This veneer of decay is meant to lure tourists looking for something that looks "historical," minus any of the actual inconveniences of growing up poor in the agricultural South.

I stayed in a hotel called the Shack Up Inn, a compound of old sharecropper shotgun houses that the innkeepers converted into comfortable cabins.

While these spots have helped bolster tourism and revitalize the downtown, it's hard not to see them as exploitative -- especially when much of Clarksdale has no choice but to look tattered. It's these parts of the city that give Clarksdale a crime rate higher than 90 percent of the other cities and towns in Mississippi.

"Come on in My Kitchen"

This is the part of Clarksdale in need of a champion, someone who can single-handedly bring jobs and tamp down crime. Ironically, in his death, McMillian now looks more like an agent of such change than he did during his brief time here. Part of his popularity around town comes from the time he spent off the main drag. About once a week, he'd head over to Owens Soul Food, a hole-in-the-wall about a mile from downtown. It has no seating inside, just a carryout window with a poster of a gun, a pile of money, and a Bible, which declares, "The Choice is Yours."

Dante Owens, the owner, knew McMillian well. With his strong build and dreadlocks that hang midway down his back, Owens would be hard to miss in any small town. He's known for making one of the best burgers in town (only $4), but he says McMillian was a catfish-sandwich guy who would stick around after meals to talk about how to fix Clarksdale.

"Clarksdale is so dysfunctional, and a lot of us really think Marco could be the one to finally change that," Owens tells me while cooking up a burger. "I could talk to you for hours about how messed up it is here."

Hours later, I take Owens up on his offer. I show up around midnight with a bottle of 1800 Tequila, Owens's favorite. The owner and two friends sit on coolers and boxes facing the street, watching the action and stamping cigarette butts out on the floor. They usually only pull from the bottle, but since I was a guest they fetch me a Styrofoam cup in the name of decorum.

"The 'C' in Clarksdale -- that stands for corruption," Owens says, taking a swig. It wasn't entirely rare, on a night like this, to hear as many as 30 rounds of gunfire go off just blocks away from the restaurant, he said. "We've had the same mayor for 20 years," Owens continues, "and the city's been getting worse and worse. That's not a coincidence."

As in many small towns, accusations of corruption are rampant in Clarksdale. Mayor Henry Espy has been at the helm for two decades, and in that time he has found himself at the forefront of controversy. The most notorious instance involved his indictment on charges that he made false statements to get a $75,000 loan to repay campaign debts for his brother's unsuccessful bid for Congress. (He was acquitted.) This same brother, Mike Espy, resigned from his post as Agriculture secretary in 1994 because of favors he allegedly received from agribusiness companies.