Crooked Letters and Humpbacks
Missed calling in Mississippi
I had less than 24 hours left in New Orleans. Had I made the most of it? Who knows.
I wanted to share two different things that I found really useful for anyone who wants to go. One is a screenshot from my friend Erin in Atlanta (who I interviewed in a previous Substack) because she lived for years in New Orleans. She gave me an awesome comprehensive list of things to do and see.
In last week’s Substack I wrote about Charles Chestnutt, the lawyer-turned-historian. I realized after writing about him that he includes the same history of New Orleans in his podcast that he tells on the ship, and it’s so interesting and helps you understand why New Orleans is so unique compared to the rest of America. If you ever go to New Orleans you should definitely take the historic tour, but even if you don’t, you can get the vibe from the comfort of your own home by listening to this 30-minute recap of New Orleans history here. I can’t recommend it enough.
After I interviewed Charles, I caught a street car to meet a friend of a friend. Naturally the trolley was high on my to do list; I’d been meaning to catch one since I first got in. But I’d also found New Orleans is a really interesting city to see by foot; I was enjoying walking around.
I caught a street car to The Columns restaurant, and it was a remarkably easy, pretty ride. I paid $10 cash for my ticket, as that was the smallest bill I had. I spent way too much for one trip, but I could use the card again in the morning. I still paid more than I should have for two trips though.
I relaxed on the wooden bench and observed the passengers and the tree-lined streets. The windows were down and the breeze was nice as we chugged along the tracks.
I met Elizabeth Ostberg at the restaurant. Queen from Memphis had connected me with her. My time with Elizabeth, my last night in New Orleans, was probably the first time I got insights into New Orleans beyond the tourist aspect.
Elizabeth is a doer. She founded a charter school for kids in New Orleans who dropped out or were expelled. Now she has three high schools, a middle school and a virtual program. Not only that, but the school runs childcare programs for the kids of the students.
She believes there’s a lot of work to do in New Orleans, and there are a lot of good people who like to work hard. She grew up in the North, but she married a man from here and she prefers the warm weather here. Things are slower down South, but it’s forced her to slow down as well.
”I am extremely type A, if I had stayed in the Northeast I probably would have spontaneously combusted,” she joked.
For her, the worst thing about where she lives is that it’s really dangerous for the kids she works with, and this current situation is rooted in racism and poverty. She said violence and homelessness are out of control. Elizabeth is fairly unimpressed with the city council. Lately they’ve just spent a lot of time talking about Airbnb as some locals are worried its taking over the neighborhoods and destroying culture.
I asked her what she wished the rest of the world knew about where she lived. She said she wished that people knew how smart and talented and underutilized the talents are of the kids and communities she works in.
”The amount of human potential that we are squandering in our country is astronomical,” she said. “We’re not meaningfully changing the structures of our country in any way.”
I don’t know her well, but it would appear that the work she’s doing is a really big attempt to at least change the outcomes of the city, and I pointed that out to her. She is working to harness the human potential around her.
Elizabeth kindly gave me a ride back towards my hotel. I strolled back down Bourbon Street with thoughts in my head about what it means to be a tourist verses what it means to actually understand a place. It was really sad to listen to her talk about all the violence and struggles she witnesses with the kids she works with. It reminded me of my moment with Ed on the Greyhound bus, or of sitting on the curb, stranded with others at the Asheville gas station, or of watching the homeless woman manically pace the Raleigh Greyhound station.
Trying to write about this trip, or even pursuing a creative career is one that’s so obviously removed from the actual needs of society. Why am I even bothering? Is this helping anything? This was on my mind from the start of my trip, but I am increasingly aware, it is much easier and acceptable to stay in your lane, to follow your tribe than it is to question your place and also push on the boundaries that define you and others. Reading my poems to group of people just like me in a coffee shop: totally predictable and comfortable. Asking strangers in a place I don’t know to talk to me honestly about their life: I’m on uneven footing. And sometimes barriers exist for a reason. You can’t always expect to feel at ease, and you should never expect to feel welcome.
