A Sad Southern Story

When Mike and Alex and I were at the zoo a couple of weeks ago, Mike saw a donor’s “in memoriam” plaque with a name that was familiar to him. The name was Jeff Buckley who was a rising star in the music world in the 90s.

Jeff was born in 1966 in Orange County, CA and began his career singing in clubs in New York’s east village where he lived. He was a poet, extraordinary songwriter, guitarist and sang so sweetly that some called his voice ethereal. He eventually signed with Columbia Records and toured worldwide receiving gold records in both France and Australia for his album "Grace."

Buckley and his band had recorded in Memphis and in 1996 he moved to the Blues City where he rented a shotgun house of which he was so fond that he contacted the owner about the possibility of buying it. Jeff was working on a new album in his home studio and tried out the new songs at Barrister's in downtown Memphis on February 12 and 13. Beginning March 31, he began a series of regularly scheduled Monday night solo performances at Barrister's.

On May 29, 1997 Jeff Buckley died. He was working on a new album, upbeat and, on the night of his death, anticipating the arrival of his band at the Memphis airport so they could get to work.

We are told that about the time of the plane’s touchdown, Buckley “went swimming” in the Wolf River Harbor. He was wearing all his clothing and steel-toed boots and was singing along with a radio playing Led Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love.” He just walked right into the river. One of the band’s roadies was on shore and, as Jeff walked into the water, turned to move the radio and a guitar out of the wake of a passing tugboat. When he turned around, Jeff was gone.

A search effort was launched that night and into the next day when it was terminated due to heavy rain. It was suspected that Buckley was sucked under the water by a strong under-current and lost consciousness because of the suddenness and strength of the undertow. Three days later, his body was spotted by a tourist on a riverboat marina.

Although Jeff was known to have dramatic mood swings, the coroner’s report ruled out drugs or alcohol as contributing factors to his death. Hmmmm The Wolf River is a tributary of the Mississippi, and I don’t know anyone who goes swimming there . . . particularly not at night, fully clothed and wearing steel-toed boots. Whatever happened, it was a tragic end to a very young, talented life.

Jeff loved the zoo and had been a contributor. After his death, his mother had the plaque placed in his honor where Mike spotted it.

Many of Jeff’s demos and previously unreleased music have been released since his death. A movie, based on his life, is to come out next year. The title is "Mystery White Boy," named after one of his last tours. Mike and I will sure be looking for it.

You can hear that beautiful voice at http://www.myspace.com/jeffbuckley.

An Evening at the Palace

Mike and I had a double-treat evening out earlier this week. We went to a fundraiser with so much good food, and it was held at one of our favorite Memphis landmarks – The Pink Palace Museum

The benefit was for cerebral palsy, and it was the 22nd annual Great Chefs’ Tasting. Thirty Memphis restaurants took part. It was grazing heaven. Food, beers, wines – plus the opportunity to visit much of the museum. We’d have lost Rob R. in their new train exhibit which was great fun.

Our favorite food was from Napa Café. They prepared smoked trout on pastry with a light sauce and topped with capers. The scrumptious dessert fave was from Dan McGuiness, a Celtic restaurant. It’s called meilsog and consists of pastry layers with a caramelized something topping, served with a side of ice cream. Be still my beating heart – or is that my cholesterol count?

As we were making steps toward departure, Mike encountered an entertainment writer for the Commercial Appeal who has done stories in the past on Mike’s band. They chatted and, since he was covering the event, he took a photo of us. As soon as he stepped away, another photog popped up and asked to take our photo. He was from RSVP magazine, and I swear he just wanted to photograph us because Don from the big paper had done so. He thought we must be “somebody” and he just didn’t recognize us. Too funny.

The Pink Palace

What a spectacular setting. The three-story mansion was constructed in the early 1920s by Clarence Saunders, who revolutionized the grocery industry. He founded the Piggly Wiggly grocery chain, the first self-serve grocery stores in the nation. Prior to that, the customer handed the grocer a list of needed items, and the grocer fetched the goods, presented them to the customer and totaled the charge. Saunders was the father of modern grocery stores.

