Up Jumped the Devil

by Bruce Conforth

  That same year Bruce Cook published Listen to the Blues, describing Robert’s importance to blues music and American culture:

  If Robert Johnson had not existed, they would have had to invent him. He is the most potent legend in all the blues—that of the gifted young artist, driven by his hunger for life and his passion for music to excesses that killed him at the age of twenty-four…. He is the Shelley, Keats, and Rimbaud of the blues all rolled into one. If any bluesman is assured of immortality it is this little drifter-with-a-guitar who may never have left the South.7

  Actually Robert was accidently murdered when he was twenty-seven years old, not twenty-four. But misinformation was not Cook’s only problem. His analysis is preterit, romantic hyperbole. It articulated one of the quintessential American myths: the gifted drifter “driven by his hunger for life”—the individual versus society and convention. Cook’s comparison to Shelley, Keats, and Rimbaud furthered the image of a bright light burning itself out.

  When Memphis blues researcher Stephen C. LaVere began tracing Robert’s life, he used McCormick’s lead to locate Robert’s half sister Carrie Harris Thompson. In 1973, he convinced her to make a contractual agreement to assign him 50 percent of all royalties and other monies generated by his overseeing Robert’s material. LaVere became, in essence, the overseer of Robert’s life, music, and photos for the next several decades, fiercely protecting his own interests.

  In 1982, using information that Mack McCormick shared with him, Peter Guralnick published “Searching for Robert Johnson” in Living Blues magazine. But this “biography” contained little hard data. Guralnick tried to document Robert’s life, but his account is more widely known for one single sentence: “Son House was convinced that Robert Johnson had [sold his soul to the Devil at the crossroads], and undoubtedly, as Johnny Shines says, others were too.” There is no evidence, however, that House ever made such a statement. The myth that had been a rumor now seemed to be fact.8

  Guralnick expanded his article into a book released in 1989 under the same title, and that same year Rolling Stone magazine published the first photo of Robert.9 One year later, Living Blues magazine dedicated an entire issue to “The Death of Robert Johnson,” his legend, crossroads and hoodoo myths, and more. Using interviews from many of Robert’s contemporaries, it attempted to produce a factual understanding of the man and his life.10

  In 1991 Sony Music released a two-CD set of Johnson’s recordings, The Complete Recordings. It marked the first time that all of Robert’s known recordings, including alternate takes, were issued in one package. Producer Lawrence Cohn, a former head of Epic Records, which was now part of Sony Music, had led the effort to create a roots music reissue program, but Sony kept refusing. After several years of persuasion they finally relented and approved the project. Cohn decided that Robert Johnson would be his first release. Sony expected the boxed set to sell no more than ten thousand copies over a five-year period and ran an initial pressing of four thousand. Immediately they were shocked. The set sold hundreds of thousands of copies in the first several weeks and today has sold more than fifty million copies in the United States alone. It also won a Grammy award.11 The accompanying booklet by LaVere provided, arguably, the most complete information about Robert’s life at that time. But it was still factually incomplete because it did not focus on certain periods of his life (Memphis, for example). It also provided erroneous information about persons in Robert’s life. The most glaring errors concerned guitarist Ike Zimmerman and his role in Robert’s musical development. LaVere’s work was good, but far from complete.12

  In 1992 Sony films released the British documentary The Search for Robert Johnson featuring blues guitarist/singer and Johnson disciple John Paul Hammond. The film introduced the world to Robert’s former girlfriends and his boyhood pals, and used informants like Gayle Dean and McCormick.13 In 1996, Gayle Dean found the back side of Johnson’s death certificate and published its contents in Guitar Player magazine. Two years later he challenged the crossroads myth in his book Chasin’ That Devil Music.

  In 2003, Barry Lee Pearson and Bill McCulloch published Robert Johnson Lost and Found.14 One year later Elijah Wald’s Escaping the Delta: Robert Johnson and the Invention of the Blues was released.15 While both are stellar books, neither claimed to be a biography of Robert. Pearson and McCulloch’s work analyzed the genesis of myths surrounding his life. They claimed that these were created by contemporary popular culture, stereotyping, and a fascination with reconstructing history. Wald examined the myths surrounding Robert’s life too, and tried to separate him from them.

