The South and parts of the Midwest have traditionally received the most notoriety for their barbecue (bbq) and I've always wanted to take a trip to one of these places instead of having to imagine the tastes through the television screen. As the summer was winding down I felt this trip would be a great way to bring the stretch of hot months to a close, although this was a considerably cool summer weather-wise. Using a systems of scientific measurements and careful formulas I selected Memphis as my BBQ destination. Not only for the food, but it had the added value of music tradition and its one of those cities people don't harp about too much, like visiting New Orleans or San Diego. As usual, I booked a Greyhound trip that was going to require multiple transfers throughout the mid-south and a stiff back by the time I reached the birthplace of Elvis. The itinerary was to begin at New York's Port Authority Bus Terminal, then transfers at Richmond (VA), Charlotte (NC), Atlanta (GA), Birmingham (AL), and finally Memphis (TN).
I taken a few of these long Greyhound trips before, and even with multiple transfers, they run rather clockwork and overall I'd been quite lucky to that date. That went out the window right at Part 1 of this trip at the Port Authority. I go downstairs and the Gate the bus is to leave from is an absolute madhouse. The bus driver was the root cause of the chaos and it got so loud a few times that Port Authority police officers had to stand by to make sure nobody got physical. Supposedly buses were leaving for Richmond every half-hour and the driver was mixing the lines with riders with different departure times. People were screaming and she was screaming back - claiming she knew what she was doing. In most cases it was the driver who was going around and picking verbal fights with people. She put me in one of the lines and said she would call for me, but I saw the bus was filling up and I was the last item on her radar that afternoon. Some other genius rider was travelling with eight large cases of luggage that was blocking the doorway by the Gate, people were yelling and screaming over that as well. Finally, when I saw this driver was clueless and the place was seconds away from erupting, I barged out of the line and just ran into the bus. Luckily, there were only two seats left and I grabbed one of them. With the amount of transfers I had, I couldn't afford to miss a connection. We left New York about fifteen minutes behind schedule thanks to the craziness and the Gate still looked like an angry lynch mob as we were pulling out.
It would've helped if there was no traffic to make up for the late start, but the Jersey Turnpike and the rest of the I-95 South going down was tediously slow. Basically the entire way had lanes closed down due to construction. Then when we took a break somewhere in Baltimore, we had to wait an extra ten minutes before leaving for some mother who couldn't find her three-year old kid inside the rest stop. Getting into Richmond was also a nightmare with more orange signs and construction projects making people's lives miserable. Many other riders had transfers to worry about, but the driver claimed she was going to call ahead to tell them to hold the buses. We arrived in Richmond about fifteen minutes late and she must have used an imaginary phone to call ahead because all the connecting buses were gone by the time we got there. I had to wait about two hours for the next bus to take me to Charlotte, NC. The only good news with that one was that this later bus would also take me to Atlanta, so that would be one less transfer to wait around for. What the driver does in those situations is they give you a re-boarding ticket so you can leave your stuff on the bus and keep your seat while newer passengers are scheduled to board. We got to Charlotte about 2am and I spent some time at the bus station catching up with Ms. Pac-Man.
With the late arrival in Richmond, my entire string of connections were thrown off and I didn't pull into Atlanta until the following afternoon. My bus for Birmingham was already long gone. I went to the help desk at the station to remedy the situation and they scheduled me for a bus that was leaving at night for Nashville (TN), in which I would have to make one final transfer to reach Memphis. At least that update cut Birmingham out of the picture as I would head straight for Tennessee. The only problem with that was the wait for that nightly departure was nearly six hours. The center of the city of only a few blocks away, so I took it as an opportunity to get to know Atlanta. I wanted to leave my bag at the station so I wouldn't have to lug the pesky thing around. They had a baggage/storage area and I walked up to the Customer Service desk, but there was nobody around. I figured eventually someone would come out and ask if I needed anything, but that never happened. A good fifteen minutes of me standing there and no workers appeared. There were plenty of boxes and bags behind the counter I could've hopped over and treated myself to, and there wasn't anyone around to see a thing. With my laptop in my bag, I had to ask myself if I really did want to leave my stuff in a place like that where nobody's on guard. I turned around and exited the baggage area with no choice but take my bag along me into town.
Right away I saw a string of bail bonds franchises and I knew I would be walking through the more challenging part of town. Usually the Greyhound stations are in the grimiest parts of town for whatever reason. They do have a subway system there which is identical to the way they are in Washington DC and Montreal. I wouldn't be surprised if all three were designed by the same companies that build trains and transit systems. I walked it the first time around, but on the return passage through Atlanta when I also had a few hours to kill, I took the subway to get around. There must be a shortage of jobs in that city because there were literally hundreds upon hundreds of guys just standing around doing nothing. There's alot of people on the sidewalks of Manhattan as well, but the difference there are that most people are walking to get somewhere, what I saw in Atlanta are people remaining stationary. This was during the early part of the afternoon when most individuals across the country are engaged in some form of employee. Each store had about three or four guys hanging out front and commiserating. On other streets I saw people simply sitting on the curb like they didn't have a care in the world. These weren't homeless people or the typical street-corner drug-addicts, but average lower-class blue collar guys who didn't seem to have jobs or anywhere else to go. I guess the thing to do in Atlanta if you don't have a job is just hang outside with your friends all day and enjoy the sun. Most of the chatter I overheard while I walked around had to do with "hours", "wages", "jobs"; it must be so tough to get jobs down there that its all that people have on their minds.
I was nearly a day on the road without a real meal in my belly, so I needed to get something substantial to eat before the bus left down. I found a gem called the Landmark Diner on Luckie St. I guess I was lucky to find it. They have several location in Atlanta, I was at the "Downtown" one. It's 24/7 in terms of being open, and it has a large variety of choices on the menu plus gigantic slices of cakes and pies for dessert. In the glass case there was a tall red velvet cake crying out to me, but a slice of that had to account for at least three-thousand calories and I wasn't even in Memphis yet (with tons of ribs and grease yet to come), it was too early to fat-splurge. Since I was in the South I went with something a little different; fried chicken livers with onions and mash potatoes, with gravy on top. It was on the Lunch Special page and very reasonably priced at $8.99. It even came with a matzoh ball soup. Before leaving the diner I used the bathroom to change into a different shirt and pants since the Georgia sun was beginning to take its toll on my skin. I walked around for a little while longer, and repented by sin of abandoning the red velvet cake by having a tiny slice of pecan pie at a Waffle House outlet. As a reminder of the job scarcity there, a waitress was speaking with a gentleman who I assumed was her boyfriend, and at the news he got a new job that paid ten dollars per hour, her eyes brightened as if he announced he just won the state lottery. If I ate somewhere more upscale and walked around "nicer" parts of Downtown Atlanta, I probably would've thought everything with the city's economy was fine. By eating a beat up piece of pecan pie at the Waffle House, you get the truth.
The group leaving Atlanta on the same bus as myself were rather subdued. A cop searched our bags on the line for drugs or other items going across state lines. One rider has his pocketknife confiscated by a police officer. The lady next to me was watching religious videos on her phone, meanwhile the guy in front of me just got out of prison and was making calls with a new phone someone bought him. According to him, he just finished a six-year stretch. A different guy a few rows ahead of me was also a recent prisoner, but he had gotten out three weeks ago. It would seem with the cost of air travel and perhaps these ex-cons get red-flagged from flying, there always to seem to be a couple of them on these bus rides. The last transfer was at Nashville around 11pm and it was too late and not enough to actually check out the country-western capital, all I got to see was the bus station. We didn't pull into Memphis until 2:15am, so the trip down was a good thirty-three hours in total. I booked a motel that was a ten-minute walk from the Greyhound station. Nobody was at the motel front desk and the main entrance was locked. I was a little worried I would be stuck outside for the rest of the night, but then I saw a bell which I rang and eventually a staff member came to check me in. After being on buses and passing through grimy station for the past day and a half, I couldn't wait to hop into that shower. I didn't want to spent my limited time in Memphis in bed, so after a few hours of sleep I was back on my feet to visit the sights. The first destination was the easiest to figure out, my motel was only a hour's walk away from Graceland.
