(From A Previous FB Post)
In late May of 2017, my friend Brendan and I drove up the Blues Trail from New Orleans to Memphis. On a Sunday morning we found ourselves standing in the crowded breakfast room at the Comfort Inn in Clarksdale, Mississippi. I had just about concluded that we would be eating standing up, when a black gentleman invited us to join him at his table. He was from Springfield, Illinois, and had returned to Clarksdale for his 40th high school reunion. He asked where we were headed.
“Memphis,” Brendan said.
“Doing the Blues Trail, thing,” I said. “Mississippi Sax Blues Festival yesterday, Memphis today.” I was stoked.
A black lady passing by our table pivoted on her church pumps and leaned into our conversation.
“Excuse me,” she said looking at the two white boys at the table.
“Did I hear you say that you’re going to Memphis?” She had a soft Mississippi accent.
“Yes, Ma’am,” we said.
“Then there is something you must know if you are going to Memphis.”
“It’s very important. You really need to know this if you’re going to Memphis.””
“So please listen carefully.”
“Elvis is dead,” she said. “He’s not there. He’s gone and he’s not coming back.”
And then she was gone, not like Elvis, probably to church.