We traveled on Saturday through scenic southern Ohio, past the gentle hills of Chillicothe, and into West Virginia. We went past intriguing tourist draws like the Moth Man Museum, the Leo Petroglyph, a town called Savageville (named, presumably, for the Indians in the village at one point), Jesus in the Hills camp...
I inwardly grin thinking about the American Catholic history podcast on Fr Stephen Badin, the first priest made in the U.S., and how he chanted penitential Psalm 51 around the grounds of the Louisville Cathedral, thinking them so frightful. The 20th century said: “hold my beer”.
I looked at pictures of the cathedral online and it’s not that great to my taste (neo Gothic) but of course it’s infinitely preferable to the many ugly churches built in the 60s and 70s.
**
Staying at “Hammersmith Farm” room, number 207, at the Foley Inn. Historical as the day is long. Haunted they say. Owner Mrs. Foley in the 19th century was something of a character from what I could overhear from the ghost tours who stationed outside the hotel.
The hotel operator was a genial older man who lived his youth in Ohio near Akron, had a career in the military, spent 20 years in Key West as a bed and breakfast owner before coming here due to the being unhappy with the cruise ships arriving in the early 2000s at Key West.
I always wanted to stay right on one of Savannah’s beautiful historic squares (in this case Chippewa Square). Large statue of Oglethorpe, the man in the center of it all Georgia-wise, with the old trees draped in Spanish moss.
We started out walking a bit but the heat and humidity was nothing short of awe-inspiring and sweat-inducing so we quickly switched course and headed into the nearby Six Pence Pub for some grub and beer. Said to be called “the most authentic English Pub in Georgia." Steph had a peach beer, soup and salad while I had “Beef Guinness” which is as it says. And we both had the air conditioning!
Sunday: A fulfilling sight-seeing day. Started early with explorations of the Foley Inn, namely the coffee dispenser. Followed by the very attractive outdoor patio that still remained untouched by the fierce heat and humidity that was to come. Then a respite in the leather chairs of the “gentlemen’s club” feel to the off-lobby rooms. There was a satisfaction in just sitting and imbibing in them for a bit, java in hand.
Next up was Mass at the nearby cathedral, about a ten minute walk. The music was ethereal and I was dumbfounded that such beauty existed in a fallen world. A Latin mass feel to it with the Gregorian overtones. This was matched by the beauty of the cathedral, not to mention the same of the readings, the preaching and the Eucharist.
One of the things I liked about the cathedral is that it’s not a box. It’s got carve-outs, niches, second story openings. It reminded me of infinity, ie. God. I felt a similar emotion one time in the hills of Hocking County Ohio where I witnessed a meadow among the woods with a small “door” (actually an oval opening along the bushes and trees surrounding the plain) that led to another meadow, which promised a “door” to another meadow...
A self-contained meadow, by contrast, is a very finite thing. Not necessarily wonder-provoking. Similarly, this church had openings that suggested “unexplored” - invisible - territory that could lead to other unexplored territory. Invisible territory is the coin of the realm. What we can see is not where the action is. Christ prefers, I think, to do “invisible miracles” with the Eucharist, Baptism, and Confession than visual ones. You can see that in the gospel where he healed a guy of his invisible sins before saying, “oh, yeah, take up your mat and walk”. That which is hidden the imagination can deal with imaginatively, which is to say, can deal with reality. For Reality is infinite and contains “wheels within wheels”.
We walked back to our B&B and then I headed out into the unconscionable heat for a long-delayed run. Yesterday I had sat for 12 hours and so I was primed. But the heat and humidity made Ohio's seem like a joke. My pace was ridiculously slow. But at least by days’ end I ended up walking and running a combined 6.6 miles. I had planned to jog a good number of the Savannah squares but ended up seeing two with anything resembling full consciousness. The rest were blurs under the sweat and fatigue.
We decided to bag the idea for bikes since the recommended place didn’t seem to be too responsive and the heat... Plus there were so many pedestrians and cars and crosswalks that the ride would’ve been choppy at best. So we went with the tried and true Savannah Historic Tours hop-on-hop-off. We staggered to the visitor’s center in the profound heat and eventually headed off with a guide that was perfect, giving exactly the sort of historical detail I wanted. (Later we would hop on to the bus to another guide who was more along the lines of a frustrated comedian, frustrated for good reason. I know of what I speak.)
This first dude was my spirit animal and it was with some regret we hopped off to tour the Flannery O’Connor home. Even more regret was added after we found it was closed. Very circumspect hours, that. So I continued my long string of not seeing her Savannah home or other other GA home, alas. I’m lame.
So we were waiting at the stop when another couple waited. She teased me about my Harvard shirt, saying did they let anyone wear their shirts now? I smoothed the bottom so she could read the “Just kidding!” part, and added, if a bit of a killjoy, “I wouldn’t buy the shirt today because elite universities are the worst institutions in the country.” She sighed and said, “it’s not the same country I grew up in.”
