TX to VA: A Blues Road Trip — Hardcore Norfolk

by Johnny R.

I woke up that morning in Austin. It would be the last I spent in the house I lived in for over six and a half years. I had only committed to the idea of leaving town a few weeks earlier. Austin had changed so much since I first moved there in 2013. There were parts I still loved and knew I would miss. However, long time venues were closing all over town to make way for condos to house the influx of white-collar yuppies. The capital city had become a hi-tech and start-up mecca. SXSW culture overlapped into long-term commitments from big companies. From people to corporations, it was just hip to be in Austin. The cost of living was going up and gentrification was rampant. Yes, musicians and artists were being pushed out. But more importantly, areas that were historically inhabited by communities of color were becoming whitewashed. To sum it up, the battle to “Keep Austin Weird” was not going well, and the marginalized were becoming more marginalized in a town that prided itself on being progressive. And this was BEFORE the pandemic hit. Long story short, it had been about five months since I lost my job due to COVID. Things seemed like they would not be turning around anytime soon. It was time to hit the road back to the part of the country from which I hailed. East coast of VA, here I come. Driving north on I-35 out of town, a cover of Tracy’s Chapman’s “Fast Car” by Black Pumas was the last song I heard on a local Austin radio station before it crackled away.

The first stop was in Dallas at 508 Park Avenue. This location was one of only two places where mythical delta blues musician, Robert Johnson, recorded. (The other site, which I visited a couple of weeks earlier, is located in San Antonio at the Gunter Hotel). There are only 29 known recordings from Mr. Johnson. A few of the songs recorded here in June of 1937 were “Hell Hound on My Trail,” “Love in Vain Blues,” “Stones in My Passway” and “From Four Until Late.” (The latter song’s lyrics included the line “From Memphis to Norfolk is a 36-hour ride”.) The art-deco style building which opened in 1930 served as an office and warehouse for Warner Brothers, with subsidiary Brunswick Records, located on the third floor. It was here that producer Don Law set up a simple studio used for making field recordings. Robert Johnson and Bob Wills were just a few of the notable artists that stopped by to record in the summer of 1937. In 2004, Eric Clapton recorded his album, The Robert Johnson Sessions, at the same spot. Now in 2020, the building at Park Ave had seen better days. The recently restored lamps at the front entrance were busted out and covered with black plastic sheets. Although it sits not far from the bustling Deep Ellum section of the city, this street seemed barren and not heavily traveled.

Leaving Dallas, I took I-20 east towards Shreveport, Louisiana. Just east of Shreveport is the town of Haughton, and it is here that Johnny Horton is buried. Horton is one of my most favorite voices, songwriters, and storytellers - and perhaps the only hillbilly pop star. He was killed on November 5th, 1960 when the car he was driving was struck head-on by a drunk college student traveling from Texas A&M. Johnny Horton had just played the Skyline Club in Austin earlier that evening and was en route to Shreveport to play his next show. Coincidentally, The Skyline Club was also the last place Hank Williams played before his early death in 1953. Within a year of William’s death, Johnny Horton married his widow, Billie Jean, who would ultimately become Horton’s widow. Billie Jean said her final goodbyes to both Hank and Johnny at the Skyline Club. Here’s where it gets more bizarre. Johnny Horton was a spiritualist and for years, he said he was receiving premonitions of his early death. According to him, that death would be caused by a drunk man. It affected how he lived his life and he often told loved ones that he’d communicate with them from the grave. He was worried about dying so much that he canceled appearances, including one right before his final show. He even tried to cancel the Austin show that night because he feared that he would be killed there. Although the show still happened, he hid in his dressing room worried that if he went to the bar, a drunk man would take his life.

Johnny Horton’s gravesite (pictured above) at Hill Crest Memorial Cemetery consists of a bench engraved with an acoustic guitar and a marker with a line from Billie Jean that reads “Here Lies A Perfect Man, My Husband.” Billie Jean Horton is still alive and resides in Haughton, not far from where Johnny is buried.

Above: Memorial to Bonnie and Clyde, and site of their famous ambush.

