Young Mike Goes for a Drive

When Mike was about 13, his sister Judy joined her Army husband in Germany and parked her used 1953 Chevy in front of her parents’ house for safe-keeping. That model could key-lock the ignition so that no one could start it. Without that being locked, however, one could simply turn the metal guard where the key slips in – and the car would start.

Mike’s parents didn’t know this. Mike did.

With a pal who was a couple of years older, Mike started taking out Judy’s car after school while his parents were both at work for spins around the neighborhood. That’s how Mike learned to drive. He was careful. He marked precisely where the tires were before he started the car, and he re-parked the Chevy in exactly the same spot.

Also about that time, Mike’s parents were enjoying Friday night bridge games with an aunt and uncle. The four were great friends and the senior Plunks were usually out until midnight.

Mike had been boosting Judy’s car for close to a year when he decided one Friday night that he could expand his driving territory. His parents were out. He carefully marked the position of the car, turned the switch, and headed out of the neighborhood up to the Poplar Plaza bowling alley where he knew it was likely that some of his friends were hanging out. After chatting with them for a bit, he let it be known that he had a car. And out they all went – six in the back seat and two in front with young Michael in the driver’s seat.

They drove out east on Poplar until Mike thought they’d gone far enough. He turned around and started back, but, for some reason, took a right on a residential street that was unfamiliar to him.

What he didn’t know was that the street was a “circle.” It was horseshoe-shaped with both ends accessing Poplar. So Mike turned onto the circle. Certainly there was a lot of chatter in the car, laughter and probably the radio. They were having a great time. Until Mike suddenly saw the sharp curve in the street and knew he couldn’t make it. Instead, the car plowed onto someone’s front lawn and over a low, stone wall.

This is where Mike says that he was lucky he’d taken so many kids with him. Unhurt, but completely terrified, everybody jumped out of the car and pushed it back onto the street. They started away, praying that no one would run out of the house.

Mike quickly realized that one of the tires had gone flat when it collided with the little wall, but, in another piece of luck, as they turned back onto Poplar they immediately spotted a gas station. It was closed, but they still had a plan. The boys hopped out, opened the trunk and grabbed the spare tire. The night could still be salvaged. Except that the spare was also flat.

They were down to Plan C or D by that time. All gas stations had telephone booths back then (no cell phones yet, kiddies), so – being city kids – they called a cab.

As the taxi delivered the other boys and girls to their destinations, Mike was formulating his story. He knew he could still make it out of this situation. First, he would still arrive home before his parents. Next, their large den was at the back of the house as was the kitchen. It was far from the street where the Chevy was usually parked. If Mike had stayed home watching tv (like he was supposed to) and going no further than the kitchen for snacks, he would not have heard anyone start Judy’s car and take it for a joy ride. His parents would report a stolen car; it would be found at the gas station the next day with a flat; and everything would be over. Yep, that would work.

But when the taxi pulled up at his house, Mike’s stomach sank. His parents’ car was in the driveway. They had come home early. The story wouldn’t work, and there was no time to come up with another one. Running away to join the circus didn’t seem to be a feasible option.

He walked in the back door and faced his angry, worried parents. With nothing left in his arsenal, 14-year-old Mike resorted to levity: “I refuse to talk without first consulting my attorney.”

His parents failed to laugh. Mike found himself coughing up the cash for a new tire. And sis Judy only found out last year about Mike’s escapade. Maybe his now-legendary humor worked after all.

Memphis and Black Music Month

By Presidential proclamation, June is Black Music Month. We in the Memphis area are fortunate to be at the crossroads of musical history.

Memphis is the home of Stax Records where, in an era of segregation, black and white musicians worked together to create some of the nation’s top R&B hits – many of which are songs that you think came from Detroit. Memphis is also the home of Sun Recording Studio which produced Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins and a kid who radio listeners thought was black. His name was Elvis. Sun, under the leadership of Sam Phillips, had already been recording blues musicians such as B.B. King and Howlin’ Wolf. Ike Turner was his talent scout at the time.

