Catfish Alley (11 page)

"What'd you do?" By now,
Zero's forgot about looking like he's working.

"I just stood there and
watched, like everybody else. Rufus stood about even with John Luke's chest.
You know John Luke is big as a tree. John Luke said, 'Now, Mr. Tanner, we don't
want no trouble here.' He's talking real quiet like to Rufus. Then that crazy colored
man tried to get in Rufus's face again.

"You should have seen the look
that John Luke turned around and gave him. Anyway, John Luke told Rufus he
better go home and sleep it off, ain't no colored man would ever think of going
after his woman. Rufus, he backed off then, but he was muttering to himself all
the way back down the alley. I followed behind him, keeping way back just to
see where he was going. He headed over to J.T.'s then. And do you know that
crazy bass player tried to follow him? Them other boys had to hold him
back."

"Don't he know he's in
Mississippi?" Zero asks. "He'll be hanging from a tree instead of
playing that bass."

I shudder when I hear this. I've
heard stories about the lynchings, Mama and Grandma whispering when they think
I'm not listening.

"Yeah, I figure he's pretty
lucky nothing happened," Junior says. "And I heard them boys say he'd
better be glad Mr. Armstrong didn't know nothing about all that. He probably
would've fired him. He can't afford no trouble like that on the road."

Just then the back door of the store
slams and old Green yells, "Zero, what the hell are you doing out there,
plucking chickens? Get your ass in here. We got customers and I need some
help!"

"Yessir, Mr. Green. I'm
coming." Zero looks at me suddenly like he's forgotten I'm there.
"Grade, you get on home now, and don't you tell Mama and Grandma what you
heard us talking about or I'll ... I'll ... anyhow, just get on home."

After Mr. Green and Zero get inside
the store, Junior and I sneak out of the storeroom. I feel so grown-up sneaking
around with him. That is, until his parting statement.

"I've got to get to my job at
the Queen City Hotel. It's Saturday night and there'll be music for sure."

I'm so thrilled that he's actually
talking to me. "It sounds so exciting, Junior. I would love to hear Louis
Armstrong play!"

Junior gets that little-boy
excitement on his face, but then he seems to remember who he's talking to and
puffs up his chest. "Not a place for little girls, Gracie. You'd better
get home now, like Zero said. Your mama'll be wondering where you are."

Grace

The
rain has let up a little bit as we sit in Roxanne's fancy big car in front of
the Queen City Hotel. The black folks sitting on the porch swing next door
crane their necks, trying to figure out what a white woman is doing in this
neighborhood.

I
realize just how sad the Queen City looks. The roof has obvious holes where
huge oak limbs broke through during past storms. Several of the windows in the
upper two stories are broken out and the ones on either side of the wide double
doors are boarded up. It looks like the last paint color was some ugly shade of
green, and it's obvious from the peeling that even that paint is at least
twenty years old. The wide brick steps are crumbling in places, and what's left
of the azaleas and roses are overgrown and spindly.

I
break the silence. "When I was a girl, this was a fine hotel. People all
over the county were so proud of this place. There weren't many hotels for
black people in those days, you know."

"I
guess I never really thought about it before," Roxanne says. I shake my
head before I can stop myself. She probably helped get the white hotel, the
Gilmore Inn, on the national register of historic places. She knows a different
history, and sometimes I wonder if she'd rather stay ignorant.

She got herself
into this; she'll hear a lot more before it's over.
"They had
signs posted on the front of the Gilmore Inn that said
No Colored.
That's why Robert
Webster built the Queen City. Before the handful of black hotels in Mississippi
were built, those musicians I was telling you about slept in their cars, or in
people's barns. It was rare for them to actually get to sleep in a bed."

"What
happened to this place? Why has it been allowed to get so rundown?"

