Thank you, Anne Marie, Catherine, and Jimmy Hagood for your grace and favor including us in the village, on the hill, in the river, and on the beach. It’s always an honor to be included. Always
There used to be a good number of them
Small summertime villages where Lowcountry folks went to escape oppressive heat, to ward off summertime miasma, meaning mosquitoes and disease, with ever present sea breezes, and to laze on the water
Most of these summer village perched on bluffs by rivers near the ocean
Some were destroyed by hurricanes
Some were destroyed by war
Some were destroyed by encroaching developments
Edingsville on Edisto
St. Helenaville on St. Helena
Legareville on John’s Island
Secessionville on James Island
Rockville on Wadmalaw
Gathering places
Collections of houses
Wide halls
High ceilings
Cross ventilation
Broad piazzas
Southerly and easterly facing
Catching prevalent breezes
Today, only the village of Rockville remains in its original incarnation
Founded in the 1780s
Typical Rockville home: broad piazza facing the water
Rockville is located on the southern tip of Wadmalaw Island on the Bohicket Creek which dumps into the North Edisto River. Breezes from the Atlantic Ocean keep Rockville consistently cooler than Charleston
About ten degrees cooler
No kidding
Air conditioning not always needed
Heavily shaded lots
From Cherry Point at one end to Adams Creek at the other, the Village of Rockville contains a collection of old houses, Grace Chapel (Episcopal/Anglican), Rockville Presbyterian Church, and the Sea Island Yacht Club
One of my wife’s best friends from childhood grew up there. She spent a lot of time there with her friend running wild and free
Thanks to our pals Hagoods we are included in some wonderful times in the Village
The Hagoods’ house is the oldest in the Village
One and a half stories tall built on a tabby foundation.
Tabby, too, is a thing of the past
That ancient building material, concrete really, made with burnt oyster shells slaked with lime, ash, and more oyster shells. Allegedly taught to early Spanish settlers by the Indians and then the later English settlers who corrupted the Spanish term tapia to make it tabby, it stands the test of time
It’s endemic to coastal South Carolina and Georgia
And, it’s been the foundation of our friends’ family place since the mid 1700s
How firm a foundation
Built to last
All of the old houses in Rockville were built to last
My distant cousin, the late Episcopal Bishop of South Carolina, Albert Sidney Thomas, retired to Rockville and owned one of the houses on the water
Wish he’d left it to my side of his family
So what’s so great about Rockville?
Well, everything
The breezes from the Atlantic
Storms across the marsh
Competitive porch sitting
Rocking in a hammock
Watching the boats go by
Jumping off the dock
Visiting
Tubing
Water skiing
Tubing in the gloaming
Delicious meals from Dawn to Dusk
Ham biscuits
Grits and bacon
Frogmore stew
Ribs and ‘cue
Slaw
Homemade ice cream
Not worrying about where the children are
Trips to Deveaux Bank, a state-owned bird sanctuary, where the beach is perfection and pretty much deserted, excepting most weekends in May and June
It’s where the North Edisto River meets the Atlantic Ocean
It don’t get no better
But, don’t dare bring a dog with you on the boat
Dogs are not allowed on that fragile sandbar
Even if you think you are entitled to bring the dog as a service animal
We don’t care if your diddy told you he went there when he was young and dogs were allowed
According to the South Carolina Department of Natural Resources, twenty-five (25%) percent of Atlantic brown pelicans on the East Coast nest there
Twenty-five (25%) per cent
A quarter
Of
All
The
Brown
Pelicans
On
The
East
Coast
A quarter
They were on the brink of extinction fifty years ago
Don’t call it comeback
Been here for years
In addition there are
Royal terns
Least terns
Wilson’s plover
Sandwich terns
Black skimmers
Tricolored heron
Snowy egrets
Great egrets
Gull-billed terns
Willets
Oystercatchers
Ibis
Sea gulls, the laughing kind, that swarm over any human gathering with food
John James Audubon would have loved it
But, you just come on out with your pooch and ruin it for everyone else, please
All day hanging out certainly is the reason to go to Deveaux
Ok…may be it gets a little better
Collecting shells
Building drip castles
Staying cool in the water
Walking around the island but not crossing into the bird sanctuary
Catching up with whomever lands there on a weekend
It’s always like old home week on Deveaux
Leaving the beach better than you found it
Packing out trash
Laughing
Talking
Telling stories
Basking in the love of friends
Realizing how good we have it
