Enough to Go Around
I sat on his couch with a cold, sweaty bottle of beer, talking about our plans for the night and the recent struggles of the Memphis Grizzlies while SportsCenter droned in the background. The night began, and I shook hands with his roommate as they entered. They had turned 24 that day, and we would be celebrating in their honor. I wished them a happy birthday with a smile that would suggest I’d known them for years. Next was his girlfriend, and then two more mutual friends who would round out the group. Before the bottom of the bottle was dry, I had met, introduced myself to, and engaged in small talk with four brand new people. I was bombarded by interaction.
I settled into the group’s cadence with some quick quips and side conversations, successfully dodging the awkward “I’m the friend’s friend” feeling, and gaining temporary citizenship within their circle. Anticipation for the outing grew as laughs became louder and more prolonged, the TV became obsolete, and before long, Ubers were called.
“Have you ever been to Raiford’s?” one of my new pals asked as we entered the Gray Chevy Equinox. Paula & Raiford’s Disco, a joint most Memphians know well and few visitors forget. An institution for connection and enjoyment, where friends gather and strangers don’t exist. I hadn’t, I told her. But that would change in ten short minutes after a pothole-riddled ride to S 2nd St.
Around that same time, the final down of the AutoZone Liberty Bowl was played a few blocks away. Navy players celebrated as they defeated Cincinnati and secured their first 11-win season in program history. After the 13-hour pilgrimage from Annapolis, Maryland (not accounting for scattered alumni and veterans), the fans rejoiced, embracing each other as they prepared to see what the Memphis night had to offer. Navy’s cheers traveled like a cloud toward Beale St. and other celebratory locations.
With a glittery floor, glass walls, and solar system of disco balls hanging on the ceiling, I was thoroughly wowed after walking into Raiford’s. Smoke, coming from machines and cigarettes alike, acted as a canvas for the blue and purple strobe lights to paint themselves across. The bassline to “Le Freak” buzzed through my two-stepping feet at 120 beats per minute. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as Raiford’s mixed and poured me an ever-escalating stimulus cocktail. Then, I felt a wave of energy seep through the entrance. It was the first surge of Navy fans that had made it from the Liberty Bowl, and they were ready to party.
As they danced, sang, and mingled, it became clear that Raiford’s would be a Midshipmen bar for the remainder of the night. For a split second, I was disappointed the experience wouldn’t be authentically Memphis. It wouldn’t be exactly what I had planned and expected. I feared that, through their tailgating and $20-tallboy beers at the game, the night was at risk of being hijacked. I noted this fear to my best friend as a particularly rowdy trio walked by.
Then I realized it was authentic, maybe more so than if the Navy fans hadn’t showed up at all. Part of the charm of Memphis, and most cities for that matter, is being an outsider who is welcomed within the walls and invited to borrow a bit of magic for the duration of your stay. It’s what the Navy fans were doing, and it’s what I was doing.
Navy’s win over Cincinnati and the celebration that followed was a joy that, though it didn’t belong to me, was shared with me anyway. Similarly, the group I was with, which had been galvanized throughout the night, wasn’t mine. They, too, were brought to me through a pre-existing connection, lending me their excitement for my best friend’s roommate’s birthday. I couldn’t help but cheer hearing the DJ give them a birthday shoutout. I just had to clap and yell when quarterzipped Navy fans started a chant. The celebration passed through each person in Raiford’s like a contagion. Everyone dumped a few cups of excitement into the cauldron, and offered a taste to strangers who didn’t earn or initiate it.
As the Uber home was called, I sat at a small table across from the dance floor and allowed myself to be a fly on the wall for a moment. It occurred to me that in a few hours Raiford’s would once again be empty. My best friend and his roommate would be back at their house, and I would be on their couch. Navy fans would drift back to their hotels, the Peabody for some lucky ones, and leave the night behind. I would be featured, even if just a background character, in the memories of the various celebrations that took place in Raiford’s that night, granting me, a stranger, a level of permanence. Though I wasn’t a necessary piece to their excitement, I was surely welcome, and I wasn’t required to do anything but show up.
