It’s been about 7 weeks since I got back from my road trip along the Blues Highway in the Mississippi Delta. I do think the trip left a bit of an imprint on me — just as I think travel does for all people. As regards this particular trip I feel like I’m more aware of the influence of the blues in much of the music I listen to, and I have a slightly better understanding of the cast of characters who have moved the art form along.
Enter John Lee Hooker. He was born in 1912 in Tutwiler, Mississippi, not far from Route 61 (the Blues Highway) which I drove on my road trip. John Lee Hooker was an incredibly influential Delta Blues artist, and his name kept turning up in the various blues museums I was visiting. He played an electric guitar like nobody’s business. And he popularized the song “One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer” long before George Thorogood made it popular all over again on his 1977 debut album.
“I said look man, come down here…”
And here’s something else about JLH: you saw him playing in the original Blues Brothers movie, as himself on the streets of Chicago in 1980. It’s worth watching that clip again, just to get into the mood:
I mention all this because the other day I literally stumbled upon John Lee Hooker’s resting place:
The man was an amazing musician, but his handwriting evidently sucked.
I had taken a ride to the Bay Area to visit with my old college roommate, Bruce. And, for reasons that still aren’t entirely clear, Bruce decided that we should visit The Chapel of the Chimes in Oakland. The COTC is a massive Moorish/Gothic columbarium that was designed by the famed architect Julia Morgan in 1928. (You’ll remember that Morgan designed Hearst Castle, among other iconic structures.) It would be easy to get lost in this place, with its multiple floors, twisting hallways, large airy rooms, and endless decoration. But it’s fascinating and over-the-top with its overwrought decoration.
Random doorway in the Chapel of the Chimes
Bruce trying to find his way out.
This photo stolen from the Internet gives a good sense of the Moorish decoration.
Anyway, to get back to John Lee Hooker: In his later years Hooker lived in California, with houses in Los Angeles and the Bay Area. He was inducted into the Blues Hall of Fame and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. He died in 2001 at age 88 (though there’s some dispute about his exact age; he was the son of a sharecropper in the early 20th century, and recordkeeping wasn’t that great at the time). He was in his house in Los Altos when he died, and evidently made the short journey to this final resting spot here in Oakland.
I’d urge you listen to a few songs by John Lee Hooker, and maybe even to visit the Chapel of the Chimes. And if you do, please help Bruce find his way out….
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…
I spent an hour this morning puttering around Hattiesburg a little longer. I really like this city. Two recurring themes really struck me:
First, how many cities call themselves Hub City?? I’d thought it was a quaint moniker for Clarksdale, with its Devils Crossroads and all that. But Hattiesburg also claims the nickname. A quick search of Wikipedia lists about a score of cities that refer to themselves as “Hub City,” so it’s not at all unique. But admittedly Hattiesburg has good cause: it’s strategically located, with numerous highways and freeways and historic railroad routes. Indeed, its 1910 railroad station is huge, suggesting that a large number of trains came through here in the day.
Front of the Hattiesburg station
The station was restored about 15 years ago, and today serves as an intermodal transportation hub (there’s that word again), including daily Amtrak service.
The Amtrak main line at the back of the station.
The second thing that struck me about Hattiesburg is that this city values the arts. Music (a recurring theme of this trip) is celebrated everywhere, such as this public art installation called “The Jook.”
The Jook is a collection of whimsical instruments that the public is invited to use to make their own music. They include a trash can bass, chimes and bells, a giant guitar, and a xylophone (of sorts).
The Jook’s name is a reference to Blind Roosevelt Graves and his Mississippi Jook Band, which recorded blues music in Hattiesburg in the 1920s and 1930s. Two of their 1936 songs–“Barbeque Bust” and “Dangerous Woman”–are considered by some to be the first rock&roll songs. Listen and decide for yourself:
It’s not exactly Chubby Checker, but I do sense some elements of early Rock&Roll.
Other evidence of Hattiesburg’s musical bona fides is Mississippi Music Inc., a musical instrument sales and repair service and music teaching academy that opened in Hattiesburg in 1946.
