"He who denies his heritage has no heritage."
Mission statement in St. Jude Children's Research Hospital
I'd like to begin by expressing my thanks to John Duvall, Don Kartiganer, and Ann Abadie for inviting me back to this conference and my appreciation to the many people at Ole Miss, in Oxford, and beyond who made it possible for me to be here today. A special thanks as well goes to my colleague Jim Carothers, who encouraged me to come here for the first time when he presented a paper at the Faulkner and the Short Story Conference back in 1990 or 1991, threatening that it might be the last time he would attend. (Clever ruse!). At that conference, I began to dimly recognize the community of individuals--past, present, and to come--whose lives, achievements, and fellowship would come to mean much more to me than I was capable of understanding. I did not believe then, as I do now, in the primary significance of relationships to all that we know, feel, do, and hope for. I did not then understand how thoroughly I am formed through relationships. That primacy I am attributing to relationships is one assumption that underlies this paper, which is why my title resonates with the problematics of relationships, particularly within the family.
Alluding to Danny Thomas's 1950's TV show Make Room for Daddy, with its quirky suggestion that Daddy doesn't quite fit in, my title is aimed at challenging the commonsensical belief that Elvis and Faulkner have little or nothing in common. It is strange how commonalities appear, even when you are not looking for them. When I struck upon the title of this paper, for example, I did not realize that Elvis actually had an association with Danny Thomas. At the very least, Elvis Presley appeared with Danny Thomas in order to raise funds for St. Jude Children's Research Hospital, which Thomas founded in Memphis. Two days after I delivered this paper, at Graceland Too, Paul McLeod's Elvis museum and archive in Holly Springs, Mississippi, I saw an elegant black and white photo of Elvis with Danny Thomas. Calligraphically inscribed in the dome of the Danny Thomas/ALSAC (American Lebanese Syrian Associated Charities) Pavillion of the Hospital are three maxims, one of which I have taken as an epigraph to this paper: "He who denies his heritage has no heritage." In spite of their strikingly different cultural significance, Elvis and Faulkner share the problematic heritage of the American South.
The idea of pairing Faulkner and Elvis was not mine; rather, I fell upon it the last time I was in Oxford, in the summer of 95. I like to review the memorabilia I collected that summer, which has already begun to yellow. I spread it out across my bed and am reminded by my own motley collection of printed matter of the unprocessed contents of the boxes or "time capsules" stored in the archives of the Andy Warhol Museum in Pittsburgh. From time to time, Warhol just swept the stuff that he had accumulated into a cardboard box, labelling it with a date, and recognizing it as a kind of raw material history, similar to the capsules sent down during the Kennedy era into the recesses of the earth, for posterity. My collection of ephemera from the summer of Faulkner and Elvis begs for order and meaning -- whether through some orderly scrapbook process of selection and classification or through some wilder aesthetic effort at historical arrangement and interpretation.
I just fell into this. I was in Oxford to present a paper at the Faulkner Conference, but the Elvis Conference, which began the following week, began to seem more and more important to me. It was as if I had never before realized that Elvis was a southerner, born and raised no more than a hundred miles from Faulkner. As if I had never stopped to think that, when Elvis was born on January 8, 1935, Faulkner was only thirty-seven years old, or that when Faulkner passed away on July 6, 1962, Elvis was already twenty-seven. Simply processing the fact that these two figures had occupied the same world for twenty-seven of the same years was an imaginative challenge. Their purchase on that world had been so different, and they have come to stand for ways of feeling and being that seem impossibly distant from one another. It startled me with the reminder that time and place and culture are processes that people take part in, not fixed elements they inhabit together. I imagine Faulkner and Elvis as a Janus-faced couple, tied to one another yet each ineluctably facing the opposite direction.
My cats scratch and sniff at the detritus that constitutes my hasty record of that provocative time and place, sensually rubbing themselves or entirely flopping down upon Chamber of Commerce booster literature, newspaper clippings, lecture and conference announcements, posters, merchandise order-forms, and crumpled receipts. Plaster, our eleven-pound white male, settles heavily on "Faulkner in Cultural Context," the poster and conference program cover whose predictable format announced the 22d Annual Faulkner and Yoknapatawpha Conference, while his sister Paris, our eight-pound black female, paws at the cover of the ample yet elegant Elvis Conference programme. 1
Capaciously entitled ?"n Search of Elvis: Music, Race, Religion, Art, Performance," Ole Miss's First International Conference on Elvis Presley was stylishly presented; the artwork for the Elvis poster also appeared on the glossy cover of the 40-page program. Yet for all the classy swag, Oxford seemed less hospitable to the Elvis Conference than it was to the Faulkner Conference, which it had hosted for the twenty-second consecutive year. More comfortable with its affiliation with William Faulkner and his fictional town of Jefferson, Oxford felt awkward being asked to adopt Elvis, who--as if his distance from Faulkner could be measured in miles--was born a good fifty miles East of Oxford and grew up even further away, after the Presleys moved from East Tupelo to Memphis in 1948.
