Judy Channell

Port Gibson, Mississippi

I was way off the main drag, on a gravel road that was barely wide enough for two cars. At least that was what it appeared- – I hadn’t seen another vehicle for half an hour or so. I had just passed the huge cooling tower of a power plant when I came upon a sign announcing Hubcaps Pool Hall, and near that OPEN on the outside of a small building in front of a trailer. The area around it was strewn with car parts and various other junk.

I walked into the building, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the relative darkness of the interior. A woman behind the bar asked, “What can I get you?”

“Nothing, really,” I replied. I told her about my project and she agreed to let me photograph her.

We talked as I set up my gear. She said she used to be a dancer. And she told me she kind of inherited the bar when she and her ex split up.

“You know,” she said, “this is the only white bar in Port Gibson. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like we wouldn’t let a black guy in. In fact, there’s one from the plant that comes in once or twice a week. But he’s really the only one.”

“Huh,” I said. “Hey, do you have anyone who works here with you? Like a bouncer or anything?”

“No, it’s just me.”

“Because, I’ve got to say, you’re a pretty small woman and bars can get rowdy late at night. Has that ever been an issue for you?”

“Nah. See that over there?” She pointed to a baseball bat leaned against the wall behind the bar. “My ex was giving me some shit here one night and I took that upside his head. No one ever gave me trouble after that.”