A Different Drummer: Lew, owner-operator, and Ms. Nikki, heartbreak survivor

Welcome to episode six, the finale: Old Folks Meet Their Kind in Memphis Museums.
It felt good to drop our cart in Memphis in the dark after driving 647 miles from Austin. It was time for a much needed rest, and then tomorrow Gino, Patricia, Susan, and I would paint the town red and blue in one last hurrah as a foursome. The day after, Susan and I would fly back home.
First, we needed showers, washing machines, and time on the couch. We uncorked the last California wine. Gino’s truck cab looked like old people were living in it. Water bottles and hard candy were strewn about. Layers of clothing created a sedimentary wall between the backseats. Bags of fruit sat on top. We needed to air things out.
We flopped about, content. We didn’t have to go far to touch history. Elvis’s 4th home was only three blocks away. His high school was four blocks from us. We would walk past three more of Elvis’s homes on our walk in the morning. He had nine of them.
At the crack of dawn coffee started perking and backpacks got stuffed. It was our day to discover Memphis. We only had one mile to walk to Beale Street. This was a big improvement after our four-mile walk in Austin. Also, in Austin music is spread out over miles. It takes a car. In Memphis, Beale Street offers enough live music to keep everybody jumping. It takes shoes.
We walked the mile and stopped for breakfast at the Blue Plate downtown on Court and November 6th Street. From there it was just a few blocks to Beale Street.
An early dawn walk on Beale Street allows one time to take in the present and ponder the past. American rock and soul springs to life from the blues in the music of Memphis. To be alone on that famous street was peaceful and contemplative. One had time to read the window posters and stand in memory before the dozens of names on bronze notes embedded in the sidewalk. Isaac Hayes “Black Moses,” Memphis Slim “Ambassador of Goodwill.”
From Beale we waked a few blocks to the National Civil Rights Museum. Susan and I were both moved deeply standing there in front of room 306 at the Lorraine Motel. We were touched with sorrow and appreciation. Susan teared. We held hands.
From there we wandered through the shop and displays at the Gibson Guitar Headquarters and toured the Memphis Museum of Rock ‘n’ Soul. Jerry Lee Lewis and Elvis played major roles in evolving the Memphis music merge.
Finally and at last, it was late afternoon and we could hear live music from the sidewalks. It was time to find a real authentic blues club and a truly local music scene. A lot of these clubs are now corporate, like the B.B. King Blues Club, and we wanted mom and pop. We visited several we liked and enjoyed the live music, but we were destined to wander into Lew’s Blue Note at the end of the street.
Lew himself is sitting at the welcome booth wearing a Dallas Cowboys hat. Gino informs him he’s from Philly and an Eagles fan, and that I’m from western PA and western CA and fans of the Steelers, 49ers, and the Raiders. Football banter kept us bullshooting all the way to the bar, where we saw Yuengling beer on tap. “That’s from Pottstown Pennsylvania,” yelled Gino.
“I know,” said Lew. “I like it.” He pointed overhead to a huge Yuengling sign on his wall, “An old friend since 1829.”
A woman in a Blue Note t-shirt and big hoops sat next to us at the bar. “This is my sister, Pam,” said Lew. “If you stay for the live music, she’ll take care of you when it gets crazy in here.”
A young man came out of the kitchen and began working a tap. “This is my son. He tends bar.”
Another woman came from behind the stage and stepped up. “This here’s my wife. She’s the manager.”
“It sounds like a true family business,” I said.
“It is,” said Lew. “I’ll bet you we are the only club on Beale that is owner operated.”
“That’s all I need to hear,” said Gino. “We’re staying here.”
Pam took us to a great table near the band. We ordered up catfish and chicken wings and watched as the sun set and the bar filled with patrons. Magic Fingers, the chatty guitar player set up and played a few excellent riffs before introduced the headliner, Miss Nikki. Both are local blues creations.
As anticipated by the audience, Ms Nikki sang herself into a sweaty deep-throated frenzy, lost her mind, and laid down on the stage during a song about heartbreak and disappointment. She wailed that she was through, done, finished. Men from the audience came up and knelt before her, symbolically offered their hearts in sympathy. This revived Ms. Nikki and she rose to sing again more strongly. The audience went wild.
Gino and Patricia danced every song. Me and Sue, we danced a few.
Our wild night at Lew’s marked the perfect end to our spontaneous southern road trip from Benicia to Barstow, to Flagstaff, to Spring City, to Carlsbad, to Austin, to Memphis.
We flew home in the morning. We were only on the road from Saturday to Saturday. It seemed like six weeks.