Wow! I can tell I was out drinkin' last night. The Administrator doesn't normally let my middle of the night posts through. He does a good job of protecting my drunk ass from public scrutiny. I love the guy. I go into a blackout when I get enough whiskey in me. Sometimes I have deja vu moments when I'm sober. All of a sudden it will pop into my head, didn't I make a post on vpFREE that other night, when I was drunk on V.O. whiskey, about Bob Dancer being a jerk times 29? I don't recall reading that post on vpFREE.
Sung to the tune of Jim Dandy by Black Oak Arkansas:
The Administrator to the rescue!
The Administrator to the rescue!
I love that guy. He's got a heart of gold.
···
--- In vpFREE@yahoogroups.com, "Mickey" <mickeycrimm@...> wrote:
River Johnny was born in Shreveport. But he grew up on the Bossier Strip. His mother was a stripper on the Bossier Strip. His daddy was murdered in Mississippi. Some say for just cause. Johnny got his first job on the Bossier Strip when he was 14. He had his first drink on the Bossier Strip when he was 15. He got into his first fist fight on the Bossier Strip when he was 16. He loved a girl on the Bossier Strip. He lost his virginity on the Bossier Strip. He was a main line pool hustler on the Bossier Strip, taught by the best of his time. He became one of the best poker players on the Bossier Strip.
Johhny's mother was killed in a car wreck on the Bossier Strip.
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In the first story I wrote about Delia and River Johnny, You Better Know The Rules in White Sulphur Springs, I had written that Johnny was from Bossier City, Louisiana. How prophetic? Growing up in the deep south, and having a good Christian raising, I knew all the dens of iniquity to stay away from....or should I say, to go to. There was Biloxi, run by the Dixie Mafia, Phenix City, Alabama, run by the Dixie Mafia, McNairy County, Tennessee on the Mississippi line, run by the Dixie Mafia. And then there was the all-time sin place of the south, The Bossier Strip. Guess who ran the place. That's right, the Dixie Mafia.
It's all gone now. Has been for years. But there was a time. U.S. Highway 80 ran from Georgia to California. It was the main route from the southeast to the west coast. There was a little three mile stretch, just east of Shreveport, that was packed with about 60 bars and nightclubs, mixed in with liquor stores, restaurants and motels. It was lit up with a neon glow, just like Las Vegas. It was called the Bossier Strip. There was live music, alcohol, drugs, strippers, prostitutes, gambling. Everything a guy needed.
In doing my research for a novel about the life of a small time gambler named River Johnny, I'm finding out that nothing has been written about the Bossier Strip. That is sad. It's a fascinating piece of Americana. It looks like I'm gonna be the first to write about it.