Back on I-20, I headed east towards the exit for Gibsland. As I pulled into the quaint yet rundown town, the sign for the Bonnie and Clyde Ambush Museum came into view. The same building was once called Ma Canfield’s Café, and it is the last place that Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow ever visited alive. They grabbed some breakfast to go, hit the road, and met their demise about 8 miles south. I followed the main road out of town to find the site of the ambush. It was a long empty road stretching into Bienville Parish where I passed only a couple of other vehicles. It was dusk as the small rural churches faded away behind me and the scenery turned to forest. This area is a great hiding spot in modern times, I thought, let alone back in 1934. If this location wasn’t compromised by their double-crossing cohorts, the Methvins, they would have never been found here. I finally came upon the turnoff where the ambush took place and pulled over. It was at this spot that on May 23rd, 1934, that Texas Rangers (with help from the local sheriff’s department) shot 130 bullets into Bonnie and Clyde’s car, killing the infamous bank-robbing couple. At the dirt pull-off is a hacked up concrete marker that has become a memorial for the outlaw couple. Flowers lie at its base and bullets adorn the top. (The marker is chopped up from visitors taking chunks for keepsakes). Next to it is a memorial dedicated to the law enforcement officers that took the lives of the duo. It has been shot at a few times. The spot looked just like I had imagined it from the accounts I have read and movies I have seen. (Every year on the anniversary of the killing, a reenactment of the ambush takes place here - complete with old cars.) To up the eerie factor a bit, I walked into the woods behind the marker. By this point, the sun was down and the coyotes were howling. I didn’t walk far before I turned around and hurried back to my van.

I took I-20 out of Louisiana and into Mississippi. Many miles and stops had been crammed into the day and it was long past time to stop for the night. Needing sleep, I wasted some time and miles by driving around looking for a rest stop or less crowded truck stop to set up camp (AKA sleep in my van). After spending too much time doing so, I caved in and got a room at a Days Inn. Unintentional luxury.

Above: Blue Front Cafe, Bentonia, Mississippi

Jimmy "Duck" Holmes’ Epiphone acoustic guitar

The next day, I drove north through Clinton linking up with Highway 49 towards Bentonia which would be the first stop of the day. (Ironically, I passed a rest stop only a few miles up from the Days Inn.) The very small town of Bentonia sat just off of 49. There was a main street of sorts that consisted of a few shops and a police department/fire department/town hall that was just another storefront on the row. At the edge of the town sat my destination, The Blue Front Café. I had heard about The Blue Front and its proprietor, Jimmy “Duck” Holmes, through several documentaries and books. It was opened by Holmes’ parents in 1948 and is the longest-running juke joint in the state. Jimmy “Duck” Holmes is the last of the original “Bentonia school” bluesmen who learned the style directly from its originator, Henry Stuckey. (Others included Jack Owens and Skip James). Stuckey was in the army during World War I. While stationed in France, he learned open minor guitar tunings from Caribbean soldiers also stationed there. He brought this knowledge back with him to his hometown, making it a key part of the Bentonia blues sound. In this style, the guitar is usually tuned to open E minor or D minor, giving it a distinct, haunting, and droning sound.

I arrived at the Blue Front just as it was opening and was greeted by a friendly, hippie-ish lady. As I walked around the small room, she told me about the place, Holmes and herself. After visiting there on a trip, she decided to move there on a whim to get away from the hustle and bustle of the big city. (It seems like there are a lot of folks who end up in Mississippi for the same reasons.) She helped Holmes take care of the place. The interior consisted of a few tables, a jukebox in the corner, and a bar/lunch counter which also carried some groceries. (A local man came in to pick up a few things while I was there.) There were concert posters, newspaper articles and guitars on the walls. Holmes’ Epiphone acoustic guitar sat next to a chair. I was a little disappointed that Holmes himself was not there but what could ya do? It was great to see the place in person. Before I left, I bought some merch including Holmes’ new album (produced by Dan Auerbach of the Black Keys) and a coke for the road. I thanked the lady for her time and headed out the door.

As I was walking to my van, I heard a car pull up to the Blue Front behind me. An older gentleman emerged from a beat-up old minivan and went inside the juke joint. It was Jimmy “Duck” Holmes himself. I just HAD to go back and say hi – which I did. Mr. Holmes was very friendly and easily made conversation. He asked where I was coming from and I told him how I was leaving Austin. He talked about the times he played there among other things. Before I left the second time, we took a socially distant picture out front of the old Blue Front. (Side note: We were all wearing masks and all very carefully maintaining distance when we talked.) I was happy about my stop in Bentonia. I put Holmes’ album into the van’s CD player and headed north to Greenwood.

Above: Greenwood, MS, the birthplace of Howlin’ Wolf’s guitarist, Hubert Sumlin

The drive north on 49 took me through very impoverished small towns dotting the farmlands and swamps which hugged Morgan Brake National Wildlife Refuge. Greenwood, the birthplace of Howlin’ Wolf’s guitarist, Hubert Sumlin, would be the biggest town along this stretch. The first part I came across resembled a downtown area consisting of deteriorating, vacant buildings before I reached the more “invested in” area. Like many of the towns in Mississippi, there was a stark line of contrast where the dwellings of the less fortunate gave way to the homes of the well-off. In Mississippi, the past is never far behind. This is great for exploring music history but not so great as it pertains to progress and human rights. The complex issue of race relations deserves a piece all of its own. In this piece, however, I have to acknowledge the privilege I have when traveling around Mississippi (and the rest of the country) in all my transient van camping ways.

