I must admit that one of the
reasons I love blues music came from my association with that most unusual
of southern institutions known simply as the "Juke Joint". Back home in
Clay County, MS...jukes were part of the scenery. If you were lookin' to
drink or party & might not be entirely legal...jukes were the place to
be.
Certainly, these were not
the safest places in the world for a young white man to frequent, but if
you carried yourself in the right way and exercised a little "manners",
most would accept you as a regular. Alcohol was usually the main impetus
for screwing up one's courage & mustering up a foray into a section of
society that most white folks wouldn't consider visiting. It also helped
if the owner of the establishment & the customers were familiar with
any of your relatives. If they knew & respected some of your
"kinfolk", then most likely they would respect you as well.
Fear was definitely ever present as I first
ventured into this strange world. I can recall quite clearly the pounding
of my heart as I stepped into a darkened club filled with people dancing
& drinking in what can most aptly be described as a "feverish frenzy".
Startled glances at my entrance were certainly the first reaction I was
aware of. Then, an uneasy acceptance gradually took over as the oddity of
my presence began to wear off.
Once I was properly identified as to whom I was related
to, usually I was allowed to stay. It was then that I could relax somewhat
& begin to enjoy myself. Sure, there were always some who resented my
presence among them, but that was generally replaced with indifference as
time wore on.
The music was so
vibrant & alive. It seemed to enter into a place much deeper than just
my mind. Oh, that music! Powerful, tangible, and indescribable all at one
time. I found myself unable to dismiss or ignore it at that time or since.
Howlin' Wolf, Muddy Waters, Elmore James...strange sounding names that
piqued my interest as much as the sounds I heard from the jukebox. Slim
Harpo, Wilson Pickett, Otis Redding...I would never be the same
again.
As I sat at the bar
drinking my beer & trying my best to figure out just exactly what a
"wang dang doodle" was...I couldn't help but turn and look around the
room. Conversation ebbed & flowed like the tide as the patrons went
about the business that had drawn them there to begin with. All were
drinking, some were talking or singing, while others were dancing or
shooting a game of pool. Every few moments, someone would let out a shout
or hoot with laughter. Profanity seemed to be common even though smiles
were evident on most faces.
I
couldn't help but think about these people as I sat there observing their
activities. Some were country folks, farm hands, while some were laborers
in the local factories. There were pulpwood haulers, truck drivers, and
mechanics. These were definitely blue-collar working class folk. Some were
unemployed & purveyors of illegal goods...yet all these people seemed
to be comfortable around each other. What common denominator enabled these
folks to enjoy each other's company & this establishment?
As I pondered this question, I
was approached by one of the customers who was obviously inebriated.
"Whatcha' doin' here, white boy?" he slurred in my general direction.
"This is our place...ain't you got yo own place to go to?" I turned in his
direction and said, "I may be white, brother and that's a fact...my momma
& daddy had more to do with that than I did, but my money's green
& I came to drink, let me buy you a beer." I noticed the bartender
& owner of the juke had ambled over closer to assay the situation, but
it wasn't necessary. The guy broke into a wide-mouthed grin, jumped up on
the stool next to me and declared to anyone listening that, "This white
boy's allright!"
My new found
friend soon tired of my company & left to rejoin his friends at a
nearby table. I sat there and continued to study the room around me while
the music continued to play. I began to think that the common denominator
to a place like this and it's popularity could be summed up in one
word...release. That's what they came here for... release from the everday
mundane world around them. The juke provided an atmosphere that one could
unwind in and forget about the troubling things of existence. It was a
place where one could relax, if only for short time, and escape the cares
of life.
The guy at the bar had
used the term "our place", and that's exactly what it was...their place
away from the other world they inhabited. By coming there I truly had
entered into a different world. I had left behind my familiar environment
& ventured into a strange land by simply walking through a door. I had
uknowingly stumbled onto a great truth....for all the laws &
amendments that said otherwise, there were still two worlds in this land
of ours.
The longer I sat
there, I noticed that I had begun to react to the music from the jukebox.
My head was bobbing slowly as my feet were keeping time. Some of the
patrons closest to me began to grin as they noticed "the white boy"
getting into the music. After several rounds, I simply let go and began to
feel like I belonged there. Somehow, the music had become my link to these
people from a world so different than mine.
The place had pretty well packed out by this time &
most of the customers, including myself, seemed to be feeling no pain.
Several couples were swaying on the small dance floor as "I've Got Dreams
To Remember" by Otis Redding pounded out of the jukebox. What appeared to
be old-fashioned christmas tree lights strung around the walls winked
& blinked in time to the music it seemed. My nervousness had begun to
disappear, I no longer felt like a stranger...somehow, I now belonged
here.
Time seemed to stand
still that night for me as I sat and watched the activity around me play
itself out like acts of a stage play. I was intrigued by the movement
around the room as people moved from one table to another. Laughter and
smiles were abundant everywhere as the night turned into early morning. My
thoughts were interupted at this time by the bartender,"Son, you want a
shot of red?" he offered. Answering in the affirmative, I quickly tossed
down a glass of what could only have been Calvert's whiskey. I was to
discover that night that in jukes & bootlegger joints, liquor was
usually called "red" for whiskey or "white" for gin, and most always the
cheapest version of either. As I shuddered, the barkeep informed me that
"That'll do you good & help ya too!"
It wasn't long after the shot of liquour that I became
aware of just how long I had been there. Concious of the fact that I had
several miles to drive back home to the other side of the county, I made
my way to the door. The bartender told me to come back sometime & cut
a big toothy grin at me as I departed.
A blast of cold december air hit me as I exited the door
and made my way to my car. I stood there lighting a cigarette & gazing
at the star-lit sky while the music droned on behind me. I couldn't help
but hum along as Johnny Taylor asked the question, "Who's makin' love to
yo ole' lady, while you were out makin' love?" Laughing to myself, I
started my car up & made my way home as the dawn began to
break.
Such was my first
experience with the juke joints of Mississippi, it certainly wouldn't be
my last. I found myself frequenting this & other joints from time to
time.The local counties of Clay, Oktibbeha, and Lowndes had plenty such
places for me to find, and find them I did. I'd like to also think that I
found myself as well, for it was in these places I learned about a side of
my world that I had always been kept from by prejudice & societal
restrictions. It was also in these places that I learned to appreciate
blues music & that's something I've never gotten over.
The End
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