There were also buses headed in that direction which required one transfer, but I was too new to the city and didn't feel like experimenting and possibly going in the wrong direction. I walked it instead and one of the first things I noticed were that the roadways weren't meant for pedestrians. With a few small exceptions, there were no sidewalks. I had to walk on curbs or up on the grass for a majority of the time. It seemed a little dangerous at times because it was a busy stretch of road with big trucks constantly speeding by. The whole walk to Graceland I probably only encounter two or three other people travelling by foot. The second thing I noticed was that business wasn't doing much better there either. There were many stores (mainly restaurants) that were boarded up and out of business. They appeared to have been closed for quite a few years; perhaps victims of the big recession back in 2008/9. The long walk in the heat took alot out of me, I was happy to find a visitor's center on the corner of Airways and Elvis Presley Boulevards. It had everything I needed; a bathroom, a soda machine, and it was air conditioned. The lady behind the counter asked where I came from and she told me she was getting alot of people from New York that week. She also told me that if I purchased the Graceland tickets at this visitor hub, that I would receive a dollar discount. That goes the same for other Memphis attractions, but I was only interested in Graceland. I asked her about the city buses and she explained that they usually work for the most part, but they're not close to reliable schedule-wise compared to a place like New York, for example. Sometimes they show up on time, sometimes they don't. She suggested I keep walking to my destination instead of waiting at a bus stop for who-knows-how-long.
When you get to Graceland you don't immediately walk to the house, across the street is the check-in area you must go to first. They hand you a pair of headphones with an automated tour guide, and take people over in small groups with a mini-bus. There's several options you have for tickets at different prices levels. There's the basic entrance to the Graceland mansion for about $20, the Platinum level at $37 includes entrance to Elvis' two planes, his car collection, and entrance to exhibitions for his 68' Comeback and Hawaiian appearances. The top option is VIP which is about $70 that includes all that plus some extra exhibit that concerns Lisa Marie Presley, his daughter. VIP also puts you at the front of any lines and allows you the ability to return to the mansion as many times as you wish during the day. Realistically, the Platinum option is good enough. That's what I selected, and again, I received the discount by purchasing the ticket at the visitor's center. At the time Elvis bought the house and the surrounding property land, it was the only residence on the block. Being one of the most recognized faces on the planet, I'm sure Elvis selected it for its privacy as well as the access to Memphis International Airport for his frequent travels for concerts and so forth. The airport was also across the street from my motel, so one could say I had better airport access than the King of Rock-n-Roll.
I became one of the 600,000 visitors who flock to Graceland each year and I was initially surprised by the size of the mansion. Not for how big it was, but quite the opposite, how not big it was for that iconic figure. Entertainers and celebrities that have barely 10% of Elvis' star power seem to have homes vastly more over-the-top than Graceland. The house is quite modest under the circumstances and I was left with the impression Elvis must have been quite humble in his days, to a certain degree. The land, which is officially a Historic Landmark, was named "Graceland" by the previous owners. The inside has been kept in tact since the day Elvis passed away (of course I'm sure they have to vacuum the rug once in a while), so there's no plasma televisions. Visitors are not allowed upstairs due to privacy issues requested by the family, but the tour does allow people to walk through the basement and onto the backyard grounds. Much like the house itself, the inside is very nice, but nothing drastic for a person who could've have anything the way he wanted it. The basement featured a bar with three television sets, which back in those days were tuned to the ABC, CBS, and NBC networks at once. Upon hearing this, the then President Lyndon Johnson demanded to have the same multi-TV capability for the Oval Office and it has now become a staple of the US President's office, thanks to a trend started by Elvis. The kitchen had a number of security camera monitors so Elvis could see who was coming and who was going, but unlike many other wealthy individuals, Elvis didn't insulate himself from the rest of the world by hiding in his house alone. He frequently invited guests over to eat and sing along, in fact the pool table still has a scuff mark from the 70's when a friend attempted a trick shot and scratched the felt. Even after a draining concert, Elvis had his band in his hotel room singing gospel music or practicing for the next show.
From the design of the house you get the impression Elvis like to have people over. He even had a bedroom for his parents to live in on the main floor. For non-family, the way it would work was you would have for him in the basement (with the 3 TV sets and bar). He'd be upstairs getting his rings and other jewelry on, then after a short wait he would come downstairs to see you. Normally he wouldn't want visitors on the main floor or upstairs in the "family" rooms, which is likely why the top floor is cut off from the tour, you had to stay in the basement unless he said otherwise. Downstairs there is a second living room area with a piano, which was supposedly the last place anyone saw Elvis alive. He was singing for a while before going into the bathroom, where he was eventually found dead. The automated tour guide listed the cause of death as "health issues", taking the high-road on the issue. The most amazing attraction in my eyes was his Gold Record displays. He had an entire corridor filled with Gold Records of his signature hits such as "Love Me Tender" and "Burning Love". Just to give the scope of how many hit songs he had, there were hundreds upon hundreds of these Gold Records covering the walls. Other items on display included his snazzy jumpsuits he performed concerts in as well as wardrobes from some of the movies he starred in, such as GI Blues and Blue Hawaii. The outside grounds include Colonel Parker's office, a shooting range (Elvis liked to shoot off some rounds), and the main attraction: his grave. Originally he was buried in an actual cemetery alongside his parents, but due to fans coming in droves and making the place unmanageable, plus a robbery attempt, the decision was made to bring Elvis and his folks over to Graceland. There's a fourth grave on the premises belonging to Elvis' grandmother as well. Despite being dead for close to thirty-five years, flowers and other gifts are delivered to Graceland from around the world on a near-daily basis that are meant to be placed by the grave.
When I left Graceland and got back to the check-in area, seeing inside Elvis' inner sanctum gave me the craving for a pulled-pork sandwich and a beer. I still had the rest of the Platinum tour to get through and my stomach needed refueling. The car collection was quite impressive, from his Pink Cadillac to his Rolls Royce, but I found more interest in his private planes. One was his jumbo jet and the other a smaller private airplane. On the larger plane I discovered more things about Elvis, such as he disliked alcohol. Instead he demanded the jet be fully stocked with his favorite drinks: Dr. Pepper and Mountain Dew. Also, he liked to catch a few winks of sleep before landing and had a mattress installed, equipped with seat belt in case of any turbulence. The furniture inside the plane was all still original, but plastic covering was placed over it to safeguard against stains and erosion. When I trying to pass through there were two elderly women chatting without paying attention and blocking a doorway that I wanted to get through. As I tried to maneuver by them I tripped up on my own feet and landed onto Elvis' green couch. The stiff plastic covering made a loud 'crunch' noise when I came down upon the couch. The two old ladies turned around to see what happened and I quickly sprang up. Luckily, there were no security guards in that part of the plane, only at the entrance. I wasn't sure if I was caught on camera or not with my tumble, so instead of also checking out the private jet, I ducked into the gift shop for a while until the heat was off. The 68' Comeback and Hawaii expositions were nothing fantastic, much of it were costumes and artifacts from his concerts such as also on display inside the Graceland mansion. With the 1973 'Elvis Aloha from Hawaii' concert being the most significant satellite broadcast concert of all time, one would think they would've drummed the Hawaii exhibit better, but they were a little underwhelming on that one. That's probably the only complaint I could have on the whole afternoon. To top off the Elvis experience I chomped on a favorite sandwich of his, peanut butter and banana on toast, and headed for the long walk back to my motel. Southern hospitality was on display when a guy in a pickup truck saw me in the heat and offered to give me a ride, but I felt better off with the curb and speeding oncoming traffic.
The motel had a pool which I had all to myself; the water was just perfect. Every ten minutes the ground would shake and a large black Hercules military plane would make its landing at Memphis International. Since I was across the street from the airport, the planes would come in very low. There was a whole convoy of them; landing ten minutes at a time. Perhaps they were troops coming home or the military was bringing in large equipment for something. The long walks and swim knocked me out for a while, I grabbed a few hours of nap-time before making my way to Beale Street. It's the Memphis version of Times Square, but not as cumbersome and saturated with annoying bodies. I walked back over to the Greyhound station because I knew they'd be cabs out front and I indeed found one. The driver was quite heavyset and seemed to have more of a Louisiana accent to him. The ride took about fifteen minutes and cost twenty-four bucks, including the tip. Nightfall was approaching about this time and I was instantly drawn to the bright lights of all the bars, eateries, and live music joints. The 'Beale Street' area is made up of a three to four block stretch that's barricaded from any vehicle traffic. Much like the images of New Orleans during Mardi Gras, the streets are jammed packed with beers in hand and smoke in the air. There's stands in which they serve beer right out on the sidewalks, and unlike New York, you can drink outside out on the street (at least within the confides of that bar/restaurant zone). I was there Wednesday night, and good thing I was because on Wednesdays during the warm months (May-August) bikers come from all around the country to show off their wheels. Not that all those bikers are choir boys, but there's no violent gangs or anything like that on hand, its more of a subdued crowd. Besides, there's a good number of police on hand in case anyone does get rowdy, but overall I didn't get the sense that ever happens at all. In fact, when I got there and had some oysters at a bar, there was a biker right next to me who ordered the same thing. Hard to image a biker getting in a brawl after downing a dozen raw oysters.
