2015 South Carolina and Georgia
Day One---Saturday, May 23, 2015
I had several goals I wanted to accomplish with this vacation. Margo and never been to Georgia. Neither of us had ever been to South Carolina, and I wanted to see if I recognized anything of Warner Robins, where I spent some of my early years. I chose Charleston, to represent our South Carolina visit. Georgia would have us in several places, with Savannah being a must do, after reading the book Midnight in the Garden of the Good and Evil. This was going to be a fun trip.
Our flight today, left at a leisurely 10:55 AM. I chose this flight time mainly because of its price. I would have liked to have left earlier, but with this being Memorial Day weekend, the earlier flights were more pricey.
Anyway, we flew into Atlanta, with the flight starting out pretty bumpy because of the weather we have been having. The last three weeks have been very un-Denver like. It is usually sunny and in the 70s and 80s. This year, it has been like Seattle, rainy, cold, and overcast. Better than snow, which they have been getting in the mountains (not unusual), but this year it has been bad enough where Trail Ridge Road won’t open in time for the Memorial Day weekend. Trail Ridge Road is the highest paved road in the US, and the Park Service’s goal (it is in Rocky Mountain National Park) is to have it opened for the holiday weekend. The last time it did not open in time was 2011, and it stayed closed until June 6th.
Once we got above the clouds it was smooth flying all the way to Atlanta. We left Denver at 11 AM, about 5 minutes late, and were at the gate at 3:45 PM, about 5 minutes early. That was the last point in which my daily plans held together.
When I planned this trip, I figured there would be a lot of people traveling due to the holiday. I did not plan that Dollar Rent a Car would be so incompetent. We got our luggage, after walking from the farthest point (almost) in Concourse C to the train at Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport, and then took another train to the Rental Car Center. The train to the rental cars was deceptively empty. When we got to Dollar Rent a Car, there were about 15-20 people in line. That is literally the most people I have ever seen in a rental car line. Maybe I have been lucky, but I have rented at least a couple of dozen cars in my travels. The reason for the line seemed to be obvious; there was just one agent, plus a supervisor who floated between Dollar and the Thrifty counter next door.
We were in line for at least an hour and a half. 1 and ½ hours to rent a car, is crazy. I doubt it has taken me more than 20 minutes to rent a car, ever. Then when we finally got to the front, a very calm and unharried agent explained that it was a 45 minute wait to get a compact car, the type I had reserved. Margo had actually waited in the line most of this time, while I guarded our four pieces of luggage. When she got to the front, I dragged everything up there, too. Then we talked with Jonathon. Margo had pre-warned me, when I came up that she had heard they were sending people to wait for a car. That probably prevented a meltdown on my part.
Jonathon gave us the bad news, but said there were other, more expensive cars, that we could have right away. I was not happy. Every other time I have rented a car and the company was out of what I had reserved, they upgraded me for free. It was their fault, not mine. Jonathon explained that they would not do that. It was going to be an extra hundred dollars for the duration. Again, not happy. I had expected to be on the road by 4:15. It was 6:00 PM. We had a 4 ½ hour drive, plus at least one stop for a meal. I was estimating 5 hours, putting us into Charleston, at this point, at 11 PM. Waiting another 45 minutes did not seem like a good idea. So we took the available car.
We were hungry, tired, and a long way from where we needed to be. We both wanted to log some miles, so after fighting with both my phone and the GPS we were finally pointed in the right direction, on our way to Charleston. For about 20 minutes. A local traffic sign warned us of a traffic accident a head of us. But, there was nothing we could do. We crawled in traffic, to the accident, which was right in front of our exit, losing another 30 minutes.
At this point in time, we kind of figured that all we could do was make the best of it and soldier on. I called the hotel and alerted them to our late arrival. The last thing I wanted was our room given away. There would not be another room in town on Memorial Day weekend, with a major festival going on. Margo and I did a few electronic crosswords to pass the time, and as expected we pulled into the parking lot of our hotel, the Fairfield in North Charleston, at midnight. We checked in (we were literally filling the last room), got ourselves set up for the morning and went to bed.
I had several goals I wanted to accomplish with this vacation. Margo and never been to Georgia. Neither of us had ever been to South Carolina, and I wanted to see if I recognized anything of Warner Robins, where I spent some of my early years. I chose Charleston, to represent our South Carolina visit. Georgia would have us in several places, with Savannah being a must do, after reading the book Midnight in the Garden of the Good and Evil. This was going to be a fun trip.
Our flight today, left at a leisurely 10:55 AM. I chose this flight time mainly because of its price. I would have liked to have left earlier, but with this being Memorial Day weekend, the earlier flights were more pricey.
Anyway, we flew into Atlanta, with the flight starting out pretty bumpy because of the weather we have been having. The last three weeks have been very un-Denver like. It is usually sunny and in the 70s and 80s. This year, it has been like Seattle, rainy, cold, and overcast. Better than snow, which they have been getting in the mountains (not unusual), but this year it has been bad enough where Trail Ridge Road won’t open in time for the Memorial Day weekend. Trail Ridge Road is the highest paved road in the US, and the Park Service’s goal (it is in Rocky Mountain National Park) is to have it opened for the holiday weekend. The last time it did not open in time was 2011, and it stayed closed until June 6th.
Once we got above the clouds it was smooth flying all the way to Atlanta. We left Denver at 11 AM, about 5 minutes late, and were at the gate at 3:45 PM, about 5 minutes early. That was the last point in which my daily plans held together.
When I planned this trip, I figured there would be a lot of people traveling due to the holiday. I did not plan that Dollar Rent a Car would be so incompetent. We got our luggage, after walking from the farthest point (almost) in Concourse C to the train at Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport, and then took another train to the Rental Car Center. The train to the rental cars was deceptively empty. When we got to Dollar Rent a Car, there were about 15-20 people in line. That is literally the most people I have ever seen in a rental car line. Maybe I have been lucky, but I have rented at least a couple of dozen cars in my travels. The reason for the line seemed to be obvious; there was just one agent, plus a supervisor who floated between Dollar and the Thrifty counter next door.
We were in line for at least an hour and a half. 1 and ½ hours to rent a car, is crazy. I doubt it has taken me more than 20 minutes to rent a car, ever. Then when we finally got to the front, a very calm and unharried agent explained that it was a 45 minute wait to get a compact car, the type I had reserved. Margo had actually waited in the line most of this time, while I guarded our four pieces of luggage. When she got to the front, I dragged everything up there, too. Then we talked with Jonathon. Margo had pre-warned me, when I came up that she had heard they were sending people to wait for a car. That probably prevented a meltdown on my part.
Jonathon gave us the bad news, but said there were other, more expensive cars, that we could have right away. I was not happy. Every other time I have rented a car and the company was out of what I had reserved, they upgraded me for free. It was their fault, not mine. Jonathon explained that they would not do that. It was going to be an extra hundred dollars for the duration. Again, not happy. I had expected to be on the road by 4:15. It was 6:00 PM. We had a 4 ½ hour drive, plus at least one stop for a meal. I was estimating 5 hours, putting us into Charleston, at this point, at 11 PM. Waiting another 45 minutes did not seem like a good idea. So we took the available car.
We were hungry, tired, and a long way from where we needed to be. We both wanted to log some miles, so after fighting with both my phone and the GPS we were finally pointed in the right direction, on our way to Charleston. For about 20 minutes. A local traffic sign warned us of a traffic accident a head of us. But, there was nothing we could do. We crawled in traffic, to the accident, which was right in front of our exit, losing another 30 minutes.
At this point in time, we kind of figured that all we could do was make the best of it and soldier on. I called the hotel and alerted them to our late arrival. The last thing I wanted was our room given away. There would not be another room in town on Memorial Day weekend, with a major festival going on. Margo and I did a few electronic crosswords to pass the time, and as expected we pulled into the parking lot of our hotel, the Fairfield in North Charleston, at midnight. We checked in (we were literally filling the last room), got ourselves set up for the morning and went to bed.
Day Two--Sunday, May 24, 2015
Sunday morning got here quick, but not as quick as we might have expected. Our room was quiet, spacious, and comfortable. We both slept pretty well. We had breakfast at the hotel and then made our way to Patriot’s Point.
Patriot’s Point is the home to several retired warships, a Medal of Honor Museum, and The Vietnam Experience. The big drawn is the USS Yorktown, the World War II aircraft carrier. The other two ships there are the USS Laffey and the USS Clamagore. The Laffey is a World War II destroyer and the Clamagore is submarine, commissioned just after the end of WWII, and never saw war time service.
We arrived at the Point at 9 AM, right when it opened. We spent the next four hours climbing stairs and ladders going from the engine room to the Bridge and Primary Flight Control. It was fascinating to see technology of 50-70 years ago (there were several refits done on the ship). It had the feel of your grandmother’s home. There were just so many things from a different time.
It was also what you might think it was; a mini city. The Yorktown had a crew of 3500 sailors. Those sailors needed to eat and sleep, obviously. But we also saw the dentist’s office and the makeshift chapel. We saw a torpedo shop and several machine shops where things were repaired. And, of course, the aircraft.
The Yorktown had a variety, ranging from a Stearman N2 bi-wing trainer, to an F-18 Hornet. We both got to climb up and sit in the cock pit of F9F Cougar, a jet fighter of the 50s, which never saw combat in any war. It is amazing how large the planes are, but how small the cockpit is. I just can’t imagine the kind of man it takes to fly these in combat conditions.
Patriot’s Point is the home to several retired warships, a Medal of Honor Museum, and The Vietnam Experience. The big drawn is the USS Yorktown, the World War II aircraft carrier. The other two ships there are the USS Laffey and the USS Clamagore. The Laffey is a World War II destroyer and the Clamagore is submarine, commissioned just after the end of WWII, and never saw war time service.
We arrived at the Point at 9 AM, right when it opened. We spent the next four hours climbing stairs and ladders going from the engine room to the Bridge and Primary Flight Control. It was fascinating to see technology of 50-70 years ago (there were several refits done on the ship). It had the feel of your grandmother’s home. There were just so many things from a different time.
It was also what you might think it was; a mini city. The Yorktown had a crew of 3500 sailors. Those sailors needed to eat and sleep, obviously. But we also saw the dentist’s office and the makeshift chapel. We saw a torpedo shop and several machine shops where things were repaired. And, of course, the aircraft.
The Yorktown had a variety, ranging from a Stearman N2 bi-wing trainer, to an F-18 Hornet. We both got to climb up and sit in the cock pit of F9F Cougar, a jet fighter of the 50s, which never saw combat in any war. It is amazing how large the planes are, but how small the cockpit is. I just can’t imagine the kind of man it takes to fly these in combat conditions.
Me and The Grey Lady-USS Yorktown
We spent about half an hour on the USS Laffey, the destroyer I mentioned. The Laffey was victim of an intense kamikaze attack during the war; being hit by numerous suicide planes and bombs. But, obviously, it did not sink.
Both ships were very well done, as museums. The areas off limits to visitors were roped off, but so much of the ship you could touch. I got to drive, manning the helm. We both laid on a navy cot, and we both climbed into the mock up of the Apollo 8 capsule, which the Yorktown recovered in 1968 after returning from its moon mission. The exhibit took us to the moon and back via sound and video.
Both ships were very well done, as museums. The areas off limits to visitors were roped off, but so much of the ship you could touch. I got to drive, manning the helm. We both laid on a navy cot, and we both climbed into the mock up of the Apollo 8 capsule, which the Yorktown recovered in 1968 after returning from its moon mission. The exhibit took us to the moon and back via sound and video.
