Tuesday, November 8, 2011
I Met a Man From Kansas City...
No, not on Amtrak but the man was riding the rails as a hobo.
He wasn't dirty, he didn't smell and he was polite.
This (white) guy stumbled into a Black bar which happened to have a Jazz, Blues and R&B band playing this past Sunday evening.
I had plenty of free food set out for the invited guests and any walk-in customers.
"I've been all across this country and I never would have expected a place like this in a town such as this.", he said with excitement.
The guy said that he had intended to only come as far south as Shreveport, Louisiana but that he had slept past his jumping point and ended up in Beaumont, Texas instead.
"I just want a drink. Is it okay if I stay and have a drink? Can I stay and listen to the music? I just love the Blues.", he continued.
"Looks like you've lived the Blues.", I said.
The guy just laughed at my remark, sat back and said that he was shocked that no one thought anything of a white guy in a Black club here in a small town in the South.
After a short time more white patrons began to arrive.
By this time the man had enough to drink to build up the courage to ask one of the white women to dance.
"No, I'm married to the (Black) bass player,", the woman said.
The guy seemed surprised that he was treated well by the Black patrons and employees but he seemed upset that the woman would be married to a Black guy.
"Dude, ask a sista' to dance.", I said.
"Will they dance with me?", he asked.
"Can you dance?, I asked.
"Well... No, not really.", he replied.
"Well... They won't dance with you then. Not because you're a white dude but because you cannot dance.", I said.
The man ate his fill, had drinks bought for him, listened to and sang along with the music and then dashed out the door as he heard the squeal of brakes on an approaching train.
"I gotta' catch this train. I'm trying to get home.", he said as he grabbed his coat in his mad dash to catch the next train north.