As a schoolchild growing up in Tennessee, I visited the battlefields of Fort Pillow and Shiloh and toured Andrew Jackson’s home, the Hermitage. When I was a teenager, I haunted the blues clubs of Beale Street (the ones that would let me in without ID). I have watched football at the Liberty Bowl and basketball and bands at the Pyramid (before it became a Bass Pro Shop), I have driven through the Smoky Mountains and walked the floor of the Tennessee State House. (I have not been to Dollywood. I know, I hate myself too.)
As a schoolchild growing up in Tennessee, I visited the battlefields of Fort Pillow and Shiloh and toured Andrew Jackson’s home, the Hermitage. When I was a teenager, I haunted the blues clubs of Beale Street (the ones that would let me in without ID). I have watched football at the Liberty Bowl and basketball and bands at the Pyramid (before it became a Bass Pro Shop), I have driven through the Smoky Mountains and walked the floor of the Tennessee State House. (I have not been to Dollywood. I know, I hate myself too.)
