19 DAYS

By Richard Kendrick Pratt

The Summer Of Love" arrived a year early for four young Memphians, trying to make their way through the turbulent 1960's...................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Kendrick Pratt
• Release date: May 22, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869390349

Book preview

19 Days

By

Richard Kendrick Pratt

Copyright © 2024 by Richard Kendrick Pratt

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the publisher’s express written permission except for using brief quotations in a book review.

Disclaimer:

While this story is inspired by actual persons and events, certain characters and characterizations are fictionalized for dramatic purposes.

This book is dedicated to 'My parents, Joseph and Virginia Pratt, my sister, Joann Danna, my brother, James Pratt, my wife, Durenda Pratt, my son, Richard Pratt Jr. and all my friends from East High school.’

Table of Contents

634-5789 (Soulsville, U.S.A.)

March 31, 1966

April 1, 1966

April 2, 1966

April 9, 1966

Paint It, Black

May 6, 1966

Wait

July 5, 1966

Shapes of Things

July 21, 1966

Paperback Writer

July 22, 1966

Mr. Pitiful

July 25, 1966

A Sign of the Times

July 29, 1966

Stuck Inside Of Mobile With The Memphis Blues Again

August 1, 1966

Dedicated Follower of Fashion

Jenny Take A Ride

Call Me

Don’t Mess With Bill

August 2, 1966

Eleanor Rigby

Mother’s Little Helper

August 3, 1966

You Don’t Have To Say You Love Me

August 4, 1966

We Can Work It Out

August 5, 1966

Visions of Johanna

August 6, 1966

Revolver

August 8, 1966

Taxman

August 9, 1966

I Know There’s An Answer

August 10, 1966

Land of 1000 Dances

August 11, 1966

Don’t Send Me No Flowers (I Ain’t Dead Yet)

August 12, 1966

Over Under Sideways Down

August 13, 1966

I Couldn’t Live Without Your Love

August 14, 1966

Rain

August 15, 1966

Love You To

August 16, 1966

I Want You

August 17, 1966

Diddy Wah Diddy

August 18, 1966

So You Want To Be A Rock N’ Roll Star

August 19, 1966

Special Thanks

634-5789 (Soulsville, U.S.A.)

March 31, 1966

Well, blow my Shofar! In disbelief, Debby reads the headline again.

Beatles to Record Here… Praise the Lord! Then, she calmly reads the rest, "The most popular recording group in the world, The Beatles of England, will come to Memphis and stay about two weeks, while they make some records here…

Their manager, Brian Epstein, was in Memphis a few weeks ago and stayed at the Holiday Inn-Rivermont, checking out the security arrangements. My God, he was here! Mrs. Estelle Axton, co-owner with Jim Stewart of Stax Records of Memphis, confirmed today that the Beatles are coming. They are scheduled to arrive April 9…"[1]

She drops the Press-Scimitar, hops off the bed, flings her bedroom door open, and runs down the hall, screaming, Mom, you’re not gonna’ believe this!

April 1, 1966

The next morning’s headline isn’t quite as optimistic, If, Is The Tune To Sing About Visit from Beatles... The news that the Beatles were coming to Memphis to make some recordings spread like wildfire yesterday, only to meet with a bit of cold water early today. James Stewart, president of Stax Record Co., where the recordings were to be made, said from Florida early today that such an arrangement is being discussed, but that it is still ‘extremely tentative.’ He said an announcement by Mrs. Estelle Axton, co-owner with Mr. Stewart of the recording firm at 926 East McLemore, that the mop-topped singers would arrive April 9 for a two-week recording date was ‘decidedly premature.’ It could be six months from now. It might never be at all. [2]

April 2, 1966

An emergency meeting of the Beatles fan club is called. It’s Saturday, so only a few of the members show up. Pat, the chairman of the club, hosts. They listen to Rubber Soul and Otis Redding, drink Cokes, smoke cigarettes and gab. After a few minutes Pat turns the music down, Everybody, listen up! Slowly, the little group of teenage girls comes to order. As ya’ll know by now, our beloved Beatles are supposed to come to Memphis to record. Some of the girls cheer, some sigh, and one girl begins to swoon. Calm down, they ain’t here yet. Debby, our secretary, is gonna’ fill us in on the latest. She stands and opens her reporter’s notebook, "Here’s what we know so far. The paper on Thursday said they’re coming.

