I’ve just returned from a trip on a paddlewheeler from Memphis to New Orleans. Given the fraught state of American politics right now, I wasn’t sure what I would encounter in the “Deep South” but assumed I would run into a phalanx of “Trump” supporters and signs. I almost certainly ran into Trump supporters but, as for signs, the only one I saw was in a window in Natchez, Mississippi. Aside from that, there was little if anything to show an election was happening.

Like most people who don’t live there, my views of “the South” were shaped by many myths, whether the horrors of slavery and racial discrimination, or the Disneyeque pictures of the genteel south encapsulated by “Gone With the Wind”, all nicely wrapped in the sorrow of its music. As it turned out, there was some truth to both pictures but it was a lot more complicated than the black and white images I brought with me.

Our starting point was Memphis, Tennessee although, because the Mississippi was so low, we had to be bussed south to a moorage in Mississippi. The two nights in Memphis were less than memorable, with one notable exception. Unfortunately, the cruise line decided to house us in the Graceland Guest House which is right across the street from Graceland but is a long distance from downtown Memphis. I learned that Graceland was the second most visited house in America after the White House although I did not add my number to that count. The most interesting/disturbing occurrence happened at the guest house. On my first night there, I was sound asleep and suddenly my room was filled with light from the enormous flat screen TV opposite the bed and, in the background, Elvis was singing “you ain’t nothing but a hound dog”. It was 1:45 a.m. I raised this with the desk the next morning. They said they hadn’t heard of it and made a note of it. I assumed it was looked after. The next night, this time at 3:45 a.m., the same thing happened although Elvis was singing something else. I left the next day for the cruise and, upon consulting my fellow cruisers, found many had the same experience. Weird.

Downtown Memphis looked interesting although the famous Beal Street during the day was mostly closed or deserted. What’s more, it was effectively only two blocks long and had the feel of a tourist trap. The one unreserved good thing about Memphis was our meal on the second night when we went to a restaurant called “Porch and Parlour” and had an outstanding meal. It was also New York prices.

Our first stop after Memphis was Cleveland. When I heard we were stopping in Cleveland I worried we might be going in the wrong direction but then discovered there is a Cleveland, Mississippi. I gather it is a fairly typical small town in Mississippi, although it’s main street was tarted up to appeal to tourists on the river boats. There wasn’t much there there (apologies to Gertrude Stein), although my rare interractions with the merchants were nothing but polite, indeed as I was looking for shoe laces, they were extremely helpful, offering to phone other stores to see if they carried them. Initially, I did wander into what I thought was a regular bookstore only to find myself in the midst of Christian store with an owner who quickly, and correctly I might add, assessed me as fallen. I fled.

The first of the really interesting stops was Vicksburg. Vicksburg was the site of a major battle and seige during the American Civil War. The fortress/city was under seige for two months in 1863 and eventually surrendered to Union General, Ulysses S. Grant. Most of the plantations surrounding the city were destroyed and, because of the seige, many of the antebellum homes in Vicksburg were also severely damaged or destroyed. During the seige the residents of Vicksburg retreated to caves to avoid the constant bombardments.

The people I met in Vicksburg were very conscious of their civil war history, referring to their great, great grandparents and their experience during it. And yet, they did not fit into the stereotype of the culturally backward southerner. In fact, quite the opposite. At the Old Courthouse Museum there is an extraordinary collection of aritifacts going back several hundred years, including many to do with the Civil War. One of the attendants was a young woman with hair slightly tinted purple and wearing a “Pride” button. When I purchased a cookbook for a friend she asked if I would like it gift wrapped for an extra dollar. I said yes, expecting a bit of paper but, instead, was presented with a package worthy of any Christmas tree (lots of ribbons and curls).

Perhaps my most pleasant experience in Vicksburg happened when I walked into a very old music store named “Michel’s Record Shop”. It was empty when I entered but then I heard the door open behind me and a very pretty elderly lady, with bright blue eyes and a charming southern accent, came in. She was the owner and I would guess was probably well into her ninth decade. It wasn’t clear what, if anything, was for sale as there were used musical instruments everywhere and vinyl records, posters and photographs of shows and musical greats going back more than half a century. At first I was browsing but, fairly quickly, she assumed the role of guide and took me through sixty two years (the shop opened in 1962) of musical history in the south. There were some performers I’d never heard of although I suspect better informed Blues lovers would have recognized them right away. She told stories of Elvis and his gold Cadillac parked outside for two days, of Sam Cook performing in the store, of her husband’s good friend, Willie Dixon, of celebrities like Natalie Cole, Dorothy Moore and Kenny Rogers coming in to sign their records with lineups down the block and, perhaps the crowning piece was an old photograph of a much younger her sitting on the back of a convertible, BB King next to her with his arm around her, as they paticipated in a parade on the street outside. There were black and white photos of juke joints, also known as barrel houses, deep in the Mississippi woods where mostly black audiences enjoyed the blues while partaking in dancing, gambling and moonshine. Michel’s Record shop is named after the lady’s late husband. She is known affectionately as “the music lady” in Vicksburg and I was so lucky to meet her.

The next major stop after Vicksburg was Natchez, Mississippi. Unlike Vicksburg, Natchez was not destroyed in the Civil War so it has a definite antebellum charm. Many of the original townhouses of the plantation owners remain, restored and lived in. The reason Natchez was not destroyed depends upon who you ask. In Vicksburg they told me Natchez was not destroyed because, having witnessed what happened to its sister city, Vicksburg, up the river, Natchez simply surrendered. My guide in Natchez had a different story. He claimed Natchez was neutral during the war, something that is a little hard to credit.