When I was back out on the street soaking in the surroundings, a guy came up to me and asked if I could buy him a beer. The beers on the street where five dollars for a very large cup worth. I had a ten dollar bill in my pocket, so to not make the guy feel like a total bum I bought one for myself. In return he said he would give me the 'ten-cent tour' of Beale Street. He gave me pointers and tips on where the best places to go are, and how Beale Street was started. I think his name was Curtis, or something like that. He claimed he worked as a cook, but his hands looked filthy, so I'm not too sure he had current employment at the time I spoke with him. Despite that, he gave me his secret recipe for making ribs - you have to soak them in beer the night before. According to his side of the story, he got into an argument with his girlfriend and she didn't send him the money she was supposed to. He asked me if I had money and I had two twenties and a single. The good news was that the twenties were hidden in my wallet while the single was floating in my pocket, so he didn't know any better. I gave him the single and claimed I had no more cash. Before parting ways for the night, he let me know if I was interested in purchasing drugs I could come back to see him. I knew Curtis would be floating around the whole night, so I wanted to go on the opposite end of Beale, get some ribs, and hop in a cab back to the motel. I found myself at the Blues City Cafe with its "Best Meal on Beale" offer. It starts out with a gumbo soup, then later comes a slab of ribs with boiled potatoes and a fillet of fried catfish. As you sit and wait, the grill is nearby so you can see, smell, and hear all the food as its being cooked. I came to Memphis for the bbq, but they were tossing some steaks on that grill that smelt terrific, it was hard to go with the ribs actually.
There were cabs waiting on the corner and I ended up with another heavyset driver - this time a woman. While on the highway she asked me if I smelt something sweet in the air, and I did!! She told me we passed a bumble gum factory and on that section of the highway - it always smells like bubble gum. The ride back was the same price and in the back of my mind I was thinking that I really needed to learn the bus system there. to save money. I had a number of options for what to do for my second (and final) day in Memphis, but with my strong interest in history, I couldn't leave town without visiting the Lorraine Motel - the place Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was killed by an assassin's bullet. Last year I visited the Texas School Book Depository Building in Dallas where JFK was killed, and this would be equally as intriguing to see in person versus having to rely on TV and photos. The boarding house across the street where its believed the shot was fired from has been converted into the National Civil Rights Museum. So much like the 6th Floor of the Texas Book Depository where Oswald fired from was turned into a museum, the place James Earl Ray fired his shot from has also been converted into a museum. Although the night before I promised myself to take the bus the next day, I didn't want to waste time on my last day, so I walked to the Greyhound station yet again to get myself a cab. The lady who drove me the night before was parked out front, but I figured we might have an awkward ride since we already did the cabbie-tourist chat, so I hopped into a different cab - also a heavyset driver. Not one of the cab drivers on sight were at a normal weight, all were huge. It has to be the ribs and steaks. Since the museum isn't far from Beale Street, I had the cab take me there so I could get a snack for breakfast before walking to the museum.
Seeing Beale Street during the day without the bright lights and large crowds was a little sad, but as early as 10am some establishments were open for beer and ribs. I had a muffin at a Starbucks and walked to an information map to locate the museum. Thinking I was going in the right direction I started walking and was approached by a gentleman who handed me his driver's license. It was issued from the State of Memphis and he requested I read the date of birth out loud. As it turns out the date I read was that day's date, so it was his birthday(naturally requesting the gift of money as a present). As he handed me the ID card I saw his thumb was severely swollen, probably the effect of heroin use when limbs such as hands and fingers have been known to swell up from infections. This guy has to be creating fake licenses with new DOBs each day to keep that gimmick up. I congratulated him on his birthday (what a coincidence that day was his birthday!) and gave him some change I had in my pocket from Starbucks. I continued my walk which brought me to a giant church that also felt the pinch of the recession with its 'For Sale' sign out front. This was the turning point where things got a little dicey. The museum was towards 2nd Street and from reading the map I thought I needed to make a left turn at the church. When I make the left and head in that direction, a gathering across the street asked what I was doing. This gathering was a real rogue's gallery in front of a busted up condemned house. The leader was an older guy with grey whiskers and a beer in his hand. Also in attendance was a fellow in a wheelchair who literally had no lower half. He didn't even have hips, his bottom ended in the middle of his stomach area. There were two younger people there in their thirties, but from the skeleton complexion of their faces, they must have done drugs more than once in their lives. The old guy came up to me and asked where I was going - it was the perfect time to slip in Martin Luther King and the Civil Rights Museum, which was the truth anyways.
The old guy told me I was heading in the wrong direction and would've ended up in the projects (I wasn't already?) in which I could've been in big trouble. He pointed out that I needed to go in the opposite direction. All this time he was talking I knew the shoe was going to drop eventually, and it did, he requested monies for helping me not walk to the projects. I pulled out a loose dollar from my pocket and he didn't seem to satisfied with that. He explained that he and his pals on the corner had nothing, which kind of looked to be true. I upped the reward to ten dollars and that seemed more suitable. I flipped him a ten and began walking when the younger guy called out. He mentioned that the few short blocks I had to cross through had some troublesome characters lurking and that I would better off if he chaperoned me to the museum (I wonder if he was going to do it for free?). As we both walked together he pointed out a few houses that belonged to influential people (street-wise) and he expressed his admiration for Elvis and MLK. He asked what age I was and when I told him thirty-one, he said I looked younger than that. With his skeleton face I reiterated a similar response when he told me he was thirty-five, but I said that to not hurt his feelings. Same as Curtis the night before, he said if I wanted to purchase drugs or a woman (only available in Black that day) that I should come back to see him at the corner (like I would really want to go back to that corner). The museum entrance fee is a modest ten dollars, so I paid with a twenty dollar bill and gave the guy the ten dollars for his chaperoning services. The actual Lorraine Motel is free to the public, although I think you're supposed to have a ticket in your hand, but you can walk right in. The entire time there's slow gospel/church music emitting from the speakers and a giant wreath on the balcony where Dr. King was standing when he was shot. Everything is preserved and/or replicated from how the hotel looked back in 1968; from the cars out front to the hotel signs and billboards. I wanted to do the inside of the museum first and cool down with the air conditioner, then check out the infamous balcony afterwards.
The museum focuses on the timeline leading up to MLK's death, James Earl Ray's escape, the trial, and possible links of other people or groups being behind the assassination. There's also wings and walls dedicated to others who have been instrumental for Civil Rights. The building itself was a former boarding house and its widely believed James Earl Ray took the shot from the bathroom window which overlooked the balcony Dr. King was standing on. The reason MLK was in Memphis was to lead a march to protest the poor conditions of Black sanitation workers. MLK was originally there weeks earlier for a peaceful march on their behalf, but the march abruptly ended too early when a radical group participating in the march began assaulting people and damaging property. There's all sorts of different theories on why the radicals did that against MLK's wishes. One was that the group felt they were spurned from the overall Civil Rights movement and started to lash out. Another is that they felt King's non-violence mantra of the 50's and early 60's wasn't the answer to the turbulent times of the late 60's. Lastly, its believe the radical group was planted and encouraged by the government to wreck havoc they did, therefore ruining MLK's credibility of being a non-violent protester and hoping his stardom would fade away. So whatever the case was, Dr. King returned to Memphis pick up where he left off with the Black sanitation workers. On the other hand James Earl Ray was there for one reason - to kill. Ray was quite a crafty fellow and how he even had the opportunity to be where he was on that day was astonishing in itself. Ray escaped prison years beforehand by hiding in a pile of bread loaves that were being thrown out. From then on he mainly used the fake name Eric Galt to avoid capture. He reached every prisoner's dream by making it to the sunny beaches of Mexico, but he threw it all away in his desire to return to America and kill King.