It’s one of the last bastions of locals that has yet to be overrun by crowds of bachelorette parties, snooping hoards, and the shrill voiced from off
Wetter is better
At night, it’s always fun walking down to the Hall (the Sea Island Yacht Club) to see what’s happening there
Walking to visit other folks who live in the ‘ville
Or who are down for the weekend
There’s no trespassing as everyone knows the area between the houses and the water is meant for strolling
The Rockville Regatta held every year in August marks the end of the summer regatta season in the Lowcountry. It’s the last hurrah of Summer
Since 1890, that annual boating event has attracted hundreds of locals to observe on land and hundreds more to raft up in boozy flotillas on the water near the race course to be harassed by the local wild life officers for public drunkenness and not having enough life preservers on the boat
“There is no way you’re going to Rockville,” many a parent has said to a child that first weekend in August
Behaving badly well into our 30’s or 40’s
But, there’s still the party at the Hall
If you’re a Rockville type of person, you get it
If I have to explain that, then you’ll never get it and you’ll never be
In recent years, there have been additions of pools to some of the houses
In recent years, folks from off have scooped up some of the houses
The once large shrimping fleet has been greatly reduced over the years, but Cherry Point remains a wonderful place to get local swimps
The current Mayor is a local attorney who grew up in Rockville
He’s my age
So is one of the other Council Members
Their task is to make sure nothing changes in Rockville
Grace Chapel
Church at Grace Chapel harkens to an earlier age
The Altar Guild adorning the altar with cuttings from those hydrangeas growing under the oak tree
Windows open
Overhead fans
Handheld fans
No more than three verses sung for any given hymn
Sermons to be short and sweet
Dogs wandering in during the sermon. All creatures great and small
Ditching out after Communion because the boat needs to get into water as soon as possible
Refreshments and fellowship on the grounds
Carpenter Gothic
The paucity of people in the village makes it an excellent place to teach driving skills
I taught our oldest how to drive on the old Rockland dirt road with little traffic and enough ruts to keep things slow. Rockland, Rockville, The Rocks. All the same but with different names. Welcome to the Lowcountry
I’m sure I will be teaching our youngest to drive on the same dusty loop
Rockville still has a lot of families with the same old Wadmalaw connections
If I win that lottery or get this stuff published one day, then it’s either a house at Pawleys or a house at Rockville
Too bad I can’t get a ticket at Mr. King’s Grocery. The store is closed, but the building remains with old Sunbeam Bread metal signs over the door.
At this stage of the game, I’m leaning towards Rockville
My family will never adhere to Mr. Stipes’ directive from his lyrics about that town in Maryland
In the late 1970s, a retired Naval officer and his bride moved in a couple blocks away from us on The Point in Beaufort, South Carolina. They bought Madeline Pollitzer’s old house
Mr. and Mrs. Charles M. Chitty
She was the former Penelope Rhoads of Sewickly, just outside of Pittsburgh, PA
Penny to all who knew and loved her
He was a former country boy from Olar, South Carolina
Charles or Charlie to all who knew and loved him
I called them Mr. and Mrs. Chitty
I knew them and loved them both
They knew and loved me and my parents and my brothers
Adored, really
The Chittys had two boys, Byron and Charles
Byron we barely knew. He was older
Charles, we knew because he was the definition of an angry youth who moved to a neighborhood he didn’t know, in a town he didn’t know, around kids he didn’t know. All at a time when children should be left in the same place to graduate from school. He would cross the street to play basketball with us, even though he was much, much older than we. O.k., only six years older, which is a light year at that age
Charles Chitty had served in Naval Intelligence and had been an aide and right hand to Admiral McCain during the Vietnam War
He always told us he would have to kill us if he told us what he actually did during Vietnam
A complete badass
Especially for a kid from the crossroads of Olar, South Carolina, where his family were the be all, end all. As with so many small towns in South Carolina, there were lovely people in Olar, the Chittys chief among them
During their time in D.C., Roberta McCain often pressed Penny Chitty into service for bridge games. Penny also advised Mrs. McCain on her extensive Chinese Export collection.
