PLANTATION CURRENCY. 1968

Some say that the plantation currency had touched the hand of Sojourner Truth, herself.

Samuel did not know but was glad that he had taken his leave with the coin in his back pocket. It had belonged to Lucinda who counted out the bread loaves and greeted the ‘croppers’ every morning in the Whittaker Store, established in the year of 1865 on the Whittaker land. She had done so for as long as Samuel could remember. It was a reminder, he thought as he closed the screen door with the canned soup and the extra apple she had slipped into his bag, that it was time to move on now that he was a man of thirty and way past the goal he’d set to strike out on his own.

The plantation currency, which held the image of the big house engraved on one side and the Whittaker name on the other, had made its debut when the Whittaker family saw fit to keep their “loyal” servants – who were not yet ready to step into the new world that was Reconstruction – fed and accounted for. The Bossman distributed these brass tokens to those who remained on the land through no choice of their own, for the purchase of “the basics”.

‘’Cause why should y’all go elsewhere for your bread and your milk?” the Bossman IV, (great grandson of the first Bossman), said on an unusually sweltering April day of 1968.

“And…” he paused, as he always did when he wanted the attention he knew he could only keep for so long in the hot sun in the heart of the Mississippi Delta, “you got one of your own to serve ya,” he swayed his hand to the side like Lucinda was behind Door Number One on some game show.

“So you know you’ll be treated right.”

The plantation currency was the chain that held the people to all they had fought to leave behind. Up until 1971. Years beyond Emancipation and the likes of Jim Crow.

Samuel held onto the coin, which Lucinda had folded into his hand when he wished her well and offered his final goodbye. It was said that it had been handed down from one person to another for over a century until it reached her palm, a trade for a peek at the curve of her generous bosom, which she had often used to barter for the “extras” and “necessities.”

“This old coin will keep them devils at their distance,” Lucinda laughed, revealing the space for the tooth she had forgotten to insert for as long as anyone could remember.

Samuel nodded and blew her a kiss from across the counter. He was a blues man, after all, and had made his pact with the devil long ago.

He had waited for a ride to Memphis from Ruleville, Mississippi in his best Sunday jacket, on the side of the road. And while he waited, he wrote a song. And when the lady and her husband picked him up, he was grateful and offered to play the tune for their kindness.

“My roooad is a long and narrow…”

The Bossman IV said he would miss having him around. He was nearly the last after all, to make his way off the Whittaker land, which stretched over hundreds of well-tilled acres.

Samuel knew the plantation currency would have no value once he crossed the border into the “free zone,” but he wanted a reminder of where he came and where, he swore to anyone who may ask, he would never return.

The Bossman IV said there was room to grow within the “organization.”

“The cotton don’t need planting, but I could sure use your expertise to run things round here.”

Samuel rubbed the smooth, brass currency with his fingers at this memory. It was 1968. A blues man had to make his way to the big city if he was worth his salt.

His did not name his guitar, like his idol, BB King. But he was very fond of her tightly pulled strings and the sound she made when he set her down for the night. Still it was best, he thought, not to get too close, for he knew he might see something better in the city (and that would just make it harder to part ways, if need be).

And sure enough, when Samuel arrived in Memphis in the late hours of the afternoon with his unnamed companion in tow – a shiny, red Takamine beckoned from the music store window and called him to her side.

When he played her for the store owner hoping for a break in price, the people gathered, and the owner clapped his hands with approval.

“So how much can you pay for this here gem? the owner asked.

Samuel smiled, strummed the shiny red Takamine, and sang again to the crowd.

“My roooad is a long and narrow…”

And the people called out, “Sing it brother! Sing the song!”

And the owner asked, “You got anything we can trade? I can keep that there Gibson you came with for a down payment if you like.”

Samuel thought for a moment, leaned the Gibson on its side and removed the plantation currency from his back pocket.

“My path is a wide and true…”

Samuel placed the coin in the store owner’s hand and bid his well-played Gibson goodbye. The store owner examined the coin that held the weight of a man and his past as a marcher rushed by with a sign, SANITATION WORKERS UNITE in his hand. And the people ran to the street “cause Dr. King is leading the march dontcha know.”

Samuel held onto the Takamine (which he had named Caroline when no one was looking) and joined the crowd as they applauded the workers, raised their hats and cheered as Dr. King marched past.

“Hey Blues Man!” the store owner called out and tossed the coin in Samuel’s direction.  The people lifted their heads to watch as it flew up and around and circled and fell on the ground; and the sunlight found the brass and halted the marchers in their tracks. And Dr. King picked up the plantation currency and looked to see from where it may have come.

The crowd hushed as Samuel moved his fingers along the strings of the guitar and sang,

“My roooad is a long and narrow…
My path is a wide and true.
My glory days are coming
No more Bossman.
Just me and you…”

Dr. King looked for the voice in the crowd and the people parted, as Samuel made his way forward.

The men bowed their heads toward one another, and the people cheered and marched on.

Samuel felt a chill surround him as the weight of his new guitar rested firmly in its case. It was then that he knew that somehow this day would be forever etched in the memory of all then, and in the days to come.

And with this on his mind, he wondered at his good fortune and set out to find his friend, a janitor at the Lorraine Motel, who had offered him a place to rest. He was glad that he had made his way to Memphis and looked forward to what he hoped would be a restful slumber. At last.