"Wet Cotton"  I looked forward to seeing Daddy Britt again. You see, I hadn't seen him at all since I was just beyond a baby, but I remembered how he was used to make me and everybody else laugh. And my Mama was always bragging loudly about her Daddy Britt- how he was a doctor, farmer, a hunter, a blacksmith, a master Mason and how he had a special talent for building coffins for oversize people. But the rest of the visiting list, as far as I was concerned, was more akin to crazy than cool because I'd had some experience visiting other family members' houses. Nevertheless I was so happy and excited about going on a long riding trip, I couldn't wait for bedtime so I could blow the lunch whistle and tell my brother John and cousin Mackey what was up. I told them that we were leaving in one week, and we were all happy and overjoyed as new punks in a prisons about the trip.


Now bear this in mind: my mother told us we could go on this meeting and greeting people trip with them, but what she didn't tell us what really doused all my fire with water. We'll come to that sad matter in a while.

One week later Mamma's lout-mouthed, crap-shooting brother showed up in front of the house in his big old Dyna flow Buick. We were all ready to roll. I really welcomed the trip. Why, at that age any kid would have jumped for the travel adventure. I was fired up, that warm evening as we prepared to leave, I believe I could run the whole trip backwards on my own feet had I known the way. I was happy as a mouse munching fifty pounds of fresh cheese by himself.

We all hugged and kissed Big Mama, said our goodbyes, ran fast as a flashbulb out the front door and dove into the back seat of Uncle Henry's Buick, ready to ride the long hot highway south. First stop for the family sideshow was in Greenville, Mississippi to visit our Aunt Rosie's Rock All Night Cafe'. Aunt Rosie lived in four small rooms in back of the cafe'. She was a fat short friendly brown-skinned lady with kind pretty eyes who loved to eat she was so big you'd think she ate all the food in the cafe'. She was so big you'd think she ate all the food in the cafe' by herself. Rosie had big-eyed, loud-mouthed daughter about my age named Ruth, who was almost plump as her mother.

People could get whatever they wanted at Rosie's Cafe'. Her place was full of people in the morning for breakfast, at noon for lunch, and late at night for everything and whatever. For Years Aunt Rosie had been selling white whiskey at all hours to people in the surrounding counties. She paid the white police off with cash and plenty of whiskey,sometimes by getting them a black girl. In return the police would warn her of any so-called raids so she could clean house and be good and straight before any raid occurred. She made plenty of good money from her hot food, cold beer, good whiskey and anything else she could sell and get away with.

More of the trip later......Pedro

Beale Street U

My book entitled "Beale Street U' is a rare view of the world known Beale Street that's recognized as the home of the Blues and where W.C. Handy wrote the Blues. There were other day to day rhythms and beats known to Beale Street. Music changed and claimed my life for the better. Some of these things happened in my life before I met the Beale Street I came to know and respect, from which I learned much and derived my current pedigree.

This book has hidden scenes of Beale Street only seen in the rear view mirror of history. Because what you see through the wind shield today is not the true Beale Street I knew. Beale Street was my work- and play-ground that gave me humor, pleasure, guidance, hardship, adventure and survival skills.

These are stories of shared family love, along with sketches of some of my unusual friends' ups and downs. I have been able to share love and be loved.....achieved happiness and success as my character ( to my own amazement unfold in ways I never could have imagined.

This book is mostly about unforgettable characters in my life who will shake your senses and raise your eyebrows just like they did my own.

I reflect on some painful mistakes and the equally painful process of restoring my own moral fiber and character--and sincerely hope that, reading this book, you might find ways to avoid some of the pitfalls that await every human being, of whatever color or persuasion.