The paper yesterday said they might or might not. So we’ve got conflicting reports. But we know they’re impressed with the Stax sound. And they want to work with Memphis’s own Steve Cropper and Jim Stewart on one album and one single. The girls cheer again. Debby waits for them to calm down, And, Brian Epstein was here on March 22nd. One of the girls faints. Pat tries to revive her while Debby continues from her notes, One recording official in New York said the Beatles were coming to the home of the Blues, to add a bit of that sound to their own. Ron Tepper of Capitol Records said the Beatles have wanted to come here for some time. They’ve heard several Stax records in England, and they love them.

Tom Dowd, a studio director for Atlantic Records, said that the records made in Memphis would have a drastically different sound. He said the Beatles were searching for a sound close to the traditional roots of the Blues. [3]Girls, it’s time to play detective. We’re gonna’ stake-out Stax."

April 9, 1966

Debby and Pat pull the last shift on the final day of the stake-out. They’re parked on College Street, looking directly at 926 East McLemore. The studio, which used to be the Capitol Theatre, is right next to the Satellite Record Shop. Debby lights another Winston. Pat, I don’t know about you, but I’m getting tired of sitting. We’ve been here since three. She looks at her watch, and now it’s after eleven. I tell you, they’re not coming. Pat looks at her and frowns.

I think you’re right. I knew it was too good to be true. I say let’s end this farce.

Debby chuckles, At least we had a Steve Cropper and Jim Stewart sighting. And we thought we saw Sam and Dave that was cool. Pat starts to sing, Hold on, I’m comin,’ then she stops. "Seriously, hasn’t it just been insane? First, they’re coming. Then they’re not. Then Mrs. Axton’s cop son-in-law says he’s in charge of security and finding a large estate for The Beatles to stay at.

Each Beatle will have a cop with them around the clock. Oh, and they ain’t stayin’ with Elvis. Then last Monday we see that their visit is uncertain or postponed. Then on Wednesday the paper says they’re gonna’ perform here on August 19th. I’m so confused. Debby laughs, Like you said, a farce. A young couple, holding hands, stroll by the car. They notice Debby and Pat and stop. The girl looks at them and asks, What are you two white girls doin’ down here at this time of night?"

Pat smiles and says, We’re waiting for the Beatles. The couple burst out laughing.

The boy says, Only beetles ya’ll gonna’ find around here are crawlin’ on the ground.

Debby decided to write something for the May edition of the Mustang Roundup, The Day the Beatles Almost Came to Memphis.

Paint It, Black

May 6, 1966

Debby puts the finishing touches on her Beatle article. "Little did we know, while we were maintaining our vigil at Stax, the Beatles were already recording their new album in London. Word is, once the cat got out of the bag, the Beatles cancelled. So many fans, mostly young girls, showed up at the studio asking questions and snooping around, that they realized it would be impossible. Too bad because Soulsville U.S.A. and the Beatles could have been a match made in heaven. But take heart fellow Mustangs, the Fab Four are coming this summer. Two shows at the Coliseum on August 19th.

See Ya’ll There… P.S. If you stare at the neon-sign at Stax long enough, watching the records going up and down, it will hypnotize you. Trust me. Debby Goldstein."

She parks her 65’ Fairlane in a prime spot, right in front of the Plaza Theatre. She checks her watch, 8:15. A Patch of Blue doesn’t begin until 9:10, but rumor has it the Klan is supposed to show up, and that could be newsworthy. Plus, she loves Sidney Poitier with a passion. By the time the box-office opens at 8:40, the line stretches down the sidewalk and around the corner past Baker’s Shoes. She checks her makeup in the mirror, grabs her purse and notebook, and heads for the end of the line. Around 8:50, six robed Klansmen arrive. One of them shouts, "Good people of Memphis and the Mid-South, we urge you not to see this movie.