And while I’m on the subject of my guide, he was exactly what a little southern gentleman of a certain age would look and sound like, a bit like Colonel Saunders, but more refined. His family lived in Natchez for many generations and he said his great, great grandfather went to West Point with Ulysses S. Grant who, when the war broke out, sent a clipper to Natchez to rescue his family. They spent the war years in Geneva, Switzerland. And, just to give you a sense of this man, as we drove by a grand old hotel on the river he announced there was a lovely bar on the roof where he used to take his wife for drinks. He then paused and said “when she was someone else’s wife”.

Natchez was also the site of a remarkable building called Longwood, also known as “Nutt’s Folly”. It is octagonal and, from the outside looks like something out of “Kubla Khan”. What now stands was built in fourteen months by slaves. It’s owner, Haller Nutt owned approximately 800 slaves and was building Longwood for his wife when the Civil War broke out. His craftsmen were from the north and left. The building is as it was in 1862 with only the basement level finished. The rest is preserved as a construction site. One of the more poignant moments was when bricks with fingerprints were pointed out. The slaves were illiterate and would mark a brick they made with their fingerprints in the hope their daily output would exceed their quota and they would be given additional food to take home to their families.

The next major stop was the state capital of Louisiana, Baton Rouge. We sailed into Baton Rouge just after dark and saw what I subsequently learned was the Capital Building. In New York, Chicago or Detroit it wouldn’t have been remarkable but in Baton Rouge, standing alone at thirty four stories and lit from all sides, it was remarkable.

Baton Rouge is named after a blood soaked pole that separated the lands of the native peoples who lived there prior to European settlement, the Bayougoula and Houma tribes. There are several things that are remarkable about the city. First, there’s the capital. Built when Huey Long was Governor with the intention of being the tallest state capital in the nation. From the outside it looks similar to early twentieth century highrises in America’s northeastern and mid western cities except, as noted, it stands alone. Huey Long’s grave and monument stand in front of it, the monument being a statue with him looking up at it. I was there on a Sunday and, for some reason, the state Senate was in session so I was limited to the large public rotunda outside the Senate chamber. It was a remarkable room. In fact, I have never seen such detailed and beautiful art deco ornamentation anywhere else.

And on the subject of Huey Long, I have known of him over the years and always had the impression he was a wannabe dictator clothed in populist clothing (like someone else we know today). It seems I was wrong. Huey Long was Governor and then senator from Louisiana. He aspired to be President but was assassinated in the State Capital. He assisted FDR get the Democratic nomination that led to his election but broke with him over the timidity of the New Deal programs in FDR’s first term. In other words, he was a true populist. People in Louisiana speak of him as if he was almost contemporary, referring to him as “Huey” and with considerable affection.

Because of his Presidential ambitions he had the Louisiana Governor’s mansion built to resemble a smaller version of the White House, his belief being once elected he wouldn’t have to worry about getting oriented in the White House. That building stands today although it has been replaced by a much larger residence.

A museum sits opposite the State House. It traces the development of what is now Louisiana from its pre-European days until the present. What is striking is how honestly it confronts the legacy of slavery. One exhibit had a plaque stating slaves where confined into tight quarters at night, quarters with doors that had openings at the top for air. Two examples of these were beside the plaques and, when I leaned into the dark openings, I heard moaning, whispering and humming. Haunting.

The other thing to note about Baton Rouge is Louisiana State University where we went on a bus tour. It’ was enormous and what struck me most was the high profile of all the athletic facilities, including a football stadium that can hold 105,000 spectators, a baseball arena and an arena for basketball, all enormous and all central to the identity of the university. There was no mention of academics although I’m sure they offer good programs in those areas but I couldn’t help contrast this with the two Canadian universities I attended, both of which had major sports teams and facilities, but those were completely secondary to the central role, mission and image of the universities. Sports obviously plays a more important role in American life (okay, yes, we’re crazy over hockey) and I have no idea what, if anything, that means in defining the two cultures.

We also drove past two Civil War cemetaries in Baton Rouge, one the final resting place of Confederate soldiers and the other the final resting place of Union soldiers. They were separated by a narrow street. Both were enormous with headstones stretching as far as the eye could see. The Union cemetary was designed to look like the national cemetary at Arlington across the Ptomac River from Washington.

Our final major stop was New Orleans. By this time I was getting tired and thought I was coming down with a cold (turned out to be COVID) so I didn’t have much energy to explore the city I used to love and haven’t seen in decades. The one thing I did on day one when my companions were off doing something else is go to an old and famous gay bar, Laffitte in Exile. I remember it thirty years ago as large, open to the street, with good music, friendly and with a balcony on the second floor where you could sip your libation and view the spectacle below on Bourbon Street. I nearly walked by it. It seemed to have shrunk. Inside it was pokey, quiet and dark, with only one other customer. I ordered a beer, took two sips and then left. It’s true, you can never go home again.

So what did I learn from my trip through the Mississippi delta? Maybe a little humility. I approached it as if it was something out of “The Heart of Darkness” and, instead, met a world with its own complexities, but populated by friendly and gracious people. They completely negated their stereotypes.

This is a land with a terrible dark legacy, slavery, and its inhabitants don’t shy away from confronting that, but they also seem determined to forge ahead while honouring that of their past that was good or at least heroic. I couldn’t help contrast that with the endless, strangling mea culpas we in Canada indulge in as we “atone” for the sins of our ancestors towards the aboriginal inhabitants of Canada whose treatment was gentle compared to three hundred years of slavery in America.

My guide in Baton Rouge was a woman who was perhaps in her mid forties and whose family had lived in the area for generations. Her accent was certainly southern but nothing like the harsh stereotypes some offer. When the tour ended she said: “We don’t say goodbye in the south because our visitors become our friends.” And then with a slightly wry smile she said: “Y’all come back now. Y’hear.”.

Just sayin

GH

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