Natural as it was to present itself as the home of William Faulkner, it was apparently unsettling for some residents of Oxford to be called upon to accommodate the glitzy and widely noted Elvis Conference. Oxford had of course been disturbed before. It suffered a Yankee invasion during the Civil War, entertained the lynching of Nelse Patton right on the Square in 1908, and furnished principals and extras for the on-location shooting of Faulkner's Nobel Prize winning Intruder in the Dust in 1948. During the making of that film, embarassing as it may be to recall, special arrangements had to be made in order to lodge the cast and crew's people of color. Faulkner himself, when he hosted a party at Rowan Oak, deemed it necessary to exclude the film's main character, who might otherwise show up with his non-white local hosts. Ten years later, Oxford was even more disturbed when the efforts of James Meredith to attend Ole Miss provoked riots, National Guardsmen, and a curfew. Recollections of this period, which commenced a few months after Faulkner's death, are not frequently volunteered and, as far as I know, are little explored by Faulkner scholars. Quiet as it's kept, the erasure of this violently conflicted history from Oxford's self-presentation might be linked in a subtle way to the ambivalence with which Oxford and Ole Miss greeted the Elvis Conference.
After its second summer, the Conference was dispatched from Oxford and relocated in Memphis by conference founder and former Ole Miss faculty member Vernon Chadwick. Signs of ambivalence surfaced about a month before the conference, when Oxford's Mayor John Leslie vetoed the decision of the town board, which perennially supports the Faulkner Conference, to appropriate $7,000 to the Elvis Conference. Described as a "cultural war," the conflict was featured in a pun-ridden article published in the Boston Globe on July 4th. In the article, Oxford's back-to-back conferences were presented as though they were contestants in a poetry slam. Below a headline that read "Sound and Fury arising over Elvis at Ole Miss," two short columns of copy were topped by identically sized head shots of Faulkner and Elvis. Below the photo of Faulkner--haloed by books, gazing studiously downcast, and sporting a neat shirt and tie, the caption read: "Challenged in hometown." Above the caption""King' goes academic"was a late and cheesy photo of Elvis, his face as poofy as his hair and open shirtcollar, the background vacant, like his gaze and once impudent lip.
Interviewed for the Boston Globe article, Bill Ferris, founder and Director of the Center for Southern Studies, which sponsored the Elvis conference, and current Director of the National Endowment for the Humanities, described the controversy over the conference as "a feud between the landed gentry and the redneck arrivistes, the Compsons and the Snopeses," as silly as "a skit on 'saturday Night Live'." However, underneath the antics and bluster, this prominent native Mississippian perceived a more serious conflict rooted in longstanding structures of privilege connected with class and race.
|'Here you had a poor kid whose dream was to come to Ole Miss and play football,' he said, referring to Presley's boyhood days in nearby Tupelo. 'But he was from the working class and couldn't get in. Blacks were not allowed here back then, either. Faulkner came from the privileged, educated elite, and this was his school. There is a deep and enduring division between the powerful elite, whose literary canon is represented by Faulkner, and the working class and blacks whose values are represented by Elvis.'|
The Boston Globe did not pursue the history and life of this deep and enduring social divide, nor did it interrogate Ferris's arguable claim that Elvis represented both white working class and black values. Instead, the article focussed on the provocative yet previously unthought similarities between Faulkner and Elvis. Like the majority of other articles covering the Elvis Conference, this newspaper article recognized that, unlikely as it seemed, Faulkner and Elvis were related. The Globe piece noted that both Faulkner and Elvis wore outlandish clothing, had nicknames associated with royalty, went to Hollywood yet maintained a residence in the South, and inhabited large homes that became shrines after their deaths. More extended interrogations of this conceit have also been offered by academics such as Charles Reagan Wilson, Karal Ann Marling, and Joel Williamson.2 Elvis's biographer Peter Guralnick opens the first volume of his two-volume biography with an imaginary depiction of the famous 1950 meeting between Sam Phillips and Dewey Phillips at the Peabody Drugstore. Guralnick suggests -- who knows?-- that Faulkner, who always stayed at the Peabody when he visited Memphis, might have witnessed the very scene.3
The questions and challenges that arose from the powerful yet failed effort to bring Faulkner and Elvis together at an institutional level raises an impressively broad range of questions concerning cultural values and the social interests they serve. Linked, as Bill Ferris noted, to structures of privilege associated with class and race, the issues surrounding the poor local reception of the Elvis Conference are thoughtfully explored by Vernon Chadwick in his lively and theoretically sophisticated introduction to the published proceedings of the Conference. Chadwick's exploration of these issues may explain why many people respond with baffled amusement or disdain to any attempt to relate the lives and careers of Faulkner and Elvis. It is not, as my big brother inquired, that Elvis wrote anything that I could compare to Faulkner's writing, or that Faulkner sang or moved his body in any way I might compare to the inimitable style of Elvis.4 Rather, I would like to explore the southern heritage that Faulkner and Elvis share, as well as the points of difference that lead most people to see them as light years apart.
