Month: April 2002

I’ve heard a lot of talk, as I’ve gotten closer and closer to becoming a true transplanted Memphian, about how the city as a whole doesn’t have enough respect for its past.

The club on Union where the Sex Pistols played during their short-lived American tour is now a Taco Bell. Beale Street, at least as an architectural concept, is perhaps a bit more Disney than authentic Blues. Homes along Vance and Peabody, which once gave residence to the city’s founding elite, are in varying states of disrepair.

Nevertheless, I don’t think I completely buy the argument. Surely there is some truth to the assertion that preservation could take higher precedence over other civic concerns. Compared to the many subdivisions of my Jersey Shore childhood, however, this city has history oozing from its proverbial pores.

I’m sure that there are probably tons of leveling that occurred before I ever considered coming to Memphis. But there is energy here, if a rather complicated and sometimes double-edged energy, that must in many ways come from a past full of innovators whose significance projects beyond whatever physical buildings that might serve as a visual commemoration.

The oral histories, the memories that people are willing to share and celebrate in grandiose style, these are the things that give Memphis a unique charm I haven’t found elsewhere.

To me, this is what historical memory should be.

Take, for example, last week’s Premier Player Awards, which celebrated the 50-year anniversary of Sun Records. Crammed into the Orpheum Theater downtown, were representatives from an aspect of music history that has reverberated throughout the entire world.

In one room, circa 2002, you had Sam Phillips, Jim Dickinson, Billy Lee Riley, Sonny Burgess and a host of others that altered the course of popular music forever. The beauty of this city is that there are so many things going on at all times that locals are afforded the luxury of being tired of hearing about it.

As for me, I was happy to be the lame Yankee fan of my new home in the South.

Not much of a black tie aficionado, I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect out of the evening. I’d actually never been in the Orpheum before, though my first job in town was about a block away on Beale.

To be honest, if there hadn’t been an event going on, I would have been perfectly happy to sit and stare at the ornate ceiling of that venue and drool for an hour or so.

As it turned out, the awards were a bit less structured than I had envisioned. People were drinking and shouting and socializing like it was going out of style. Glasses from the cash bar were rolling down the aisles. And everybody seemed to be having a damn good time.

If the “real” Grammy’s could take a hint from Memphis and make it a bit more of a party, they might be slightly less akin to the sleeping pill-esque broadcast that crashes me out on the couch with every year’s ceremony.

I, for one, could listen to Sam Phillips preaching for quite some time. I can’t remember him ever coming to the Barnegat, New Jersy, community center, that’s for sure.

Of course, I was really hoping that Jerry Lee would actually show up for the event, which, as seems to have been commonly expected, he didn’t.

Mr. Killer has been torturing me in this way ever since I came to town.

You see, my boyfriend is a huge Jerry Lee fan. Being ignorant of the, well, mixed feelings about him from those who remember him as a rowdy terror, I thought it would be easy to come across some cool authentic Jerry Lee memorabilia for his last birthday.

I guess you could say I was wrong.

After circling the town for hours trying to find someone who could give me a clue as to where this treasure might be, and eliciting a few “F*** Jerry Lee Lewis” outbursts from some people who weren’t into it, I ended up at Kinko’s. Every single picture I tried to posterize came out horribly, and by the end of the day, frustrated, I had my last cigarette literally stolen out of my hand from a random homeless passerby.

Oh well. I’ll find the key to Jerry Lee eventually, and I enjoyed the Premier Player Awards in spite of his conspicuous absence.

Right now, I’m reading the muckraking Fast Food Nation, by Eric Schlosser, in an attempt to rid myself of an occasional infatuation with grease and convenience. In one segment of the book, Schlosser depicts the “loopiness” of a Colorado Springs that is becoming “Californicated” in having a “strange, creative energy where the future’s constantly being made, where people walk the line separating a visionary from a total nutcase.”

This type of unbridled energy has been circulating in Memphis for years, and even if buildings fall prey to “urban progress” daily, I don’t see anything that could erase such a vivid historical memory of creativity and innovation from its soul.

Carolyn Lynch says she learned a lot from dogs in her past 11 years as an animal-control officer, even when to fight her employer.

“I’m notorious for finding things and then fighting for them, but you have to push me to that point,” says Lynch. “If [dogs] are backed into a corner, they either retreat and give up or they come back at you.”

Lynch filed a lawsuit against the Memphis Animal Shelter earlier this month for the possession of one dog with an approximate value of $50. The animal, which was impounded by the shelter on February 28th and adopted by Lynch on March 6th, was given back to the original owner on March 8th.

“I just want the dog,” says Lynch, who’s been working for the city for four years. “I legally paid for it. I followed all the policies. Shelter employees have to wait an extra 24 hours before they can adopt an animal. I followed that. I followed all the rules.”

When stray dogs are picked up by the shelter, the policy is to give the owner three days to come claim the dog. After the three days are up, the animal is available for adoption by the public. Shelter employees must wait an extra day to give the public the first opportunity to adopt the animal.

After adopting the dog and paying the fee, Lynch left the animal at the shelter to be neutered; it was during that time that the original owner came back to claim the dog. Lynch says during the days following the adoption no one would tell her exactly when the dog would be ready to take home. It wasn’t until March 11th that a supervisor told her the dog had been released to its original owner two days after she had adopted it and that it was unwritten shelter policy to do so.

