Red’s Juke Joint. Photo by Malcolm Logan, found on Google Images.
Here is part II of Dick “The Poet” Lourie’s adventures at the Sunflower Blues Festival in Clarksdale, Miss. We hope you enjoy it!
Day Three, Thursday August 7th
Can I really have been here only three days following my late Monday arrival? Breakfast at the motel, after my daily trip to Delta Donut. Then I spend some office time in my room with this journal. Off to Lee and Heather’s tiny apartment for rehearsal with a singer we’ve been hired to accompany for one Ground Zero set on Saturday. They live on Issaquena Street, right downtown. On one side of their place: the state-of-the-art recording studio operated by Gary and Carol Vincent; on the other side, at the corner of Issaquena and Third Street, the old drugstore has closed (don’t worry, there are a number of others around Clarksdale)—In its place, behold a “vintage” ice cream shop called Holy Moly, owned by an Australian couple. Why do Australians flock to Clarksdale? Stay tuned—but I don’t know if I’ll ever figure that out.
As it is now Thursday before the Festival, I can feel the town starting to fill up with people. And the pace of my own schedule begins its upward spiral. I’m packing up my sax quickly after this rehearsal and heading off to my 4.30 coffee meeting with old friend Arnie Himelstein, another Clarksdale native and partner in a downtown accounting firm, and his wife Gloria, a retired third grade teacher. Arnie and Gloria are friends from what might be called the other Clarksdale world, the one that is not involved with blues. We meet at Yazoo Pass—not a geographic feature but a relatively new local sandwich shop/coffee house. It was started a few years ago by one of Clarksdale’s shrewdest and most successful business people, Kinchen “Bubba” O’Keefe, who also owns the old hotel and the old movie theater, both of which will probably find new life through some of his—I hesitate to use the word, but I think it’s warranted—some of his visionary ideas.
I stop by the offices of the Clarksdale Press Register to pick up several copies of tomorrow’s paper, where the article about Jack appears (including my interview), along with my poem “Authentic,” dedicated to Jack. Back to the motel to pack up whatever Ill need if I decide to go sit in somewhere tonight. Then a visit with Angenette Johnson, who was married to Big Jack for 49 years—cut short when needs to drive out of town to see Jackie, her oldest child (there are ten in total).
This is definitely getting to ramp-up time. I spend an hour with dinner and chatting at the if-you-choose-to-pay-for-it VIP Tent on the Festival grounds (thanks to Mayor Bill Luckett’s gift of a ticket for me). This is the only feature of the free Festival that anyone has to pay for, so it’s important as far as being able to keep the whole event going. Then a relatively short stop at Red’s just to congratulate Otis “TCB” Taylor, who is celebrating a CD release party here. He’s a fine blues performer, and also a Clarksdale police officer. I decide on a conservative path tonight, no sitting anyplace: Home to the Comfort Inn and in bed by 11, fully aware that I won’t be getting much sleep starting tomorrow.
Day Four, Friday the 8th
I’m up after almost enough sleep, and in time for motel breakfast (which means before nine). As usual, the Comfort Inn breakfast room is, to paraphrase my old professor RP Blackmur (who was actually referring to the dictionary), “a palace of saltatory heuristics.” And—showing off a bit more—to quote Damon Runyon, “You Could Look It Up.” Where was I? Oh yes, the Comfort Inn breakfast room. Scrambled eggs, sausage, bacon, cold cereal, waffles, coffee, tea, French toast, pastry. Overseen by Yvondel, a terrific warm thoughtful Clarksdale grandma. What I mean about the saltatory etc. is how you meet people and hang out. Today it’s Roland, Kent, and John: three lawyers from Oklahoma. Sounds like the first line of a joke. Great guys, about my age, who have been coming to Sunflower for at least ten years. A couple of years ago John bought my book of poems about Clarksdale, If the Delta Was the Sea. Now we have a long chat about Clarksdale, Oklahoma, Boston, and so on. Nice guys. Next—probably 10:00 by now, unusually late for me to be off on my daily journeys—I head downtown. Surprisingly, Delta Donut is still open. OK, another Bavarian. I leave some free poem handouts (more on that as well, later) at the Delta Blues Museum, and visit with Sarah Crisler Ruskey, director of the public library, an old friend, married to an even older friend, John Ruskey—painter, writer, musician, Renaissance man, who takes people out on the Mississippi in the huge canoes he builds at the Quapaw Canoe Company. Besides directing the library, Sarah is a PhD in French, a long-distance runner, and creator with John of eight-year-old Emma. Before they needed more space for the kid, they had a bed and breakfast for a few years in their Catalpa Street house, which is rumored, I stress, probably not credibly, to be the home of the woman with the collection of tiny animals that inspired Tennessee Williams’ The Glass Menagerie. Tom “Tennessee” Williams spent happy childhood summers in Clarksdale, where his grandfather was an Episcopal priest. Check out Clarksdale’s annual October Tennessee Williams Festival. But I digress.
Back to the motel for rest and preparation. Horn, accessories, grab a sandwich, and it’s time to get to Red’s for today’s unveiling of the “Mississippi Blues Trail” historic marker honoring Big Jack. This is a big, big deal. Speeches by Mayor Bill, friends—including Red—and Jack’s wife Angenette. I decide to read the poem from my book that’s dedicated to Jack. It’s a good decision.
Now I’m off to Ground Zero (other side of the tracks, as I mentioned before). There’s a 6pm set to prepare for with the Sweetones. I always feel relaxed backstage here—a real “green room” where we can just hang out. I’m there pretty early, as usual, and by the time we get on stage I’ve pretty much rested from the long day. We’re playing one set just for tips, and there’s a pretty small audience, so I won’t discuss my profits from the gig. It’s always amazing to me to be with this group. It’s primarily Lee’s drumming, I think, that makes me feel, as I mentioned before, like I’m levitating. And when I look out over the crowd, there’s Arnie and Gloria Himelstein. Of course I’m really pleased to see them here, and when I’m done playing, I can sit down for a chat.
What’s next? Friday night at Red’s, my home in Clarksdale, with Anthony “Big A” Sherrod and the Cornlickers. There’s a lot to say here—but since the event will stretch well into morning, I’m going to cheat a little and start off the Saturday bulletin with this truly amazing evening.
As I write, it’s Monday and so I’m packing up and getting ready to drive to the airport. Rainy outside. I’m just about ready. The next installment will be an example of emotion recollected in tranquility. I wish I’d said that. ~The Poet