  The closest written biography produced in recent years is Crossroads: The Life and Afterlife of Blues Legend Robert Johnson by Tom Graves, which was published in 2008.16 LaVere claimed that Crossroads contained “less hyperbole and more factual information about Johnson than any other book.”17 But Graves’s writings fell far short of LaVere’s claim. Fewer than thirty pages contained information about Johnson’s life, and much of that was erroneous.18

  Sony Records, who owned Johnson’s recordings, recognized his strong marketability and decided to capitalize on his centennial year by releasing a special boxed set: the 2011 Robert Johnson, The Complete Original Masters: Centennial Edition. It was marketed as “the ultimate collector’s vinyl piece.” It re-created the historic look and feel of the original dozen ten-inch 78 rpm discs that were sold to record buyers in the 1930s. The limited edition sets were individually numbered from one to one thousand. Housed in a lavish ten-inch album book, each vinyl disc played at 45 rpm, and the set also reproduced the original record labels. Music historian Ted Gioia wrote a fifteen-hundred-word essay and LaVere contributed a five-page “new” biography.19

  Robert’s name and image were spawning many concerts, tributes, trinkets, and geegaws, including computer flash drives, guitar picks, and even a limited-edition Robert Johnson “Hellhound on My Ale” beer. Manufactured by Dogfish Head Brewery, it bore the claim: “To accentuate and magnify the citrusy notes of the centennial hops (and as a shout out to Robert Johnson’s mentor Blind Lemon Jefferson) we add dried lemon peel and flesh to the whirlpool.”20 There is no evidence that Jefferson ever mentored Robert, but such factual information is unimportant when you’re celebrating the birthday of a myth.

  No book before this one has included all of the reminiscences of Johnson by the people who knew him personally. After more than fifty years of researching Robert’s life and performing his music, we decided to correct that omission and bring together those resources in our comprehensive biography. We meticulously researched every article, book, video, or film by any author or producer, from academic scholar to lay blues fan; we transcribed every quote by anyone who ever knew Robert; and we grounded this all with quotations from our own research and every other resource we could find. Every census record, city directory, marriage license, funeral notice, and newspaper article was studied and referenced.

  Herein you will find memories of Robert from his stepfamily, boyhood friends, neighbors, fellow musicians, girlfriends, and other acquaintances: everyone who ever committed a personal recollection to tape, page, or film. (The quotations have been lightly edited for clarity.) These sources helped us create a timeline of Johnson’s life. What we produced is a book based not on conjecture about Robert Johnson, but on first-person accounts of who he actually was. By doing so we hope to free Johnson from being the sign and myth that blues fans created and return him to his human particulars.

  Not only do we reveal Robert’s real story, but also where other accounts were in error. Basically, we discovered that everything we, and everyone else, believed or thought about Robert Johnson was wrong in some respects. At this point, whatever remains unknown about Robert Johnson will probably remain unknown forever. Although this will almost certainly not be the last book about him, the possibility of any new revelations surfacing seems extremely remote.

  His story, a human story of suffering and joy, extreme highs and devastating
lows, has finally been told.

  1

  ROBERT JOHNSON IS IN TOWN

  The summer of 1936 Robert Johnson stood in front of Walker’s General Store and Gas Station adjoining the Martinsville train depot. He put down his bag made of blue-and-white bed ticking packed full of clothes, at least one notebook, and other belongings, and began playing his guitar. He was there to advertise his nighttime performance at O’Malley’s—a bootleg house not far from the old Damascus Church just north of neighboring Hazlehurst’s city limits, up the railroad tracks on the east side of old Highway 51. Hazlehurst was a town of about three thousand souls sitting thirty-five miles south of Jackson, Mississippi. Robert had been born in Hazlehurst twenty-five years earlier, and now he was there to play his blues at one of the many juke joints he frequented throughout the area. A slight five foot eight, 140 pounds, Robert was well known for more than just his music.