Remember The Black Sheep Squadron and Pappy Boyington?
Margo getting ready for liftoff
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Comfy looking, huh?
Me giving the Flight Briefing
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Me and the Tomcat (Click to enlarge)
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Aboard the USS Laffey
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Still smiling after all the climbing around the aircraft carrier
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But of all the things we saw at Patriots Point, it was the Vietnam Experience that was most impressive. They recreated parts of an Army base camp in Vietnam. They piped in actual sounds of helicopters and radio chatter, which made you feel that you were not in South Carolina anymore. There was military equipment and aircraft everywhere you looked. There was a guard tower, complete with a sound operated Browning machine gun. They had actual Vietnam era vets who would answer questions and then a couple of young men dressed as actual soldiers. It didn’t quite transport you to Vietnam, but it certainly altered your perception.
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We had a bus tour of the city scheduled at 3:15, so after the gift shop liberated a $100 or so from my wallet we were on our way by about 2:30 PM. Our tour departed from the Visitor’s Center in the historic district. It lasted something over an hour and we saw all of the major buildings of the area. Margo and I will retour a few of them on Monday, when we will be on our own. The tour itself a bit too much, too quick, but at least we will leave town with a little better feel for its history.
Fort Sumter, way out there
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Charleston Fire Department Central Station on the corner of Meeting Street and Wentworth Street.
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We ate dinner at a place called Jestine’s Kitchen. It is a Charleston institution and is supposed to have good southern food. We both had pecan crusted fried chicken with mashed potatoes. I had collard greens. Margo had watermelon. It was all very good. Margo ate nearly everything. She rarely cleans her plate, as she just doesn’t eat that much. Me, I should have that problem. I finished all of mine and the rest of hers, and decided dessert was in order, too. We had Coca-Cola cake, with ice cream. The cake was moist like a brownie, but not nearly as dense. It was a bit rich, but delicious. After a little bit of walking around to see where the shops were, we called it a night. We were back at the hotel by 8:30. As we could use the extra sleep, Margo hit the pillows not long after we got back. I finished up this letter, and followed her about 11 PM. It was a good first real day of vacation and I am really looking forward to the next six days. That is it for this week. I will do my best to get a letter to you on next Sunday, but I think I have done a good job of filling the next week. We will just have to see. |
The fried chicken is pretty good at Jestine's Kitchen
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Day Three--Monday, May 25, 2015 (Memorial Day)
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We woke up the next morning, refreshed. Margo was plenty sore and complaining of back pain. We both attributed that to 50 plus year old bodies going places designed for 20 year olds, while we were visiting the Yorktown. Getting old is not fun.
Monday morning, Memorial Day, our plan was to take a ferry to Fort Sumter where the first shots of the Civil War landed. I bought us tickets to the first boat of the morning, leaving at 9:30 AM. After another hotel breakfast we were on the road by 8:15, so we could be there by the recommended 9 AM. The drive is only about 20 minutes, but we were done, so off we went. We got there, checked in, and toured the small museum at the ferry dock. The building that housed it was more impressive than the museum, but we were later to find out that the fort itself also had a museum, with more stuff. The ferry ride out to Fort Sumter was about 40-45 minutes. The weather was warm, but the combination of the ferry’s motion and the wind of the harbor made it right on the border of ok and a bit cold. But, after all the weather we had back home, I was just fine. Margo stayed under the cover of the open deck which was still a bit cold for her, but she wasn’t complaining either. We disembarked the boat and made our way in. Fort Sumter is a mere shadow of what it was the day the Confederates fired on it, make in 1861. Everyone knows that the first shots were fired on the Union soldiers who held the fort, by the susessed South Carolina soldiers. But, what I never knew, was that the Union forces laid seize to Charleston the following year and did so until 1865. That whole time they shelled the hell out of the fort and reduced a large portion of it rubble. We only had an hour at the fort, but that was enough to see it, the museum, and for me to buy a book so I could learn more of what I did not know. |
First view of Fort Sumter
My darling wife beside a Fort Sumter cannon
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Mine's bigger
Panoramic shot of Fort Sumter's compound
See, we were there!
Margo and I had decided to go back to The Citadel, which we had briefly seen on the bus tour yesterday, to take our time looking around and take a few pictures. So that was our next destination. The Citadel has a huge parade grounds called Summerall Field. If I had to guess I would say it was 50 acres. They have an unusual statue, a replica of a Citadel Class Ring. The class ring is the most treasured symbol of a graduate. The statue was given to the school by Palmetto Balfour, a Citadel alum, and owner of the company that supplies the rings to the school. Anyway, it is a striking piece of art and Margo and I wanted to see it up close. I also wanted to walk the parameter of the parade grounds and see all the monuments (a large part are retired military equipment), admire the grounds and atmosphere, and just enjoy a beautiful South Carolina morning.
That's a really big ring!
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The new Padgett-Thomas barracks at The Citadel and parade grounds
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Panoramic view of the Citadel and the parade grounds
Margo and I got about 2/3 around, when a man we had noticed raising the flag and then lowering to half staff as is standard for Memorial Day (today), began unlocking the iron gate to one of the barracks and motioning for a family about 75 yards ahead of us to come on and he would show them. Margo had noticed this before I did and had been motioning me to come her direction, as I had been trying to take a few pictures through the gate of the barracks beside.
I am pretty sure the man said he worked there, and later said he was born in 1966, so that would make him a bit old to be a cadet. This was not a tour guide. I think the parents of this family must have mentioned that their teenage son was thinking of joining the school. So this man, I wish I had gotten his name, decided to take them on an impromptu tour and we got to tag along.
I am pretty sure the man said he worked there, and later said he was born in 1966, so that would make him a bit old to be a cadet. This was not a tour guide. I think the parents of this family must have mentioned that their teenage son was thinking of joining the school. So this man, I wish I had gotten his name, decided to take them on an impromptu tour and we got to tag along.
Murray Barracks compound
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Almost all of the cadets were gone for summer break, so the college was nearly empty.
The barracks are not what you see in Gomer Pyle of any other military setting on TV. These were four story masonry buildings, painted white, like all the others. The architecture made them all look somewhat castle-like. Inside was a huge compound of red and white checkerboard painted squares. I understand that this is distinctive to The Citadel; kind of like a trademark.
The Man took all of us to one of the rooms and opened it up. It was pretty spartan. It had a set up bunk beds, a desk, a wardrobe, and some sort of chest of drawers. The room itself had to have been about 7-8 feet across and 15-20 feet deep. Not very big at all. We went to the community bathrooms and took a peak inside. Tiny sinks.
One of the parents asked about the mess hall and he quickly volunteered to show us where they ate. There were two messes, one upper and one lower. The upper classman, I am assuming the seniors, got to eat upstairs. The upstairs one was being used for sort of lunch function. That was about it for the impromptu tour. It was short, and completely spontaneous, and it would never have happened if Margo and I had not been in that exact spot at that exact time.
The barracks are not what you see in Gomer Pyle of any other military setting on TV. These were four story masonry buildings, painted white, like all the others. The architecture made them all look somewhat castle-like. Inside was a huge compound of red and white checkerboard painted squares. I understand that this is distinctive to The Citadel; kind of like a trademark.
The Man took all of us to one of the rooms and opened it up. It was pretty spartan. It had a set up bunk beds, a desk, a wardrobe, and some sort of chest of drawers. The room itself had to have been about 7-8 feet across and 15-20 feet deep. Not very big at all. We went to the community bathrooms and took a peak inside. Tiny sinks.
One of the parents asked about the mess hall and he quickly volunteered to show us where they ate. There were two messes, one upper and one lower. The upper classman, I am assuming the seniors, got to eat upstairs. The upstairs one was being used for sort of lunch function. That was about it for the impromptu tour. It was short, and completely spontaneous, and it would never have happened if Margo and I had not been in that exact spot at that exact time.
The Mess Hall
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We should all live by this code
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We finished our trip around the parade grounds, and we stopped at Mark Clark Hall, which houses the College Store. But, as it was Memorial Day, it was closed. Bummer. Margo and I both agreed, that since we had a little time the next morning we would drive back in the morning.
Sherman Tank on the parade grounds parameter
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Margo and an Apache
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Our next stop was to go shopping downtown. I had a couple of parking spots picked out and programmed into the GPS. The first one, which turned out to be too far away from where we wanted to shop, was near Meeting and Broad Streets. But, we didn’t really know that yet. I thought there would be shops here. There were, but they were more upscale, so we decided to move the car to the spot closest to our murder mystery show in the evening. But first, Margo noticed that there were some sort of street vendors peddling their wares just up Meeting Street.
As we got close, I recognized them as makers of sweetgrass baskets. When I was researching Charleston, I came across these ladies. They were mostly black women, who were carrying on this trade as it was passed down the generations. They descriptions were universal in two ways; first they were beautiful, and second they were expensive.
As we got close, I recognized them as makers of sweetgrass baskets. When I was researching Charleston, I came across these ladies. They were mostly black women, who were carrying on this trade as it was passed down the generations. They descriptions were universal in two ways; first they were beautiful, and second they were expensive.
Margo's Sweetgrass Basket
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Margo knew neither of these facts, but discovered the second immediately. She quickly commented on the beauty and was completely taken by the ladies who were weaving as we watched. She stopped in front of one lady and asked if we could watch. The lady was very accommodating, and showed Margo exactly what she was doing. I knew then we would be buying one. The questions were how much. They were Oh My God expensive. The smallest ones were $50. These were the size of cup saucer. The largest ones, about the size of a platter, were $400. The lady ended up making us a deal on big enough to be used for napkins, for $80. She threw in a palmetto rose as well.
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Our next stop was the parking garage on Cumberland St, near Meeting St. We would leave the car there for the rest of the night. Margo and I headed towards the Market Street area, which was were we intended to look around for our obligatory stuff to bring back home. We started to get hungry pretty quick and we really didn’t have a clue as where to eat. We checked a place or two and either the menu or the prices were wrong. We settled on a place called Tbonz. It ended up being the right call. Margo had a Wedge Salad and I had Southern Fried Chicken Breasts. Their chicken was at least as good as Jestine’s. But, in Jestine’s defense, Tbonz’ chicken came smothered, so that may have helped with the flavor.
We spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the Historic District. Margo picked up some chocolate covered espresso beans, a ring, and a bottle of Coffee flavored wine. We sampled a few wines at the Charleston Winery. I really wanted to like the watermelon wine, but I could not pick up any watermelon flavor. The coffee did come out easily, so that was unique enough for Margo to want a bottle. We made a short stop at St Phillips Church cemetery, so I could visit the grave of the famous South Carolina senator, John C. Calhoun. I wish we had taken a walking tour of Charleston. The bus tour we took was too much to take in and put in context. But, we would have never seen the Citadel, otherwise. Maybe we will be back some day. |
John C. Calhoun's grave
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The Black Fedora---Find Margo!
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Our final adventure in Charleston, was to see a Murder Mystery Play at a tiny theater call The Black Fedora. The reviews I read said that there was audience participation needed, but it was optional. Optional is technically accurate, but this play, The Church Street Daughters of the Late Unpleasantness Garden, Gun, and Gin Club, needed about a dozen audience members to complete the cast. Like I said the theater was small; it sat about 30 people. Margo was dead set against participating. But, I volunteered.