They highly recommended we do the Mercer House tour which they had just left. Scene of a murder and subject of sensational best-seller book and film “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil”. We’d also never done that, so we headed over there.
This turned out to be entertaining and edifying. A lot of great art, good architecture. Probably the first time I’d ever been in a room where a murder was committed. Lovely “man cave” with the dark walls and the animal prints (the taxidermed leopard on the couch was a touch). Love those sorts of elegant rooms with a literary flavor. Some cool surprises, like a stained-glass cupola that doesn’t show up on the outside because it’s covered by the attic and lit by flood lights. Also the winding staircases with artificial effect of the railings appearing a similar size when they eventually shrank to 2-3 feet. And of course we can’t go upstairs because of the liability. Lawyers ruin everything; absolute lawyers ruin absolutely.
After this we got back on the trolley and I turned out to be the first person in trolley history to have correctly answered the guide’s question: “What famous person was born in Pinpoint, Ga?” My hero, of course. “Who said that?” and I raised my hand to general acclaim and glory, both muted by no one seeming to care except the guide. Fame, so fleeting. Clarence Thomas, this one's for you.
We were winding down physically, I having had only a muffin and protein drink some seven or eight hours previous. We trollied back to City Market and looked for the nearest restaurant. Denied by one for not having reservations, we landed at the most prosaic name ever created in restauranting history: “Cafe”. Definitely a dearth of imagination on that one. But it turned out to have the redeeming features of air-conditioning, craft beer (Wicked Weed Pernicious IPA - wonder how many people under 40 even know what ‘pernicious’ means?) and good food. Had a Greek salad and blackened chicken dish. Had water by the gallon as well, having lost my body weight in sweat.
Next we staggered home. I had a beer in hand in order to enjoy the frisson of drinking where open container laws exist and Steph took a picture of me in front of the Prohibition Museum as my way of spitting on the grave of that awful law.
**
Later I experience the world’s smallest balcony at 4’ by 1.5’. I sit down on the deck since there’s no room for a chair and my shoulders are slightly scrunched, presumably due to my massively mesomorph fame. Adding to degree of daunt was the bees nest at the upper corner of balcony, some five feet above me. The things we do for a cigar...
But fortunately no skin was stung during this episode and it was intoxicating literally and figuratively: the aroma of the smoke, beer, the “Moon River” balcony (less the guitar and singing), and the solid and comforting Presbyterian edifice before me where Woodrow Wilson was hitched. We live in small houses that we might appreciate grand churches, libraries and museums. Why live in mansions when they become, in short order, the “new normal” and thus incapable of producing wonder? Save that for church when you can more easily marry that impulse to a higher one.
The church I'm admiring is the tallest building in Savannah - you can see it everywhere - and is the point in Forrest Gump from which the feather floats down to his bench.
Monday: Weirdly, it felt like a full vacation already. Just Friday night's newness, Saturday’s full day adrenalin rush, and now this morning's “little trips” taking up about three hours. A sightseeing vacation really doesn’t need to be more than parts of three days.
We got up and walked a few blocks to the beautiful Savannah river, admired the lovely squares along the way including the original one, saw the harbor and the arching white bridge along the horizon. Then had breakfast at the Collins Quarter Bar near our B&B. Unique breakfast items and an airy place. Hipster joint with exotic juices and fancy coffees. Reminded me of a breakfast place in Baltimore, both being converted old buildings. I got something called “Swine Time Beni”, which I almost called “Swine Flu Beni” by mistake. It had a base of French toast topped with eggs over easy and bacon and pulled pork. Overly filling as the description infers. Had a watermelon, apple, cherry combo drink to go along with it.
Finding myself without credit card, Steph paid and I immediately called the cafe we were at last night (called “Cafe”). And sure enough they had my card. So we headed over there to pick that up pronto.
We then headed to Clarence Thomas’s home. A modest white house but still a big upgrade from his birthplace home in Pinpoint, Ga. Hand-built by his grandfather. As the tour guide said yesterday, it’s just utterly amazing Clarence Thomas went from where he did to the highest court in the land. It was nice to hear him say that on a tour bus of mixed political sympathies. If Thomas was a liberal, you’d hear about his rags-to-riches story on every network, in every political book, etc...
Then we headed off to Hilton Head and first thing to do was to run down the beach, steps cushioned by rock divided many times over by the pounding surf. (Also called sand.) The heat wasn’t nearly as bad as in Savannah, presumably because of the strong wind and lack of concrete.
We went grocery shopping and got the salad bar for dinner and so we could eat - finally - around 6pm or later. An amazing 9 hour gap between meals. When I travel eating takes a back seat I guess.
The beach was crowded and the bikinis reminded me of how things have changed and what a Savannah tour guide said about why there were two staircases in many a southern mansion. It was because if you were going up behind a woman at a party and looked upon her bare ankles or calves, you were then duty-bound to marry her or her honor was forfeited. Thus they had a men’s staircase on one side and woman’s on the other.
