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Memphis,
Tennessee: Mythbuilding by the American Nile
by Sam Smith
Elvis
was not a phenomenon. He was not a craze. He was not even,
or at least not only, a singer, or an artist. He was that
perfect American symbol, fundamentally a mystery, and the
idea was that he would outlive us all - or live for as long
as it took both him and his audience to reach the limits of
what that symbol had to say.
Greil Marcus -
Dead Elvis: A Chronicle of a Cultural Obsession
It's a shame Flannery O'Connor didn't live long enough to see
"Death Week."
Death Week, as most people know by now, is the ritual observance
of the anniversary of Elvis Presley's death on August 16, 1977.
The festivities include, but are not limited to: tours of Graceland,
the King's palatial estate hard by the Memphis boulevard bearing
his name; picnics; Elvis impersonators of every age, race, creed,
sex, and religious persuasion; ample opportunities to spend
one's life savings on a brain-numbing array of Elvis paraphernalia;
and, of course, the climactic candlelight vigil at the grave
site.
This being the fifteenth anniversary of the King's alleged demise,
the size of the celebration and the amount of media attention
it received were greater than usual. City officials estimated
the number of pilgrims descending on Mecca-by-the-Mississippi
at between 20-50,000.
Social scientists of every stripe have sought for years to explain
the St. Elvis phenomenon - an obsession which often borders
on religious fanaticism.
Even Ms. O'Connor, the award-winning fiction writer who built
her literary legacy around the degenerate comings and goings
of Deep South white trash, would have had a hard time swallowing
it all.
In his new book, Dead Elvis: A Chronicle of a Cultural Obsession,
Greil Marcus says that "the identification of Elvis with Jesus
has been a secret theme of the Elvis story at least since 1956;
since Elvis' death it has been no secret at all. In 1982 in
Memphis," he says, "Sam Phillips told a crowd of fans and believers
that the two most important events in American history were
the birth of Jesus and the birth of Elvis Presley." That Jesus
Christ wasn't actually born in America is beside the point;
what matters is that in Elvisism, we may be witnessing the genesis
of a new religion. If the pseudo-cult has gained this much momentum
in a scant fifteen years, goes the argument, just imagine what
another 2000 years of hype might produce.
Of course, not all Christians are tent-revivalists. And, in
the mold of the quiet, reflective believer, one national broadcast
news outlet captured a man lamenting, in his best true-spirit-of-Christmas
tone, that the whole sordid display had grown too commercial.
This isn't what Elvis' life was all about, he said.
When the multitudes gather by the American Nile, the sublime
and the ridiculous walk hand-in-hand.
While barrels of ink have been devoted to Elvis, comparatively
little attention has been paid to the City of Memphis itself
as mythmaker. Often it's treated as nothing more than "the city"
to which "the country boy" in this rags to royalty tale migrated
- as though Peoria might have served just as well.
But whether the Cult of Elvis fades or flowers, it couldn't
ask for a better place than Memphis, Tennessee to make a stand.
A thumping metropolis of around 3/4 million people, the Bluff
City has long been a proving ground; here dreams and even lives
are tested against a history that's the stuff of legend.
With every third door a blues club and names like Howlin' Wolf,
W.C. Handy, and B.B. King wherever you turn, it's easy to understand
downtown Beale Street's billing as the birthplace of the blues.
And Sam Phillips' celebrated Sun Studios launched the careers
of Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Roy Orbison, Jerry Lee Lewis,
and Carl Perkins.
But Memphis has also long been a focus in the nation's struggle
for racial equality. In the early 1860s, for example, Memphis
was a way station on the Underground Railroad, through which
abolitionists like Harriet Tubman spirited runaway slaves to
safety in the Northern United States and Canada.
Roots author Alex Haley, who instilled in a generation of American
blacks a sense of their racial history, was recently laid to
rest in his nearby hometown of Henning, Tennessee.
Gunfire in Memphis on the morning of April 4, 1968 immortalized
the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr., endowing him in a martyr's
death with more power than any civil rights leader could ever
claim in life.
And the National Civil Rights Museum opened in Memphis last
September.
Dawn Massey, Communications Manager for the Memphis Convention
and Visitors Bureau, says that the museum's goal is to build
racial harmony through education.
"We want to make sure no one forgets.
"It's been well-received by whites as well as blacks, too,"
she adds. "Many whites are surprised to find that it's relevant
to their lives. The museum is about human rights, about what
is acceptable and what is not acceptable in society." Ironically,
in a small municipal park downtown, across from the University
of Tennessee's Memphis Medical Center Campus, stands a statue
of Nathan Bedford Forrest, Confederate General and co- founder
of the Ku Klux Klan. This statue, not surprisingly, has been
the source of some controversy over the past few years.
Put simply, Memphis can be a confusing, unpredictable place
even for longtime residents.