And then there’s the theater. I’ve come to the conclusion that one of the quickest, surest ways to measure a town’s cultural health is to see what they’ve done with their historic theater. Hattiesburg’s Saenger Theater was built in 1929 as a huge, thousand-seat silent movie theater, and it had an equally-impressive 778-pipe theater organ. The theater remained open for about 45 years, and closed in 1974. Along the way the organ (largely obsolete after the introduction of talkies) was sold off.
The city of Hattiesburg acquired the theater from Saenger, restored it, and (here’s the impressive part) managed to track down the original organ, purchased it, and put it back into the theater. The theater underwent a more extensive renovation in 2000, and today it serves as a major performing arts venue.
While I was exploring the downtown I was literally walking in the footsteps of a long-ago Hattiesburgian (?) named John Wesley Farley. Mr. Farley had once been enslaved, but eventually became a successful businessman in town. As a publicity stunt that I still don’t quite understand, he had bronze casts made of his size-14 feet. These were set into the sidewalk in front of a department store in 1903. The sidewalks were replaced in 1983, but the public works dept returned the footprints to their original location. Somehow that warms my heart.
Even bigger than my clodhoppers!
Another impressive story about Hattiesburg’s commitment to historic preservation is found at the old high school.
TheOld Hattiesburg High School.
Originally built in 1921, the original high school building closed in 1959. After being used as the school district’s administrative offices for a few years, it became an antiques mall–which is typically the last stop before the wrecking ball. However, in 2002, the local historical society acquired the property with the intention of renovating it. Then Hurricane Katrina hit in 2005, And if that weren’t enough, arsonists torched the place in 2007. Despite all this, a project was funded to restore the historic structure and convert the interior to senior apartments. I consider this another sign of a healthy city: addressing civic needs while preserving the town’s history.
Oh, and I just wanted to include this photo of True Light Missionary Baptist Church (a name which rivals “the Holy Ghost Big Bang Theory Pentecostal Fire and Brimstone Mission Temple Firework Stand“). Anyway, this huge, impressive structure was built in 1903 and renovated in 1990. I can only imagine what it must be like in there on a Sunday. They also run a childcare center and various other missions.
But what really delighted me (a phrase I seldom use) most about Hattiesburg was the “pocket art gallery” on a random alley behind a parking garage. At first I simply noticed what I thought were some tiny plastic figures that some child left on a water meter.
But then I saw more….
…and more…
…and more.
Soon, I realized the the alley was full of random, whimsical art installations.
What I found most notable was that these small, delicate installations were unmolested. So that’s another sign that Hattiesburg values the arts.
I hated to leave Hattiesburg–my new favorite city–but it was time to head south to the Big Easy. Along the way I stopped for gas in Slidell, Louisiana, which was the last stop before New Orleans. Like so many of these towns, Slidell (pop: 29,000) has a historic railroad station. This one, built in 1913, is still a functioning Amtrak station, but it also houses a popular restaurant and an art gallery. I’m starting to feel that the Deep South has something to teach the rest of us about preserving historic civic buildings.
The 1913 Slidell depot.
The station supposedly has a nice waiting room…but I didn’t arrive during the 2 hours and 5 minutes that it’s open each day. (C’mon, Amtrak! Do better!)
After getting gas and a coffee, I eased onto the 5-1/2 mile long causeway that crosses Lake Ponchartrain and drops you into New Orleans.
Lake Ponchartrain (viewed from downtown New Orleans).
New Orleans (pop: 380,000) is of course a historic, culturally-rich, music-infused city. It’s also almost as hard to navigate by car as San Francisco. My goal was to get to the New Orleans Jazz Museum, which required life-threatening maneuvers along the narrow streets, several illegal turns, and a 20-minute search for a parking spot. Alas, after all that, I found the door to the museum was locked. They’re closed on Monday. So I spent the afternoon walking around the French Quarter. It was actually a good way to end this trip. Music floated from every corner. There were street buskers, jazz combos playing in restaurants, stereos blaring from upstairs apartments, and a second line performance, to name a few. Heck, there was even a pair of obviously inebriated street beggars who decided to sing their appeal for funds (“Can you spare a buck?/We’re down on our luck.”)
The Jazz Cats.
Second line performance.
Wish I’d brought my sax.