The plot is that a 100 plus year old Charleston garden club has fallen on hard times with respect to participation. Their new club president is a young hipster, who lives on her cell phone. This new president has spearheaded a number of unpopular changes; admitting both Men and Yankees. This president, Savannah Rules, is murdered and the audience now has to figure out whodunit. |
Except for those of us who were now cast. We had to try to worry about our upcoming lines. My part was “The Yankee”, which I had to do in a Yankee accent. I’m not Rich Little; I don’t do accents. But, I did OK. My accent started out as Southern, but I got into it. Margo said I did fine. I did come in way early on one line, but that was because my script was not really clear. We had a good time. I don’t think anyone solved the mystery; all three of the Charleston Ladies did it together.
That was essentially going to be it for Charleston. We were both a little hungry, so we stopped at Wal-mart. I forgot what I got, but Margo ended up with Chef Boy-ar-dee ABCs-123s. That turned out to be a bad idea.
Day Four--Tuesday, May 26, 2015
Margo was up and down all night, throwing up. She didn’t really settle down until about 3 AM. Luckily we did not have to get up super early. She slept in until about 8 AM. We ate breakfast at the hotel, but we didn’t realize that it ended at 9 AM. We didn’t sit down until just after that, and stayed until 9:30. The lady running it, did not chase up out and there was food still there, so that didn’t clue us in as to the deadline. We left her a couple of dollars for the trouble, and made sure we did not leave a mess.
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Margo was feeling better, Thank God, by this point, but she was still pretty tired. We did not have to be into Savannah unil 1:30 PM, for our 2 PM Segway tour. It is just over two hours to Savannah, from Charleston, but you never know with traffic. We had one more thing to do in Charleston, before we left, and that was to go back to the Citadel. I definitely wanted to get a polo shirt and maybe a book.
We drove to The Citadel and quickly found the school store in Mark Clark Hall. Mark Clark Hall is named for General Mark Wesley Clark, a WW II four star general and afterwards served as president of The Citadel. He is the only man actually buried on campus. We both picked out shirts, the same one as it turned out, and I got a book about the unofficial start of the Civil War, in which the cadets of The Citadel fired on the USS Star of the West, as it tried to resupply Fort Sumter. I wanted to learn more about this. We were on the road to Savannah by about 11 AM. We made one stop, at a small town call Round O, SC. I have no idea how that town got his its name, but it is interesting. |
General Mark Wayne Clark's grave
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We pulled into Savannah at about 1:10 PM. I had hoped to check into our hotel before the Segway Tour, as our hotel was on our way into town, and about a 25 minute drive from the historic area of Savannah. But there wasn’t time.
We parked at the Visitor’s Center and walked across the street to where our tour company was located. We had been blessed with good weather the whole trip so far, and today was no exception. When I say “good weather” that is relative. Relative the cold, rainy Denver weather we had left. It was in the upper 80s with about 70% humidity. So, it wasn’t perfect; that is a little warm, but we were not complaining.
Our guide was Lawrence Hyde, and he claimed to be “deep” into history. That was just fine with me. Our tour mates were two other couples; a mother-daughter team, and a couple a few years older than Margo and I. All but the 30ish daughter had ridden before. But, the Segways are not like learning to walk a tightrope. Everyone was pretty much an expert in 10 minutes.
We parked at the Visitor’s Center and walked across the street to where our tour company was located. We had been blessed with good weather the whole trip so far, and today was no exception. When I say “good weather” that is relative. Relative the cold, rainy Denver weather we had left. It was in the upper 80s with about 70% humidity. So, it wasn’t perfect; that is a little warm, but we were not complaining.
Our guide was Lawrence Hyde, and he claimed to be “deep” into history. That was just fine with me. Our tour mates were two other couples; a mother-daughter team, and a couple a few years older than Margo and I. All but the 30ish daughter had ridden before. But, the Segways are not like learning to walk a tightrope. Everyone was pretty much an expert in 10 minutes.
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Giving a blow by blow account of the tour is not possible, as I wasn’t exactly taking notes. But, these tours are at least as much about how you are getting around town, as to what you are seeing. But, Lawrence took us past many museum houses and we stopped in front of many of the 22 Savannah squares. A square is essentially a small park. The way I understand it, that description is too simplistic, but it is the net result. There are 22 little neighborhood parks, surrounded by historic buildings and homes.
Savannah was found in 1733 and is the oldest city in Georgia. Savannah was settled by Great Britain to create a buffer between Spanish Florida and British South Carolina. So, it has been here for awhile. I don’t think we saw any 280 year old buildings, but there were definitely ones at 200 years old. The squares were all beautiful, with the live oaks dripping with Spanish moss. There were many benches and all that shade was a welcome oasis from the heat. Not that we were really feeling any heat. The segways, moving at about twice normal walking speed created their own breeze, and really it was not bad out there at all. |
We made a stop in front of the Mercer-Williams house at Monterey Square. This was the house from “the book”;Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, which almost single handedly put Savannah back on the map in the 1980s. Lawrence told the story that Margo and I knew and we enjoyed seeing it in person. I figured Margo would want to go back for a tour, but that would have to wait.
We finished up the tour, and found our car. We still needed to check in and even though we were both hungry, thought the most prudent thing to do was to driver up to Pooler, where our hotel was and check in. Our tour finished up at about 3:45. With the round trip and finding a place to park it was 5:15 before we were at Lady and Sons.
Lady and Sons is Paula Deen’s restaurant. We both wanted to try her food, but first a word about the parking. We were searching for a pay lot, which were few and far between, when we spotted a metered spot on the street. I’m not a fan of these, because they always seem to expire too soon, and then you have to move on. But, it was all that was available, so Margo got parked. She had just put the first coin in the meter, when a lady, probably a local, told us that the city did not enforce the parking meters after 5 PM. I think I had read that, but it did not stick. So we got to park for 25 cents.
We quickly found ourselves in Lady and Sons. I was concerned that there would be a long wait, and that we would decide to go elsewhere. But, we were seated immediately, and the second floor. We both ordered sweet tea and the buffet. Paula puts out the best of her Southern cooking in a buffet so people can pick their favorites or try something new.
Margo had the roast beef and mac and cheese. She also had the mashed potatoes. At all buffets I invariably end up with Fried Chicken, Since Paula is supposed to be known for that southern specialty, I was all over it. The chicken was good, but it was only warm. It had sat too long. Still it was good enough to try another piece when I went up for round two. The drumstick I had was much better. I don’t recall ever having black eyed peas and no lima beans since I was a kid. I tried both, and I really liked them. We were both happy with our dinner choices and the restaurant itself.
Lady and Sons is Paula Deen’s restaurant. We both wanted to try her food, but first a word about the parking. We were searching for a pay lot, which were few and far between, when we spotted a metered spot on the street. I’m not a fan of these, because they always seem to expire too soon, and then you have to move on. But, it was all that was available, so Margo got parked. She had just put the first coin in the meter, when a lady, probably a local, told us that the city did not enforce the parking meters after 5 PM. I think I had read that, but it did not stick. So we got to park for 25 cents.
We quickly found ourselves in Lady and Sons. I was concerned that there would be a long wait, and that we would decide to go elsewhere. But, we were seated immediately, and the second floor. We both ordered sweet tea and the buffet. Paula puts out the best of her Southern cooking in a buffet so people can pick their favorites or try something new.
Margo had the roast beef and mac and cheese. She also had the mashed potatoes. At all buffets I invariably end up with Fried Chicken, Since Paula is supposed to be known for that southern specialty, I was all over it. The chicken was good, but it was only warm. It had sat too long. Still it was good enough to try another piece when I went up for round two. The drumstick I had was much better. I don’t recall ever having black eyed peas and no lima beans since I was a kid. I tried both, and I really liked them. We were both happy with our dinner choices and the restaurant itself.
Margo and I were both tired and I know she was thinking that a 3 hour ball game, which was next on our list, was a bad idea. But, Margo enjoys baseball and she knew I wanted to do this, so she did not say a word. We drove to Grayson Stadium, home of the Savannah Sand Gnats, the Single A affiliate of the NY Mets. They were playing the Ashville Tourist, the Single A affiliate of the Colorado Rockies.
It was Pack the Park for Charity, a fund raiser for the Catholic Diocese. I’m not sure how it was supposed to work, but the stadium seats 4000, and it was less than half full. The bishop for the Savannah Diocese, John Gregory Hartman, threw out the first pitch, in robes and sandals. It was high and outside, but he got it there.
It was Pack the Park for Charity, a fund raiser for the Catholic Diocese. I’m not sure how it was supposed to work, but the stadium seats 4000, and it was less than half full. The bishop for the Savannah Diocese, John Gregory Hartman, threw out the first pitch, in robes and sandals. It was high and outside, but he got it there.
Grayson Stadium scoreboard
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This was a very minor league park. The stadium is about 100 years old and it has no amenities. The box seats are painted red, so you can tell. All concessions are on a concourse behind the stands, just inside the park. You can get the standard ball park food, including souvenirs (Margo and I got caps), but there wasn’t much in crowds to fight.
The special effects announcer had a good time. The parking lot is right on top of the stadium, so foul balls in certain areas pose a hazard to windshields, just like my Little League days. One went in that general area and a sound effect of breaking glass was played to amusement of all. There are no stands on the 3 rd base side, but there is a tent and area for fans to gather. A foul ball landed there and the seagulls from “Finding Nemo” was played. Their distinctive “Mine. Mine. Mine.” fit the adolescent clamor for the ball perfectly. When a Tourist struck out, and that happened a lot, The Who’s “I Won’t Get Fooled Again” came through the PA speakers. On a swinging strike, that was not number three, an icy wind sound entertained us. |
We sat right behind home and I enjoyed the whole experience. Well, except for the Tourists getting hammered. They started well, putting two up in the top of the 1 st. But, judging by the rest of the night, after their clean up man, they did not have much to speak of in the line up. This does not bode well for future Rockies Teams. We stayed through the 6 th inning. Margo was tired. I was tired, and it was 30 minutes to the hotel. Time to go. It had been another good day and it was time to get a little sleep, after not getting a lot last night.
Day Five--Wednesday, May 27, 2015
Wednesday morning dawned with Margo and I getting up around 8 AM. That was definitely sleeping in. Our plan for the day was a picnic in Bonaventure Cemetery and then sightseeing and shopping in Savannah. First you have to remember that these old cemeteries were designed to be parks in effect. People of a bygone era would spend several hours at time both paying their respects and having a meal. Bonaventure is not in Savannah proper. By car, it is only 10-15 minutes away, but with slower mode of travel, it might take hours. It is not worth the effort to stand over a grave and then go home.
Second, Bonaventure is beautiful. There are dozens of live oaks and other trees, dripping with the signature Spanish Moss. It is shady and pleasant, especially this time of year. The cemetery overlooks the Wilmingtom River. Margo and I picked a spot under a large tree, close enough to the river to see the tops of an occasional boat. Here we had our sandwichs, chips, and pop. It was nice.
Second, Bonaventure is beautiful. There are dozens of live oaks and other trees, dripping with the signature Spanish Moss. It is shady and pleasant, especially this time of year. The cemetery overlooks the Wilmingtom River. Margo and I picked a spot under a large tree, close enough to the river to see the tops of an occasional boat. Here we had our sandwichs, chips, and pop. It was nice.
