by Matt Hanks
ello, my name
is Elvis, and I'll be your server this evening."
Presley-impersonator Joe Kent is working the crowd at the Western Steakhouse and Lounge. It's a frequent Saturday-night gig for him, and he knows that line always delivers the laughs. The Western provides a modest setting for Kent's act; no stage, no band, just a narrow corner of the restaurant, a karaoke machine, and enough "sizzlin' steer and beer" -- as a sign on the wall behind him reads -- to clog the arteries of a major metropolitan infrastructure.
Still,
for Kent and other Elvis disciples the world over, the Western is hallowed
ground. There was a time when the King himself frequented this establishment.
He never served a steak, but he ate plenty of them.
For nearly 40 years, the Western has been one of Memphis' most cherished country-music landmarks. In the '60s and '70s, it was a safehouse for some of the genre's biggest names, where not just Elvis but Johnny Cash, Webb Pierce, Charlie Pride, and a host of others would come to escape their celebrity and enjoy a tender steak, or a stiff drink.
These days, the Western still packs 'em in, but restaurant proprietors T. Tommy and "Mama" Lil Thomsen are "getting on up in age," as she puts it. Lil used to juggle cooking, waitressing, and cleaning duties at the Western, but she admits, "I do good just to take care of T. Tommy now. He requires more attention than I'm able to give him, and I don't like that. It's just time that both of us retire."
Lil and T. Tommy are all too aware of this city's penchant for neglecting (or, in many cases, destroying) its musical landmarks. So they've come up with a way to absolve themselves of the Western and ensure that it continues on well into the new millennium. They're holding a contest. For a token fee of $100, anyone who cares to can submit an essay explaining why he or she would be an ideal heir to the Western Steakhouse legacy. The best essay will be chosen and the keys to the building will be turned over to the lucky winner. How's that for a bargain?
Here's the specifics. The contest is open to anyone of legal majority. Essays are to be no more than 250 words, and are due on or before April 25, 1997. Lil, T. Tommy, and other senior members of the Western Steakhouse staff will read all the essays and choose the 25 best entries. They will then turn those entries over to former Memphis mayor Wyeth Chandler and Millington businessman Babe Howard, the finalist judges who will choose a winner and two runners-up from the pool of 25. The names of these three entrants will be announced in May. The contest winner (or subsequent runner{s} up) must take possession of the Western Steakhouse within 30 days of notification. The transfer of property will include the restaurant and the apartment units located above it in the same building. The business and property is completely debt-free, and no taxes or mortgages will be levied against the new owner. Again, what a bargain! An official list of contest rules and instructions can be obtained from the Western Steakhouse, 1298 Madison Avenue.
Of course, the contest winner will acquire more than a building. He or she will inherit a family of employees and customers that spans generations, a rich historical legacy, and a coffer of really cool stuff. "We'll walk outta here [leaving the restaurant] the way you see it," Lil promises. "I'm leavin' everything behind, except for Elvis' guitar and that [autographed] picture of him hangin' above the jukebox."
The "everything" of which Lil speaks is no mere bric-a-brac. The decor at the Western has taken 40 years to accumulate. As much as the friendly service or the famous clientele, it's what gives the place its character. Longtime Western employee Shirley Evans boasts, "It's like a mini-museum in here" -- an ever-expanding exhibit where the spectacle of celebrity and the eccentricities of the everyday intersect.
Amid the hundreds of autographed publicity photos and framed newspaper clippings, there are some wonderfully strange items, each one of them the figurehead for some legendary tale. Above the doorway, there's a (presumably dormant) hornets' nest the size of a beach ball. A few feet over, a urinal hangs from the ceiling. Move to the next wall and you'll find an enlarged photo of Lil standing in the Western with her horse Diamond (she brought it in one day as a promotion for a show they were putting on), followed by a succession of taxidermied deer heads. At the bar, a metal armadillo made from old car bumpers sits atop a display case filled with racks of raw steaks. Adorning the back wall of the restaurant, there's a cowboy-motif mural painted by another loyal Western Steakhouse patron, professional wrestler and Andy Kaufman's arch-nemesis, Jerry Lawler.