Tues: Started reading “Midnight in Garden of Good and Evil” for obvious reasons. It does draw you right in. Savannah, my new Baltimore. And less crime! Pure beauty and dripping with history. Flannery O’Connor grew up here, lived her first 13 years here, and so it largely formed her. She looked upon - many, many times - the same cathedral that enthralled me on Sunday. Must’ve known it like the back of her hand.
The British attacked and held Savannah during the Revolutionary War and there are signs and markers; George Washington walked those very streets and it’s odd to think of that figure so seemingly remote in history (partially due to the clothing and wig no doubt) had walked right where I was standing.
Quite a change to go from the cosmopolitan city of Savannah to very 21st century America on the sands of Hilton Head.
**
From article on Clarence Thomas:
I also remember Thomas' neighborhood, E. 32nd Street, next to the railroad tracks. His grandfather built their house with his own hands and $600 worth of material.
E. 32nd Street wasn't quite as bad as it sounds, but it was a pretty unlikely place for a black kid to start out from for the Supreme Court or any other such success.
Wed: Another wistful run on the wistful beach. A small dagger to the heart is seeing, via the camera, our sunny driveway in Ohio and comparing it to the clouds of Seasides. Sigh-sides. You can’t control the weather is the cliche of the day. I read a bit of Walker Percy, and a bit of the history of Savannah.
Thurs: “It’s a good reading day” is a vacation euphemism for “the weather sucks”. Which is certainly true today where the clouds keep a coming and the rain keeps a threatening. “Pray, Read, Drink” will be the new title of my bestseller.
We walked down to Coligny Square and missed the rain fortunately. Bought a “mystery 6-pack” of craft beers, wandered into the hardware store that features Steph’s favorite store mascot-dog, Maverick. Maverick is the huge white dog that reminds of us of Max since Max is likewise part Great Pyrenees. Maverick’s about 7 now and a local celeb such that he now “sings” along on some songs. The store has a soundtrack of many songs and on about 20 of them Maverick will add his groans and calls. There was a collaboration with the local symphony - I kid you not - in which Maverick “sings” along on stage, and that is being prepared for YouTube as we speak. We’ll be looking for that.
**
The news of the day leads me to the conclusion that "Homo sapien" is a stretch, but "Cuomo sapien" is an outright contradiction in terms. (Sapien meaning of course ‘wise’.)
**
Read more of Cheap Ticket to Heaven. Nice. Been too long.
Fri: At last the sun returns and I think of Fantasy Island: “Boss, boss, de sun! De sun!” To paraphrase slightly.
I headed off to 8am Mass and the good, familiar padre was there but he had a load of activities after mass (special prayers for first Friday, followed by anointing of sick) so I didn’t stick around for Confession.
As good a reason as any for the lack of miraculous in most Catholic circles: "Unless you are willing to do the ridiculous, God will not do the miraculous. “ -Mother Angelica
Walked by an old white man reading from his breviary: “Begin Again: James Baldwin's America and Its Urgent Lessons for Our Own”. Race obsession will continue until morale improves, meaning until the Second Coming.
We also walked by couple men flying an American flag and a “Trump 2024” flag. I joked “why not Trump 2021?”.
Then I let the words of a Salman Rushdie novel wash over me, as well as the wind, as well as the 70s Elton John album from a boombox somewhere nearby. I feel like we got our groove just in time to go home..
And so in the glutinous air (thank you Mr. Rushdie) we dodged a couple threatening storms and camped at the beach from 11 till 4. Not bad at all. Pleasant to daze to the Pure Jazz soundtrack available via Apple Music. And to read the imagery-prose of Rushdie.
Sun addendum: Back home, but as a wee vacation add-on, I headed over to the local St. James Lutheran for the brat fest and the German language service in order to see the way the owners of my land worshipped 150 years ago. Nice to hear my “second Mother Tongue” again (I think of it that way due to both the genetic link and taking three years of Deutsch in high school.)
Over a dozen men composed the choir and they were directly behind me (I was in the last pew) and the rousing opening hymn was wonderful if very covid-y feeling. Hard to have all them singing behind me and not thinking of Delta, and not the airline. I left after 20 minutes or so, planning to catch the rest on video despite it not being the same as we all know after many a televised Catholic mass.
Some familiar hymns albeit in German: “Beautiful Savior” (“....Jesus ist schöner.”), the tune to “All Creatures of Our God and King” (sang at my parish’s Catholic mass today), “Now Thank We All Our God” and of course, “A Mighty Fortress”.
It always takes me aback to hear voices enthusiastically enunciating the word “Reich” given the associations. But it’s not the word "reich"'s fault, anymore than the word niggardly is a word on death's doorstep. The church is named St. James but presumably not after the author of the book in the Bible banned by Luther.
The structure of the service was familiarly Catholic, with most of the constituent parts without Communion, and I thought about how familiar this must be to Pope Benedict (who would surely cringe at the American accents).
There were little Germanic add-ins at the end, with a medley of hymns and a sudden the refrain of Beethoven’s Fifth.