“Good morning, America. How are you? Say, don’t you know me? I’m your native son. I’m the train they call the city of New Orleans. And I’ll be gone 500 miles when the day is done” (City of New Orleans — by Steve Goodman).

The “five hundred mile” marker, referenced in this iconic song by Steve Goodman, was essentially the rail depot in Memphis, Tennessee. However, current riders of the City of New Orleans, roll into town with the morning sun instead of when the day is done. Memphis is the approximate halfway point on the ride from Chicago to New Orleans — and a great place to get off the train and spend a few days.

Memphis, known for many things, seems to be disproportionately associated with the home of Elvis Presley and the world’s only Bass Pro Shop shaped like a 28-story glass pyramid.

Unfortunately, the city struggled through decades of economic downturn, urban blight, and racial tensions that almost brought it to its knees — but Memphis survived. One local told me there was a time when, “no one wanted to admit to living in, or being from, Memphis.” Now the city is on the comeback and folks around town are, once again, proud to claim Memphis as their home.

However, my intrepid traveling companion and I did not come to Memphis to marvel at the new buildings in a freshly revitalized downtown (although our towering and spacious hotel was a comfortable part of that revitalization). We came to Memphis to hear some good Blues and immerse ourselves in the cultural experience that is Beale Street.

The “Beale Street Entertainment District” is an incredibly commercialized look back at a reasonable facsimile of the past. Beale Avenue, as it was originally known, stretched for nearly two miles, with a 10-block business district on the west end, abutting the Mississippi River. After the Civil War, Beale Avenue became an African American enclave and was the only place that blacks could conduct business.

I heard a quote from several locals, attributed to Lieutenant George Lee, which summed up the symbiotic relationship of the time, “Beale Street was owned by Jews, policed by whites and enjoyed by negroes.”

The Blues got its birth in the Mississippi Delta, but came of age on Beale Street. In the late 1860s, black traveling musicians began performing on Beale Avenue. In 1903 W.C. Handy, known as the Father of the Blues, came to Memphis and literally wrote the book on the Blues, by being the first to publish music in the Blues form.

Handy wrote the song “Beale Street Blues,” ultimately causing the name change. From the 1920s through the 1940s, future Blues and Jazz legends such as Louis Armstrong, Muddy Waters, Albert King, Memphis Minnie, B.B. King, played on Beale Street and developed the musical style known as the Memphis Blues.

By the late ‘60s, Beale Street was (almost) done.

Urban decay and blight had taken its toll, and Beale Street was a 10-block commercial district with just two stores — a hardware store and a dry goods store founded by Abraham Schwab. The hardware store is no longer around (which is why I do not know its name), but A. Schwab is doing just fine as the only surviving, original, Beale Street business (I bought a harmonica there). Of course, with the motto, “If you can’t find it at A. Schwab, you’re probably better off without it!” it is easy to understand their tenacity and longevity.

Formed in 1973, the Beale Street Development Corporation joined forces with the City of Memphis, and Beale Street (slowly) underwent a rebirth.

These days, at just four blocks long, the Beale Street Entertainment District is a microcosm of its former self — but what an incredible four blocks it is.

I do not have enough words left in this week’s column to get into much detail, so meet me back here next week and I will share everything (at least, everything that can be printed) about my time in Memphis.