"Oh,
it's one of those family stories. Robert Webster, Sr., died in ... let's see
... seems like it was in the early fifties. His son, Robert, Jr., operated the
hotel for about eighteen years. Then, in the late sixties, after the Civil
Rights Act was passed, and things opened up just a little bit, black people
started being able to stay at the hotels and motels that had previously been
just for white folks. It still wasn't easy, mind you. They still got turned
away in some places. But there was a different attitude then.

"Black
folks stopped coming to the Queen City and it ran on hard times. It's been a
boardinghouse off and on over the years. When Robert, Jr., passed, he left the
hotel to his wife, my good friend Matilda Webster. She's over in the Pineview
Nursing Home now, so she can't keep it up. Her oldest son and his wife died in
a terrible car accident when their daughter, Billy, was in high school. Billy
lived with Mattie until she went off to college. The hotel will go to Billy in
the will, but she doesn't care anything about the place or its history. So ...
here it sits."

"Do
you think Matilda Webster will want to talk to us about this property?"
Roxanne asks.

"I
don't know. Mattie's not much on history, either."

"Stay
here," Roxanne says as she throws open the car door and pops up that big
umbrella of hers. She climbs out of the car and runs across the muddy grass to
the hotel's porch. She sets her umbrella down and cups her hands around her
eyes to peer in the window near the door. She even picks her way around the
side and struggles through those scraggly old azaleas in the rain to stand on
her tiptoes and look in the side window that's not boarded up.

"Would
you look at that?" says Adelle. "She's acting right interested in
this old place."

"We'll
see," I say. I'm still not sure about this woman.

She
disappears around the back for several minutes and then comes hurrying back to
the car. Gets in all out of breath.

"This
place has incredible potential," she says, all excited. "I don't know
a whole lot about the buildings in this particular era, but I can tell from
some of the woodwork and finishes that it could be really beautiful. When do
you think we can go inside?"

I
have to admit, I'm a little surprised by her enthusiasm. I look over at Adelle
and she smiles like she's saying,
I told you so.

"We'll
need to get the key from Mattie," I say. Truth be told, I'm not sure this
woman is ready for Mattie Webster. But I keep this to myself. Come to think of
it, might be interesting to see Roxanne Reeves and Mat-tie Webster in the same
room. "I tell you what," I say as I make the decision, "let's
head over to Pineview and see if we can get Mattie interested."

"I
don't believe I've visited this particular nursing home before," Roxanne
says as we approach Pineview.

"No,
I reckon not," I say.

Not
many white people come to this side of town. I imagine all those old people she
knows from the Junior League and the Garden Club live in those nice senior
citizen centers with manicured lawns and flower gardens with rocking chairs on
the porch.

There's
nothing manicured about Pineview. It's a simple one-story brick building with
four wings jutting out from a central nursing station. As Roxanne and Adelle
and I walk through the sliding glass doors into the sterile-looking lobby, I
can see Roxanne trying not to crinkle up her little nose as the smell of age
hits her head-on. I don't know why Mattie Webster insists on staying in this
rundown place, either, but she's stubborn and there's been no changing her
mind.

It's
as if Adelle is reading my thoughts. "I don't know why Mattie thinks she
has to stay here," she complains. "With all her money, she could be
in one of those nice places over on the other side of town."

"Now,
Adelle, you know Mattie likes it here," I say. "She doesn't give a
hoot about those fancy homes. You and I better count our blessings. If we have
to go into a home, this will probably be all we can afford!" I think then
about Pecan Cottage and how I probably should count my lucky stars that I can
live in a big old house like that. I just hope I keep my faculties about me. If
I have my way about it, they'll take me out of there in a pine box.

As
we stop to hug and love on our old friends and neighbors parked in their
wheelchairs along the long corridor, Roxanne trails behind us, looking
uncomfortable.

