Ruminatin’

January 8, 2024 steveboilard1 Comment

Only a short drive along Route 82 from my hotel takes one to Alabama’s capital city. Montgomery (pop: 200,000) is far and away the largest city I’ve been to on this trip. Montgomery was, of course, ground zero for the Civil Rights movement in the 1950s and 1960s. Throughout the downtown you encounter murals, statues, commemorative plaques, and other installations marking aspects of Montgomery’s civil rights history.

Montgomery’s streets are filled with many dozens of such iconography of the Civil Rights movement. Clearly the city’s official attitudes have changed greatly since the 1950s. And yet, it’s also evident that the city has not fully reconciled its history. The dissonance is captured in the city’s “great seal,” which I spotted on one of the historical markers:

By way of background: For many years, the city seal included the “Cradle of the Confederacy” phrase, but not the reference to the Civil Rights Movement. The latter phrase was added in 2002, in an effort to take the sting out of what sounded like a paean to the confederacy. And yet, to me this seems to simply highlight the simultaneous existence of two conflicting mindsets: an embrace of Montgomery’s history as the capital of the Confederacy, and an embrace of its role in promoting the Civil Movement.

That contradiction becomes clearer as you walk up the street toward the Capitol building. There you can find a series of bronze reliefs depicting aspects of the slave trade and other mistreatment of African Americans. But you’ll also see a solemn statue of Confederate President Jefferson Davis, as well as a bronze star on the steps of the Capitol marking the spot where he took the oath of office.

*Jefferson Davis doing his Count Dracula impersonation.*

*“Placed by Sophie Bibb Chapter Daughters of the Confederacy on the spot where Jefferson Davis stood when inaugurated President of C.S.A. Feb. 16. 1861.”*

You’ll also see the empty spots where Confederate flags had flown until the Governor ordered their removal in 2015. But the bronze and limestone Confederate monument that those flags had surrounded still stands.

I certainly don’t presume to tell Montgomerians how to reconcile the various aspects of their history. But I would observe that there is a difference between acknowledging history and celebrating it.

OK, now that I’ve once and for all solved the cultural arguments over the Civil War, let’s move on…

Believe it or not, while in Montgomery I encountered my third Union Station on this trip. Montgomery’s Union Station was built in 1898 for the Louisville and Nashville Railroad. It was one of the country’s busier stations, serving 44 passenger trains from a dozen railroads during its peak. Over time, of course, rail travel diminished and the last train stopped at Union Station in 1979. Since then the station was converted to a visitor center and has been leased to various commercial clients. You’ll note that this structure has been magnificently preserved; the comparison to Texarkana’s crumbling structure is stark.

*Interior of waiting room–now an event space.*

*Aerial view of covered trainshed adjoining Union Station. (Photo taken from atop a parking structure.)*

Railroads were crucial to the development and survival of southern towns. That’s true for the rest of the country as well, of course. But it seems that railroad infrastructure is more prominent in the towns I’ve encountered on this trip than it is in California towns. Maybe that’s just because California has (sadly) been more aggressive in tearing out the obsolete railroad infrastructure and substituting new housing developments and business parks. Whatever the reason, scenes like the one below (from Eufaula, Alabama) seem common on this trip.

The Vicksburg and Brunswick Railroad built this passenger and freight depot in Eufaula, Alabama in 1872. It has not served passengers for over a century, and it’s now owned by the local Methodist Church for reasons that aren’t entirely clear.

*Note to taggers: PLEASE don’t mess with those historic advertisements!*

This leads to a third thought: I’ve given a lot of thought in this blog to the comparison of thriving and declining historic districts along various US highways, including of course Route 82. I’ve speculated about the influence of local universities, the re-routing of trains and highways (i.e., the Route 66 effect), and other possible factors. There’s also the chicken and egg question about needing funds to redevelop historic buildings, and needing redeveloped historic buildings in order to generate revenue. One thing does seem clear: some of the old towns have managed to successfully preserve and/or renovate their historic districts (let’s call them The Preservationists). Others have knocked down the old structures and replaced them with a Piggly Wiggly or a Dollar General (call them The Replacers). And still others, either due to a lack of will or a lack of funds, don’t do much of anything, and their buildings slowly decay. Call them the Porch-Sitters.

It’s not like any one approach is always the best. Circumstances and resources matter. But it should be clear that I especially appreciate those towns that have found a way to maintain aspects that make their town unique and that connect them with their history. I think the problem with the Replacers is they all end up looking alike, hosting the same Olive Gardens and Kohls and Home Depot and Bed Bath & Beyond.