This past May, when a Los Angeles jury acquitted the four police
officers who beat Rodney King, many Memphians expected trouble.
It never happened.
As many of us watched enraged blacks trying to burn Los Angeles
to the ground, the Memphis in May Beale Street Music Festival
went on as planned. According to Massey, it seemed like blacks
and whites were going out of their way to be nice to each other.
Not bad for a city which even Massey, who's lived here her whole
life, admits has a checkered history where race relations are
concerned. Not bad at all.
Civil rights to the blues to Elvis - what a strange place the
20th Century would be without the Bluff City.
Perhaps the city's legendary stature stems in part from its
overwhelming Southernness. Neal Bowers, the highly-regarded
Southern poet, critic, and biographer who now teaches at Iowa
State University in Ames, says there's a unique gothic element
to life below the Mason-Dixon.
According to Bowers, Southerners often take for granted a degree
of weirdness that the average Yankee would find genuinely unsettling.
Stories like William Faulkner's "A Rose for Emily," O'Connor's
"The Life You Save May Be Your Own," and Tar Heel novelist T.R.
Pearson's acclaimed A Short History of a Small Place
are classic examples of the matter-of-factness with which we
Southerners sometimes greet the bizarre.
In this respect, at least, Memphis is an almost archetypal Southern
city. Many residents insist that they hear about so many horrible
crimes that even the truly outlandish ones don't register anymore.
One woman says she remembers a murder last year where somebody
got dismembered, but she didn't really pay attention to the
details.
Actually, there were a couple of notable dismemberments, according
to a local reporter, who asked not to be identified. In one
case, a woman of questionable mental capacity strangled her
roommate. After a few days, the odor forced her to drag the
body into the bathroom, where she began a series of "medical
experiments" - dissections and the like - designed, ultimately,
to bring the body back to life. She felt sure she was on the
right track, because the body was talking to her.
Her attempts to control the odor of decay, however, proved futile,
even though she covered the body with baking soda, peat moss,
and kitty litter.
In the second case, a man murdered his roommate, and like the
woman in the first case, discovered that corpses don't age all
that gracefully. So he decided to stuff the body in a steamer
trunk and toss it in a creek. Problem was, the body wouldn't
fit, so he had to saw off a leg.
Once the body was contained, he dumped it into his favorite
fishing hole south of town, whereupon it immediately failed
to sink. A day or two later, a couple of fishermen decided that
a steamer trunk was an odd thing to have floating around in
a creek, and the rest is a matter of public record.
A third case of interest involves a former Army sergeant and
his transvestite, would-be transsexual, uh, friend. A drunken
argument in a local bar turned into a drunken murder back at
the Ponderosa, with Sarge on the wrong end a gunshot through
the eye.
The trial was delayed during jury selection, however, when several
prospective jurors begged off, saying their personal beliefs
would undoubtedly prejudice them against a male defendant wearing
a dress in court.
So... Whether you're interested in rich cultural history, cluster
housing-infested urban sprawl, or colorful criminal activity,
Memphis is a city whose character is decidedly Southern, occasionally
Gothic - and it's also one well worth visiting.
The basic tourist looking for an upbeat vacation will find diversions
aplenty, from the mythical Graceland to Mud Island to Beale
Street to The Pyramid; and for the cynical tourist - the one
more interested in "that man behind the curtain" than the Wizard
himself - well, Memphis is just about the next best thing to
Oz. Yes, indeed, the Thinking Man's - and Woman's - tour of
America should allow for a couple days in the Bluff City.
The
last time I visited Beale Street, in July of 1988, it seemed
like there was a police officer every 15 feet or so. Despite
this, one man, evidently a low-overhead pedestrian vendor
of some sort, tried to sell my traveling companion and me
some marijuana - in full view of at least 20 officers.
This struck me as odd behavior at the time; now, though, such
brashness just seems a natural part of the Beale fabric. There's
a dangerous edge to the nightlife here that no amount of police
presence can lessen. Maybe that's good, in a way. The undercurrent
of danger may be an essential part of the neighborhood's charm.
In addition to the uniformed law enforcement, there always
seemed to be ambulances and emergency medical personnel nearby,
apparently for good reason.
While having dinner in one of Beale's many outstanding restaurants,
my companion and I noticed two police officers strolling casually
through the dining room into the kitchen. They were followed
about five minutes later by two paramedics - neither of them
in any hurry.
Apparently a man had entered the kitchen from the alley and
tried to make off with the cook's boom box. Unfortunately
for the stereo thief, cook was in the process of cleaving
someone's dinner and so had a weapon at hand, which he wielded
expertly on the thief.
Robbery thwarted, law enforcement and rescue personnel summoned.
When the EMTs finally got the poor slob stitched together,
the police cuffed him and dragged him unceremoniously back
through the dining room and out the front door, where a shiny
cruiser awaited.
