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"I was living kind of high on the hog, knocking down $5,000 a week tax-free, driving Lincoln Town Cars," Green says.
Green's Florida police record shows a 1988 arrest for "keeping a house of ill fame." He pleaded guilty to the misdemeanor charge the next year and paid a $500 fine. Rodriguez and another partner became involved in a feud. Some of the clubs ended up being torched. To stay out of trouble, Green says, he bailed out of the sex business.
Today, James Green gets by on Social Security disability checks. He weighs between 250 and 300 pounds and has bad knees and a bad heart. He smokes too much and coughs after every few drags he takes off each cigarette. When he comes to Caruthersville, he stays at Pic's. Other than the gold ring, he displays no accoutrements of wealth. He dresses in sweatshirts and baggy pants. When he comes from Tampa, where he lives in a modest home with wife Linda, he doesn't fly; he drives his weathered pickup. Green says he's now developing a subdivision with a partner on land he bought years ago, when he was flush with fast cash. He's calling the place Green Estates.
But Green tends to speak more about the past than the future. When he does, his memory meanders like the Mississippi River, in whose delta he was born and raised. The river drifts and eddies and changes course, bending back on itself as an oxbow. In his mind, Green inhabits the lowlands, the muddied backwaters of history, where his story has remained hidden among the growing apocrypha surrounding the King assassination. It is only one man's story, however flawed -- not an official version but one told from the viewpoint of a thief. Though Green's account will never be sanctified as gospel, there are currents within it that run deep, currents that have never been fully explored.
South of Crowley's Ridge, where the Missouri landscape merges with the South, the cotton fields stretch to the horizon and it seems as if everything is laid out in straight lines and right angles. The swamps have been drained. An outsider can easily misunderstand the true nature of this place. And so it is, too, that Green's motives can be misconstrued to fit the preconceived notions of people who have never lived in a town laid out on the site of a former plantation.
Green was raised a Baptist, the same religion as King. He came of age in a white racist culture. Over the course of his lifetime, he has experienced dramatic social change. He can do nothing to stop those who are bent on mocking him. He claims only to be seeking redemption for himself and justice for the King family.
"I think the hardest thing for people to understand is the atmosphere you're raised in," Green says. "Hell, they'd stuff the ballot boxes. They used to hand out half-pints of whiskey and dollar bills at the polls to the blacks so they'd vote for a certain person. When a person is raised in that atmosphere, you kind of believe everything is right: If the grownups do it, and the politicians are doing it, and the government is doing it -- it must be right. I actually believed that. In a way, I thought, working for the government, I was making up for the wrong I did, [but] as you get older, you get wiser. Maybe what you did in your 20s and 30s, that you thought was the right thing to do, becomes something you're not too proud you done. I guess it's kind of like a drunk who drinks all his life and then all of a sudden quits drinking and becomes a fanatic against the drinking. "
After hearing a member of the King family plead for justice on television in the early 1990s, Green says he had his epiphany: "I felt the King family had a right to know the truth."
For Green, at least, the road to Memphis will always run through Caruthersville.
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