The Blues Man (Chapter 1)
23rd February 2016
The journey of a young man and his quest to become an artist
It was a cold night on the Delta of Mississippi, there stood a man with a guitar slung over his shoulder as the moon beamed down on the empty crossroads in 1928. Little 17 year old Sonny was about to make a deal he'd never forget.
Sonny Johnson was born on May 8th, 1911. He was born to two African parents whom needed an extra hands in the fields gave birth to little ol' Sonny. Sonny was a happy child, always curious about the world, but always forced to work in the fields of Mississippi under a very harsh slave owner. When his parents couldn't work, he was forced to. When his parents couldn't make the owner food, he had to. And if he couldn't, he was brutally beaten with a whip until he could do as he was told. One fine day, Sonny turned 5 years old and his parents had enough money to allow him a single gift. He had been waiting on this day for ages, but he hadn't had time to plan for his gift. He ran to his mother as she was working on the fields and said.
"Ma, can we go to town to pick myself a gift?" Said Sonny tugging on the ragged dress his mother was wearing.
"I can't go right now! Damn it! Why didn't you plan for this before hand? I need to work in the fields." Sonny's mother than hands her child $5 which in those days was more than any African American had held before. "Here, take this and go into town, come back with whatever you want."
Sonny was so surprised, he hadn't seen a dollar in his life! Sonny thanked his mother and ran to town to find something that interested him. He made it all the way into Mayfield, Mayfield was a small town which could barely fit a population of 2,000, lucky enough his birthday was on the day the flea market came into town. Sonny looked around every stand, looking at all kinds of items, wooden toys, slingshots, toy rifles, anything. Then, he heard something that made his head snap so quickly his neck cracked a little. He heard the plucking of strings, and when he turned his head he saw a very old man, older than his mother and father combined playing his guitar, then the old man sang:
"I got a letter this mornin, how do you reckon it read?
It said, "Hurry, hurry, yeah, your love is dead"
I got a letter this mornin, I say how do you reckon it read?
You know, it said, "Hurry, hurry, how come the gal you love is dead?"
Sonny was fascinated by what this old man was saying, the sadness in his voice was the sadness in his heart as he worked in the fields. At that moment, Sonny knew what he wanted. He wanted a guitar.
Sonny Johnson was born on May 8th, 1911. He was born to two African parents whom needed an extra hands in the fields gave birth to little ol' Sonny. Sonny was a happy child, always curious about the world, but always forced to work in the fields of Mississippi under a very harsh slave owner. When his parents couldn't work, he was forced to. When his parents couldn't make the owner food, he had to. And if he couldn't, he was brutally beaten with a whip until he could do as he was told. One fine day, Sonny turned 5 years old and his parents had enough money to allow him a single gift. He had been waiting on this day for ages, but he hadn't had time to plan for his gift. He ran to his mother as she was working on the fields and said.
"Ma, can we go to town to pick myself a gift?" Said Sonny tugging on the ragged dress his mother was wearing.
"I can't go right now! Damn it! Why didn't you plan for this before hand? I need to work in the fields." Sonny's mother than hands her child $5 which in those days was more than any African American had held before. "Here, take this and go into town, come back with whatever you want."
Sonny was so surprised, he hadn't seen a dollar in his life! Sonny thanked his mother and ran to town to find something that interested him. He made it all the way into Mayfield, Mayfield was a small town which could barely fit a population of 2,000, lucky enough his birthday was on the day the flea market came into town. Sonny looked around every stand, looking at all kinds of items, wooden toys, slingshots, toy rifles, anything. Then, he heard something that made his head snap so quickly his neck cracked a little. He heard the plucking of strings, and when he turned his head he saw a very old man, older than his mother and father combined playing his guitar, then the old man sang:
"I got a letter this mornin, how do you reckon it read?
It said, "Hurry, hurry, yeah, your love is dead"
I got a letter this mornin, I say how do you reckon it read?
You know, it said, "Hurry, hurry, how come the gal you love is dead?"
Sonny was fascinated by what this old man was saying, the sadness in his voice was the sadness in his heart as he worked in the fields. At that moment, Sonny knew what he wanted. He wanted a guitar.