Down the Mississippi #10 

The plaque outside the Peabody Hotel in downtown Memphis reads, “The Mississippi Delta begins in the lobby of the Peabody Hotel and ends on Catfish Row in Vicksburg … If you stand in the middle of the lobby, where the ducks waddle and turtles drowse, you will see everybody who is anybody in the Delta.” The plaque expresses a fine sentiment, and the waddling ducks represent Americana at its best, but none of the quote is true.

Now that I have experienced the Mississippi Delta a few times and read about it a fair amount, I can say with some confidence that I am more confused than ever. I don’t know where “it” begins or where “it” ends, and I am not at all certain what “it” is. If the “Delta” is the “mouth” of the river, it is south of New Orleans in Plaquemine Parish, about 250 miles south of where I am writing. If “it” is the Mississippi Delta of Blues fame and home to the likes of Robert Johnson, BB King, Muddy Waters, John Lee Hooker, Mississippi John Hurt, Leadbelly, Pinetop Perkins, James Cotton, Charlie Musselwhite, Keb Mo, and countless others, “it” probably does start around Memphis and end around Vicksburg, but the boundaries are seriously ill-defined.

If “it” is the vast alluvial plain where the river flattens and sediment has spread across the land for millennia, it begins right around New Madrid, Missouri, more than 100 miles north of Memphis … and probably closer to 200 miles if you count the bends in the river … and ends about 20 miles north of Vicksburg, where forests and bluffs start to reappear.

As Wikipedia sort-of says, the Mississippi Delta is not to be confused with the Mississippi Delta.  That is about as clear as I can make it too.

The Peabody plaque is also wrong in its sentiment about seeing “everybody who is anybody in the Delta” in the hotel lobby.

We did meet Anthony Petrina in the lobby, and he is most assuredly somebody: he is the Peabody’s official “duckmaster,” which must be one of the greatest jobs on earth. He gets to wear a really nifty bright red suit with epaulets and chains instead of buttons and carry a fabulous cane with a golden duck handgrip. He gets to perform like a ringmaster twice a day as he escorts the Peabody’s five ducks from their penthouse suite … the “Duck Palace” … to their lobby pool at 11:00 a.m. and as he escorts them back to the penthouse suite at 5:00 p.m. In between, he stays busy doing all sorts of duck-related things, like duck training and interacting with the Peabody’s own duck breeder. The ducks even stop on cue during their parade to pose for the adoring duck paparazzi.

Most of the folks in the Peabody’s lobby, though, are not the shakers and movers of the Delta. Instead, they are a bunch of tourists, mostly parents with young ‘uns, wondering why in the world they are taking part of their valuable vacation time to watch 5 ducks waddle through a hotel lobby … until they witness the actual spectacle, at which time they know they have just experienced a truly hilarious and perfectly memorable few seconds.

I expect that the “everybody who is anybody in the Delta” folks who David Cohn thought of in 1935 when he came up with his now-immortalized quote were mostly landowners and cotton barons and 100% white. That’s just not my idea of “everybody who is anybody in the Delta.” In fact, I turned down an invitation to spend a day in Jackson with 400 farm owners because farm owners as a group just don’t interest me very much. Farmers interest me; farm owners, not so much.

My idea of “everybody who is anybody in the Delta” started to crystalize in the Visitor Center in Tunica when Miss Katie and Angela, the totally sweet ladies at the counter, told us about a marker dedication in Lyon, just outside of Clarksdale, the following afternoon. The 200th “Mississippi Blues Trail” marker would be unveiled to speeches, live music, and a reception at the Clarksdale Visitor Center featuring none other than Super Chikan himself.

Following a schedule on this trip proved to be a bit of a challenge, but at 4:15, we pulled up to the Lyon Town Offices and joined a crowd of 50 or more dedicated officials and blues folks. Fortunately, we were a tad late: instead of 4:00, the speeches actually began around 3:00. Our experience of the speechifying lasted only about 15 minutes, but the ones we heard were inspiring. The festivities took place next to a bright red 1951 Oldsmobile Rocket 88 in pristine condition. Why? Because the 200th marker commemorated the release of the 1951 hit “Rocket 88,” which is credited as being the first-ever Rock-N-Roll record. (YouTube has a terrific photo array of Rocket 88’s to accompany the Jackie Brenston recording. Check it out.)

After an hour or so of music in Lyon, accompanied by terrific conversations with state officials, tourism officials, scholars, community activists, and blues lovers, we headed back to Clarksdale for the reception and Super Chikan concert. The reception provided a few more hours of booze, munchies, music and chit-chat … a perfect kick-off to our time in the Delta.   (Google “Super Chikan” too. His music is great; his penchant for making and playing one-of-a-kind guitars is even greater. He is an extraordinary folk artist!)

After Super Chikan and a day at the Delta Blues Museum, the muses led us to Red’s, a classic juke joint, where we spent the evening with Bill “Howl N Madd” Perry and a small combo: a phenomenal keyboard player/ vocalist and a drummer from England who started coming to Clarksdale for the blues scene with her father when she was a little girl.

The next morning, we brunched at the Bluesberry Café and spent the morning with Watermelon Slim: great musician, scholar, activist, comedian, and all-around good guy. Phenomenal!

(Howl N Madd and Slim are both on YouTube, so check them out too, and Red’s is about the finest blues juke joint imaginable!)

Our eyes and ears for Clarksdale were Bubba O’Keefe and Roger Stolle. Bubba is a native who has become a nonstop promoter and matchmaker. He develops properties, makes outsiders feel at home, and might be the second-most important reason that Clarksdale has become a destination –– next to Clarksdale native Morgan Freeman, of course. Roger is a transplanted Dayton-ite. Articulate, knowledgeable, kind, creative, and really, really smart, Roger calls himself a promoter, producer, and raconteur. Ahh, but he is so much more … including our source for more great Mississippi music. Folks like Bubba and Roger are the catalysts that can turn a sleepy Delta river town into a really exciting place. I can’t wait to return … hopefully to work with young people trying to carve out a good life in a no-longer sleepy burg.

The Delta: harmonicas, hot tamales, the King Biscuit Hour, southern food, super-kind motel housekeepers, Elvis, cypress trees and brown water (stained by the tannins in the cypress roots), a race-car toilet, racists, a visit to Leland, Mississippi ­– the home of Kermit the Frog, miles upon miles of cotton fields, blues, and so much more.

Stay tuned. Like the entire trip down the river, the Delta is too alive and has too many moving parts to jam into a short blog entry. Months will pass before the elements of this trip turn themselves into discrete stories.

Until that happens, this little tasting plate is all I can muster … but the pantry is bursting with crazily cool shit!

© 2017 Kenneth Mirvis