The Angry Czeck

My pregnant wife was answering several questions posed by a middle-aged nurse, all health and baby related until the nurse discovered that we had arrived to Little Rock having recently lived in Memphis, Tennessee.

“Oh, you must love it in Little Rock,” she said, squeezing the bulb on the blood pressure cuff attached to my wife’s arm.

I shrugged. “Sure. I guess.”

“It’s so much nicer here.” The nurse ripped off the cuff, creating an explosion of Velcro. “Isn’t it about 60% there?”

I paused. I knew what she meant, but I wanted to hear it out loud.

“Sixty percent what?” I asked.

“You know? Black?”

*

The first time I heard the term “Memphrica” was during my year-long stint in Knoxville, a city that’s definitely not 60% black. I was getting my haircut by a young woman who was more attired for the trucking industry than hair care.

“Where you from?”

“Memphis.”

“Memphrica.”

“Huh?”

She slid her scissors across my hair. “Memphrica. Because there’s so many blacks.”

“Ah…” I answered, not sure how to proceed. “Clever.”

And it was kind of clever, although one would never think to call Knoxville “Engville.” Later, I would learn that “Memphrica” was a commonly used term for Tennessee’s western-most city. I soon gathered that the nickname was less a nod to Memphis’ multi-cultural diversity and more a sneer on its perceived reputation for corruption and crime.

When these topics are broached (both in Knoxville and in Little Rock), I find myself becoming Memphis’ lone champion. I remind people, thanks to a very misleading HBO documentary, that Little Rock has a reputation for gang violence. I point to the variety of activities that Memphis has to offer, including professional basketball, several fine theaters, a world-class symphony, and a number of excellent art museums. I also mention Memphis’ unique nightlife and its unmatched musical heritage.

“Memphis is a hole,” I often hear.

“I leave Memphis before the sun comes down!” several people have told me in all sincerity.

On several occasions, I have wandered the streets in downtown Memphis deep into the night and survived the experience unmolested. But my personal anecdotes fail to punch the slightest dent into hardened mis-beliefs.

“I keep a gun in my car when I drive through Memphis!”

**

I became a man in Memphis.

Not in the biblical way, but in all ways nearly as important. For example, my first job in advertising was secured in Memphis. I met and married my wife in Memphis. We had our first child in Memphis. It was in Memphis where we purchased our first house and our first new car. I met Peter Frampton in Memphis. I fostered an appreciation for classical and jazz music in Memphis. I lowered my golf score in Memphis and learned to use chopsticks in Memphis. I experienced my first car wreck in Memphis (my fault).

Because of this, I fully admit that I view Memphis through rose-colored glass. Your first city is like your first car or your first girlfriend: you remember it being much better than it actually was.

Still, even stripped of my prejudices, I can defend Memphis with an unblemished conscious. Because there are qualities to Memphis that most surrounding cities sorely lack: character, moxie, grit, verve and sadly, suffering and strife.

What defines Little Rock? Is it its capitol building, which is an unimaginative 1/4 scale replica our nation’s capitol building? Is it the food? And if so, what is the food, exactly? Is it a sports team? Perhaps you refer to the one shared (unevenly) with Fayetteville.

Little Rock is known for a Civil Right’s battle for which too many people were on the wrong side and for churning out a surprising number of Presidential candidates. It was also mentioned in that Billy Joel song.

I’m not trying to diminish Little Rock. I’m merely establishing some perspective. Memphis, despite its failures, has accomplished more as a city. You may debate this among yourselves, not with me.

***

Much in the way I defend Memphis to the people of Little Rock, I have often found myself defending Little Rock to the people of Memphis.

“Little Rock is a hick town,” I’ve heard it said.

“What’s there to do in Little Rock?” is a question often posed.

The city of Little Rock is slowly cultivating a number of cultural center points. The Little Rock Arts Center, for example, is a surprisingly enriching art museum. You can do far worse than an evening at the River Market or the Little Rock Symphony. The local university, UALR, routinely puts a competitive basketball team on the floor. As far as I know, Little Rock is the only city within a 300-mile radius boasting a Presidential museum. The local library system is a secret gem, and the local brewery (Diamond Bear Beer) is a city treasure.

“I hear that Little Rock is full of gangs.”

Garbage. A misconception invented by HBO. Like every urban landscape, there exists in Little Rock the chance for gang activity. However, I have yet to see a single gang sign during my five years here.