Bonaventure Cemetery
There were several graves we wanted to see; all from the book “ Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. Three of the graves had signs in the cemetery directing them to the correct spot. But, the murder victim, Danny Hansford, did not. It turned out he is buried in a different, but adjoining cemetery. Margo and I found it easily as soon as we had the right piece of land.
Johnny Mercer--Savannah's favorite son. Academy Award winning songwriter "Moon River" "Old Black Magic", among others
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Danny Hansford's grave. The bottle opener is under the yellow thing. Click the picture to make it bigger
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I mentioned that I had a bottle of pop during the picnic. I brought two, but forgot a bottle opener. I was able to pop it off using a hunk of concrete (not a tombstone) near the river. It worked, but it was a pain. Danny Hansford was a drinker, and some kind soul had left him a bottle opener so he could have a beer. I borrowed Danny’s bottle opener, thanked him for it’s use, and gave him the first sip of Coke. I returned the opener where I found it. I’m not a ghost believer, but as I once heard “There is no profit in messing in things you don’t understand”. So, there you go.
We finished at the cemetery and set the GPS for Forsyth Park at the upper end of the historic district. This is a lovely park, with a huge parade grounds, trees and benches everywhere, and a Fragrant Garden. You haven’t been to Savannah until you have your picture taken by the fountain. We got there and a guy was cleaning the fountain and collecting the coins. I was lamenting our bad luck, when we noticed he seemed to be finishing up. He got out and began walking to an out building nearby. I did the mental arithmetic and realized that was where he would turn the water back on. I pointed this out to Margo and we both got pictures with the fountain off and then on.
We finished at the cemetery and set the GPS for Forsyth Park at the upper end of the historic district. This is a lovely park, with a huge parade grounds, trees and benches everywhere, and a Fragrant Garden. You haven’t been to Savannah until you have your picture taken by the fountain. We got there and a guy was cleaning the fountain and collecting the coins. I was lamenting our bad luck, when we noticed he seemed to be finishing up. He got out and began walking to an out building nearby. I did the mental arithmetic and realized that was where he would turn the water back on. I pointed this out to Margo and we both got pictures with the fountain off and then on.
Forsyth Park Fountain--No squirty
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Forsyth Park Fountain--Water On!
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We have officially been to Savannah
We wandered around a bit, took a few pictures and found the Fragrant Garden. This is an enclosed area, the white masonry walls are about 10 ft high, with many fragrant plants. There is shade pavilion against one wall with a nice bench. A small fountain is in the middle, and it is a very nice place to relax. I didn’t really smell a whole lot; my sense of smell has never been acute, and it has gone down hill in the last few years. Margo said it smelled good. We got there about 1:40. At just before 2 PM the same guy, who was doing the fountain, said he was closing the place up in 5 minutes. Odd that it would need to be closed even before mid-afternoon; but we were about done anyway.
The outside of The Fragrant Garden. Margo is taking a picture of the flowers on the gorgeous Magnolia tree
Rose inside the Fragrant Garden
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Inside the Fragrant Garden
Magnolia Blossum
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The Cathedral of John the Baptist was our next stop. It has a double spired steeple that dominates the block it is one, and can be seen for miles (unless a tree is in the way). Our tour guide yesterday said it was open to the public and I always admire the beauty of these older churches. But, after parking, we found out that there was a wedding or funeral going on, so there would be no tours or admission by the general public. Bummer, but it happens.
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We were close to tbe Mercer-Williams house and I was certain Margo would want to see it. I was not wrong. The next tour started in about 20 minutes, so I bought a couple of $12 tickers and we looked around the Carriage House, in the back. I got board with that quick. The building had long been converted from a stable to a combination ticket office and antiques boutique. We had our tickets and nothing else really interested me. Margo was in her element, especially with so many things being hand made. I went out and sat in the shade in Monterey Square, until five minutes before out tour. The tour itself was short; about 25 minutes. But, they told us that in advance, as well as telling us that we would see the garden area and the first floor only. I knew that. I knew the tour was overpriced and I also knew that it was on Margo’s Savannah bucket list. We saw the Great Hall, the Dinning Room, the Library, and a few other rooms. It was a nice house, no doubt. It lived up to what we both read in the book. I personally did not like The Garden. This was a 30’ x 50’ area between the Carriage House and the Main House. Jim Williams (of The Book) had created a sunken area, about six feet deep. It occupied about 2/3 of The Garden, and was completely lined with bricks. It had a small fountain, and most of the bricks were covered in green moss. The house had a nice porch for sitting, so I would have wanted The Garden to be dominated my flowering plants. |
Cathedral of John the Baptist
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That was one of two things that surprised me about Savannah. First there was not a lot of landscaping done with flowers. They were mostly just green native plants. Maybe they don’t want to draw bees. The second was the lack of Kentucky Blue Grass. The lawns all looked thin and weak. Maybe we over compensate in Colorado, because of our dry climate. But, I just could not stand to even look at most of these.
The fountain in Forsyth Park. It really is a pretty park and a great place to just sit and relax
We moved the car down to a spot near Leopold’s Ice Cream shop. I wanted ice cream and Leopold’s has been doing ice cream for 101 years. They claim to have invented Tutti Fruiti. There word was good enough for me. However, when we saw the line, Margo and I decided we were better off to come back later.
We both decided it was dinner time, here at 4:30 PM. Note; we only had to but about 50 cents into the meter to take us to 5 PM. After that it was free. Yeah for good timing. We wandered in a easterly direction, looking for both shops of interest and a good place to eat. We were near City Market when we found a basic touristy shop, the kind we love, so we stopped there. After getting shirts for some of the people back home, and yet another magnet for Mary, we asked the lady at the counter for a recommendation. She said that the Wild Wings restaurant that we could see across the street had a variety of things. She recommended a couple of others, but they were on River Street and specialized in seafood.
Wild Wings was as she described. The food was pretty good. I had a southern fried chicken filet with vegatables (squash and onions). I don’t remember what Margo had, but I finished it for her, as I was still hungry. Their portions were a tad small. With reasonably full tummies, it was time to head back to the Leopold’s area, which was near Johnson Square. Johnson Square would be the place where we would take our ghost tour.
I suggested that we walk down to River Street. It is the most historic area, right by the Savannah River as suggested by name, and home to a lot of shops, restaurants, and culture. I really liked it and wished we could have spent more time there. Margo liked it less than I did. She was getting tired and to get to the street you had to walk down a flight of “historic” steps. These were very steep, rivaling the ones on the USS Yorktown, and looked like they were at least into their third century. But there were no mis-steps.
The street was cobblestone, and still used by cars; one way only. The pedestrians have a more modern sidewalk and the place as alive with people, shops, and music emanating from various venues. We stopped in a couple of the shops. We still had some time to kill. We ended up in a place called The Savannah Bee Company. I thought I had seen the company in Charleston, and that was confirmed when I talked to the young lady manning the tasting station.
The Savannah Bee Company sells honey. Most of it is honey that is produced from a single nectar source, like an orange grove. It was supposed to give the honey a different flavor. I think I could taste it. I liked the orange and the tupelo (a type of tree). Margo was partial to the whipped honey, so we got some of that.
We made our way to another set of historic steps and climbed back up to Bay Street. Margo suggested we try Leopold’s again. I was a step ahead of here. The line was way down, and we each got the Tutti Fruiti. It was only a few blocks to Johnson Square, where we then parked ourselves on a bench and finished off our ice cream.
We both decided it was dinner time, here at 4:30 PM. Note; we only had to but about 50 cents into the meter to take us to 5 PM. After that it was free. Yeah for good timing. We wandered in a easterly direction, looking for both shops of interest and a good place to eat. We were near City Market when we found a basic touristy shop, the kind we love, so we stopped there. After getting shirts for some of the people back home, and yet another magnet for Mary, we asked the lady at the counter for a recommendation. She said that the Wild Wings restaurant that we could see across the street had a variety of things. She recommended a couple of others, but they were on River Street and specialized in seafood.
Wild Wings was as she described. The food was pretty good. I had a southern fried chicken filet with vegatables (squash and onions). I don’t remember what Margo had, but I finished it for her, as I was still hungry. Their portions were a tad small. With reasonably full tummies, it was time to head back to the Leopold’s area, which was near Johnson Square. Johnson Square would be the place where we would take our ghost tour.
I suggested that we walk down to River Street. It is the most historic area, right by the Savannah River as suggested by name, and home to a lot of shops, restaurants, and culture. I really liked it and wished we could have spent more time there. Margo liked it less than I did. She was getting tired and to get to the street you had to walk down a flight of “historic” steps. These were very steep, rivaling the ones on the USS Yorktown, and looked like they were at least into their third century. But there were no mis-steps.
The street was cobblestone, and still used by cars; one way only. The pedestrians have a more modern sidewalk and the place as alive with people, shops, and music emanating from various venues. We stopped in a couple of the shops. We still had some time to kill. We ended up in a place called The Savannah Bee Company. I thought I had seen the company in Charleston, and that was confirmed when I talked to the young lady manning the tasting station.
The Savannah Bee Company sells honey. Most of it is honey that is produced from a single nectar source, like an orange grove. It was supposed to give the honey a different flavor. I think I could taste it. I liked the orange and the tupelo (a type of tree). Margo was partial to the whipped honey, so we got some of that.
We made our way to another set of historic steps and climbed back up to Bay Street. Margo suggested we try Leopold’s again. I was a step ahead of here. The line was way down, and we each got the Tutti Fruiti. It was only a few blocks to Johnson Square, where we then parked ourselves on a bench and finished off our ice cream.
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Margo had asked me where we were supposed to meet our guide. Johnson Square was as specific as my instructions got. At 7:30 PM a small crowd gathered with a guide, who I assumed was ours. She announced what I though was “Private Ghost Tours”, which was the company I had made our appointment with. We were underway in a few minutes. She told us about Johnson Square and said that we she would be adding plenty of history as back ground for the tour. I was perfectly fine with that.
Our next stop was Wright Square which was used for hangings. I thought that interesting enough, but as we were leaving, she mentioned “By the way, for you movie buffs, Wright Square is the Forrest Gump square. His bench was right where that sign is.” That was wrong. I had looked that up before I had booked the tickets. The Forrest Gump scenes were done in Chippewa Square. Now I am wondering how good her information is. |
Johnson Square, where we started the tour, and where our guide says the Forrest Gump bench scenes were filmed. Not.
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Margo was making a few comments about the guide herself, under her breath. She had a very annoying way about her. It kind of grated on your ears to both listen her voice and mannerisms. She was nice enough and pleasant, but annoying. I began thinking that we should just bail on her. I doubted that Margo would care in the least. We had been on our feet all day and like yesterday a 1 ½ hour tour seemed too much.
James Ogelthrope statue in Chippewa Square. This is the Forrest Gump square. We abandoned the tour shortly thereafter
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I kept an eye on where we were and as soon as we got to Abercorn, nearly Colonial Cemetery, I kind of held Margo back so we could linger at the wrought iron gate. Then we quietly crossed the street and continued down Abercorn to our car. Margo was pleased with the decision and the bit of subterfuge used to evade our guide. Maybe it was rude, but I don’t care. She sucked and we were tired.