The next thing I know, the police are apologizing to the cook
for all the trouble. Everybody's smiling and laughing, and
none of the bar patrons - regulars, one assumes - even seemed
to notice. "It doesn't pay to mess with people down here,
does it?" I remarked to the waiter.
He smiled and said something to the effect of "That's advice
we'd all do well to remember, sir." But that was three years
ago. This time I'm accompanied by my little brother John,
who's lived here his whole life, and his lovely girlfriend
Billie.
Beale is wide open this particular Thursday night. The brand
new B.B. King's Blues Club & Restaurant at the corner of Beale
and 2nd is in full swing, and from down the street comes the
distinctly non-bluesy sound of a live reggae band. The great
thing about Beale is that everybody gets a shot.
Also, you never need a program. Just start walking - if you
don't know what's going on inside a particular building, there's
always someone standing just outside the door who'll be happy
to fill you in. At least one club tonight features a live
blues band and no cover charge - good news for the budget
tourist.
In addition to the numerous restaurants and blues clubs, Beale
also features pool halls, street vendors, souvenir shops,
art for sale, and art for hire - in this case a caricaturist
who offers to draw Billie. For a small fee, of course.
Strange Cargo, a T-shirt shop, proves to be one of the most
eclectic and ultimately cool shops in town. Prices start at
$6, and there's something imaginative for just about anybody.
Memphis Music also sells shirts, as well as an array of musically-inspired
jewelry and the most extensive collection of blues CDs I've
ever seen. Their series of blues legends T-shirts features
black & white studies of Cab Calloway, Buddy Rich, Sonny Boy
Williamson, and Little Boy Blue, to name a very few. One especially
hot black T sports a b/w photo of a young Howlin' Wolf.
And, in a stack by the door, you'll find copies of the Memphis
Press/Scimitar, August 17, 1977: "A Lonely Life Ends on
Elvis Presley Blvd." The Commercial Appeal, that same
morning: "Death Captures Crown of Rock & Roll; Elvis dies,
apparently after heart attack." $5 apiece for the genuine
article.
As we walk back toward the car, the EMTs are in front of Silky
Sullivan's loading a drunk college-aged kid with an air cast
on his leg into an ambulance. It looks like maybe he fell
off of something, but there's no telling what.
He looks okay, but the scene reminds me, yet again, that while
the festivities proceed apace, the paramedicals always seem
to be busy down on Beale.
"Not
since the majestic riverboats of the 1800's (sic) has
there been such a breathtaking sight on the banks of the Mississippi,"
trumpets the brochure.
"Feel the Power of the Pyramid. The Pyramid soars into the
sky 32 stories (321 feet), rising out of the Mississippi Delta
like a great shining diamond. It could hold 200 million gallons
of water. Its base is as big as six football fields. The interior
height, 280' from the floor to the Observation Deck above,
is greater than the exterior dimensions of The Astrodome or
Superdome." The Pyramid, of course, is Memphis' new $62 million
coliseum. It replaces the not-so-stupendous Mid-South Coliseum,
an ancient acoustical nightmare where ceiling tiles routinely
fell on hapless concert-goers.
And The Pyramid is, as the promotional literature promises,
a wonder to behold. It's the size of the Great Pyramid of
Cheops, the world's largest, located in Egypt at Memphis on
the Nile. Memphis, pyramid, by a big river...get it?
The building's exterior is covered with 9200 stainless steel
panels, and frankly, the effect is awe-inspiring. Staring
at the peak too long may cause you to lose your sense of perspective.
As I stood on the street looking up at the pinnacle, cumulo-nimbus
clouds drifting past, the pyramid seemed to be sailing through
the sky like a steel-clad clipper.
The other thing I noticed was the heat; Memphis in July can
be unbearably muggy, and the midday sun reflecting off 8 1/2
acres worth of stainless steel helped me appreciate how it
might feel to be a bug under a magnifying glass.
A visitor from another planet might easily stand here on such
a day and mistake The Pyramid for a grandiose temple to some
major sun-god. Given the religions of ancient Egypt and the
20-foot statue of Ramses the Great which guards the main entrance,
such an error could be forgiven.
Actually, The Pyramid is more of a grandiose temple to another
major deity worshipped hereabouts: college basketball.
The Pyramid arena seats 20,000 for hoops and up to 22,500
for concerts. The scoreboard is 25' square and 36' tall, weighing
40,000 pounds. The computer matrix screen in the middle is
composed of 27,000 light bulbs.
In addition to ten "performer" dressing rooms, two large "chorus"
dressing rooms, and eight individual "star" dressing rooms,
The Pyramid boasts four fully-equipped athletic dressing rooms.
That's four, as in The Final Four.
Memphis State's master dressing room led one official to observe
that, after playing at MSU, pro basketball would be a disappointment.