There are lots of different types of music played here in New Orleans, but the city is best known for its jazz. It feels like the natural progression from the other musical styles I’ve encountered on this road trip: Country, bluegrass, soul, R&B, Memphis blues, delta blues, and so on. I’m no expert on any of this music, but I can understand how they’re related–how they grow out of a uniquely American experience. I intend to expand my listening when I get home, following up on some of the styles and artists that I’ve encountered.
So that’s it for the trip. As always, I’m thankful for all the people I encountered along the way who’ve patiently explained their cities to me, taken me on tours, cooked food for me, served me drinks, and even cut my hair. I really love the people of this country.
I’m at the Airport Hilton getting ready to fly home on an early morning flight. But there’s one thing left, and that’s the…
BREW OF THE DAY
While wandering around the French Quarter I paid a visit to the Crescent City Brewhouse. They have a good selection of beers, all of which they brew themselves. I asked my server what he recommended, and he told me his favorite hands down was the “Weizenboch.” So that’s what I had–living on the edge.
This is a German style beer (as should be obvious from the name). The appearance screams the opposite of a Sleepy Hollow beer (i.e., it has a very prominent head). All that foam ensures an attractive presentation and it makes the first few sips especially enjoyable. The appearance is very cloudy, with a golden tan color. At only 6 percent ABV, it’s well suited for a mid-afternoon drink.
Ichabod Crane wouldn’t recognize it.
The taste is incredibly yeasty–like sourdough starter. Notes of banana peel and clove are prominent. Maybe a tiny bit of lemon? It’s not too hoppy (unlike some of the English styles I normally drink). Overall this is a very drinkable, approachable beer. It gets a solid 4 stars. Heck, I’m feeling good at the end of this trip; let’s give it a 4.5.
One of my favorite songs is “Don’t Think About Her When You’re Trying To Drive,” recorded by Little Village on their first and only album in 1991. Little Village was a collaboration of four established musicians: John Hiatt, Ry Cooder, Nick Lowe, and Jim Keltner. Their musical style was heavily blues-influenced, and the group’s name is a reference to a famous foul-mouthed diatribe by Sonny Boy Williamson, whose name keeps showing up at the blues museums I’ve been visiting.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking about that song because one of its lines is “Driving out of Natchez/You drive her back and forth across your mind.” And the reason I’m thinking about that is because I’m driving into Natchez.
Anyway, here’s the song, if you’re interested: (the song starts at 8:40)
With that out of the way, let’s turn to today’s trip, whose theme is “southern ruins.”
On my way out of Vicksburg I passed these ruins within sigh of the Mississippi:
The background on this place is a little sketchy, but it seems that Margaret Rogers, who was born in the area in 1906, ran a general store on this site for many years. It’s said that throughout the 1960s and 1970s it was the only store along Route 61 that was run by an African American woman. In the late 1970s Margaret’s husband was shot and killed in a robbery. A few years later Martha met Rev. H.D. “Preacher” Dennis, who promised to build her “a castle to our love” if she would marry him. She accepted and for the many years Preacher Dennis spent each day working on this structure.
Preacher Dennis, Margaret, and their “castle.”
Margaret died in 2009 and Preacher Dennis died in 2012 (age 96). The structure has been deteriorating ever since. Many locals consider it to be a good example of folk art and there’s a group actively raising funds to restore the structure. They’ve set up a gofundme page. I’m going to make a small contribution when I get to a secure internet connection.
Continuing my way out of town I stopped at the historic Cedar Hill Cemetery which contains the mortal remains of a camel that was buried with military honors.
Here’s the story of the Confederate camel:
In the 1850s the War Department experimented with a “Camel Corps,” employing camels as pack animals in the arid southwest regions of the continent. The US Secretary of War at the time was one Jefferson Davis. Davis of course would become the president of the Confederacy a few years later, and so it’s not surprising that his armies would try using camels as pack animals in the Civil War. Old Douglas was a much-loved member of the 43rd infantry, but he was shot and killed by a Union sharpshooter.
The back of Old Douglas’ headstone is full of bad news.
As a footnote, attentive readers will recall one of my earlier road trips where I visited the grave of Hi Jolly, one of main camel drivers of the US Army’s Camel Corps.
Hi Jolly’s tomb in Quartzite, AZ. (Photo from my Route 60 Blog, 2019)
Quartzite really ran with the camel theme. (Photo from my Route 60 blog, 2019.)
