“I’m the train they call the city of New Orleans. And I’ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done” (City of New Orleans — by Steve Goodman).

About 500 miles south of Chicago, on a bluff over the Mississippi River, sits Memphis, Tennessee. My intrepid traveling companion and I rolled into the Memphis Amtrak station around 6 a.m. — about 30 minutes ahead of schedule (yes…AHEAD of schedule). Now, do not get too excited about the notion of trains running early — or even on time. Everyone has a story to tell, and on a train. Everyone has plenty of time to tell them — rail travel is not for the impatient. Amtrak train routes travel across four time zones, but they only operate on Amtrak time — they get there when they get there.

My intrepid traveling companion had never been to Memphis, and I had only spent a grand total of three hours there — more than 30 years ago. Therefore, we consulted our wise sage of travel (otherwise known as Donny), as he had recently visited Memphis for a raucous extended weekend. “Donny,” I asked of the oracle, “What should we see while we are in Memphis?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, the erudite of sojourns answered most succinctly, “Everything!”

With our hotel as our base of operations, we could walk to (almost) anything we wanted to see. We could tour Sun Records, where Sam Phillips gave birth to rock-n-roll. We hopped on a riverboat for a 90 minute, narrated, sightseeing cruise up and down the Mississippi River — for only $20. The Gibson guitar factory was just around the corner — Donny explained that this was hallowed ground. The Lorraine Hotel, where Martin Luther King was assassinated is now part of the National Civil Rights Museum — so very stirring and thought provoking. Of course, we hit Beale Street for a full-on sensory explosion of blues and barbecue.

However, there was a little house called Graceland where some guy with a full head of hair and wobbly hips used to hang out. We never made it there because we ran out of time — and stamina.

Beale Street offers something for everyone. It has a rich and extraordinary history. However, these days, the story it tells is a bright and glitzy version of its past — a story about how great successes can come from providing folks with a good time.

In the afternoons, families calmly stroll up and down the four-block strip. Their children can be educated with a visit to the home of W.C. Handy (the Father of the Blues), and entertained with a stop at Silky O’Sullivan’s to enjoy a sandwich on the patio and watch the diving goats (yep…real goats…that dive).

However, in the evening, after the families have retreated, the party comes out. The sound of live music escapes from every doorway. Drinks are conveniently sold at walk-up bars — making it so much easier to wander around while intoxicated (sometimes referred to as unimpaired inebriation). Street entertainers draw crowds and tips. Panhandlers have their hands out and a story to tell — everywhere — and I mean EVERYWHERE.

However, for me, the best part of our Beale Street visit was an evening with two recent acquaintances. Prior to our voyage, my intrepid traveling companion and I chanced to meet an interesting and talented couple, Sturgis and Mandy, the heart and soul of the Low Society Band, a Blues group out of Memphis. We mentioned our upcoming sojourn, and immediately received an invite to get together for an evening.

Now, we have all encountered such invites, and, typically, they don’t amount to much — lip service to an uncommitted rendezvous that ain’t ever gonna’ happen. However, these two were the real deal. We met up at the Rum Boogie Café and shared a full evening of the blues, mixed with intriguing conversation and spontaneous laughter. Near the end of the evening, we were treated to a visit from music royalty, the 89 year-old “Doctor” Herman Green (look him up). I probably cheered the loudest when Sturgis and Herman Green took the stage together. Now, THAT was a good time!

By the end of the evening, I counted our new acquaintances among my treasured friends. My intrepid traveling companion and I experienced Beale Street the way it should be experienced — the Beale Street of good times and good people.