The Real True Story of How I Found Nathan Beauregard and Got Him to Play
Music Again: Part II
I took the one pound brick Henry Vestine had sent from out of the top
dresser drawer, held it
down on the low table in front of us, and reached for the serrated
breadknife. I sawed off a 1/2"
chunk and got busy like the song says, roll on Buddy. Many years later
Charley Freeman told
me that that moment was the first time he saw that something else was
happening out there
other than the 1/4 film can of seeds and stems which was at the moment being
guarded
jealously by Jimmy Crosthwait or the nickle bags which could sometimes be
obtained in the late
evenings off Beale. Sweet Mexican it was. A revealation, and we mellowed on
out that fall
evening in the garage apt I had rented behind 1688 Galloway Ave.
Galloway ran east-west like all Avenues in Memphis, the exception being
Beale, which got it's
street name in 1949 when Danny Thomas, in town to open St. Jude's children's
hospital visited
the legendary Beale Street so famous in song and story, and found it was
actually an Avenue.
He went and wrote a satirical song about it and sung it for the city
fathers, so I was told.
St Jude's hospital is big business so those good folks made room for Danny
and changed the
name officially to Beale STREET early the following day.
