Start: Clarksdale, MS
End: Clarksdale, MS
States: Mississippi
Today was the much needed proverbial day of rest. Enjoying the novelty of spending two nights in the same place for the first time since the beginning of the trip was dearer than gold. We both slept in, enjoyed a homemade waffle breakfast prepared by our gracious hosts, took luxuriously long showers, and did much, much laundry. Its amazing how quickly you devolve to a primitive state when still technically in civilization (I mean when I went to Central America on an archaeological dig, I expected it, in America though?).
At the end of the previous school year I covered a 6th grade English class for a teacher on maternity leave, and the crux of the curriculum was Faust legends (deals with the devil, think Damn Yankees, The Devil Went Down To Georgia, etc.). The kids read the play Midnight at the Crossroads, about the blues musician Robert Johnson, who supposedly made a deal with the devil at midnight to gain his musical talent. Johnson died young and under mysterious circumstances, no one even knows where his actual grave is adding to the legend that his end of the deal came due. The Crossroads are supposedly at the intersection of highway 61 and highway 49, and the spot is marked by two crossed guitars high above the intersection.
After we had loafed around sufficently our host's fiancee was kind enough to take us to see it, though admittedly there wasn't much to see. No eerie aura of Satan handing over the intersection, just chain restaurants and oppressive heat. I was mildly concerned when we got in the car and heard the announcer say there was a dangerous heat warning in effect. He waved off our concern saying there had been the same warning every day for three weeks. One of the things that amazes me about the South (and there are a number of things) is that there is no temperature fluctuation. In New England even if its in the nineties during the day, it will usually drop to the seventies at night. In Mississippi, not at all, it is always oppressively hot.The best part of the crossroads is that there is a great barbeque place right on the corner, called Abe's. If I, in my limited experience of barbeque, were to close my eyes and picture what I think a true down home joint would look like, Abe's would be it. One of the disappointments we faced in Memphis was not getting barbeque, and it was the source of some of Friday's depression. This more than assuaged the issue, and in a atmosphere that was much more enjoyable than anything I encountered in and around Memphis, where quite frankly I didn't always feel comfortable walking into a restaurant as two women alone. Pete and Sam's in the upscale East Memphis was a whole different story, being a very residential and clearly family oriented place. Not to say all of Memphis is dangerous, nor certainly that Clarksdale is completely safe but I was much more comfortable the way this worked out.
After lunch we took a drive out to see the Mississippi River. Friar's Point, about fifteen minutes from Clarksdale is one of the few places where you can drive right down to the banks of the river with no marsh or levees in the way. We did drive on the the dirt road atop the levee, giving us the highest view around for miles. On the way back we drove through some of the small towns that feed the Cohoma Country School system based in Clarksdale, including Farrell. Farrell is so small that is you blink, you might miss it. The population as of the 2000 census was 134, I can't really say if its grown since then, I wouldn't bet on it. As we drove along one of the five streets that make up the town I actually saw a grave in a backyard, a mound of dirt with a wooden cross and some pink plastic flowers on top. I was shocked, where I come from, and I think in most places, death is very separate, very sanitized. The idea that you could just drop grandma (or your latest homicide for all I know) in the back yard was so far beyond the pale it almost didn't bear considering. Speaking of burials, apparently there are also burial mounds left by the Mississippian Mound Builders in the area, though we didn't see any.
In the end Mississippi was very eye opening. It is about as far from the America I grew up in as I think you can get. The school I went to had one African American student, in Cohoma county most towns are 70% African American, if not higher in places like Farrell. THe open, often blatant racism, the ever present firearms, violence, and poverty makes me admire those who chose to live and make their lives there endlessly, because it was getting me down after only two days. I wish there was a way to make someone who hasn't been there understand, however I don't think words really accurately convey the atmosphere that pervades there. The closest I can come is a movie. Now few movies that portray the South are favorable towards it, thing Brubaker, Easy Rider, Deliverance, and of course none more so than In The Heat of The Night. Being in Clarksdale, in modern day is with a few minor exceptions an identical experience to that of Virgil Tibbs in 1967. No judgement in that assessment, merely an observation.