The road to my first destination on the outskirts of town cut through a neighborhood full of big, beautiful mansions before the landscape changed to fields and farmland. The first indicator that I was heading in the right direction was an old wooden road sign standing in a field. There were three horizontal planks of wood indicating different destinations in faded black paint. The top one read “ROBERT JOHNSON GRAVE 2 MILE”.

The grave of Robert Johnson (or what is regarded as the most credible of numerous supposed grave locations) is located in the cemetery behind Little Zion Church. The gravestone sits in the shade of an old pecan tree. This small plot of land is surrounded by vast, wide-open fields. The sun was shining and the wind was blowing through the trees in the cemetery. Not a car passed for most of the time I was there. This setting seemed such a perfect spot for the man whose mysterious life and death kicked one’s imagination into overdrive. The headstone read: Robert L. Johnson May 8, 1911 – August 16, 1938. Underneath was an engraving made from a handwritten note from Johnson. It read “Jesus of Nazareth, King of Jerusalem, I know that my Redeemer liveth and that he will call me from the Grave.” On the back is a line from his aforementioned song “From Four Until Late”: “When I leave this town I’m ‘on’ bid you fare...farewell. And when I return again, you’ll have a great long story to tell.” There were wine bottles, flowers, picks, and messages left from visitors.

After leaving the gravesite, I drove through Greenwood to meet up with the main road heading east across the state. On the way, I stopped by Broad Street Park. This park was where civil rights leader Stokely Carmichael delivered his famous “Black Power” speech on June 16th, 1966. Earlier that month, James Meredith began a solo 220 mile March Against Fear from Memphis, TN to Jackson, MS. On the second day, he was seriously wounded after being shot by a white sniper. Several civil rights leaders, including Carmichael, vowed to finish his march. During the march, Stokely Carmichael was arrested in Greenwood. Upon being released, he walked to Broad Street Park and gave his speech. (I recommend reading or listening to this speech.)

I had heard that the remnants of an old juke joint Wolf used to play was in the woods somewhere in the area...

I took Highway 82 across the state in the direction of West Point. It started to rain as I neared the town and a tractor trailer jack knifed only a few car lengths in front of me. Everyone involved seemed to be OK and traffic slowly weaved around the truck. The West Point area is the birthplace of one my all-time favorite figures in music history, Chester Arthur Burnett AKA Howlin’ Wolf. Not only was Howlin’ Wolf a talented musician with one of the greatest voices ever (with a hell of a wild schtick on stage), but he was highly intelligent and avoided many of the problems that plagued other bluesmen of his time. (There’s a video of him admonishing a drunk Son House for his self-destructive ways). Wolf grew up very poor and illiterate with no formal education. Because of this, he spent his adult life educating himself the best he could including learning how to read and write.

West Point’s downtown area seemed to be a bit more revitalized than the other towns I had visited thus far. The first place I visited was the park to see the Howlin’ Wolf memorial statue next to Wolf’s blues marker. There he was, THE WOLF and his little guitar standing in the rain at the edge of a lush green park. Then I walked over to the Howlin’ Wolf Blues Museum. There was a sign on the door with a number to call for a tour. I called a few times. Nobody answered. I got back in my van and headed north out of West Point toward an area called White Station - the actual birthplace of Howlin’ Wolf. The road that led there was an old narrow, cracked concrete street that crossed active railroad tracks with no gates. Today, White Station is an unincorporated community of a few homes but there’s almost zero information about it on the internet. It didn’t even show up in my smart phone map. I had heard that the remnants of an old juke joint Wolf used to play was in the woods somewhere in the area so I drove around some dirt roads hoping to come across it. What a long shot. I never found it but I did lose phone service and GPS while driving around, and had no idea in which direction was the “main” road. Eventually, after some wrong turns and backtracking, I found the road that led me out of there.

Above: Howlin Wolf Blues Museum and more, West Point, MS

I made my way back down to 82 which I took out of Mississippi and into Alabama. At Tuscaloosa, I was back on 20 and headed into Georgia. I would make it east of Atlanta that night where I would sleep at the good ol’ Area 52 rest stop. (Second overnight stay there). The next morning I continued on 20 to Florence, SC then 95 to Virginia. Three days and two nights after leaving Austin, I made it to the east coast of VA with more memories from my favorite place – the road.