This is a photograph of Elvis, "I'm Evil" Presley and an under weight B.B. King sans "Lucille" back in the days of white and black cannot be together, but were every night. I played drums five hours a night, five nights a week, under contract for the true pleasure of watching black and white people dance and sway together each night. I felt like a king. It was wonderful.
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All that racial separation never made the music or my friendships any less.
Of course, if Jessie "I'm a pimp for blackmail" Jackson finds out he'll pay someone to say it wasn't true just to sue somebody or try to blackmail a major corporation to pay to make him go away. He's a street punk with no street. Jessie Jackson is an uptown huckster with no class left.
That's why Jessie Jackson can never sit wonderfully and listen to Mahalia or Mississippi Fred and sip a sip and thank God for what is.
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Ice tea and the good clean taste of this day are things he doesn't recognize anymore. No field trips on his agenda or those planned by his staff will reacquaint him with the mother that bore him.
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She must, I think, weep over what a whore he has become as he pontificates each day.
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I would this very day kill for tickets to listen to BB and Elvis together. It would be like sugar and salt.
Sans Mr. Parker, Elvis would rock still today. BB still does. Cray is sneaking up on him though.