  Robert had already gotten one local girl pregnant—Virgie Jane Smith—and the men in and around Hazlehurst wanted to make sure that was not going to happen to their daughters. Rosa Redman was eleven years old that year. Later a short, plump history teacher, she lived most of her life on the old Mangold Plantation, near both the house where Robert was born and O’Malley’s juke. She recalled that Robert’s presence would create a certain stir among the residents. “People would know when Robert was in town. The men would let people know, and if they saw him coming up the road, our mothers would make all the girls go inside. It was OK for our older brothers, uncles, or fathers to go see him play and get drunk, but it was off limits to us girls. They’d keep us inside and locked up!”1

  Martinsville train depot, Walker’s General Store and Gas Station. Mississippi Department of Archives and History

  His blues was the devil’s music and could only lead to sin.

  Throughout the Delta region and beyond, Robert’s rambling had left a trail of drunken men and brokenhearted women. Whether he was playing a juke like O’Malley’s, a picnic, or a party, Robert was always looking for a woman to satisfy his needs, financially or sexually. His songs were often a tool to seduce some woman he took a fancy to, and the human remnants he left behind were well known to locals. He even bragged about his conquests in one of his songs, “Traveling Riverside Blues”: “I got womens in Vicksburg, clean on to Tennessee, but my Friars Point rider, now, hops all over me.”

  Robert Johnson was using his guitar abilities to forge the transition from the older blues of Charley Patton, Henry “Ragtime Texas” Thomas, Lead Belly, or even Son House, to the more modern approach and sounds of Muddy Waters and the postwar blues players. He played blues, pop tunes, jazz, and ragtime; started to popularize the use of guitar riffs as signature elements of a song; and was one of the first to use a boogie beat for his rhythm accompaniment, copying the driving, rhythmic bass that barrelhouse pianists played with their left hand. His playing helped move blues guitar fretting out of the first position and into the use of the entirety of the fretboard, opening musical possibilities that had previously been reserved for jazz guitarists.

  He was a dancer and harmonica player in ways that surprised his companions, and he used all his entertainment talents as vehicles to further his quest for fame and freedom from the burdens of sharecropping, and even, perhaps, from the Jim Crow racism of the South. Yet, in spite of his considerable talents, Robert displayed an untrusting and insecure personality. He refused to let you pay too close attention to how he was playing, turning his back on you or stopping his playing completely if he thought you were watching him too closely.

  But Robert also had an unrelenting desire for a good time, and his personal exploits would eventually lead to myth and speculation. He did little to make his world clear, for he refused to speak about his family and life, and he never—if he ever knew about them—did anything to either validate or disavow the ideas about him that circulated among his listeners and acquaintances. He was a chameleon who was perhaps on his own search for his true identity.

  By the time Rosa Redman saw him, Robert’s rambling had become both his main way of traveling from one musical job to the next and his way to satisfy his need to just “get up and go.” His travels on both sides of the Mississippi River took him on circuitous journeys throughout Mississippi and parts of Louisiana and Arkansas. He followed Highway 1, which ran alongside the Mississippi River, Highways 61 and 49, which went north and south through the center of the Delta, and Highway 82, which ran east and west.

  Robert Johnson’s Mississippi. Bruce Conforth

  Robert found places to play and sing in Greenwood, Itta Bena, Moorhead (“where the Southern cross the Dog”), Indianola, Holly Ridge, Leland, and Greenville, all located on Highway 82. From Greenville, Robert traveled north on Highway 1, stopping at Winterville, Lamont, Beulah, Rosedale, Gunnison, Sherard, and then into Clarksdale. From Clarksdale he had several options.

  He could continue north on Highway 61 and stop at Jonestown (with a detour west to Friars Point), Lula (onetime home of Charley Patton), Tunica, Robinsonville (where his mother lived), Walls, and then his Memphis home. Memphis was where he spent his seminal childhood years, the home of the family he considered his true kin, headed by Charles Dodds Spencer, his mother’s ex-husband. He would go back there as often as he could throughout his life. From Memphis he could easily cross into Arkansas to reach West Memphis with its freewheeling base of jukes and party houses, then go to Marianna, Helena, and West Helena—wide-open towns for black blues singers—which Robert could also reach via the Friars Point ferry.