Interested for a long time in the indirect methods Faulkner employed to weave undeveloped topics into those that emerge in his work as prominent themes, I ultimately began to link Faulkner's methods of indirection to his everpresent yet superficial examination of African-American history and life, an examination that testifies, as I read it, to the profound impact that 20th-century Black migration had on relationships, identities, and culture in the South.5 Given my efforts to flesh out this underdeveloped thematic in Faulkner's writing, and to place it in historical and cultural context, it is a surprisingly short leap to Elvis, who was born into and shaped by the same historical environment. Rather than simply opposing the elite Faulkner to the working-class Elvis, or claiming that either figure in any way stands for African-American experience in the South, I would like to explore the ways in which each related to and deployed the racialized markers of southern identity, particularly as the meaning and value of these markers was renegotiated during the 50-odd-year-period (1915-60s) of mass Black migration. Racialized markers of deportment, for example, included the way a person dressed, held his or her body, walked, directed or averted his or her gaze, used terms of address, etc. Both Faulkner and Elvis revealed that what was Black and what White in southern culture, fixed as Jim Crow sought to make it, was particularly hard to delineate, and although both drew expectations, behaviors, practices, and styles from a shared fund of racialized signifiers, neither drew freely from this fund. Family history, as I will suggest, led them to adopt and relate to racialized markers of identity with different degrees of freedom and constraint. Faulkner frequently appeared in public wearing raggedy old jackets and trousers, for example, although such clothing was a marker of poverty and rural Blackness, yet he would never have dressed in the flashy brightly colored clothing Elvis bought on Beale Street, racial markers of urbanized African-American identity.
|one is not talking about tap, toe, or ballet: or ballroom or square-dancing, or 'round dancing,' which is what they call it in Mississippi when two people dance together; one is talking about 'buck' dancing which is one person dancing alone....Buck dancing--really good buck dancing--is done only by switching off your mind and allowing your body to take over; and stepping into the rhythm, rejoicing and jubiliating in the surrounding shower of notes and obeying the words of the song."17|
The sort of physical excess represented by her dancing is frequently connected to Gladys's much remarked nervousness and to its legacy in the signature moves of Elvis. I mentioned earlier that after Gladys's father died and the family had to disperse, Gladys, reputedly a habitual worrier, was overcome by her worries and fears. Whenever she tried to leave the house, her legs shook uncontrollably. Slowly, she managed to dissipate this nervous energy by participating in the emotionally expressive Holy Roller church meetings and by securing a job at a garment factory in Tupelo.18 Remaining active in the church after she married and started a family, Gladys retained her foothold in this expressive culture, performing with Vernon and Elvis as a gospel trio. Yet when Vernon returned from Parchman Farm, Gladys's heightened nervousness spilled over, and all three members of the Presley family experienced "action" nightmares and sleepwalking. Elvis inherited this nervous physical exuberance which, in adolescence, emerged in periodic involuntary shakes as well as in the habitual expression of emotional energy in movement and song.
