A few white folks and many, many black folks came to town to celebrate the end of a hard week of manual labor. They shopped, socialized, and generally turned the town into a mini-Mardi Gras. These lively festivities on Saturday night occurred in back alleys and up and down the entire length of main street. They lasted from sundown until well after midnight. The streets and sidewalks were so packed you could hardly walk.

The town's pool hall and honkytonks (or beer joints) were packed. The sole town marshal ("Scrap" Rogers) was plenty busy trying to keep order.

My Uncle "Hunky" Castleberry and the other merchants loved it because their cash registers were ringing off the wall.

Other Delta towns experienced this same scene on Saturday nights, but gradually it all ended. Farm machines replaced manual laborers, the African-Americans moved north, prosperity and television brought on other forms of entertainment.

Now on Saturday night, main street is deserted and Moorhead resembles a ghost town. If some stranger should happen by he would scarcely dream that just a short sixty years ago there were many boisterous and cheerful people all around town, boozing it up, talking loudly, and laughing heartily.

But now it is no more----no more---no more.