  If he went south from Clarksdale on Highway 61 he hit Alligator, Shelby, Mound Bayou, Merigold, Cleveland, and Shaw. Conversely, if he headed south on Highway 49 West he stopped at Tutwiler, Drew, and Ruleville. Highway 49 East took him to Minter City, Greenwood, Tchula, Yazoo City, Bentonia (where Skip James had lived and played), and finally into Jackson.

  From Jackson south on Highway 51 Robert stopped at Crystal Springs (home of Tommy Johnson), Hazlehurst (where his Aunt Clara lived), Beauregard and Wesson, and from there to Bogalusa, Louisiana, and over to Gulfport, Mississippi.

  Of the locations Robert frequented, Friars Point was particularly important—a ferry ran between there and Arkansas. Mississippi was still a dry state even after Prohibition ended in 1933, so liquor was transported into Friars Point by way of that ferry. That Delta river town was full of jukes, black lodges, and clubs. Robert loved playing in Friars Point for all those reasons and more.

  Friars Point, ca. 1935, levees to the left with Mississippi River behind. Mississippi Department of Archives and History

  Elizabeth Moore ran a Friars Point juke and recalled that her husband used to bring Robert, before he had recorded, to play there on Saturday nights. She had moved there from Robinsonville, where Johnson had first played for her. “He was staying over there in West Stover [a small sawmill community] cross the river and my husband went over there and got him. Brought him cross the river [on a ferry] and he played over here for ’bout two or three months. He had three or four songs he did then [his originals].”2

  In downtown Friars Point, Hirsberg’s store carried every item that the local residents needed: drugs, farm supplies, clothing, food. They extended credit too, an important consideration during the Depression. As a main meeting place for area residents, Hirsberg’s was the perfect location for Robert to play during the day, both to make extra money and to advertise where he would be that night. He would sit on one of the red wooden benches Hirsberg had placed on either side of the front door, and his afternoon appearances drew such enormous crowds that they created a bottleneck, making it hard for anyone to get to the door. The owners found a simple solution: they would climb to the roof of their one-story building and throw vegetables down onto the entertained assembly to get them to disperse.3 Robert was used to drawing such crowds, however, and they just made the possibility of his making a decent night’s pay and going home with the woman of his fancy more probable.

  Hirsberg’s store. Bruce Conf
orth

  The night in Hazlehurst that Rosa Redman remembered was filled with men and women dancing and drinking, whooping and hollering, pairing up for a night of partying and sex. They frolicked until Robert either went home with one of the women or collapsed drunk on the floor of the store to sleep it off.

  In a few short months Robert would be a recording artist, and the next time they saw him they might have even purchased his “Terraplane Blues”—a modest hit—and “Kind Hearted Woman Blues” for their own home Victrolas.

  But on this particular night the audience had no inkling of what was to come, and neither did Robert. They only knew that Robert Johnson was in town: a good-guitar-playing, hard-drinking, woman-loving little man who kept them entertained.

  So who was this Robert Johnson?

  To find that out we need to go back to the beginning.

  2

  BEFORE THE BEGINNING

  Saturday afternoon, February 2, 1889, in Hazlehurst, Mississippi, was a clear and cool day. The temperature was in the sixties, the sun was shining, and the air was full of the expectation that spring was not far away. It was a good day for a wedding. Reverend H. Brown had driven his horse and buggy ten miles from his home in Crystal Springs to perform several marriages, and now nineteen-year-old Julia Ann Majors and twenty-two-year-old Charles C. Dodds stood before him ready to take their vows. Around them were family and friends all joined in anticipation of the ceremony and the party that would follow. Julia was a short, fair-skinned young lady, and Charles was a slightly taller, lanky young man. It was almost inevitable that they would meet and marry, for both their families had been residents in the Hazlehurst area for decades—and both the bride’s and groom’s mixed-race heritage went as far back as records existed.