It’s hard to believe that it’s been almost a year since I sat at the computer, trying to do this blogging thing. In one of my many inspired ideas about cool projects to get exposure for the New Roxy, I started this blog along with getting a web page up, but like so many of my other inspired ideas, I got them both started (with the help of a lot of good friends.) but they remain works in progress. I’m sure few people not related to me have actually read any of the earlier posts.
Never enough time, along with fear of public humiliation over my poor grammar and punctuation skills, has put blogging towards the bottom of my long to-do list. However, it’s time for Juke Joint Festival again and I’m once again inspired to try sharing my personal passion with the rest of the world. My friends tell me they enjoy my stories about my mis adventures in the south – maybe they’re just humoring me but maybe you’ll enjoy them too. Here’s a little recap to catch you up on the major happenings at the New Roxy since last April.
Looking back, it’s been a long year for me since the last Juke Joint Festival which was such a great success for the New Roxy. It was the second JJF that the New Roxy was open and marked an important milestone as we reached the end of two years of ‘clean out’ and officially made our first tiny steps towards Rebuilding.
The exhausted after glow of what felt like a triumphantly successful weekend of great music and friends, was shattered for me by the sudden untimely death of my dear friend Romona. With her infectious smile and southern charm she was a familiar face to anyone that came around the New Roxy. I met Romona only a couple years previously while working on my building across the street and though from vastly different backgrounds, we became fast friends. She became an indispensable help to me in so many ways and was the only person I knew with as much insane passion for the New Roxy project as myself. I miss her every time I come back to town and am constantly saddened by the belief that her death was entirely preventable if only she’d had access to affordable basic health care. It’s easy to come to town and enjoy the festivals and unique scrappy culture of the Delta and leave again but the reality remains that life is very harsh for so many people in this economically long repressed region.
One of the things I’ve experienced about life in a small town is that it seems like people die more often – I know it’s not the case, it’s just that every time someone dies, it’s seems like you know them, or you know someone related to them.
In a contrast of reality in Seattle, I’m likely to hear about a traffic accident on the highway on the radio from an up to the minute broadcast and sad to say, my first thought is most likely about the ensuing traffic jam. In Clarksdale, first hearing about an accident on the highway is most likely to happen at the local store or diner along with the news that it’s someone you know.
Another notable Clarksdale loss in the past year was Foster Wiley aka Mr. Tater, the Music Maker. He was a truly unique gem of a person with an inner goodness that always shined bright, but was at the brightest when he was making music. Sometimes it was like magic or voodoo, but Mr. Tater seemed to be everywhere and met everyone that came to town – tourists, journalists, other musicians – if you passed thru Clarksdale you probably have a memory of him. You’ll find many loving tributes to him on his Facebook page – Foster Wiley.
Mr.Tater always had such a positive belief in what I was doing with my properties and more than once brought my spirits up when I was really down about what I was doing in Clarksdale. I’ll always remember Mr. Tater walking into my building on an afternoon when I was particularly questioning my sanity in trying to refurbish an abandoned old building in Mississippi. He looked around and apparently not seeing the same falling in roof and rotting walls and smiled that big grin of his and said “this is gonna be a mighty fine blues club one day”
His steadfast belief coupled with the fact that I actually understood what he said brightened my day. Hey even if opening a blues club wasn’t my plan, there was at least one person in town that didn’t think I was completely nuts, never mind that Mr Tater was maybe not the best judge of a business endeavor, we were maybe kindred souls that way. Mr. Tater will always be missed, but never forgotten in Clarksdale. On April 16th come by and check out the music at the newly named Mr. Tater Memorial Stage during Juke Joint Festival. The stage that he was the very first act for in it’s first year, will be located in its usual spot on the street in front of the New Roxy.
As if that wasn’t enough blues for the year, we got rained out for our debut as an official Sunflower Blues and Gospel festival stage (second time it rained on that day in 20 years so they say). I poured my heart and soul into getting the New Roxy ready for its big moment to shine - and maybe bring in some money- not to mention once again dragging hapless friends through the bittersweet misery with me. Show time was 30 minutes away and we looked up to watch the dark ominous black clouds roll in as the sound equipment was being set up on stage, 200 chairs were in place, beer was iced, coffee ready and just as the first early rising music fans showed up optimistically, in their rain ponchos, the skies opened up. The dedicated fans in their ponchos were ready to tough it out, but the water pooling on the stage under the portable tents was too much for the sound equipment and the decision was made to move the event indoors.
Despite many low points, there was some good news for the New Roxy in the past year. My friend William and I spent a month in October putting up a proper roof over the stage – mostly just the two of us. It was a monumental task (at least in my mind) and I will be forever in awe at the work William did mostly by himself. He tolerated my ineptness with a hammer and nail gun. (thankfully neither of us was maimed during that phase). Ignored my endless worrying about his time on the really tall ladder, or shimming out on the narrow beams. He survived living in the flophouse and provided me the means of hot showers. The night we were open to celebrate our roof raising was one of those cherished moments that make all the hard parts worth while. To see the building lit up under the starry sky, the stage full with a DJ and his equipment, Good friends and strangers alike came by to celebrate with us. Tourists and locals, black and white, all enjoying and dancing to great music under the stars and legally buying beer from me!
The realization hit me at that moment, that I was now a Blues Bar Owner.
So strange because I’ve said ever since I bought the flop house 6 years ago, I never, intended to open a blues bar – that’s what everyone else was doing.
I cried a little at that moment - Romona should have been behind the bar with me, charming the customers, but her picture and spirit will always be there.
