Tammy, Elvis & Me
It was a fairly clear Wednesday. Late June in the deep south. About the time the air density begins its transformation from a light soupy broth to a somewhat thickened chowder just in time for tomato season. A deep breath will not be taken again until Pumpkin Spice makes its way through Dixie like Sherman’s march to the sea.
We were traversing Highway 178 onward to our next stop, Tupelo, Mississippi. My son and I were in the midst of another road trip, this one with Oklahoma City in mind. I love road trips and my son is the perfect co-pilot. He commandeers the music and has superb taste. We actually have a lot in common …sometimes it just takes adventures like this to point that out to each other.
Just over a slight hill, I spied a quaint little grocery store ahead on the left, one that was truly a huge slice of character accompanied by a side of patina nostalgia. It should be noted that I am a true sucker for most anything that even remotely reminds me of where I once was …a place I have spent a lifetime trying to get back to. I cut left, straight into this place from a different day …a red dirt and gravel mixture of a parking lot at the lovely Tremont Grocery.
The dust was beginning to settle as I slowly hopped out of the truck. Truthfully, I do everything slowly now and my hop from the truck is more of a slithering action …somewhat like I’m pouring myself down to solid ground. I stretched my legs out a bit, of course I was all stoved up as I began to study the building, admiring it you might say. This old store sits between the highway and a splinter road …right at the beginning of the fork …the powdery parcel forming a triangle and for some, a cut-through. I began snapping a few pictures, then, to better see the subject, I took off my beloved RayBan blue shine Aviators and laid them on the back of the truck. I continued capturing images with the eye of a seasoned photojournalist in war-torn combat conditions. Finishing the session up, I gave one last glance and then climbed back in the truck, u-turned across the dirt and the dust and the gravel and back onto the asphalt once again to continue this next stage of the journey, toward a town and a place that I have visited at least a half dozen times in my life. The childhood home of the King soon awaited.
Now, we had traveled what I’m estimating about 7/10 of a mile, give or take fifty feet or so, when a well-seasoned, Pall Mall-driven voice I’m sure in the key of E began to moan-fully describe pain and hurt of unmeasurable proportions. Yep, a sweet thang had gone bad and he was presenting his heartache to subscribed ears via satellite somewhere between us and the heavens. A steady blues rhythm pushing me on the 2 and the 4 like Muddy Waters on a Clarksdale Saturday night. That mystical arrangement of notes began moving me …then suddenly it began nudging me …
“Where’s your glasses?”
I’m telling you I heard that right toward the end of the second verse and just before the guitar would begin emphasizing the agony. My son swears to this day that he never heard it.
I looked in my mirror, I looked beside me and with horror I realized I was absolutely sans glasses. I quickly locked her down and checked the back of my truck and that was when I determined my glasses had somehow escaped. They were not to be found on my person nor were they to be found in the back of my truck. They had up and went and now they were done gone and in my possession no more. With a deep sense of panic, we retraced our tracks all the way back to that parking lot at Tremont Grocery.
That last spot, that very spot that I had lost touch of a priceless piece of my history. Historians may one day call it an artifact. They were simply not to be found. Like fried chicken at a Baptist homecoming, they didn’t last long once they were set out in the open for fetching. I surmised that perhaps they were snapped up by some collector of memorabilia and famous trinkets. Top dollar could be expected on the internet or perhaps a pawn shop near Highway 178, there just east of Tupelo and a rock throw or so from Tammy Wynette Highway over on 23.
I have since scoured eBay to no avail. I even tried to investigate using the Craigslist for Tremont, Mississippi only to find that Craig had inadvertently omitted them from his corner of the world-wide intrawebs …I’m quite sure just a simple oversight.
Reward? Sure there is. You’re looking at padding your wallet with twelve crisp one dollar bills leftover from that trip …wait, make that $12.47, I forgot about my change holder here in the truck. I always carry a wad of ones on road trips, of course strictly for research purposes only.
I have hundreds of pictures of me looking absolutely fetching in those prized blue tinted Aviators and can provide such for ownership proof if so needed. They fit me much like the glass slipper that softly squeezed past the lovely toes of Cinderella and rested upon her charming foot. It was as if they were molded especially for me. We had seen many sights together and as an added bonus they hid about a third of my face, which at my age is really a good thing.
I’m reaching out now to the Tremont Mississippi Police Department …the Tremont Mississippi Chamber of Commerce …along with the mayor, the city council and any and all citizens of the great city of Tremont, Mississippi. I am also reaching out now to the entire great state of Mississippi, to help bring some sort of closure to my loss.
Compensation and a cold one awaits upon their return.
