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Show RTVER X. SOUTHBOUND I had first seen Memphis from the raft and remembered the day clearly, especially the first view of the city as we came into the harbor. Above the sloping cobblestones of the old waterfront where steamboats once moored loomed the business district. Atop one of the tallest buildings-a massive concrete remnant of the Babylonian Revival-was a huge neon sign that proclaimed in large block letters, "Memphis, Home of Muzak." On my second approach to the city, I found that the sign was still there. Boat stores that serviced the towboat trade dominated the shore of the harbor, some of them quite imposing. A marina sheltered some big motor yachts and a host of smaller craft. I hoped to get up to the post office before it closed, so I tied up to the marina's dock and walked up to town. Both Thor and I had been in the boat since sunrise and it felt good to stretch our legs, even though the stone and asphalt swayed beneath our sea legs. The post office was closed, so I made my way up main street, looking for some food. Rosie and I had spent a Saturday afternoon in Memphis. The streets had been crowded with about every kind of person that can be found in the South- matrons and whores, business men in sagging hot suits that never seemed to fit, old bleary winos of all races, farmers in overalls and farmwives in hats, ancient black men, fifties-style greasers, sweet southern bells, knots of young black men strutting more stuff than I'd seen on either coast: this swirling mass of humanity crowded the wide sidewalks and gave the street the feel of a carnival. We had walked down to Beale Street with its the nightclubs and pawn shops and beaneries. At the corner of Main Street a horde of motorcycle cops came -186- |