Someone failing to fathom Mississippi suggested, early in Spring, that “Mississippi does not want to be like Vermont”.
Vermont is Mississippi’s aspiration. Anyone misunderstanding must take the midnight train to Georgia.
Mississippi desires devotion to its destiny and not — as the Southern Growth Policies Board’s Executive Director observed at a conference that I attended in Little Rock — “an industrial tenant farm”.
Federal Judge Michael Mills’ June Bugs convened in Clarksdale on the first weekend of June. The Delta’s soulfulness is Exhibit “A” that Mississippi is optimal unadulterated by inferior influences in industrial societies.
I attended Sue Watson Stock’s memorial service at St. Andrew’s immediately before departing. Sue, when inhabiting Greenville, told my mother that the Delta landscape grows upon one: The low horizon and expansive sky are infectious.
Thursday evening found us dining at Francine and Bill Luckett’s hunting camp, fronting the Mississippi River. Why would anyone mar the exquisite environment which is our birthright as Mississippians? Anyone wanting the Rust Belt should relocate: We neither want nor need it.
The following morning, those performing rehearsed at Bill Luckett and Morgan Freeman’s Ground Zero Blues Club. The musicians sounded superior as I walked towards the venue before entering.
Afterwards I explored. Clarksdale created cultural tourism, reinventing itself and redirecting the city from blight and irrelevance. Greater Jackson ought imitate Coahoma County. Detroit offers no model for economic development.
Friday evening, the group convened at the Clarksdale Country Club for research papers — mine focused on the tenure of Tennessee Williams’ maternal grandfather, the Reverend Walter Dakin, at Grace Church in Canton before the family relocated to Clarksdale — and a movie premiere.
Everyone dressed as Tennessee Williams characters. I was Big Daddy Pollitt, from “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof”; resplendent in a Ralph Lauren three-piece white linen suit; redolent of Southern gentlemen past. I have seen a photograph of a great-grandfather so attired, in a book: I channeled lions of my lineage. Aretha asked,
“Knew you'd be a vision in white
How’d you get your pants so tight?”
Saturday afternoon, at the Cutrer Mansion, we enjoyed a lecture and movie on Williams’ childhood in Clarksdale. Psychologically, Williams never departed his prelapsarian past prior to relocating to St. Louis, metropolitan mediocrity, constricted circumstances, and parental discord.
Saturday evening, Francine and Bill Luckett hosted a cocktail dinner in their Fay Jones jewel box dwelling. Most guests costumed themselves consummately anew. Anticipating being onstage imminently, I arrived as a rock and roll star. The Byrds believed,
“And with your hair swung right and your pants fit tight
It’s gonna be all right”
Alright it was. The talent onstage was awesome. I donned a bright red jumpsuit. If I could not nail The Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction” wearing that outfit, I ought to jump off the Tallahatchie Bridge. Olive Branch native, now Memphis Federal Judge Bernice Donald closed with “Proud Mary.” Creedence Clearwater Revival claimed,
“Cleaned a lot of plates in Memphis
Pumped a lot of ’pane down in New Orleans,”
and, leading the backup singers, the Sizzling Hot Jaylettes (referencing Ray Charles’ backup singers, the Raelettes), I appeared prepared to pump propane in the Crescent City.
Sunday, the June Bugs attended the 10:30 service at St. George’s Church. Tennessee Williams was predestined to become a playwright, watching Walter Dakin on the altar, “performing” pastorally. We toured the Tennessee Williams Museum, in the former Rectory, afterwards. Following barbecue at Abe’s, arguably Clarksdale’s best restaurant, I returned to Jackson.
Mississippi does not desire to discard desirable charms and qualities: Billy Preston propounded,
“That’s the way God planned it
That’s the way God wants it to be”
Jay Wiener is a Northsider
