Looking forward to travelling to Memphis and New Orleans, a trip planned some months before, here I was in Widnes for a pre-holiday date with my daughter Carly and family. The idea being that I could leave my car here and son-in-law Nick would drop me off at Manchester Airport early in the morning on the way to his office.
The night before this adventure would begin, plans were thrown into disarray when Carly was taken ill, vomiting and really unwell. Problem was, Carly was due to take Ruby aged three to Nursery in the morning, along with three week old Rose in the pram, allowing Nick to get off to work early and drop me off at the same time. Because the fear of Carly’s illness being contagious, especially to Rose, Nick had no option but to delay his departure to work and take over responsibility. Meaning I was left in limbo and Plan B had to be sorted.
Obviously I had my car and said I would just drive to the airport and see if I could get a parking slot. Nick quickly got in touch with the Day By Day service he uses regularly at Manchester Airport and all was sorted. They would meet me at Terminal 2, take my car and redeliver it a week later. Fine. Or so I thought….
Informed to get in touch with Day By Day around fifteen minutes before arrival, so the change over would be swift. I pulled over on the slip road off the M56.
‘Hello, Mr Smith here..’
A voice replied..’Hello, can you speak up.. I cant understand what you are saying..’
This was a good start, the non conversation lasted a couple of minutes before I gave up. I drove on to where I hoped there might be a better signal and tried again. Still no good!
Exasperated, I carried on and before I knew it found myself at Terminal 2.
I phoned yet again. Thankfully, I managed to find someone who could hear me!
They didn’t have a clue who I was! I explained the situation.. ‘Nick my son in law, spoke to one of your guys last night.. Daniel? or something? etc etc.’
‘We don’t have anything down here..’
I was getting more wound up by the second..one eye open for a Jobsworth to come along and tell me to move!
Eventually, whoever I was speaking to, understood who Nick Irving was, and told me that someone would be there in five minutes.
Not an auspicious start to the holiday.
This was only my second trip to America and I was feeling a bit apprehensive with having to change flights at Atlanta, ‘the busiest and biggest airport in the world’ Nick had enlightened me.
‘What if the flight was delayed? Is there enough time between my connecting Delta Airlines flight to Memphis?’ These thoughts were going through my head, but I needn’t have worried. Everything went smoother than I envisaged.
The flight on Virgin Airways was comfortable, excellent in fact. Getting through passport control at Atlanta was a nightmare. You can understand the security fears that is prevalent in America but it does appear to border on paranoia. Having queued for an hour I was finally admitted and able to negotiate my way through to my connection terminal. I asked an airport official standing by a Departures Board for directions; “Down the elevator, get the train and get off at the third stop for Gate 36C” she informed me. Well that seemed easy enough. I located the gate and went for a beer, sent off a couple of Whats apps and chilled. It passed a good half hour of the hour I had to fill. Still, there was something nagging me and I decided to make my way back to Gate 36C and double check I was in the right place I was dumbstruck when the woman in control told me I should be at Gate B25! I had twenty minutes to go! I dashed back to the train, up an elevator and hurriedly rushed around to find where I should have been in the first place, heart racing! I just made it!
At long last I was on the final leg of the journey, it was only a 55 minute flight to Memphis and I sat down relieved. A stewardess asked me if everything was ok and on hearing my accent immediately enquired; “You from Scotland?”
Blimey I thought, everywhere I go…
Turns out her parents were from Glasgow..amazing..
*
The Sheraton Hotel is located quite near the centre of Memphis, a taxi cost me 30 dollars. I checked in, found my room, had a shower and settled for a quick look around the locality before heading back for a beer. The temperature was 88o!
First thing that surprised me, apart from the temperature, was the barman in the hotel asking me for ID. What? I showed him my bus pass. He served me! Weird!
Relaxing quietly on a couch, ‘people watching’, a loud group were straddled around a table debating the Rounders, Baseball to us Brits, that was on the TV behind the bar, my thoughts were interrupted when the barman walked past; “Need any help sir?” he asked without pausing.
Before I had a chance to look up and reply “I’m fine thank you”, he’d gone! Ah well..
Ten minutes later, a barmaid came walking by, she too looked at me for a second and asked; “Need any help sir?”
‘Do I look lost? Sad? Lonely?’ I thought to myself. I went to say “No, I’m just knackered!” but she too didn’t hang around! Walking on before I could open my mouth!
It tickled me, the film The Graduate came to mind. The scene of the Graduation Party with Benjamin (Dustin Hoffman) the centre of attention and his parents’ friends all inebriated and showing fake concern about his future, asking banal questions and moving on before Ben could answer. Nobody showing any genuine interest whatsoever as he stood there with glass in hand, open-mouthed.
Before retiring for the night I had a quick perusal of the hotel and found myself outside a Conference Room where a party was in full swing for a carpet company. I poked my head in. A big black doorman informed me the party was private, but then surprisingly told me; ‘you can go in if you want sir’. Everyone calls you ‘sir’ over here! Karaoke was the entertainment. ‘Come in and give us a song’ the doorman said with a big smile. I laughed, thought about it for a mini-second but declined. Funny end to a long day.
