Day 2 - Itta Bena

This morning I took a walk from the back of my shack, about a mile along the Tallahatchie river, to the Zion Baptist church to visit the final resting place of Robert L Johnson. He was a pioneer of the early Delta blues. He tried to play blues in the Greenville area with some of the other early blues pioneers, but they sent him home because he wasn't any good. A couple of years later he returned and folks were amazed at his incredible new talent. Legend has it that he traded his soul to the devil at the crossroads outside Clarksdale, for his new abilities. A truer possibility is he went home and practiced for two years, but that isn't nearly as interesting.
He played the juke joints around here for a few years and recorded some great music. One night the wife of one of the joint owners took a liking to him and was flirting. Later that night, Robert accepted a drink that was bought for him by a patron. A short while later he became sick, presumably from poison. He was taken to a hospital in nearby Baptist Town, but eventually died.

"A jake-legged preacher said some words and they put 'em in the ground"

 That spot of ground is in Zion Baptist Church's graveyard (or any one of the other church cemetaries that claim to have the grave marker).

It was a really weird thing, that after I walked back to my shack and grabbed my guitar, I could jam all over every blues lick. I was like lightening.... OK, I made that part up. I'm still horrible!!.

 I had to buy a cheap guitar in a pawn shop because Continental airlines wanted to charge me $235 excess baggage to bring mine along. I got this one fairly cheap because it need some work. I brought along a new set of strings and enough tools to give it an overhaul. It plays pretty well now...as well as I can play it anyway.

I drove over to Itta Bena. On my way I passed the WABG Radio Station. I was just waiting for an old boy to offer me $5 to sing into a can.

I visited the Itta Bena cemetery and met an older gentleman that was putting up flags along the fence for Memorial day. He told me all about Itta Bena, which means "Home in the hills" in the native American language. He also showed me his Granpa's grave stone. He died in the "war between the states": He showed several other relatives and told me about their lives. I asked him about recommending a place to eat. He said there wasn't any place he'd recommend.

I went ahead and drove into Itta Bena, I parked and walked around the downtown. I met Miss Charlothe. She owns a shop that makes plastic flowers. She closed up and walked me around to show me some of the local sites. She introduced me to a dozen people and we stopped at a little place and ate pork chops, mashed potatoes, green beans and drank green cool-aid that was so Sweet it was almost too thick to sip.  

I ended the day with a steak dinner and polished that off with a big piece of their Lemon Ice Box Pie