“Well, you know, Mrs. McCain would call and say, ‘Penny, I need a fourth for bridge. Let’s kick these bitches’ asses’ , and we would.”
Penny’s family were old money folks
Steel money
She had a great jewelry collection, a great Meissen collection, a great Flora Danica collection, a great closet of clothes and shoes
She had a keen sense of humor and a wicked wit
Charles Chitty served as the Executive Director of the Historic Beaufort Foundation for a time
During that same time, Penny worked for a local contractor whose family had known hers Up Nawth, or something like that
When they moved to town, their cousins and our down the street neighbors, the Pringles, introduced them to everyone. Charles graduated form the University of South Carolina with a whole mess of Beaufort folks who knew him well, too. They were immediately included by all of Beaufort’s nicest people as they were some of the nicest people I have ever known
My family’s Sewanee cousins knew their Sewanee cousins. Connections were made by our other cousins. In earlier days, there would have been letters of introduction
Penny and Charles were also two of the absolute funniest, most irreverent, most genuine, most generous, most knowledgeable, most well read, most dignified, most hilarious, most loving people I have ever known
My father did legal work for the Chittys from time to time
One day, when Charles was working for the Historic Beaufort Foundation, my father walked from his office at 715 Bay Street to the Verdier House in the next block in which the Historic Beaufort Foundation literally housed itself. He needed Charles to sign something. Henrietta Smith served as the long suffering secretary for the Historic Beaufort Foundation. While my father was speaking to Charles, the phone rang. Henrietta answered.
“Charles,” she intoned, “Mr. [So-and-So], a Trustee, is on the phone.”
“Well, goddamnit, I know who the man is, Henrietta, and I don’t give a rat’s ass. I’m talking to George”
And, that, was Charles in a nut shell
His son Charles often bullied us as we played basketball behind The Oaks, the home of Evelyn and Paul Schwartz, whose grandchildren were our age and were and are friends
Young Charles would push us, run roughshod over us, steal the ball
One day, I got up the nerve and complained to Mr. Chitty
“Well, knock his clock off,” was his reply
I don’t think Penny would have appreciated that
In her Western Pennsylvania accent, softened through time at an appropriate finishing school, Penny was wont to say, “Well….you….know……” and then divulge some confidence standing with her arms akimbo and hips slightly tilted to the side, jaw slightly locked
After a few years in Beaufort, the Chittys opened an antique store, that they would eventually own with several other Beaufort people: Chitty & Kennedy; Chitty & Smith; Chitty & Murphy
Both Penny and Charles had great eyes for beauty. They taught anyone who would listen about the pieces in their store
Painted chairs reached their apotheosis in Baltimore
Certain types of feet indicate New York
Pine is usually the secondary wood in Southern furniture
Hunt boards used to be junky afterthoughts kept in the barn or under the house
Every family had a pie safe or a sausage making table or a harvest table
There should always be a little yellow, a little black, and a little red in every room
The Antiques Road Show makes everyone think they’ve got a Duncan Phyfe sofa in their attic
My mother and father have pieces from them
My bride gave me a sofa table from them for our wedding
I bought a silver butter dome from them that we still use
I regret not having had enough money to have purchased a long Irish wake table from them when I was still in college.
