Kemmons was still sitting at the kitchen table when Dorothy Lee came down the next morning. He hadn’t come to bed the night before. The notebook, laid out before him, was blank when she’d gone to bed. It was covered in words and sketches now.

“Oh, lord, you’ve gone and had one of your ideas, haven’t you?”

Her husband was legendary for obsessing over things, it part of what drew her to him.

“It’s just after that trip,” he started, without a hint of exhaustion in his voice. “Those places we had to stay in, none of them, not a stinking one, were fit for a family.”

She grabbed a mug from the cabinet and put the kettle on to boil, listening to him talk.

“I think I should do something about that. Build a place for families, with clean rooms, and a bible in ever nightstand.”

“Sounds reasonable. But how will people know your place is different?”

He paused for a moment, thinking, chewing the end of his pencil.

“A sign.” He answered, with a smile. “Big, with lots of lights. And an arrow, pointing the way.”

“The way to what?”

“A good place for a good night’s sleep.”

Memphis Note
Kemmons Wilson founded Holiday Inn after a horrible road trip with his family to Washington, D.C. He was disgusted with the quality of motels he found along the way, and decided that he should open a chain of consistent, clean, and family-friendly motels. He opened the first one on Summer Avenue in 1952. His idea caught like wildfire, and went on to become one of the largest hotel chains in the world.

The crookbacked old man eyed me as he undid the lock on the doors. I pushed my way past him, eager to have this done.

“I dun’ know why you need to see the inside of the Senate if you’re just gonna tear her down, sir.” His voice was like whiskey flowing over rocks.

“Just a perfunctory inspection, for the lawyers.”

The inside of the building was more decayed than the old man. Frescos, once brilliant in color had become dull and grey, peeling like the shingles on the back of his neck. The furniture was gone, the opulent carpet stained with boot tracks and vagrant piss.

“Could just as well build her up to new.” He mumbled, intentionally loud enough for me to hear.

I turned toward him. He stiffened.

“I don’t disagree. The Senate was truly a marvel to the fickle mistress that is chance. It flourished under her favor, and fell to ruin when it departed. ” I smiled at him.

“Unfortunately, that’s not our decision to make. Do you know what progress is? It’s a beast with no eyes that can only be sated by devouring old, forgotten things. And progress has chosen to eat the Senate.”

Memphis Note
The Senate was a hotel and gambling establishment at the corner of Jefferson and Main. It, like many of Memphis’s gambling halls, flourished after the Civil War as soldiers came home flush with cash. It stood out from the other halls of the time because of quality of its facilities and its service. The walls and ceiling were frescoed, every room furnished in the finest way, and the restaurant and saloon were both known for serving the finest food and spirits. It was also the only casino in Memphis that never had a fatality on its premises. Sadly, the Senate was shuttered in the early 1880s because of so kind of legal dispute and sold at public auction for barely $50,00. It was ultimately torn down in 1886 to make way for a massive Lowenstein and Brothers store.

“Isn’t this how a bad joke starts?” Jerome belted out, stomping down the stairs.

Walter looked up from the dilapidated bar. “How’zat?”

“You know, one that goes ‘Two ghosts sit a bar, one turns to the other and says…’”

Jerome took the seat next to Walter, continueing the joke. “‘What’s a fella have to do get a drink around here? And the other goes, I know! It’s like they can’t even see me!’”

Walter’s expression didn’t change. “Don’t get it.”

“Walter, they’re ghosts, right? And ghost are see-through – aah forget it.” He waved a hand, brushing off the dead joke. “Told you it was bad.”

They sat at the bar in silence. A piece of plaster crumbled off the wall and crashed to the floor.

“Old girl Chisca’s not doing so hot.”

Walter looked at him, his eyes full of concern. “Are they going to tear her down, Jerome?

It was a regular worry for them. Their only worry.

“I don’t know, Walter. They haven’t yet. Might not ever.”

Another bit fell off the wall, echoing in the emptiness.

“Was the joke supposed to be funny ‘cause we’re ghosts too, Jerome?”

“Let it go, Walter. Just let it go.”

Memphis Note
The Hotel Chisca is one of the most notable buildings in downtown Memphis. Notable for its location at the corner of Linden and Main. Notable for its history as the place from which Elvis’s first record was broadcast on the radio and where he gave his first radio interview. Notable for the complete and utter ruin it has been allowed to fall into by its owners, the Church of God in Christ, who, at last check, had racked up a half million dollars in fines over the condition of the building. The Chisca, if revived, could be one of the crown jewels of Memphis. But in the meantime, it’s left decaying and full of ghosts.

The fact that his room had neither gas lamp or fireplace helped as he suffered through the penance of withdrawal. The spartan room’s bed, dresser desk and wash basin were either masked in pitch blackness, lingering in twilit shadow, or bright with daylight.

The light of day pained his eyes and skin, so he stayed abed. In the dark of night, he sweated, fending off fever dreams. During the spaces between, he washed his addiction-wracked body and said his prayers, earnestly now, not like he used to.

After three days of this, he felt the demons vacate and his humanity return. He dressed, unlatched the door, nodded to his body man who’d been outside his room the entire time, and headed down into the lobby of The Peabody hotel to seek out sustenance.

Now that his head was clear, a mortal choice awaited his answer:

To remand himself to the pursuing marshals, or flee and await God’s justice after this life.

The hotel stood dead between of the horror that had happened out west, and his father’s estate in the east. Memphis was his limbo now, trapped between heaven and hell, and he was unsure which way to turn.

Memphis Note
When originally built, The Peabody hotel cost between three and four dollars per night, including meals. If you wanted a room with a gas light or a fireplace, you had to pay extra. And still, it was considered one of the finest hotels for hundreds of miles.

She pulls her head up from the pool in time to see the others lining up by the door.

Hearing the giant coming, she scrambles up over the edge of the pool, down the slick granite steps and over to the rest of the group.

The giant comes into view. In its hand is a stick, which it taps on the ground. They know what’s coming next.

Suddenly the gate swings open and they are sprinting through the bluster of the open air. They don’t wait for the giant, they all knew where they’re going, he has spent weeks training them.

They stop in front of the massive reflective slabs. She vainly eyes her reflection, cocking her head to the side to get a better look. Then giant presses a button, the slabs slide open and in they go to a cavernous room.

He follows behind them and presses another button. The slabs close again and the whole room starts to shake.

After a few moments, the room stops shaking and the slabs slide open, a row of giants on either side of them. Her knees wobble a little.

They start running again.

Quacking the whole way to the fountain.

Memphis Note
This story is, of course, about the Peabody Ducks. For seventy plus years, the ducks have been ushered down from their rooftop pen to the fountain in the lobby every day at 11am, then back up again at 5pm. If there’s a better example of the surreal sort of magic that is Memphis, I don’t know what it is.