Chamoun's Rest Haven Restaurant, Highway 61, Clarksdale, MS.
8:23 AM

Today's my last one in Clarksdale — next stop is Oxford (and then back down to the coast). I'm at Chamoun's Rest Haven, a Lebanese restaurant that also serves American and Italian food. It's been here a very long time — the owner moved to the US over 40 years ago. I hear him talking to some patrons — his accent is definitely Middle-Eastern, but every few words has an unmistakable Southern twang. They serve excellent breakfast.

Yesterday's adventure started at breakfast — in a place called Delta Amusement (recommended by Roger at the Cat Head). It was an interesting place with interesting patrons. The owner (or someone who acted like the owner) was trying to sell an apartment (or rent it) and several firearms to various people there.

As I walked out, the first torrential downpour of the day unleashed. I ran for cover at the Delta Blues Museum — a cool museum at Clarksdale station.

There were some pretty cool photos on show there — done by the current photo editor of Oxford American Mag — Maude Schuyler Clay, I think. Many of the exhibits at the museum were plagued with various typos in the text descriptions, or other minor inaccuracies. One of their fundraising tactics is selling bricks that have the donors' names on them. I saw one from Ladysmith Black Mambaso — only it was spelled "Manbaso" (now, I might be mistaken... but I think that's incorrect). They have Muddy Waters' cabin reconstructed inside the museum, with a Madame Tussauds style wax replica of Muddy. Pretty weird.

Clarksdale, MS

The rain let up long enough that I went strolling around the downtown and I went into Jenkins Feed and Seed (or Seed and Feed?) where I met Reverend Morris, a long time resident of the area. He is one of 12 children (!) — 8 boys, 4 girls — all of whom are still alive. He's 66. He has fathered "about 11 children" himself (yes, he said "about"). Throughout our chat, he referred to me as "Brother Miller" — excellent. We'd stated talking because I was asking if anyone knew (more) about the cemetery in Mound Bayou. He didn't — but told me that the graves of his ancestors had been tilled over by the people who'd most recently purchased the property. The headstones had been pushed off the field and down and embankment.

Anyway, Rev. Morris and talked about what it's like to grow up on a farm out here, and about life in and around Clarksdale. A really nice guy.

I cruised over to Sarah's, a lunch place which is also one of the more popular blues clubs in town where I had "Beef Stake" [as spelled on the menu] with okra, cabbage and gravy. I think I know why there is so much rampant obesity down here. The food was great and the people there were very friendly. I was the only person in there for most of the time.

Determined to find the elusive grave sites I'd read about, I returned to Mound Bayou — this time getting official directions. I went straight to city hall where I saw a series of color paintings of the founders of the town — one of them had a very cool Shaft-esque hairdo (with groooooovy sideburns). At city hall, I was given some warnings. Watch out for snakes, mud and holes. SNAKES??? And I thought West Nile was my biggest concern.

Within 20 minutes, I was back in the cemetery, scouring the muddiest, buggiest area for the headstones I was hoping to find,

Then it started to rain again. I was drenched. Soaked. Waterlogged. Saturated. I ran for cover in the car and waited for the storm to pass. 20 min. later, I was back in the mud, getting bitten my fore ants (now THAT is fun) and still not finding the graves I was looking for. Well, I suppose my attempts to find Stonewall Jackson's dismembered arm in Virginia were similarly fruitless. After 2 hours, I gave up.

On my way back North, I stopped in the town of Bobo — mostly out of curiosity. Nothing more than a fire station, grocery and some farms. I wondered what it would be like to say I live in Bobo.

Bobo, MS

And then the rain came. Again. This time with amazing lightning. YEE HAW!

I headed back into town where I stopped in for a drink at Madidi — a very upscale restaurant in Clarksdale. Its claim to fame is that it's owned by Morgan Freeman and another guy (who is really only a celebrity in these parts — although he's under the impression that he's a major celebrity. Whatever.)

It was a very slow night at Madidi — which was good for me since I got to chat with the chef, Dave Krog (a local celebrity in his own right), the manager, Helen (who just recently got a kitten) and the bar tender, Mary (who gave me goof info about Oxford). The three of them were great company and the food was exceptional.

Helen was having a tough night — mostly 'cause of the uncooperative kitchen staff (who she referred to as "retarded"). She had to give free desserts to her table to compensate.

Retarded kitchen staff aside, Madidi is highly recommended.

I'm off to grab some last shots of Clarksdale before heading east to Oxford.