It was a thing of beauty
“Well, you know, Hambone,” Penny conspired. “The Irish really do lay out their dead on these and have everyone to the house. Can you imagine? I mean, I know your last name is O’Kelley, but can you imagine? All those people in your house, absolutely smashed! Well, you know, come to think of it, it does rather sound a lot like a Beaufort funeral doesn’t it?”
Penny would giggle at so many things, including the lady who cleaned their store and their house who would insist that Mrs. Chitty purchase more Comet to clean the sinks, but the lady called it “Comic”
“Can you believe she says, Comic? ‘Miz Chitty, get me more Comic.’ I still think she’s referring to my mother-in-law and not me”
And, then she would howl
On one trip to Beaufort, my aunt, who lives in Chapel Hill, fell in love with a chest of drawers in their store and bought it on the spot
Without consulting us, Penny offered my services and my brothers’ to deliver the piece to Chapel Hill for my aunt
“Well, you know, the O’Kelley boys will of course bring it on up to Chapel Hill for you. I’ll just make them do it”
We did that for our aunt and for Mrs. Chitty
Without question
The Chittys’ store was almost like an old general store, except no one gathered round the wood stove or the cracker barrel. Instead, there were always Beaufort folks sitting on a Hepplewhite sofa or in a Martha Washington lolling chair
It was a great place for news
And, Penny and Charles knew it all
“Well, I saw [So and So] at the likka store. He really needs to quit drinking”
“Have y’all seen [So and So] lately? I told her I could recommend a good plastic surgeon if she’s interested”
“Well, you know, [So and So]’s cancer has returned. And. It’s. Not. Good.”
“The rumor was that the character of [So and So] in Pat Conroy’s latest is based on [So and So].”
I swanny their Naval intelligence days served them well
Despite their constant irreverence, they were people of great substance
They loved their friends deeply and would have walked across hot coals for them
They gave lovely presents
I continue to use the silver letter opener they gave me when I graduated from Chapel Hill
In 1989 we lost a dear mutual friend who was only 13 years old
It was a blow to the entire town
During those bleak days, Charles would see us and say, “Well, fuck a duck”
I will never forget hearing Charles say that over and over again, as only he could say, “Well, fuck a duck” as we began to process the loss of our friend
That’s when you knew things were really bad in life
If Charles Chitty said, “Well, fuck a duck”, then, well, fuck a duck
He often said it when people died
He often said it when an idiot would leave his store after making some stupid remark
“Oh, did you hear that? Well, fuck a duck. I think he must have had a lobotomy this morning.”
The late Marie Rudisill, who would later gain fame as the Fruitcake Lady, lived in Beaufort and had Charles sell some of her family pieces. She was Truman Capote’s aunt. Both Mrs. Rudisill and Mr. Chitty pronounced Truman’s last name as “Ca-pote” not “Ca-po-tay”. When I once corrected him on the pronunciation, Mr. Chitty said, “Well fuck a duck, don’t you think his own aunt knows how to pronounce his name?”
People were forever bringing treasures to the Chittys to have them appraised, as Charles was a certified appraiser. One day, we were in the store when a lady arrived with a set of china that she told Charles was worth a lot. She said it had been in her family since the 1700’s. She said it was marked “KPM”
“It’s probably from Frederick the Great’s factory in Germany,” said the matron
Charles cut his eyes at Penny; Penny covered her mouth
Charles told the lady to leave the box, leave her number, and he would assess the china and call her
The cost would not be much for the appraisal
The lady left the store
Charles looked at us and said, “Oh, I am sure it will be stamped ‘Made in Occupied Japan’; Frederick the Great from the 1700’s my ass”
One lady in Beaufort fancied herself to be quite the decorator. She often came into the Chittys’ store to pick out pieces for her myriad clients whose names she dropped regularly. The woman’s hubris knew no bounds
Charles used to say about her style, “Oh, I think So-and-So is very talented, if you like Early Bordello. Belle Watling taught her everything she knows”
My parents would double up with laughter
I was too young to get the references to the whorehouse or to the Madame from Gone with the Wind.
