kay will travel

Our first introduction to Memphisians was the Hotel staff at the Marriot’s SpringHill Suites. They were helpful and delightful people. The walk down Main Street to dinner was interrupted more than once with still pleasant but some of the more needy population. Dinner at BB King’s Blues Club was appropriately populous and pulsing. After a photo with the waiter (who was obviously au fait with customer congeniality – that is not my lipstick), Will and I headed out onto the famous Beale Street in search of more music.

Our senses alerted us to an harmonica (with harmony) so we headed into that doorway. Blocking the entrance was an Afro American with a beanie and great padded jacket. Despite the exterior covering I estimated him to be very large in girth. He asked us for ID. Will’s response was “You’re kidding aren’t you?” The extremely solemn look on his face was indicating to me that maybe he wasn’t. And indeed, he was not making any jokes. He insisted. We could not comply (as I had left any form of identification in the hotel). Will and I had no choice but to head to bed.

The next day the weather was what you might term tumultuously wet. We arrived at the Gibson Guitar factory dripping but this didn’t dampen our awe of the craftsmanship we espied in the Gibson shop while waiting for the tour to start.

Our tour guide was a young lady who was humorless. Perhaps she was just tired of the repetitiveness of her job. If that was the case, strange that when asked about the responsibilities of each person in the factory, she replied that it was the company’s policy to train people for one job and one job only within the factory. I asked what happened when people took holidays or were ill. She replied that there were usually at least two people who worked in each section and that the one person would continue alone until the other returned. This did not seem like progressive thinking to me and surely counteracts worker motivation involving diversity or feelings of importance in the company?  The ‘light misty rain’ that fell  from one source in the roof space within the walls of the factory was explained as the system which liberated the workers of dust masks. While I understood the theory – (yes, I know that it wasn’t particularly scientific) – I was not convinced that this system was reliable in preventing the inhalation of sawdust. Just inside the entrance doors to the factory, there was extensive shelving which towered above us and housed guitar cases. Most of these were covered in substantial amounts of sawdust. Walking along, it was interesting to see the processes and watch the workers dutifully doing their jobs. One lady was retrieving parts of a guitar shaped mold from shelves and placing them on a table. ‘Placing’ is probably misleading as it was more of a throwing motion. She was probably not risking any damage to the parts but she sure wasn’t looking like she cared about or enjoyed her work either. As we continued along the designated path we came to the men whose job it was to sand the finished, glued pieces of a raw guitar. One of this team seemed to be preparing to go on a break and used air pressure to ‘hose’ himself down. He let the stream of air run around the collar of his shirt and top of his shoulders to remove the dust – (which if their system was effective, should not have been anywhere near his face). The painting booths were interesting (and thank goodness workers did wear masks here) as the guitars are decorated by a few individuals without any strict regulated pattern, making every one unique.

We crossed the road and ventured into the Rock ‘n Soul Museum. It did not have a lot of glitz but I liked that about it. It was well-organised, informative and included interesting arrangements of memorabilia. I loved the display about WHER – the first all girl radio station which first broadcast in 1955.

An early press release described the station: “The studio and offices have been feminized from front door to rear exit. The disc jockeys are called jockettes, the studio is known as the doll’s den, the control rooms are called playrooms, the hallway is mirrored, the equipment room has been decorated with murals depicting the evolution of feminine clothing, the stationary is perfumed, the advertisers are listed in a date book, and the exit to the parking lot is labeled “Bye, Bye ‘Till Next Time”.

http://www.cmshowcase.org/jimmuseum/wher_radio_station.htm

The images and text about the death of Martin Luther King was certainly dispiriting and together with our still wet clothes we headed wearily back to the hotel to change and have a bit of a lie down.

We rallied though and headed out to Beale Street, and feeling a little like teenagers, we armed ourselves with ID!

Pig – Pork with attitude – was our choice of Restaurant. The name certainly did nothing to entice me but the place had been recommended by our guide. And I am not sure exactly why. I suppose the servings were generous but not for the price although that seemed to be quite standard for the southern states. There was only beer and soda to drink and eating the ribs and the burger which arrived on plastic plates required a bit of manhandling as the plastic cutlery was not really up to the job.

Despite the fact that I felt like I almost needed another shower to get clean after eating, Will and I headed over to the exact same bar where we had been refused entry the night before. The same robust gentleman was guarding the door but we smiled and offered our ID this time and he was much more generous with his welcome. The quality of the three musicians at the Blues Hall was wonderful. We ventured into the Rum Boogie Cafe as well but while the music was just as good, I liked the more intimate space of the Hall.