He drove a Mustang with Alabama plates and his master plan was to kill King and flee to Alabama for safekeeping. At the time, Alabama Governor George Wallace was strongly against King and the Civil Rights movement, so Ray felt Wallace would somehow embrace or protect him after the deed was done. After years of bouncing around the country in places like Los Angeles and Texas, Ray found out about King's planned involvement in Memphis, and with the Lorraine Motel known as a "Black hotel" that King would likely stay at, Ray discovered that the boarding house provided a shot opportunity. The angle wasn't there for Ray to shoot from his rented room, so he had to sneak his gun into the bathroom (that the other guests shared) and take the shot from that window. With the same type of sneakiness that allowed Ray to stay free on the outside as an escaped convict, Ray managed to dodge justice after he shot MLK. He would make his way up across the Canadian boarder and into Ontario. Using his knowledge of fake IDs, he managed to travel to Europe, but same situation as before - instead of keeping a low profile as a con on the lam, he began holding up stores with his handgun. Eventually that all caught up with him and he was napped by an airport security worker for carrying that same gun when he could've ditched it long before. Then soon after they realized they had the same guy who US authorities were looking for in King's death. Ray was tried and convicted for MLK's murder, but that wasn't the end to his mischief. Behind bars in 1977, serving time for his previous crimes and King's death while escaped, Ray and a small group of other prisoners managed to use a long pipe to climb over a prison wall. For a second time, Ray had broken out of prison and was on the run. This time he didn't manage to get too far. Authorities caught him in the woods nearby soon after and he would stay behind bars until his death in 1998. In later years, Ray made claims he didn't do it and changed his story so many times its been deemed hard to give any credence to what he has to say. In a meeting with Martin Luther King's son, Dexter, Ray stated he didn't kill his father and the whole affair was a conspiracy. As it turned out, the King family spent the last years of Ray's life trying to get him legal consul and made it clear they believe he's innocent.Seldom discussed is a civil suit brought by the King in 1999 in which a jury declared MLK was killed by a conspiracy, including members of the US government.
After exiting the museum I made my way to the balcony where King was killed. Quite surprisingly, people are allowed to walk on the exact spot the incident occurred on. King's room, 306, has also been preserved the way it was on that day. Moments before he died, King and few of his colleagues we engaged in a pillow fight in a playful release of tension that was in the air. It looked like there was construction or renovations going on at one side of the motel, perhaps a new section is being added to the overall museum. I decided I would head back towards Beale Street, of course taking a different route than I came to avoid having to give anymore alms to the poor, and I delightfully encountered Pearl's Oyster House. I wanted to try something more exquisite than the typical oyster, so I ordered a dozen char-grilled oysters. They're oysters which are topped with chipotle garlic butter and Parmesan cheese, then cooked on the great. It was the first time I ever tried them that way and I'm more than willing to repeat anytime. I walked along the Mississippi River - seeing it up close for the very first time. There was a river boat ride I would've liked to have taken, but the rest of the rides were sold out for the day and I was leaving the next day. Just before getting back on Beale I bumped into the Orpheum Theater which had been standing since 1928. The sidewalk out front displays stars of the legendary names who have performed there over the years. I was happy to bumped into the stars for Johnny Mathis and Dionne Warwick; had to be careful not to step on those two. Once I reached Beale I was at a juncture that is was too early for dinner, plus my stomach was still full from the char-grilled oysters. I selected the Rock-n-Soul Museum as my final Memphis attraction, before diving into another slap of ribs that is.
The Rock-n-Soul museum takes visitors on a journey from when the blues started on the front porches of poor farm hands to how it expanded into the rock and soul genres. There's also a display on the equipment used to record this music and how the technology would improve over the years. Plus, there's endless amounts of wardrobes and suits from famous musicians, including more from Elvis, which I had seen dozens of only the day before. The admission was about thirteen dollars and the museum walk-through begins with a short fifteen minute documentary. It only takes about a half-hour to forty minutes to get through everything, so its not really that big at all. The one item I found to be of the most interest was the actual piano used while the Elvis hit song "Suspicious Minds" was being created. Everyone always thinks of the singer when it comes to that, but many people don't realize that alot of times those big hit songs were likely written by someone else on an instrument that's usually long-forgotten. It was nice to see somehow the piano that helped write that tune had been recognized and stored. When I got back out on the street I headed to Pig for another half-rack of ribs, after polishing off a half only the nigh before. I was full afterwards, but the waitress did a good job in convincing me to get a slice of peanut butter pie for dessert. It was extremely sweet, like a gigantic Reese Peanut Butter Cup, so I wasn't able to finish off the whole thing. As for all the ribs I had in Memphis; where there clearly the best I ever had? No, but were also no disappointments in the taste. After shelling out money to cabs and street dwellers over the past two days, I wasn't in the mood to spend another twenty four dollars on a cab back to the motel, so I braved forward to take the bus. While walking home from Graceland the day before, I noticed the No. 43 bus passing by the visitor center, and from there I could walk it to my motel. I found a bus stop not far from Beale which the 43 was supposed to stop at. I had to wait about twenty minutes before a bus finally arrived, cost two dollars, and as it turns out the bus was going in the wrong direction. Instead of going towards Graceland, I went to a hub station that connected with dozens of other bus lines. I waited ten minutes for a new 43 bus to begin its route, this time going the right way (although I still wasn't 100% positive at the time of boarding). The fare machine was busted on the bus, so the ride was on the house.
As the bus got further away from the touristy part of Beale, I got a very good taste of the rest of Memphis. At some points I thought I was on a time machine that went back to 1965. There were a lot of these old motels on the side of the road with old signs that had to be at least fifty years old. A few motels and hotels looked to be out of business, but a good number of them were still in operation. It wasn't in the part of town tourists would stay at, quite the contrary it was a sample of the type of lifestyle of many who live there have to follow. Such as bouncing from one home to another through eviction or some other circumstance. There must be the demand for those type of lowly motels for people needing a place to stay for a night or two until they can find a friend or relative to move in with. The stores were boarded up with cages on the windows, the projects were abundant; it was looking very dicey and I would've had a supermarket list of issues had this bus been going elsewhere than I needed it to. I felt a burst of happiness in my chest when we came across an overpass and I recognized a gas station I walked by the day before. I rang the bell to get off and went into the gas station to get a large cold drink. On the newspaper rack I saw a local paper that actually displays the mug shots of local criminals who were arrested that week. I'm not sure if that's even legal or not, but is an interesting idea to use as humiliation tactic in the fight against crime. There was still plenty of daylight when I got back to the motel room, so I took another dip in the pool and turned in early. My belly was full of ribs, oysters, and peanut butter pie, so dinner wasn't necessary, and I had to get up early for the bus ride journey home.
Unlike going downward, I made all my returning connections without any issues or diversions. I even got to pass through Alabama with its condom machines in the bathrooms. It would've been the perfect trip back had not for the final step of leaving Richmond for New York. The bus was going to leave on time and everything looked promising, just then this ox plops down on the empty seat next to me. He was about my age and seemed normal, but I couldn't understand how it was possible for someone to smell that bad. He had to be living on the streets for weeks and not showered in all that time to get that type of smell. It was horrible!!! If that wasn't bad enough, he was sneezing and coughing, even spitting onto this black rag and blowing his nose in it. The puzzling thing was his clothes weren't dirty, he was clean shaven, he wore a baseball cap; he looked like the type of guy you would want to watch a football game with. He just smelt as terrible as terrible could smell. I had seven hours of this to look forward to till we reached New York. As soon as the bus got moving he was falling asleep and leaning over onto my side. I couldn't image how things could get any worse than they were now. I took comfort in the fact that this was probably the worst thing imaginable that could happen to someone like myself, so everything thereafter should be gravy. There was only one empty seat left on the bus, and actually it was in front of me if I wanted to change locations. The only catch was I would have to sit next to a man-turned-female transvestite. So it was either remain with the horrible stench and phlegm next to me, or move up a row to be next to the transvestite. The only problem with moving was a) the stinky guy could take it as an insult and react harshly b) the transvestite might take it as a sign that wanted to get better acquainted. Under those conditions I decided to stay in my seat and suffer through the punishment. When we reached Jersey the guy walked to the back of the bus to use to the bathroom. A woman sitting a few rows behind me got a whiff of him as he walked by and politely pointed out, "Some people on this bus be stinking".
