Americalog

[Velvet]

Stardate 020211

Hard to believe, but the day finally came. Of all the trips I've taken never have I researched one as well as this. The rough outline had been drawn up more than six months ago, and the basic itinerary has been set since well before xmas. I spent the last week frantically finalising a schedule that will encompass the next three weeks and last night set to packing, in between near-constant internet weather checks with an eye towards the pending Blizzard Of The Year.

Despite all the pre-planning, when I asked Heather to give me the rundown on what I should have packed I found that I had forgotten the first three things she mentioned. Hell, it was less than an hour before departure when I remembered (okay, was reminded) to pack our tickets. And here was Mother Nature attempting to lay aside the best laid plans of this mousey man with a storm that was stretching from Texas to Toronto and beyond.

Snow be damned, we got the car loaded up, popped it into four-wheel drive and slid out onto the road, careening slowly through five inches of powder.

The highway through Ottawa was treacherous, but by the time we got out of the city things weren't so bad. Our biggest slowdowns came from getting stuck behind the plow parade, which isn't such a bad thing. Got to the border and cruised our way through, and by the time we headed west out of Syracuse the storm had pretty much passed.

Luckily we weren't headed too far and didn't have too much to do on this first day, and we arrived at our target city of Rochester maybe an hour behind schedule, all-in-all not bad considering the hype the storm had been receiving.

It's a bit ironic that our first stop wasn't even there anymore. We snaked our way through a snowy rush hour to find Grieg Street, specifically the house that is, or rather was, 61 Grieg Street. This nondescript and obscure address is where the great Son House was rediscovered in the early '60s, and seemed a very fitting start for our journey.

Aside from a more than respectable career of his own (in a roundabout fashion, anyways), Son House was the man who taught the great Robert Johnson how to play slide guitar, and it was also Son House who eventually spread the myth to eager white audiences that Johnson had sold his soul to the devil down at the crossroads in return for his uncanny musical abilities. House had recorded an album of his own in the '30's, and recorded later again with Alan Lomax for the Library of Congress, but he ended up here in Rochester working odd jobs before eventually finding permanent work with the railroad company. When interest in original blues artists heated up decades later, Son House was rediscovered when a knock came on his door at 61 Grieg Street and a white man explained to the shocked Son House that he was a world-famous guitarist and should be on the road. Curiously, when it came to light that thirty-five years away from the music scene had caused Son House to forget how to play any of his own songs, it was the guitarist from Canned Heat who retaught him all his old stuff.

House spent years on the road enjoying the resurgence in popularity of old-school blues guitar, discounting modern blues as “monkey junk.†He left Rochester behind him, dying in Detroit in 1988. And here on a snowy Grieg Street in 2011 he seems to be back to obscurity. No plaque, no marker, and the house that was numbered 61 long gone.

Back to maneuvering the wintry roads we made our way next to a park on Sycamore Street. I got out of the car and found a snow-capped pedestal. Brushing the snow aside with the sleeve of my jacket I was happy to see that it was indeed a plaque, honouring the great Cabell “Cab†Calloway. First ever jazz million seller and Rochester resident, the King of Hi-Di-Ho once lived at 14 Sycamore Street, and while like Son's the house isn't there anymore, it's nice to see the residents are proud enough to honour Cab with this small monument. Hell, he taught the blues to the Blues Brothers, and that alone is plaque-worthy.

With the beginning of our Rock & Roll Field Trip behind us we headed to a friends place for the night, where pizza and beer and an early night was at hand. Alarm set I rest my head looking forward to day 2 with giddy excitement. 7:30am can't come fast enough.

[Jaimoe]

Well done Todd. I know some of Son House's story and knew about his Rochester connection. I'll eagerly await your next log. Where are you visiting? Are you planning on "finding" Robert Johnson's graves near Clarksdale, Miss? I found two, and none were near The Crossroads.

[kookycanooky]

was Alan Wilson the Son House/Canned Heat connection?

[Northern Wish]

If its a Rock n Roll history tour around New York State:

Go see Big Pink.

[timouse]

If its a Rock n Roll history tour around New York State:

Go see Big Pink.

and if you can fit it in to your schedule, do a ramble!

