Memphis in the Meantime

I first arrived in Memphis in July of 2006. Other than the good folks at Lausanne Collegiate School who had hired me in March, I did not know a soul in Memphis; no friends, no family. Just me and two small pieces of luggage. The rest of my stuff was packed into three cardboard boxes and was in route from London (that is another story for another time). I remember walking off the jetway and into Memphis International for the first time. Nice, neat airport. The smell of coffee and bagels. A very proper, male voice over the sound system welcoming me to Memphis International, telling me that I can smoke in Maggie O'Sheas. I remember an inward chuckle, thinking that the man's voice was about as un-Southern as a voice could get. After a very long wait for my luggage (why?!) and a rambling search for a taxi, I recall being struck by two pressing thoughts: 1) I did not know anyone in this city, and 2) having made rental property arrangements entirely on-line, I could not help the taxi-guy out when he asked me to direct him to a particular section of Mt. Moriah Road. I had never been to Memphis. I had no idea where Mt. Moriah actually was.

In the days and months that followed, I began to really discover Memphis. Where pilgrimages to Graceland are made. W.C. Handy fathered the blues here. Humble Memphis recording studios launched the careers of Elvis Presley, Johnny Cash, Howlin' Wolf, Carl Perkins, Roy Orbison, B.B. King, Otis Redding, Aretha Franklin, Jerry Lee Lewis, and still stand proudly. On an April evening long ago, the great beacon of hope, Dr. Martin Luther King, was forever extinguished here. The Lorraine Motel where Dr. King fell still pays tribute to his death just as the National Civil Rights Museum that has grown up around the Lorraine pays tribute to his life and works. 

Memphis. Where bluesy chords still reverberate from cramped honky-tonks down on Beale Street. Where narrow shotgun shacks and stone mansions are parts of the same neighborhood. Soul food and the world's best barbecue are served in Memphis kitchens. Where majestic parks are integral parts of the urban landscape, now connected by a series of paths for runners, walkers and cyclists. Where children's hospitals work for cures and where Fedex ships to a myriad of global destinations. And all the while, the mighty Mississippi flows past the city's bluffs.

I met the woman who would be my wife in Memphis, and it is here that we were married and have established a home. It is here that I enjoyed the great fortune of working alongside dedicated and inspiring individuals. I have been doubly-blessed in that many of these talented individuals have become good friends. I have hiked this city's sidewalks and pathways, and I have cycled the labyrinths of her streets. I have rejoiced in Memphis gospel, and I have found comfort in her blues. It is here that I have witnessed an astonishingly progressive and civic minded ethos take shape and transform the city. I have sat on dusty Memphis riverbanks, lost in silent reverie and watching the river run by.

Fast forward. It is December, 2013; 1:30 in the morning. Ours is the final commercial flight into Memphis International tonight; or perhaps the very first of the day, depending upon perspective. There is no guy with a sign to meet us, no waft of coffee or bagels. No welcoming baritone over the PA system. Still, through the gauzy mist that is my consciousness after 30-plus hours of travel, I feel a strong sense of homecoming. In the span of a few, short years, this city has become my home.

A couple of days later, Dana and I have recovered from our jet lag. We have rented a bungalow in Midtown for the holidays. Renting a home beats living out of a suitcase in a hotel. Almost as a bonus, the Midtown bungalow puts us in a central location. As the neighborhood narrative goes, "Midtown is Memphis." Although I think this is a rather narrow definition of all that Memphis is, I like Midtown; it's Bohemian atmosphere and its confluence of cultures and lifestyles. 

Dana and I decide to go for a morning walk in the Cooper-Young district, the heart of Midtown. We are heading to the local Easy Way, a Memphis food store founded in the 1930s that specializes in local produce and products. Easy Way stores are like overgrown, orange-painted, highway fruit stands but located in the heart of Memphis. With low overhead, wonderful produce and some of the nicest, most knowledgeable grocers in the area, Easy Way is a great, inexpensive alternative to places like Whole Foods or Fresh Market.

About halfway through our walk to the market, we approach an office building being remodeled. Up ahead, in the center of the walkway not far from a work truck parked by the curb, a man is working at a portable table saw. He is dressed in heavy jeans, work boots and a couple of layers of heavy-gauge sweatshirt. He is covered in saw dust. Sensing us, he stops cutting and looks up. We are surprised see a familiar, beaming face. 

We worked with Chris years ago at Lausanne. He is what we call, "good people." He always wears a smile, and he is as genuine as they come. When we last saw Chris a few years ago, we was working in the corporate, PR side of a health care outfit. Seeing that he belonged to the truck and the saw, we ask him what he has been up to.

"Well, I have always been a wood-worker. It had been a hobby of mine; something different than my day job. I have always enjoyed it, though. A couple years back, I got so that I was making wood furniture and toys for friends and then local shops. I kept getting more and more requests. One day I was at my desk at work and I asked myself, "what are you doing." I went home and talked it over with my wife, and she was real supportive. So I put my notice in at work and started this wood-working business. So now, I'm livin' the dream. I'm down here working on a custom interior. C'mon in, and I'll show ya' if ya'll got a couple of minutes."

"We sure do. Absolutely!"

Chris shows us the interior wall he is working on at he moment. He has carefully and creatively joined wide lath pieces of different colors and grains to create a natural but yet very modern look. He is visibly proud of his work, and he should be.

He tells us that the working for himself is not always easy, and that he and his family are having to "make do" with less. He jokes that his children are doing their bit by not complaining about a nightly, mac-n-cheese menu. Apparently he has just this week become something of a superhero to his children, the result of having added bits of hot dog to the mac-n-cheese. He is however, finding the work far more rewarding.

"You just cannot really put a price tag on doing something that you are passionate about."

We chat a little while longer and then say our goodbyes. What Chris is doing now strikes me as part of what I love about Memphis and the people of this community. The re-focus on simplicity after having taking complicated paths. The idea of finding a richness in doing something that is not necessarily financially lucrative. The focus on something real, tangible, practical and grounded. The ability to appreciate the beauty in rolled-up sleeves and dirty hands. The desire to make a better place while taking a different route in doing so.

We leave Chris to his saws and his passion, a passion that is now his livelihood. I am feeling inspired by our friend's journey just as I am inspired and impressed by the community in which he lives. 

I am also more than just a tad bit envious.