And then, there's the most popular seat in the house -- Elvis' favorite booth. Lil recalls that "he'd come in here with his entourage -- bodyguards and everything -- after closin' time. He'd always wear sunshades and some kinda big ol' hat. He'd sit back there in his booth, with his back to the rest [of the restaurant]." And when Elvis asked for the usual? "The 16-ounce rib-eye, that was his favorite."
Lil continues, "Now we never charged him [for his meals]. That was just something special we'd do, you know, for Elvis. So, one night he ate his steak and then he said to T. Tommy, `How much do I owe you?' T. Tommy said, `Elvis, you know you don't owe me a damn thing.' Elvis went on home and 20 minutes later the phone rings. T. Tommy picked it up and it was Elvis on the line. He said, `Tell Mama Lil to go back and look in the telephone book.' I didn't think anything about it at the time, but finally I got around to lookin' in the phone book. He'd left me $500."
If you're inclined to listen, Lil can spin Elvis anecdotes like that one for hours. As she sits folding the red-and-white checkered bibs that come with every steak, she recalls another night when the Western held an Elvis look-alike talent show, a forerunner to the Elvis impersonator contests that have proliferated since the King's demise. "Elvis came in, and entered the contest, sort-of in disguise. I guess the disguise worked 'cause he came in third place."
A sign now hangs above Elvis' booth commemorating its place in carnivorous history (in the men's bathroom stall there's another sign that reads, "This was Elvis' second-favorite booth"). The seat cushions in the booth have lost some of their springs, and they've been rendered lumpy and uncomfortable from all the ass-traffic over the years. But Elvis' booth is still the Western's signature attraction, with reservations sometimes booked solid for days in advance.
Trying to take in all the sights and stories at the Western, to say nothing of taking possession of them, is enough to make your head spin. But Lil and Shirley plan to stay on for a little while after the contest to help acclimate the new owner. Shirley explains, "Everything in here -- including the customers -- has been here for many, many years. We'd like to introduce [the new owner] to all of them."
"Everybody has their own ideas [about how to run the restaurant]," says Lil, "but I'd like the new owner to keep it like it is, and I'd like 'em to keep Elvis in mind. I'll keep an eye on 'em, because I'll [still] probably come down here and eat a lot." Lil has spent a lifetime in this business, and by her own admission, "That's about all I know to do,"
Lil and T. Tommy opened the Western Steakhouse in 1958, and they both brought plenty of experience to the venture. "I been in this business since I was 18 years old, honey," says Lil. "The first place I ever worked at was an open-air beer garden. [When I was] 19 years old I started drivin' a big long Cadillac. Everybody thought I was hustlin'. They couldn't understand why this little country gal from Ripley, Tennessee, was drivin' such a nice car. I was workin' seven days a week, that's why. I was makin' about $125 a night, and that was a lot of money in those days. These people that owned the beer garden, they just kinda took me under their wing, like I took Shirley. They was like my mom and dad. I really had a good life with them."
With a taste for this good life, and a strong work ethic to match, Lil opened her own club in 1952. The 81 Club was located at 81 N. Second Street, and played host to the burgeoning country and rockabilly music of the day. "Elvis used to come in [the 81 Club] all the time, too," says Lil. "Back then he was just a little ol' boy, just a bug in a rug."
The 81 club was also where Lil first met T. Tommy. After a stint in the Navy, T. Tommy turned his eye to the music business, and by the early '50s, he had become one of the city's key country-concert promoters. He would often book shows at the 81 Club, and soon enough he struck up a relationship with his future bride. "He was a great P.R. man," recalls Lil. "He just knew everybody, and he charmed me right away."
Lil and T. Tommy have shared a charmed life together ever since, and it's not easy for them to let go of their life's work. Lil confides, "I don't know how I'm gonna handle it when it gets time to go. It isn't a day goes by I don't have a good cry about it. But we gotta go and let somebody else enjoy [the restaurant]. I hope they enjoy it as much as I have."
As she escorts me to the door, Lil stops to show me one last thing. It's a photo of her that was taken around the time the Western opened. Wearing a tasseled silk shirt and Stetson hat, she looks like the consummate honky-tonk angel. Lil sighs and then laughs a little. "Time changes everything, don't it?" she asks.
Everything but the Western Steakhouse and Lounge, ma'am.