Saunders built the mansion, later named for its distinct pink Georgian marble façade, as his family’s home. Unfortunately, they never lived in the grand structure. Saunders went bankrupt and the mansion was eventually turned over to the City of Memphis which transformed it into a museum plus planetarium and Little Theatre. It’s been expanded in more recent years and, although I think the stark architecture of the additions clashes badly with the original mansion, there are many more exhibit areas that are being well utilized.


Attractions include an IMAX theater and exhibits that cover topics ranging from dinosaurs to the Civil War, and from the early Spanish explorers to the evolution of medical research in Memphis.

All of us who grew up in Memphis have special memories about the Pink Palace, but lucky Mike grew up within walking distance. He and sis Judy appeared in productions there at the Children’s Theatre but, more importantly, he and a couple of his buddies could walk up any time they wished. They could hide from each other among the exhibits and never failed to visit the shrunken head. I can’t think of any better playground for a kid.

Plunk Pics

If any of the Plunk clan missed Ann Plunk's email link to a bunch of reunion photos, here's a crazy-long web address that will take you to the pics. There are some real enjoyable goodies.
http://photo.walgreens.com/share/p=236121192234827471/l=13862313/g=3899856/cobrandOid=1009/otsc=SYE/otsi=SALB

Don't You Know This Kitty?

Everyone who's ever had a cat or wanted to have one will recognize this morning scene.

Scarlett & the Bag Monster

Many of you know kitty Scarlett or at least have glimpsed her as she actively ignored you. It’s not personal. Miss Scarlett and I have been companions for 16 years since I found her – or she found me – at an animal shelter in Huntington Beach. She was a scraggly little kitten with a lot of personality who has grown into a longhaired, green-eyed lovely with an abundance of dignity and a dash of quirkiness. The following incident took place a couple of years ago when she, Mike and I were still in CA. This is the story of Scarlett’s worst nightmare.

One Saturday afternoon, Mike and I had been to the grocery store and put away the goodies. In my hurry to get outside to gardening, I took a plastic bag of personal items and tossed them on our bed. In the bag were about three of those small, cardboard boxes of pantyhose, a large tube of hand lotion, a plastic bottle of hairspray, a new toothbrush and a couple of rolls of mints.

As I became deeply involved in weed pulling, Mike stepped out onto the back porch. He asked where I’d put the bag of bathroom items and I told him they were on the bed. He paused for a moment, then went inside, and I returned to my Zen experience in the garden. Only minutes later, he was back on the porch and said, “Now tell me again where you put the bag.” With only a trace of impatience in my voice, I once again told him that it was on the bed. Again he paused and then said, “You’d better come see this.”

Puzzled, I followed him inside and into the bedroom. There was no bag on the bed, but one of the hose boxes was on the floor. How odd. “Come with me,” he said. We walked across the entry and across the dining room. Just before the door to the little hall between the guest room and my home office were a couple more of the items that had been in the bag. “There’s more,” he said.

He took me into my office where three more of the items were on the floor, but all in different areas of the room. “What the heck,” I said. Mike told me that he thought Scarlett had somehow taken the bag, and he’d looked for her but she wasn’t in there. I checked her hiding places in my office, but no kitty. Mike told me that there was more. We went across the short hall into the guest room and there was yet another one or two items from the bag, but still no bag and no Scarlett. He got down on the floor and peered under the double bed which was against the wall in a corner, and there she was – her green eyes as big as quarters hiding as far away as she could get.

This is the scenario we pieced together. Little Miss Curious had climbed upon the bed and went to inspect the strange item. In sticking her head into the open bag, she must have slipped her head through the handle of the bag. When she pulled back, she felt something around her throat, panicked and jumped off the bed. But the Bag Monster still gripped her. Frightened, she took off across the house to outrun the demon. The Monster wouldn’t let go, but at least the weight lessened as items were getting tossed out in her wake. Remember, little Scarlett only weighs seven and a half pounds so that bag must have felt terribly heavy.