[Velvet]

Stardate 020311

It turns out that after staying up late writing logs and such 7:30 comes pretty fast after all. Got up and showered and enjoyed a relaxing start to the day with our host. We got on the road around 9am and found a beautiful day waiting for us, which was good because we had a lot of driving to do.

We found a Tim Hortons and scarfed back some coffee and an early lunch and before too long (it didn't seem like it took almost five hours) we were in Cleveland. We had only one stop to make here, and it sure wasn't hard to find. It's a given that our Rock & Roll Field Trip has to include a stop at the Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame, and we found Pei's building in no time.

Alan Freed hosted the first ever rock & roll shows here in Cleveland, hell he even gave the musical style it's name. Rock & roll was initially a term used by the black community to describe intimate relations, and Freed's brilliant co-opting of the phrase stuck big time. And just under a half-century later a museum was built.

This was my second time visiting, Heather's first. We scored street parking out front and booted it inside. I was hoping we would have more time, as I remember being here from opening to close last time I was here, but four hours was going to have to do it. The first thing we noticed is that the Phish hot dog is back. Hardly a month ago we saw it flying through MSG and now here it was, suspended from the ceiling looking ratty and unmajestic in the brightly lit room. Also available for viewing without even purchasing a ticket were Garcia's guitars and the ZZTop Eliminator coupe.

We dropped $22 each and went in. Of the 25,000 artifacts the museum possesses they only display about 4,000 at a time, so there were several things I hadn't seen before. The place is teeming with astounding bits of history; there's Janis Joplin's glasses, around the corner is the remains of Otis Redding's plane, you can almost reach out and touch the couch where Hendrix sat as a kid learning how to play the guitar. Jim Morrison's grade school report cards, Michael Jackson's glove, Townsend's beat up Marshall stack, around every corner is another item I could just gape at for hours.

Some of my favourite items are the handwritten lyrics and letters. You can see a whole verse scratched out from the original lyric sheet to Truckin', the same thing with Oh Carol, scrawled on unlined paper in Chuck Berry's own handwriting. There's a letter from Pete Townsend where he says Eddie Van Halen can play real fast, but with that grin of his he could make it without playing a note. A letter from Kurt Cobain to David Geffen apologising for some things that were said in the press. It's like seeing pages ripped from the original copy of the Bible. They had some great Elvis stuff and a nice area dedicated to the Allman Brothers Band. Heather even found a poster behind glass featuring her cousins band, Alice Donut.

The second floor was closed for renovations, as was part of the main area, so that was a little disappointing, though I suppose it means the next visit will be even better. The top two floors are for special exhibits, with The Boss being the current focus. They had tons of Springsteen stuff, and though I'm not the hugest fan it was great. They had his awesome Telecaster, turns out it has an Esquire neck and cost him $180, he bought it with his first advance check.

Back downstairs we watched the highlight reel from induction ceremonies gone by and I actually got a bit choked up seeing some of my heroes being honoured. I showed astounding restraint in the extensive gift shop, and surprisingly we were back in the car a half-hour before closing.

If you are EVER in Cleveland, check out the Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame.

Anxious for warmer climes we hopped in the car and headed south. Six hours later we pulled into Louisville, Kentucky. Not a drop of snow on the ground, we circled around looking for our hotel until we finally found it by process of elimination. The fact that they don't advertise and aren't actually on the street the address indicates made it a tad frustrating, but that much more rewarding when we finally got here.

We're tired and will likely pass on the bar next door, but then we have a roomier day tomorrow and can sleep in a bit, so ya never know.

[Booche]

Way to go Slugger.

[bouche]

The place is teeming with astounding bits of history; there's Janis Joplin's glasses, around the corner is the remains of Otis Redding's plane, you can almost reach out and touch the couch where Hendrix sat as a kid learning how to play the guitar. Jim Morrison's grade school report cards, Michael Jackson's glove, Townsend's beat up Marshall stack, around every corner is another item I could just gape at for hours.

I can imagine how much time I'd need especially if I walked upon some Beatles memorabilia. Sounds fantastic. Thanks for the word picture.

[PassedOutGuy]

Awesome... lookin forward to your road less travelled.