By 1947, when Vernon took a factory job in Memphis, the Presleys managed to buy a radio, and by the time Elvis appeared on The Milton Berle Show in 1956, his parents owned a television as well, and his mother and paternal grandmother Minnie Mae were already fans of Uncle Miltie.19 By that time, Elvis had already been transmogrified, as Faulkner might have said, to another world, living on the road, onstage, and in recording studios. Although Elvis weathered the transition to Hollywood, his celebrity seems to have literally worried his mother Gladys to death. Elvis and Vernon (and even J.D.) lived into the 1970s, yet I suspect that they all suffered from what Vernon expressed as a "constant fear that something...would befall them, and that one day [they] would find themselves back in Tupelo." 20
The flood of mass cultural modes of production and transmission represented an opportunity for the Presleys to get out of "Tupelo," yet it was greeted by many, including Faulkner, with discomfort, resistance, and even outrage. Whether it was the production of readymade clothing or to the construction of urban and suburban environments, Faulkner expressed his opposition to new forms and sung the praises of the old. Ready made clothing, for example, like the new modes of mass electronic transmission, especially radio, erased markers that formerly indicated class and racial status. In the past, ill-fitting garments were distinctions of lower-class and often racial status, while properly fit clothing had been a clear sign of upper-class status. To reinforce a distinction that mass production was threatening to erase in the arena of clothing, by making everyone poorly fit, Faulkner began ordering tailor-made clothing and fitted footwear. Descriptions in Faulkner's writings aimed at marking the lower-class status of whites often emphasize the visible folds that revealed a garment as mass-produced and recently store-bought. In the case of Black characters, as the laborious description of Dilsey's body in The Sound and the Fury illustrates, the marker of race is not yet mass-produced clothing but rather the adaptively reused garments and shoes of white folks.
While Faulkner spent much of his energy laboring to maintain racialized distinctions that established his Whiteness, people like Dewey Phillips and Elvis Presley deliberately adopted signifiers of racial identity that suggested Blackness. Dewey Phillips, whose WHBQ radio show, broadcast from the Gayoso Hotel, played exclusively Black music for an almost exclusively Black audience, was frequently described as "transracial." 21 According to Sam Phillips, producer of Sun Records, who first met Elvis in 1953, when he was looking for a White man who sounded Black, even Elvis's bearing was cross-racially marked: "He tried not to show it, but he felt so inferior. He reminded me of a black man in that way; his insecurity was so markedly like that of a black person."22
Although the number of households owning televisions went from 8,000 in 1946 to 3.9 million in 1950 and over 47 million in 1960, Faulkner remained a vocal opponent of these emergent forms, demonstrating a stubborn and perhaps characteristic refusal, for a white southern man of his generation and station, to listen, to absorb or deal with material conditions emerging in the present. As late as 1950
|there was still no radio [at Rowan Oak], and [Faulkner's daughter] Jill could hear programs only at Miss Maud's house or the homes of friends. One day Bill Fielden [Faulkner's stepdaughter Victoria Franklin's husband] said, 'Pappy, if you don't let Jill have her fun at home, she'll go outside her home for it.' And so Faulkner consented to Bill's giving her a phonograph, though she could not play it when her father was at home.23|
As little as is published about Faulkner's relationship with his daughter Jill, who presently resides in Virginia and rarely returns to Oxford, it seems that Faulkner imposed his cultural values and practices, or at least those that were gender-appropriate, on her. While he shared literary favorites, horseback riding, and sailing with her, and even asked his daughter to type his manuscripts, he was unwilling to tolerate her interest in a changing cultural environment that included the pervasive sounds of radio and popular music.
Around the time Elvis was born, Faulkner's music- and dance-loving wife Estelle expressed her unhappiness with her husband's strictly regulated cultural habits and tastes in a parodic poem she sent to her sister:
While he in dignity sits alone,
Aghast at the sound of e'en a trombone.
And whiles his joyless hours away
Reading a book--or maybe a play
That very few people save he--understand--
This breathing soul is my own hus-band!24
Expressing himself with equal mean-spiritedness, Faulkner took out the well-known 1936 ad in the Oxford Eagle refusing to pay any debts incurred by Estelle. In a letter he wrote to his lover Meta Carpenter, he complained that among Estelle's unreasonable purchases on credit had been a radio, which he "had expressly forbidden to be brought into the house."25 Outside his own house, Faulkner also objected to radios. Blotner notes that Faulkner's "irascibility [in 1946] extended to all kinds of sensory intrusion." In particular, Faulkner was disturbed by the entry of popular music into public space. Aubrey Seay, owner of Oxford's Mansion restaurant, "had [in the late 1940s] already begun the practice of unplugging the gaudy jukebox whenever Faulkner entered." After having asked Aston Holley, pharmacist of the Gathright-Reed drugstore, to turn off the radio, Faulkner complained that "it just looks like all the people of this world must have a lot of noise around them to keep them from thinking about things they should remember."26 Disapproving of radio as mere noise that distracted people from more important thinking, Faulkner expressed his position in the continual struggle involved in the establishment of cultural values and in the uses of cultural space, the determination of what belongs in public and what does not, of what is worthy of attention, concern, and even study, and what is decidedly not. In the segregated South, this vigilant protection of the racialized dimension of public space would have to have been troubled by a new cultural form that evaded the old rules and regulations for maintaining, among others, racial and class distinctions.
