by 
And at the age of 36 I realized…This is what my mom and aunts used to abandon us and do. Shoot the shit at a juke joint-esque establishment. Drankin, smokin, talkin shit, and tryna get boo’d up. The exact moment was when the band broke into Bobby Womack’s “I Wish She Didn’t Trust Me So Much.” I threw up my hand and hollered! This is to be Black and in your 30’s in the South and I want more of this. Here’s to five days in Memphis.
I was in Memphis on business and decided to take in the sights. I’d be there numerous times growing up, but always as a short stop en route to Mississippi. As soon as I slept off the tiredness from my previous city I took a lyft to get some BBQ. Interstate was the suggestion of my driver from the airport.
I must say the energy of the city felt familiar. I felt home. Took me a little to realize it felt like home because culturally it’s not that much different from St. Louis. Just black folks on the great migration that stopped at one of the four cities not to far off the Mississippi (Memphis, St. Louis, Chicago, Detroit). Pronounce shit a little different after a couple of generations, but our foundations are all the same…The South.
Anyway my second driver really pronounced Man like Mayne and I found it easy to strike up a conversation with anybody I met. I was getting back into my element. I had to adjust my expectations of service at restaurants. Things came slow and the waitresses weren’t walking up to you smiling and shit. Everybody told me to be careful when I announced I was going to Beale Street by myself on a Saturday night. I’d been traveling by myself for the better part of a month so if I had to wait for company to go see shit I’d never see it. Apparently Memphis is a dangerous place, but I survived. Bounced around a couple of bars. Met Lil Brother Taurus and the truck driver from Winona. Had 4 drinks. Just followed the music. Popped into wherever it spoke to me.
The conclusion I have come to is that “These Last Two Dollars” by Johnnie Taylor is the unofficial anthem of the city. Shit, everywhere I went somebody was playing it or singing it. I promise it probably gets played in elevators and doctor’s offices too!
I went to the Stax Musuem and the National Civil Rights Museum. Had no clue Donald Duck Dunn and Steve Cropper from the Blues Brothers were from Booker T and MG’s! The longer I looked at Issac Hayes the more he prolly could have got it if I were born and of age is ’68. Al Green is definitely my 1972 imaginary past baby daddy and can I tell you how much I love Rufus Thomas! I did the Funky Chicken and the Breakdown all the way through the damn museum. Good shit man! Good Shit!
I wish I could live in music forever. If could just live it . Eat it. Breathe it everyday…that would be the life. Oo-wee! Anyway. Then I went to the Civil Right Museum. Lots I already knew, but I loved that they gave a major nod to the women of the Montgomery Bus Boycotts. Everything is always Rosa Parks and Martin Luther King! So glad to learn about Septima Clark, T. Thomas Fortune, and the Women of the Six-Triple Eight.
Had some salty oxtails at the 99 Cent Soul Food Cafe. Don’t be fooled. Ain’t nothing but bean, peas, and veggie sides 99 cent and of course my beloved Waffle House. Had grits damn near everywhere. And I put cheese and sugar on em! Don’t come for me you no sugar on your grits loving cretins. I will smite you with the back of my savory sugary grits glove! lol
The white people were nice enough. I was surprised they were friendly. It’s weird being back in these spaces as an adult. I come from a position of “don’t trust white folks” so I was genuinely surprised that the older ones even engaged me. Be Black in America and see if you trust them right off the bat without first proving they are a decent human. Being leary of white folks can save your life, shit.
So back to the whole reason for this story. At a meeting a lady suggested I go to a place called Onix for chicken. Apparently somebody be in the kitchen putting they foots in nem wangs so I decided to venture out in the dark to get some. Green Flag: The parking lot was full. I am thinking, damn this chicken must really be good. So I circle the block and park on the street and walk up. I hear music. As I get closer it’s a choir of folks singing Whip Appeal by Babyface in the Key of G. Just kidding I don’t know the key of that song.
I walk in the “restaurant” and it look like something Harpo from the Color Purple would have owned had he existed in the early 21st century! Chile, over 40 something year old Black women was on they feet belting it out as a spry lil tender sang his heart out. I didn’t expect this! It was full and I was alone. You enter the establishment close the stage and I didn’t want to dilly dally around so I beelined for the bar. Little did I know, I was in for a surprise.
There was a live band and they was playing some of that NAASSSTTTYYYY (in Funky Dineva voice) soul music. Bih! I sho ordered me some wangs (along with a waffle and a glass of pinot noir). Mayne look! The band kilt it! The nand gave me my entire life, kilt me, and resuscitated my ass. I walked ito pure unadulterated SOUL. If you find yourself in Memphis on a Monday night, go by Onix for chicken and waffles and check to see if J. Buck and Friends are playing cause good goobidy goo I had a wonderful night.
by