I grabbed dinner on the way home, more appetizers as I just can’t eat mains in New Orleans. Thank god appetizers are cheaper and typically enough to feed an entire family. I had spicy corn on the cob and artichoke dip. I took photos of the city from my balcony view. I was back in tourist land.
Then I walked back to my hotel and got ready for bed. In the morning I was headed to Meridian, Mississippi.
I was up early. I said a quick, sad farewell to Elaine of Chateau Hotel, and then I caught another street car to the Greyhound and Amtrak Station. It had a pretty interior.
Everything was running on time, and I hopped on the train without a hitch. I was sad to leave New Orleans. I loved it, but I wish I had planned better. I wish I had reached out to more people. I wish one of my girlfriends had joined me.
The train ride out of New Orleans is called The Crescent and it runs from there to New York, and it takes 30 hours total! I looked out the window at a pretty body of water and realized we were passing through Lake Pontchartrain. I got up and wandered around and tried the world renowned food cart coach, the reason everyone prefers the train to the bus, ha.
It was a completely normal nice ride. As I stood on the train, just moments from getting off at my Meridian, a woman in a US army shirt and baseball hat struck up a conversation with me. I recognized her voice from earlier on the trip, she had a distinctive New York accent, and she was very, very chatty. She told me she was from New York and she’s Cuban. Now she lives in New Orleans, and the only thing she didn’t like about it was all the black people. When she said “black” she lowered her voice. She probably registered a bit of shock on my face, as she quickly went on to explain that what she means is, she just misses her Cuban community up North.
I had been in the South for nearly five weeks, but that, hands down, was the most racist thing I’d heard by a long shot. Readers, I did not condemn her. I’m ashamed that I actually pretended like what she said didn’t bother me. If she’d been white, would I have responded differently? And if so, does that make me racist for giving people passes for their words based skin color/culture? Probably. I have been going over this brief moment multiple times since, and I still don’t know what the best response would have been. I was not expecting to hear something like that, especially not from a New Yorker. I was disappointed at how I let it go.
I was happy to leave the train and that bad conversation. The Meridian train station is in the middle of town, so I walked straight into the city. Immediately I was intrigued as I looked at the sidewalk and saw the names of what I began to realize were famous Mississippians. I recognized so many names. There was Robert Johnson who sold his soul to the devil. There was the talented and problematic Jerry Lee Lewis. There was writer Margaret Walker, there was musician John Lee Hooker. I remember vaguely reading about how from the Delta springs incredible artists, and this 24 hours in Mississippi was my one chance to check it out. I don’t think I’d ever been before and now that the trip is over and I’m reflecting on it wistfully, I can see, Mississippi stole my heart. I stopped here just to get a bit of rest between New Orleans and Atlanta, but now I’m so grateful I did.
I booked the only hotel I could find within walking distance of the train station. It’s called The Threefoot, and like all the other places I’d stayed over the past six nights, it was expensive, particularly for the flailing Australian dollar. It’s an art deco 16-story building, built in 1929. At its time it was the tallest building in East Mississippi. It’s been vacant since the 1990s; it only just reopened in 2021.
I checked in and dropped my stuff and went back out to explore more. Like several other cities, people weren’t really on the streets. I picked a random restaurant to have lunch and learned that it was the oldest restaurant in all of Mississippi. Called Wiedmans, it was established in 1870, and has been moved around all over town and even briefly relocated to Hattiesburg during World War II to better serve soldiers. I had the three vegetable plate of fried green tomatoes, turnip greens and mac and cheese. Southern veggie plates are so hilariously decadent.
Fried green tomatoes were a great way to dive into Mississippi. On the way in I had walked past a place called MAX and it looked fun and lively. I thought it might be some sort of guided concert venue, and I went there next. I was up for anything and trying to hit as many museums as I could.