[Velvet]

Stardate 020411

We were up and out of the hotel pretty early, with a big day ahead. We headed straight downtown, parked and did a walkabout. Found a great little bakery – two coffees and two enormous breakfast-eliminating donuts for $3, or about what a tall latte would cost at Starbucks. The streets of Louisville are teeming with art installations; there are painted horses (home of the Kentucky Derby), baseball bats cast in iron (the Louisville Slugger museum/factory is just around the corner), and every sidewalk tree is encased in it's own unique ironworks sculpture.

Our destination was a beautifully architectured building by the waterfront, home of the Muhammad Ali museum. Here's something most people don't know about me – boxing is my favourite sport and I even took boxing lessons as a kid. My dad's favourite athlete (at least until Gretzky came along) was Ali, and that rubbed off on me big time. In short, the man is an icon and a hero, and in keeping with the Rock & Roll Field Trip one can acknowledge that the Louisville native achieved rock star status and beyond.

We paid our fee and rode the escalator up to the fifth floor to start our tour. It soon became apparent that we had the whole place to ourselves – save for seeing a couple pay their admission when we were on our way out we didn't see another soul in the place. We started with a fifteen minute film on Ali, and when it was done both Heather and I were misty-eyed. The film explains that early in his life Cassius Clay read the poem “If†by Rudyard Kipling and he based his life and career on it. I recommend you google it right now and try to live those words as well as you can.

The museum focused more on information than artifacts. Sure there was Ali's shorts from the Rumble In The Jungle and the robe Elvis gave him in Vegas in '73, but mostly the space was taken up by informative displays following the different aspects of his life. After getting his bike stolen as a kid he started training in the ring so he could whup the ass of whoever took it, and through determination, confidence, and a brash arrogance that the media ate up like candy, he traveled the world and walked with kings. I got chills around every corner.

There was a fun interactive section where you could don boxing gloves and try the heavy bag (I have one hanging in my basement) and a speed bag, and you could even shadow box with the man himself! Given that we were all alone up there Heather and I had a long leisurely time working out in the ring.

Back on the street we found a post office, hit White Castle (again) and got on the highway pointed south. I bit the bullet and drove right by the bourbon trail, Talbott's Tavern, and the National Corvette Museum (will I ever forgive myself?), and three hours later we pulled into Music City, Nashville Tennessee.

We were booked into the Millennium Maxwell House, the city's only music-themed hotel. The entranceway was embossed with guitars and sheet music, the lobby lined with instruments autographed by the greats of country music, and a display case by the elevators housed a bass signed by Mick Jagger and Ron Wood, Dylan's harmonica and hand-written lyrics, among other treasures.

We spent an hour in our Hatch Show Print decorated room pounding beers before setting out for the early show at the famous Bluebird Cafe. Established in 1981, this small unassuming pub is in a strip mall outside of the main Nashville strip, and is THE place for up-and-coming singer/songwriters. The early show is no cover, with a $7 per person table minimum. We sat along the wall a few feet from the musicians, who set up in the middle of the small room. There were four singer/songwriters with an extra guitar player doing the song-circle thing. The host wrote good generic new country stuff, the only guy in the group was like a young James Taylor, and the young singer with the big voice wrote and sang songs that could easily be on every country station in the world. That said, neither of us was that impressed with any of them, it just not being our cup o' tea, though the fourth performer, a lady from Texas named Mimms wrote really great songs. She had one called Gettin' There that I wish I had written. I was shocked to find that none of them were over the top great players, even (especially?) the extra guitarist. At one point the host told him he was to play a solo in her next song (I-IV-V in A) and he couldn't do it. I was amazed, and bouyed somewhat. Maybe if I landed in this town I could get a little work after all!

After the show we went back to the hotel for more Bud's and hopped the free shuttle down to Legend's Corner, Nashville's main strip on Broadway. We bar hopped for the rest of the night and I got re-humbled in a fucking hurry. Every bar had great live music. We saw standard classic rock, a couple of really good rockabilly bands, a great straight up old-time country band with a devastating guitar player, a metal-ish band that was doing all requests, and, well things get a little hard to remember by then. I do recall we were on our way out and decided to stop in on just one more bar where we happened upon the best player of the night, a guitarist who was just flying through astounding solo after astounding solo. It was another rockabilly band, and their bass player was pretty hot shit too, taking more solos than a bass player is usually allowed, and every one tastier than the last.

