Drop Like A Stone...

As the Caravan became better known, we would sometimes be offered dates which didn't route into our schedule but which were too good (i.e. a big slug of dough) to turn down. When this occurred., the dates had to flown. The dreaded trip on the “goddam airplane.”

None of the Caravan members were comfortable with air travel. It went against the laws of nature and common sense and, as was pointed out to me more than once, “...if the thing breaks down, it's not like a car. You can't just pull over and fix it. Damn thing drop like stone!” The sudden stop was in the back of everyone's mind. Furry often allowed as how he never “let his full weight down” when riding on an airplane. Others would nod in agreement. Despite the grumbling, they got on and off planes but it was made clear to me that ground transportation was by far the most preferred mode of travel.

One who complained louder than the rest was Clarence Nelson, guitar player in Joe Willie Wilkins' band. Joe had a special fondness for Clarence and insisted the he accompany Joe and his band on all dates. Clarence was cheerful enough, but displayed a certain instability of personality which manifested itself in outbursts and erratic behavior. While never violent or dangerous, he was problematic. Joe Willie, whose nickname was The Mule (like that of his former employer, Sonnyboy Williamson) would not hear of replacing him in the lineup. When Joe Willie made his mind up about something, the rest of the world had to deal with it. Stubborn didn't come close.

In 1975 we had an offer to play some dates on the west coast and would have to fly form Memphis to California where we would pick up ground transportation. The dates were booked, contracts signed and plane tickets purchased. The day before our intended departure, I got a call form Melvin Lee, Joe's bass player and chief local Caravan contact in Memphis. He informed me that Clarence was NOT going to make the trip and, further, that Joe Willie would not go if Clarence wasn't present. I got on a plane that afternoon and was met at the Memphis airport by Melvin and Homer Jackson, Joe's drummer. Melvin and Homer were collectively referred to, by everyone on the Caravan, as The Crows, a name given them by Furry when their rowdy antics, fueled by large amounts of bourbon, caused him to exclaim, “Careful fellas, we don't want no crows falling of the wire tonight”. They appeared in Melvin's Cadillac. As the sun set, we headed into Memphis to find Clarence.

Our first stop was his house. We knocked. We rang. We pleaded for him to open the door. There was not a sound from inside. “Guess he's not home...” Back in the Cadillac, we drove off to visit some his usual haunts.

Our next stop was a barbecue joint on Hernando. Homer announced that he would not cross the threshold, trip or no trip. I asked why. “Cause I don't wanna get killed.” Okay...I told Melvin that I'd be out in a minute. EXACTLY one minute. If I were any longer, he should call the police.

The place had no windows. Plywood had replaced any opening which might allow sunlight or outside scrutiny. The front of the building was painted a shade of light green with Bar B Q painted in white letters over the door. Walking in I was greeted with a blast of eye-watering ambrosia form the smoke pit. Writing about this adventure, I'm reminded of a line form Tarrintino's “True Romance” - “It ain't Whiteboy Day is it?” I could have been wearing a T-shirt with that legend inscribed. All head turned as I entered. The place measured probably twenty by twenty feet and was crowded. A knot of people standing by the jukebox regarded me closely. I looked around, no Clarence. I asked a young lady standing to my right if she had seen Clarence Nelson that evening. She looked at me with genuine discomfort.

“You the man?”

No, absolutely not. Just a friend trying to find him.

“No, I ain't seen him. Ain't been in here tonight.”

Back in the car, I asked Homer if there were any other places he would not venture that maybe we should check out.”No, everyplace else's cool.” Great.

Cruising the neighborhood, Melvin mentioned the name of some other establishment that might prove fruitful. Homer, sitting in the back seat, groaned. “You goin' in there Homer. Don't give me no shit” said Melvin. We pulled up in front of a REAL seedy looking joint, again with a hand painted sign, this one said Cold Beer – Dancing. Homer nipped smartly out of the car and disappeared through the open front door. He was in and out in less than thirty seconds. “You get to take a real good look in there, Rabbit?” said Melvin, sarcasm dripping from every word. Homer said nothing. We cruised around for another twenty minutes. “Hey, maybe he's over at Furry's” said Melvin. A long shot, but with Clarence, you never knew. We pointed the car toward Mosby Street and in ten minutes we were in front of 811 Mosby, the home of Furry Lewis.

We parked the car and headed up the walk. A single light burned in the front of the shotgun house where Furry lived. We were about thirty feet from the porch when Melvin stopped. It was by now almost 10:30 PM. “Maybe this ain't such a good idea,” he said. “We go knockin' at that door, we liable to get shot. Furry don't hear too good and he keeps a loaded pistol on the table in front. Last year he damn near emptied the thing at a neighbor who showed up one night. Didn't hit nothing. Cops came and just told him to be more careful.” We stood in silence. Nobody moved. “Yeah,” I said after some thought, “Clarence probably isn't in there anyway.” Climbing in the car, we headed back to Clarence's house for another try.

As we pulled up his block, there he was, walking down the sidewalk.
I got out of the car and called his name. He stopped and turned toward me. A big grin flashed across his face. “How you doin'!” he said and reached for my hand. I put my arm around his shoulder and we started to walk down the street together. Homer and Melvin followed in the Cadillac, cruising at about two miles an hour. I flashed on the scene from The Godfather where Michael is talking to Kate after his return from Sicily. Me and Michael Corleone, we both had to do a sales job.
I had an idea – I hoped it would work.

My wife and I used to visit a spot on Minnesota's North Shore of Lake Superior. The shore line is strewn with small smooth stones, the result of eons of lapping water. I carried one such in my pocket.

Clarence and I talked. I told him I didn't much like planes myself. But I that I had something that kept me safe, and I was gong to give it to him. It was a stone of great power, one that had been given to me by an Ojibwa woman I knew (total bullshit, but we signed contracts and shows to do). I pulled a round, flat and perfectly smooth stone from my pocket. I handed it to him. “Round” he said, “just like your soul.” He looked at me, obviously noting the surprised look on my face. “That's what my Grandma used to tell me, she had a bunch of 'em in a glass jar. Said they were like people long passed.” We looked at each other. “This one will keep you safe, Clarence” and I pressed it into his hand.

The next morning, we all left for California. Later, Homer and Melvin asked what I had said to Clarence. I told them I had given him something that would keep in safe. Melvin said it sounded like hoodoo to him.

As the plane took off, I looked over at Clarence. In his right hand he had his 'magic feather'. He was smiling.