The real kicker was that when we got to the car and I checked my phone I had two messages. They were both from the ghost tour company wondering where we were at. At first I thought that we were busted, but then I noticed that the time stamps were from 7:35. I called the number and found out we had been on someone else’s tour. He was very sorry, but I was just amused. I did not care. The mistake was as much mine as there’s. He really wanted to make it right, but we were leaving in the morning, so there was not much that could be done. A half an hour later we were back at our hotel, and trying to finish the packing. Tomorrow would be a long day, touring middle Georgia on our way to our Stone Mountain hotel. |
Day Six--Thursday, May 28, 2015
Thursday morning we woke up with plans to be on the road at 7:30 AM. We had a lot of miles to log today, trying to see three sites in middle Georgia. I wanted to see and try to remember Warner Robins, where I spent some of my formative years. Then we would drive to Andersonville, to see the museum there dedicated to Camp Sumter, the infamous Andersonville Prisoner Camp from the Civil War. Then we would head north to Warm Springs, GA to see the Little White House, where Franklin Roosevelt had a retreat.
We were on a tight schedule, but even leaving 15 minutes late did not bother me. I had budgeted 45 minutes in Warner Robins, and that was going to be more than we should need. But, we lost another 15 minutes when we made a bathroom break at Soperton. It was a 2 ½ drive and I should have budgeted a stop. We usually stop every two hours when we drive. Someone’s bladder is usually asking for relief by then.
We pulled into Warner Robins at 10:30. As I expected I didn’t recognize anything. The address 203 Sewell Circle is permanently ingrained in my memory and the GPS had no trouble finding it. I had done a little research and had discovered that this was not a good neighborhood, so stopping, getting out, and looking around sounded like a dumb idea. I explained this to Margo and I got into the back seat at a gas station before we turned into the residential area. Less that five minutes later we were driving down the block I lived on from the time I was 6 years old until we left Georgia when I was 10.
I remembered the house, with its attached car port, and white siding. I snapped three pictures of the house and one of the mailbox, when a young black girl, I would guess about 16 appeared at the door. She smiled and waved, and for a second I thought about getting out, but she scowled at us and flipped us off. Then her mother charges out of the front door yelling “Can I help you?”, in a tone that was clear she did not want to help us. I told Margo to drive away.
As she was leaving I noticed that the Green house on the left side had gone downhill the Brown House (although several people lived there when we did) looked about like the 203 house, but the yard was green, and the Miller house, next door to the Green place, was boarded up.
We were on a tight schedule, but even leaving 15 minutes late did not bother me. I had budgeted 45 minutes in Warner Robins, and that was going to be more than we should need. But, we lost another 15 minutes when we made a bathroom break at Soperton. It was a 2 ½ drive and I should have budgeted a stop. We usually stop every two hours when we drive. Someone’s bladder is usually asking for relief by then.
We pulled into Warner Robins at 10:30. As I expected I didn’t recognize anything. The address 203 Sewell Circle is permanently ingrained in my memory and the GPS had no trouble finding it. I had done a little research and had discovered that this was not a good neighborhood, so stopping, getting out, and looking around sounded like a dumb idea. I explained this to Margo and I got into the back seat at a gas station before we turned into the residential area. Less that five minutes later we were driving down the block I lived on from the time I was 6 years old until we left Georgia when I was 10.
I remembered the house, with its attached car port, and white siding. I snapped three pictures of the house and one of the mailbox, when a young black girl, I would guess about 16 appeared at the door. She smiled and waved, and for a second I thought about getting out, but she scowled at us and flipped us off. Then her mother charges out of the front door yelling “Can I help you?”, in a tone that was clear she did not want to help us. I told Margo to drive away.
As she was leaving I noticed that the Green house on the left side had gone downhill the Brown House (although several people lived there when we did) looked about like the 203 house, but the yard was green, and the Miller house, next door to the Green place, was boarded up.
203 Sewell Circle.
I had Margo drive the roads above the neighborhood, where I had walked to Lindsey Elementary as a kid. The general route seemed sort of familiar, but not really. When we got to the school and almost nothing looked right. Just this one area when Mom probably dropped me off to school a time or two. I did get out there and took a few pics. Then it was back in the car to back towards the old house. I wanted a better look at the old baseball field, Sewell Park, that I remember when I was a boy.
On the way to Sewell Park I had Margo drive around to try to find “the ditch” I don’t recall what this ditch was used for, but we played in and around it all the time. It was on the other side or Sewell Park. But, it was gone. Filled in or covered up, I don’t know. Maybe it was even my memory, but it was gone. Anyway, we drove to the other side of the park. The field itself had not changed much. There were still the bleachers and lights. The one big change was grass in the alley between the park and the houses behind the outfield side. That is where we used to play pick up games back in the day. It was all red Georgia dirt back then.
On the way to Sewell Park I had Margo drive around to try to find “the ditch” I don’t recall what this ditch was used for, but we played in and around it all the time. It was on the other side or Sewell Park. But, it was gone. Filled in or covered up, I don’t know. Maybe it was even my memory, but it was gone. Anyway, we drove to the other side of the park. The field itself had not changed much. There were still the bleachers and lights. The one big change was grass in the alley between the park and the houses behind the outfield side. That is where we used to play pick up games back in the day. It was all red Georgia dirt back then.
Lindsey Elementary School
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Sewell Circle Park
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After that, I was pretty much done. I set the GPS to the address where the Big Apple used to be. I figured that was also the general direction to leave town. I was right on that account, but wrong on being done. I knew that the Big Apple had burned down in the late 70s or early 80s. I wondered if the building might be there. It wasn’t. Both sides of the street were some sort of strip mall. We did drive past a Krystal’s restaurant which could have been the old Carroll’s building. But, if I were betting, I would say that building is long gone, too.
I figured we would be heading out of town, but Margo pointed out that it was after 11 AM and as could a place as any for lunch. She was hungry and I would be soon. She pointed to a place called Margarita’s Grill. I asked her if she was sure she wanted to have Mexican food from a restaurant in the Deep South. She was.
We ate on the patio, served by Kayla, a Georgia girl with the most beautiful accent to date. We were alone except for a couple of girlfriends, one an Airman First Class, obviously from Robins AFB. They talked about an impending wedding and move and boyfriends and mud racing. This is the South after all. The meal was OK. Nothing special, but nothing bad either. The only bad part was that I realized I had not budgeted any time for lunch and we were now an hour and five minutes behind schedule. I was getting a bad feeling about Warm Springs.
I figured we would be heading out of town, but Margo pointed out that it was after 11 AM and as could a place as any for lunch. She was hungry and I would be soon. She pointed to a place called Margarita’s Grill. I asked her if she was sure she wanted to have Mexican food from a restaurant in the Deep South. She was.
We ate on the patio, served by Kayla, a Georgia girl with the most beautiful accent to date. We were alone except for a couple of girlfriends, one an Airman First Class, obviously from Robins AFB. They talked about an impending wedding and move and boyfriends and mud racing. This is the South after all. The meal was OK. Nothing special, but nothing bad either. The only bad part was that I realized I had not budgeted any time for lunch and we were now an hour and five minutes behind schedule. I was getting a bad feeling about Warm Springs.
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I had planned to arrive at Andersonville at about noon. We pulled in at 1 PM, but at least we were fed. Margo and I spent the next two hours going through the POW museum, the grounds, and the gift shop. I was impressed at how large the place prisoner camp would have been, and how small it would have been with 35,000 men inside it. The stream that was the camps water supply is still there and still tiny. I complete see why so many men died there, due to disease and sanitary concerns.
The grounds look deceptively void of anything to look at or learn, until you look at the big picture. The original walls of the prison are long gone, but the Park Service has rebuilt a corner right outside the museum and then diagonally across the camp, at a distance of about half a mile, is another section with a gate. When you walk outside the museum, and around the wall that hide the camp from view, your eyes are immediately drawn to the 19 foot high corner section of wall that has been rebuilt. It hints at how imposing it would have been to contemplate escape. |
Andersonville Prison and POW Museum
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Andersonville POW Camp with a recreation of the Deadline and the make shift tents
As you walk around the wall to view inside the camp I immediately saw the makeshift and woefully inadequate tents built on this barren stretch of earth. My recollection was that the ground slopped gently upward and you could not see what crested the hill. We only stayed here for a few minutes. It was hot and there was just not a lot to see.
I’ve gone out of order, giving you the impression that we made a bee line to see the POW camp. We did not. We dutifully toured the POW museum first. There were two films for us to see; one was about Andersonville, the other about POWs in general. The POW film was a loop, and we saw it first. Then we went through the museum, which was well done. There were some disturbing displays, like one that portrayed a Vietnam cell that was in a Hanoi Hilton type camp. There was a single bare cot, in which the POW would be shackled the whole time he was there. There was a Tiger cage, a bamboo cage that would be just large enough to house a tiger (I doubt that is why it is called that), if that tiger never moved. It did not allow a man to stand, even crouch. There were some beautifully carved smoking pipes, and other things from the Civil War. The whole museum just had place after place that I found my self stopping and reading. We finished up with the film about the Andersonville prison.
The Andersonville film started at 2 PM. My original schedule had us leaving at 1:30 PM, so I was already seriously thinking about skipping Warm Springs. The film was a must see. The whole reason for me coming was to see and experience, to the extent possible, what happened there 150 years ago. The film did not disappoint. I had read a historical novel about Andersonville, but with those you are never sure which part was fiction. They had some very good actors, reading statements from actual survivors about what it was like. Those, at least for me, really brought a lot of the abominable circumstances to life.
I’ve gone out of order, giving you the impression that we made a bee line to see the POW camp. We did not. We dutifully toured the POW museum first. There were two films for us to see; one was about Andersonville, the other about POWs in general. The POW film was a loop, and we saw it first. Then we went through the museum, which was well done. There were some disturbing displays, like one that portrayed a Vietnam cell that was in a Hanoi Hilton type camp. There was a single bare cot, in which the POW would be shackled the whole time he was there. There was a Tiger cage, a bamboo cage that would be just large enough to house a tiger (I doubt that is why it is called that), if that tiger never moved. It did not allow a man to stand, even crouch. There were some beautifully carved smoking pipes, and other things from the Civil War. The whole museum just had place after place that I found my self stopping and reading. We finished up with the film about the Andersonville prison.
The Andersonville film started at 2 PM. My original schedule had us leaving at 1:30 PM, so I was already seriously thinking about skipping Warm Springs. The film was a must see. The whole reason for me coming was to see and experience, to the extent possible, what happened there 150 years ago. The film did not disappoint. I had read a historical novel about Andersonville, but with those you are never sure which part was fiction. They had some very good actors, reading statements from actual survivors about what it was like. Those, at least for me, really brought a lot of the abominable circumstances to life.
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After the film we went outside and saw what I described two paragraphs ago, then we went back inside. It was after 2:30, but I really wanted to visit the gift shop. I ended up with a tee shirt, something I rarely do. I always look for a collared, polo-type shirt, which in this casual age is harder and harder to find. I probably should have gotten a book, but nothing jumped out at me. Margo also got a book and made a paper star, honoring her 4th great-grandfather, Darius Stacey, who died at Camp Ford, in Tyler, TX during the Civil war. |
Margo had GGGG-grandfather die at Camp Ford, pictured here.
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I never knew there were American POWs in Hiroshima when the bomb was dropped
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Story of the men of the USS Pueblo, captured by North Korea in 1968
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It was time to go, so we got in the car. It was about 2:45 and we had an 1 ½ drive ahead of us. That put us at Warm Springs at 4:15 and The Little White House closed at 4:30. Bad planning caused this one. We would not be going to Warm Springs. Since we suddenly had more time, I figured why not see more of the site. There was a cemetery, something that always fascinates me. I also wanted to show Margo the prisons water supply and try to put that in perspective for me.