The first time I really showed off my then girl friend to my Beaufort friends and family was at my parents’ Christmas Drop In which they held the Sunday before Christmas for years
The Chittys were always on the guest list
After introducing Mary Perrin to the Chittys, Charles Chitty looked her dead in the eye and said, “Well, my dear, if any of these assholes give you any trouble, come find me and I will take care of them.” He meant it
Penny rolled her eyes and said, “Charles! Don’t say that to the child. She doesn’t know you yet!”
Mary Perrin fell in love with both of them immediately and they with her
Penny Chitty adored my mother
“Well, you know, your mother is pretty neat”
She would say to me, “Well, you know, Yancey has some lovely pieces” referring to furniture she had bought from them over the years
“May be if you play those cards right, it will all be yours one day. Especially that needlepoint chair. We should have never let that go! But, I’m glad Yance has it.”
Penny used to crack herself up and cackle into her self
She used to laugh hardest recounting stories of her working for a local contractor and the women who worked in the office
“Well, you know, their dream is to go to The Steamer on a Friday night and have someone buy them a wine cooler. Can you even imagine? It’s the highlight of their week.”
The Steamer was a seafood restaurant and bar across the river on Lady’s Island
Disdain, thy name was Penny
Penny would converse in French with her eldest just to make the two Charles in her life mad
Penny would also say that she didn’t know what she was going to do with all her stuff as no one in her family wanted all of it
“Who will take my mother’s Sevres? Who? No one wants it. Well, you know, I’m right about that”
Penny was not being affected. She really wondered who would take her mother’s porcelain
Penny shocked us all when she returned from a minor vacation with a major facelift
Palm Beach Wind Burn
Penny did not care and would ask us how we thought she had turned out from her hours under the knife
“Well, you know, I don’t want to look like [So and So]” who had had a facelift a couple years earlier. “Her ears practically meet atop her head!”
The Chittys gave me a silver letter opener when I graduated from Chapel Hill. It sits on my desk. I use it daily
I think of them every time I tear through an envelope
Unfortunately for all of us, Penny’s ovaries betrayed her in the mid-90s
By the time her cancer was detectable, it had really spread all over and all within her thin frame
Not to be daunted, Penny began to turban her head with Hermès, Gucci, Lilly Pulitzer, Pucci, Prada, and other designer scarfs. Sometimes they would flow. Sometimes they would be tight around her head. They always matched her outfit. We gave her a Lilly Pulitzer scarf to add to her collection. She wore it to a funeral during that time and pointed to it mouthing, “This is from y’all!”
Her cancer spread while I was in law school
My parents kept me informed
My mother took flowers and meals but nothing with garlic
Penny despised garlic, “Well, you know, it does ruin the breath and my mother associated it with the help.”
Ouch
I wrote Penny letters as her illness progressed
I also went to see her over my Christmas vacation my third year in law school
It was clear she was a sick woman
“Well, you know, I will be receiving like the Empress Elizabeth of Russia before too long. She only took audiences in her boudoir spread upon a gilded Recamier”
In May of 1997, I wrote her a letter referencing her recumbent state
It was the last correspondence we would exchange
There, at her side when she died were her beloved Charles and her children and her dear pal Joyce Gray, also of Beaufort, who had grown up with Charles in Barnwell and Bamberg Counties, too
Before she died, Penny planned the reception to be held at her house with Harold Atkins bar tending, his daughter Francine Moultrie serving, and Madeline Politzer catering
“Tell Madeline, that even though this used to be her house, I want my menu,” Penny told Charles
After her funeral, at said reception, Joyce Gray told me that as she made her way to the grave, Penny mentioned me. “Tell Hamlin, Joyce. Tell Hamlin….those letters…..”
