On Saturdays, my grandfather used to take me and the other grandkids to Wiles-Smith Drugstore for lunch. We would sit, hang out and be kids, drink malted milkshakes, and eat hot dogs or club sandwiches or tuna-fish salads. He would always get the same thing: a bowl of chili with three or so crackers, and he’d bring his own Mississippi-style tamales with him.
I remember there was a vintage copper-plated weighing scale when you first entered. My cousin Will and I would play with it, feeding it coins, taking turns getting weighed. It spat out a paper card with a fortune on it. What was mindless scrawl for an adult had seemed like wisdom to our little-kid-brains, with our wild imaginations. Gumball machines and tchotchkes littered the store. Above the register were mindless doodles and political cartoons. One of those cartoons I remember fondly: a duck looking calm above the water, but paddling maddeningly below the surface. The joke, I don’t remember. That’s not the important part to me. The cashier was an old man, the owner I believe, who wore tiny half-moon glasses and knew my grandfather by name. When I went to the bathroom, there was a dingy glow to the bulb and the towel was a recycled cloth roll. I spent half my bathroom breaks just tugging on it, making the Sisyphean object endlessly move, imagining that each rotation was actually a brand-new roll.
Wiles-Smith burned down in 2014, a year before I graduated from college.
Recently, another Memphis staple lost its home to rising rent: Black Lodge.
When I first encountered this wonderful establishment, it lived in Cooper-Young, every wall covered in DVDs, each section its own genre. Movies weren’t categorized as just Horror or Comedy. Instead, as Auteurs or Moods. One section, I recall, was Anime Classics. Neon Genesis and Akira rested on the shelves. David Lynch had his own dedicated section. Every single iteration of that man’s genius sat on its own shelf. That’s how I found DumbLand, the greatest “stupidity” I’ve ever enjoyed.
It wasn’t just a rental shop, though. Kids of all ages would be there, lounged and perched like cats in an adoption center, just hanging out and shooting the shit. Once, I went on a date there, and all we did was watch a movie on the TV. I think it was Ennio Morricone’s Django. Or maybe the director was Sergio Corbucci. Matt, the proprietor, would know. He knows every movie, and, in fact, a secret of his was to know the movie you wanted before you could even say so.
Black Lodge, a year or so after I went to college, had to move. When I came back to Memphis after my six-month stint in Portland, I got a room next door to the old location and watched as the landlord slowly transformed the place into a music venue. A piece of my heart broke with each hammer against board.
When Black Lodge found a new home in the Crosstown area, they put all their money and sweat and tears and, possibly literally, blood into it. At first, it was a success. They drew in old heads and new ones, too. Slowly, they added a bar and kitchen and started having movie nights. A local chef, Jimmy, had crafted five-course meals for $60 a seat, designed around a certain movie. The event for Everything Everywhere All at Once had hot-dogs, congee, and an everything bagel dessert. It was a perfect experience.
There were other events, too: drag performances, wrestling shows, and even a few raves. Local musicians got their start on the stage, comedy troupes hosted sketches twice a month, and still, yes, folks rented tons of movies. There were spots for gamers and board-game enthusiasts. Truly, Black Lodge was the third space to end all third spaces.
But not even they could survive the Covid-19 pandemic and rising rent in Memphis. Alas, they shuttered their doors mid-August 2024.
As I write this, I think of these other third spaces in danger right now: local cafes especially. One place, Java Cabana, is renovating, and I hope they get business when they reopen.
Oh, where are those diners? Where are our lodges? How much longer will we even have our green spaces? I can already hear a developer singing out: You can build apartments there, you know …
I may miss my milkshakes and my grandfather. But I hope I don’t add third spaces to that list as well. Cherish what you have while it’s here.
William Smythe is a local writer and poet. He writes for Focus Mid-South, an LGBT+ magazine.