Anyway, back to today’s drive. After leaving the cemetery I got back on US Route 61, heading south to Natchez. Along the way I stopped at a decimated city named Port Gibson (1,500). For the first half of the 20th century Port Gibson was the home base of an influential, traveling minstrel show called the Rabbits Foot Company. It’s been credited with influencing and advancing blues music in the Delta. There’s a placard to this effect on the site of the old Rabbits Foot offices.
The town’s economy relied on labor-intensive agricultural jobs, which largely disappeared in the post-World War II era. Since then the population has been declining and poverty is pervasive. Today I was struck by a number of historic buildings that speak of a more prosperous time. Most have been simply abandoned.
Mississippi National Bank building, built in 1901. Currently vacant.
Rollins Funeral Home building, abandoned. Structure dates to 1899.
The Trace Theater, originally built in 1870 and remodeled in Art Deco style in 1940. It closed in 1968 and sat vacant for almost 50 years (!) The inside was refurbished in 2017 and it reopened as a night club. Sadly, it suffered a fire in 2020.
2011 (?) photo from Cinema Treasures website.
This is the interior of the Trace Theater today. I took this photo through the glass front doors. At least they’ve cleaned up the debris from the 2020 fire, and they appear to have installed a new set of doors on the front.
Port Gibson still has a few pockets of relative prosperity.
It was eerie walking among these vacant buildings on these empty streets. Eventually I got back in the car and continued down the Blues Highway. A few miles south of town the the highway intersects with the Natchez Trace Parkway. I recalled that my good friend Victor R had recommended I drive along that route if I had the opportunity.
The Natchez Trace runs from Nashville to Natchez, roughly following the Cumberland, Tennessee and Mississippi Rivers. It began as an ancient trail used by Indians (themselves following trails created by grazing and migrating animals. The general contours of the trace became more firmly established over time, and it eventually became a network of major trails used by traders, emigrants, and others. In 1938 President Roosevelt signed legislation that created the Natchez Trace Parkway, a paved road built by the Civilian Conservation Corps. This is what I drove on today (or the last 40 miles of it). It’s a verdant, gracefully-meandering, low-key road that is almost entirely devoid of signage, signals, intersections, and other signs of civilization. It’s just a narrow two-lane ribbon of asphalt cutting through the woods.
The Natchez Trace Parkway.
Of course, being out in nature has its drawbacks, as detailed on this “welcome” sign along the route:
It’s enough to make you stay in the car.
I did leave the car and risk being swarmed by fire ants and the other plagues a few times. First, I followed a side road to the “Windsor Ruins.” I had no idea what it was, but it seemed to fit within today’s theme of Southern ruins. A few miles later I was standing in a clearing from which rose an impressive display of 27 corinthian (?) columns. It used to be a plantation home, and a placard illustrated what the place used to look like:
The becolumned mansion was built in 1861 by a wealthy planter by the name of Daniell, who owned the Windsor cotton plantation. Unfortunately for him, he died just a few weeks after his home was finished. The mansion somehow survived the Civil War, but it burned to the ground in 1890. All that remains are these columns. When I arrived today, the ruins were surrounded by temporary fencing, as the state (which now owns the ruins) is working to stabilize them from damage by the elements.
Best laid plans of mice and men…
On my way back to the Natchez Trace I passed this 200-year-old Presbyterian church.
Bethel Presbyterian Church, built in 1842.
The church has been standing for over 180 years. A tornado in 143 (when the church was 101 years old) did major damage, notably tearing of its tall, pointed steeple. The church was rebuilt, but the steeple was omitted from the new design. Why tempt fate? Over the years the congregation dwindled, until it was no longer classified as an active church by the Presbyterian leadership.
But what’s this? An open door? I poked my head inside:
Looks like you could still hold a service in here.
Open Bible and full collection plate.
A little research informed me that the church can still be used as a chapel by whomever wants to to do. And a nearby church in Port Gibson (!) conducts a two services here each year, in the spring and the fall.
A final set of ruins I encountered on the way to Natchez was something called the Elizabeth Female Academy. Opening in 1818, it was Mississippi’s first higher education institution for women. For a short time, the faculty included a drawing instructor by the name of John James Audubon (yes, the Audubon). The academy closed in 1845 due to declining enrollment (linked to a shrinking population in the area). The building burned in the late 1870s, and these ruins were all that remained.
