Deep South Road Trip 2018 - Clarksdale, MS
Monday Afternoon 29 January - Clarksdale, MS
We set off from Graceland towards Clarksdale in the Mississippi Delta, 70 miles south on Highways 61 and 49. On the outskirts of Memphis we crossed the state line into Mississippi and were soon driving through miles of flat featureless farmland punctuated by billboards, settlements and the occasional cypress swamp, with the mighty Mississippi River out of sight to our west.
The Delta is famous for its fertile soil, poverty and the delta blues, with artists such as Robert Johnson, John Lee Hooker, Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf, Leadbelly, Lightnin' Hopkins ... the list goes on.
Clarksdale is situated at the head of navigation on the Sunflower River, one of the main tributaries of the Yazoo River, which feeds into the Mississippi River further south at Vicksburg. After the forced removal of American Indians, white settlers moved into the Delta, the fertile soil of which was well suited to cultivation of cotton. Black slaves were used to develop and work the plantations. Clarksdale prospered and became known as the Golden Buckle on the Cotton Belt.
After slavery was abolished, black people gained some independence, but racial tensions led to the formation of white militias and the passing of Jim Crow laws which segregated public facilities. In the 1940s, mechanisation reduced the need for farm labour and thousands of black people left the Delta in what became known as the Great Migration to Chicago and other cities, influencing music and culture there, including Chicago jazz and blues.
Clarksdale is famous for its crossroads on Highway 49, where Robert Johnson is said to have sold his soul. Blues musician Son House insisted Johnson was a decent harmonica player but poor guitarist, until he disappeared for a few weeks. Legend has it he took his guitar to the crossroads, where the devil retuned it in exchange for his soul. Johnson returned with a mastery of the blues, but he had a troubled life and died in 1938 aged 27. Like other musicians who died at the same age, he had an outsized influence on the music of the 20th century.
On the outskirts of Clarksdale, we had a quick look at the Shack Up Inn, before heading back into town to check out the hotels shown on Google Maps. The only one we could find was the Hooker Hotel, which seemed closed. We walked around Clarksdale taking photos in the biting winter wind. The town is a crumbling living monument to its culturally significant history.
At the Bluestown Music Store, we met the owner and also David, a photographer from LA, whose photos we later saw at the Shack Up Inn. David recommended we stay at the Shack Up Inn. He said he’d spent some time in most of their rooms, but couldn’t remember much else about it. The stores owner’s son Marshall Drew would be playing that night at the Hopson Commissary, next door to the Shack Up Inn. Meanwhile, Drew Snr was calling the Hooker Hotel on his cell, which he passed to us. We decided we’d stay at the Shack Up Inn.
Nige: “Is that the man from the Hooker Hotel?”
Drew Snr: “I have no idea, Sir.”
At the Shack Up Inn, the receptionist chose us a shack called Legends. Owner Bill told us he found our shack in a town called Tutwiler, rescued it for free and moved it here for $2,000. Its previous occupant was Robert Knox, a black man whose driving licence was found in the window of the shack.
Our shack had a bedroom at each end with connecting kitchen area and bathroom to the side. It was full of graffiti from previous occupants and effectively heated by a system blowing in hot air. Just as well, because winter nights are freezing.
After settling in, we went to the main reception area for cold beers (Coors Banquet, delicious). We spoke to Todd, who lives nearby in Dublin (16 residents and 40 dogs) and filled us in on local history. A local doctor (or optometrist?) called Jimmy had decided to drop out. In the winter, he would take his Kayak down the Mississippi River, turn left at the Gulf and continue to Mobile. During the warmer months, he would return to Clarksdale, living up on the side of the bridge where Hopson Road crosses the Sunflower River. He died in January 2017. He was a regular at the Shack Up Inn, where his picture now hangs.
At the Hopson Commissary, Marshall Drew was playing. Local people had gathered and it was Robert the barman’s birthday. We were asked to tip Marshall generously (we gave $20). The food was contributed by local people and free: gumbo stew, rice, tortilla chips, dips, dessert. We met Patsy, who made one of the dishes and grew up in a shack like the one we were staying in.
We bumped into David, the photographer we’d met at Bluestown Music Store. At the bar, Johnnie introduced himself to us. He had moved from Melbourne Australia to Clarksdale two years ago. He owns Levon's Bar & Grill, a large restaurant in Clarksdale where he employs 20 people. He seemed to be saying Levon's runs at a loss, but he can take it. He mentioned the mayor of Clarksdale (black Trump, promised an ice rink and a bowling alley) hadn’t set foot in Levon's, as he expected an invitation, but had visited another restaurant, called it the best in town, only for it to close a few weeks later.
Johnnie produced a vaping pen. He became more eloquent (Eagles member’s house full of bacon presses, because at the peak of his fame people thought he liked them), while I became incapacitated from overindulgence and left for bed, wondering whether I’d find the shack. Nige followed shortly after.
Tuesday morning 30th January - Clarksdale, MS
Down to -3C overnight, our shack exposed, standing on the plain, but we were warm and snug inside. The experience made us think what life must have been like. These shacks provided basic but effective protection from the elements.
We had breakfast at Yazoo Pass Restaurant in town. The overnight cold was replaced by the warmth of unbroken sun. Clarksdale seemed a different place. People were at work and the sun made it hard to see, unless you were in the shade. We wandered past Levon's Bar & Grill down to Sunflower River Landing, where the barges used to come up. You could see how wide the river had been.