It is ungodly. About a dozen young people quickly surround the Klansmen as they pass out copies of the Fiery Cross, the official Klan publication. One of the men proudly holds a hand-painted sign, ‘Bourbon and Water, Not White and Black.'[4]

Debby opens her notebook and starts wading through the rowdy crowd. She cautiously approaches the fat man with the sign. Pardon me sir, why are you gentlemen here this evening? He looks her in the eye. We’re here at the suggestion of our grand dragon, Raymond Anderson. We want people to know that this movie is ungodly. We’re protesting a white woman and a Negro man in the same movie together.

Debby scribbles his quote. So that’s what the sign means? He laughs, Yeah, you like it? I painted it myself. She asks, What’s your name sir?

My name’s Buddy. Who the hell are you?

Calmly and professionally, she answers, I’m Debby Goldstein from the East High Mustang Roundup. His face turns beet-red, Go home little Jew girl! as he walks away. She notices another reporter on the scene and figures he must be with the Commercial Appeal. She stands behind him while he interviews a man named Carlos.

This theatre should not have put the nigger’s name above the white woman’s on the marquee. She glances up at the sign; Sidney Poitier and Elizabeth Hartman’s names are actually right beside each other. She writes, "The crowd has grown to at least 200 people.

It’s like a carnival or better yet a circus. And then, suddenly, the Klansmen leave. They walk away into the darkness and Buddy screams, We got six-weeks, we’ll be back!"

She writes, Wonder if he’ll ever see the film? I doubt it. By the time the crowd disperses; around 9:30, the box-office is closed. Since the film has already started, she decides to see it another day. She has no intention of missing any of Sidney. She stops at the Krystal on the way home. Sitting in her car, sipping a Coke and smoking, Johnny Dark is on WMPS. And now, hot off the presses, the latest single from the Rolling Stones. Pounding drums, a little guitar, and the mystical sounds of the sitar begin, I see a red door and I want to paint it black.[5]

Wait

July 5, 1966

Debby and Pat arrive at the Mid-South Coliseum around 6:00 A.M. The box office doesn’t open till nine, but a long line has already formed. They casually stroll up and take their places at the end of the line. Debby whispers, Don’t these people ever sleep? Pat whispers, They have the same idea we do. The early chicks catch the worms, I mean the Beatles. So the wait begins.

As the sun begins to rise, the glowing blue neon coliseum sign is turned off. The girls chain smoke, talk, and laugh about the last few crazy months. Pat’s been to almost every rock and roll show held here since the place opened. And she knows the ticket office manager personally, so good seats are no problem.

They’re so busy killing time they don’t even notice the two handsome boys, six people behind them in the line. But the boys have certainly noticed them. By seven-thirty, the boys know their names, their ages, where they go to school, the latest Beatle news, and all about their fan club adventures. Randy Garrett and his best friend Bob French, a.k.a. Dr. Bob, both age 19, listen and laugh.

Randy has his eyes on Debby. About 5’5, maybe 110 pounds, around 34 24 34, long black hair, brown eyes, little white shorts, little white blouse, and Bernardo sandals. He knew he had seen this girl before, but he couldn’t remember when or where? Hey, Bob, hold our place. I’ve gotta’ meet that chick. Bob nods, Sure man. Randy taps Debby on the shoulder, and she turns around. He’s grinning from ear to ear.

Hi, Debby, I’m Randy. It’s nice to meet you. She smiles, "Nice to meet you too.

How do you know my name?"

Well, I couldn’t help but hear ya’ll’s conversation the last couple of hours. Debby sizes him up. 6’2", groovy long brown Beatle-cut, way cute, cut-off shorts, Rubber Soul t-shirt, and Huarache sandals. Could be in a band or a surfer dude???

So, I know ya’ll’s names. He glances at Pat, It’s nice to meet you too, Pat.

Pat nods, Same here. Anyway, it was cool to hear about the fan club and how ya’ll staked out Stax, hoping to catch the Beatles. Debby shakes her head, Yeah’ that was a real drag. We were so disappointed they didn’t come. But we’re over it now.

Randy smiles, Well at least we get to see them next month. Pat chimes in, And they have a new album coming out soon, that should have been recorded here in Memphis.

