Best Smell I Ever Smelt

“That’s the best smell I ever smelt” Socrates Harrison declared. Soc, as he was called, had just checked into the white’s only hotel in Clarksdale, Mississippi. He had taken the train from his home town in Mobile to hear the sound of the raw music that was filtering down to his area from the Delta plantations and juke joints. After walking the last ten miles on the road along the Sunflower River, his tired and dusty appearance at first had the hotel desk clerk concerned, until Soc pulled the wad of greenbacks from his pocket. After checking in to his third floor room, Soc walked down the main street at dusk until the wafting aroma of bar-b-q hit his nostrils. He walked into the standing-room-only shack the aroma came from. He stood while his eyes adjusted to the dimness. As he looked around, he noticed that his was the only while face in the joint. His declaration had focused the attention of the room to this crazy white guy who had just come into Amos’s shack. “Guy must be crazy” was the general consensus.

“I can fix you up a plate if you want” said the thin, ancient looking black man with white whiskers standing behind a plank set over a couple of barrels. The plank held platters of fried fish and greens. Behind him was a bench with platters of ribs with a thick sauce.

“I got fish or pork ribs” the old man said.

“How ’bout some of both” Soc mentioned.

Soc took the plate handed to him. he devoured the fish and collard greens. He savored the ribs, sucking all the sauce off every bone. Soc hadn’t eaten since yesterday.

“Complements to the chef” Soc loudly stated. He went back to the plank, addressing the old man. “is there somewhere to get a bottle of whiskey around here?’ he asked.

“You must be a rich man to be drinkin’ whiskey. I can gets you some shine it you want.”

“That’ll do” Soc said. “What’ll it cost?

“Bottle is four bits” he was told.

Soc reached into his pocket for coins. He held his hand out with eight bits. “I’ll have a couple, then” Soc took a healthy swig from the one he opened. “The rest is for the house” he said. he passed the bottle to a man standing nearby. The man nodded toward Soc. He took a drink and passed the bottle.

“Much obliged” the man said.

Soc walked toward the door with the other bottle in his hand. At the door, he stopped and turned around. “Is there any good music playin’ in these parts?” he inquired.

“Probly not what a man like you is lookin’ for” the old man said.

“I just want to hear some of that wild music comes from around here” Soc mentioned.

“I hear Willy Brown’s gonna be out at Stovall tonight” one of the patrons who had just been passed the jar of shine mentioned.

“How do I get there?” Soc asked.

“I’m headed there myself” the man answered. “I can show ya”

“Great” Soc said. “When do we leave?”

“I was going now” the man said.

“Let’s go then” Soc said. They walked together to the road outside.

“It’s a bit of a walk” the man mentioned.

“No problem” Soc told him.

“What’s your name?” Soc asked. “I’m Soc.

“I’m Zebediah” he said. “Folks call me Zeb”.

Soc uncorked the bottle. He took a swig and handed the bottle to Zeb. Zeb was reluctant to share a bottle with a white man. Soc noticed and assured him that it didn’t mean jack to him. The bottle passed between then as they walked to Stovall.

They drank and talked about the music being played in the area for the forty-five minutes it took to get to the juke joint on the outskirts of the plantation.

They could hear the music long before the house with the smoke from the chimney was visible.

The shine from the rib shack was gone. Soc had passed it to Zeb to polish it off. As they approached the juke house, there were unwelcoming looks coming Soc’s way. His kind was not expected around there. Zeb spoke up.

“Guy here just wants to hear some music. I’ll bet if there’s a jug around here for sale, he’ll get a couple and share it with us.”

That was all that was needed to be said. Soc handed Zeb a couple of greenbacks to make the deal go down. That was enough to get five jars of the shine that was available. Zeb brought two back to Soc and gave two to be shared with the men hanging around. As the shine was being shared, the men receiving it nodded to Soc. Seemed he had been accepted. Soc walked around with Zeb, who introduced him to some of the men who were hanging around the make-shift stage. When they got to the stage, Zeb took out the bottle he had hidden in his shirt.

“Hey Willie, guy here got you a bottle. Zeb handed the bottle to the man sitting on a chair with a guitar next to it. Willie took a mouthful and sighed. He took another and moved to give the bottle back.

“Keep it” Soc said.

Willie took another swallow and nodded toward Soc. “Thanks to ya” Willie said.

While Soc was talking to a couple of the men who had shared one of the bottles, Zeb was talking to a couple of ladies standing nearby. They were both dressed in their finest. One was thin, wearing a long cotton dress decorated with bright sunflowers. She had long, shapely legs that Soc noticed. The other lady was a little portly with breasts nearly escaping the loose blue striped blouse. Her skirt hung to a few inches below her knees.

Zeb came up. “These ladies want to know if you’d like their company tonight. Peel off another of them greenbacks and you can have ’em both.”

Zeb called the ladies over and introduced Soc to Ruby and Yolinda. Zeb mentioned that he wanted to hear Willy play first. Once the gig was finished, they would take him into the house to exchange their services for the greenback. In the morning Soc walked back to Clarksdale.

Soc spent a month in the Delta, catching every blues act he could find. He bought many bottles of moonshine to make himself acceptable among the inhabitants, especially the blacks who hung out at the juke joints and rent parties. When he was in Clarksdale, he visited Yolinda and spent nights at her place. He came with armloads of groceries from the general store. There was always enough to share with the neighbors. Soc gained a reputation for being generous and fun-loving. In other towns Soc visited in the Delta, there was always a Yolinda willing to trade intimacy for a greenback.