Faulkner's allergy to the media in which Elvis worked, not only radio but also television and film, emphasizes the limits of his insights into the material conditions of his own time and place. Perhaps anyone intent on elaborating his thoughts and deeds and achieving individual goals must reject a great deal of life as distracting and extraneous. Yet as a twentieth-century reader, I feel obliged to struggle against the powerful undertow of Faulkner's boundaries, particularly after World War II, to gain a broader view of the range of material from which he carved his work. To see his work accurately requires that we consider not only by what he saw, felt, and articulated, but also what he rejected and left out. However distracting the ubiquity of electronic sounds (and sights) that Faulkner wished to obliterate, it is clear that these dimensions of experience, as much as Black migration and the racialization of American life, needed to be reckoned with and were intricately woven into the fabric of people's lives.
Although it can be argued that the Presleys were early sacrifices to postmodernity, I would argue that their particular family history contributed to the manner in which they faced the opportunities and challenges of their lives. Like the Falkners and William Faulkner, Elvis brought a reservoir of nervous energy to particular cultural practices associated with particular cultural values. In spite of the gulf that separated them and their publics, each expressed the exhilirating yet desperate experience of change during the breathtakingly rapid shifts of twentieth century life. If Elvis and his kin can be recognized, as I have suggested, in the variety of Faulkner's characters seeking to rectify generations of frustration, upheaval, disappointment, and loss, Faulkner and his kin can also be recognized in the nervous and uncontrollable vocalizations of Elvis Presley. All Shook Up, to take just one example, registers the nervous delight and hysteria of political economic shifts that divest people suddenly of themselves and that leave them grasping at emergent culture, out of defiantly vicious refusal or desperately needy attachment. As you read the following lyrics, you should accompany your reading with the recorded music, readily available on the Internet 27 :
I can't seem to stand on my own two feet
What do you think when you have such luck
I'm in love, I'm all shook up
Mmmmhmmmmhmmm, oooh, yeahyeahyeah
Well please don't ask me what's ah on my mind
I'm a little mixed up but I'm feeling fine
My tongue gets tired when I try to speak
My insides shake like a leaf on a tree
There's only one cure for this body of mine
I'm in love, unh, I'm all shook up
Mmmmhmmmhmmm, oooh, yeahyeahyeah
Mmmmhmmmhmmm, oooh, yeahyeah
I'm all shook up
That feeling of disequilibrium, transmitted as nervous energy and channeled into cultural expectations, practices, and milieux appropriate to the multiple positions occupied by particular subjects is what, in the end, I found most similar in Faulkner and Elvis. White southern sons, an eldest and an only, powerfully attached to their families of origin and to the generations of struggle bequeathed to them, these two men were compelled to enter their family legacies as redeemers. However desperate the task of redemption, each man was propelled by the withdrawal of his father and the insistence of his mother. Race and racial markers could never have meant the same thing to them, for Faulkner's family owned slaves, and kept them in the family for generations, like heirlooms. Faulkner's famous great-grandfather had children with his Black slavewoman Emmeline, fathering a family that did not stand as equals beside his white offspring as his heirs. After slavery, Faulkner's family retained Black servants to work in their households and on their farms, to drive their buggies and their cars. From his family, Faulkner inherited the necessity of constantly establishing, maintaining, and enforcing the distinction between himself and his white family from the Blacks who served them. To imitate the signs of Black identity, as Elvis did, required distance from a legacy that demanded, as did Faulkner's, a more constant and vigilant performance of Whiteness. For Elvis, however, a legacy of dispossession bequeathed to him the need to constantly perform, to assert himself as something rather than nothing, to exhaust himself in the performance of an inexhaustible repertoire of musical material. A "little mixed up," as the song lyrics understatedly suggest, by the burdens of these legacies -- and all shook up by social, cultural, familial, and geographic upheaval -- Faulkner and Elvis testified to the nervous economies, more fundamental than the racialized channels through which they were published or broadcast, that moved each to his own inimitable beat.
|1. Rereading this today, having forgotten that Plaster and Paris have figured in all versions of this paper, including the one I first gave at the MLA in December 1997 in a panel marking the centenary of Faulkner's birth, I am taken aback. Our elegant Paris died in an accident on January 20, leaving her brother Plaster will all the trouble of looking after us.
