SPOONMAN OF CLARKSDALE
GOES "NUTS"

Street Riot Catapults Local Talent to the Big Lights

Saturday, September 27, 1997
The Camel Chronicles Continue
Part 13

Willie Campassi spends a lot of time in the woods, affording him plenty of opportunity for contemplation into the deep things of life less observed by the civilized world. Willie also likes to whittle - a long lost art of an age before our preoccupation with television, cell phones and the Internet. Many a day he would return from the forest with a cleverly shaped wooden spoon carved out of some fallen oak or hickory branch which he would carelessly toss into the corner of the mud room at his home along the Sunflower river. The spoons were of various shapes, sizes and colors, and each one exhibited the peculiar bent, grain, knot and knurl of the wood from which it was hewn - much the way Michaelangelo had exegeted the glory of King David from a flawed piece of marble.

The spoon pile soon became a nuisance, taking up valuable footage in what is one of the Delta's most funcitonal living spaces, let alone becoming the haunt of some of Mississippi's most common, and most unwelcome, house guests. Willie's daughter, Celeste Wise, decided one day to remedy the situation by hauling the spoons away to the County dump.

While fueling her laden pickup truck at the corner store, an elderly French couple happened to stroll by on a visit to the world renown Delta Blues Museum. The rural peasant woman stopped and began violently waving her hands first at the spoon pile, and then at Celeste, while bombarding her with a barrage of unintelligible words. In self defense, the startled Celeste grabbed the largest spoon on the pile and swung it at the woman with all her might. To her astonishment, the spry old lady easily disarmed her with one hand, and with the other, exchanged the spoon for a crisp fifty dollar bill. With a broad, toothless smile, and a courteous "adieu," the stocky provincial took her spouse's arm and resumed their journey to the museum, leaving the dumbfounded woodsman's daughter to assess her strange encounter.

Realizing international diplomacy had just been satisfied, and that cellulose has a more profitable purpose than kindling or tree-hugging, Celeste redirected her pickup past the County dump ("where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched") to the more redemptive prospects of the flee market at Canton, MS. There she discovered a large populace of wooden spoon lovers willing to pay exorbitant prices for what was now declared "art."

Willie's concerns were far less commercial. He just liked to whittle...and sit...and think. The spoons were simply a by-product of his pursuit of philosophy. It was while whittling on a particularly rugged piece of sycamore that he was struck with a beatific vision. He had been watching the frustrated efforts of a squirrel gnawing on a hard shell pecan when his pocket knife accidentally slipped, slicing his left forefinger. This being not an uncommon occurrence in the woodsman's life, with no great alarm he withdrew a cellophane wrapped bandage from his shirt pocket and gave a tug on the thin red cord. The coincidental impressions of the frustrated squirrel and the ripping sound of the wrapper united into a divine inspiration - a zipper for a nut!

"What if that poor squirrel had a zipper on that nut, like the one on this bandage wrapper? Why, what if all nuts came with zippers built into their shells? What a novel idea! A modern solution to an ancient dilemma! Environmentally sound to boot! A NUT ZIPPER!"

His thoughts raced faster than a blue tick hound chasing a bore hog on the bayou. He had watched enough PBS specials and read enough Popular Science magazines to be aware of the rapid innovations in genetic engineering. Already local farmers were planting genetically designed, insect resistant cotton seeds. Scientists have even produced a cotton plant that grows polyester along with the cotton fibers. Why couldn't they get a polyester cord to grow inside the shell of a pecan nut? How simple! How profound! A NUT ZIPPER!

The next morning the Rest Haven Restaurant (the Delta's answer to a Washington beltway think-tank) was a-buzz with excitement as the woodsman enthusiastically shared his invention around the coffee table. Robert Mitchell, warehouse manager at Jimmy Sander's Seed Company, had long sought for advancement up the corporate ladder, but was perennially handicapped by a wicked slice off the tee and a poor putting game. Willie's idea appeared to be just the ticket. The two brainstormed various ways of approaching the seed companies, securing patent rights, formulating marketing plans, etc. They were seen leaving the restaurant to meet with local pecan growers, Jack Sherard and Cliff Heaton with plans to launch their new enterprise.

Now, the infamous "Akabah" Chamoun is never one to be on the outs when money is to be made. Nary a conversation resonates the air waves of the humble Khan on 61 that the alert Lebanese doesn't, in some way, critique, commend, condemn or capitalize upon it. Upon the departure of the hopeful entrepreneurs, Chafik slipped out of his seat at his corner table to the telephone behind the lunch counter where he made a veiled call in hushed tones and indiscernible dialects (Chamoun speaks several languages, often at the same time).

The Online Register is presently investigating the destination and contents of Chamoun's phone call.

Later that evening, sometime after dinner, Willie Campassi was taking his nightly constitutional down Lynn Avenue when, passing by the Malvezzi house, he noticed a group of young people congregated in the open garage. It so happened that Guy Malvezzi's nephew, Jimbo Mathus, was visiting his relatives and had brought along a guitar upon which he was demonstrating some uncanny dexterity. Willie, with eyes still affected by his earlier epiphany, and mind yet enraptured with images of biogenetic peanuts, acorns, and walnuts, mistook the visiting musician for Seinfield's "Kramer."

"If anyone would know about nuts, it would be Kramer!" thought Willie, as he pushed his way through the small group of onlookers.

Mathus was right in the middle of a refrain of "Smokey Joe's Censorship Blues" when the woodsman emerged within the circle. Not willing to interrupt the performance, Willie searched his pants pocket for a Horner harmonica he always carried for serenades to his forest friends. (Few Clarksdale residents are aware of the Italian deer slayer's musical talents. As a boy growing up in his father's dry goods store on Issaquena, Willie sold Marine Band and Horner harmonicas, cranked the jukebox, and jammed with the customers. There is even an hypothesis that the true origin of the Mississippi Delta blues began here. He could blow a wicked harp.)

As Willie began to add a soulish melody to Mathus' strumming, Kathryn Whelan (Jimbo's wife), picked up a tambourine and added a catchy backbeat. Tom Maxwell, another visiting friend of Jimbo's, pulled out a saxophone and joined the session. Before long a crowd of several hundred filled the street, jukin' and jivin,' clapping and dancing - a spontaneous block party.

With all the unexpected commotion, Willie didn't know how he would get to speak to "Kramer," so he began to sing:

With Camel Joe gone, and the Camel race on hold,
There's time to give some other thoughts a twirl.
In quiet meditation, came a sudden revelation,
At the antics of a frustrated SQUIRREL.

Now, whitlin' and thinkin' require some concentratin,'
Distractions and abstractions, they can cut;
But bad things can turn good, when you're workin' on wood,
Inspiration from above comes in a NUT.

When your fingernail breaks, and your sore knuckle aches,
And your thumb is rubbed raw to a blister,
What you needed all along, is this poor woodsman's song,
And a handy dandy squirrel nut ZIPPER!

The crowd went crazy; hoots, hollars, hats flying in the air. Folks started imitating Willie's shuffling feet (slightly similar to the "Leadco Shuffle"), and a new dance became an instant craze. They dubbed it the "Zipper." Local WROX radio station owner/producer/promoter/janitor, Charlie Kendall shouted above the din to Mathus, "We're taking this to Memphis! Chicago! Detroit! L.A!"

And so another musical legend was birthed from the soils of the Mississippi Delta.