After wandering around the Delta for a couple of months, Soc took the train back to Mobile. He got a room at the hotel instead of seeing if he might be welcome at his father’s house. He bought a guitar at Sears and Roebucks. For the next two weeks he left the room only to eat in the hotel dining room or to grab a bottle of whiskey to take back to the room. Some of the Delta players had taught Soc to tune a guitar and to play a few basic tunes. He gained enough confidence to go out and see if he could make his way in the music world. He went to all the bars in town to see if he could get a job. No luck. he remembered the guys in the Delta who would play on street corners with a hat to garner tips from people getting off work, hearing them play. Soc began playing on the corner downtown by the factory when the work whistle blew. The hat money brought him enough to pay for dinner at the hotel restaurant and a bottle of Kentucky whiskey to get him through the night.

A shop owner noticed the interest Soc was getting from the people passing by. A stage was set up in the back of the store. Soc played his guitar and made up songs about stories he heard in the Delta. He bought a pick-up and amplifier from the Sears and Roebucks catalog so he could play a little louder, bringing more people from the streets into the store. The store owner was happy and hired Soc to play every night when the work whistle blew to signal the end of the day shift. Soc made up words for his songs with references to local events that reminded him of what he heard in the Delta. Sometimes he would stop playing his guitar and pull out his harmonica. He had picked up pointers from juke joint players he met.

After some time, Leroy, Soc’s father, heard about the young man playing his guitar downtown. Leroy walked along the street until he heard the music from the shop.

“What the devil are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Just living my life” Soc told him. He reminded his father of the conversation they had just before Soc left home. Home was the family business, a store selling groceries and provisions to the neighborhood residents. Soc had not been interested in running the store. His interests were hearing that music coming from the Delta that was being spread by traveling musicians, most black, who wandered town to town playing their music on street corners or on records played on juke boxes. Soc’s other interests were whiskey and loose women.

Rules were laid down by his religious father.

“No music, no liquor, and no dames” was the rule imposed. Soc's father was son of a Baptist preacher. Soc had been given the shape up or ship out speech, just before he left for the Delta to get to the source of the wild music he had come t love. The conversation ended with a loud argument and Leroy storming out the door. The next day, Soc’s sister, Juanita, came by while he was playing his guitar in the back of the shop. She had been sent by their mother to convince Soc to come home.

I’m not the prodigal son” Soc told her. “I’ll only come back if I can do this at the store. Running the store may be father’s path, maybe yours too. Music is my path and I’m following it my way.” He accepted the invitation to come for dinner on Sunday. Soc had to hear how his life had gone down hill and that he should come home to get involved in the family business.

Soc agreed to come home. The caveat was that he would be free when the shop closed at six o’clock so he could continue his music career. His other demand was for a month off in summer so he could make the trip to the Delta to stay close to his influences. Soc had received a few lessons from some of the musicians there. Soc realized that he had a long way to go before he could play anywhere close to his idols.

His father’s health was declining. Leroy reluctantly agreed to Soc’s terms, hoping that getting involved in the family business would get him to see the light. Soc ventured downtown in the evenings to play on the corner by the factory, mostly for his own enjoyment. His hat continued to garner enough tips for his nightly bottle of Kentucky whiskey. Soc also converted the shack in the rear of the store into a still where he produced the white lightning he had sampled in his travels. He also made trips to the local brothel at least weekly.

Soc’s reputation around town was that he was a drunk and worthless, especially since he played that nigger music on the street corner all the time. That reputation took a wild swing downward when he came home from his travels to the Delta, and further north to Chicago, where many blacks had left sharecropping and poverty to go where the jobs were. In Chicago, Soc was impressed by musicians like McKinley Morganfield and Chester Burnett, among others. he learned new techniques on guitar and harmonica to bring back to his performances. When he got off the train with Yolinda, the black woman he met in Clarksdale on a previous trip, gossip spread quickly. When Yolinda moved in with Soc, the rumor mills ran rampant. Mississippi laws forbade marriage between races. Yolinda was never accepted by white society. After two years of abuse by local folk, Yolinda left to return to the Delta. After that, Soc returned every year with a companion he met on a plantation or rural music gig, just to piss off the people who had driven Yolinda out of town. The lady would stay with Soc for the year until it was time for Soc’s summer journey. She would be gone, but replaced by another black Delta lady. One lady, Ruby, from Clarksdale, stayed and worked in the brothel. She was Soc’s companion when he made his regular trip to the brothel. One summer, Soc did not return to Mobile. He had been robbed and killed at a rent party near Stovall when a man there was jealous that Soc was laying with the lady he hoped to court. She had told the man that she would be leaving with Soc. She was also killed. When news got back to Mobile, the consensus around town was that Soc got what he deserved. Juanita made the trip north to bring Soc’s body back to be buried in the family plot. Soc’s guitar passed hands to his younger brother, Nathaniel. Soc had taught Nathaniel how to play his guitar. He had worshiped his older brother and began going downtown to play on the street corners, drink whiskey and frequent the brothel. Nathaniel made trips to the Delta to follow Soc’s footsteps. Nathaniel eventually helped form a band to play the Devil’s music and scored a recording contract with a major Chicago studio. He later moved to New Orleans and was successful in his career. The antics Nathaniel inherited from his brother were not a problem in New Orleans. He sat in with local pianists like Pinetop Perkins and Professor Longhair, even backing up local musicians on their recordings. Nathaniel also met his demise from messing with the wrong woman who was married to a forty-five packing, jealous husband.