There's nothing wrong with telling the truth....
I taken a few of these long Greyhound trips before, and even with multiple transfers, they run rather clockwork and overall I'd been quite lucky to that date. That went out the window right at Part 1 of this trip at the Port Authority. I go downstairs and the Gate the bus is to leave from is an absolute madhouse. The bus driver was the root cause of the chaos and it got so loud a few times that Port Authority police officers had to stand by to make sure nobody got physical. Supposedly buses were leaving for Richmond every half-hour and the driver was mixing the lines with riders with different departure times. People were screaming and she was screaming back - claiming she knew what she was doing. In most cases it was the driver who was going around and picking verbal fights with people. She put me in one of the lines and said she would call for me, but I saw the bus was filling up and I was the last item on her radar that afternoon. Some other genius rider was travelling with eight large cases of luggage that was blocking the doorway by the Gate, people were yelling and screaming over that as well. Finally, when I saw this driver was clueless and the place was seconds away from erupting, I barged out of the line and just ran into the bus. Luckily, there were only two seats left and I grabbed one of them. With the amount of transfers I had, I couldn't afford to miss a connection. We left New York about fifteen minutes behind schedule thanks to the craziness and the Gate still looked like an angry lynch mob as we were pulling out.
It would've helped if there was no traffic to make up for the late start, but the Jersey Turnpike and the rest of the I-95 South going down was tediously slow. Basically the entire way had lanes closed down due to construction. Then when we took a break somewhere in Baltimore, we had to wait an extra ten minutes before leaving for some mother who couldn't find her three-year old kid inside the rest stop. Getting into Richmond was also a nightmare with more orange signs and construction projects making people's lives miserable. Many other riders had transfers to worry about, but the driver claimed she was going to call ahead to tell them to hold the buses. We arrived in Richmond about fifteen minutes late and she must have used an imaginary phone to call ahead because all the connecting buses were gone by the time we got there. I had to wait about two hours for the next bus to take me to Charlotte, NC. The only good news with that one was that this later bus would also take me to Atlanta, so that would be one less transfer to wait around for. What the driver does in those situations is they give you a re-boarding ticket so you can leave your stuff on the bus and keep your seat while newer passengers are scheduled to board. We got to Charlotte about 2am and I spent some time at the bus station catching up with Ms. Pac-Man.
With the late arrival in Richmond, my entire string of connections were thrown off and I didn't pull into Atlanta until the following afternoon. My bus for Birmingham was already long gone. I went to the help desk at the station to remedy the situation and they scheduled me for a bus that was leaving at night for Nashville (TN), in which I would have to make one final transfer to reach Memphis. At least that update cut Birmingham out of the picture as I would head straight for Tennessee. The only problem with that was the wait for that nightly departure was nearly six hours. The center of the city of only a few blocks away, so I took it as an opportunity to get to know Atlanta. I wanted to leave my bag at the station so I wouldn't have to lug the pesky thing around. They had a baggage/storage area and I walked up to the Customer Service desk, but there was nobody around. I figured eventually someone would come out and ask if I needed anything, but that never happened. A good fifteen minutes of me standing there and no workers appeared. There were plenty of boxes and bags behind the counter I could've hopped over and treated myself to, and there wasn't anyone around to see a thing. With my laptop in my bag, I had to ask myself if I really did want to leave my stuff in a place like that where nobody's on guard. I turned around and exited the baggage area with no choice but take my bag along me into town.
Right away I saw a string of bail bonds franchises and I knew I would be walking through the more challenging part of town. Usually the Greyhound stations are in the grimiest parts of town for whatever reason. They do have a subway system there which is identical to the way they are in Washington DC and Montreal. I wouldn't be surprised if all three were designed by the same companies that build trains and transit systems. I walked it the first time around, but on the return passage through Atlanta when I also had a few hours to kill, I took the subway to get around. There must be a shortage of jobs in that city because there were literally hundreds upon hundreds of guys just standing around doing nothing. There's alot of people on the sidewalks of Manhattan as well, but the difference there are that most people are walking to get somewhere, what I saw in Atlanta are people remaining stationary. This was during the early part of the afternoon when most individuals across the country are engaged in some form of employee. Each store had about three or four guys hanging out front and commiserating. On other streets I saw people simply sitting on the curb like they didn't have a care in the world. These weren't homeless people or the typical street-corner drug-addicts, but average lower-class blue collar guys who didn't seem to have jobs or anywhere else to go. I guess the thing to do in Atlanta if you don't have a job is just hang outside with your friends all day and enjoy the sun. Most of the chatter I overheard while I walked around had to do with "hours", "wages", "jobs"; it must be so tough to get jobs down there that its all that people have on their minds.
I was nearly a day on the road without a real meal in my belly, so I needed to get something substantial to eat before the bus left down. I found a gem called the Landmark Diner on Luckie St. I guess I was lucky to find it. They have several location in Atlanta, I was at the "Downtown" one. It's 24/7 in terms of being open, and it has a large variety of choices on the menu plus gigantic slices of cakes and pies for dessert. In the glass case there was a tall red velvet cake crying out to me, but a slice of that had to account for at least three-thousand calories and I wasn't even in Memphis yet (with tons of ribs and grease yet to come), it was too early to fat-splurge. Since I was in the South I went with something a little different; fried chicken livers with onions and mash potatoes, with gravy on top. It was on the Lunch Special page and very reasonably priced at $8.99. It even came with a matzoh ball soup. Before leaving the diner I used the bathroom to change into a different shirt and pants since the Georgia sun was beginning to take its toll on my skin. I walked around for a little while longer, and repented by sin of abandoning the red velvet cake by having a tiny slice of pecan pie at a Waffle House outlet. As a reminder of the job scarcity there, a waitress was speaking with a gentleman who I assumed was her boyfriend, and at the news he got a new job that paid ten dollars per hour, her eyes brightened as if he announced he just won the state lottery. If I ate somewhere more upscale and walked around "nicer" parts of Downtown Atlanta, I probably would've thought everything with the city's economy was fine. By eating a beat up piece of pecan pie at the Waffle House, you get the truth.
The group leaving Atlanta on the same bus as myself were rather subdued. A cop searched our bags on the line for drugs or other items going across state lines. One rider has his pocketknife confiscated by a police officer. The lady next to me was watching religious videos on her phone, meanwhile the guy in front of me just got out of prison and was making calls with a new phone someone bought him. According to him, he just finished a six-year stretch. A different guy a few rows ahead of me was also a recent prisoner, but he had gotten out three weeks ago. It would seem with the cost of air travel and perhaps these ex-cons get red-flagged from flying, there always to seem to be a couple of them on these bus rides. The last transfer was at Nashville around 11pm and it was too late and not enough to actually check out the country-western capital, all I got to see was the bus station. We didn't pull into Memphis until 2:15am, so the trip down was a good thirty-three hours in total. I booked a motel that was a ten-minute walk from the Greyhound station. Nobody was at the motel front desk and the main entrance was locked. I was a little worried I would be stuck outside for the rest of the night, but then I saw a bell which I rang and eventually a staff member came to check me in. After being on buses and passing through grimy station for the past day and a half, I couldn't wait to hop into that shower. I didn't want to spent my limited time in Memphis in bed, so after a few hours of sleep I was back on my feet to visit the sights. The first destination was the easiest to figure out, my motel was only a hour's walk away from Graceland.
