Mr. Biggs towered over the trio in front of the stack of greens at the south side Red Owl supermarket. "Can I help you with anything?" Furry Lewis, my friend David Calvit, and I all turned to behold the enormous store manager.
"Yeah - you got any decent greens?" said Furry, bluntly. In replying, Mr. Biggs (I'm sure) thought, for one fleeting moment, that he was addressing his grandfather or perhaps an aged uncle. "Certainly, sir. Let me see what we have in the back." Moments later a large, flat cart appeared, pushed by Mr. Biggs. Piled on top were fresh, crisp greens, perhaps a bushel. Furry smiled. David and I smiled. Mr. Biggs smiled.
Examining the pile with a practiced eye, Furry made his selection and handed Mr. Biggs the three bunches of greens he had chosen. Biggs asked if there was anything else we needed. "Fatback" said Furry, "about yea..." holding up his hands to indicate size. "Of course" said Biggs. He placed the greens in a shopping cart and disappeared. We were about to make our way over to the meat counter when Biggs re-appeared. He held up two pieces of fatback, each freshly wrapped in plastic. "Like this?" he asked. Furry nodded, choosing the large of the two. Again, everybody smiled, especially the white guys and Mr. Biggs. "Corn bread" said Furry. David and I looked at each other. "Over here" said Biggs, taking Furry's arm. We followed the mountain that was Biggs and Furry in his tan fedora to the dry mix shelf. Biggs made a suggestion, "Try this..." he said to Furry, it being obvious who was involved in the decision process.
Mr. Biggs escorted us to the cashier, pushing the shopping cart carrying the greens, fatback and corn meal with one hand, the other on Furry's elbow . There was a line five deep at the only checkout lane open. Biggs walked to an empty lane, placed the items on the counter and called over his shoulder. "Jenny, can you come here a minute please?" A woman sitting in an open, elevated "office" in the corner of the store stopped what she was doing and quickly descended to the checkout area. "Can you help his gentleman?" he said, nodding to Furry.
"Of course, Mr. Biggs...."
Furry looked at Biggs, "What's you're name, boy?" I think I physically jumped at those words, as if I heard a gun shot. The idea of calling anyone of color "boy" was so foreign to my Northern ears, especially someone who looked like Mr. Biggs, that it physically startled me. David didn't blink. I quickly realized that, at age 80-something (so he claimed...), EVERYBODY was a boy to Furry, and - he was a black guy from Memphis. Not an uptight Yankee who had lived his whole white life eating white food, going to white church, white school and hanging out with his white friends. If Furry were to have spoken in 21st Century vernacular he would have said, "chill, asshole..." to my reaction.
With his cataracts and coke-bottle glasses, Furry couldn't see the name tag. "I'm Vernon," said Biggs, extending his hand. "Pleased to meet you," Furry allowed. "My pleasure" said Mr. Biggs, "y'all come back any time..."
In the music business there is a line that, when spoken with some authority, facilitates access at a show. It's a simple and declarative statement, "I'm with the band..." Leaving the Red Owl (forever known as 'Furry's Red Owl' by me and David) I felt that I truly was that...but better and more special. I was with Furry Lewis.
At 5:10 the next morning, I awoke to hear the clatter of pans in the kitchen downstairs. My wife, Dianne, gave me an "is this necessary" look. I said nothing. Closing my eyes, I went back to sleep. When I opened them again it was 7:35 and the ambrosial aroma coming from the kitchen was as wonderful as it was unusual.
Walking into the kitchen, I found Furry bustling around, wearing one of my wife's aprons. "You May Kiss The Cook" in large, red letters was the legend on the front. I said not a word. "Ain't gonna be no grits in them greens. I washed 'em in twelve waters. Yes sir, a right-smart a waters..."
Later it would be explained to me that greens had to be thoroughly rinsed (in a 'right-smart' - a lot - of 'waters') to wash away the fine sand endemic to such as leeks, greens and the like. And indeed there were no grits in them greens. They were delicious. Spiced with cayenne, properly greasy from the fatback ("if you don't use nothin' but natural lean - you can't cook no good greasy greens" as the tune goes), they were a hit. The cornbread was perfect. And David Calvit brought a gumbo, made from an old family recipe. A true feast.
[Note to readers - if there is interest in the recipe for the greens and/or the gumbo, hit the Comment button and let me know. I'll append it in the next post...complete with metric conversion for y'all in So. America and Europe. AB]
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