The Brooklyn Rail

At a restaurant in a small town on the west bank of the Mississippi River about 70 miles south of Memphis on Highway 61, five men are enjoying a late lunch after having spent several hours playing the blues. One of them is an older Black man whose lives in the town, the other four are young white musicians temporarily in Helena between gigs. For the last several years the older man, whose fame is based on his harmonica playing and song writing, has been one of many African-American musicians to benefit from the blues craze in Great Britain, touring the U.K. and Europe, and recording with young British bands. Although similarly young and white, the four musicians have been playing for years as a hard-working backup band and have a feel for the blues superior to that of most of the British groups the older man has been playing with. “Those English cats want to play the blues so bad, and unfortunately that’s how they play…really bad,” he confesses to them. As they are enjoying their lunch and planning future concerts (their first impromptu session was a sheer joy for all of them), two police cars screech to a halt in front of the diner and several officers burst into the eatery, which happens to be in one of Helena’s predominantly Black neighborhoods. “What’s going on here? What the hell is this?” one of the cops asks. One of the white men patiently outlines the situation: they have been playing music with their older companion who, they add, is a world-famous blues musician, and now they are having a meal. There’s no problem that they can see. This explanation does not appease the officers, who point out that “the problem” is whites and Blacks (not the word they use) eating together. “But we’re Canadian,” one of the musicians adds, which is true of three of them (the fourth has grown up just a few miles away in the tiny Arkansas community of Turkey Scratch). Not surprisingly, this, too, leaves the policemen unimpressed. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” the head officer says, hitching up his pants, “you gentlemen are going to leave this man sitting at this counter, and you’re going to get in your cars and you’re going to leave this town. Right now.” The young musicians realize that they have, as one of them later puts it, “hit a wall.” Throughout this confrontation, the elderly harp player remains silent, ignoring both his newfound friends and the policemen. The visiting musicians depart, apologizing to their friend for any fuss they may have caused. They drive straight back to where they have been staying, pack up all their equipment and drive out of town as ordered. A month or so later, with hopes of setting up some concerts, they contact the people who represent the old blues musician only to learn that he died not long after their meeting.

(Aleck Ford, a.k.a. Alex “Rice” Miller, a.k.a. Sonny Boy Williamson II, Robbie Robertson, Levon Helm, Richard Manuel, Garth Hudson)