And you know what’s striking about all these ruins and abandoned buildings I saw today? I didn’t spot a single bit of graffiti. The elements are certainly taking their toll on the Delta’s history, but it seems that, by and large, the residents of the region either appreciate the value of these historical treasures…or maybe they just ignore them.
Finally I arrived at the end of the Natchez Trace, appropriately enough in the city of Natchez (pop: 14,500). The city, which for a short time had been the Mississippi state capital, reminds me of Vicksburg. Both are historic and seemingly prosperous towns located on the east bank of the Mississippi.
View of the Mississippi from downtown Natchez.
And, like Vickburg, Natchez seems to place value on its historic resources. For example, the 1915 Yazoo &Mississippi Valley Railway depot has been restored–at least on the outside. The inside is gutted, awaiting a tenant (like a restaurant) to lease it out.
The city hall building will have its hundredth birthday next year, and it looks great as well.
On the front lawn I noticed a small grave marker for “Tripod,” who was a feral, three-legged cat that showed up at City Hall in 1979 and never left. Literally. When he died four years later the city held a full memorial service and placed him under this marker.
Evidently Tripod was more beloved than some of the humans around City Hall. One of the city Aldermen–Hal Wilson–was allergic to cats and made a motion Tripod be banned from the building. The motion failed to get a second, and the Mayor then moved to have Wilson banned from the building. (That motion failed as well. But still.)
Speaking of graves, Natchez Cemetery had this unusual specimen:
Florence Irene Ford was only 10 years old when she died of yellow fever in 1871. The story goes that she always sought comfort from her mother during a storm. So when she died her parents had a staircase built into the ground of her grave so that her mother could descend to a specially outfitted window and comfort the spirit of her daughter during storms. That’s not creepy, is it?
There used to be a glass window with a view of the Florence’s coffin, but this was cemented over in the 1950s–long after Florence’s mother had herself died.
After leaving Natchez I departed from the Blues Highway and headed southeast to the city of Hattiesburg (pop: 49,000). Hattiesburg is on US route 49–which I’d encountered way back in Clarksdale. (Recall the possibly literally damned crossroads of Route 61 and Route 49 where Robert Johnson sold his soul to the Devil.) Highway 49 essentially forms the hypotenuse of the right triangle formed by my route (Highway 61 south to Highway 84 east).
Along the way to Hattiesburg I encountered two notable pieces of historic roadside kitch:
The Coffee Pot Inn was built in 1931 as the first drive-in restaurant in Brookhaven, MS.
Mammy’s Cupboard is a roadside restaurant that was built at the outskirts (ha!) of Natchez in 1940. It’s still open for lunch daily except Sundays. And today is Sunday, sadly.
Tonight I’m spending the night in Hattiesburg. Tomorrow it’s off to New Orleans!
Beer of the Day
I went into Natchez Brewing Company, where owners Lisa and Patrick Miller were working hard to handle the lunch crowd. I ordered a “Smorish Imperial Stout” and a calzone the size of a Frisbee.
I think “Smorish” is supposed to evoke s’mores. Indeed the description claims it’s got chocolate, graham cracker, and marshmallow notes.
I’m not so sure about all that. The malt has a seriously roasted taste, to the point of charring. It’s as if the marshmallow of your s’more caught on fire. I don’t taste much sweetness. The dominant taste is bitter dark chocolate and black coffee.
The mouthfeel isn’t that creamy, but it is smooth. It’s also what I call a Sleepy Hollow Beer (i.e., headless).
The ABV is 10.3 percent, which is pretty standard for an imperial stout. Overall, it’s quite drinkable, though the s’more reference is false advertising.
Well, this is it. I arrived in Vicksburg, and I fell in love with this city. It’s beautifully situated on the east bank of the Mississippi River, the architecture is classic and handsome, the weather is fabulous, and most of all the people are wonderful. I know it sounds sudden, but I’ve already enlisted a real estate agent and I called my wife and told her to book a ticket to fly out here and look at houses with me. So, this is the last stop of my road trip and thus my last blog post.