And the whole strip plays for tips. Tough town for musicians I suspect, this Music City.

After a long day we stumbled onto the rainy street and found a cab back to the hotel, where the wind whipping against the windows battled with the uber-comfy beds to keep us in a constant state of sleep/wake/sleep again.

[Velvet]

If, by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;

If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with triumph and disaster

And treat those two imposters just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breath a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

[Velvet]

Stardate 020511

I was treated to a little Music City hangover this morning which served as a steady reminder that I spent way too much money last night. I tried to appease the brute inside my head with the in-room Maxwell House coffee (named after this very hotel doncha know). Showered and checked out, finding a positively blustery day outside. Today's itinerary has us going to Memphis, but I wanted to make a quick dash back to the strip to check out Hatch Show Prints. As we circled around looking for parking we found ourselves in front of the Country Music Hall Of Fame, and there was a banner out front advertising “Museum Free Today Only.†We had decided to skip the Country Hall, but we couldn't resist rushing through it for free, and I'm glad we did. We didn't give it the time it deserved, but it was a rewarding experience all the same. They have some amazing artifacts, including Elvis' gold-plated Cadillac, layered with a paint mixture of diamonds and fish scales. They also had his gold-plated grand piano.

The real treasures are, of course, the instruments. They have some serious pieces of history in there, from Jimmy Rodger's Martin to Bill Monroe's mandolin. Lots of Chet Atkins' stuff and it just goes on and on. The gold record collection is massive and the whole shebang is housed in a building shaped like a bass clef with windows designed to mimic piano keys.

Our next stop was Hatch Show Print, the oldest continually running print shop in the US. These guys have done posters for everyone, and all in an instantly distinguishable style. I held myself to one poster (for Dylan's radio show) and a postcard, and acquired a sorely-needed poster tube in the process that will help keep yesterday's Muhammad Ali poster safe.

After a little lunch we made a quick stop at Gruhn's Guitars where I played some absolutely delicious '40's Martin's that gave me shivers. I told Heather to get me out of there before I sold the car.

Heather took the wheel for the journey along the Music Highway between Nashville and Memphis. We stopped briefly in Jackson to visit the home of Casey Jones. The story of Casey Jones is well known, how his train was running late and he held the brakes while his colleagues jumped to safety, Casey being the only fatality in the famous train crash. Lesser known is how the folk song of the same name became so popular. I had visited here ten years ago, and at that time there was an elderly man at the info booth who told me the story.

When he was young they used to hold barn dances every weekend, but whenever they were unable to find musicians to play the kids had to rely on playing Edison cylinders (which pre-dated records). In those early days of recording most of the music that was recorded was hymnal, posing a problem for the kids as it was a sin to dance to holy music. There was one secular tune that had been recorded to cylinder, and that was Casey Jones. So when there were no musicians to be had the kids would dance to Casey Jones, playing it over and over all night, which led to it becoming one of he best-known songs of the era. Funny how consistently religion influenced popular music.

We arrived in Memphis too late to see any of the main sites, so we went straight to the hotel and started drinking. We strolled up the street in unseasonably cold weather to a bbq place for dinner and eventually made our way to Beale Street.

We walked up and down the semi-secluded strip and poked our heads into a bar just in time for the band's “Thank-you, goodnight,†so we moseyed to another bar. Again we walk in and are greeted with “Thank-you, goodnight!†We were amazed – it was barely 11pm on a Saturday night. Third one's a charm, we found a place with a cooking band, got a table up front, ordered some Bud (when in Rome), and were treated to just as much blues as we wanted. It was the Shane Starski Band from Nashville, and they were quite good. They have a female vocalist who sings about half the set, and she alternated between channeling Janis Joplin and Tibetan throat singing, closing out the set with a killer version of Ruth Brown's “Mama, He Treats Your Daughter Mean.†They were followed by a family blues trio from Kansas City, but with another big day coming we left a few songs in..