There were also buses headed in that direction which required one transfer, but I was too new to the city and didn't feel like experimenting and possibly going in the wrong direction. I walked it instead and one of the first things I noticed were that the roadways weren't meant for pedestrians. With a few small exceptions, there were no sidewalks. I had to walk on curbs or up on the grass for a majority of the time. It seemed a little dangerous at times because it was a busy stretch of road with big trucks constantly speeding by. The whole walk to Graceland I probably only encounter two or three other people travelling by foot. The second thing I noticed was that business wasn't doing much better there either. There were many stores (mainly restaurants) that were boarded up and out of business. They appeared to have been closed for quite a few years; perhaps victims of the big recession back in 2008/9. The long walk in the heat took alot out of me, I was happy to find a visitor's center on the corner of Airways and Elvis Presley Boulevards. It had everything I needed; a bathroom, a soda machine, and it was air conditioned. The lady behind the counter asked where I came from and she told me she was getting alot of people from New York that week. She also told me that if I purchased the Graceland tickets at this visitor hub, that I would receive a dollar discount. That goes the same for other Memphis attractions, but I was only interested in Graceland. I asked her about the city buses and she explained that they usually work for the most part, but they're not close to reliable schedule-wise compared to a place like New York, for example. Sometimes they show up on time, sometimes they don't. She suggested I keep walking to my destination instead of waiting at a bus stop for who-knows-how-long.
When you get to Graceland you don't immediately walk to the house, across the street is the check-in area you must go to first. They hand you a pair of headphones with an automated tour guide, and take people over in small groups with a mini-bus. There's several options you have for tickets at different prices levels. There's the basic entrance to the Graceland mansion for about $20, the Platinum level at $37 includes entrance to Elvis' two planes, his car collection, and entrance to exhibitions for his 68' Comeback and Hawaiian appearances. The top option is VIP which is about $70 that includes all that plus some extra exhibit that concerns Lisa Marie Presley, his daughter. VIP also puts you at the front of any lines and allows you the ability to return to the mansion as many times as you wish during the day. Realistically, the Platinum option is good enough. That's what I selected, and again, I received the discount by purchasing the ticket at the visitor's center. At the time Elvis bought the house and the surrounding property land, it was the only residence on the block. Being one of the most recognized faces on the planet, I'm sure Elvis selected it for its privacy as well as the access to Memphis International Airport for his frequent travels for concerts and so forth. The airport was also across the street from my motel, so one could say I had better airport access than the King of Rock-n-Roll.
I became one of the 600,000 visitors who flock to Graceland each year and I was initially surprised by the size of the mansion. Not for how big it was, but quite the opposite, how not big it was for that iconic figure. Entertainers and celebrities that have barely 10% of Elvis' star power seem to have homes vastly more over-the-top than Graceland. The house is quite modest under the circumstances and I was left with the impression Elvis must have been quite humble in his days, to a certain degree. The land, which is officially a Historic Landmark, was named "Graceland" by the previous owners. The inside has been kept in tact since the day Elvis passed away (of course I'm sure they have to vacuum the rug once in a while), so there's no plasma televisions. Visitors are not allowed upstairs due to privacy issues requested by the family, but the tour does allow people to walk through the basement and onto the backyard grounds. Much like the house itself, the inside is very nice, but nothing drastic for a person who could've have anything the way he wanted it. The basement featured a bar with three television sets, which back in those days were tuned to the ABC, CBS, and NBC networks at once. Upon hearing this, the then President Lyndon Johnson demanded to have the same multi-TV capability for the Oval Office and it has now become a staple of the US President's office, thanks to a trend started by Elvis. The kitchen had a number of security camera monitors so Elvis could see who was coming and who was going, but unlike many other wealthy individuals, Elvis didn't insulate himself from the rest of the world by hiding in his house alone. He frequently invited guests over to eat and sing along, in fact the pool table still has a scuff mark from the 70's when a friend attempted a trick shot and scratched the felt. Even after a draining concert, Elvis had his band in his hotel room singing gospel music or practicing for the next show.
From the design of the house you get the impression Elvis like to have people over. He even had a bedroom for his parents to live in on the main floor. For non-family, the way it would work was you would have for him in the basement (with the 3 TV sets and bar). He'd be upstairs getting his rings and other jewelry on, then after a short wait he would come downstairs to see you. Normally he wouldn't want visitors on the main floor or upstairs in the "family" rooms, which is likely why the top floor is cut off from the tour, you had to stay in the basement unless he said otherwise. Downstairs there is a second living room area with a piano, which was supposedly the last place anyone saw Elvis alive. He was singing for a while before going into the bathroom, where he was eventually found dead. The automated tour guide listed the cause of death as "health issues", taking the high-road on the issue. The most amazing attraction in my eyes was his Gold Record displays. He had an entire corridor filled with Gold Records of his signature hits such as "Love Me Tender" and "Burning Love". Just to give the scope of how many hit songs he had, there were hundreds upon hundreds of these Gold Records covering the walls. Other items on display included his snazzy jumpsuits he performed concerts in as well as wardrobes from some of the movies he starred in, such as GI Blues and Blue Hawaii. The outside grounds include Colonel Parker's office, a shooting range (Elvis liked to shoot off some rounds), and the main attraction: his grave. Originally he was buried in an actual cemetery alongside his parents, but due to fans coming in droves and making the place unmanageable, plus a robbery attempt, the decision was made to bring Elvis and his folks over to Graceland. There's a fourth grave on the premises belonging to Elvis' grandmother as well. Despite being dead for close to thirty-five years, flowers and other gifts are delivered to Graceland from around the world on a near-daily basis that are meant to be placed by the grave.
When I left Graceland and got back to the check-in area, seeing inside Elvis' inner sanctum gave me the craving for a pulled-pork sandwich and a beer. I still had the rest of the Platinum tour to get through and my stomach needed refueling. The car collection was quite impressive, from his Pink Cadillac to his Rolls Royce, but I found more interest in his private planes. One was his jumbo jet and the other a smaller private airplane. On the larger plane I discovered more things about Elvis, such as he disliked alcohol. Instead he demanded the jet be fully stocked with his favorite drinks: Dr. Pepper and Mountain Dew. Also, he liked to catch a few winks of sleep before landing and had a mattress installed, equipped with seat belt in case of any turbulence. The furniture inside the plane was all still original, but plastic covering was placed over it to safeguard against stains and erosion. When I trying to pass through there were two elderly women chatting without paying attention and blocking a doorway that I wanted to get through. As I tried to maneuver by them I tripped up on my own feet and landed onto Elvis' green couch. The stiff plastic covering made a loud 'crunch' noise when I came down upon the couch. The two old ladies turned around to see what happened and I quickly sprang up. Luckily, there were no security guards in that part of the plane, only at the entrance. I wasn't sure if I was caught on camera or not with my tumble, so instead of also checking out the private jet, I ducked into the gift shop for a while until the heat was off. The 68' Comeback and Hawaii expositions were nothing fantastic, much of it were costumes and artifacts from his concerts such as also on display inside the Graceland mansion. With the 1973 'Elvis Aloha from Hawaii' concert being the most significant satellite broadcast concert of all time, one would think they would've drummed the Hawaii exhibit better, but they were a little underwhelming on that one. That's probably the only complaint I could have on the whole afternoon. To top off the Elvis experience I chomped on a favorite sandwich of his, peanut butter and banana on toast, and headed for the long walk back to my motel. Southern hospitality was on display when a guy in a pickup truck saw me in the heat and offered to give me a ride, but I felt better off with the curb and speeding oncoming traffic.
The motel had a pool which I had all to myself; the water was just perfect. Every ten minutes the ground would shake and a large black Hercules military plane would make its landing at Memphis International. Since I was across the street from the airport, the planes would come in very low. There was a whole convoy of them; landing ten minutes at a time. Perhaps they were troops coming home or the military was bringing in large equipment for something. The long walks and swim knocked me out for a while, I grabbed a few hours of nap-time before making my way to Beale Street. It's the Memphis version of Times Square, but not as cumbersome and saturated with annoying bodies. I walked back over to the Greyhound station because I knew they'd be cabs out front and I indeed found one. The driver was quite heavyset and seemed to have more of a Louisiana accent to him. The ride took about fifteen minutes and cost twenty-four bucks, including the tip. Nightfall was approaching about this time and I was instantly drawn to the bright lights of all the bars, eateries, and live music joints. The 'Beale Street' area is made up of a three to four block stretch that's barricaded from any vehicle traffic. Much like the images of New Orleans during Mardi Gras, the streets are jammed packed with beers in hand and smoke in the air. There's stands in which they serve beer right out on the sidewalks, and unlike New York, you can drink outside out on the street (at least within the confides of that bar/restaurant zone). I was there Wednesday night, and good thing I was because on Wednesdays during the warm months (May-August) bikers come from all around the country to show off their wheels. Not that all those bikers are choir boys, but there's no violent gangs or anything like that on hand, its more of a subdued crowd. Besides, there's a good number of police on hand in case anyone does get rowdy, but overall I didn't get the sense that ever happens at all. In fact, when I got there and had some oysters at a bar, there was a biker right next to me who ordered the same thing. Hard to image a biker getting in a brawl after downing a dozen raw oysters.