I feel the sorriest for the Porch-Sitters. I think towns that slowly decay aren’t doing so because they don’t care. Rather, they’ve lost their major employers or their young people have moved away or the interstate siphoned off their drive-through traffic. They fall into a destructive cycle where the population and the infrastructure together age and eventually collapse.

Today I drove through the town of Union Springs, Georgia (pop: 3,300). It’s not a prosperous town; about 44 percent of the population is below the poverty line. The local economy sprung up from the cotton industry, but in the 20th century many of the cotton fields were converted to hunting preserves. Interestingly, the town has capitalized on that change by rebranding itself “The Bird Dog Field Trial Capitol [sic] of the World.” The town hosts annual field trials for hunting dogs every fall and spring, and it has erected monuments and murals celebrating that fact.

The town also restored its historic county courthouse and jail to the tune of about $2 million…

*The 1871 courthouse looks impressive…but it wasn’t open to the public, because the Barney Fife-like guard was taking a break.*

*The 1897 jail was partially restored and converted to a museum….but it was closed to visitors when I saw it.*

At the same time, however, most of the buildings along the commercial main street haven’t had a facelift in many years.

The one human being I saw on the street was a guard from the courthouse. He didn’t seem particularly interested in showing off his city to a (presumably rare) winter visitor. I’ll be interested to see how Union Springs fares over the next decade. I can’t quite tell whether the balance is tipping toward Preservation or Porch-Sitting.

About 40 miles further down Route 82 is the town of Eufaula (pop: 13,000). This town seems to be firmly in the Preservationist camp. Large, plantation-style homes line a section of US 82 as you come into town.

The core, historic business district, meanwhile, has a large number of shops, restaurants, cafes, professional services, and even a historic theater. I had lunch at a Mexican restaurant that was completely full of families and couples.

*The 1927 theater facade was recently “restored” (with the unfortunate addition of a garish, pixelated marquee). The interior is still being renovated.*

On a green, tree-lined strip in the middle of Main Street is what looks like a tombstone for a fish.

When the fish (a bass) was caught in 1973, the fisherman (Tom Mann) decided to keep it in an aquarium–sort of a half-ass catch-and-release, I suppose. Mann named the fish Leroy Brown (after the Jim Croce song) and taught him to jump through a hoop he held over the water. Leroy Brown became a town celebrity, and lived for seven years in that tank.

When Leroy Brown died in 1980, Mann held a funeral for him, and it’s said that over 500 mourners attended. The Governor of Alabama even declared it a day of mourning. I’m not making this up. For reasons too complicated to get into here (but not here), Leroy is not buried under this tombstone. But the town fondly recalls his memory.

And since we’re on a whimsical note: Today I had another opportunity to explore paranormal phenomena (after my failed Crossett Spook Light experiment). I learned of a place just a few miles off Route 82 in southwestern Georgia that’s been informally dubbed “Gravity Hill.” At first I thought it might be one of those roadside tourist traps like the Mystery Spot, but it’s actually just an unmarked, lonely stretch of narrow road in the countryside. Here’s how it works: After cresting a gently rolling hill, one drives down to the low point, just before the road begins to climb again. Stop your car here, put it into neutral, and let your foot off the brake. Gravity Hill is supposed to pull you backwards, uphill.

Although skeptical after the Crossett experience, I was willing to give it a whirl. So I cruised to the outskirts of the town of Fort Gaines on a narrow country road. I stopped my car at the low point, put the rental car in neutral, and released the brake. Nothing. I was about to declare this another fraud when I noticed that I was very slowly beginning to roll backwards, up the hill I’d just come down. The car gradually picked up speed until I was rolling uphill at maybe 10 mph. I repeated this several times, and it worked each time. I even recorded this video so you can judge for yourself:

I guarantee there’s no trick photography or anything like that going on. You’re seeing exactly what I saw. You may think it’s some kind of natural illusion or something like that, but I prefer not to think about it too hard.

I lost an hour due to a time zone change when I entered Georgia, so after my gravity experiment I decided to hunker down for the night in Albany, Georgia (pop: 69,000). Tomorrow I plan to reach the coastal terminus of US 82 in Brunswick.

Brew of the Day

I stopped in at the Mellow Mushroom, a pizza restaurant in Albany. It’s part of a multi-state collection of such restaurants, but each one is locally owned. And the company began in nearby Atlanta, so my guilt from eating at a chain restaurant was attenuated a bit.