Out on the streets things were jumping a little more, with big lineups outside of the bars offering hip hop. That's what the kids are into these days I suppose. A quick cab ride and we were back at the hotel, ready to turn in for the night.

Hard to believe it's only been four days!

[bouche]

two enormous breakfast-eliminating donuts

Is that what they're called on the menu board, or is that your tag? Either way, great name for a doughnut.

[Velvet]

It means the donuts were large enough to eliminate the need for breakfast. I'm trying to involve the reader as much as possible.

[Velvet]

Stardate 020611

I was so excited this morning I woke up at 6:30am with only about five hours of sleep under my belt. I enjoyed a pretty damn excellent free breakfast and tip-toed back to the room. Eventually Heather got up and after some more breakfast (one must take advantage when one can) we checked out. We left the car in the hotel parking lot and walked a mile up the road to Mecca.

706 Union Avenue, Memphis, Tennessee is the home of Sun Records, birthplace of Rock & Roll. Opened in 1950 as a recording studio (not yet a label), this is where Rocket 88 (featuring Ike Turner) was recorded. Generally considered the first rock song ever recorded, the song was highlighted by the first ever distorted electric guitar, the result of a minor traffic accident on the way to the studio where the guitarist's amp fell out of the vehicle and tore the speaker cone. Owner Sam Phillips' instincts told him to use the amp as-is, beginning a track record that would unquestionably change the world.

The tour starts on the second floor, where pieces of recording equipment and other memorabilia sit behind glass. Right there is the original master copy of Rocket 88, the unit that was used to reproduce every copy out there, the circle that started it all. I stood there staring agape before I realised I was all alone, the rest of the tour having moved on.

I joined the group downstairs in the recording room. The Room. The room where BB King first laid down tracks. The room where Howlin' Wolf was discovered. The room where Johnny Cash proved he had something new by singing Folsom Prison Blues to Sam Phillips. The room where Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, and Roy Orbison recorded some of the biggest tunes of all time. The room where an 18-year-old Elvis Presley went from driving a truck to reigning as the King, buying Graceland a mere four years later.

My Mecca. Your Mecca. The Mecca of music lovers everywhere. Little has changed, the room still sporting the original flooring, the original ceiling tiles, the original everything. There is tape on the floor marking where Elvis stood to record. Our guide tells us that one day Bob Dylan walked through the door, knelt down and kissed that piece of tape and walked back out again. I parked myself on the piece of tape that indicated Scotty Moore's spot (I'm no singer) and was loath to move. At the end of the tour the guide pulls out the studio mic that Elvis and a legion of others sang into and we all took turns monkeying with it, posing for pictures.

What a privilege to stand in that room. The absolute and utter highlight of the Field Trip so far.

We hopped the free shuttle to Graceland where we intended to walk the mile and-a-half to the Full Gospel Tabernacle where the Reverend Al Green preaches every Sunday, but we were surprised to find that we were already running late. We debated how uncool it would be to arrive late and leave early (the shuttle driver said the sermons tend to last several hours) and concluded that it would be quite uncool, so we let the worshipers worship without us and made our way through the pearly gates of Graceland instead.

I had visited here for Elvis Day (August 16) ten years ago, along with about 25,000 others. Here in the off season and on Super Sunday taboot things were much quieter. We meandered through Elvis' decadent Kingdom at our leisure, lingering at the Jungle Room and the meditation garden, where we had Elvis' grave all to ourselves. We had bought the Platinum Pass, which gained us entry to the car museum, the '68 comeback museum, the wardrobe museum, the airplane tour, and the movie museum, each with it's own extensive gift shop, which kept us busy most of the afternoon.

Hungry and tired, we caught the shuttle back to Sun and walked back to the hotel. Piled into the car, hit a drive-thru to keep the growlies at bay, popped in the appropriate Dylan album and started our drive south on Highway 61, the Blues Highway. We immediately crossed into Mississippi and stopped for some beer.

People talk real funny 'round here.