Debby asks, Forgive me for asking, but are you in a band? Randy replied, Yeah, I play rhythm guitar and sing for These Lingering Souls. My buddy Bob, he points at Bob, standing behind them, he’s the drummer. We call him Dr. Bob. Everybody wave."

The girls wave, and Debby yells, Hi, Dr. Bob. Bob waves back, Cool, baby. Pat asks, Why do you call him Dr. Bob? Randy answered.

Dr. Robert’ is his favorite song. By 8:45, it’s hot as hell. The crowd is getting restless. Randy finally remembers. Now I know where I saw you, back in May at the Plaza Theatre. The KKK was there. You were interviewing the man with the sign. Debby frowns, I was there. And that man I interviewed; he was creepy.

Yeah he’s creepy, and I should know. He’s my old man. Debby and Pat back away from him in semi-shock. Debby says, You’re kidding!

I wish I was. But I’m nothing like him. In fact, I loved Patch of Blue. It was great. The girls try to smile and Debby says, Yeah’ we loved it too. The man inside the ticket booth turns the sign from closed to open at 9:00 on the dot. Randy says, It’s been nice talkin’ to ya’ll, but I better get back in line.

As he walks away, he stops and turns around. We’re playin’ a dance Friday night, Little Flower CYO at 8:00 P.M., why don’t ya’ll come? The girls look at each other. Debby says, Thanks, but I think we have to work. Pat nods, Yeah’ we do. Randy blows the girls a kiss and walks away. Pat says, God, he was so cute! Debby says, Yeah, but if you had met his dad, I don’t know? Then it’s their turn. The man behind the window recognizes Pat and smiles, Well hello, young lady. What can I do for you? She smiles, We need four tickets for the Beatles.

You’re in luck young lady. It’s wide open. He shows her the seating chart. She studies it briefly. OK, we’ll take these two seats for the afternoon show, and these two for the evening show. He gathers four orange tickets and stuffs them in an envelope. That’ll be $22.00. Pat slides the cash through the little opening in the window, and he counts it. Then he slides the envelope, containing the precious tickets, to her. Enjoy the show. She and Debby hug each other, let out one high pitched scream, and walk away. Pat grins, Alright, second row for the first show and the loge for the second! They prance right past Randy and Bob, oblivious. Randy yells, Nice to meet you! They ignore him and just keep on walking. On their way home, they’re delirious. Just knowing they’d be that close to John, Paul, George, and Ringo. Bob and Randy cruise around, top down in the GTO, glad to be off their feet. Bob asks, Did you ever get their last names? Randy says, No, man, I was too busy checking out Debby. She’s hot! Bob laughs, So was Pat. But don’t worry man. We’re sitting right behind them, third row, center. Randy stomps on the gas and they take off, flying down Poplar. Randy yells, I guess we’ll have to wait, Dr. Bob.

Shapes of Things

July 21, 1966

The last rays of the sun cut through the old trees in Overton Park. In a picnic area, on the east side of the park, around 600 people mill about in the long shadows. The smells of popcorn, hotdogs, and kerosene drift about. Country music blares from the P.A. system. Debby read the editorial in the Press Scimitar that afternoon…Are They KKKiding? The Klan, an organization devoted to hate, bigotry and cowardly violence ought to be stopped from spreading its poison on public property. It seems to us that the Park Commission already has the authority it needs to stop it.[6] They tried, by refusing to grant them a permit for a political rally, but that wasn’t going to stop the Klan or their followers.

Debby parks in the last available spot. She wasn’t expecting to see this many cars here, not on this steamy evening. At 7:00 P.M. it’s still eighty-five degrees. As she makes her way toward the crowd and the smoke, she notices that there aren't any candidate signs anywhere which is strange, because there’s a big election in two weeks. At the entrance, two robed Klansmen hand out the latest Fiery Cross and a program. She says, Thanks, then folds them and stuffs them in her purse. Then she spots the sign, white poster, red block-letters, hand-painted,

ONLY THE TRUTH WILL SURVIVE.

