and you decided to come to Memphis?
plus a duckie parade
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Dear friend —
In the Memphis of my fantasies, music suffused the city. Blues in the bars, soul on the streets, rock and roll blasting everywhere else. Basically, I hoped walking in Memphis would be like living in a real-life musical, anyone I passed by suddenly apt to break into song and dance.
Turns out, Memphis kind of has that energy — but only on Beale Street, a historic, three-block stretch of music clubs, soul food restaurants, and souvenir shops popular with tourists. The rest of the city is kind of lusterless and emptied out — worryingly so, for the future of local businesses. The week I visited in late April, even the main drags like South Main were largely devoid of people, save the visible homeless. It felt a little sad, and a little dangerous.
Was this just the effect of Covid? I’m sure that’s part of it, but Memphis has been shrinking — or at best stagnating — for quite a while. Poverty levels: high. As a result, large swaths of the city have a historic yet run-down look, like they were once beloved, but are now abandoned. One local I met, when I mentioned I was traveling around for fun, said with honest incredulity, “and you decided to come to Memphis?”
There are unique things in Memphis, however, that you can’t experience anywhere else. One day I visited Graceland — a kitschy yet joyful place where I really got into Elvis’ music for the first time. Another day I spent in The National Civil Rights Museum, which encompasses the historic Lorraine Motel, where Dr. Martin Luther King., Jr. was assassinated. I got Memphis-style BBQ from Rendezvous, walked by the Mississippi River, toured Sun Studio where Elvis was discovered.
Then, I decided to go on the water! Shelby Farm Park, a 4,500-acre oasis-in-the-city that contains more than 20 little lakes, was having a Canoes and Cocktails event — kayaking and paddleboarding while watching the sunset, followed by drinks and nibbles. Kayaks were already sold out, so I booked a standup paddleboard with some trepidation — while in Austin I’d watched a paddleboarder tip over and take an accidental plunge. Would I meet the same fate?
Only one way to find out — except on the day of, it started drizzling. The ticket said no refunds: Rain meant cocktails would still go on, and I’d be given a voucher for a free boat rental in the future.
Determinedly, I Ziplocked my phone — then arrived at the park woefully underdressed for the weather. Did you know that 70 degrees when it’s cloudy and rainy feels a lot colder than 70 degrees when it’s sunny and muggy? I did not. I pulled the sleeves of my light sweatshirt over my cold hands. I checked in with a friendly guy in the covered picnic area, then joined the other would-be-kayakers — who were all smartly wearing water-resistant puffy jackets.
An organizer called for our attention. “Is there anyone who actually wants to go out on the water in this weather?” Immediately, a group of teenagers raised their hands. “Oh, really?” he said, surprised. He stood still and think for a bit. “Okay, wait a second,” he said finally, and went to confer with the other organizers.
Then, it was a go! Once the teens started heading over to the lake, half the crowd — me included — decided to brave the rain too. I was able to finagle a kayak! On the water I chatted with some nice girls. One of them took pictures of me but I looked so bedraggled in them I couldn’t post them on Instagram.
The drizzle stopped, but it got freezinger and freezinger. My hands went numb. By the time I got out, I was visibly shivering — and couldn’t stop. Luckily, a couple little bonfires were going by then. I got a glass of wine and headed toward one, joining Randy and Eileen, two girls who’d opted not to do the whole kayaking thing and were thus a few drinks ahead of me.
“I wanted to get pictures of the sunset,” Eileen said, bobbing her head of spiky blond hair. “I’ve been trying to do this for two years! Last year I signed up, and a thunderstorm rolled in. So I tried again this year, and we got this!”
“They’ll give you a voucher to come another time though, right?” I asked.
“Yes, but you can only use that during regular hours, until five.”
“Bummer,” I said. Eileen didn’t seem unhappy though — she was smiling blissfully. Randy went and brought back another round of drinks for them. I asked for tips on what else to do in Memphis. Eileen suggested a vegan restaurant, she being vegan. Randy suggested an elevator trip up a glass pyramid. Then Eileen suggested watching the duck walk at the Peabody Hotel.
“I’ve heard of that!” I said. “The ducks parade around the hotel on a red carpet then go up an elevator?”
“Be careful though,” Randy warned, “what you get at the bar.” She was slurring her words a little at this point, which added a sweet childlike lisp. “When you order a drink, they’ll suggest top shelf, like Grey Goose. Then they’ll talk you into a double! And they charge like $12 a shot — so now you’re out $24 and you haven’t even gotten a drink yet!”
I laughed. “Okay, duly warned.”
My shivering was still intense so I left soon after for the sake of health, blasting Elvis from my car and singing along, to warm up. A few days later, I walked to The Peabody. In the lobby bar I nabbed one of the few remaining seats and ordered a Rubber Ducky Cocktail, a rum drink that came with a commemorative mini rubber duckie (cost: a reasonable $12).
The red carpet had been rolled out, but the ducks were still just hanging out in the central fountain. I started chatting with two older women sitting near me. One was from somewhere in Minnesota, the other from Chicago.
“Chicago’s wonderful,” I enthused. I was about to say I planned to visit in June, but the Chicago woman shook her head gravely.
“It’s too dangerous now,” she said. “People shoot each other all the time on the highways.”
“Oh, really?” I said. “On the highways? Why on the highways?”
She shrugged. “I’m not really in Chicago, I’m in a suburb. I try not to go into the city anymore.”
Both of them loved Memphis though. “Isn’t this place great? We try to come here every year,” the Minnesota woman said. I wondered what it was they loved so much. I asked them for recommendations and they immediately said Graceland — in fact they loved the place so much they were staying at the hotel there. They also recommended a donut shop (“They’re open 24 hours and all the donuts cost just a dollar!), and a faraway diner.
My duckie drink arrived, with complimentary snacks — peanuts and such — which I gave to my neighbors. They started nibbling shyly. I mentioned I was going to Nashville next, and the Minnesota woman got excited. “A friend of mine performs there!” she said. “At Tootsie’s!”
Then, the march began! The ducks flitted off the fountain, landed on the red carpet, waddled over to the open elevator door.
That was it. I pocketed my commemorative duckie, said goodbye to the women. A few days later, I found myself at Tootsie’s, a honky-tonk (I had to look up what a honky-tonk was) in Nashville. Three floors! Each with its own band! The entire place packed shoulder to shoulder with unmasked people screaming: “Got my hands up, they're playing my song…. It's a party in the U.S.A.!”
But more about Nashville in the next love note —
Love,
Siel
Three links you might love
The Elvis song that I’ve been listening to the most (with a little help from Junkie XL)
Tennessee’s Chapter 16 covers “literature and literary life in the state.” Maybe every state should had an NEA-funded publication like this?
Take a dialect quiz to find out where you sound like you’re from.