Sometimes a faded photograph, battered postcard, or yellowed newspaper clipping can reveal the most amazing stories. Case in point: a folder I stumbled across one day in the Memphis Room at the main library labeled “Clay Eaters.” Thinking this might be the name of a defunct rock-and-roll band (and admit it: It would make a good name), I found the folder contained a single newspaper article about one of the strangest episodes in our city’s history.
Back in 1934, it seems residents south of DeSoto Park noticed that a portion of the riverbluff near Wisconsin Street was slowly but surely disappearing. Police set up a stillwatch to nab anyone hauling dirt away from city property, but what the cops discovered was something they weren’t expecting.
People were creeping up to the bluff at night and — EATING IT.
The Commercial Appeal reported that men, women, and children were chewing away at the banks “like so many cheese hills” and had already removed more than a ton of clay and dirt.