According to Dawn Massey, the Tigers' training facilities
are augmented by a large-screen video suite for reviewing
game tapes, and dressing areas are more like Broadway star
vanities than lockers, each with lighted mirrors and black
& white glossies of the players.
As rabid as the Atlantic Coast Conference is about college
basketball, nobody in the league has anything remotely like
The Pyramid. Compared to this place, the DeanDome looks like
a quonset hut.
I've long suffered from a terror of heights, but I've never
been in a building that inspired such vertigo from the floor.
It was probably just my imagination, but the steps leading up
into the nosebleed seats looked more like ladder rungs than
stairs. You could lose your footing around tip-off and not hit
bottom before halftime.
The Pyramid is also the only coliseum I've visited with its
own Pizza Hut (two, actually). A huge concourse just inside
the South entrance is lined with a variety of food and beverage
booths and entrances to several of the 28 luxury boxes, one
of which is open to tourists. Two of the suites are specially
equipped for the handicapped.
Each of these lavish suites, which lease for $25,000 a year,
has a closed-circuit television inside and another mounted above
the observation balcony, presumably to provide a better view
of instant replays.
Memphis State University Athletics Department officials must
be ecstatic about the boost this facility will lend its recruiting
efforts.
A bright-eyed high school scoring phenom considering MSU and,
say, the University of Arkansas has, up until now, had a fairly
clear-cut choice; Nolan Richardson's Razorbacks play Big Time
Hoops; Memphis State, while certainly a respectable program,
nonetheless occupies a slot in the NCAA's second tier. MSU is
where you wind up if none of the places you'd really like to
play offer you a scholarship.
Now, though... Now the Assistant Coach can walk the kid and
his parents through The Pyramid. "This is where Junior and his
teammates will suit up," he'll say, showing them the opulent
dressing facilities, and "imagine seeing Junior's face up there
on that 27,000-light computer matrix scoreboard." "Yes ma'am,
Arkansas has a first-rate program, no doubt about it. But they
ain't got nothing like this," he'll say, spreading his arms
and gesturing grandly. And he'll be right.
Expect Larry Finch's Tigers to show steady improvement over
the next few years.
The only thing more impressive than the building itself is the
promotional campaign which accompanies it. This estimate is
purely unscientific, but if postcard racks around town are any
measure of what a town is proud of, The Pyramid is a solid second
behind Elvis.
And these postcards, like my Pyramid brochure, feature some
stunning photography. A lot of these photos were taken at night,
and many are from a vantage that puts the river in the background.
For some reason, though, none of these photos quite capture
the true, um, character of the neighborhood in which the building
sits.
Fact is, promotional photography notwithstanding, the neighborhood
surrounding The Pyramid is fairly typical of the city's aging,
deteriorating riverfront. Across the street from the Ramses
statue, for example, stands a row of what appear to be beaten-up
and occasionally burned-out warehouses.
Granted, any major metropolis needs a major events arena; not
only is such a structure good for the city's image, big venues
attract major concerts, circuses, rodeos, etc., which generate
much-needed income for the city and local businesses.
And no one is suggesting that the city's promotional materials
need to include whatever ugliness is at hand.
But considering the mythical connotations of the Egyptian pyramids
and the effort that Memphis expends conjuring something of that
aesthetic beauty for its own image, it's easy to wonder where
the city's priorities lie.
Dawn Massey says that opposition to The Pyramid was pretty much
what you'd expect in any big city considering an expensive building
project. But city leaders view the building as a spur for development,
and believe that in the long run it will more than pay for itself.
The financial report for its first year showed the operation
in the red, but Massey says that was expected.
"It wasn't even open a full year," she says, and there were
lots of start-up costs. Projections for the current fiscal year,
on the other hand, show The Pyramid at worst breaking even.
A walk down by the river, says Massey, allows you to see where
The Pyramid has already generated new business investment in
the neighborhood.
Harbor Town, located on the Mississippi's Mud Island, features
an apartment complex and a subdivision of New Orleans-style
homes. Massey says that, in spite of the recession and the sluggish
housing market, units in Harbor Town were sold as fast as they
were built.
The developer is planning to add a mini-mall for Mud Island
residents, she adds, and there's also talk of building a school
on the island.
In addition, numerous small businesses designed to capitalize
on Pyramid events have cropped up nearby.
"There are lots of little delis, bars, and pubs," says Massey,
"and a plethora of pay-to-park places.
"Some people park down at Beale Street (about 1 1/2 miles south
of The Pyramid), have dinner, then catch one of the trolleys
up to The Pyramid. It only costs fifty cents, and some of the
restaurants even give away free trolley tokens with dinner."
In so many ways, The Pyramid is everything the city had hoped,
and then some.
Walkthrough tours are $2, and smoking is prohibited inside.
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