Memphis had the dubious and unenviable reputation as the murder capital of America in the 20th century. Made me wonder if this was the reason why the people seemed so friendly over here now. As if they were trying their damnedest to shed the awful image bestowed on them. It did seem a tad over the top at times. Thing is, it did all sound genuine. As I pondered this my mind went to the people working the tills at Asda, Corby where they habitually ask “had a good day sir?’, “anything exciting on today?” and other inanities which just sounds corny, and downright irritating. Obviously a bi-product of Asda’s parent American company Wallmart I figured.
The Sheraton is situated just around the corner from the the Hernando de Soto Bridge which carries Interstate 40 across the Mississippi River between West Memphis, Arkansas, and Memphis. Wikipedia tells us; ‘The bridge is named after 16th century Spanish explorer Hernando de Soto who explored this stretch of the Mississippi River and died south of Memphis. His body believed to have been buried in the river after his death…’
Moving on I found myself at the back of the Peabody Hotel, arguably the most famous in Memphis. Famous for its daily routine of ducks coming down in a lift to entertain the residents. Well, it’s a nice gimmick I guess!
What I didn’t realise was that inside the hotel was yet another famous landmark, Lansky’s Clothing Department. Where Elvis Presley bought his attire and wedding gear.
A very nice shop assistant called Anita asked me if I was after anything particular. I bought a T-shirt with Memphis, Home of the Blues emblazoned across it. On hearing my foreign accent she was obviously intrigued and asked me where I came from and introduced me to her co-worker Hal who was apparently famous for being interviewed by Joanna Lumley for the documentary aired on TV in 2015. Hal seemed quite pleased with himself too. Asking me what I did for a living, I told him I was a retired Mailman. “That’s what you call them over here isn’t it?” I grinned.
“Ah! a postman you call them in England? Did you deliver to anywhere famous? Buck House? Downing Street?”
As if. Wasn’t sure if he was taking the piss but he was obviously having a laugh. I could imagine him coming out with that bullshit to every visiting Royal Mail worker that happened to pass through here. Whatever, I went along with it.
“Nah” I said, “just around housing estates and industrial areas, nothing exciting”.
“Houses? Did you ever have any trouble with dogs?”
Right, he had heard the tales about dogs attacking postmen in Britain, always amusing for some reason to those who’ve never had the pleasure.
On such occasions I find myself dredging up the story of when a German Shepherd attacked me and I floored it with a brick. That amused him greatly. Never fails that one.
Laughing out loud he yelled; “Ah! the dog learned a lesson, don’t mess with the mailman!”
Anita asked me where I was heading first on my sight-seeing tour; “Sun Studios” I said.
“Just outside at the front of the hotel is Union Street, you can walk there, it’s about a mile or more but it will be hot work walking in this heat” she informed me.
Time was on my side, the Studio didn’t open until 10am, it was 9.45 and so I set off on the hike. Walking is a good way to see different places and take things in rather than sitting inside a cab. It took me a good half hour, the sweat was sticking to me. Then, there it was. The most famous Recording Studio in the world. Where Elvis Presley was discovered by Sun’s Record Producer Sam Phillips. I had waited all my life for this moment. To be standing here where Elvis, Carl Perkins, Johnny Cash, Howlin’ Wolf and all those other fantastic rock and roll, country and blues artists recorded their early hit records. I felt as if I had arrived at the Wailing Wall or something, a pilgrimage.
A tour of the studio started at 10.30, a guide, a young girl full of wit and charm described everything you would wish to know, regaled us all with tales of how Elvis came into the building and recorded My Happiness for his mother in 1954. And the rest is history, as they say. Entertaining she was. When she played the original recording of My Happiness, a respectful silence enveloped the room. Everyone was feeling a sense of history, closing your eyes Elvis could have been there in front of you..an amazing feeling. Emotion welled up in the eyes. A magical moment. Standing in this very room where Elvis was clowning around with guitarist Scotty Moore and Double Bass player Bill Black, singing Thats All Right Mama and Sam Phillips asked what they were doing, and told them to play it again. Sam knew he had found gold.
After the girl had finished her work everyone was invited, if they wished, to have their photograph posing with the microphone Elvis used on those early sessions. You bet! I handed my iPad to a guy and asked if he would oblige. The photo came out better than I expected. Brilliant!
Next stop was Graceland, on a shuttle bus waiting for us which was handy. All part of the ticket I had bought beforehand of course.