As you might imagine, the “mellow mushroom” theme is expressed in the decor and menu in the form of psychedelic trips, Jimmy Hendrix, the 1960s, and general hippie-ness. The sculpture in front of the restaurant says it all:

Anyway, this place has a surprisingly large beer menu. So, along with my pepperoni-bacon-jalapeno pizza, I ordered a Stone Xocaveza imperial stout.

Now, San Diego-based Stone is a reliable brewery, with big, hop-forward beers. I especially like their Arrogant Bastard Ale. The Xocoveza looks inviting: the color is of a ruby-shot Coca Cola. It has no head to speak of, and in fact there’s little evidence even of carbonation. But none of this is fatal for a stout. And the nose is quite inviting–it smells of chocolate, maybe a hint of anise. Let’s see how it tastes…

(Sip. Gulp. Gag.)

This is quite possibly the worst Stone beer I’ve tasted. Flat as my feet. It’s like the half-finished glass of generic-brand root beer you put in the refrigerator and then forgot about. For a month.

Unlike a normal stout, this is not malty. And it’s not hoppy. In fact, it’s not really beer-y. The taste reminds me of meatloaf, somehow converted to liquid form.

But that’s a bit unfair…to meatloaf. I’m not a fan of meatloaf, but I acknowledge that it delivers a blend of different tastes. This beer, on the other hand, is one-dimensional. It lacks the complexity that one seeks in a good beer. What you taste on the front end is what you taste on the back end. And this tastes like back end.

And another thing–this is marketed as an “imperial stout.” In my book, the “imperial” part is supposed to signify a “big” beer, with an ABV that gets into the double digits. This, however, weighs in at a puny 8.1 percent. I suppose that might be about right for some people. But unless you wear a short-sleeved white shirt and place the title “Elder” before you last name, I think you’ll find the Xocoveza to lack the bite you’d expect from an imperial stout.

I give it one star. And that’s just because I like the color and the nose on this beer.

bridges · Cars · Road trips · trains

Into the Magnolia State

January 6, 2024 steveboilard1 Comment

This morning I left my motel in Greenville and resumed my eastward journey on US 82. After about 15 minutes I came to a familiar town: Leland, MS (pop: 3,900). I had come through Leland just last Spring, when I made my storied road trip along the Blues Highway (i.e., US Route 61). You’ll recall that The Blues Highway is a north-south route that roughly parallels the Mississippi River, and it intersects Route 82 in Leland. And as we learned in last year’s blog post, Leland is the birthplace of Muppets creator Jim Henson. Which seems pretty random.

Less random is the fact that the Mississippi Legislature named this stretch of US 82 after native son B.B. King.

About a third of the way across Mississippi I came to the town of Greenwood (not to be confused with Greenville, where I started today’s journey). Greenwood was established at the confluence of the Yalobusha River and the Tallahatchie River. Yes, that Tallahatchie River. The one into which Billie Joe MacAllister jumped, as described in Bobbie Gentry’s “Ode to Billie Joe.” That song references a “Tallahatchie Bridge,” but the bridge Gentry was supposedly thinking about was destroyed by vandals in 1972. A few years later, in 1976, Max Baer Jr (who you know as Jethro from The Beverly Hillbillies) made a movie version of Gentry’s song. The movie used another bridge in the Greenwood area, but this too was demolished in 1987.

We are left, therefore, with Greenwood’s Ashwood Bridge as a decent stand-in for the place where Billie Joe ended his life. This bridge was constructed while Gentry was living in Greenwood age 12, and it stands just a block from the school she attended. So it’s certainly plausible that it was in her mind when she wrote the lyrics.

*Certainly it would have served Billie Joe MacAllister’s purposes.*

Indeed, the good people of the Mississippi Country Music Trail have placed a marker at the Ashwood Bridge to commemorate Bobbie Gentry and her song. Appropriately, however, they stopped short of saying that this bridge and the one in the song are one and the same.

If you like, you can watch Bobbie Gentry perform the song here:

So, we got the blues, we got frog puppets, we got the Ode to Billie Joe…what else is this part of Mississippi known for? That’s right, it’s in the middle of the Bible Belt. Exhibit A can be seen on US 82 just outside of Greenwood. It’s a 120-foot-tall, 20-ton cross, complete with spotlights and surrounded by a set of speakers that perpetually play religious piano music. The cross was erected in 2021 by The Rev. Dr. Jim Phillips of North Greenwood Baptist Church.

