Demystifying the Myth of Robert Johnson selling his soul to
the Devil
at the
Crossroads
Enter:
Isaiah
"Ike"
Zimmerman
(April
27,
1907
– August
3,
1967)
was
an
American
Blues
guitarist,
who
is
now
known
to have
been
musician
Robert
Johnson's
main
guitar
teacher.
Zimmermanwas
born
in
Grady,
Alabama.
He married
Ruth
Sellers
in the
late 1920s,
and
lived
with her
and
their
children
near
Beauregard,
Mississippi.
He
played
guitar
and harmonica
in local
juke
joints,
often
practicing
at
night
in local
cemeteries
where
he
would
not
disturb
others.
He
became
known
for his
guitar
skills,
and
gave
guitar
lessons.
Robert
Johnson,
who
had
been
born
in nearby
Hazlehurst,
came
back
to
the
area,
probably
around
1931,
and
sought
out
Zimmerman
with
the intention
of
improving
his
fingerpicking
and
bottleneck
guitar
skills.
According
to
one
of
Zimmerman's
daughters:
(interviewed by blues researcher Bruce Conforth) |
“Robert, he fitted in our family, and he had to be nice, because my daddy was a strong man and ...a good man, my daddy was, and so he wouldn’t have taken up no time with someone who wasn’t a good person. That’s the reason that I believe that he [Ike] took Robert under his arm. And so he was just like a family member.... He came there and lived in our house. But he met my daddy in Itta Bena, Mississippi. That’s where they first met… up in Its juke joints and stuff.... Robert Johnson asked my daddy to teach him how to play guitar…and my daddy taught him. He lived there with my daddy. He stayed a long time (because) he was staying to learn how to play the guitar… It seemed like to me he just took him for his family ‘cause… for a long time I thought he was related... And they was going at that guitar like some… I told my son "I can remember hearing that music". 'Cause it sounded just so good just like they was competing, he was teaching him then moved to California around 1960, and died in Compton, Los Angeles, from a heart attack in 1967, aged 60. As told by the late blues great Eddie ‘Son’ House Jr., (who also claimed to have been Johnson’s musical mentor) as a teenager Johnson seemed desperate to find a spot in the blues world:“ He (Johnson) used to play harmonica when he was ‘round fifteen, sixteen years old.
He could blow
harmonica
pretty
good.
Everybody
liked
it. But
he
just
got
the idea
that
he
wanted
to play
guitar…
He
used
to
sit
down
between
me and
Willie
(Brown).
See,
Willie
was
my commenter,
you
know,
he’d
second
all
the
time,
he’d
never
lead, I’d
do
the lead.
And
we’d
be
sitting
about
this
distance
apart,
and
(Robert)
would
come
and
sit
right
on the
floor
with
his legs
up
like
that,
between
us.
“So
when
we’d
get to
a
rest
period
or
something,
we’d
set
the guitars
up and
go out
– it
would
be
hot
in the
summertime,
so
we’d
go
out
and
get
in
the
cool
and
cool
off
some.
While
we’re
out,
Robert,
he’d
get
the
guitar
and
go
bamming
with
it,
you
know?
Just
keeping
noise,
and
the
people
didn’t
like
that.
They’d
come
out
and
they’d
tell
us,
‘Why
don’t
you
or
Willie
or
one
go
in there
and
stop
that
boy?
He’s
driving
everybody
nuts’
…
I’d
say,
‘Just
leave
the guitars
alone…
(but)
we
couldn’t
break
him
from
it,
and
his
father
would
get
at
him,
dogged
him
so much
that
he
run
away.
Herein
lies
the
beginning
of
his
mythic,
almost
supernatural
reputation,
for
where
Johnson
went
during
his
absence
from
the
Delta
was
unknown
to its
community.
His
return,
18-24
months
later,
however,
proved
to
be
one
of
the
most
dramatic,
and
retold,
moments
in blues
history.
It
was
the ultimate
fodder
for the
development
of
his
Devil
pact legend;
the
final
piece
of
“evidence”
that many
within the
southern
African-American
community
would
take
as
proof
positive
of
his
evil
deep,
and of the
nature
of
the blues
as
“the
Devil’s
music.”
As
Son
House
recalled
this momentous
event:
“Me
and
Willie,
we
was
playing
out
at a little
place
called
Banks,
Mississippi.
I
looked
and
I saw
somebody
squeezing
in the
front
door,
and I
seed
it
was
Robert.
I said
‘Bill,
Bill.’
He
said,
‘Huh.’
I
said, ‘Look
who’s
coming
in the
door,
got
a guitar on
his
back.’
He
said,
‘Yeah,
no
kidding.’
He
said,
‘Oh,
that’s
little
Robert.’
I
said,
‘Yeah,
that’s
him.’
I
said,
‘Don’t
say
nothing.
And
he
wiggled
his way through
the
crowd,
until
he got
over
to
where
we was.
I said,
‘Boy,
now
where
you
going
with
that thing?
To annoy
somebody
else
to
death
again?’
He
say,
‘I’ll tell
you
what,
too.
‘He
say,
‘This
your
rest
time?
’I
say,
‘Well,
we
can
make
it our
rest
time.
What
you
want
to
do,
annoy
the
folks?
’He
say,
‘No, just
let
me –
give me
a
try.’
So I said,
‘All
right,
and
you
better
do
something
with
it,
too,’
and
I
winked
my eye
at
Willie.
So,
he
sat down
there
and
finally
got
started.
And man!
He
was
so
good!
When
he
finished
all our
mouths
were
standing
open.
I
said, ‘Well,
ain’t
that
fast!
He’s
gone
now!’
This amazing
transformation
of
an
individual
who
was
known
as,
at
best,
a mediocre
musician
into
one
who
could
make
people’s
mouths
drop
open easily
allowed
Southern
superstition
to
take possession
of
the
Johnson
legend,
much
as
they
accused
the
Devil
of
taking
possession
of
Johnson’s
soul
The
tradition
of
making
a pact
at
the
crossroads
in
order
to
attain
supernatural
prowess
is
neither
a
creation
of the
Afro-American
nor
an
invention
of
blues
lore,
but originated
in
Africa
and
is
a
ritual
of Voodoo
worship.
Once
the
belief
made
its
way into
the
African-American
community,
however,
the
idea
of
selling
one’s
soul
to
the Devil
became
a
common
theme in
folk
narratives
and
music.
Fortunately,
a recent
chance
encounter
between
the
grandsons
of both
Johnson
and Zimmerman
made
possible
an
interview
with
one
of
Zimmerman’s
daughters
and grandson.
This
opportunity
opened
the
door
to
a
70+
year old
mystery
and
provides
important
new data
about
the
life,
and
“missing”
years
of Robert
Johnson.
Equally,
if not more
important,
is the fact
that
it finally
provides
the
introduction
of
Ike
Zimmerman
to
blues
aficionados
and music
scholars
alike.
Doing
the
research
for
this
article
has
been
a fascinating
journey.
Once
the
door
is
open,
the
flood
begins.
I tried
to keep
it
short
while
maintaining
key
elements.