumps in vibrations can be achieved. This feeling will be synonymous for me of Memphis, TN.
Even though the Home of The Blues wasn’t showing its usual splendor, opportunities that otherwise wouldn’t have been, were, and from these came shared experiences of candor, generosity and a glimpse of that Tennessee tenacity. Memphians and transplants alike all recognize the bustling potential that underlies the Bluff City. The city emblematic of a diverse culture used to overcoming adversity with a little bit of a funk and a whole lot of Rock n’ Roll, struggles. Expressions of freedom like blasting WAP while riding on a moped alongside the river to working out at the park, or enjoying a fine meal on Main and live music on Beale, Memphis is becoming once again a story of the haves and the have nots.
