Leavin' Memphis
Early in 1999 my wife and I were living in Memphis. In many ways we had lots of the things that folks in the south dream of - the ante-bellum home, the good paying jobs, Corky’s Barbeque, the Picadilly Cafeteria, the New Daisy Theater, and so on. But I was at the place where the only thing I was dreaming about was retirement and Memphis was not in that dream. In fact, when friends asked me what I wanted to see when I retired I almost always responded, “I want to see Memphis in my rear view mirror.”
What was it about Memphis that had driven me to this point? I’ve searched for words and the best I can come up with is “corporateness.” Our daily ritual was one of dealing with one sort of corporation or another. Our work placed us in our company’s corporate headquarters, which was corporate and beaurocractic to the “nines.” Sundays were no escape from the weekly corporate grind. We found early in our tenure that church in Memphis was corporate church. There were Baptist “campuses.” There were Methodist “campuses.” There were Assemblies of God and Charismatic “campuses.” We tried one or two and gave up. Even some of the greater Memphis communities were corporate. Take a drive east from downtown Memphis on Poplar Avenue through Germantown or Collierville some time and you’ll see what I mean.
We were being smothered by “corporateness” at every turn and knew we had to escape. We thought at first our escape route might lead to Florida. We checked Florida home prices on the internet and they seemed very reasonable, but it didn’t take long for us to realize that Florida already had enough retirees. And, the thought of having to wear seersucker was more than I could bear. We gave a day or two of thought to New Mexico. Too “new age,” we concluded. New England (my birthplace)? Too cold. New York or New Jersey? Too crowded.
And, so it went until that glorious January morning. At breakfast my wife said that she had dreamed of looking at homes in Emporia, Kansas. I tried not to appear ignorant, but curiosity got the better of me. “So, Coach, exactly where is Emporia? I’ve never heard of it.” Her answer revealed her innate innocence sprinkled with just a hint of guilt. “It’s in Kansas.”
“I know it’s in Kansas, but where in Kansas is it? Kansas is a big, big place.”
“Well, it’s about a hundred miles south of Kansas City and a hundred miles north of Wichita, but it’s only fifty miles from Topeka.”
“You mean it’s out in the middle of nowhere, right”
“Well, no. It’s close to the Flint Hills.”
“What are the Flint Hills?
“You’ll see and you’ll really like them”
She was cutting through my defenses. My resistance was growing weak. The thought of another twenty or thirty years in Memphis wasn’t what I could call a secure fortress. I only had one more question: “If we retire there will I have to wear seersucker?”
I gave in and decided it would be alright to take a trip to Emporia to “spy out the land.” We drove up to Emporia a few weeks later. A day or so after that we bought an old Prairie Victorian that we’ve since found has needed at least five years of T L C. A few months later and we found ourselves packing up to go. I’ll never forget the night I left Memphis. My wife was already in Emporia, so as I crossed the Hernando-Desoto Bridge I called her. “Get out in the street and beat the drums,” I rejoiced. “I see Memphis in my rear view mirror.”
We’ve lived here for over five years now. We’ve left the sophistication and culture of the city, although we do have an arts council here in town. The annual Saint Patrick’s Day parade amounts to about three or four pickup trucks adorned with Kelley green crepe paper, so it’s not the grand event a person could see in a big city. There’s not much in the way of military might protecting us from the outside world. Oh, there is the Taliban vintage tank in front of the National Guard armory that overlooks exit 130 on the highway, if that means anything. Our Prairie Victorian is a far cry from the ante-bellum we owned in Memphis. And, Bobby D’s Merchant Street Barbeque can’t compare with Corky’s in Memphis. But the important thing for us is that we’ve left the “corporateness” behind. Emporia and the Flint Hills are about as far from corporate as Memphis is from Kansas.
And that’s what we love about life here.
What was it about Memphis that had driven me to this point? I’ve searched for words and the best I can come up with is “corporateness.” Our daily ritual was one of dealing with one sort of corporation or another. Our work placed us in our company’s corporate headquarters, which was corporate and beaurocractic to the “nines.” Sundays were no escape from the weekly corporate grind. We found early in our tenure that church in Memphis was corporate church. There were Baptist “campuses.” There were Methodist “campuses.” There were Assemblies of God and Charismatic “campuses.” We tried one or two and gave up. Even some of the greater Memphis communities were corporate. Take a drive east from downtown Memphis on Poplar Avenue through Germantown or Collierville some time and you’ll see what I mean.
We were being smothered by “corporateness” at every turn and knew we had to escape. We thought at first our escape route might lead to Florida. We checked Florida home prices on the internet and they seemed very reasonable, but it didn’t take long for us to realize that Florida already had enough retirees. And, the thought of having to wear seersucker was more than I could bear. We gave a day or two of thought to New Mexico. Too “new age,” we concluded. New England (my birthplace)? Too cold. New York or New Jersey? Too crowded.
And, so it went until that glorious January morning. At breakfast my wife said that she had dreamed of looking at homes in Emporia, Kansas. I tried not to appear ignorant, but curiosity got the better of me. “So, Coach, exactly where is Emporia? I’ve never heard of it.” Her answer revealed her innate innocence sprinkled with just a hint of guilt. “It’s in Kansas.”
“I know it’s in Kansas, but where in Kansas is it? Kansas is a big, big place.”
“Well, it’s about a hundred miles south of Kansas City and a hundred miles north of Wichita, but it’s only fifty miles from Topeka.”
“You mean it’s out in the middle of nowhere, right”
“Well, no. It’s close to the Flint Hills.”
“What are the Flint Hills?
“You’ll see and you’ll really like them”
She was cutting through my defenses. My resistance was growing weak. The thought of another twenty or thirty years in Memphis wasn’t what I could call a secure fortress. I only had one more question: “If we retire there will I have to wear seersucker?”
I gave in and decided it would be alright to take a trip to Emporia to “spy out the land.” We drove up to Emporia a few weeks later. A day or so after that we bought an old Prairie Victorian that we’ve since found has needed at least five years of T L C. A few months later and we found ourselves packing up to go. I’ll never forget the night I left Memphis. My wife was already in Emporia, so as I crossed the Hernando-Desoto Bridge I called her. “Get out in the street and beat the drums,” I rejoiced. “I see Memphis in my rear view mirror.”
We’ve lived here for over five years now. We’ve left the sophistication and culture of the city, although we do have an arts council here in town. The annual Saint Patrick’s Day parade amounts to about three or four pickup trucks adorned with Kelley green crepe paper, so it’s not the grand event a person could see in a big city. There’s not much in the way of military might protecting us from the outside world. Oh, there is the Taliban vintage tank in front of the National Guard armory that overlooks exit 130 on the highway, if that means anything. Our Prairie Victorian is a far cry from the ante-bellum we owned in Memphis. And, Bobby D’s Merchant Street Barbeque can’t compare with Corky’s in Memphis. But the important thing for us is that we’ve left the “corporateness” behind. Emporia and the Flint Hills are about as far from corporate as Memphis is from Kansas.
And that’s what we love about life here.
posted by Phil Dillon, Prairie Apologist at 3:37 PM
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