If you are a person interested in reality, If America and the future are in your plans for yourself and your children, You should search for the truth in all things. Only the white American public is invited to hear Robert M. Shelton and others, 7-21-66, 7:30 P.M. Security Guards Especially Invited To Attend! United Klans of America, Inc.[7]

Debby makes note of the sign and looks around. The crowd is mostly teenagers and young adults. They’re assembling in front of a stage, one microphone, a P.A. system and one spotlight, and kerosene torches surround the whole area. She spots a guy with a big-time crew-cut, walks right up to him, and introduces herself. Hi, I’m Debby. What’s your name? He looks her up and down and smiles. I’m John. She asks, Why are you here this evening?

Well, me and some of my friends from MYF came to hear Mr. Shelton speak.

Why would a church group come to a Klan rally? He laughs, Silly, don’t you know the Klan is a religious organization? She scribbles his answer, No, I wasn’t aware of that. He asks, Are you a reporter or somethin’? She says, "Yeah’ I’m from the Mustang Roundup at East High."

Well ain’t you the cutest thing ever?

Hey, I’ve gotta’ go. Thank you. She feels a tap on her shoulder and turns around. If looks could kill, she’d be dead. A short blonde girl sticks her finger in Debby’s face. I’m Sandy, and why are you messin’ with my boyfriend? Who the hell are you?

I’m Debby Goldstein, and I’m not messin’ with him. I asked him a couple of questions; that’s all. Sandy asks, Are you a Jew? Debby nods her head, I am. What’s it to you? Sandy pokes Debby’s shoulder. You shouldn’t be here. Don’t you know Mr. Shelton don’t care for your people. Debby smiles, That’s exactly why I’m here! As she walks away, she hears Sandy tear into John. I heard you tell that little Jew whore she was cute. Debby hears shouting coming from the concession area, and she investigates. Apparently, they were selling soft drinks, which is illegal in the park, so the cops shut them down. The crowd chants, Don’t stop the pop! The uniformed and plain-clothes cops look a little anxious.

A robed Klansman emerges from behind the concession stand. Debby recognizes him instantly. It’s Buddy, the man with the sign, from the Plaza Theatre back in May. He’s sweating profusely, and his bald head and face are deep-red. He looks very angry. Damn it, everybody calm down. Our friends from MPD told us we can’t sell pop. The crowd boos. But that’s OK; we’ve decided to give it away. Drinks are on us! Then he walks away in a huff, cussing under his breath, Damn Memphis cops! The program begins promptly at 7:30. Debby finds a safe spot with the other newspaper reporters and a cameraman from WREC. Raymond Anderson, Grand Dragon of Tennessee, and Bob McCampbell, Exalted Cyclops of the Memphis Klavern, deliver The Lord’s Prayer first, followed by a Klan prayer. Then it’s down to business.

Debby tries to take it all in. Buddy stands alongside nineteen of his brothers at the back of the stage, robes, pointed hats, but no masks. Anderson rips into John. J. Hooker, calling him a Commie and a Kennedy puppet. He extols the virtues of Buford Ellington and the other candidates on the Klan ticket. Their names echo around the area. The torches begin to flicker as a light breeze stirs. Twenty-one shadows dance on the canopy of trees directly behind the stage. It’s like a scene from a film in World History, all the young faces in the shadows at a Hitler Youth rally in Nuremberg.

Buddy steps to the mike and introduces the featured speaker, Ladies and gentlemen, let’s have a big Memphis welcome for our Imperial Wizard, Mr. Robert M. Shelton! The crowd roars. The flashbulbs pop, the 16mm film rolls, and the reporters start writing. Shelton, in his blue suit, reminds me of my Dad’s accountant. Speaking in his Alabama drawl, he thanks the crowd for coming and pleads with them to get out and vote, that’s a laugh because most of these folks are too young to vote.

He launches into a tirade, Civil Rights, Jews, Communists. Debby tries to keep up. Civil rights is the third stage of a Communist takeover. It shows that the first two steps, outlined by Marx and Engels, were not successful. The center of Marxist financing is a Jewish firm in New York City and world Zionism is backing Communism. [8] The crowd cheers. How many of these people even know who Marx and Engels were? Shelton continues, Be alert to attempts by Communist and civil rights agitators to con you into acts of violence. The Klan must educate the people of the United States, not to resort to acts of violence, no matter what the provocation.[9] This upcoming election is very critical. We must work hard for our conservative candidates. We are the front- line in this battle. Don’t worry about the invasion from without. Worry about the invasion from within. Debby notices that some of the people in the crowd are leaving.