We drove past an area where the various states had erected impressive monuments to those who had lived and died in the camp. We drove past that, with the intent of coming back, and look a road that took us into the small valley were the tiny little creek ran. This also brought into view a couple of other structures that I did not know about; a rebuilt gate to the camp and Providence Spring. I also finally noticed that the park service had marked the entire boundary of the old camp with white makers. There were is sets of two, one marking the wall boundary, and one inside the camp, making the Dead Line.
The Dead Line was something I had not mentioned yet. Andersonville was not like Hogan’s Heroes, or Stalag 17. This camp was a free for all. Any order was up to the prisoners themselves. To control this chaos, or more accurately to contain it, the camp command had ordered a dead line drawn around the inside perimeter about 19 feet from the wall. It was marked with a crude fence. If a prisoner crossed this line, he was shot.
Anyway, these sets of white markers, spaced maybe 100 yard apart, visually marked the camp and you could get an idea of how large it was, what the prisoners had to deal with to get to the water source, and how packed they would have been with 35,000 people inside.
We drove past an area where the various states had erected impressive monuments to those who had lived and died in the camp. We drove past that, with the intent of coming back, and look a road that took us into the small valley were the tiny little creek ran. This also brought into view a couple of other structures that I did not know about; a rebuilt gate to the camp and Providence Spring. I also finally noticed that the park service had marked the entire boundary of the old camp with white makers. There were is sets of two, one marking the wall boundary, and one inside the camp, making the Dead Line.
The Dead Line was something I had not mentioned yet. Andersonville was not like Hogan’s Heroes, or Stalag 17. This camp was a free for all. Any order was up to the prisoners themselves. To control this chaos, or more accurately to contain it, the camp command had ordered a dead line drawn around the inside perimeter about 19 feet from the wall. It was marked with a crude fence. If a prisoner crossed this line, he was shot.
Anyway, these sets of white markers, spaced maybe 100 yard apart, visually marked the camp and you could get an idea of how large it was, what the prisoners had to deal with to get to the water source, and how packed they would have been with 35,000 people inside.
Click to make bigger.
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Click to make bigger. Find the white posts that mark the camp outline
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(See the two pics above. The building is Providence Springs. The pillar in the distance to the left of the road is where a corner of the camp wall was. Note the two parallel lines of white posts. The outer one was the wall. The inner one was the deadline. Note that Providence Spring was within the deadline. The prisoners had to beg to get the guards to relent and let them get to the water.)
We stopped first at the bottom of the valley to see the creek. It was a small trench that had a width of about six inches. It had to have been bigger 150 years ago. Picture taken we walked over to Providence Spring.
This pic tells the story of the water supply for the camp
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The Stockcade Branch of Sweetwater Creek
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Margo stayed in the car. She was tired and it was hot. I snapped my pictures and then climbed up the hill to see the reproduction of the gate to the camp. There was an inner and an outer gate to better control access.
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As I walked through one and then the other, I got a real feeling of doom. I can only imagine what it must have been like to be a new prisoner, walking through the inner gate and seeing a sea of sickly, dirty, and dying Union soldiers. I wondered how many committed suicide, and after how long.
After taking this in and trying to take a few pictures to capture the scale, as defined by the white makers, of the camp, I headed back down to the car. I plugged in the hotel address for our Stone Mountain hotel and we pulled out, completely forgetting about the cemetery and monuments. Oh, well. I was hot and tired, too. I was hoping for a hot tub at our next hotel. |
The gate into Andersonville
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I’m not going to go into the whole story about this spring, but water was a big issue. There wasn’t enough and what was there was filthy and full of all the wrong bacteria. In August 1864 after a storm had turned the small stream into a torrent, a natural spring burst forth on the stream’s bank. This was clear pure water and was treated a gift from God. Water became much less of a problem after that, and for years afterwards, former POWs would make a pilgrimage to drink again from this spring that saved their lives. In 1901 a small stone building and some creative plumbing was erected at the spring to preserve it, and its story for the ages.
Providence Spring
It’s a 2 ½ hour drive from Andersonville to Stone Mountain. We would make at least one stop, which would add 15 minutes. We left Andersonville just after 3 PM. I was figuring on arriving at about 6 PM. We got there at 6:40 and I was completely happy with that. Why? Because once we got to Forsyth, GA, we took a longer and prettier, and less traffic-dense route.
Truthfully, I never thought about Atlanta traffic. Margo and I have driven in Chicago, Philly, and Boston. They all have subways for a reason. Atlanta has light rail (MARTA), but so does Denver. I figured traffic would be similar to Denver. But, as we would be going through Atlanta during rush hour, I though I should at least check traffic conditions. There were accidents, slow downs, and construction everywhere. That map was lit up with red (slow) zones. I hate sitting in traffic. No one likes it. It literally drives all happy thoughts from my mind. I can’t get over how much time I am wasting and how little progress to my goal is being made. A longer route that at least has me moving chases all of that away. I could arrive later than if I had stayed in the traffic and feel much better about the trip.
With that thought in mind we took a northeast course and steered well around the Atlanta traffic. We saw several small Georgia towns and much prettier scenery, and even a short thunderstorm. When we arrived at Stone Mountain at 6:40, I was relaxed, and tired. We checked in and confirmed that there was a hot tub. Prayers answered. But, first, food.
We went across the street to a place called Metro Diner Grill; kind of an odd name, but the food was very good and we had an outstanding waitress named Amber. She was a tiny little thing, with way more energy than I will ever have again, and a very pretty Georgia drawl. She Ya’lled us the whole meal. I was enjoying myself immensely..until the phone rang.
It was Mary back at work. It was approaching 8 PM, after we had checked in, unloaded the car, decided on a dinner spot, and now mostly done eating. That meant it was nearly 6 PM back home. Mary sounded close to tears. She said she thought she had screwed up the spreadsheet. I immediately had visions of having to fly home. But, I was able to help her find my back up, and we determined that she had done far little damage than she thought. She had some work to do, but she would probably be OK.
Still that screwed me up the rest of the evening. I was worried about her getting though the week. If she got through Friday, chances are she would be fine. I eventually calmed down, and Margo and I relaxed in the hot tub. That helped and we had it all to ourselves. We also did not have to get up early tomorrow, as our destination was 5 minutes away, and did not open until 10 AM. That was pretty much it for Thursday, a little TV, some writing, and off to bed I went.
Truthfully, I never thought about Atlanta traffic. Margo and I have driven in Chicago, Philly, and Boston. They all have subways for a reason. Atlanta has light rail (MARTA), but so does Denver. I figured traffic would be similar to Denver. But, as we would be going through Atlanta during rush hour, I though I should at least check traffic conditions. There were accidents, slow downs, and construction everywhere. That map was lit up with red (slow) zones. I hate sitting in traffic. No one likes it. It literally drives all happy thoughts from my mind. I can’t get over how much time I am wasting and how little progress to my goal is being made. A longer route that at least has me moving chases all of that away. I could arrive later than if I had stayed in the traffic and feel much better about the trip.
With that thought in mind we took a northeast course and steered well around the Atlanta traffic. We saw several small Georgia towns and much prettier scenery, and even a short thunderstorm. When we arrived at Stone Mountain at 6:40, I was relaxed, and tired. We checked in and confirmed that there was a hot tub. Prayers answered. But, first, food.
We went across the street to a place called Metro Diner Grill; kind of an odd name, but the food was very good and we had an outstanding waitress named Amber. She was a tiny little thing, with way more energy than I will ever have again, and a very pretty Georgia drawl. She Ya’lled us the whole meal. I was enjoying myself immensely..until the phone rang.
It was Mary back at work. It was approaching 8 PM, after we had checked in, unloaded the car, decided on a dinner spot, and now mostly done eating. That meant it was nearly 6 PM back home. Mary sounded close to tears. She said she thought she had screwed up the spreadsheet. I immediately had visions of having to fly home. But, I was able to help her find my back up, and we determined that she had done far little damage than she thought. She had some work to do, but she would probably be OK.
Still that screwed me up the rest of the evening. I was worried about her getting though the week. If she got through Friday, chances are she would be fine. I eventually calmed down, and Margo and I relaxed in the hot tub. That helped and we had it all to ourselves. We also did not have to get up early tomorrow, as our destination was 5 minutes away, and did not open until 10 AM. That was pretty much it for Thursday, a little TV, some writing, and off to bed I went.
The spring is now piped from top to bottom.
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I did not drink the water, even though I really wanted to. I was too afraid of some sort of bacteria ruining the rest of the trip
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Day Seven--Friday, May 29, 2015
We did not set alarms, but we were still up fairly early. I would say we have been lucky with our hotels and the breakfast, but I did try to research those and find ones that mentioned hot meals. Still there is luck involved, and we had good luck. We had started each day with scrambled eggs and a breakfast meat each morning. We were always hungry in a few hours, but we still tried.
After breakfast, we were on the road by 9:30 AM. It is always better to arrive at amusement parks, like Stone Mountain Park, early as opposed to later. We were nearly first in line. I got admission passes that included access to all of the pay areas, including a Ride the Ducks pass at 11 AM. Margo and I wandered around the park for the next hour discovering that pretty much everything was still closed. This 10 AM opening thing looked like a soft open. There were no crowds whatsoever, so clearly this was not like Disneyland or Universal Studios.
We did use this time to get our best pictures of the carving. When I lived in Warner Robins, GA, (1967-1973), they were in the process of finishing up the giant carving on Stone Mountain. I remember hearing about it, but I guess I didn’t watch a lot of news at age 4-10. It is very hard to appreciate how big the carving, which depicts Jefferson Davis, Robert E Lee, and Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson, really is. It is larger than Mt Rushmore, but really it is hard to tell. Later is the day we went to Memorial Hall and they have life size portions of the monument recreated that you can take pictures with.
After breakfast, we were on the road by 9:30 AM. It is always better to arrive at amusement parks, like Stone Mountain Park, early as opposed to later. We were nearly first in line. I got admission passes that included access to all of the pay areas, including a Ride the Ducks pass at 11 AM. Margo and I wandered around the park for the next hour discovering that pretty much everything was still closed. This 10 AM opening thing looked like a soft open. There were no crowds whatsoever, so clearly this was not like Disneyland or Universal Studios.
We did use this time to get our best pictures of the carving. When I lived in Warner Robins, GA, (1967-1973), they were in the process of finishing up the giant carving on Stone Mountain. I remember hearing about it, but I guess I didn’t watch a lot of news at age 4-10. It is very hard to appreciate how big the carving, which depicts Jefferson Davis, Robert E Lee, and Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson, really is. It is larger than Mt Rushmore, but really it is hard to tell. Later is the day we went to Memorial Hall and they have life size portions of the monument recreated that you can take pictures with.
Confederate Memorial Carving on Stone Mountain
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Me and Margo with Stone Mountain in the background
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There is a huge viewing lawn to see the carvings and Margo and I wandered around that taking pictures and viewing the other monuments; those to each state in the Confederacy, detailing how many men they contributed to the cause, the state leaders at the time, and other important information. What this really drove home to me, is what the south’s attitude was during the war.