But Memphis’ musical roots go much deeper than that. Famed composer W. C. Handy lived, composed and recorded for many years in Memphis. Already known as the "Father of the Blues," Handy was told by George Gershwin, "Your work is the grandfather of mine."

Handy was born in 1874 in a Florence, AL log cabin that his grandfather had built. Although he displayed an intense aptitude and interest in music as a youngster, his family discouraged his musical inclinations and even made him return the first musical instrument he purchased. Despite their discouragement, Handy secretly took up the trumpet as a teenager and put together a blues band.

The young musician was also an excellent student and, after graduation, stood for and easily passed the teacher’s exam. But disappointed by the minimal teacher’s pay, it didn’t take long before Handy opted out of teaching and worked for the next few years with bands and even a traveling minstrel show.

About 1900, he tried teaching again when he was offered a position on the music faculty of one of the two historically black universities in Alabama. Once again disenchanted with academia, Handy soon left the university and moved to Clarksdale, MS to direct a black band. He finally found his niche and stayed there six years.

In one of the most significant moves of his life, Handy and his band moved to Memphis in 1909 and established themselves on the now-famous Beale St. His first composition in that era was a campaign song for mayoral candidate E.H. Crump (see http://www.plunkchronicles.blogspot.com/2007/11/mama-and-boss-crump.html). The title, “Mr. Crump,” was later changed to the “Memphis Blues” and became a legendary hit.

After that came so many hits that he wrote, published and/or recorded including –
St. Louis Blues
Yellow Dog Blues
In the Land Where Cotton is King
Beale St. Blues
Nobody Knows the Trouble I See
In That Great Getting’ Up Morning
Go Down, Moses
and Swing Low Sweet Chariot

Handy became so successful that he began his own publishing business. During the 1930s and 40s, he was composing and publishing and, at the same time, noticing the resulting decline of his eyesight due to the strain. A fall in 1943 rendered him completely blind.

In addition to his music, the multi-talented Handy published books: Blues: An Anthology; Negro Authors and Composers of the United States; and Unsung Americans Sung.

His popularity continued to grow throughout his lifetime. In 1958, his 84th birthday party was held at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York and was attended by 800 people. He died later that year. More than 150,000 people lined the funeral route through New York.

His bronze statue stands in Handy Park on Beale Street. The log cabin where he was born in Alabama has been restored and is a museum containing mementoes of his career. Beyond museums and statues, however, is his music which will live on forever.

On the Lighter Side

Just a bit of whimsy today. The link below doesn't take you to a joke or piece of music, though. It's a video account of two amazing animals. You won't believe it until you see it.

http://www.slide.com:80/r/hD6DvyAOxD9ClUhvUpVcUMABW9QzpGnQ

Teen Moms - Not a Hollywood Ending

On rare occasion I step away from the telling of tales on this blog and speak my mind on an issue. This is one of those times.

I read last week, as you may have, about a group of teenage girls in Massachusetts who could be minimally described as misguided. Out of their flippin’ minds might be more accurate.

Their high school encounters an average of four teen pregnancies per year. Teen pregnancy has always existed and always will. It’s an unfortunate fact of life. That number jumped this year, however, to 17. The school-based clinic, which offers pregnancy tests, also noted a dramatically higher number of girls coming in for tests. The girls’ reactions to the results were odd, too. More of the girls who tested non-pregnant were disappointed instead of those who were. One of those who tested pregnant replied, “Sweet!”

Investigation uncovered the mind-boggling cause. At least half of the 17 pregnancies occurred in girls who were reportedly part of a pregnancy pact. These girls had all decided that their activity for the year would be – not to go get a tattoo – but to conceive a child.

Reports stated that the girls were not even of age to consent to sexual activity. In Massachusetts, that means they were under 16. Authorities are trying to decide what to do about the boys, and sometimes grown men, who fathered these babies. In the meantime, a lot of little girls are going to have babies and they apparently did so willfully.

Their young bodies aren’t fully developed yet. Teen moms tend to have lower birth weight babies. Teen moms more frequently drop out of school. Their lifetime earning potential decreases. And they often create a pattern that their daughters fall into.