I walked into an enormous, modern building, still not sure exactly what I was in for. A friendly woman at the front counter sold me a ticket. I gathered I was learning about artists from Mississippi. Called the Mississippi Arts Entertainment Experience, it’s described on their website as “We are more than a museum, we are Mississippi.”
I wandered around the Walk of Fame and I became increasingly intrigued after I read about the big names of artists, writers, actors, musicians and playwrights from Mississippi. I always thought playwright Tennessee Williams was from his namesake, but turns out he’s actually from Columbus, Mississippi.
I walked the first and second floor slowly, thinking that was the extent of it. I turned a corner and suddenly I realized that beyond the Walk of Fame were galleries upon galleries about the artists of Mississippi! It had so many different short films and interactive media. I could have easily spent all day there, and I wish I had time.
In the galleries I was thrilled to run into Laura Hester, the MAX’s new interim president. She was open and friendly with a great southern accent. We sat down together in some rocking chairs, and I interviewed her.
Before arriving in Meridian, Laura grew up across the Mississippi state line in Livingston, Alabama, but she also has roots in Louisiana. She’s spent most of her time in Meridian. She’s a mother, a wife and Mississippian by heart.
”We’re a city of about 40,000, so we’re big enough to have things like the MAX, but we’re still small enough to be a small town,” she told me. “Our Southern roots and culture is really expressed.”
She mentioned Meridian’s naval air station; people are regularly coming and going. The worst thing is a crime issue, but it doesn’t define the city. A local controversy was an election they had coming up on August 8th.
(Plot twist, that election resulted in a runoff, and the new election is actually happening tomorrow in Meridian, so maybe my random Substack will be somewhat relevant to current events in some capacity!)
“Controversy may be a strong word, but I think it’s brought good discussion and maybe a little debate of what we need for our city. Sometimes politics can bring discussion that needs to be had about how we can change if needed and what that looks like if we do,” she told me.
Her favorite artists that they have at the museum is Oprah Winfrey. (Another unknown Mississippi hero for me!)
Laura thinks there are a lot of misconceptions about Mississippi.
”It’s not to say we don’t have problems, but so does every state. I hope that we’ve done a good job here of showcasing that it can be different and it’s not what people expected,” she told me.
She hopes this museum can help change people’s perception and ideas of what Mississippi is.
Readers, I could go on and on about the MAX. I work in a museum in Australia. I love checking them out everywhere. As I’ve written, I saw quite a few during my time in the South. I learned so much at every single museum, but I have not been to a museum in a long time that made me feel as excited and inspired as MAX did. I thought about William Faulkner’s book As I Lay Dying by my bedside back in Australia. I thought about the LeAnn Rimes album “Blue” I had growing up. I thought about Oprah, and how, if she ran, I would easily vote for her for president. These incredible southern trailblazers have changed America, and this museum is building their legacy and shaping the future.
Laura kindly let me keep looking after they closed, and by the time I left the building I felt like, as a writer from the South, I had an obligation to spend more time in this state. Maybe I should just move here! This museum gives me genuine hope for this part of America, something that not a lot of the other cultural facilities I visited have done, despite all the money and effort that went into them.
Am I getting dramatic? I’m probably getting a little dramatic. Anyway, I left feeling uplifted. I wandered down the street into the Brickhaus Brewtique, where they have over 60 beers on tap.
I ordered a beer and suddenly I was drinking with the brewery’s owner Bill Arlinghaus and his parents Bill and Sandy.
Bill had owned the Brickhaus for 10 years, and he’s been in Meridian for 12. His parents have lived here for four; all three moved down from Michigan. All three agreed that Meridian is now home. They love the friendly people here.
Bill Jr said the weather is much better here than the North, and the houses are remarkably affordable. The roads are great and the crime rate is low. He said the worst thing is that locals, (many of whom have never left) have a chip on their shoulder about how bad this place is.
Bill Sr. said the isolation is worst thing about here.
”I would say the worst thing is there are some remnants of bigotry of a sort I’ve never seen in my lifetime,” Sandy told me. She’s lived in Michigan, Chicago and New York, and she thinks it a deep south thing. She told me it’s not just black white, it’s age and religion too.