Pineview
is a right gloomy place, but I swear all of that gloom disappears when we walk
into the room labeled
Matilda Webster.
Mattie's
got the walls painted a warm yellow the color of butter. She's hung some flowered
curtains at the window and she has them open to let in the late-morning
sunshine that has temporarily broken through the clouds. Through the window, I
can see that bright red bird feeder Billy gave her for Christmas. Birds are all
over that thing, pushing at each other to get to the food.

Mattie
insisted on bringing her own furniture from the hotel; I believe it's called
Art Deco style. I remember Roxanne mentioning some kind of word like that when
she got back in the car after looking in the windows at the Queen City. I'm
certainly no expert at decorating style. Roxanne stops and bends down to look
at the table by the door. And, of course, she stops to study the pictures.
Mattie's got pictures of herself and Robert, Jr., with all the great musicians who
came to the hotel back in the day: Mr. Louis Armstrong, Pearl Bailey, James
Brown, B. B. King, Duke Ellington. Oh, those were the glory days of the Queen
City Hotel. You can tell from the pictures how beautiful it was then.

As
usual, Mattie is dozing in her big old wing chair in the corner. She's got her
record player going, and Billie Holiday's voice fills the room. Mattie's
wearing her red pantsuit and her hair is combed into tight curls that frame her
face. Mattie Webster always was a beauty. We used to say she looked like Lena
Home with those high cheekbones and light skin.

Adelle
and I tiptoe over and pat Mattie on the arm.

"Mattie,
dear, wake up. It's Grace and Adelle come to visit," I say softly into her
ear. Her eyes open and she looks confused at first; then she recognizes us and
smiles with that mouthful of white teeth of hers.

"My
girls!" she says in her deep voice. "How y'all been?"

Mattie
reaches up and puts an arm around each of us as we stoop to kiss her cheeks.
She sees Roxanne standing there, just inside the door, pulls Adelle down to her
and asks in a loud whisper, "Who's that white woman?"

I
walk over and take Roxanne's arm and guide her closer to Mattie. "Mattie,
this is Mrs. Roxanne Reeves. She is the director of the Pilgrimage Tour here in
Clarksville. She wanted to meet you."

Roxanne
smiles politely.

Mattie
scowls. "Home tour? Why does she want to meet me? Ain't nobody in my
family ever worn no hoopskirt! Why you bringing some white woman running a show
about big houses with slaves running around waiting on white people hand and
foot to see me?"

Adelle
always gets nervous when Mattie starts acting like this. "Now,
Mattie," she says. "Be nice. Mrs. Reeves here wants to talk to you
about the Queen City Hotel."

"The
Queen City? Since when do they want a black hotel on the home tour? Ain't that
the wrong side of town for all those Yankees from up North? They might get the
wrong impression about how black folks live if you take them over to my side of
town, you know. Ain't that right, Grace?"

I
smile. Mattie always did have a wicked sense of humor. Adelle is still patting
Mat-tie's arm and looking horrified. Roxanne stands there with her mouth open,
trying to figure out what to say. I think I might enjoy this.

"Roxanne
here is trying to start an African-American tour, Mattie. Let people see some
of the historical places of black folks in this area. We thought the Queen City
Hotel should be part of that tour. We thought we might get the key from you
so's Roxanne can look inside the place."

Mattie
is still scowling. She reaches into a crocheted bag hanging over the arm of her
chair and pulls out her Jim Beam. Roxanne's eyebrows shoot up as Mattie picks
up a coffee cup on the table beside her chair. She hands the cup to Adelle.

"Pour
that out for me, will you, Adelle?"

Adelle
obediently carries the cup over to the sink and rinses it out. She gives the
cup back to Mattie, who proceeds to pour herself a drink. A look of sadness
suddenly comes over Mattie's face.

"I'm
afraid the Queen City Hotel is not in any shape for tourists. Most places
around here where black folks did business back in our day are either all shut
up or have been torn down. Why would anybody want to tour that?" Mattie
looks directly at Roxanne for the first time, her black eyes challenging, her
mouth set in a defiant line.