She died a few hours later surrounded by those who loved her.
Upon hearing those words from Mrs. Gray, I buried my head on her shoulder. Joyce Gray quietly patted my head and said, “Oh, she loved you so”
At least we can visit with Penny at St. Helena’s in Beaufort
In her will, Penny left a Meissen tea cup with an Augustus Rex mark to my mother, from the time of Augustus the Strong, Elector of the Saxony, used at his Court
Circa 1720
May be if I play my cards right, it will be mine one day
Charles remained heartbroken after Penny died
He carried on and carried on her memory, telling us wickedly funny stories about their time in Washington, about people in town, about everyone and everything
The antiques store remained open for years and years after Penny’s death
Charles attended our wedding two years later, giving us a beautiful antique candle stand from the Abbeville District of South Carolina along with twelve huge red wine goblets. We still have six of them
Presenting us with the table, Charles said, “I know that the Perrins have a connection to Abbeville, and this is an Abbeville made piece. Use it as a night stand, a lamp table. But, use it, goddamnit”
It sits by our sofa in our den today
In explaining the wine goblets, he said, “Oh, red wine swirling in those will be sexy as hell. But, don’t let any assholes drink out of them”
Charles’s favorite word for me was obstreperous
“Bubba, you are obstreperous” he told me time and time again
I never saw that in myself, but he did
He was a huge fan of me, my brothers, the Schwartz, Williams, Robinson, Meeks, Trask, Credle, Gray, Jeter, Dukes, Sanders, Moss, Tucker children. He loved us all and our families
He knew our children, too
When our eldest was two, we mailed him a Christmas card of our daughter in a smocked purple dress holding an ornament and smiling
Mr. Chitty wrote me back
Dear Ham
Good to see you and Mary Perrin are using liturgically correct colors for Advent. Christmas begins on Christmas Eve. Love to your girls for a very Merry Christmas – Charles
As he aged, Mr. Chitty’s body tricked him, too, with Parkinson’s and with some memory issues
One time, after he had moved into an assisted living facility, I went to see him when I was in Beaufort. We discussed life, love, death, the afterlife
“I tell you one goddamn thing right now, Bubba,” he said to me. “It’s not very Christian of me, but I believe that when it’s over, it’s all over. I used to have those discussions with Frank Limehouse, too.”
The Reverend Frank Limehouse served as the Rector of St. Helena’s
“But, Mr. Chitty,” I said, “You go to church all the time. You love the hymns. You recite the Creeds. You even tell people that nice people sit on the right side of the church, since Jesus sits at the right hand of God the Father Almighty. I’ve heard you say it.”
“Well, Hambone, nice people do sit on the right side of the church. But when it’s all over, it’s all over.”
I certainly hope he’s wrong about that
In the last few years of his life, the Chitty boys moved their father to a nursing facility outside of Beaufort
None of us said goodbye
There was no service at St. Helena’s
There was only a brief blurb in the paper when he died
There was a private burial at the family cemetery in Olar, SC
None of us knew when that event took place back in 2013
In the summer, are there any two better words than “tomato season”?
From early June to mid July, tomatoes are in, meaning that the local tomatoes are ready
Like generations of Beaufortonians, I worked in a tomato packing shed in the summers
Those are tales for another day
When the tomatoes are in season, we serve them a lot
Like a lot
This summer I have been peeling them and slicing them paper thin with a tomato knife someone gave us when we were hitched. Yes, there is such a thing as a tomato knife
We serve them with either my silver tomato server or my wife’s silver tomato server. Yes, there is such a thing as a tomato server. And, yes, my wife and I each have our own, because, well, the South
I grew up with sliced tomatoes on the plate through the summer
A perfect summer breakfast on the weekend involves sliced tomatoes
My grandparents ate them on the same plate with cantaloupes, musky and fecund, sausage, bacon, hominy, eggs, biscuits, toast
When my wife and I were dating, her mother introduced me to the most perfect accompaniment for sliced tomatoes: Basil Sauce
This is her receipt
I haven’t a clue where she procured it
Not only is this heavenly on sliced tomatoes, but it’s great on grilled chicken, steaks, baked fish, cold asparagus, cold green beans
It works really well on a tomato sammich on lite bread, too. The kind where the lite bread sticks to the roof of your mouth.