Shelton is just getting warmed up. "Ya’ll know that I recently appeared before the House Un-American Activities Committee. We’ve got them confused in Washington. When we go up there, we wear our shoes and sleep on those sheets instead of wearing them. Until they clean out their own cesspool, I ain’t tellin’ nuthin’. The FBI and the Justice Department are nuthin’ but ‘political prostitutes’ and the Attorney General is nuthin’ but ‘political afterbirth!’[10] The crowd cheers, and Shelton pauses briefly. Debby feels another tap on the shoulder and turns around. Randy whispers in her ear. Is this guy full of shit or what? Why would anyone listen to this moron? She whispers, What are you doing here? He points at Buddy on the stage. I came to see my old man in action. Ain’t he a hoot in that clown suit and pointy-hat? She bursts out laughing. The people surrounding them turn and stare. Someone says, Show some respect; this ain’t supposed to be funny! Debby bites her tongue, Sorry.

Shelton rolls on. Do you realize that the National Council of Churches is sponsoring misfits and beatniks to come south to promote violence. The Klan and the White Citizens Council of Memphis have the interest of the Negro more at heart than all the Communist Party and Civil Rights Movement. The Klan is not anti-Negro. We are anti-Communist![11]Randy is getting off on watching her work. Standing there, in her red skirt, writing in her notebook, so damn serious but so damn cute. She turns around and whispers, I can’t listen to any more of this. I’m outta’ here. It’s nice to see you again. He whispers, At least let me walk you to your car. Reluctantly, she says, OK. Someone turns around, You beatniks shut up! On the way out, they pass a plain-clothes cop. He stares a hole through them. Ya’ll are brave folks, to be out here in this crowd, dressed like that. You in your little dress, and you lookin’ like one of them musicians. Randy nods, Yes sir, but we’re not afraid. We’ve got you and the rest of Memphis’ finest to protect us. The cop laughs as they walk away. Shelton’s words echo, An alien ideology is lulling the American people to sleep, but it’s not too late. God save the United States of America! They run into a small group of teenagers, handing out copies of a cartoon strip. The drawings and script are highly critical of the Klan. Randy laughs, Damn, you guys are fearless. One of the young men says, Hell, it’s worth it. The Grand Dragon of Tennessee called us Communist agitators. [12]Now that’s an honor! Besides, we haven’t had any trouble yet. Debby chuckles, Be careful, the Exalted Cyclops just might want to kick your ass. Everyone laughs. Slowly they make their way to the parking lot. Randy says, You’re really funny, and I don’t even know your last name. It’s Goldstein. What’s yours? Garrett.

Here’s my car. He opens her door, and she gets in. Aren’t you a gentleman. He smiles, I try to be.

So your dad is Buddy Garrett.

Sadly enough, he is.

It must have been tough growing up with him.

You have no idea. He’s one of the meanest people you’d ever want to meet. He and I fought all the time. That’s why my mom left us a long time ago.

That’s very sad.

It’s ok; I’m over it. I learned to be tough and independent, and that’s groovy. Then he pops the question, Why don’t you give me your number? She smiles at him and shakes her head, I don’t think that’s a good idea, sorry. As he turns to walk away, they hear giggling coming from the bushes behind them. The MYF group, four guys and six snickering chicks, emerge from the darkness. One of the guys yells, Fag, Fairy, Commie! Debby recognizes his voice instantly. One of the girls laughs, Oh, I just bet he is. She recognizes her whiny voice, also. And if it ain’t the little Jew reporter. They quickly surround her car. Calmly, Randy pleads, We don’t want any trouble. We’re just trying to leave. Debby sees John approach Randy in her rearview. He’s staggering, so he must be drunk. What’s with the girlie hair? Are you a fag? No, I’m not, are you?

Hey, John, this guy is funny.