Graceland, the second most visited house in America after the White House we are told, is quite a way out from the city. The shuttle took about half hour to get there. First stop was to show us the Heartbreak Hotel which was apparently built in the 1970s and is closing in 2016. The hotel stands on the opposite side of the street now called Elvis Presley Boulevard, First impression of this whole area was that it was tacky. They've cashed in big style on Elvis’s legacy and turned it into a huge theme park. Being an Elvis fan since the 1950s it was disappointing to see how they are milking every last ounce of the Elvis phenomena. Souvenir shops in abundance, selling everything you can imagine from shirts, trousers to pens, books and egg cups all emblazoned with Elvis’s picture, burger bars, eateries, a ticket hall that reminded me of a train station. Museums of Elvis’s cars and motorbikes, the private plane named after Elvis’s daughter Lisa Marie parked up. Queues everywhere to obtain tickets for every department and entry into Graceland itself. Inside the house, rooms were cordoned off, as was expected I suppose, but trailing along behind a long line of sight-seers, ushered along by officials who politely encourage you to keep moving didn’t make me feel as if I was welcome or visiting a place of historic and legendary status. And let’s be honest, viewing a kitchen, living room, bedroom etc. could be anyone’s house. So, Elvis sat in the chair, this is where he put the kettle on.. It sort of seemed appropriate that the piece de resistance would be the Memorial Garden round the back where the graves of Elvis and his family lie in peace. Sort of. Exit through the gate and the tour is complete. Thank you. Goodbye. And as you glance over to the street where you were dropped off on the shuttle, hordes more people and coaches galore are arriving.
I was glad to get away from there to be honest.
Back at the Sheraton I freshened up before embarking on my next port of call which was The Hi Tone Bar, a punk venue where Gareth played quite recently with his band The Victims. This was a fair way out as well and the taxi cost me another 20 bucks, as they say in America.
It was only around 6pm but the temperature was still high. It felt good standing outside looking at this somewhat dilapidated venue where my son had played. Behind the bar was a short tattooed lady passing the time of day with her friend, a black lady. Both of them were perhaps surprised to see me come in, a total stranger but they were very welcoming and friendly. Which was something I was becoming really more aware of all the time. ‘What would you like to drink sir?”
I asked her what did she recommend and she told me a Memphis Mermaid. That sounded interesting and indeed it was a lovely dark cool ale which went down a treat. They asked me where I was from etc, what I was doing over here. Of course, I told them that actually my son played here with his Swedish band The Victims some time before and he had asked me if it was possible to get some photographs.
“Really? Sure you can” the barmaid said, “there’s a room through the back and a bigger one through the doors on the side”.
Both rooms were dark, had their own bar, stage, American flags draped on the walls, punk slogans and pictures, grime. A dusty Pool Table pushed up against a wall in the smaller room. Dirty and scruffy it appeared, you could smell it but this was a genuine punk venue. A bit of a contrast to Graceland!
I’ve been to a few gigs with Gareth’s bands down the years, many are the same as the Hi Tone. So I knew what to expect. Rough and ready they may be but there’s a warmth about the venues and the people who inhabit them. As I was to find out when i returned to the bar and my pint.
Three other guys had turned up and a couple of women. They were playing there that night.
“Hi, Dale” he introduced himself shaking my hand. “Hi, Clive” I replied.
Dale was curious as to what I was doing there, as were they all! I felt like some sort of exhibit or something, they were firing questions at me, ‘what’s the weather like back in England?’ ‘How long you here for?’ ‘Where you from?’ Getting the preliminaries out of the way Dale told me he was a massive fan of the Kinks. “I liked the Beatles and the Stones but it was always Ray Davies and the Kinks for me!”
Well this conversation went on for quite a bit and then he insisted on buying me a drink. Really nice guy.
Sitting on the stool on my right was a guy who introduced himself as Bo who proceeded to tell me he was a film producer and worked in the industry. All the time the banter was going back and for across the bar with howls of laughter rendering the air. A couple of photographs for posterity and I bade farewell to my new found friends, ordered a taxi and returned to base. Mission accomplished.
It was getting late and I had eaten hardly anything all day. Walking down Main Street towards town a black gentleman hanging around a corner engaged me.
“Hi sir,” and before I knew it he was grabbing my hand to shake it, “I’m Harold, ex Marine”
That took me by surprise; why did he mention he was an ex marine? “Hi I’m Clive”.
“You looking for something to eat?”
“Yes as a matter of fact I am” and I had already spotted a restaurant across the road called the 83. He grabbed my arm. Instinct told me to put my other hand on my pocket where my wallet was.
He told me he could recommend a place around the corner. It was dark.
“No, thats alright mate,” I said, “I’m heading for the 83 over there”.
The guy stared at me. Then he got straight to the point.
“You got a dollar?”
Right, I got it. Not knowing if he was armed, you never know do you? I gave him a dollar. He accepted it with a glare but I left him there and walked across the road. Strange experience.
The 83 was quite empty, a few couples sitting around the bar. The barmaid was a lady who looked around her middle 50s and had a voice that rasped.
“You eating sir?” she croaked.
She gave me the menu, I ordered a beer and told her; “I’ll have the salmon please”
“Good choice sir!” she said enthusiastically. Listening to her interact with customers opposite from me cracked me up. Every other term was “Right on”, “You got it!’ Cracked me up.
She then went on to tell me about the beans on my plate. “Black Eyed Peas. You know when I left home in my middle 20’s, my mom insisted that on every New Years Day she would send me a can of these things.” I grinned, she continued. “You know the thing was? She would phone me up on every New Years Day and I had to eat the beans while I was talking to her! It was like a superstition thing!”.
There you go!
Funny who you come across and what you hear when you’re out and about..
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