I shouldn’t have been surprised to learn, only recently, that Knox Phillips was at the heart of having Furry Lewis appear at that 1975 Rolling Stones concert. When the Stones arrived in Memphis the night before the all-day concert, Knox arranged for them to be greeted on the tarmac by Furry and his guitar (with Lee Baker backing him); not the ideal listening conditions, but spiritually perfect. When the night was wrapping up, Knox and the concert promoter discussed having Furry play at the Stones concert the next day. Knox wanted to make arrangements ahead of time so he could enjoy the Fourth of July in his father’s pool with family and friends. No need, the promoter determined; with three opening acts there wouldn’t be time for Furry.
Cut to the phone ringing at Sam Phillips’s house the next day, the holler out the sliding glass door for Knox to get out of the pool. The Stones were delaying their show and they wanted Furry to help fill the time. Departing through the wafting smoke of grilling burgers, Knox left the sounds of laughter and splashing to shepherd Furry through his largest gig ever (thus changing the course of at least one attendee’s life).
Knox Phillips, left, and Furry Lewis, center, on the Rolling Stones’ stage, July 4, 1975. That’s me, way way in the background. (Courtesy of Diane Duncan)
I learned of Knox’s role when I saw this photo on his wall. Thank you, Knox!
And thanks to brother Jerry Phillips, the one-time (and all-time) “world’s most perfectly formed midget wrestler,” rocking hard today, all twisted steel and sex appeal, ready to welcome you with a big hug and make you comfortable wherever you are, whatever you’re doing.
Adam Miller, long ago, made being a writer seem possible. Halfway between then and now, when I was envisioning It Came from Memphis being something like this collection, he opened my eyes to the larger story to tell and, consequently, opened the door to my so-called career. In a sense, he made both that book and this one possible.
Many of these stories began with a group of high school friends who continue to inspire me. We knew no bounds, had no sense, and we all appreciate how lucky we are to be alive today (with a little more sense). Thanks to the Whole Sick Crew—Mark Crosby, Bruce Gordon, Andy Kaplan, Lonnie Lazar, Melissa Lazarov, Cam McCaa, Ted McLaughlin, Gegnellyboos (the) Quag-Meyer, Tim Monaghan, David Peeples, Lanie Richberger, Jodi Shainberg, Tommy Van Brocklin, and (like Bukowski said) all my friends.
I am grateful to these readers who helped keep the writing tight and right: Alex Abramovich, Paul Duane, Melissa Dunn, Belinda Killough Gordon, Alex Greene, Dennis Herring, Charles Hughes, and Carl Reisman.
Much gratitude to my editor, Callie Garnett—if this were a record, she’d be the producer. Callie kept me on key. Laura Phillips was the gracious managing editor. Others once at Bloomsbury drew me there—Kathy Belden, Rachel Mannheimer, George Gibson. Agent David Dunton, with aplomb, guided a small idea to a larger enterprise (and he used to jam with Adam Miller).
John Fry is a secret hero of the Memphis scene. He founded Ardent Studios in the early 1960s, created a musical home for Jim Dickinson, Alex Chilton, and many others (miss you, John Hampton!) and was a solid supporter of all of the Memphis creative community. Next time you’re playing Big Star loud, think of (and thank) the late John Fry.
Many people helped in ways large and small, and with apologies to those I’ve overlooked, I thank Chet Weise, Peter Guralnick, Mary Lindsay Dickinson, Judy Peiser, Iddo Patt, Susanna Vapnek, Andria Lisle, Scott Barretta, Phoebe Driscoll, Jeff Place, Bob Mehr, the editors who assigned the original pieces, my children, Lila and Esther, and always my parents and their unending support and encouragement.
Nearly all my favorite lines in this book come from Tara McAdams, my first and last reader, my muse and love.
Rufus Thomas—the world’s oldest teenager, the funkiest man alive. Early 1980s. (Courtesy of Patty Padgett)
Now, please join me on the dance floor while we spin “(Do The) Funky Chicken” and hail Rufus Thomas, who was a Memphis personality all my life, who took me under his wing (like he did many and varied others). His embrace of life and funk made him the funkiest man alive. His spirit abides.