Just as dusk started to settle in we pulled into Clarksdale. We found the Delta Blues Museum, which we knew was closed on Sundays, and after a bit of driving about found the Crossroads, the corner of 61 (now the 161) and highway 49, marked by a sign sporting four guitars. I got out and stood there for a minute, but only because I felt I had to, having driven here. It's generally accepted that this isn't THE crossroads, and as such is of no significance whatsoever.

We got back in the car and continued on down highway 61 to Cleveland, where we scoured the hotel situation and stopped for the night, catching the last half of the Superbowl commercials. I'm way more into advertising than I am into football.

After two visits to Memphis I still have the Gibson factory and Stax to visit, though if I ever come back again they'll have to wait, because I'll definitely go straight to Sun Studios again.

Mecca. Everything will be downhill from here.

[Northern Wish]

Are you writing for the Sun on this trip?

A huge coincidence in todays paper: a 2 page spread on Nashville/ The Country Music Hall of Fame.

[Ms.Huxtable]

Great read Velvet, but I'm curious, do they label the breakfast "pretty damn excellent free breakfast" or is that your tag?

[Booche]

“White Castle is open after dark. But why is it called after dark when it’s really after light?â€

[gentlemonkey]

I like to imagine the tour guide on the Mecca visit... looking over their shoulder to see our hero cross legged on the studio floor swaying like a young music fan to an imaginary bluesman, or singing one of his own songs into the famous microphone.

[gentlemonkey]

more pics please!!

[Velvet]

I like to imagine the tour guide on the Mecca visit... looking over their shoulder to see our hero cross legged on the studio floor swaying like a young music fan to an imaginary bluesman, or singing one of his own songs into the famous microphone.

Honest and truly it was almost like that when I was with that original Rocket 88. I almost got down on my knees.

We tried putting up more pics last night and found it very frustrating.

[Velvet]

Stardate 020711

With visions of the hotel breakfast from Memphis floating in my head I set the alarm early enough to catch the free breakfast this morning before it ended at 9am. Let's just say I could've slept in this morning. An early start was a good thing today though, with lots on the schedule.

Our first stop was probably the most important of the whole Rock & Roll Field Trip, and perhaps one of the more obscure. We drove five miles east of highway 61 on the 8 and found the Dockery Plantation.

The story of Robert Johnson selling his soul to the Devil down at the crossroads is common knowledge, but I've found no reference where he made this claim himself. One thing he did do, however, is spend time at the Dockery Plantation, a huge place that employed up to 2,000 workers at a time and even minted it's own money. A veritable who's who of Delta Blues musicians lived and worked there, including Charlie Patton, Willie Brown, Son House, The Howlin' Wolf, and many others. The plantation became known as a musical centre, and while legend has it that the original crossroads are around here, it seems pretty clear that Robert Johnson likely spent his time learning and practicing with these musicians rather than hanging out on some corner waiting for Satan to come and tune his guitar for him. One way or the other, Dockery Plantation is nothing short of Ground Zero for the blues.

It's not much to look at anymore, just a few old buildings and a sign, but there's unquestionably a feeling seeping up through the ground. It's not necessarily a good feeling, nor is it really a bad feeling, but it's something, and it's real. I found a chair on an old creaky wooden platform, sat down and played a little guitar while Heather wandered around snapping pictures. Beelzebub didn't come by. Perhaps he figured I would be a poor return on investment.

Hell, nobody came along. Since we pulled in until we pulled out we didn't see a soul. It was a cold, grey morning so we didn't stay too long. I stooped down and picked up a stone before we left, my little Dockery Rock, and off we went.

Though it wasn't in keeping with the Rock & Roll Field Trip, I couldn't resist driving another 20 miles south on the 61 to Leland, Mississippi, Birthplace Of The Frog.

If you know me at all you know I love the Muppets. Sesame Street was my babysitter as a child and as such played a big part in shaping my early life and my sense of humour. My goal when I went to school for music was to one day write for Sesame Street, but with the passing of Jim Henson my interest in all things Muppet began to fade. Jim lived in Leland until the 6th grade and he considered it his home. It was Henson who designated the small town as “Birthplace Of The Frog†and he claimed it was the tiny creek which runs through Leland that served as inspiration for the creation of Kermit The Frog.