At the entrance to the hall, she made a sharp right into the hoped-for sanctuary of mommy’s office, but no mommy and no relief. From the pattern of items, she must have circled the office and, with the ghoul still gripping her throat, made a run for the guest room where the last of the items was freed from the bag and she dove for cover under the bed. And there she huddled in terror.

She was completely out of reach, so I lay down on the floor and tried to sweet talk her out of hiding. No luck. Mike tried the same thing from the foot of the bed but, by that time, Scarlett likely thought that everyone was involved in the conspiracy with the Bag Monster. Mike got a broom and from the foot of the bed tried to scoot her toward my sweet-talking on the side of the bed. She wasn’t buying it and even hissed.

OK. We’re taking the bed apart. Mike pulled the mattress and box springs about a foot and a half from the headboard so I could step over the frame and get close to where she cowered. I awkwardly reached my arm under the mattress and box springs hoping that she would come to me, but eventually felt the plastic bag and started gathering it into my fingers. Ultimately, pulling on the bag, still around her neck, got her close enough for me to get my hand on the scruff of her neck and extricate her.

I quickly removed the bag and cuddled her, realizing that in her fright she’d wet herself a little. How humiliating for a little queen. I cleaned her up and snuggled her while Mike put the bed back together. When she seemed sufficiently calm, I put her down and she hid under our bed for a long, recuperative nap.

Mike and I are such good kitty parents that we managed not to laugh until she was safely out of earshot. To this day, however, we can crack up at the mental picture of her zooming around the house like a grey blur trying to escape the Bag Monster clinging to her neck. Mike told me recently that he thought that was a life-altering event for her. I wasn’t convinced of the theory until he said, “Have you ever seen her anywhere near the kitchen when we unload groceries?” I wonder if she still has nightmares.

Plunk's New Car

Yippee. The Plunks have a new-er car. It’s an ’06 Taurus, low mileage, with the features we were seeking. Mike and I have each owned Tauruses (Tauri?), and we liked them a lot. The Saturn has been a faithful, dependable companion for 10 years, but we need something a bit larger for the trips we’re planning and for our two sons, both over six feet tall. They were a tad squished in the Saturn’s back seat.

Here’s the only issue with the pretty, new car. The tag on its key ring said that it’s grey. The salesman said that it’s purple. I tell Mike that it’s really lilac, but that just makes him growl.

The Saturn has been known, lo these many years, as The Silver Bullet. Since the new car needs an appropriate moniker, I’ve dubbed him Moby Grape. I’m not sure that Mike’s gonna go for that.

A Day at the Zoo

We were really happy to get Alex home for a couple of days earlier this week and, as you can see, the big event was a day at the Memphis zoo.

The first lesson I learned was that this is certainly not the zoo Mike and I experienced as children. It’s been expanded and renovated with wonderful, open habitats for most of the animals. The entry and initial plaza, complete with reflecting pools and fountains, was designed in a non-hokey Egyptian theme honoring Memphis, Egypt for which this Memphis on the river was named. It really is beautifully done.

Fortunately for those of us who love the history of the city, the designers saved some historic pieces and incorporated them into this most-modern zoo. If you look at the black & white photo above, you’ll see my mother and mini-me posing in front of the zoo entrance. (Can you believe we dressed like that to go to the zoo? Of course, I had no choice.) Behind us you can see one of the two columns with guardian lions that bracketed the entry. Both of the columns were saved (see Mike and Alex above) and featured in an interior zoo plaza.

Our very favorite exhibit – which we visited twice – was the pagoda enclosure for the pandas. We met a knowledgeable lady who I first thought was a docent, but I later decided that she’s actually a panda groupie. She’s visited all the panda exhibits in the U.S. and truly knows a lot. I soaked up all the info I could get from her, so I’m nearly a panda-ologist. Here goes.