We set off from Graceland towards Clarksdale in the Mississippi Delta, 70 miles south on Highways 61 and 49. On the outskirts of Memphis we crossed the state line into Mississippi and were soon driving through miles of flat featureless farmland punctuated by billboards, settlements and the occasional cypress swamp, with the mighty Mississippi River out of sight to our west.
 |
| A cypress swamp along Highway 61 |
The Delta is famous for its fertile soil, poverty and the delta blues, with artists such as Robert Johnson, John Lee Hooker, Muddy Waters, Howlin' Wolf, Leadbelly, Lightnin' Hopkins ... the list goes on.
Clarksdale is situated at the head of navigation on the Sunflower River, one of the main tributaries of the Yazoo River, which feeds into the Mississippi River further south at Vicksburg. After the forced removal of American Indians, white settlers moved into the Delta, the fertile soil of which was well suited to cultivation of cotton. Black slaves were used to develop and work the plantations. Clarksdale prospered and became known as the Golden Buckle on the Cotton Belt.
After slavery was abolished, black people gained some independence, but racial tensions led to the formation of white militias and the passing of Jim Crow laws which segregated public facilities. In the 1940s, mechanisation reduced the need for farm labour and thousands of black people left the Delta in what became known as the Great Migration to Chicago and other cities, influencing music and culture there, including Chicago jazz and blues.
Clarksdale is famous for its crossroads on Highway 49, where Robert Johnson is said to have sold his soul. Blues musician Son House insisted Johnson was a decent harmonica player but poor guitarist, until he disappeared for a few weeks. Legend has it he took his guitar to the crossroads, where the devil retuned it in exchange for his soul. Johnson returned with a mastery of the blues, but he had a troubled life and died in 1938 aged 27. Like other musicians who died at the same age, he had an outsized influence on the music of the 20th century.
On the outskirts of Clarksdale, we had a quick look at the Shack Up Inn, before heading back into town to check out the hotels shown on Google Maps. The only one we could find was the Hooker Hotel, which seemed closed. We walked around Clarksdale taking photos in the biting winter wind. The town is a crumbling living monument to its culturally significant history.
 |
| Checking out the Shack Up Inn |
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| Walking around Clarksdale |
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| Ground Zero Blues Club, owned by Mississippi Delta resident Morgan Freeman and others |
At the Bluestown Music Store, we met the owner and also David, a photographer from LA, whose photos we later saw at the Shack Up Inn. David recommended we stay at the Shack Up Inn. He said he’d spent some time in most of their rooms, but couldn’t remember much else about it. The stores owner’s son Marshall Drew would be playing that night at the Hopson Commissary, next door to the Shack Up Inn. Meanwhile, Drew Snr was calling the Hooker Hotel on his cell, which he passed to us. We decided we’d stay at the Shack Up Inn.
Nige: “Is that the man from the Hooker Hotel?”
Drew Snr: “I have no idea, Sir.”
At the Shack Up Inn, the receptionist chose us a shack called Legends. Owner Bill told us he found our shack in a town called Tutwiler, rescued it for free and moved it here for $2,000. Its previous occupant was Robert Knox, a black man whose driving licence was found in the window of the shack.
Our shack had a bedroom at each end with connecting kitchen area and bathroom to the side. It was full of graffiti from previous occupants and effectively heated by a system blowing in hot air. Just as well, because winter nights are freezing.
 |
| Nige in our shack |
After settling in, we went to the main reception area for cold beers (Coors Banquet, delicious). We spoke to Todd, who lives nearby in Dublin (16 residents and 40 dogs) and filled us in on local history. A local doctor (or optometrist?) called Jimmy had decided to drop out. In the winter, he would take his Kayak down the Mississippi River, turn left at the Gulf and continue to Mobile. During the warmer months, he would return to Clarksdale, living up on the side of the bridge where Hopson Road crosses the Sunflower River. He died in January 2017. He was a regular at the Shack Up Inn, where his picture now hangs.
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| Not too many guests in January |
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| Todd and Nige |
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| Yeah, right. |
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| Richard's recently acquired Epiphone |
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| The guitar on the left is from Shack Up Inn's collection, which residents can use |
At the Hopson Commissary, Marshall Drew was playing. Local people had gathered and it was Robert the barman’s birthday. We were asked to tip Marshall generously (we gave $20). The food was contributed by local people and free: gumbo stew, rice, tortilla chips, dips, dessert. We met Patsy, who made one of the dishes and grew up in a shack like the one we were staying in.
 |
| Marshall Drew at the Commissary |
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| The Commissary |
We bumped into David, the photographer we’d met at Bluestown Music Store. At the bar, Johnnie introduced himself to us. He had moved from Melbourne Australia to Clarksdale two years ago. He owns Levon's Bar & Grill, a large restaurant in Clarksdale where he employs 20 people. He seemed to be saying Levon's runs at a loss, but he can take it. He mentioned the mayor of Clarksdale (black Trump, promised an ice rink and a bowling alley) hadn’t set foot in Levon's, as he expected an invitation, but had visited another restaurant, called it the best in town, only for it to close a few weeks later.
Johnnie produced a vaping pen. He became more eloquent (Eagles member’s house full of bacon presses, because at the peak of his fame people thought he liked them), while I became incapacitated from overindulgence and left for bed, wondering whether I’d find the shack. Nige followed shortly after.
Tuesday morning 30th January - Clarksdale, MS
Down to -3C overnight, our shack exposed, standing on the plain, but we were warm and snug inside. The experience made us think what life must have been like. These shacks provided basic but effective protection from the elements.
 |
| Photo of Jimmy |
We had breakfast at Yazoo Pass Restaurant in town. The overnight cold was replaced by the warmth of unbroken sun. Clarksdale seemed a different place. People were at work and the sun made it hard to see, unless you were in the shade. We wandered past Levon's Bar & Grill down to Sunflower River Landing, where the barges used to come up. You could see how wide the river had been.
 |
| Sunflower River |
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