Now, while that might look to you to be a one-of-a-kind project, take a look at what I encountered just 30 minutes further down US 82:

This one, however, dispenses with the piano music and instead displays a dozen tablets with scripture engraved on them.

I was unable to dig up anything about this second cross, other than it was erected in 2014 and it is 120 feet tall (just like the one in Greenwood). I also learned that evidently there are a number of other, identical crosses scattered around the state.

This second cross is on the outskirts of Winona (pop: 4,500). Like so many other towns from the 19th century, Winona sprung up around a railroad station (and not the other way around). In this case, the railroad was the Mississippi Central. The station and the town were established in 1860 and 1861, respectively. Winona’s rail service was discontinued by Amtrak in 1995, but the station still stands.

I had a particular reason for wanting to visit the depot: I had read a newspaper article touting a worthy restaurant named “The Tracks” that had opened in the depot in 2019. I found the depot easy enough, but the restaurant had evidently gone out of business.

*Winona’s forlorn depot, now stripped of trains and eateries.*

A passerby saw me looking in the windows and said “You’re scopin’ the place out because you want to open a restaurant here, huh?” I told him I was actually just looking to eat at a restaurant, not open one. He responded that the owner moved his restaurant to another location when the city started construction on a big clock tower across the street. I get the sense that the city was trying to improve the commercial attractiveness of the area, but it backfired when one of their few businesses got angry about the construction noise and dust. I grimly observed that a whole block of historic buildings across the street from the depot were all closed, and none seemed to be about to open any time soon.

*Wouldn’t this make a great historic business district?*

I asked my new friend if he had any suggestions for getting lunch. He directed me to a mobile barbecue rig that comes to the area on the first and third Saturday of each month. I thanked him. Then he asked me if the recommendation was worth a few bucks, “so as I could get a cup of hot coffee.” It was.

The mobile barbecue joint was a family affair set up in the parking lot of a State Farm office. The wife (or maybe the daughter) took my order from a trailer.

*A small but steady stream of patrons kept coming by while I waited for, and then ate, my food.*

Meanwhile, the husband (who calls himself “Grill Master Shawn”) and his friend (?) were working the barbecue.

While the cole slaw was forgettable, I have to admit that the pulled pork sandwich was one of the best I’ve eaten. So if you ever find yourself in Winona on the first or third Saturday of the month, check out the Grill Master!

On the way out of town I passed an old Ford dealership, which is in remarkably good shape. According to my research, it was built around 1920, making it one of the earliest buildings dedicated specifically to Ford. (Recall that the Model T had first come out just a dozen years earlier, in 1908.)

This dealership, owned by one E. K. Myrick., was Mississippi’s first Ford dealer.

At the end of today’s travels I came to the town of Starkville, Mississippi (pop: 25,000). Starkville is known for several things, not the least of which is Mississippi State University. In fact, you see the college mascot (a bulldog) everywhere.

*This one is a little weird, but it scores points for originality.*

But I have known about Starkville for a different reason, since I was a mere lad of 8 years old. That was the year my Dad let me buy a record album for the family stereo, and for reasons now unclear to me I selected the Johnny Cash at San Quentin live album. One of the songs on that album is “Starkville City Jail,” whose lyrics describe how Johnny Cash was arrested for picking flowers in the town in 1965. Or so he says. The full story is here. Anyway, the only thing I knew about Starkville until today was that it was where Johnny Cash got arrested for picking flowers.

Oh, and here’s the song:

Tomorrow I plan to take US 82 through the rest of Mississippi and into Alabama. But first, I need to leave you with the:

Brew of the Day

I got today’s BOTD at a restaurant called Georgia Blue in Starkville, MS. It’s an imperial IPA made by Southern Prohibition Brewing in Hattiesburg, MS. They call it “Crowd Control,” for reasons that I’m unable to divine.

As you can see, this beer is slightly cloudy and has a thick head. The mouthfeel is smooth and pleasing. This beer lacks the strong, bitter hoppiness of the California IPAs that I’m familiar with. As a result of all this, the beer is quite quaffable. In terms of taste, pineapple and citrus notes predominate. But the taste is somewhat one-dimensional. It lacks the complexity you’d want from an imperial IPA. The ABV clocks in at 8 percent. Overall, it’s a serviceable beer, but not worth driving to Mississippi for. I give it 3.5 stars out of five.

