Postcard from Memphis

Business as usual

by Liz Matson

MEMPHIS, TENNESSEE -- If Vice-President Al Gore had carried his "home" state, we wouldn't be in this mess -- right? Tennessee's 11 electoral votes and Gore's expected win in Oregon would have brought him to a total of 273 electoral votes, three above the 270 needed to be elected president. Bush, with Florida and New Mexico, would top out with only 265 votes. Coulda, shoulda, woulda -- still, how could Gore lose Tennessee, seat of his family's legacy? A weekend visit to Memphis with two friends sheds light on the question.

The outskirts of downtown Memphis are a wasteland of abandoned parking lots and squat brick buildings. But Beale Street lights up all this blight with its flashing neon signs and the live music spilling out of the bars. With the Church of God in Christ (COGIC) convention in town, Beale Street is a little quieter than usual, so the bartenders, hookers, and regulars have plenty of time on their hands to talk politics.

Among the night crowd, at least, no one is too impressed with either Bush or Gore. Most people voted for the party, not the candidate. Others didn't vote at all. A bartender at Rum Boogie Café, who saw the rivals as "dumb-ass politicians with no personalities," says that deciding whom to vote for was "like taking a gun and figuring out which foot to shoot."

Although Gore was a Tennessee senator for eight years and a congressman for eight more, he's not considered a local boy. Most natives know that Gore was raised in a hotel room up north in Washington, DC. That's a long way from Tennessee. Ken, a waiter at Rendezvous, a local rib joint, points out that Tennessee has been voting Republican for a while now. And although Election Day "was ugly," it's no surprise to him that Bush won. Although Clinton carried the state in '92 and '96, Tennessee has a Republican governor and two GOP senators.

Away from downtown, across one of the abandoned parking lots, sits Raiford's Hollywood Disco, a windowless block structure with a flashy sign. Inside, college students, hookers, and dealers shake their moneymakers amid swirls of dry-ice smoke and multi-colored lights. Raiford, with his Jheri Curl and gold cape, rules the roost from the DJ booth, while his bartender diva, clutching a wad of cash in her hand, dispenses quarts of beer and $4 bottles of spring water. She has no interest in talking politics, and if you're not drinking something, you're no friend of hers. But 21-year-old Jeremy, a tight-jeaned Memphis native, takes a sip from a hidden pint of Jägermeister and declares, "They both suck." His entourage of petite beauties, with their tongue rings and exposed bellies, agree.

Later at Earnestine & Hazel's, a long, dingy bar and former brothel (although "former" is disputable from the looks of the surrounding activity), "Bobby the Bartender" delivers a round and forbids any talk of politics. With my notebook safely tucked away, it's time to dance to Motown, enjoy the spirit of Memphis, and forget about the whole mess for a while. Even as the frenzy continues in Florida, Memphis at night appears to be business as usual.