”Racism, which exists everywhere in this country, it seems to be in many ways more overt rather than covert,” Bill Jr told me. “There is an acceptance of division and self-segregation which I don’t understand. There is some religious bigotry as well.”
Bill Jr told me that downtown business owners have been claiming that the downtown is unsafe because of a homeless crisis.
”I see fewer homeless people now than I’ve seen in any time in the last 10 years,” he told me. “There are two, and I know their first and last names.”
He told me it’s safer downtown than anywhere else in Meridian, and he’d like people to celebrate it. (Later that night, I definitely would.)
When it comes to the South, Sandy wishes more people would be more open minded.
“I know people from the North who say ‘how can you stand to live in Mississippi and my answer is ‘have you been there?’” Sandy said. “And they say ‘no and I wouldn’t go.’”
Another fast fact I learned in our conversation is that Meridian has the best water in the country, with zero PFAS (toxic chemicals).
I continued drinking with them and another friend, Trish joined us. I was having a great time, but I had a story due that evening, so I had to go back to my hotel.
On my walk back I ran into a local election rally. I’m not sure which side this was for, but have a watch if you want a good accent and some southern expressions and religious references.
I got home and banged out my story. I made it to the hotel’s rooftop bar, aptly named “The Boxcar” before sunset where I had a cocktail called “The Mississippi.”
After the enormous vegetable lunch, I opted not to have the rooftop dinner. I sipped my Mississippi and watched the sun go down. Then I headed back to Brickhaus. Tuesday night was karaoke night, although I had no intention of singing.
I arrived and found myself sitting outside with three welcoming strangers, Susan, Lawrence and Brad. We talked about living in Meridian and how people let you be yourselves here. Everyone was also a fan of the lack of traffic. I’ve include a video from Brad who reminded me of a saying about the Atlanta Airport, the busiest airport on earth.
Later that night I got a drunken, detailed account of a highly respected police officer who was killed in the line of duty, Officer Kennis Croom well-loved in both Alabama and Mississippi. Croom came from an admired family. He died trying to protect another family. He saved four children, but sadly their mother, a woman named Brittany Jones, was also killed. A former Mississippi police officer was eventually arrested as a suspect for both murders.
I have included part of the discussion in an audio clip below, although I have not fact checked any of it. If nothing else, it helps you see how respected law enforcement is in certain circles, and it also demonstrates how deeply invested people were in this story. I understand; the more I read about it, the more invested I too become. It’s a total tragedy; the killing of a respected officer and also, horrifically, the killing of the pregnant woman he was trying to save. The fact that the suspect is an ex police officer is also unsettling.
In this recording at one point someone says Croom’s killer hadn’t been brought to justice, but several articles said that the suspect had been arrested. I guess getting arrested isn’t the same as getting justice.
The night was getting a little sloppy. Suddenly I was singing Pat Benatar on stage with my new friend Cristi. The next thing I knew the light was peeping through the blinds of my hotel Wednesday morning. I tried to pace myself the night before, just four drinks from late afternoon, but also I forgot to have dinner, rookie error.
It was such an enlightening day. I felt more connected to this city than I had the last four days in New Orleans. I also felt conflicted reflecting on how cautious and safe I had been over my last several weeks, drinking with care or not drinking at all. I have written at length about how bad alcohol is for humans, but if you’re looking for small town tales, having a late night beer with the locals is good way to start. I wonder how much more I could have learned on this trip by letting my hair down a little bit more.
Readers, thank you for making it this far. It is nearly 3:30am and I am sure you have found typos. I hope the above has been informative and inspiring, and I hope have not offended anyone. Next week I have more stories to tell about Mississippi, which by the way, I’m finally spelling correctly after writing about it all day.
Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter, Humpback Humpback!
The trouble is you keep adding places to my bucket list Alex - I have bucket overflow!
Just letting you know I opened your email and then had to sign in to leave this comment.
The food looks amazing