They genuinely viewed it as a state’s rights issue. The slant of the history I read hear and back at Ft Sumter was that the North was invading the South (they kind of glossed over why) and focused very hard on their sovereignty being challenged. They were right in this issue. The Northern states were gaining in size, population-wise, and were gradually gaining enough political power to dictate the end of slavery. Immigrants from Europe were gravitating to the North, because the back breaking industrial and mining work was paid. The South had slaves working the farms, and much less opportunities for those with no skills and only muscle to market. So, even indirectly the South was causing its own demise. They way they saw it, creating their own nation was the only solution. One wonders if slavery would still be around today had they succeeded. I doubt it, but it may have lasted much longer than we might have thought. I’m glad we never had to find that one out. One war was enough
We were at the Ducks ride in plenty of time and found seats neat the front of the bus. Our driver looked to be in his 60s and had been doing this for awhile. He got us settled in and drove away from the loading area and pulled over. He asked everyone, one at a time, where they were from. He had comments about just about everyone. Our rely of “Denver, CO” didn’t get much more than a humorous grunt, as if nothing came to mind. I figured there would be a marijuana joke. We have been hearing that since 2013 when we travel. It was legalized here during the Nov 2012 election, with a ballot initiative. I hated the idea, but I only got one vote. I think it passed 53% to 47%
They genuinely viewed it as a state’s rights issue. The slant of the history I read hear and back at Ft Sumter was that the North was invading the South (they kind of glossed over why) and focused very hard on their sovereignty being challenged. They were right in this issue. The Northern states were gaining in size, population-wise, and were gradually gaining enough political power to dictate the end of slavery. Immigrants from Europe were gravitating to the North, because the back breaking industrial and mining work was paid. The South had slaves working the farms, and much less opportunities for those with no skills and only muscle to market. So, even indirectly the South was causing its own demise. They way they saw it, creating their own nation was the only solution. One wonders if slavery would still be around today had they succeeded. I doubt it, but it may have lasted much longer than we might have thought. I’m glad we never had to find that one out. One war was enough
We were at the Ducks ride in plenty of time and found seats neat the front of the bus. Our driver looked to be in his 60s and had been doing this for awhile. He got us settled in and drove away from the loading area and pulled over. He asked everyone, one at a time, where they were from. He had comments about just about everyone. Our rely of “Denver, CO” didn’t get much more than a humorous grunt, as if nothing came to mind. I figured there would be a marijuana joke. We have been hearing that since 2013 when we travel. It was legalized here during the Nov 2012 election, with a ballot initiative. I hated the idea, but I only got one vote. I think it passed 53% to 47%
Life size part of the bridle on Jefferson Davis' horse. It's big!
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I'd be right there.
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Stone Mountain as seen from Stone Mountain Lake
Anyway, after the introductions we drove around the park for just a short bit and then splashed into Stone Mountain Lake and we spent the next twenty minutes or so tooling about the lake. We saw the Stone Mountain Carillon, a musical instrument using brass rods (bells) that sounds a lot like the Zion Lutheran Church back in Brighton.
Stone Mountain Carillon
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It did not play for us, but I heard a recording once we got home. It was donated by Coca-Cola to the State of Georgia after the 1964 Worlds Fair. It’s well over 100 feet tall. As I understand it, what we saw is basically a store house for speakers, as the music is made underground, with the 732 rods being struck by hammers smaller than a grain of rice, and electronic pick ups and amplifiers doing most of the work. Still very cool to look at.
All of the kids got a turn driving the Duck on the lake. I can remember when Jolene and Jessi earned their Duck Driver’s License in Branson, MO on Lake Tannyecomo. They were very excited to have driven the boat. One adult took a turn. Margo and I refrained, as we also had earned our license in Missouri. I think the whole trip lasted just under an hour. The diver showed us how to get to the Antebellum Village, which sounded like an interesting place to visit. Then we were done. |
Out next stop was to the top of Stone Mountain. When I lived in Georgia, I don’t think there was a tram to the top. I would not know that for sure, as we never went when I was a kid. Doing much of anything was too much of financial burden, and Dad was not going to pay to make himself miserable. He hated to travel and fight crowds. But, they have one now and it’s a nice one. Margo and I were able to board the very next car and ten minutes after we talked into the tram station, we were getting off on the largest hunk of exposed granite in the world.
There is really not a lot to do up there but take in views. It was nice, but the novelty wore off quickly. I noticed some old carvings in various spots from people who had actually had to climb up and figured they needed to mark the occasion for all time. I understand the climb up and down is not terribly taxing, at least if you have no lung or joint ailments. I thought about walking down, but that granite also gets slick when it rains. It had rained recently and I didn’t want to take the chance. So Margo and I both rode down together.
There is really not a lot to do up there but take in views. It was nice, but the novelty wore off quickly. I noticed some old carvings in various spots from people who had actually had to climb up and figured they needed to mark the occasion for all time. I understand the climb up and down is not terribly taxing, at least if you have no lung or joint ailments. I thought about walking down, but that granite also gets slick when it rains. It had rained recently and I didn’t want to take the chance. So Margo and I both rode down together.
On top of Stone Mountain
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I wonder if it took longer to carve this then it did to climb to the top.
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We were both officially good and hungry. So we had lunch at the Campfire Grill. Here they pretend that their guests are campers. They even have a tent above each table. The light was low, like it was night time. It was also nice and cool. Not that it had been sweltering outside, but you get spoiled and find the relief noticeable when it comes. The food was OK, for a park it was quite good. And it filled us up, so we continue taking in the park.
Stone Mountain has a train which takes you around the perimeter. It is a 1940s era diesel-electric and looks more modern that that. The passenger cars are open air. It was a nice ride. I have to tell you though; I can’t recall one thing that we saw that stood out, other than an abandoned area where they used to stage a train robbery. But, we still enjoyed it.
I am assuming that Disney pioneered the 4-D movie, as that is where Margo and I first experienced one back in 1999 at Animal Kingdom. It was call “It’s Tough to be a Bug” and is exceptionally well done. We all know what 3-D is, with the glasses and corny photograph tricks to take advantage of the extra dimension. The 4 th D is to add a variety of things to get you even more “into” the story. Your seat might bounce up and down if the characters on screen are riding over cobblestones. Or if the on screen hero is paddling in white water, you might get spritzed by a nozzle in front of you. Or, if you are walking though a pine forest you would be able to smell pine, via another nozzle. If they are well done, it is fun. For my money, this one was not well done. The glasses were the cheap cereal box giveaway kind. There were way too many jerky motions for the car rides. That alone kept knocking my glasses off and distracting me from the story. But, I still give it a “C”. If I did it again, I would sit in one of the non-moving seats they tell you about.
Stone Mountain has a train which takes you around the perimeter. It is a 1940s era diesel-electric and looks more modern that that. The passenger cars are open air. It was a nice ride. I have to tell you though; I can’t recall one thing that we saw that stood out, other than an abandoned area where they used to stage a train robbery. But, we still enjoyed it.
I am assuming that Disney pioneered the 4-D movie, as that is where Margo and I first experienced one back in 1999 at Animal Kingdom. It was call “It’s Tough to be a Bug” and is exceptionally well done. We all know what 3-D is, with the glasses and corny photograph tricks to take advantage of the extra dimension. The 4 th D is to add a variety of things to get you even more “into” the story. Your seat might bounce up and down if the characters on screen are riding over cobblestones. Or if the on screen hero is paddling in white water, you might get spritzed by a nozzle in front of you. Or, if you are walking though a pine forest you would be able to smell pine, via another nozzle. If they are well done, it is fun. For my money, this one was not well done. The glasses were the cheap cereal box giveaway kind. There were way too many jerky motions for the car rides. That alone kept knocking my glasses off and distracting me from the story. But, I still give it a “C”. If I did it again, I would sit in one of the non-moving seats they tell you about.
We were getting pretty deep into the afternoon, about 5 PM, and I had two things I wanted to see; the Memorial Hall, Stone Mountain’s museum and the Antebellum Village. Unfortunately the village closed at 6:30 and their little petting zoo at 5:30 PM. The tie breaker was that Memorial Hall was a couple of 100 yards away and the Antebellum Village was about a mile.
It was probably the right call. We saw a nice movie about the Stone Mountain area; including its association with the KKK (the owner of the Mountain was a member and granted the KKK an easement to use the mountain for their rituals, ie crossburnings. That easement was nullified when the State of Georgia bought the land). I had always heard the Gutzom Borglum, the sculpter of Mt Rushmore, had carved the Stone Mountain relief. He got is started, getting only a bit more than General Lee’s head carved before he left the project. The next sculptor that took over, blasted away Borglum’s work, so he has nothing up on the mountain.
It was probably the right call. We saw a nice movie about the Stone Mountain area; including its association with the KKK (the owner of the Mountain was a member and granted the KKK an easement to use the mountain for their rituals, ie crossburnings. That easement was nullified when the State of Georgia bought the land). I had always heard the Gutzom Borglum, the sculpter of Mt Rushmore, had carved the Stone Mountain relief. He got is started, getting only a bit more than General Lee’s head carved before he left the project. The next sculptor that took over, blasted away Borglum’s work, so he has nothing up on the mountain.
Margo added an extra Stonewall Jackson. The South could have used a spare. Their army was never the same after he was killed at Chancellorsville
It was very quite and uncrowded in the Memorial Hall. While we did not have it to ourselves, we were far from rushed and winnowed away an hour looking at the movie, the exhibits, and of course the gift shop.
When we walked out we were both pretty done in. I was exhausted. Margo and I have been there for nine hours. It had not seemed that long. But, we now had a dilemma. The one other (the relief is #1) is the laser show at the end of the day. It was much more crowded after 4 PM than it had been all day. The park offered an after 4 PM pass, that was cheaper, and it was obvious that this is the way most people did the park. Truthfully, most of the park is worth doing once. So what must bring back the locals, the foundation of any park, is the laser show. But, there was no way we could hand on for another 3 ½ hours. So we shrugged our shoulders and left. We might not see a laser show, but a nap and a meal sounded pretty good, too.
That is exactly what we did. We got back to the hotel and an hour disappeared. When we got up we went right back to the Metro Café Diner. Amber was there again and we sat in her section. She remembered us and our drink order. I still love her southern drawl.
After dinner we sat in the hot tub. Only this time we were not alone. We had a member of the girls lacrosse team, I would guess about 16, her boyfriend, and her mom, who was trying to set up dinner. That would have been pleasant enough, but about half of the junior girls lacrosse team (about 11 years old) were in the pool. They were not quiet and we were inside. It was so loud to the point of being funny. Margo and I toughed it out, because the hot water really did feel good, but after about 15-20 minutes we retired back to our room for the night.
When we walked out we were both pretty done in. I was exhausted. Margo and I have been there for nine hours. It had not seemed that long. But, we now had a dilemma. The one other (the relief is #1) is the laser show at the end of the day. It was much more crowded after 4 PM than it had been all day. The park offered an after 4 PM pass, that was cheaper, and it was obvious that this is the way most people did the park. Truthfully, most of the park is worth doing once. So what must bring back the locals, the foundation of any park, is the laser show. But, there was no way we could hand on for another 3 ½ hours. So we shrugged our shoulders and left. We might not see a laser show, but a nap and a meal sounded pretty good, too.
That is exactly what we did. We got back to the hotel and an hour disappeared. When we got up we went right back to the Metro Café Diner. Amber was there again and we sat in her section. She remembered us and our drink order. I still love her southern drawl.
After dinner we sat in the hot tub. Only this time we were not alone. We had a member of the girls lacrosse team, I would guess about 16, her boyfriend, and her mom, who was trying to set up dinner. That would have been pleasant enough, but about half of the junior girls lacrosse team (about 11 years old) were in the pool. They were not quiet and we were inside. It was so loud to the point of being funny. Margo and I toughed it out, because the hot water really did feel good, but after about 15-20 minutes we retired back to our room for the night.