Memphis has two pandas: YaYa, the lady, and LeLe, the guy you see in the above photo. I swear he’s smiling for the camera. We didn’t get to know YaYa very well. On both our stops, she was snoozing in her tree with her back to us. Could be postpartum depression. Memphians were really excited earlier this year when it was declared that YaYa was pregnant. Unfortunately, however, the pregnancy did not reach term. The good news, though, is that there might be another chance this year for a little panda cub to get started.

YaYa and LeLe do not live together. Pandas generally live solo in the wild anyway, and if they were housed together apparently they’d begin to feel like siblings and wouldn’t mate. They each have enclosed “cave” structures where they spend their nights, and they have glass-enclosed “day rooms” with a couple of trees, rocks and a pool of water.

When we gave up on YaYa waking up, we went over to the guy’s digs and found a most-happy panda bear. He was lounging comfortably against a rock and had covered his belly with a mound of bamboo. Pandas eat 40 pounds a day, so it’s serious business. We were also advised that pandas like an array of bamboo flavors in their daily diet. Each morning, zookeepers put a fresh pile of several bamboo varieties in each bear’s day room. The various kinds of bamboo are grown off-site. I think some may be imported. It’s not a good day when a bear goes to inspect the day’s menu, turns his back and walks away. Keepers have to scramble for a different assortment.

On the day of our visit, LeLe was having a fine time browsing through his bamboo buffet. He’d pick up a branch, sniff and discard if it wasn’t the taste he was seeking. After tossing a few aside, he’d happily identify a tasty stem, then peel it with his teeth and munch the tender interior. Ah, what a life.

In the News

I guess we all missed a great get-away opportunity last week. Over in Bossier City, Louisiana they held the annual, national grits-eating contest. Darn, I hate when I miss that.

The winner consumed 21 pounds of cooked grits within the 10-minute time limit. I’m having trouble picturing that amount of food. Imagine just holding two 10-pound bags of flour. It’s also about three times the weight of my cat. I’m not sure how anybody gets that quantity of food inside them, but I think the word *bulimia* plays a key role in resolving the award-winning behavior. The second-place winner only scarfed down 16 pounds.

By the way, the winner wasn’t a Southern boy. He was described as a slender, Mohawk-wearing chef from Chicago.

I wonder how someone decides that he has a flair for that competition.

Mike's Music Schedule

Niece Lisa had a great suggestion at the Plunk reunion, and I've implemented it for your information. If you scroll down on the right, just under the Young Plunks photo, you'll see Mike's upcoming music calendar. Come on out and see us some time.

One More Ancestor Story

Since my web counter on this page and Mike’s email inbox indicate that a number of Plunks are joining us, I’ll share another ancestor story. By the way, folks, if you have any other fun Plunk stories that you’d like to share, drop me a line and I’ll see if we can post them. There’s also that comment button for your participation at the end of each post.

Back on point. This little ditty is about James Neville Gaddy of North Carolina. Neville is Mike’s great-great-grandfather. He didn’t make it to McNairy County, but his son, Edmond, did. Edmond married, and his first-born, Nona, married David Simpson Plunk. They were Mike’s grandparents. As a point of interest, Mike had an Uncle James, an Uncle Neville, Cousin Nona, and Mike’s middle name is David. Tight family.

But, back to Neville. When he wasn’t fathering his six children, he went off to the Civil War wearing a gray uniform and was one of the lucky men to return home in one piece. As the story goes – and Mike heard this from a great-uncle – one May afternoon in 1871 Neville had been hoisting a few, but reached the bottom of his jug. He knew how to solve the problem, though, because there was more whiskey available on the other side of Richardson’s Creek.

Neville, 34 years old, climbed into his canoe and headed out on his whiskey run. But the stream ran swiftly and pushed the light canoe toward the mill dam. Since his judgment and canoe skills were impaired by his afternoon’s imbibing, Neville never got that next jug of whiskey. His canoe was pushed over the dam and Neville drowned while onlookers on shore watched helplessly.

In family history, Neville met a noble end in pursuit of a worthy goal. I’ll drink to that.