That’s just a lame April Fools Day joke, of course. But my praise for Vicksburg is completely genuine. Let me recount my day and I’m sure you’ll agree with me:
As I rolled into town I spotted a sign pointing to the “Old Depot Museum.” Naturally I turned in the direction of the arrow and was greeted with this sight:
The Old Depot Museum, on the banks of the mighty Mississippi.
Is that a beautiful railroad station or what? There were balloons in the parking lot which suggested that something special was going on, and across the street there was a line of restored, ancient tractors, some of which were spluttering to life. There were also some food trucks and tables with vendors of various sorts. A small band played blues songs. Evidently I’d come across a to-do, as they call such events in these here parts.
All became clear when I entered the museum and was charged a mere $3 entrance fee. “What a bargain!” I exclaimed. “It’s a special rate because today’s our thirtieth birthday,” explained the friendly young lady at the counter. “And not only that, but here’s a free civil war history book since you’re one of the first 30 visitors!” I was liking this, and I asked what other treats were in store for me. “Funny you should ask, because when you’re done touring the museum, you can get a slice of birthday cake!” Sadly, I had to turn down the cake because I’ve (foolishly) given up sweets for Lent. But I appreciated the thought.
Forbidden fruit.
But wait! There’s more! The kind young lady handed me a “Vicksburg passport,” and explained that if I got it stamped at any five of the listed venues, the Chamber of Commerce would give me a free T shirt. I’m a sucker for challenges like this, so guess how I spent the rest of the day?
My passport to a free T-shirt.
The Old Depot Museum itself was OK, but nothing to write home about. Despite being housed in the original 1904 Vicksburg depot of the Grand Rapids and Illinois RR, its railroad-related displays were limited mainly to just some model railroad layouts. The rest of the space was devoted to (admittedly impressive) models of various ships, several inevitable Civil War exhibits, and a head-scratching collection of model cars and Tonka trucks. (I subtracted points for the puzzling misspelling of Studebaker’s 1963 Avanti as “Avantio.”)
Raymond Loewy must be spinning in his grave.
One down, four to go before I got my free T-shirt. So I moseyed over to the “Lower Mississippi River Museum.” What I thought would be a helpful and engaging tutorial on The Blues Highway–or at least on the culture of the Mississippi Delta–turned out to be a shameless infomercial for the Army Corp of Engineers. Seriously: The introductory film started out with two minutes about the general history of the Mississippi Delta before it launched into soaring praise about how the Corps has done such a great job of flood control…despite the disastrous flood of 2011. The museum displays also consistently promoted the Corps, which, annoyingly, the signs kept reminding me was a trademarked name.
The one reasonably cool part of the museum was the Mississippi IV, a decommissioned transport and goodwill vessel of the Army Corps that I was able to walk through. The engine room was especially cool.
The Mississippi IV.
The Army Corps also built this cool scale model of the Mississippi River and surrounding wetlands that you can walk along and even trip into if you’re not careful. Ask me how I know.
Watch out for that little bridge in the foreground….
Right next to the model of the river is the real thing, with benches thoughtfully provided. I got some BBQ from a food truck and enjoyed my lunch while watching old man river just keep rollin’ along.
Muddy waters indeed.
Next up was the historic candy store where Coca Cola was first bottled. This really caught my attention. Alert readers will recall that I’d once visited the pharmacy in Atlanta where Coca Cola was invented in 1886. Eight years later a Vicksburg candy story owner named Joe Biedenharn came upon the bright idea of bottling the stuff ( because up to then you could only get it in a glass at a soda fountain). The rest is history.
This is Biedenharn’s actual candy store, still very much like it was about 130 years ago. You can still buy candy and Cokes (don’t ask for Pepsi products!), but most of the space is given over to displays of Coke memorabilia. I found the descriptions of the marketing side of Coke the most interesting. (But I was unable to find any acknowledgement about cocaine being an ingredient in the early formulations.)
Old-timey drug dealer.
Biedenharn’s early bottle-filling apparatus.
I next moved to the most informative of my stops in Vicksburg: The Old Courthouse Museum. This original courthouse was built in 1858–shortly before the Civil War and the siege of Vicksburg. It functioned as the Warren County Courthouse until 1939, when court functions were transferred to a new and larger building. After sitting abandoned for awhile and almost being torn down, this old building became a museum.
