B.B. King up Close and Personal

Last night, I attended B.B. King's homecoming concert in Indianola (the town where I'll be teaching!). A bit of a bizarre night, to say the least.

We had just come from a catfish fry in Greenville (an hour south of Cleveland) that was held in a school gymnasium. The event was titled "Catfish at the Carousel," as the space was mostly filled with a full sized, seemingly portable carousel. After a good chuckle and a test ride, we all crammed into the bleachers to eat our food and watched the empty carousel go 'round and 'round. The catfish and hush puppies were good, but unfortunately didn't compare to the ones I had at the Catfish Warehouse on the way down. The event was a good time, even if the set-up was a bit curious.

With full bellies we drove a half-hour east to Indianola. On the way into town we passed cornfields, which are increasingly replacing cotton, and a formidably sprawling Dollar General warehouse. What I saw of the town itself was lovely, though. Small shops, trees, and big-box retailers shared the spaces alongside the narrow road. We parked next to a lush swamp and walked around the corner to the concert site. It felt so good to see all of the people, black and white, lower and upper class, hanging out in their lawn chairs and on their picnic blankets enjoying the heat and blues tunes. My friends and I grabbed some beer and joined in on the festival. Before B.B. came on stage, his band came out and blared their brassy instruments, sending the people to their feet in dance. I was so glad to get my groove on! After a drawn out lead in to his arrival, B.B. King arrived! This man is almost ninety years old, and he still continues to return to his hometown every summer to play for his friends and neighbors. He sat down and played a couple of those sweet, deep, lilting melodies that made him famous. Unfortunately, that was all I heard of the music, for he proceeded to set up a "dance contest" for the kids. Nice in theory, but a bit uncomfortable in practice. He had very specific requests for the kids, such as "I want 10 eight-year olds, six girls, four boys, four black and six white." Once kids started coming on stage, he made a scene of verifying their exact ages and told some to go off stage. This took an unnecessarily long amount of time. He spent nearly twenty minutes mumbling into the microphone and barking at the people in the front rows to let him do his thing. Once the kids finally started dancing, he would snap, "dance, dance, boy," "why aren't you dancing," and other abrasive comments. It was all very confusing until a few second-year TFA corps members approached us and explained to us that this event truly is a "homecoming" more than a "concert." He is there to engage with his community rather than to put on a fancy show. These words settled a few concerns, but we were still befuddled by his manner and the mosquitoes were coming out, so we left.

We found our way out of town only to realize that our route took us on an unlit two-lane road that curved through farm fields. Fortunately, there were reflectors all along the middle of the road, but at 10 pm, I felt a bit vulnerable driving through the darkness. Shortly after we began that route, we approached a blockade of cop cars. I slowed and rolled down my window. Thankfully, the policeman cordially checked my license and sent us on through. After that hurdle, I slowly drove us home, heat lightning all around us. When we got to Cleveland, it started pouring rain, and I was so thankful that we were only a few minutes away from home at that point. A wonderfully strange evening, indeed.