2. See Karal Ann Marling, Graceland: Going Home with Elvis (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1996), Charles Reagan Wilson, Judgment & Grace in Dixie: Southern Faiths from Faulkner to Elvis (Athens, Ga.: University of Georgia Press, 1995), and Joel Williamson, "Elvis, Faulkner, and Feminine Spirituality," unpublished paper delivered at the 2d Elvis conference "Elvis and the Sacred South" in August 1996.
3. Peter Guralnick, Last Train to Memphis: The Rise of Elvis Presley (Boston: Little, Brown, 1994), 3-4. The second volume of the biography is Careless Love: The Unmaking of Elvis Presley (Boston: Little, Brown, 1999).
4. I should note, however, that Mrs. Patricia Brown's compared Mr. Bill's singing voice to Willie Nelson's! (26th Annual Faulkner Conference, 1999).
5. On Faulkner's indirect methods of exposition see my "From Place to Place in The Sound and the Fury: The Syntax of Interrogation," Modern Fiction Studies 34.2 (1988): 141-156. On the indirect treatment of Black migration in Faulkner's writings, see my article "Migration (African American)," in A William Faulkner Encyclopedia, ed. by Chuck Peek and Robert Hamblin (Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood Press, 1999), 158-161; "Racial Awareness and Arrested Development: The Sound and the Fury and the First Great Migration (1915-28)," The Cambridge Companion to William Faulkner, ed. by Philip Weinstein (Cambridge University Press, 1994), 123-145; and "If I Forget Thee, Jerusalem and the Great Migration: History in Black and White," in Faulkner in Cultural Context: Proceedings of the 22nd Annual Yoknapatawpha Conference, ed. by Ann Abadie and Donald Kartiganer. (University of Mississippi Press, 1997), 191-227.
6. See Joseph Blotner, Faulkner: A Biography (NY: Random House, 1974) and Joseph Blotner, Faulkner: A Biography. One-Volume Edition. 1984 (Random House, 1991), 8.
7. Elaine Dundy, Elvis and Gladys (NY: Macmillan, 1985).
8. See Joel Williamson, William Faulkner and Southern History (NY: Oxford UP, 1993), especially 22-29 and 64-72.
9. George Lipsitz has analyzed this in reference to the post-World War II era. See Class and Culture in Cold War America: A Rainbow at Midnight (South Hadley, MA.: Bergin and Garvey, 1982) and Time Passages: Collective Memory and American Popular Culture (Minneapolis: U of Minnesota P, 1990), 99-132.
10. See William Barlow, "Cashing In (1900-1939)" and "Commercial and Noncommercial Radio," in Jannette L. Dates and William Barlow, Split Image: African Americans in the Mass Media (Washington, D.C.: Howard UP, 1990), 25-56 and 175-252. See also William Howland Kenney, Recorded Music in American Life: The Phonograph and Popular Memory, 1890-1945 (Oxford UP, 1999), 109-134.
11. To read further on this notion of culture not as a uniform environment or milieu but as a living process involving the struggle -- inequitable because of the assymmetrical distribution of power -- of past, present, and future (residual, dominant, and emergent) institutions, traditions, formations, etc., see Raymond Williams, Marxism and Literature (Oxford UP, 1977), 121-127.
12. Mary Beth Norton et al., A People and a Nation: A History of the United States, 5th Edition (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1998), 639.
13. Norton et al., A People, 698. See also Barlow, "Commercial and Noncommercial Radio," in Split Image, 175-252.
14. Guralnick, Last Train to Memphis, 20-21.
15. Guralnick, Last Train to Memphis, 39. On the establishment of black radio stations in the North, see Barlow.
16. Guralnick, Last Train to Memphis, 6.
17. Dundy, 39.
18. Dundy, 45.
19. Guralnick, Last Train to Memphis, 264.
20. Guralnick, Careless Love, 191.
21. Guralnick, Last Train to Memphis, 4, 6.
22. Guralnick, Last Train to Memphis, 43.
23. Cited in Blotner, Faulkner: A Biography. One-Volume Edition, 506.
24. Blotner, 359.
25. Blotner, 372.
26. Blotner, 476.
27. To listen to recordings of "All Shook Up," you can go, for example, to http://www.lyrics.com.