No, he ain’t, Sandy. John takes a swing and misses. Hey man, like I said, we don’t want any trouble. John screams, Fuck you, beatnik! Randy doesn’t blink; he reacts and sends one blow to John’s throat that he never sees coming. He goes down in a heap and takes Sandy with him. Now he’s layin’ on her. He pukes, and Sandy screams, My God, John, that is so gross! The rest of the group gathers around their fallen comrades. Debby starts her car and revs the engine. She glances at Randy, Thanks for your help. She takes off, leaving a cloud of dust behind.

Obviously nobody else wants a piece of Randy tonight, so he walks away. He hops in his ‘66 GTO convertible, white, black top, red interior. The 389 Tri-Power comes to life with a snarl. He can see John and Sandy in the rearview. He turns and yells, Ya’ll have a nice evening and remember to say your prayers! He floors the GTO, pops the clutch, and proceeds to lay eighty feet of hot, melted, B.F. Goodrich rubber. A thick acrid cloud of tire smoke quickly drifts across the parking lot and envelops the MYF group. John is still down for the count. The rest of them start coughing and waving their hands about in the toxic fog. Sandy finally stands up, coughs, and says, Damn, he was so hot! Randy turns onto East Parkway and turns the radio on. WMPS, Shapes, of things before my eyes… Just teach me to despise… Will time make man more wise? [13] He still felt the sting of Debby’s second rejection!

Paperback Writer

July 22, 1966

Debby stands alone outside the Mid-South Coliseum in the middle of the night. Torches surround the mushroom-shaped venue. The white-domed roof glows in the light of the full moon. A huge bonfire burns in the center of the west parking lot. An apparition appears through the shimmering heat waves. A ghostly figure is throwing objects into the flames. From this distance, she can’t tell what they are. Suddenly, a gust of hot wind snuffs the torches out and blows right up her orange Day-Glo mini-dress. The bonfire and the ghost disappear. She walks toward the front doors. She hears music, but doesn’t recognize it. It’s drowned out by the loudest screaming she’s ever heard, rising and falling in thunderous waves. She can’t see inside because there’s smoke or fog swirling around behind the big glass doors. When her hand touches the door handle, she hears a loud bang. The screaming and the music stop.

She wakes up, lying face down in her pillow, gasping for air. Her sleeveless short-short pajamas are soaking wet. She rolls over, takes a deep breath, and slowly opens her eyes. That had to be the strangest dream ever. She sits up and looks around. Posters of the Beatles, the Stones, and Otis Redding cover every square inch of her bedroom walls. Dolls, statues, and other memorabilia fill the shelves and dresser-top. A Rand typewriter sits on her desk. Calendars for July and August are tacked to the wall in front of the desk. Almost every day is covered with little notes of places, times, and phone numbers, all written in different colors, looking like an abstract painting. She sits in front of the mirror brushing her long black hair, thinking about last night including the crowd, Buddy, Shelton, Randy, the torches, the MYF incident.

The record drops on the turntable. It’s her favorite song ever. Every time she sits down at the typewriter, she plays this song for motivation. Paperback writer, paperback writer. Dear Sir or Madam will you read my book? It took me years to write, will you take a look?[14] If a song had ever been written for her, this was it. She starts to type, What is it with the torches? It’s obvious that hate groups, like the Klan or the Nazis, use them for effect. Perhaps they symbolize a primal fear of fire. A blazing light in a sea of darkness, like a Viking funeral, or the gas flames in a brick crematory oven… Whatever, they give me the creeps. She hears her Mom call, Debby, it’s time for breakfast. Remember you’ve got to be at work by nine.

Oh shit! She throws on a bright yellow sleeveless A-line dress and white pumps. She looks in the mirror, Debby, you look like hell this morning! Buddy hears the phone ringing in the kitchen. He opens his eyes, turns over and and looks at the clock on the night stand. Who the hell is callin’ me at this hour? He calls out, Randy, will you get that? No answer, Damn it, Randy. Don’t make me call you again! No answer, Son of a bitch! Then he remembers, Randy moved out six months ago. When he gets out of bed, he trips on the edge of the bedspread and falls. Son of a bitch! Slowly, he picks himself up and heads down the hall. This better be important. By the time he gets to the phone, it stops ringing. I’ll be damned. He opens the refrigerator and grabs a Schlitz tall-boy, pops the top, and sits down at the kitchen table. It’s covered with empty cans and a couple of empty bottles of Heaven Hill. No wonder his head is throbbing. The phone rings again. He takes a big swig of cold beer and burps twice.

