Micro Stories

#2 Singing the Blues

Tommy

On the corner in Winslow, AZ. No, not THAT corner. The one diagonal from the famous one commemorating the Eagles song written by Jackson Browne.

I was headed for the well-known corner for the obligatory tourist photo when I heard Tommy's guitar. His voice was deep and mellow, delightful really.

It might have put a slight bounce in my walk. Tommy caught that and between songs, he tossed out a light, flirtatious banter. I was not offended.

You should know by now that I headed straight for this troubadour.

He had met his match. He told me about his band. He told me he plays on the corner in his spare time.

Then Tommy lied to me.

He does have a band, he does spend his spare time on the corner and he does good-naturedly heckle the tourists.

All of that is true.

But when I asked him where he grew up, he answered, "here".

I waited, silently.

Tommy sighed. I waited, still silent.

" OK, I was born in Mississippi. My mom ran off with a man when I was 5 years old and came here.

She left me and my brother with my Dad.

When I was 11 and my brother was 15, she sent us a one-way ticket to AZ.

My dad could not read. He thought we were coming back.

He told us to sit in the back of the bus and be very quiet. He told us especially do not speak to white women.

We were scared. The bus stopped in Texas and changed drivers.

The new driver got on and started searching for the black kids. He found us.

He told us to come sit up front right behind him.

I could see everything!! The windows were huge and the steering wheel was huge!

We got to Winslow at 3 am and got off the bus.

The police pulled up immediately and asked who we were and why we were there.

We told him our mom's name and he drove us right to her house."

I slipped a tip into his jar.

Tommy serenaded me as I walked away.

But that is not the end of the story.

As I am prone to do, a couple of years later I started thinking about Tommy. I did a little research.

Tommy had not mentioned his last name.

He's a humble man, and an honored member of the Arizona Blues Hall of Fame.

Tommy Dukes!

Two years after I met him, a mural was created in Winslow to commemorate his work and the joy he brings to Arizona blues lovers.

When I next drove north, Winslow was included in my route. Would I see him? Would he still be playing on the corner?

See for yourself.

I've said this before. I am enriched by the people I meet.