When I was back out on the street soaking in the surroundings, a guy came up to me and asked if I could buy him a beer. The beers on the street where five dollars for a very large cup worth. I had a ten dollar bill in my pocket, so to not make the guy feel like a total bum I bought one for myself. In return he said he would give me the 'ten-cent tour' of Beale Street. He gave me pointers and tips on where the best places to go are, and how Beale Street was started. I think his name was Curtis, or something like that. He claimed he worked as a cook, but his hands looked filthy, so I'm not too sure he had current employment at the time I spoke with him. Despite that, he gave me his secret recipe for making ribs - you have to soak them in beer the night before. According to his side of the story, he got into an argument with his girlfriend and she didn't send him the money she was supposed to. He asked me if I had money and I had two twenties and a single. The good news was that the twenties were hidden in my wallet while the single was floating in my pocket, so he didn't know any better. I gave him the single and claimed I had no more cash. Before parting ways for the night, he let me know if I was interested in purchasing drugs I could come back to see him. I knew Curtis would be floating around the whole night, so I wanted to go on the opposite end of Beale, get some ribs, and hop in a cab back to the motel. I found myself at the Blues City Cafe with its "Best Meal on Beale" offer. It starts out with a gumbo soup, then later comes a slab of ribs with boiled potatoes and a fillet of fried catfish. As you sit and wait, the grill is nearby so you can see, smell, and hear all the food as its being cooked. I came to Memphis for the bbq, but they were tossing some steaks on that grill that smelt terrific, it was hard to go with the ribs actually.
There were cabs waiting on the corner and I ended up with another heavyset driver - this time a woman. While on the highway she asked me if I smelt something sweet in the air, and I did!! She told me we passed a bumble gum factory and on that section of the highway - it always smells like bubble gum. The ride back was the same price and in the back of my mind I was thinking that I really needed to learn the bus system there. to save money. I had a number of options for what to do for my second (and final) day in Memphis, but with my strong interest in history, I couldn't leave town without visiting the Lorraine Motel - the place Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was killed by an assassin's bullet. Last year I visited the Texas School Book Depository Building in Dallas where JFK was killed, and this would be equally as intriguing to see in person versus having to rely on TV and photos. The boarding house across the street where its believed the shot was fired from has been converted into the National Civil Rights Museum. So much like the 6th Floor of the Texas Book Depository where Oswald fired from was turned into a museum, the place James Earl Ray fired his shot from has also been converted into a museum. Although the night before I promised myself to take the bus the next day, I didn't want to waste time on my last day, so I walked to the Greyhound station yet again to get myself a cab. The lady who drove me the night before was parked out front, but I figured we might have an awkward ride since we already did the cabbie-tourist chat, so I hopped into a different cab - also a heavyset driver. Not one of the cab drivers on sight were at a normal weight, all were huge. It has to be the ribs and steaks. Since the museum isn't far from Beale Street, I had the cab take me there so I could get a snack for breakfast before walking to the museum.
Seeing Beale Street during the day without the bright lights and large crowds was a little sad, but as early as 10am some establishments were open for beer and ribs. I had a muffin at a Starbucks and walked to an information map to locate the museum. Thinking I was going in the right direction I started walking and was approached by a gentleman who handed me his driver's license. It was issued from the State of Memphis and he requested I read the date of birth out loud. As it turns out the date I read was that day's date, so it was his birthday(naturally requesting the gift of money as a present). As he handed me the ID card I saw his thumb was severely swollen, probably the effect of heroin use when limbs such as hands and fingers have been known to swell up from infections. This guy has to be creating fake licenses with new DOBs each day to keep that gimmick up. I congratulated him on his birthday (what a coincidence that day was his birthday!) and gave him some change I had in my pocket from Starbucks. I continued my walk which brought me to a giant church that also felt the pinch of the recession with its 'For Sale' sign out front. This was the turning point where things got a little dicey. The museum was towards 2nd Street and from reading the map I thought I needed to make a left turn at the church. When I make the left and head in that direction, a gathering across the street asked what I was doing. This gathering was a real rogue's gallery in front of a busted up condemned house. The leader was an older guy with grey whiskers and a beer in his hand. Also in attendance was a fellow in a wheelchair who literally had no lower half. He didn't even have hips, his bottom ended in the middle of his stomach area. There were two younger people there in their thirties, but from the skeleton complexion of their faces, they must have done drugs more than once in their lives. The old guy came up to me and asked where I was going - it was the perfect time to slip in Martin Luther King and the Civil Rights Museum, which was the truth anyways.
The old guy told me I was heading in the wrong direction and would've ended up in the projects (I wasn't already?) in which I could've been in big trouble. He pointed out that I needed to go in the opposite direction. All this time he was talking I knew the shoe was going to drop eventually, and it did, he requested monies for helping me not walk to the projects. I pulled out a loose dollar from my pocket and he didn't seem to satisfied with that. He explained that he and his pals on the corner had nothing, which kind of looked to be true. I upped the reward to ten dollars and that seemed more suitable. I flipped him a ten and began walking when the younger guy called out. He mentioned that the few short blocks I had to cross through had some troublesome characters lurking and that I would better off if he chaperoned me to the museum (I wonder if he was going to do it for free?). As we both walked together he pointed out a few houses that belonged to influential people (street-wise) and he expressed his admiration for Elvis and MLK. He asked what age I was and when I told him thirty-one, he said I looked younger than that. With his skeleton face I reiterated a similar response when he told me he was thirty-five, but I said that to not hurt his feelings. Same as Curtis the night before, he said if I wanted to purchase drugs or a woman (only available in Black that day) that I should come back to see him at the corner (like I would really want to go back to that corner). The museum entrance fee is a modest ten dollars, so I paid with a twenty dollar bill and gave the guy the ten dollars for his chaperoning services. The actual Lorraine Motel is free to the public, although I think you're supposed to have a ticket in your hand, but you can walk right in. The entire time there's slow gospel/church music emitting from the speakers and a giant wreath on the balcony where Dr. King was standing when he was shot. Everything is preserved and/or replicated from how the hotel looked back in 1968; from the cars out front to the hotel signs and billboards. I wanted to do the inside of the museum first and cool down with the air conditioner, then check out the infamous balcony afterwards.
The museum focuses on the timeline leading up to MLK's death, James Earl Ray's escape, the trial, and possible links of other people or groups being behind the assassination. There's also wings and walls dedicated to others who have been instrumental for Civil Rights. The building itself was a former boarding house and its widely believed James Earl Ray took the shot from the bathroom window which overlooked the balcony Dr. King was standing on. The reason MLK was in Memphis was to lead a march to protest the poor conditions of Black sanitation workers. MLK was originally there weeks earlier for a peaceful march on their behalf, but the march abruptly ended too early when a radical group participating in the march began assaulting people and damaging property. There's all sorts of different theories on why the radicals did that against MLK's wishes. One was that the group felt they were spurned from the overall Civil Rights movement and started to lash out. Another is that they felt King's non-violence mantra of the 50's and early 60's wasn't the answer to the turbulent times of the late 60's. Lastly, its believe the radical group was planted and encouraged by the government to wreck havoc they did, therefore ruining MLK's credibility of being a non-violent protester and hoping his stardom would fade away. So whatever the case was, Dr. King returned to Memphis pick up where he left off with the Black sanitation workers. On the other hand James Earl Ray was there for one reason - to kill. Ray was quite a crafty fellow and how he even had the opportunity to be where he was on that day was astonishing in itself. Ray escaped prison years beforehand by hiding in a pile of bread loaves that were being thrown out. From then on he mainly used the fake name Eric Galt to avoid capture. He reached every prisoner's dream by making it to the sunny beaches of Mexico, but he threw it all away in his desire to return to America and kill King.
