Leaving Jackson

1 March

We could have gotten on the 12:30 bus to Memphis, a ride with frequent stops.  We would have arrived in Memphis at 7:00 PM, same as our faster, 2:55 PM bus which has less stops.  Pat wanted to take the earlier bus.  Riding on a Greyhound and sitting in a station are equally crappy, but the leg room is better at the station.

After yesterday’s volkswalk, we walked to the Capitol for a quick look, and then ran off in search of post cards and a Mississippi hat pin. Neither of which we found.  

We packed and vacated our room this morning after breakfast, storing our bags at the motel.  Walking through the State Fairgrounds, we stopped at the Old Capitol Museum (closed Monday) where we enjoyed an impressive display on the history of Old Capitol and found not only postcards but also a leather book mark.  From there, we worked our way over to the new Capitol Building and mingled with the Young Republicans and FFA jackets.

I retook photographs from yesterday.  Either the SD Card or the card reader malfunctioned and I could download none of the photographs from Saturday night’s Mardi Gras parade or the Jackson volkswalk from yesterday.  This was worrisome enough that I woke at 03:30 and researched “corrupted SD card.”  Software can recover some unreadables, but that’s for later, back at home.

And we glide north on a Greyhound called “Lucky Streak,” a casino bus it says underneath.  Either way, we’re going to Memphis.

Jackson has a beautiful capitol and surrounding government buildings.  Typically, war memorials abound.  On a pedestal as tall as the old capital, stands a statue of a soldier in Civil War garb, a memorial to the Confederate dead of that war.  At the base of the monument and locked behind iron gates, is a life-size statue of Jefferson Davis.  One must be alert.  When southerners refer to Jefferson, it’s usually not Thomas.

The downtown of Jackson, like Montgomery and Baton Rouge, has many boarded up stores and offices, even in the area near the state house.  

This makes particular sense because the South does not question their love of automobiles.  People drive to the malls because they are there.  It’s how it is.  We rode a Jactran bus to the volkswalk start.  Most buses run on an hourly schedule, are partially full, and are used predominantly be African-Americans and some poor whites.  We were, being and looking oddly middle-class, out of place but welcomed and treated kindly.

We scared several drivers near our hotel who were either caught by surprise by someone - we - being in a crosswalk, or thought we shouldn’t be there.  One black Chrysler 500 nearly stood on its nose and I’m hoping the driver was cradling a cup of hot coffee between his thighs.  Every light is a game of chicken.  

The travel was (do I overuse the word?) tedious.  UNTIL we arrived at the Memphis station.  In quick succession we witnessed

• A short, wiry man with a deep voice and carrying a duffle bag almost as long as he was tall got into a tussle with both a bus driver and security about getting on the bus to Nashville.  As the conversation heated, we saw him lift and slap the ankle of his artificial leg and shout that he was loaded on pain killers and needed some consideration.  The movement of slapping his ankle combined with the heavy duffle bag sent him into the wall and almost to the floor.  He showed up at various parts of the station either bumming cigarettes or trying to get onto a non-existent bus.
• A woman who had been traveling twenty hours with two young children and six huge bags of whatever exploded at a bus driver at the Dallas gate and lost all her composure, swore strenuously at the driver who then said, “You’re not riding on my bus.”  Which seemed to upset her even more and gave her added vocabulary strength.  She then ran out the door and barricaded herself in the bus.
• A skinny woman who looked a lot like she had gone twenty hours without sleep was in a manic panic when she missed her bus although her bags didn’t.  
• After we left, we were an hour out of Memphis when the world stopped and we were in a non-moving line of trucks.  Somewhere up the road, an accident had blocked the west bound freeway lanes.  I went to sleep.  When I awoke, we were moving.  That’s all I know.

And at 01:30, a cheery deputy helped us get a cab, a friendly cab driver drove us to the Legacy Hotel, and a night clerk smiled and said “Welcome to Little Rock” and it was all o.k.