California history · Cars · churches · Road trips · trains · Yard art

The More Things Change…

August 23, 2023 steveboilard3 Comments

After getting my complimentary coffee and scone from the Niles Hotel this morning, I made a final circuit of Alturas looking for one final NCO structure. Apparently the old locomotive shops buildings are still around, but I could not find an address on the Interwebs. There was just this historic photo from the Modoc County Museum:

“Portrait of the old N.C. & O railroad shop in Alturas, Ca. Published by: The Journal of the Modoc County Historical Society in 1982.
Old N. C. & O Railroad Shop”

So I just cruised around the city, trying to hew to the rail line on the theory that railroad shops would be connected to the tracks somehow. Only two structures even remotely resembled the rightmost building in the historic photo, but I think they are not what I’m looking for. Here they are:

*The roof of the building in the back has the right pitch. Note the misspelling on the “uncollectables” sign.*

*This CalTrans facility looks like it could have been an old train shed…*

Anyone with information or even a hunch (I’m looking at you, Quasimodo) please let me know!

Around 9:30 am I left Alturas in defeat, and got back onto US 395 north. On my way to Lakeview, OR (which you will recall was the northern terminus of the NCO Railway), I passed a couple of noteworthy sites:

I spotted this Tin Man figure on the side of a house facing the road. Like the one I saw a month ago near Georgetown, CA, it brought a smile to my face. The owner came out of his house while I was taking the photo, and we had a nice chat. I think what this world needs is more Tin Men.

Finally I arrived in Lakeview, Oregon (pop: 2,500).

Just to the west of downtown I found the depot. It looked to be a happening place, with numerous cars parked in front.

*Note the rare AMC Marlin (?) on the right.*

But it turned out that these cars all belong to the depot’s owner. For unlike the other depots on this trip, this one is serving as a private residence. The owner’s name is Carmen, and she bought the depot from the second owner (after the railroad sold it). She appears to have changed little of the outside of the building. As for the interior, I can’t say. She steadfastly ignored my repeated hints that I’d like to see the inside.

*Carmen, managing her little Yardmaster.*

Interestingly, the tracks immediately behind the depot are still active. It seems there’s a short line railroad that ships goods between Lakeview and Alturas. The tracks are essentially unprotected, and run just a dozen or so feet from the depot’s back door. For a railfan, it sounds ideal. For anyone else, it sounds noisy and dangerous. But I am grateful to Carmen for preserving this piece of NCO history.

It was now finally time to fulfill the whole point of this trip: A return visit to Eagleville, CA. I said goodbye to Carmen and headed back down US 395 to Surprise Junction, then headed east on CA-299. After about an hour and a half I stopped in Cedarville (pop: 425) to get gas and lunch. Cedarville is only 17 miles from Eagleville, but the latter has almost no services, so I made use of the former.

While pumping gas I noticed numerous campers and RVs and VW buses lining up at the pumps. Almost all of them were carrying bicycles and other equipment, and the drivers and passengers all had fluorescent hair. “Burners,” muttered the gas station attendant. In response to my confused look, he explained that these folks were all going to the annual Burning Man event in the Black Rock desert. It struck me that, in their effort to be independent and iconoclastic, they all looked and behaved exactly the same way. That said, I did have to admire the work this guy put into his Burner Mobile.

About 20 minutes after I’d finished my pit stop in Cedarville, I was standing in Eagleville (pop: 45) for the first time in almost half a century.

The first thing I noticed was the general store, which was originally built in 1876. It’s gone out of business, and the owners seem to be trying their luck renting it out as a B&B. I think that might be a stretch. The 150-year-old exterior walls look largely unchanged from when I had last seen it.

Across from the general store was the old (1888) church I’d remembered. It looked almost exactly the same as my memory, though I read it underwent some restoration work in 2000. This time, though, the door was locked. Evidently they are less trusting than they once were. And who can blame them? I also read the church no longer holds regular worship services.

*A restored church that is no longer open for worship.*

I then went down the street to the street Aunt Alice’s family maintains three homes. The house where we’d spent Thanksgiving in the mid-1970s was still there, seemingly frozen in time. The South Warner Mountains still stand sentry over the town.

*Back of the house, just as I remembered it.*

Notably, I did not see one living soul in Eagleville. Maybe people stay indoors during the mid-day heat. But l it did feel a little unsettling. I guess some people prefer a quiet, isolated existence. Indeed, the gas station attendant in Cedarville told me he left Alturas to “escape the rat race.” He likes “how small this town of Cedarville is.”

But Cedarville is a metropolis compared to Eagleville. At least Cedarville has a gas station. Most of Eagleville’s erstwhile businesses are long closed. Like the Eagleville Garage.