Yes, there are exceptions. There are wonderful success stories in which young girls, with loving family support, overcome all the odds. They deserve congratulations and commendations. God bless’em. But young girls should be reading their textbooks and Harry Potter and dressing up for parties, not reading Dr. Spock and dressing up their babies for court hearings to plead for child support that rarely comes.

Not entirely of my own choice, I became a single parent after my divorce from Mr. X. Our son was 18 months old, and Mr. X never chose to participate in any way. I raised my son alone. I wasn’t a teenager, however. I was an adult with a college degree and a good pre-marriage resume. And it was still hard. Babies aren’t always pink and giggly and smelling of talcum powder. They sometimes scream, have temper tantrums and smell of poop and up-chuck. It can be exhausting and it can wear on your nerves. It takes some maturity and life experience to make the loving sacrifices that motherhood always requires.

Some teen moms say they want to keep their babies so they can have someone who will love them totally. It seems like a baby-doll syndrome. No doubt there are many contributing factors to teen pregnancy, but I believe celebrities must bear some responsibility for glamorizing a difficult situation.

How many beautiful, successful celebs are stepping into motherhood without matrimony? How many hunky guys have you seen on tv proudly announcing proudly that he and his girlfriend are expecting a baby?

Girls, those people – right or wrong in their choices – can hire a housekeeper, cook and nanny to take care of their babies and their lives. You can’t.

I’m truly not a fuddy-duddy, and I don’t claim to have been an angel as a teenager. Nevertheless, I would love to see some famous role models speak out about parenthood and its responsible position in long-term life planning. Teenage motherhood is difficult for entire families. It’s too difficult and too forever for a young girl who hasn’t yet had the opportunity to grow up.

Mike Does a Johnny Cash

Johnny Cash may have been the first, but he was certainly not the only performer to go behind prison walls to entertain. There was also Mike.

As I was writing earlier this week about Vernon Presley’s time in Mississippi’s Parchman Penitentiary, Mike was reminded to tell me about his Parchman experience – as a visitor, not a resident.

In the late ‘70s, Mike was playing with saxophone great, Ace Cannon. Mike has a lot of great memories about working with Ace. (http://plunkchronicles.blogspot.com/2007/06/not-mike-you-thought.html) Some are funny, as in the attached link; some are crazy; some are special like playing in Barbados and the band being given the Prime Minister’s beach house for the duration of their stay. But then there was Parchman.

Mike only remembers being there once, but Ace’s band performed for inmates and guests at Parchman’s annual rodeo. It seems that many state prisons conduct yearly rodeos which they believe are beneficial for a variety of reasons.

Parchman has a very dark history so it must have been unsettling to enter those walls for any reason. What Mike remembers most, however, was one rodeo event. Most of us have seen at least clips of cowboys taking down a calf and roping its legs together in a speed event. Mike had never seen anyone take down a horse.

(Disclaimer: We know that PETA – People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals – hates rodeos as well as circuses and zoos. The Plunk Chronicles takes no stand on the event being described and presumes that no horses were injured.)

With that said, the event could best be described as horse-downing. Inmates were in teams of two. A horse would be let into the arena and two inmates would follow. Mike’s immediate reaction was that those guys were about as big as the horse. They must have been pumping iron for years to develop arms that big.

Each Schwarzenegger-like duo chased a horse around the arena until one guy got the animal in a neck hold. The other inmate simply bit the horse’s ear and down went the horse. The speediest pair won.

And Mike thought to himself, “I’m sitting here inside Parchman prison watching the Hulk in stereo nibbling on horsey ears. Maybe I can sleep it off.”

More About Ace

In the 1950s, Ace played with the Bill Black Combo and, in addition to performing live and recording, they appeared on the era’s top tv shows including the Ed Sullivan Show, Show, American Bandstand and the Merv Griffin Show.

In 1962 Ace recorded the instrumental smash "TUFF". Since that time he has recorded 67 albums and 46 singles.