He drove a Mustang with Alabama plates and his master plan was to kill King and flee to Alabama for safekeeping. At the time, Alabama Governor George Wallace was strongly against King and the Civil Rights movement, so Ray felt Wallace would somehow embrace or protect him after the deed was done. After years of bouncing around the country in places like Los Angeles and Texas, Ray found out about King's planned involvement in Memphis, and with the Lorraine Motel known as a "Black hotel" that King would likely stay at, Ray discovered that the boarding house provided a shot opportunity. The angle wasn't there for Ray to shoot from his rented room, so he had to sneak his gun into the bathroom (that the other guests shared) and take the shot from that window. With the same type of sneakiness that allowed Ray to stay free on the outside as an escaped convict, Ray managed to dodge justice after he shot MLK. He would make his way up across the Canadian boarder and into Ontario. Using his knowledge of fake IDs, he managed to travel to Europe, but same situation as before - instead of keeping a low profile as a con on the lam, he began holding up stores with his handgun. Eventually that all caught up with him and he was napped by an airport security worker for carrying that same gun when he could've ditched it long before. Then soon after they realized they had the same guy who US authorities were looking for in King's death. Ray was tried and convicted for MLK's murder, but that wasn't the end to his mischief. Behind bars in 1977, serving time for his previous crimes and King's death while escaped, Ray and a small group of other prisoners managed to use a long pipe to climb over a prison wall. For a second time, Ray had broken out of prison and was on the run. This time he didn't manage to get too far. Authorities caught him in the woods nearby soon after and he would stay behind bars until his death in 1998. In later years, Ray made claims he didn't do it and changed his story so many times its been deemed hard to give any credence to what he has to say. In a meeting with Martin Luther King's son, Dexter, Ray stated he didn't kill his father and the whole affair was a conspiracy. As it turned out, the King family spent the last years of Ray's life trying to get him legal consul and made it clear they believe he's innocent.Seldom discussed is a civil suit brought by the King in 1999 in which a jury declared MLK was killed by a conspiracy, including members of the US government.
After exiting the museum I made my way to the balcony where King was killed. Quite surprisingly, people are allowed to walk on the exact spot the incident occurred on. King's room, 306, has also been preserved the way it was on that day. Moments before he died, King and few of his colleagues we engaged in a pillow fight in a playful release of tension that was in the air. It looked like there was construction or renovations going on at one side of the motel, perhaps a new section is being added to the overall museum. I decided I would head back towards Beale Street, of course taking a different route than I came to avoid having to give anymore alms to the poor, and I delightfully encountered Pearl's Oyster House. I wanted to try something more exquisite than the typical oyster, so I ordered a dozen char-grilled oysters. They're oysters which are topped with chipotle garlic butter and Parmesan cheese, then cooked on the great. It was the first time I ever tried them that way and I'm more than willing to repeat anytime. I walked along the Mississippi River - seeing it up close for the very first time. There was a river boat ride I would've liked to have taken, but the rest of the rides were sold out for the day and I was leaving the next day. Just before getting back on Beale I bumped into the Orpheum Theater which had been standing since 1928. The sidewalk out front displays stars of the legendary names who have performed there over the years. I was happy to bumped into the stars for Johnny Mathis and Dionne Warwick; had to be careful not to step on those two. Once I reached Beale I was at a juncture that is was too early for dinner, plus my stomach was still full from the char-grilled oysters. I selected the Rock-n-Soul Museum as my final Memphis attraction, before diving into another slap of ribs that is.
The Rock-n-Soul museum takes visitors on a journey from when the blues started on the front porches of poor farm hands to how it expanded into the rock and soul genres. There's also a display on the equipment used to record this music and how the technology would improve over the years. Plus, there's endless amounts of wardrobes and suits from famous musicians, including more from Elvis, which I had seen dozens of only the day before. The admission was about thirteen dollars and the museum walk-through begins with a short fifteen minute documentary. It only takes about a half-hour to forty minutes to get through everything, so its not really that big at all. The one item I found to be of the most interest was the actual piano used while the Elvis hit song "Suspicious Minds" was being created. Everyone always thinks of the singer when it comes to that, but many people don't realize that alot of times those big hit songs were likely written by someone else on an instrument that's usually long-forgotten. It was nice to see somehow the piano that helped write that tune had been recognized and stored. When I got back out on the street I headed to Pig for another half-rack of ribs, after polishing off a half only the nigh before. I was full afterwards, but the waitress did a good job in convincing me to get a slice of peanut butter pie for dessert. It was extremely sweet, like a gigantic Reese Peanut Butter Cup, so I wasn't able to finish off the whole thing. As for all the ribs I had in Memphis; where there clearly the best I ever had? No, but were also no disappointments in the taste. After shelling out money to cabs and street dwellers over the past two days, I wasn't in the mood to spend another twenty four dollars on a cab back to the motel, so I braved forward to take the bus. While walking home from Graceland the day before, I noticed the No. 43 bus passing by the visitor center, and from there I could walk it to my motel. I found a bus stop not far from Beale which the 43 was supposed to stop at. I had to wait about twenty minutes before a bus finally arrived, cost two dollars, and as it turns out the bus was going in the wrong direction. Instead of going towards Graceland, I went to a hub station that connected with dozens of other bus lines. I waited ten minutes for a new 43 bus to begin its route, this time going the right way (although I still wasn't 100% positive at the time of boarding). The fare machine was busted on the bus, so the ride was on the house.
As the bus got further away from the touristy part of Beale, I got a very good taste of the rest of Memphis. At some points I thought I was on a time machine that went back to 1965. There were a lot of these old motels on the side of the road with old signs that had to be at least fifty years old. A few motels and hotels looked to be out of business, but a good number of them were still in operation. It wasn't in the part of town tourists would stay at, quite the contrary it was a sample of the type of lifestyle of many who live there have to follow. Such as bouncing from one home to another through eviction or some other circumstance. There must be the demand for those type of lowly motels for people needing a place to stay for a night or two until they can find a friend or relative to move in with. The stores were boarded up with cages on the windows, the projects were abundant; it was looking very dicey and I would've had a supermarket list of issues had this bus been going elsewhere than I needed it to. I felt a burst of happiness in my chest when we came across an overpass and I recognized a gas station I walked by the day before. I rang the bell to get off and went into the gas station to get a large cold drink. On the newspaper rack I saw a local paper that actually displays the mug shots of local criminals who were arrested that week. I'm not sure if that's even legal or not, but is an interesting idea to use as humiliation tactic in the fight against crime. There was still plenty of daylight when I got back to the motel room, so I took another dip in the pool and turned in early. My belly was full of ribs, oysters, and peanut butter pie, so dinner wasn't necessary, and I had to get up early for the bus ride journey home.
Unlike going downward, I made all my returning connections without any issues or diversions. I even got to pass through Alabama with its condom machines in the bathrooms. It would've been the perfect trip back had not for the final step of leaving Richmond for New York. The bus was going to leave on time and everything looked promising, just then this ox plops down on the empty seat next to me. He was about my age and seemed normal, but I couldn't understand how it was possible for someone to smell that bad. He had to be living on the streets for weeks and not showered in all that time to get that type of smell. It was horrible!!! If that wasn't bad enough, he was sneezing and coughing, even spitting onto this black rag and blowing his nose in it. The puzzling thing was his clothes weren't dirty, he was clean shaven, he wore a baseball cap; he looked like the type of guy you would want to watch a football game with. He just smelt as terrible as terrible could smell. I had seven hours of this to look forward to till we reached New York. As soon as the bus got moving he was falling asleep and leaning over onto my side. I couldn't image how things could get any worse than they were now. I took comfort in the fact that this was probably the worst thing imaginable that could happen to someone like myself, so everything thereafter should be gravy. There was only one empty seat left on the bus, and actually it was in front of me if I wanted to change locations. The only catch was I would have to sit next to a man-turned-female transvestite. So it was either remain with the horrible stench and phlegm next to me, or move up a row to be next to the transvestite. The only problem with moving was a) the stinky guy could take it as an insult and react harshly b) the transvestite might take it as a sign that wanted to get better acquainted. Under those conditions I decided to stay in my seat and suffer through the punishment. When we reached Jersey the guy walked to the back of the bus to use to the bathroom. A woman sitting a few rows behind me got a whiff of him as he walked by and politely pointed out, "Some people on this bus be stinking".
There's nothing wrong with telling the truth....