Day Eight--Saturday, May 30, 2015
We awoke Saturday morning for out last real day of vacation. Tomorrow would be nothing but travel. That is not fun. Today our plan was to head to World of Coca-Cola, then down to The Wren’s Nest (home of Joel Chandler Harris, author of Uncle Remus). After that we would head north to Dawsonville to visit a real moonshine distiller and the up to Amicalola Falls State Park. It promised to be a full day
World of Coca Cola with downtown Atlanta in the background
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World of Coca Cola opened at 9 AM and we were there to be among the first to get in. The World of Coca-Cola is equal parts propaganda, feel good nostalgia, and pop culture history. I saw reviews with people whining about it being nothing but a walk through commercial for Coke. Yeah. So? Did they expect a Pepsi? It was fun and entertaining. We got to learn about the history of Coke. Starting with a short film in a Nostalgia Room, moving on The Vault (where the secret formula is kept. I set off the alarm by getting too close), and then onto a video room to see commercials, and rooms telling the history of coke from John Pemberton to Asa Chandler to the present. Then finally to a tasting room, where 100 different Coke produced drinks are on tap. Don’t drink “Beverly” from Italy. It is really bad. They gave us a free bottle as we exited to the gift shop.
World of Coca Cola opened at 9 AM and we were there to be among the first to get in. The World of Coca-Cola is equal parts propaganda, feel good nostalgia, and pop culture history. I saw reviews with people whining about it being nothing but a walk through commercial for Coke. Yeah. So? Did they expect a Pepsi? It was fun and entertaining. We got to learn about the history of Coke. Starting with a short film in a Nostalgia Room, moving on The Vault (where the secret formula is kept. I set off the alarm by getting too close), and then onto a video room to see commercials, and rooms telling the history of coke from John Pemberton to Asa Chandler to the present. Then finally to a tasting room, where 100 different Coke produced drinks are on tap. Don’t drink “Beverly” from Italy. It is really bad. They gave us a free bottle as we exited to the gift shop.
Margo in front of The Vault
All we need is a Coke while vegging in the Pop Culture Gallery
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Me in front of the vault inside The Vault (I'm gonna steal the formula)
Margo in the lobby of the Coca Cola Theater
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It was noon and we definitely had to be at The Wren’s Nest by 1 PM. As it is only supposed to be about 10-15 minutes away I wasn’t concerned. With the traffic it took us half an hour. I was having a bad feeling about this afternoon, as we were south of downtown and needed to be way north. Saturday and Sunday traffic in Denver is usually pretty light. I was kicking myself for making the assumption that they would similar.
Anyway we got there and paid the admission. It was a little steep for such a short tour, but when I think that, I usually just fall back on “It helps to keep the fill-in-the-blank going”. Now once I go through it, if I think it sucks, then I feel ripped off. But, that rarely happens and today was no exception. Our docent was Sarah, a recent college graduate, with a major in history, who was interning here as a stepping stone into a bigger museum. This was her second tour, ever and she was nervous. But, it was just Margo and I and she did fine.
Anyway we got there and paid the admission. It was a little steep for such a short tour, but when I think that, I usually just fall back on “It helps to keep the fill-in-the-blank going”. Now once I go through it, if I think it sucks, then I feel ripped off. But, that rarely happens and today was no exception. Our docent was Sarah, a recent college graduate, with a major in history, who was interning here as a stepping stone into a bigger museum. This was her second tour, ever and she was nervous. But, it was just Margo and I and she did fine.
Wren's Nest--The home of Joel Chandler Harris, creator of Uncle Remus
The house-museum is over 100 years old, being just a museum for the last 102 years. The house is in pretty much the same decorative state as when Joel Chandler Harris, the author of all the Uncle Remus books, passed away. The first thing we saw was Br’er Rabbit, Fox and Bear, plus the Tar Baby in the parlor. They were using in the movie Song of the South and donated to the museum. I asked several questions of Sarah, the first being what is “br’er? It’s a contraction of “brother”. So Br’er Rabbit is Brother Rabbit.
The house was a little dark, as was the furnishings, but it was cool inside and we really liked seeing all of the period furniture, including an elaborate hall tree with a place to sit and a mirror. I want one. We were told Mr. Harris resisted the idea of an indoor bathroom, feeling that room did not belong in the house with food. We got a picture of the bathroom. It looked a lot like my grandmother’s. Speaking of which, My grandmother had the exact religious picture hanging in her house that the Chandlers have in theirs. They were both Catholic. (Click here for more info on the painting)
The house was a little dark, as was the furnishings, but it was cool inside and we really liked seeing all of the period furniture, including an elaborate hall tree with a place to sit and a mirror. I want one. We were told Mr. Harris resisted the idea of an indoor bathroom, feeling that room did not belong in the house with food. We got a picture of the bathroom. It looked a lot like my grandmother’s. Speaking of which, My grandmother had the exact religious picture hanging in her house that the Chandlers have in theirs. They were both Catholic. (Click here for more info on the painting)
The Br'ers; Bear, Fox, and Rabbit, plus the Tar Baby
This seems like the Stone Age, but it was cutting edge at the turn of the 20th century
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This print was very popular. I've found that many people tell of their grandmother having this print
Margo really like this chest of drawers
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The highlight of our tour was the 1 PM storytelling. This happens only on Saturday and it lasts about half an hour. The black lady (I mention her race because the liberal intellegencia thinks Uncle Remus the height of racism) that told the two stories we heard was very animated and gifted. She got into it, with sweeping gestures, theatrical voices, and little jokes that made it really fun. Her audience was small, only five of us, but she performed like she had filled Carnegie (who was a friend of JCH) Hall. It brought back childhood memories as she told the Tar Baby story. Margo and I both thought it was worth the effort and money to come out.
The back yard; suitable for parties
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The front, plus our rental car
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After storytelling, I got a few pictures of the backyard and the exterior of the house. Then it was off to Dawsonville. It was supposed to be an hour’s drive to Dawsonville. It took double that. Margo and I were both hungry, but the Dawsonville Moonshine Distillery closed at 4:30 PM. We got there at 4 PM. I was a bit disappointed, because the one guy there was cleaning up for the day, so there would be no tour. I could see the distilling equipment in the next room, and it was a commercial set up, as expected.
There was no tour, but he was happy to let us sample their four different brews. I asked a lot of dumb questions as both Margo and I sampled the moonshine. It was smoother than I expected, but it, especially the White Lightning, had quite the alcohol bite. Margo decided she had to have some, so she found out the closed place to buy it. They don’t have a license to sell, only to make. She also bought a cookbook. When I commented on her purchase, which is not unusual, she said “This is my first one”. I said “Yeah, that’s because you have them all”. She does have quite the cookbook collection.
There was no tour, but he was happy to let us sample their four different brews. I asked a lot of dumb questions as both Margo and I sampled the moonshine. It was smoother than I expected, but it, especially the White Lightning, had quite the alcohol bite. Margo decided she had to have some, so she found out the closed place to buy it. They don’t have a license to sell, only to make. She also bought a cookbook. When I commented on her purchase, which is not unusual, she said “This is my first one”. I said “Yeah, that’s because you have them all”. She does have quite the cookbook collection.
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Dawsonville City Hall and the Georgia Racing Hall of Fame all together with the Dawsonville Moonshine Distillery
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Bill Elliot was here
Attached to the Dawsonville Moonshine Distillery are two other establishments; City Hall and the Georgia Racing Hall of Fame. I did forget to mention, that inside the Dawsonville Moonshine Distillery, there is the Moonshine Hall of Fame. It consists of two displays with the 2013 and 2014 inductees. The guy that was giving us samples of his wares, said that his uncle was just inducted.
Anyway, back to the Georgia Racing Hall of Fame. It was really primarily dedicated to NASCAR driver, Bill Elliot, a Dawsonville native. But, not exclusively, there were exhibits and displays of various pioneers of NASCAR. I always seem to forget that NASCAR and moonshine intersect at NASCAR's birth, as it was primarily started to show off which of the “trippers” had the fastest car, a requirement to outrun the government people trying to shut them down.
I had not intended to tour the Georgia Racing Hall of Fame, even though I knew it was there, but with a bit better than a shot of moonshine, on an empty stomach, I was feeling myself slip right into the slipstream of time, and both Margo and I toured the whole thing. It was fun and we enjoyed it.
Anyway, back to the Georgia Racing Hall of Fame. It was really primarily dedicated to NASCAR driver, Bill Elliot, a Dawsonville native. But, not exclusively, there were exhibits and displays of various pioneers of NASCAR. I always seem to forget that NASCAR and moonshine intersect at NASCAR's birth, as it was primarily started to show off which of the “trippers” had the fastest car, a requirement to outrun the government people trying to shut them down.
I had not intended to tour the Georgia Racing Hall of Fame, even though I knew it was there, but with a bit better than a shot of moonshine, on an empty stomach, I was feeling myself slip right into the slipstream of time, and both Margo and I toured the whole thing. It was fun and we enjoyed it.
The National Moonshiner's Hall of Fame
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John "Ben" Chastain, Guy Rause, Roy "Snuffy" Jones, Robert Glen Johnson, Jr., and Marvin "Popcorn" Sutton
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We were starved by now, so we stopped at Big D’s BBQ for our dinner. It was good BBQ, but I thought the portion was a little small. Maybe the hunger also had something to do with that. We left Big D’s about 5:30. This time there was no traffic to speak of, and we were back at the hotel in a bit over an hour.
Day Nine--Sunday, May 31, 2015
Today was a travel day. Nothing really to write about. There was a young lady, twenty-something, who did not like to fly. This flight had more than its share of turbulence, so she didn’t have a good time. But, other than that, it was uneventful. Jessi and Pete picked us up and our trip was over.
I don't have worked out what we are going to do next year. With us running out of states you would think things would get easier with the choices becoming fewer and fewer. But, that is no the case. While I am definitely running out of states to visit, those remaining states don't have a big "To Do" thing in them. What is in Idaho that pulls in the masses, for instance? There that things to see and do in every state. But some states have greater appeal in those things and have many more of them. Some states have "Must See or Do" things. The Grand Canyon in Arizona, The Statue of Liberty in New York, Disney World in Florida. Arkansas does not have that.
But on the other hand I have things on my Bucket List that will require a repeat visit to another state. Niagara Falls in New York, The Alamo in Texas, Tombstone in Arizona. Put all of that in an equation and it does not spit out a clear answer. But, one thing is for certain, I will be planning to go somewhere, next year.
I don't have worked out what we are going to do next year. With us running out of states you would think things would get easier with the choices becoming fewer and fewer. But, that is no the case. While I am definitely running out of states to visit, those remaining states don't have a big "To Do" thing in them. What is in Idaho that pulls in the masses, for instance? There that things to see and do in every state. But some states have greater appeal in those things and have many more of them. Some states have "Must See or Do" things. The Grand Canyon in Arizona, The Statue of Liberty in New York, Disney World in Florida. Arkansas does not have that.
But on the other hand I have things on my Bucket List that will require a repeat visit to another state. Niagara Falls in New York, The Alamo in Texas, Tombstone in Arizona. Put all of that in an equation and it does not spit out a clear answer. But, one thing is for certain, I will be planning to go somewhere, next year.