In 1986, he was asked by Dick Clark to join the All Star Band for the Country Music Academy television special.

The Grammy-nominated sax player has been inducted into the Smithsonian Rock and Soul Hall of Fame, the International Rockabilly Hall of Fame and the Memphis Music Hall of Fame. Ace is still performing. Check him out at http://www.acecannon.com/.

A Night at the Museum

Mike and I celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary last week. That’s for this marriage, not the other time we were married to each other. The anniversary began with a flourish as Mike presented me with an arrangement of 25 long-stemmed, red roses – and then it got even better.

After a leisurely day and giving gifts to each other, Mike took me to a special dinner that he had planned. One of Memphis’ most beautiful landmarks is The Brooks Museum of Art. The exquisite marble structure was completed in 1916. Stepping into its classical interior as a young girl was almost like going to church. The beauty of the building, enhanced by the art it contained, made you whisper as you moved from room to room. It was a wonderful experience of which Mike and I each have childhood memories.

Brooks has been expanded and modernized making it not only the oldest art museum in the state, but also the largest. It’s currently displaying an exhibit of Andy Warhol prints and has associated with Emerging Pictures, a New York-based film company, to present several award-winning independent films in the museum auditorium. You can read more about Brooks at http://www.brooksmuseum.org/.

Another of the newer features is the Brushmark Restaurant. The food and service are exceptional, and the curved glass exterior wall provides a green and peaceful view of Overton Park which houses the museum in addition to other attractions.

One of our anniversary traditions is to watch our wedding video. I cried as I always do. Our first wedding followed all the proper traditions. This one, in front of 50 close friends, was very personal.

We walked in to the strains of “At Last” by Etta James. Mike picked up his acoustic guitar and sang “Let it Be Me.” I had written a poem for the event and read it. http://scarlett-xtrastuff.blogspot.com/


Niece Shannon was maid of honor. She also hand-made the wedding invitations as well as the invitations for both parties we had in Memphis the following week. She also helped me finish the place cards. Niece Marcy was the greeter and tried to keep us on schedule. We were sad that none of Mike’s family could go to California to attend, so he asked my son Alex to be his best man. Long-time friend Audrey Yamagata-Noji officiated, and her husband Gene volunteered to videotape the event.

Because I’d recently had to stop driving due to lowering vision, the preparation became a girlfriend project. Gwen took me to shop for (and sample) cakes. Charlotte took me dress shopping and then brought rose petals and special napkins to the wedding site for the high tea that followed. She also gave me the most gorgeous negligee I’ve ever seen. Nieces Robin and Marcy helped me find my shoes, the cake topper and some other miscellaneous items. Candy helped me select bouquets and, with flowers from her garden, decorated the entrance to the gazebo where we were married. Randee helped me choose paint and wallpaper borders and towels to decorate a manly bathroom for Mike's move-in to our house.

And, of course, Melissa helped me purchase the champagne. I don’t know if it was due to our mutual admiration for the beverage, my admitted lack of math skill or just that we were talking too much, but I ended up buying about three times the number of bottles that were actually required. When I told Mike what I’d done, he said, “Well, I guess you don’t have to worry about place cards. Just get a sharpee and write names on the bottles and set one at each plate. It’ll be some party!” We didn’t actually go that way, and on our anniversary last week we finally finished the last of the wedding champagne.

We’re awfully glad that our paths converged again.

Tupelo -- Birthplace of a King

We had some business to do in Tupelo, MS so Mike and I took the hour and a half drive over there on Saturday. As we left the freeway and were heading toward our destination, Mike spotted a sign pointing the way to Elvis’ birthplace. We knew that we’d have to check it out before we left town.

I had known that Elvis was born in a modest, frame house, and I’d seen photos; but I hadn’t realized how tiny the house really was until we walked up to it. The small house had only two rooms, no bathroom and no electricity. The story goes that it was built to accommodate electric wiring, but it had never been hooked up because the Presleys couldn’t afford it.

