My Knoxville was secret

Hey, y'all. This is my first post, not only here but to any blog. Me and Vic go back quite a ways, to when we were both new to Knoxville, courtesy of UT. He left and returned for good; I stayed on for quite a while, but finally decided to leave the security blanket of cheap rent, my dwindling community of friends, Walt at Tri-city Barber and Vic'n'Bill's. I'm writing now from Atlanta, and while I miss those things dearly, this larger city is definitely a better fit for me. But I lived in K-town from '92 through '00, age 17 to 28-or-so, and I gotta admit, for a kid who liked to aimlessly wander around figuring out what it is he wanted to do with himself (and party a lot), Knoxville probably worked in my favor. Like it or not, I gave my best years to the scruffy little city, and in spite of the prevailing civic ethos, I racked up a hell of a lot of adventures which, given this forum, I endeavor to relay to you, kind reader.

Despite what the civic planners, politicians, "movers-and-shakers" (here's a hint: if you live there, you're not moving or shaking anything, and that's a pretty gay term anyway, so quit calling yourself that), UT board of trustees, KPD, and the fine folks in West Knoxville whom they represent; despite these entities' best efforts, Knoxville has soul. A flicker; a ghostly, nebulous soul found in the cracks beyond their ubiquitous influence. Its the soul found in places like Maplehurst, Mechanicsville, and South Knoxville--Island Home, sure; but also the swimmin' hole at the quarry. In places like Pluto Sports, the Pilot Light, Opal's Lounge, and the C-yard. In places like Gryphons, Raven, the Snake Snatch, Printer's Mark, the Wallows, the Spot, and our beloved Mercury theatre (oh yeah, all those dreams were crushed...) At a thousand drunken bacchanals in the Fort. This elusive soul can be felt when you wander through Knoxville's industrial skeleton, flowing along the railroad tracks on a long, humid summer's twilight, reaching out, yearning to live again. Step off those tracks and you might find yourself amongst the warehouses and machine shops East of downtown.

This nameless industrial area east of the Old City is the subject of Jack Neely's current "Secret History" column in the MetroPulse. "Secret History" was always my favorite part of that rag (the crossword was dope, too, though). I read it every week I lived there since his inaugural column, and again online just a minute ago when I finally decided to get started on this dang blog Vic got me fired up to post to. While reading the column, I realized that I used to travel through this area-in-question a lot because it was an easy way to get home, particularly from the Old City. And it was the no-cops way of getting home, an advantage not lost on any of you who drive home after a night out in the Old Shitty. If I went east, under James White Parkway (I was probably parked there, anyway) on Depot, then left on Randolph, had a chuckle over the sign for "Hicken City" and on over the hill, it put me at the light on 5th. Now, it doesn't look like you can go straight there; but, unknown to most folks, if you persevere over its potholes, you're on the alleyway that services one lonely city block--my old block--and it puts you literally into my old backyard. See? How's that for secret? Mine was the only residence on that whole block of 4th east of Gill, with James White Parkway out front, elevated, level with my second floor. That dogwood tree in the front yard? I planted it. Most people didn't know there was a house there--it was a secret. A secret in plain sight, waiting for it's eventual destruction with the widening of the Parkway. Is it even still there?

I had my DJ booth set up in the front room. Me and my MC, J-Skillz, used to practice there every Wednesday, eventually doing a couple of shows at the Pilot Light. Knoxvillians, even those who bought rap CDs, didn't really know about people doing hip-hop. A name on a wall you wished wasn't there. DJ Moneymakin' yelling "YEE-AAAAHHHHHH" through your speaker when your dial accidentally landed on New Rock 90. It was a secret. (By the way, fuck a Torch--I'm screamin' New Rock 90 fo' life.) Despite the large turnout (well, as large as a Pilot Light show gets), there was no press or hoopla about our shows before or after. Nothing much changed. But my man Frankie was at our first show. He and his crew were ready to to start doing shows, too. The owner of the Pilot Light, Jason, hadn't anticipated the fire J-Skillz and I had brought and with a smile, he shook my hand, slowly shook his head side to side, and said simply: "I had no idea." Thinking this was a good opportunity to put my man on, I motioned for Frankie to come over and introduced him to Jason as somebody who could kindle a similar fire. A short while later, Frankie AKA Dynamic, along with his crew the Fluid Enginerz, put on the Pilot Light's second hip hop show. It was real dope.

Fluid got a write-up in the MetroPulse a while later, but to most of Knoxville they were still secret. I know I've been harping on the "secret" theme pretty heavy, like maybe I'm implying that I was super-hip or whatever. Well, I was (still am, too. Then again, I'm also a nerd who posts to a blog...), but all I was trying to do was to keep the thread of Neely's "Secret History" alive. I humbly wish to model my articles here after "Secret History," to be as interesting and well-written, hopefully; but also (despite 5-to-15 years-ago not really qualifying as "history") because my history with Knoxville--the history I care enough to write about--was a secret, to most Knoxvillians, anyhow. Be that as it may, that history is still meaningful to me, to some Knoxvillians (Knox-villains?), and to the diaspora that fled the town, tired of their Knoxville being forced out of existence. Tired of their Knoxville being secret while it still existed. People like me.