They have a small, can we call it a museum? there by Deer Creek, with lots of pictures and articles and some original Henson creations behind glass. The place is manned by an uber-informative elderly lady who is very eager and quite hard to shake, so we ended up staying longer than was necessary. Glad I went, but with a thousand apologies to Mr. Henson it's the first thing on the trip that seemed skippable.

Then it was treasure hunt time.

I enjoy graveyards and visit them as much as I can when I travel, so we set out in search of the final resting place of Robert Johnson. The trick is three different sites quietly lay claim to this honour, Greenwood, Quito, and Morgan City, all in Mississippi and all within a few miles of each other.

Head east on highway 82 until you come to County Road 514 (which is very easy to miss), and turn right. You'll soon be in Itta Bena (birthplace of BB King), and right next to the Itta Bena school runs the 7 south. Turn down there and you'll cross three small bridges, the first two are together and the third about a half mile further. Take your next right and you'll find the Payne Chapel church, with it's small steeple and scattered graveyard. Johnson's diminutive marker was placed there about 20 years ago, decorated with a guitar and his dates, born May 8th a century ago and died 49 years to the day before the passing of Elvis, August 16th, 1938. The grave had a few guitar picks scattered about so I added one of my own.

A few miles further south on the 7 just as the road curves to the right you turn down the road on the left and you'll find a small shack that serves as the Mount Zion Church. Johnson's marker here is much more prominent, also about 20 years old, lists all of his song titles and a short biography, and is devoid of picks. Well, now there's one. The third gravesite in Greenwood is easier to find as it's part of the Mississippi Blues Trail and is accompanied by a plaque. This one seems to be where most go to pay respects, and in addition to guitar picks people leave money. There were several dollar bills and lots of coins. Again I left a pick and went back to the car to get a Canadian penny. Heather was being a real trooper, clicking picks and wandering among the dead with me on a cold blustery afternoon.

The real gravesite is unquestionably the first one. I could feel it in my bones.

About thirty miles north of Greenwood is the tiny village of Avalon, so small the local I asked had never heard of it. We pulled off the highway and quickly found ourselves on a dirt road. Now this was rural Mississippi, from the tits-up armadillo on the side of the road to the dilapidated school bus mostly buried on the side of the road.

I was in search of the grave of Mississippi John Hurt which is somewhere here in his hometown, but it eluded us. We did come across a boarded up shack that was formerly the Avalon General Store and has become the former Mississippi John Hurt museum, as indicated by the hand-scrawled sign in the cracked dirt-encrusted window.

Back on solid asphalt we found our way to the I-55, the first time we'd been on an Interstate highway in a few days. On Heather's request we conducted a last-minute search for the home of William Faulkner which proved fruitless, so we moved eastward before reaching Tupelo at about 5pm.

I had expected Tupelo to be much smaller but it turned out being fairly large. We drove and drove before finally reaching Elvis Presley Street where we found Elvis' childhood home. It's tiny, maybe 12' by 20', a plain rectangular building with a small front porch. We were too late to visit inside but no matter, we did a walkabout and read signs featuring testimonials from the King's boyhood friends and teachers. One anecdote relates how Elvis desperately wanted either a gun or a bicycle for his birthday one year, but thinking they were too dangerous his mother Gladys dropped $7.95 on a guitar instead. “You just take that home with you and learn to play it,†she told her disappointed son, “You might be famous one day.†Talk about return on investment.

The day had gotten pretty short so we pulled onto the pretty Natchez Trace Parkway and an hour later crossed the border into Alabama. A little further on we got a cheap motel on the outskirts of Muscle Shoals and went out for a delicious country meal of chicken-fried steak with cornbread.

It was a lot of driving and another big day. We're falling a bit behind schedule and might have to do a little rewrite of the next few days but no matter. This is a big country with too much to see, and we'll be back.

[Hartamophone]

This might be your best work yet, friend. Loving the pictures, and it seems appropriate that you visited grave sites and boarded up shacks on such a bleak looking day.

[jaybone]

Keep'em coming Velvet!

This is some entertaining reading.

[Freak By Night]

Good stuff Velvet. Like everyone around here, I really enjoy reading of your travels.

I thought you were on a rock & roll history tour, but it really is a breakfast tour, isn't it?