Vernon and Gladys Presley, Elvis’ parents, were married in 1933. When Gladys discovered in 1934 that she was pregnant, Vernon borrowed $180 and built the little house with the help of his brother Vester and his father J.D. Vernon’s father lived next door in a “spacious” four-room house. As most of you know, Elvis and his stillborn twin brother Jesse were born in January 1935.

Unfortunately, the family didn’t get to live in the house for very long. In 1937, Vernon was arrested for check forgery. He spent six months in jail awaiting trial. J.D. apparently posted bond for another man arrested along with Vernon for the forgery. No bond was posted for Vernon. According to some accounts, J.D. had never liked Vernon very much and had kicked him out of the house when Vernon was 16.

In 1938, Vernon was sentenced to three years in Parchman Penitentiary. Accounts differ from eight months up to 18 months as to how long he actually spent in Parchman before an early release due to good behavior. It was on a visit with his mother to see his father in prison that Elvis’ first photo was taken.

With her husband in prison, Gladys was unable to keep up payments on their diminuitive home. She and her baby had to leave and move in with relatives.

The City of Tupelo eventually bought the house, refurbished it and opened it for tours along with the adjacent museum and gift shop. http://www.elvispresleybirthplace.com/

I sat on the worn, front porch swing for a few minutes and wondered if Gladys had sat there with her baby boy telling him that life would get better for them.

Chattanooga Trip Notes

We live in lovely Southaven, MS which is to Memphis (where we grew up) what your yard is across the picket fence to your neighbor’s yard. The suburbs simply spilled across the state line. So, on our way to Chattanooga last weekend to visit my brother, we took the scenic, southerly route to Chatt City in the far southeastern part of the state.

If you’re geography-challenged, Memphis is in the most southwesterly point of the state. Tennessee is such a horizontal state that it’s closer to drive from Memphis to Chicago than it is to drive from Memphis to the very northeastern point of the state. To scoot along the southern passage to Chattanooga, you spend most of your drive time in the very northern edges of Mississippi, Alabama and a tiny piece of Georgia before slipping north into the Chattanooga, TN city limits.

Therefore, we rolled into Tuscumbia, AL about lunchtime and found a treat. If you’re ever in the area, be sure to stop at the Old Rocking Chair Restaurant on Hwy. 72. It’s down-home cookin’ and we enjoyed the most flavorful vegetables we’ve had in ages. It was a delicious lunch topped off by warm blueberry cobbler resting under a scoop of melting ice cream.

While there, we learned that Tuscumbia is the birthplace of Helen Keller. Her childhood home, Ivy Green, is open for tours. We plan to make a day-trip back to Tuscumbia to visit Ivy Green and have lunch at the Old Rocking Chair. Helen Keller and her teacher/companion Irish Annie Sullivan were phenomenal women.

Roadside Items of Note --

National Birddog Museum near Michigan City, MS

Supersized yard statues including a full-size elephant

Donkey rides – Get’em here

Gene’s Bar & Grill with sign “New A/C” (That’ll bring back the customers.)

And heard on the radio –

There’s a town in SW France where the local cemetery has reached its capacity. To manage the problem, city leaders have passed a law declaring it illegal to die within the city limits without already owning a plot. Please tell me how this will be enforced. What can they do? Kill you? Have a dead body jail? Oh, those crazy Frenchmen.

My Brother, the Writer

Mike and I took off Friday for a weekend trip to see my brother Bill and his wife Betty. We haven’t seen them since they came to town four years ago for our Memphis wedding shindig a week after we were married in California. This weekend was the best visit I’ve ever had with my brother.

Unfortunately, we’ve not had the amount of visiting time that we would have liked. We’re half-brother and sister. When our 39-year-old father married my 19-year-old mother, Dad had already been married and divorced and had a 16-year-old son – my brother Bill. (By the way, brother got the red hair that I missed out on. See “Redheads” http://plunkchronicles.blogspot.com/2008/04/redheads-now-you-see-them-now-you.html)
Our age difference and family issues didn’t encourage us to develop a close relationship early on.

