Cock of the Walk

While sipping sweet tea out of my little silver tin cup, I began reading the short bits of information on the walls and brown-paper-bag type menu of my favorite catfish spot, Cock Of The Walk. These folks have perfected the art of frying the infamous bottom-feeders, one of the loves of any real Mississippian's lives, and they serve it up with hush puppies, fries, cole slaw, greens, marinated onions, and cornbread that has, prior to being served, been the star of a table-side show put on by your server. Your server is decked out in garb reminiscent and reflective of this information that, once you notice it, seems to cover the wooden half of the partly glass walls of the joint, which look out onto the moving water of the reservoir. Mike Fink is a name that's printed on many of these wooden signs filled with quotes and tidbits and factoids, and the one that first caught my eye says, Fink liked to say he was, "half horse and half alligator, with a fire-eating devil thrown in." Wow! Those are mighty big words from an awfully self-confident man, so I decided to do a little investigating and see where this information takes me, and it has taken me all the way to the Natchez Trace. Men like Mike Fink made their livings by moving merchandise up and down the MS and Pearl rivers (among others, like the TN) and the only ground route North out of MS to Nashville, TN, and beyond, was the Natchez Trace. The Trace got its start as a path made from bison travelling North to Nashville to find salt licks in the area. The Native Americans, specifically the Cherokee, Choctaw, and Chickasaw, broadened the path by using it extensively and introduced it to the Europeans who began to trickle in. At that point it was simply a path, and in 1801 the US Armed Forces claimed it for a postal route and major work began on the Trace to prepare it as a main artery for travel. By 1809, the trail was finally fully functioning and navigable by wagon. Thus began much of Mississippi history, from Washington, MS's first capital, "old Greenville," which was made famous by Andrew Jackson, Natchez, and Port Gibson. Men poured into the area motivated by personal desires, each and every one looking to gain something from this new opportunity, and many of these men were tough when they got there, but maybe not as tough as they thought. The vast majority of the hopeful men who came to work the rivers left defeated or in a pine box. The Trace and the rivers I referred to held hands in many respects, for they were used by the same people much of the time. The keelboatmen, like Mike Fink, who were running merchandise up the rivers, were dangerous men, known for their hard-drinking and trigger-happy lifestyles, as they had to fight continuously for their lives and livelihoods, and the baddest of them all was known as the Cock of the Walk. He wore a red turkey feather in his hat, and was respected as the leader, and to buck the system meant not returning home. Many of these men who worked the rivers would take their goods to "Natchez Under-the-Hill," (as opposed to the real city of Natchez atop the river bluff) which was where the MS river boats docked, and get their pockets stuffed with cash, which they promptly spent at the many brothels, bars, and gambling halls that lined the streets. It was the same on the Trace as it was in the old West, the killing and drinking and debauchery, though you never hear of it or see movies with ole Mike Fink, Cock of the Walk, portrayed by Clint Eastwood or John Wayne. Of course, the missionaries came, hoping to save these men of sin, and they became large in number, converting anyone who'd listen, including the Native Americans. Large gangs began to run operations outside the cities along the Trace, forming the country's first real organized crime rings. But the Natchez Trace was short-lived because of the popularity and modern improvements in water-bound trade and travel, and in 1830 the Trace was officially abandoned as a road. Now we as Mississippians know it as the Natchez Trace Parkway, 444 miles of modern road that follows a close approximation of the original route, parts of which are still accessible. So as I washed down the last of my tarter sauce-dipped fish with my sweet tea and got ready to leave, I pictured my waiter, a young guy of about 20, with the rest of the vast majority of dejected, disappointed men who failed in their quest for money and notoriety, heads bowed, travelling back up the Trace towards home. I imagined them trying to make sense of it all, and trying to figure out how to explain their failure to their wives and families when they finally saw them, as they attempted to avoid bandits and danger on their return travel, eventually telling their grandchildren about Mike Fink, and how he could "out-run, out-jump, out-shoot, out-brag, out-drink, and out-fight, rough and tumble, no holds barred, any man on both sides of any river, down and back again."