Tag: Maywood

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Visiting Memphis in 1940? Then Use This Guide.

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Tourists visiting Memphis in 1940 probably picked up this brochure at local hotels, or maybe it was mailed to them by the Chamber of Commerce. It’s a handy guide to the main attractions in and around our city.

Some of today’s top draws aren’t listed of course, such as Graceland or The Dixon Gallery and Gardens or FedExForum.

But many of the “old classics” are there, including the Memphis Zoo, the Mississippi River, various parks, and other sights-to-see.

What’s interesting, at least to me though, are all the things listed in this 70-year-old brochure that have vanished. Among them: the Municipal Auditorium (“built at a cost of $2,000,000”) , the Cossitt Library, the Goodwyn Institute Library, Sienna College (when it was still on Vance), and the Fairgrounds Casino Ballroom (“dancing in season three nights a week”).

Then there’s the whole paragraph on downtown movie theaters: “There are 30 theaters in Memphis with a total seating capacity of 43,959. Modern community theaters with the very latest equipment may be found in the suburban communities of the city. A list of the downtown theaters”:
• Loew’s State (152 South Main)
• Orpheum Theater (197 South Main)
• Malco Palace Theater (81 Union Avenue)
• Strand Theater (138 South Main)
• Warner Theater (52 South Main).

Did you notice those names? The present-day Orpheum was called the Orpheum before it became the Malco. Boy, is that confusing! And, if this brochure is correct, Loew’s Palace (currently the site of Parking Can Be Fun) was originally called the Malco Palace.

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The Lauderdales’ Visit to Maywood

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While looking through the dusty scrapbooks piled here and there in the Lauderdale Mansion, I chanced upon this grainy old photograph that was taken in the late 1930s or early 1940s, I believe, showing one of our family’s many trips to Maywood.

Of course, we had our own Olympic-sized pool at the Mansion, but sometimes we hopped in the gleaming new Hispano-Suiza (shown here) and journeyed down “old” Highway 78, to spend the day at “The Beach Within Reach.” I so clearly remember the gleaming white sand, the ice-cold water, and the adoring crowds that would surround our car as soon as we pulled up, hoping we would toss baskets of money their way.

As you can see, the Lauderdales were actually allowed to park on the beach itself, so we wouldn’t have to push our way through the regular folks to get to our reserved spot.

I can’t believe that woman in the foreground had the nerve to actually touch the Lauderdale limo, leaving her smeary fingerprints all over our chrome bumper! And look at the bold fellow in the back (a possible assassin, no doubt) reaching through the back window! It’s a good thing the chauffeur didn’t see these ruffians, or they would’ve been tossed into jail.

Oh, such happy, happy times!

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Beal’s Dixie Kream – Olive Branch, Mississippi

Beals Dixie Kream in 1966

  • Beal’s Dixie Kream in 1966

So the other day I was looking through a stack of 50-year-old yearbooks from Olive Branch High School. Doesn’t everybody do that on a Saturday night?

I didn’t find any Lauderdales among the students, but one thing I did notice was an ad in the back of all the yearbooks, for an establishment called Beal’s Dixie Kream. Yes, that’s right — it (and the owner’s name) was spelled Beal — without the “e.” Sometimes the ads spelled the name of the place “Cream” but the neon sign out front says “Kream.”

The owner, as you can see, was Mrs. Hazel Beal. No mention of a Mr. Beal, so I wonder if she was a widow? Divorced? None of my damn business? (choose one)

The yearbooks spanned 1960 to 1967, and one thing that caught my eye was how the brick exterior changed over the years. In a 1961 ad, it was apparently a solid color, but in later ads it clearly had a checkerboard pattern. What’s curious is that by 1967, the walls were back to being one color. Too bad the ads were in black-and-white, so I don’t know what color(s) the place was painted. I bet it was quite festive, and since it appeared in every yearbook, THE place to go on Friday and Saturday nights in Olive Branch.

Like most ice-cream joints, Beal’s offered milkshakes and a variety of sandwiches. But it also provided customers with “Memphis telephones” so they could “Talk While You Eat.” In fact, look at the 1966 advertisement, and there’s the phone booth, right in front.

The ads say Beal’s Dixie Kream was located on Highway 78 at the Tennessee/Mississippi state line. I haven’t driven out Lamar in a while (probably ever since Maywood closed), so does anyone know what happened to this cute little place, and what’s there now?

Here are some other views of it, taken from the old yearbooks:

Beals in 1961

  • Beal’s in 1961

Beals as it looked in 1965

  • Beal’s as it looked in 1965

Beals in 1967. Note the popcorn maker.

  • Beal’s in 1967. Note the popcorn maker.
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“ALL OUT WHEN BELL RINGS” — Fairgrounds Pool

The Fairgrounds Pool

  • The Fairgrounds Pool

With all this talk about what to do with the site of the Mid-South Fairgrounds, we tend to forget that it was, at one time, THE place in Memphis to go swimming.

Sometime in the 1930s — I could look up the exact date, but I’m pretty comfy in my chair here, and the book is all the way across the room — city leaders built Memphis’ largest swimming pool. It was a huge, oval thing, surrounded by sand beaches. Maywood and Clearpool did the same thing. With sand, I mean.

On the west side was a low building (shown here) that housed showers, changing rooms, and showers. And across the front was a big sign, as you can plainly see, warning all swimmers “ALL OUT WHEN BELL RINGS.” In other words, get out of the pool when the lifeguard rings a bell — either to signify that somebody might be drowning, or your swimming day was coming to a close. I don’t recall what those tile-roofed buildings in the background were used for. I can only do so much, you know, and these days that’s really not much at all.

Notice the old-fashioned lightpoles around the pool. I wonder: was this place open at night?

And yes, as I sit here shivering in the drafty Lauderdale Mansion, I realize it’s not exactly the season for outdoor swimming, but I thought I’d share the old photo with you anyway. This place was known as the civic pool, and just like Rainbow Lake, Clearpool, and Maywood (and in more recent years, Adventure River), there’s not a trace of it. Despite our unbearable summers, Memphis, it seems, just can’t support a big outdoor swimming complex. It doesn’t make sense, does it?