Although Bill grew up in Clarksdale, MS, he and his young family lived in Memphis in the late 50s, and I did some babysitting for his children. During those years, Bill began his career in the glass business. One of his highlights from that time was running the installation of all the mirrors and shower doors at Graceland. With his great sense of humor, Bill even got a huge laugh out of Elvis during a non-business chat.

Bill and family later moved to Chattanooga in eastern Tennessee’s beautiful Smoky Mountains and have been there ever since.

He and I got some more family history pieced together, but the best part was that I was reminded that my brother is an excellent amateur writer. I’d forgotten that he’d written some short stories and I’d never had copies of them. In the photo that you see of us above, we’re having “story time.” My brother read me several of his short stories, and it was the very best time we’ve had together. I loved his stories and I loved leaning against his shoulder while he read them. You just can’t beat that.

To read my very favorite of brother’s stories – Reesie and the Dream – go to http://scarlett-xtrastuff.blogspot.com/

Indiana Plunk: The Search for History

Mike started looking into his family’s genealogy when he was about 30 years old. It wasn’t an online research project at that time. He went to libraries and looked at obituaries in old newspapers. He went to courthouses to study old documents. On occasion, he even sat in “viewing” rooms where he had to keep his hands on top of the table and was presented fragile, ancestor’s wills and last possessions. Mike traveled down old country roads and sought out cemeteries. Far different from what he does now from his laptop.

One afternoon while on one of his searches down a backcountry road, Mike pulled up at a weatherworn house where a woman in a long, cotton dress was sweeping the porch. He got out of the car, and she sized him up pretty quickly. City dude. Slightly hippie looking. City car. She put down the broom, went into the house, then re-opened the door letting out a pack of dogs that headed straight for Mike who quickly decided to get back into the car. He was several miles down the road before it dawned on him to wonder why the pack of dogs was inside the house instead of in the yard.

It was around that time, that an anonymous call was made to Mike’s home. The male voice on the other end left a message, more precisely a warning. Mike was advised to back off from what he was doing. “He doesn’t know what he’s stirring up,” said the caller. Genealogy was looking a lot more like an Indiana Jones thriller.

In that period, Mike also learned about two segments of his family: the River Plunks and the Running Plunks. River Plunks lived around the Tennessee River and seemed to be a rough bunch. (See the movie “Walking Tall.”) Mike’s predecessors didn’t live close to the river so, by default, they were among the Running Plunks. The origin of that label remains a mystery, but we’d guess that it was a River Plunk who placed the threatening telephone call.

Most recently, Mike found a way to order old family death certificates. They not only provide valuable information about who’s related to who, but also gritty details about the causes and methods of death.

Some were sad like the 20-year-old woman who died some weeks after giving birth and was followed three months later by the demise of her infant. Her time in the family was so brief that Mike had never before seen her name. A 14-year-old boy died of a skull fracture and broken neck when he was thrown by his runaway mule. Another ancestor was hit by a train. A father and son both died in the same hospital for the mentally ill.

One Plunk died as a result of a duel – in 1916. Who knew men were still dueling at that late date! There was a death account that caused Mike’s son to raise an eyebrow. The death certificate stated that a woman came home at mid-afternoon and found her husband dead. The report said that he’d shot himself between the eyes with a .22 rifle. James asked, “How did they know she didn’t do it?” No witnesses; no questions.

And one rowdy fellow met his end in a 1949 brawl causing the death certificate to list as cause of death both blunt force trauma to the head and a gunshot wound to the neck. I suppose the coroner couldn’t make up his mind.

He must have been a River Plunk.

June-iversary

June is a busy month around our house. There’s Father’s Day, Mike’s birthday and our wedding anniversary. If you’re someone who really enjoys finding THE great gift, you’ll understand how much (self-induced) pressure I'm under to come up with three truly good gifts for Mike all in one month. It’s a challenge, but I think I'm in good shape for this year. I can’t say more. He reads the blog.

But, in honor of our wedding anniversary, I’ve posted photos from both our weddings – the one just about four years ago and the one back in the Paleozoic era. Such cute kids.