Tag: Memphis

On Some Hotel Guests

Acclaimed author William Faulkner is supposed to have remarked that Mississippi begins in the lobby of a Memphis hotel and extends south to the Gulf of Mexico. That hotel and that lobby to which Faulkner referred is known as the Peabody Hotel. The famous landmark has hosted many of the most famous people on the planet in the more than 100 years of its operation. It’s on the Nation Register of Historic Places. And if you wanted to stay only one night there, the room would set you back over $500.

What Faulkner was talking about is that the lobby of the Peabody, for as long as the splendid hotel has been in operation, has been the place where deals have been brokered, agreements have been reached, and even political races have been decided. It’s where the wealthy and well-connected met to conduct business. Thus, what was decided in the Peabody lobby has had a major impact on the entire Mississippi River area, far beyond Memphis. It’s still a majestic lobby, replete with a wonderful and historic bar, a restaurant, and, at its center, a famous three-tiered fountain.

But this post is about some of the guests at the Peabody. In particular, there are some permanent residents of the Peabody who bear some consideration. As I said, the rooms at the hotel for one night are more than some people make in a week, but these guests pay, well, nothing. In fact, the hotel provides the room for these guests for free. You might think that you would want a sweetheart deal like this, and you’d be right. These guests actually enjoy a penthouse on the top of the facility.

And the catch, the trade-off for being allowed to live in the Peabody for free is that they have to come into that grand lobby every day and simply hang out for a bit. That’s all. They don’t have to buy anything, don’t have to speak to anyone, and really don’t even have to interact with anyone, either. You might say that these Peabody freeloaders, they’re part of the ambiance, the magic of this Old South hotel. They’re like the crazy uncle most southern families have or the cousin who makes the “special recipe” drink that is illegal in most states; they help to make the place seem more, well, homey, southern, and charming.

It seems that this tradition (and what is the south without its traditions?) began at least 90 years ago after one of the hotel owners at the time returned from a hunt one afternoon. He came into the lobby and announced, to everyone’s surprise, that he’d brought some guests with him that he’d picked up on his hunt. He insisted that they be given a room at the hotel. And that’s how the tradition started that the Peabody would house a certain number of guests for free. And they still do to this day.

And so, every afternoon, the special elevator from the penthouse suite on the top of the hotel comes down to the lobby. The doors open. And five mallard ducks–four hens and one male–spend several hours frolicking in the fountain of the Peabody Hotel.

On a Truck Driver

Jim needed a delivery guy.

He interviewed a few people, if you call asking people if they could drive a delivery truck an interview. In any case, Jim was almost driven to despair–no pun intended. Most of the young men Jim spoke with could barely keep their mouths closed long enough so that the flies that swarmed in Memphis that summer wouldn’t make homes inside. He was getting so desperate that he considered hiring his wife, Gladys, to make the deliveries.

It’s not that the job was difficult. This wasn’t a large delivery truck, after all. The job called for the driver to simply run electric supplies like spools of wire, light switches and fixtures, and outlets to building sites from the Crown Electric Company warehouse on Dunlap Street. Easy peasy, right? Well, you’d think so.

Finally, an incredibly polite, almost shy young man showed up brandishing the want ad from the Memphis Commercial Appeal newspaper which he had carefully torn out. Jim took the young man to the truck. “Think you can show up on time?” Jim asked. “Yessir,” the young man answered. “Can I trust you?” Jim asked. This made the young man smile. “Well, if you ever have reason to not trust me, Mr. Tripler, my Momma would have my hide,” he answered. “Whereabouts you from?” Jim asked. “Mississippi. Sir,” the fellow said.

Jim asked him why he wanted the job. The young man said that he hoped to one day become an electrician, and that if he started at least working for an electric supply company, that he might just get a foot in the door of that profession. Jim was impressed with the young man’s gumption.

“The job’s yours,” Jim said, and he handed the young man the truck keys. “There’s a delivery that’s needed out on Union Avenue. Know where that is?” “Yessir,” came the polite answer, again. The young man began to get in the truck, but he hesitated. “What’s wrong?” Jim asked. “Well, the ad says the job pays $1.25 an hour. Is that right?” Jim grinned. “Now, you said I could trust you, and you gotta trust me,” Jim said. “After all, I got a Momma that I have to answer to as well,” he added with a grin.

And so, Jim found himself a delivery guy. The boss and the employee soon became friends. Jim learned that the fellow’s mother shared the same name as his wife. Years later, as Jim would re-tell the story, he would always emphasize how polite the young man was and how close he was to his mother.

After some time on the job, the young man had an opportunity to improve himself by taking a job in the entertainment industry. Jim was sorry to lose his young friend and delivery driver, but he was happy for the polite young man from Mississippi. He never forgot him.

And Elvis Presley never forgot Jim Tripler, either.