Others may not understand it, but I call the shots. There is great meaning in those pictures to me. “Just show those pictures they say a million words. The heaviest picture you ever took may have been today with me at 82, with a background of a man of 102 who doesn’t have a change of drawers but he has richness in his heart and he’s at peace with himself.” “No, many wealthy folks aren’t at peace with themselves that’s priceless,” I agreed. He said, “I sure am blessed they sent you to take these pictures. As you may imagine, Bobby is quite affable, humble, and sincere, so we chatted like old friends. I began to wonder if we could really carry on a conversation here without constant interruption, but we decided to give it a shot. The manager came out to see what the scuffle was all about and she exclaimed, “Oh my Lord!” A flurry of photos ensued with calls to friends and husbands about the biggest celebrity to hit Flowood in years. When we sauntered in, laughing because I accused him of being too kind-hearted to kill that chicken so now we had to buy some, the cashiers all gawked at us and in three-part harmony said, “Bobby Rush!” Bobby Rush with fans a the Chick-Fil-A, photo by Kim Welsh A young man rode by on a quarter horse, waving and smiling.Īfterwards, Bobby asked me if I would like to “get a bite to eat” and suggested Chick-Fil-A back in Flowood. Neighbors began to come over news spreads fast in the woods and everyone wanted to shake his hand. We assured him that no animals would be harmed and he relaxed and caught his prettiest hen for Bobby to hold. When we told him about the pictures we hoped to take of Bobby holding a chicken and an axe, Wes became worried that Bobby was really going to cut his chicken’s head off. But Wes smiled broadly and seemed delighted. It was like a train wreck that you couldn’t stop looking at. He had a small herd of goats and maybe a dozen chickens. His “farmhouse” was the epitome of abject poverty with missing windows, a tumbledown porch addition, and stuff everywhere. …but he had certainly heard about his scandalous shows with those dancing girls. Today was his day, since he had never been out of Mississippi, to a festival or any music performance, and here he was chosen by a legend he had never seen… When we arrived, the 102-year-old shirtless farmer named Wes came out of his farmhouse, which was a ramshackle old trailer, and greeted us warmly. There, I met Bobby and his friend and driver for 27 years, Reuben, who would lead us out to the “chicken farm” somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Just as I was rolling into Rolling Fork, my phone rang as I was bellowing like a barnyard calf, “Let me ease on in,” and … Be still my heart… the legend himself was confirming that we were meeting in the Walmart parking lot in Flowood, just northeast of Jackson. I saw the sign pointing to Belzoni, “Catfish Capital of the World,” where Pinetop Perkins was born on a plantation. It was a trip down Memory Lane, past Po’ Monkey’s juke joint in Merigold, through Shaw where my old friend, David “Honeyboy” Edwards was raised, stopped for gas in Leland where Johnny and Edgar Winter spent their younger years. I couldn’t shake Bobby Rush’s 1971 hit Chicken Heads out of my mind as I barreled down the Blues Highway 61 after my stay at the Shack Up Inn Bed and Beer in a shotgun sharecropper shack during the Sunflower River Blues and Gospel Fest.Īs I passed the legendary crossroads of Highways 49 and 61 where Robert Johnson allegedly sold his soul to the Devil in exchange for mastery of the blues, I became increasingly excited, eagerly anticipating meeting the “King of the Chitlin’ Circuit, Bobby Rush. The feelings I have for you girl is much too strong Love that gal Love them chicken heads too When you cook that chicken save me the head Little girl, little girl you’ve got me hooked Little girl, little girl you sure can cook Give up your heart but don’t you lose your head This is the wild world of a Mississippi-Born Icon who paved his own path on music’s treacherous trail.
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