“I also want the policy in writing,” she says. “[The supervisor] was bragging that he’s done this to the public all the time … apparently the public doesn’t know any better.”

“If they do this to the public, it will only discourage them from coming back and getting another dog. Adopting an animal should be made as easy as possible. And if you’ll do this to your own employees,” says Lynch, “what are you doing to the public?”

Donnie Mitchell, the city’s director of public services and neighborhoods, reached by phone on Monday, saw things a little differently.

“If a citizen has an animal that is rightfully theirs,” he says, “I would prefer to give the animal back to its original owner, rather than an employee, unless it has been proven that the home was an abusive situation and I will have to deal with the consequences of that.”

Both the city and Lynch seem to agree on the basic facts, but there seems to be some discrepancy over whether Lynch received a refund for her abated adoption. Lynch says her check was cashed the same day the dog was given back to its original owner. Shelter records obtained Monday have the word “void” handwritten next to Lynch’s $37 adoption fee and $8 rabies shot.

“No, I haven’t gotten my money back,” says Lynch. “They haven’t even offered.”

Upon learning of the discrepancy, Mitchell said the money would be refunded if it had not already been.

Shelter records say it was the second impoundment from the original owner’s address. He paid $179 in fees to retrieve the dog.

The case is set to go to General Sessions Court April 22nd.

I’ve got a quote on my office wall from Rogers Hornsby, the St. Louis Cardinals’ Hall of Fame second baseman and the finest righthanded hitter ever to lace up a pair of spikes: “People ask me what I do in the winter when there’s no baseball. I’ll tell you what I do, I stare out the window and wait for spring.” The Rajah’s spirit is certainly giddy these days, as the dawn of a new baseball season is upon us. In his honor, let’s try and answer nine questions — we’ll call it a batting order — for the upcoming season.

(1) Can the Arizona Diamondbacks repeat? Only if Randy Johnson and Curt Schilling do…which isn’t likely. The D’Backs are an old team. Key contributors to last year’s champs include Luis Gonzalez (34), Mark Grace (37), Matt Williams (36), and Steve Finley (37). As brilliant as Johnson (38) and Schilling (35) were last year in finishing one-two in the Cy Young race, the law of averages says this team is due a letdown. Now, if they manage to stay healthy and get into the postseason, well, there’s no more deadly a tandem than Arizona’s pair of aces.

(2) Can one Jason Giambi equal 11 World Series rings? The Yankees are counting on it. Say what you will about the addition of Rondell White, Robin Ventura, and David Wells. They’re window dressing in George Steinbrenner’s world. The Boss will need the former Oakland MVP to pump out his usual offensive numbers and fill a sizable leadership void left by former Yanks Paul O’Neill, Scott Brosius, and Tino Martinez.

(3) Will anybody actually watch Expos baseball? After 33 seasons, Montreal will be playing what amounts to a 162-game swan song. The franchise that gave us Andre Dawson, Gary Carter, Tim Raines, Randy Johnson, Larry Walker, and Steve Rogers (remember him?) will find itself in Washington, D.C. or a victim of contraction come 2003. Been to a Memphis RiverKings game recently? That’s the kind of crowd you’ll see at Olympic Stadium this season.

(4) Is there a rookie out there to match last season’s phenoms? Short answer: no. Seattle’s Ichiro Suzuki last season became the first rookie in 26 years to earn MVP honors. St. Louis’ Albert Pujols merely made Mark McGwire expendable. The only name that might approximate this kind of impact in 2002 is San Diego’s rookie third baseman, Sean Burroughs. The son of former American League MVP Jeff Burroughs, Sean hit .322 last year for Portland in the Pacific Coast League.

(5) Is there life after Cal, Tony, and Big Mac? You want to find a hotel room near Cooperstown, New York, in the summer of 2007? Better call now. Baseball lost a lot of its spirit with the retirement of these three legends. But let’s be realistic…they were shadows of themselves last season. Barry Bonds has 600 homers in his sights. Randy Johnson is going for a fourth straight Cy Young. The Braves are aiming for an 11th consecutive postseason berth. Baseball will be just fine.

(6) Is there a scarier lineup than that of the New York Mets? Roberto Alomar, Edgardo Alfonzo, Jeromy Burnitz, Mo Vaughn, Mike Piazza…yikes. If these five stay healthy and the Mets get reasonable starting pitching, well, the Braves are playing for second.

(7) Is Moises Alou the answer for the Cubbies? George Bell (a former MVP) wasn’t. Andre Dawson (an MVP with Chicago) wasn’t. The only way the Cubs avoid another year as “The Sammy Sosa Show” is for Kerry Wood to burst out, injury free, and carry his fellow starters along for the ride. The North Siders better hope for another 20 wins from Jon Lieber.

(8) Will anyone hit 74 home runs? Let’s hope not. Barry Bonds was incredible last season, particularly in light of the way he was pitched (he wasn’t). But who cared? Whether it was the personality involved or the proximity to the summer of ‘98, the home run race became ancillary in 2001. It’s a team game, folks. Check the standings.

(9) Is there a better place to watch a baseball game than the Wrigley Field bleachers? Absolutely: the leftfield bluff at AutoZone Park. Picnic blankets, toddlers, dads playing catch with sons and daughters, visits from Rockey… and a chance to catch a home run ball every single game. Go Redbirds!