Memphis Blues

I was in Memphis and no visit there is complete without hitting Beale Street, visiting Graceland, spending more than a few hours at the Civil Rights Museum, and seeing Sun Studios. I was within walking distance of Beale Street and the Civil Rights Museum, but a long way from the Home of the King and Sun Studios. I snooped around a bit and discovered that it would actually be cheaper (and certainly easier) to take one of the pre-packaged van tours that would cover both, so signed up for a trip the next day.

The van showed up, made a couple more stops to pick up some other folk and off we headed, all the while Paul Simon's tune playing in my head:

I'm going to Graceland,
Graceland,
in Memphis Tennessee
I'm going to Graceland,

The day was great. I really enjoyed seeing Graceland (stuning how small it really is) and later standing on the exact spot at Sun Studios upon which Elvis got his break. The day was a good reminder of how hard work, persistence, and a bucketful of luck go together to make success, AND how it can all suddenly disappear. And then in a blink of an eye it time to head back.

That's when the day got funky ...

Seems that one of the vehicle's used by this company had broken down, so we were doubling up. Space was not a major issue, but geography was, as we now had passengers who were literally on opposite ends of town and Memphis ain't no small town. And it quickly became apparent that I was to be the last one dropped off.

Patience is definitely not one of my virtues - just ask my daughter Carly who will tell you of the lecture about "chillin'" she once gave me when some clown cut me off in traffic and I went all Jerry Springer on him. But then make sure you ask her husband about her temperature in traffic ... the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, even if the apple doesn't want to admit it. So when I realized that the half-hour ride was going to be a two and one-half hour tour of "Motels in Memphis" I was not pleased.

But every now and then something clicks and we find The Zone. Atypically for me, I accepted the fact that there was nothing I could do about the situation, sat back, and enjoyed the scenery. I just chilled.

As we finally arrived at my motel, the driver asked me to wait. He made a call and then said to me "Look, you have really ben a great guy and we feel bad about the delay. How about we treat you to some real barbeque in the best Blues place in Memphis?"

To which I responded with typical wit: "Huh? You talkin' to me?"

"Man, most folks would have belly-ached the whole ride, but you smiled, helped old folks with their souvenirs, and didn't complain at all. We just want to do you right."

I honestly didn't think I deserved anything for just being a nice guy, but didn't want to appear rude so said, "OK."

"Here's the address; just show them your drivers license and it's on us."

Now, I am not a connoiseur of barbeque nor an educated music critic, so I don't know if this was really a great place or just his cousin's resturant, but a couple of hours later I showed some folks my drivers license, had a few beers, ate like a pig (actually I think I ate a pig), listened to some blues, and had a hankerin' to return to Memphis ... soon. It was a great night.

Mostly the reward for doing the right thing is just doing the right thing. But every now and then the Blue's ain't so bad ...