I think I’d go crazy in a place like Eagleville. But I’m glad it exists, and I’m glad that some people make it their home. We all need to find the place that suits us. In addition, there’s also something reassuring about a memory from my past retaining some physical form.

After melancholy reflections such as these, I got back on the road and started to head home. Hundreds of “burners” shared the road with me as they made their way to the Black Rock desert, seeking to transform one of the country’s most desolate places into a teeming metropolis….if only for a week.

Mail Bag/Miscellany:

I neglected to mention in yesterday’s blog that Uncle Ed’s Dome of Foam includes information on the NGO and its depots. Here is the link.

See also some further input that Ed and others posted in the comments section of yesterday’s blog.

Finally, here’s Edward’s photo of Carmen’s “house,” back when it was serving a very different function.

“Arrival in Lakeview,” 1974. From Uncle Ed’s Dome of Foam.

Cars · Road trips

The Cross-Country Road Trip is 120 Years Old!

April 23, 2023 steveboilard6 Comments

Some of you (such as Alert Reader Detlef K.) have come across articles and news stories about the 120th anniversary of the cross-country automobile road trip. For those of you who haven’t, I am providing this link to a great story in “Big Think.” It was a big deal, as it took Horatio Jackson 63 days to make the trip along (mainly) dirt roads with a mechanic and a dog. It was a big deal at the time. Now, most of my coast-to-coast road trips have taken more like a week. (Once I did it in a little more than three days….but I was on the lam at the time…) But in 1903, 63 days was lightning fast, considering there were no gas stations, no AAA, no signage, and precious little pavement.

I’m seriously thinking of re-tracing Horatio’s route. Somebody talk me out of this…

Cars · Road trips · trains

I Got The Blues

March 30, 2023 steveboilard6 Comments

If I had it to do all over again (and my wife reminds me that, if I’m not careful, I just might receive that opportunity), I would seriously consider living in a small town in middle America. But I’d put a lot of conditions on it: It would have to be out of the snow belt and out of the humidity belt. It would have to have an interesting history linked, ideally, to railroads or mining or the Marathon Motor Car. And it would have to have successfully preserved a large number of historic structures in its downtown. And it would have to exude vitality. Oh, and there’d be no dogs and the gas prices would be low.

To a large extent I’ve found that city in Jackson, Tenn. It’s a little larger than my ideal, with a soulless sprawl of undistinguished national chain stores and fast food restaurants around the periphery. And there’s always something a little sinister in the air in these former Confederate strongholds. But the historic downtown is wonderful. It’s here that one finds the restored Greyhound depot I described yesterday. There’s a performing arts center in another restored, historic building, which appears to be well-utilized by the residents. As Jackson is the county seat of Madison County, there’s a historic courthouse. And today the temperature was 72 degrees.

This morning I got my coffee and a galette (I’d never heard of it either) at a place called Turntable Coffee Counter. It’s almost directly across the street from the Greyhound station, in a historic building that had once been a department store. It had been vacant for years when in 2018 Anthony Kirk renovated part of the space and created this coffee place. It’s decorated in mid-century modern, with (probably faux) Eames chairs and a very hipster vibe. Racks of vinyl albums are for sale along one wall, and abstract art hangs on the walls. As I enjoyed my coffee I watched a churn of customers coming through: lawyers from the courthouse, writers with their laptops, a young couple who were getting lattes after their pilates class. This is an active community gathering place. (See related article from the local paper here.)

Turntable Coffee neatly illustrates what I appreciate about towns like this: They’ve created a modern (retro) space while respecting the history and flavor of the town. It works, and it draws people in. There’s a vibrancy and positivity about the place. And it’s unique–not just another Starbucks. The barista told me that Turntable began in a shared “incubator” space down the street, and after a bit was able to move to its current space. A couple of other businesses from the incubator (a book store and a record store) soon followed to the same location. So they’re doing something right.

After coffee I took a walk around the downtown and saw more examples of well-maintained historic structures that added to Jackson’s very successful formula.

*Jackson’s Nashville, Chatanooga & St. Louis Railway depot.*

Of particular interest to me was the restored NC&St.L Railway depot. It was originally constructed in 1907, and after passenger trains stopped coming to town it was converted to a museum. Alas, when I arrived today the friendly woman inside told me the museum had moved and that the building was now a photography studio (among other uses). While I would have liked to have been able to spend some time in Jackson’s railroad museum, this is a good illustration of that same principle I was just describing: Jackson has wisely preserved its historic buildings, but rather than making them all into museums that the locals probably wouldn’t visit very often, they have repurposed them into vibrant, viable and useful public enterprises for which there is local demand.