It’s an impressive, stately building with a commanding view of the city. The museum displays are focused largely on the Civil War, with an impressive array of uniforms, flags, weapons, documents, maps, and photographs. I found them to be engaging and entertaining…but some of them presented a perspective on slavery that I never learned in school.
“Good masters” indeed.
As to the siege of Vicksburg specifically, though, my heart goes out to the residents who suffered through it for 47 days. War is, as they say, hell. But the suffering of civilians is especially hard to swallow.
This merges perfectly with my next stop, which was the Vicksburg battlefield. It’s now a national military park, with a visitors center and a driving tour that takes you past the various Confederate fortifications, Union artillery batteries, and hundreds and hundreds of monuments which have been erected in subsequent years.
The ranger assured me that all the cannon in the park are original to the Civil War (though the wooden carriages are reproductions).
One of a zillion monuments in the park. This obelisk (!) honors Michigan’s soldiers.
When I arrived at the visitors center after driving around the park, I was just in time to witness the firing of one a Civil War cannon. Was this my day, or what??
Now, you may be wondering what all this Civil War stuff has to do with the blues, which had been the nominal focus of this trip. I think it has everything to do with the blues. Notwithstanding the perspective of the Old Courthouse museum, the Civil War was about slavery. And the legacy of slavery is inextricably linked to the blues. The effects of slavery lasted well beyond emancipation, and to some extent they exist even today. I see it as I drive along Route 61– large numbers of African Americans are here because their ancestors were brought here as slaves. And today, 150 years later, they overwhelming live in de facto segregated communities that are significantly poorer than the white communities. I’ve been a distinct minority on the Blues Highway ever since I left Jackson…until I arrived here in Vicksburg, where I’ve been surrounded by white tourists.
I don’t have any policy prescriptions. My only point is that the African American experience in the Delta is inextricably tied to the blues. That becomes painfully clear when these museums depict how Muddy Waters and Son House and Robert Johnson and so many others grew up in poverty, faced discrimination, sought strength in their faith, and channeled their pain into their music.
All that said, at this moment I’m sitting at the upstairs patio of Key City Brewing Company, listening to three white guys play the blues. I have to admit they’re pretty good.
Brew of the Day
The Key City Brewing Company, in the middle of the historic downtown, makes a very interesting range of brews, including red ales, oatmeal stouts, Czech dark lagers, pilsners, and saisons. (“Key City” is Vicksburg’s nickname. It comes from a quote from none other than Abraham “Abe” Lincoln, who said ““Vicksburg is the key! The war can never be brought to a close until that key is in our pocket.”)
I tried Key City’s imperial “Saison d’Amour,” which is made with cabernet franc grapes. It has that slightly fruity, sweet-‘n’-sour taste that one associates with a saison, but unlike most saisons, this one clocks in at 10.3% ABV. Despite the high octane, it’s brisk and refreshing. However, the mouthfeel is a little thin, a little watery. As a small compensation, it’s quite carbonated.
Key City’s Saison.
This beer has almost no nose (something that can’t be said for me) and the flavor profile reminds me of Old English furniture polish. OK, that’s probably unfair…to the furniture polish. Seriously, though, have you ever taken a wine bottle out of the recycling bin and smelled it? That’s what this saison reminds me of.
So maybe I’m just not a huge fan of saisons. The only one I’ve really ever liked was the one that I and my good friend Scott Smith made for Christmas a few years back. So I’m giving this beer 2 stars.
With the intention of erasing the Saison from my memory, I ordered a chaser in the form of the “Nightmare Imperial Stout.” Yes, yes, I know–it seems that the BOTD is always an imperial stout. But if you don’t like it, start your own blog.
The Nightmare Imperial Stout lives up to its name. It’s dark and somewhat unsettling. The ABV is 10.3, which means this will be my last beer tonight. There’s definitely some roastiness on the malt, and there’s very little carbonation to balance the heaviness. It’s quite sweet, tasting of off-brand chocolate Easter eggs. I think it would benefit from a bit more hops, just to balance the heavy malt. It also could use some of the coffee notes that are associated with successful imperial stouts. Overall, it’s a good concept with a weak execution. Three stars.
At this point I need to thank my server, Alexia, for being patient with me as I questioned her about the different brews and asked her to bring me a number of “tastes.” Thanks, Alexia!
Chasing Phantoms 