However, I have had my lawnmower stolen from my garage. But when I reported the theft to police, I was reunited with my lawnmower within an hour. This type of crime fighting efficiency is non-existent in Memphis.

****

Crime does occur in Memphis.

I myself have fallen victim to it, whether it was the theft of a rake from my backyard, or the theft of my wallet from my office desk. The fact of the matter is, you cannot leave a car door unlocked or lower your guard in Memphis.

But then, you should not leave doors unlocked or lower your guard in New York City, either. Yet the perception of Memphis is that it’s a city without law; that gangs of violent hobos rape and pillage once the sun goes down.

Garbage. Truthfully, there are too many panhandlers prowling the busiest Memphis streets. But a little fortitude and heartlessness will get you to Beale Street unscathed.

Apart from that, murders and robberies are not uncommon in Memphis, but like most metropolitan areas, it rarely touches the places people actually want to visit. And yet, the fear remains, often as a result of ignorance or “racial unfamiliarity.”*

* “Racism” is a word that’s bandied about with reckless abandon. You can’t say “You hate Memphis because you’re racist!” because that’s unfair, extreme and probably not true. Except in the case where one non-Memphian friend of mine openly assumed I was moving to Knoxville to, “Get away from all these niggers.” That, I believe, can be safely categorized as “racist.”

*****

A couple years ago, a Playtime Pizza place opened in Little Rock. It’s one of those obnoxious rackets that drains your wallet with video games and thin slices of pizza. But I have children, and children lead to inquiries into those types of establishments.

“We went a few times,” said a friend, “but we don’t go anymore. Too many Canadians.”

I laughed. “Too many Canadians? What do you mean?”

My friend flashed a crooked grin. “Canadians. You know? Blacks.”

If you’re afraid of Canadians, then Memphis is not the city for you. The nurse I mentioned earlier was correct in assuming that Memphis is home to a large percentage of African Americans. This can be intimidating to my white brethren, especially if you’re not accustomed to interacting with people outside your own race or culture. I get that. I sometimes feel nervous around Hog fans and Republicans.

But then, all cities can’t be Nashville. The rich color of Memphis’ culture is the result of the color of its people. Yes it’s not always tidy and G-rated, but the bricks that comprise Beale Street are as authentic as the music the pours from its windows and doors. There’s nothing organic or farm-fresh about the grease the burgers are dipped into, nor will you be treated to a cover band playing Bush’s greatest hits. Nothing pre-manufactured happens in Memphis, unless you count lunch at Hard Rock Café.

You might acquire a layer of grit beneath your fingernails when living in Memphis. It’s quite possible that you’ll receive an exclusive peek beneath the poverty line, too. There’s nothing especially pretty about Memphis, but it draws your attention nonetheless. Isn’t it better to be interesting than pretty?

*******

Little Rock is pretty, so pretty has a good argument.

The horizon line is broken by a range of small mountains that resemble a dragon’s spine. The Arkansas River winds through it, and for fairly modest coin, you can live on scenic riverfront property. The Capitol Hotel is a superb place to stay while visiting, and it features an excellent restaurant. Legend has it that General Grant once sipped whiskey at the bar.

People keep their yards up in Little Rock. Nearly every automobile features at least one Hog’s related piece of flair. Traffic isn’t too bad. Everyone drives with an insurance card in the glove box. The public schools are good and the private schools are affordable. The airport is never crowded and it’s easy to park and find your gate.

Little Rock residents love Little Rock. I once asked a long-time resident and frequent world traveler to name his favorite city.

“Little Rock.”

Exasperated, I prodded, “Other than Little Rock?”

He shrugged. It was Little Rock or nothing for him. And why not? It had been good to him as it is to most people who live here. Bill Clinton still visits. The Traveler’s now play baseball in a new stadium across the river, but that’s okay. North Little Rock is Little Rock too, in our book. We still have our small zoo and a Civil Rights museum, just like Memphis.

Me, I’m not sure that I love Little Rock. At least not yet. The relationship is evolving. My children love their school. I’m happily employed. My wife and I have made some good friends. We visit the countryside often, and I walk the urban streets with my guard only partially up. The pulse of the city is relaxed; a resting heartbeat.

Yes, I think I love Little Rock. Sixty-percent of me does, at least.

XOXOXO

Related posts:

1. Fuck it. I’m moving to Little Rock.
2. Fuck it. I’m moving to Knoxville.