At the same time, I did visit two wonderful museums in Jackson this morning. The first is Rusty’s TV and Movie Car Museum. Rusty Robinson has been collecting cars for over a quarter of a century and he has them on display here in Jackson. Rusty was the only other person at the museum this morning, and I appreciated the opportunity to wander among his collection. It’s worth nothing that the collection is a mix of vehicles that actually appeared on the screen, as well as some reproductions that Randy himself has manufactured

*Jake and Elwood’s “Blues Mobile.” (One of many cars used in that movie.)*

*Garth’s “Mirthmobile,” from Wayne’s World. (Original from the movie.)*

Delorean time machine from Back To the Future. (Not from the movie. But it’s a real Delorean, which is rare in its own right. Rusty and I had a long talk about the new John Delorean documentary on Netflix.)

*Herbie from the 2005 relaunch of the Love Bug franchise with Lindsay Lohan. (Actual car from the movie.)*

*Rusty himself, in front of The Green Hornet’s “Black Beauty.” (Not original from the movie; Rusty built it himself!)*

The other museum in Jackson I visited was the Southern Legends of Music at the Carnegie. It’s a very small museum inside an old library built in 1901. (Hence the “Carnegie” part. As you may know, Andrew Carnegie funded the construction of almost 1700 libraries around the country between the 1880s and the 1920s….like this one, below, that I saw on my Route 2 trip last year)

*Unrestored Carnegie library from 1917, in Malta, MT. I passed it on my Route 2 trip.*

Here is the Carnegie library in Jackson–fully restored and open to the public as a music museum:

It’s a wonderful museum, focused on western Tennessee’s music history. (By “western Tennessee” they mean mainly Jackson and Memphis). While small, the museum is stuffed to the gills with guitars, recording equipment, framed photos, harmonicas, stage outfits, awards, guitar picks, sheet music, handwritten lyrics, and tons of other stuff.

In the center of the main room is a large, octagonal skylight. It must have been an awesome place to spend an afternoon reading.

Speaking of which, the docent who helped me (Roger) told me he was drawn to work at this museum because as a kid he spent many, many hours in this library. Over the years, though, he’s learned much about western Tennessee’s music history, and he was able to convey an enthusiasm about the music that’s infectious. I’m starting to get why music is such a big deal to this area. It’s partly a shared language, partly a relieve valve for emotions, and partly storytelling. Notably, each region out here seems to put its own stamp on the music. In Nashville it’s country; here in Jackson it’s moving more to bluegrass. By the time you get to Memphis it’s blues. But there are intersections and overlap among these styles, and they all fall under an American Roots umbrella. It’s heartfelt and earnest and moving. In just a short time at this museum I got a better feel for why this music matters. And I was able to connect the through lines linking Elvis and Johnny Cash and Ray Charles and Roy Orbison and Jerry Lee Lewis and on and on….

*Docent Roger sharing stories about the music of western Tennessee.*

I was thoroughly enjoying my music history lesson but unfortunately I had to get back on the road to get to a haircut appointment at noon. I’m not making this up.

Before I’d left California I had learned about a quirky museum in Brownsville Tenn. that also served as a functioning barber shop. It’s only open by appointment during the week, so I called the owner (Anthony Turner) and asked if I could make a visit on Thursday. “For a haircut or for the museum?” he asked. I figured the right answer was “both.” I arrived at Anthony’s “Master Barber Shop Menagerie Museum” at the appointed time.

Anthony greeted me with a thousand-watt smile and took me to the building, which looked like a circus had exploded.

*A tiny fraction of the Menagerie Museum.*

I asked what it all meant, but Anthony directed me to a tiny room with a barber chair. For the next hour he cut my hair and told me his story. I can’t do justice to his whole spiel, but the basic outlines are as follows:

*I told Anthony just to do whatever he thought needed doing on my head. “All’s you need is a high fade.” And so it went.*

Anthony grew up here in Jackson, and after graduating he attended barber college. For reasons he doesn’t really understand, his fellow students and instructors kept bringing him various items (pieces of art, antiques, odds and ends). He opened his barber shop next to where his chum from public school, Billy Tripp, was building an enormous sculpture out of scrap metal. He felt there was a synergy between their two projects. In his shop Anthony displayed the various objects he’d received while at barber’s college. But he kept feeling he was supposed to have a bigger impact. He planned a grand opening, and for reasons not entirely clear, decided he’d invite Oprah Winfrey’s father (whom he’d never met) to MC the opening. He tracked down Mr. Winfrey, who accepted. The museum grew and grew, and more and more people brought him more stuff. Anthony was also always looking for specific additions that he would purchase, including this horse:

In a repeat of the Oprah’s dad trick, Anthony managed to get John Wayne’s grandson to show up for the unveiling of the horse, as he needed a “real cowboy” for that job.

