Miller's Blues

Mobby Grape He Was Shattered When He Saw How Everything’s Exactly As It Seems


Hitchhiking Tennessee
Feb. 1970

The weather was much better now, and hitchhiking wasn't bad either.
If it weren't for everybody trying to do me a favor by taking me on
shortcuts, I probably would have made better time. Every once and a
while taking a shortcut proved interesting, though. For instance,
two really straight dudes picked me up in Tennessee and insisted I
go with them. They assured me, that we were going to make better
time because we were taking a shortcut. They were not the kind of
guys I would want to hang out with, but they seemed honest, so I
agreed to go with them. They stopped at a store and bought some beer
and we took off across the Tennessee countryside. At first it was
fun, then, as we drove through the small towns, it became less
amusing.

In the towns it was just like in the cowboy movies. The towns, all
wooden buildings lining the main street, had people sitting on
wooden sidewalks and steps, a piece of straw dangling from their
mouths, doing nothing more than killing time. In each town, at the
far end, was a section reserved for the "jig boos," or so my friends
called the blacks. We took the liberty of cruising the jig boo
section of one of these towns, so my comrades could laugh and poke
fun at the shabby living conditions of the poor blacks. The windows
were rolled down, so it was easy to yell things like, "How ya doin
hot mama," but the real jive was spoken in the car. Its all been
said before, so there's no sense repeating it here.

We were in a dry section of Tennessee and everybody got a little
worried because we were running out of beer. The driver knew a
bootlegger who lived twenty minutes away, so we were off on another
joyride to God only knows where. As we drove up a large hill, an old
man came out of a farmhouse on top of the hill to greet us. He went
directly to the driver and started talking about the weather. I
guess the driver wasn't on a first name basis with the guy because
it took a whole lot of talking before the old man went back into the
house and brought out two six packs of cold beer. Everybody was
smiling as we waved good-bye and drove back down the hill. I found
out later that the old man had quite a little operation going. He
not only bootlegged alcohol, he had a gambling casino camouflaged to
look like his garage. He had the local pigs paid off and if he
caught anybody selling hooch in his territory he would sick his
little mafia on them. Apparently, he controlled this county and four
others.

My rather drunk friends dropped me off in a little Tennessee town. I
walked, as best I could, to the outskirts of the place. Even though
I was just outside of town, I was not far enough out because people
in the town would still poke their heads out of their windows in
order to get a good look at the new kid. Some even got in their cars
and drove past me. I became the town's entertainment. I was not
happy with this situation, so I inquired about getting a bus and I
was told, "Sorry, this town is too small for a bus depot."

I stood in the hot, dry, afternoon sun until just before dark when a
welfare worker from New York City stopped and picked me up. The
welfare worker told me that the last hitchhiker he picked up stood
for three days in the spot where I was standing. He said, "You must
have an angel watching over you." Once I got back to the main
highway, it was business as usual. I spent the rest of the night and
the wee small hours of the morning standing under streetlights and
hanging out in gas stations. I made it to Detroit by mid morning and
by late afternoon I was glad to be home — more than glad. Home is
where the heart is--really!