Darth Vader’s Birthplace

I learned a valuable lesson the day I made this photograph.

I’d accepted a commission to build a website filled with interesting locations throughout the eighteen counties with land in the Mississippi Delta. I rambled up and down the main highways and backroads of the region gathering photographs and visiting with the locals. I. had wonderful meals, saw amazing art, laughed a lot, and meandered into corners of the Delta I’d never before experienced.

Tate County is in this group of eighteen counties, and although most native-born Deltans scoff at the idea of this mostly hills-based county being considered “Delta”, the fact remains that a small portion of Tate County is made up of flatland.

I was asked to document the homes of a few well-known men who lived in the county. Dumas Malone, who won both a Pulitzer and a Presidential Medal of Freedom; Otha Turner, a famed bluesman steeped in the fife and drum tradition (and whose music drove the soundtrack for Martin Scorsese’s “Gangs of New York”); and James Earl Jones, beloved actor who will forever be remembered as the voice of Darth Vader.

Locating the locations of the first two were easy. These spots were well known and so I was given solid directions. Jones’ birthplace, however, was much harder to find.

I knew that he was born in Arkabutla, which is located just along the bluff that overlooks the flatness of the Delta. He didn’t live there long. By age five he was in Michigan where he lived with his grandparent’s who’d moved there from Mississippi during the Great Migration. Nevertheless, his life began in the hills of Tate County and I was fascinated by the prospect of finding the spot where Dart Vader was born.

I drove to Arkabutla. I stopped at a gas station. I asked if anyone knew where James Earl Jones was born. No one did, but someone advised me to find a man at a laundromat - I can’t remember his name - who was the unofficial town historian. I found this gentleman, but he was stumped. He sent me to his friend that was sitting in a swing under a large tree in the park across the street. No luck with specifics there either, but he did know that “He’s from somewhere that way down that highway”, and he pointed west. So I headed that direction.

About a mile outside of town I noticed a church just off the highway. Cars lined the grass outside, so I decided to stop and wait. Clearly people were inside, but I didn’t want to interrupt a service. The afternoon was waning, and though I can’t recall the exact time I suspect it was around 4:00 PM. It was probably a Wednesday, which is often a church night in the South, and therefore didn’t seem odd to me that a church service might be happening this early in the day and this early in the week. I waited for the service to end, hoping there may be someone that could help me.

About a half hour later a crowd began to exit. They were dressed impeccably. Two kind looking women approached a car near me, so I made my way to them, trying my best not to seem creepy or intimidating.

“Excuse me, ma’am. I’m sorry to interrupt. I’ve got an odd question to ask and I was hoping you might be able to help. Do either of you know happen to know where James Earl Jones was born?”

They didn’t know exactly where he was born, but they did know the general area. They would lead me there but first needed to tend to a few more things with the rest of the churchgoers. I’d stumbled upon a funeral, and the mourners were headed to the burial service just across the street. Again, I waited, standing well apart from the crowd but close enough to hear the minister. I felt underdressed and torn between a worry that I’d become a massive intruder to such an intimate gathering and this odd desire to complete my mission.

As the burial service ended, the two women gestured for me to follow them. We drove further west, closer to the end of the bluffs, and about two miles later turned off of the curvy two-lane highway onto an even curvier and narrower paved road. It was barely wide enough for my truck to navigate. After the first big turn a few small houses appeared, one painted bright yellow. They pulled into the drive, I followed, and they instructed me to come with them.

We walked to the front porch, and as we approached two large men emerged. The older woman briefed them on why I was there, and finally I received confirmation from one of the men.

“Yeah, I know where he was born. It’s right down there.” He pointed farther down the road. “Go to the end of this road. When it turns to a dirt road, keep going. Eventually that road will end as well. Keep going. You’ll see an opening in the trees. That’s where the house is.”

I followed his instructions. I passed a few more houses, then a few trailers, and then, just as he said, the paved road ended. The dirt road wasn’t very long - maybe a hundred yards - and I could see the tree opening from where the pavement ended. My heart was pounding.

As I entered the opening I immediately saw the home in the center. It seemed peaceful on this hill. The sun was setting. Trees circled the home. I pictured what this homestead may have looked like when James was born here. It seemed like a serene vision. Then I remembered why his grandparents left, and why he likely did as well. That image wasn’t so picturesque.

The structure was crumbling. I poked around but trying to enter was futile. There was no floor, and besides, the house was so small I could see the layout clearly from the outside. I made my photos then watched the sun go down. Just before darkness fully arrived I packed up and headed home.

I made my way back across the grassy field, then the dirt road, and finally the tight, windy paved road. I reached the main highway that would lead me back down into the hollow of the Delta. It was then that i noticed the street sign I’d missed earlier. “James Earl Jones Road”. I pulled out my phone and did a quick Google search. Sure enough, the road showed up.

I laughed as I realized I could have saved myself all that time and trouble if I’d just started with a logical formula - when searching for the home of a famous person, start with “Famous person’s name + Road”. Or drive. Or boulevard. Or whatever. It works for Elvis Presley. It works for Jon Lee Hooker. It works for Oprah Winfrey.

But what fun would that have been? All of those easy answer delivered from a computer in my hand. Requiring very little from me or anyone else that I might encounter. Faster? Sure. More efficient? Maybe. More informative? Not a chance.

I’ll likely never cross paths again with any of the folks that led me to this location that may or may not be the birth home of James Earl Jones. I can’t say with certainty that it is. And i can’t say with certainty that it isn’t. But I can say with certainty that of the more that 15,000 days Ive spent in this Mississippi Delta, this day continues to stand out as one of my favorites.