Again I asked Anthony what the whole museum is all about; what unites everything? And he responded sincerely and convincingly that it was all united by positivity. Anthony is a man of faith, and believes that God has led him to do this project to make the world a more positive place. And if my hour with him is any indication, he’s doing a good job.

After my haircut Anthony had another customer to take care of, so I browsed his small museum and then checked out Billy Tripp’s sculpture in the back. Words cannot describe how enormous, complicated, and overwhelming the sculpture is. And pictures don’t do it justice, because it’s so large and contorted you just can’t get a full picture. But here are a few attempts:

Anthony tells me that Billy works on the sculpture almost every day, and that he plans to keep working on it until the day he dies. I suspect that Anthony takes the same approach with his museum.

Finally, freshly shorn, I was back on the road to Memphis. I had been in Memphis just last year on my Route 70 trip. While I was there I saw the outside of the building where Stax records made music history in the 1960s and 1970s. I have a fondness for Stax in part because my dad had Booker T. and the MG’s “Greatest Hits” album, and I thought it was the coolest thing in our household. (It actually was, considering that most of Mom and Dad’s other records were stuff like Motovani and Percy Faith.) I also saw Booker T give a talk in LA a few years ago, when he was promoting his autobiography. He’s a remarkable and articulate man. Booker T and Stax represent a magical time in music history, and they’re central to the so-called Memphis sound. Recall that earlier I mentioned how Jackson merged Nashville’s country into more of a bluegrass? Well, Stax merged bluegrass and blues with soul and R&B. In addition to the MGs, classic Stax acts included Issac Hayes, Otis Redding, Sam and Dave, Albert King, and various other acts that you’ve heard on the radio.

You’ve heard this before, but you might not have known the title.

Anyway, when I’d visited the Stax building (which is now a museum) last year it was closed, so I made a point to see it today. And I’m glad I did. It further deepened my appreciation for Blues/R&B and all its variants.

*Full disclosure: The original Stax building was razed in 1989, This museum was built on the same site, faithfully recreating the facade and the interior recording studio.*

*The Hammond organ that Booker T Jones used to record “Green Onions.”*

Since I’d been to Memphis just last year, Stax was my only stop this time. So afterwards I got back into the trusty Trailblazer and got onto Route 61– the Blues Highway!

I stopped for the night in Clarksdale, Mississippi. I had dinner at the estimable Ground Zero Blues Club (owned in part by Morgan Freeman).

I had some good BBQ (as it’s called in these parts) and enjoyed listening to some live blues. It was a perfect end to this day. It’s one thing to learn about music in museums, but there’s no substitute for hearing it performed live.

BREW OF THE DAY

I’ve noticed that most of these music venues have a pretty crappy selection of beers. The Ground Zero Blues Club is no exception; their most interesting beer was an IPA. So I decided instead to order a cocktail. How about an Old Fashioned? That’s pretty basic, right? The waitress (Mandy, who was being very patient with me) came back and told me the bartender couldn’t make me one because they’re “out of bitters.”

Ok, fine. How about just a Scotch then, served neat? Again Mandy consults with the bartender, and comes back with the sad news that they’re “out of Scotch.” Borrowing a line from Monty Python’s cheese shop sketch, in which a neighborhood cheese shop was out of even the most common cheeses, I spluttered “How can a bar be out of Scotch?! It’s one of the most basic staples for making cocktails!”

I settled for the “featured cocktail,” which is a “moonshine margarita.”

The Moonshine Margarita is essentially lots of margarita mix and some “moonshine” (i.e., distilled whiskey that hasn’t been aged in a barrel). Let me give you the pros and cons:

On the pro side, it contains alcohol, which goes well with a BBQ dinner at a blues club. But it’s cloyingly sweet, like sno-cone juice. And it’s the same color, as well. Of course, when all you have is hammer everything presents as a nail. So I ordered a second one.

First drink: 1 star out of five.

Second drink: 3 stars.