Waddling ducks and dry rub ribs

By Steve Beard and Troy Meier

Entry 1. Thursday, October 14, 2004

Click on photos to enlarge

After a horribly sleepless night spent coughing, I got up and headed south from Lexington, Kentucky, to Memphis. The seven-hour drive was nice, despite the horrific pouring rain during most of the time. The leaves are changing in Kentucky. I don't usually spend time thinking about that form of beauty. I wish I did, but I don’t. I probably should read more Wendell Berry or Julia “Butterfly” Hill--that girl who lives in trees to prevent them from being chopped down.

I am surrounded by huge trucks. It is unnerving. Nevertheless, God bless truckers. Yeah, I know that they are not fun to drive around on the highway, but our country would come to a screeching halt without the gazillion truckers moving stuff around from one coast to another. During one particularly hairy time in driving rain, I got behind a huge truck that had John 3:16 written on the back: "For God so loved the world that he sent his son so that whosoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life."

Since I grew up in church and was the son of a preacher man, I have heard that Scripture thousands of times. There are times when that verse seems to have more of an impact than at other times. When that crazy guy standing in the endzone of football games waves a John 3:16 banner, I never really think about the weight of the words while I am sitting on my couch in my living room. In this case, however, I am driving 70 m.p.h. on wet roads surrounded by 18-wheelers. For whatever reason, it seems to provide comfort in this case.

I had some great tunes during the trek: Offspring's Americana, Otis Redding's Greatest Hits, MxPx's Ever Passing Moment, U2's Best of 1990-2000, and Kindred Spirits: A Tribute to the Songs of Johnny Cash.

Kentucky and Tennessee are definitely red states. I did not see one single John Kerry bumpsticker along the way. Tons of W stickers. No big surprise.

Troy has been my best friend since high school. This trip was his idea. Originally, he was planning on heading off to one of those fishing expeditions in Mexico to celebrate his 40th. Instead, he called me up about a week and a half ago and suggested we do this trip. I said, “I’m in.”

He had to get up at 4 a.m. in California to make his flight from Long Beach to Memphis. I hate getting up early in the morning to catch a flight. I hardly sleep that night, thinking, of course, that I will oversleep.

We are staying at the historic Peabody Hotel—classic, old money Memphis. We headed down to the lounge in order to watch a handful of ducks with scads of tourists. Apparently, the ducks hang out in the lobby's fountain until 5 p.m. everyday. After a hard day’s work of fluttering around the fountain and looking cute (or like dinner to a hunter), a red carpet is rolled out and the wetland creatures climb out of the fountain and parade down the carpet to an awaiting elevator that whisks them to their penthouse dwelling on the roof of the Peabody.

Hundreds of people crowd around to watch the event and hear the emcee, Daniel J. Fox (pictured below) give the history behind the duck waddle. It really is quite hilarious. Troy met a cantankerous and hilarious old man from Leisure World retirement home in Laguna Beach, California. He was telling us what a racket the whole duck hoopla was and how sick he was of hearing all the elderly women on his tour babble on for the past several days about how terrific it will be to see some ducks get on an elevator.

We met up with a friend of mine who is a retired professional fisherman. He lives in Mississippi but drove up in order to have dinner at Rendezvous BBQ. The atmosphere of this basement restaurant is one-of-a-kind kitsch. Apparently, this place was a speakeasy during Prohibition. Troy and I had pork ribs and shoulder. The place is very cool and justly represents the dry rub side of the BBQ debate (wet vs. dry). It is a very unique taste. The ambiance, service, and food are all first-rate. This place deserves the hype and tour buses.

One half of this tour is devoted to food and gluttony. The other half is devoted to sounds of Americana –- rock, blues, Cajun, jazz, rockabilly, zydeco, funk, and soul. Memphis is, of course, to American music what Kitty Hawk is to aviation. It is the home of Sun Records, Stax Records, Hi Records, and numerous other lesser known recording studios. Beale Street is a place of unsurpassed rhythm, dancing, and drinking. Walk up and down the street and you can hear all variations of music.

The Rum Boogie Cafe featured James Govan and the Boogie Blues Band. We were surrounded by a handful of liquored-up senior citizens who were having the time of their lives. They kept their clothes on, so we were all greatly relieved and enjoyed the show.

Afterwards we headed off to Alfred’s to witness a younger set downing their drinks and dancing their hinnies off. I suppose it is what keeps them so trim and fit. I am still rather amazed at how women dance so elegantly in stiletto-heels? It seems like a great feat. And to think that some cultural observers are worried about the next generation of Americas.

We got back to the Peabody about 2 a.m. I have been taking pills to kill a cold. My mom will be so proud.

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