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Annie Jump-the-Creek

One of the benefits of family reunions, like the Plunk gathering earlier this week, is the sharing of oral history. Granted, some of the tales get embellished as they’re handed down over the generations, but there’s truth in there somewhere. I personally choose to believe every word of the following stories about one of my favorite Plunk ancestors who became known as Annie Jump-the-Creek.

About 1824, Plunks and other families settled the beautiful, rolling land in McNairy County, TN between Bethel Springs and Finger. The Plunks had migrated west in covered wagons from North Carolina and previously Pennsylvania. David Plunk and Annie Gage married in Tennessee and, along with others, carved out their farms and homes in the wilderness and began raising their families, which would total 11 offspring for David and Annie.

At some point, Annie decided that their community was settled enough for a church, but the menfolk couldn’t get motivated to build it. (I’m not sure if that’s a family trait. Some of the other spouses will have to tell me.) When Annie had pleaded her last plead, she stomped outside in a huff, picked up an ax and started chopping trees to build a church by herself if necessary. Dutifully shamed, the men took over and constructed what was forever known as Annie’s Chapel, not far from the old Plunk Cemetery. Today, the only sign of the chapel is a large stone that served as the church’s front step. But everyone knows it’s the site of Annie’s Chapel.

How She Got Her Name

As you probably know, Tennessee is a border state. During the War of Northern Aggression, Tennessee was the last state to join the Confederacy and the first to rejoin the Union. I’m thinking that “fence sitter” might be more accurate than “border.”

At any rate, you’ve heard the stories of neighbor fighting neighbor during that horrible war when emotions and convictions ran deep. Such was the case in McNairy County. Annie and David’s three oldest sons initially joined the Confederate Army with their neighbors, but later deserted and went off to join the Union Army fighting in northern TN. Annie was a good mom and worried about her boys who probably lacked for food and other necessities, so she loaded up her wagon with goodies and started off toward Nashville. She was stopped by Confederate soldiers along the way, but when they only found pies, cakes and other sweet morsels from home, they let her pass.

They underestimated Annie, however, who was noting Confederate troop locations and strength as she made her way through the lines and into the camp of Gen. Lew Wallace where her sons were located. As Annie distributed her home cooking, she also reported to the General about what she’d seen along the way.

After a few of Annie’s trips north, the Rebel troops finally became suspicious that Annie was delivering more than cornbread and biscuits. They took away her wagon and sent her home, thinking that would stop her. Annie had her mind set on feeding her sons, though, so she enlisted the aid of a neighbor lady; they filled their aprons with food and started walking toward Nashville. The story goes that Annie and her friend finally came upon a good-sized creek and the neighbor lady balked, not knowing how to cross it safely while managing an apron-load of baked goods. The neighbor turned back, but Annie jumped the creek and walked all the way to Nashville to provide for her sons – and snitch on Confederate movements. Oh, that Annie.

Annie Got Her Gun

Toward the end of the Civil War, Confederate renegades were roaming through the area looking for Yankee sympathizers. Probably based on nothing more than hearsay, they were grabbing men and hanging them like mile markers along the main road. When they arrived at David and Annie’s place, they must not have known that it was really Annie they were looking for. They roped David and were hauling him off to his hanging. As they dragged him past the corncrib, he latched his arm around a log and held on for dear life.

About that time, Annie appeared on the front porch with a long muzzleloader propped against her shoulder and pointed straight at the group’s leader. “You might get him,” she said, “but you’ll be dead in the dirt before they get him hanged.” We’re told that the renegade leader didn’t have to think about that for very long. David didn’t die that day.

And Finally . . .

It has been documented that at the end of the Civil War, Gen. Wallace went to McNairy County to visit Annie and confer upon her the title of Honorary Lieutenant in the Union Army. Her gravestone bears the title.

David passed away 12 years before Annie, who lived to age 79 -- quite a feat in that day. But then, Annie “Jump-the-Creek” Plunk was a woman to be reckoned with.