He answers, Hello. Good morning Buddy. This is Robert Shelton, calling from Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Good morning, Mr. Shelton. How can I help you? Well, first I wanted to say thank you. Mr. Anderson told me you organized the rally. The setting was perfect. But, I saw lots of young folks in the crowd, and they can’t vote. And we need votes to take down LBJ, the unions, and those fuckin’ Kennedys! And speaking of votes, why didn’t we have any local candidates out there? Buddy lights a cigarette, Mr. Shelton, I’ve been workin’ the phones like crazy. Tellin’ people not to vote for that Kennedy-supported puppet, John J. Hooker, or for Ross Bass. Plus, I’m workin’ the local races too, especially the court positions. But it’s tough. Most people hang up on me, especially when I ask ‘em if they’re white or Negro. Hell, I asked two of the County Court candidates to come and speak, but they turned us down. One of them, a woman, got real pissed. She screamed, I’m shocked, appalled and sickened!"[15] The bitch hung up the phone so hard, my God damned ear is still ringin’! Shelton laughs, Sorry Buddy, I know it ain’t funny. No sir, it ain’t funny. I’ve also been circulating a report as a public service of the Klan. We list the conservative candidates, but we don’t actually endorse them. Honestly we’re in pretty sad shape here. And that damned Shelby County Democratic Club, pain in the ass that they are, reprinted my report. They’re urging all the Negroes to vote for any ticket that’s opposed by the Klan.[16] I know you got plenty of bullshit to deal with there in Memphis, but nobody said it was gonna’ be easy. Yes sir I know. By the way, ya’ll still being harassed by the local FBI? Yes sir. Ever since they got a hold of our Fiery Cross mailing list they’ve been relentless. We’ve been gettin’ anonymous postcards, damn cartoons that make us look like morons." [17]

Shelton says, Don’t let them assholes get inside your head. They can’t do shit! Just focus on the election. You’ve got two weeks. Work them unions heavily. We want them votin’ for our candidates, conservative, conservative, conservative!

Yes sir, I’ll do my best.

One more question, Buddy. How’s planning goin’ for our first bookstore in Tennessee?

"Things are movin’ along nicely. We found a building at 948 South Cooper.[18] Damn perfect location, enough room for a store and a meeting hall. We’re lookin’ to have the grand opening April 1st next year. Then we can sell books and distribute our literature without being hassled by the cops. Hell, we can even serve coffee and cake. Shelton chuckles and says, Damn good Buddy, damn good! Thank you, Mr. Shelton."

Well, I’ve gotta go. I’m worn out this morning. I couldn’t get a flight out of Memphis last night because of the airline strike. So Mr. Anderson drove me back. That damned machinists union! Fuck em’ Shelton hangs up. Buddy opens another Schlitz and mutters, Forgot to tell him that some asshole stole my Only The Truth Will Survive sign last night. Fuck em’

Mr. Pitiful

July 25, 1966

Good morning, Mom.

And a joyous good morning to you, Mister Jones

Mom, for the last time, please don’t call me mister; Bill is what I prefer.

I know, but I can’t help it. People always addressed your father that way.

Yes, I know, but I’m not Dad.

Good gracious, you’re in rare form today.

Sorry Mom, I’m tired; I haven’t been sleeping well.

May I get you something for breakfast? She opens the pantry door in the cleaner than Mr. Clean kitchen, with yellow walls, white curtains and a new Kenmore fridge. The kitchen table is covered with piles of curriculums, lesson plans, and legal papers. Let’s see, we have Rice Krispies, Alpha-Bits or Bran Flakes, your choice.

Alpha-Bits would be great. Where would you suggest that I sit? She moves a few piles so they can see each other, pulls out two chairs, and sets the cereal and milk on the table. "Don’t just stand there; get