My sister-in-law, Margaret Johnson Kunes, loves Basil Sauce
Like loves
So do I
Wonder if it’s wrong to drink it?
With thanks to my sister-in-law Elizabeth West Johnson for sharing the receipt in her Cooking Up A Storm, Christmas ’96, compilation of family treasures for spilling the secret. It’s out there now
Serving suggestion with tomato servers
Becky Johnson’s Green Basil Sauce
1/3 cup white vinegar
2 tbsp Dijon mustard
1/2 cup basil leaves, packed super tightly, the more the merrier
1 clove garlic, smashed or roughly chopped
1/3 cup vegetable oil – only vegetable oil, not corn, not canola, not olive, not walnut – but vegetable
1 cup sour cream
3 tbsp Italian flat leaf parsley
1/2 cup heavy cream
Salt and pepper to taste
Pinch of sugar
In the bowl of a food processor, add the vinegar, mustard, basil, and garlic. Mix until smooth. You may have to use a spatula a time or two to make sure the bowl is scraped down and mixed. Using the feed tube, while the processor is running, add the oil in a steady stream. Once that is fully mixed, add the remaining ingredients at the same time. Then pulse several times until fully combined. Chill until ready to serve
Notes: use full fat everything and vegetable oil. I tried this with olive oil. I did not work. As for salt and pepper, I love both, but let your taste buds guide you. I mean I’m crazy about pepper. Once I made this and it was basil pepper sauce. You can always add; you can’t take away.
I have even been known to dip lite bread in it as a way to get it down my gullet
One of the worst things about getting older is that we attend more funerals
Cancer
Cancer
Heart attack
The causes of death of three lovely people whose funerals I have recently attended
The last one came as a shock
No warnings with cardiac events
As news spread of my pal’s death, people began to call, to text, to message, to ping
“What happened?”
Not helpful
The person is gone
Would have been kinder and nicer to just say, “I’m sorry”
Everyone says “sorry for your loss”, which, personally, I despise. I am still struggling to know why that kind expression of sympathy flies all over me like the cheapest of suits
Why does it bother me so?
A friend tells me I think it trite
Another friend tells me I think it cliche
Will have to pray about that
Everyone says, “You’re in our thoughts and prayers”
That’s lovely, too, but, similarly, it kind of drives me crazy
A friend tells me I think it trite
A friend tells me I think it cliche
Will have to pray about that, too
But, I won’t send emoji prayer hands
That really drives me crazy
As I recently told the deceased closest’s relative, if anyone says, “It’s God’s will” or “God has a plan” then I’m available to throat punch those speakers
I am re-reading Joan Didion’s Year of Magical Thinking for the umpteenth time
It’s such a powerful exploration of that land we all know and go to time and time again
Grief
“Grief is different. Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eye and obliterate the dailiness of life.”
Mrs. John Dunne got it right
We don’t
In her book, she writes a history of mourning. We don’t mourn any more. We don’t offer broth and toast and quiet and stillness. We don’t leave people alone for six months. We don’t say, “They’re in mourning.” A century ago, we all knew it meant not to bother them or invite them anywhere. In mourning also meant that we knew as a society that they were going to be out of their minds for a while, crazed with grief
Our only nod to mourning, black or dark clothes worn to funerals
In the South, mourning used to be strictly observed e.g. Mrs. Wilkes in Gone With the Wind advising Cap’n Butler that Mrs. Hamilton will not dance as the family were still in mourning. When Mrs. Hamilton accepts the dance, her aunt Pitty Pat faints in shock
Now, we say, “She’s handling it really well”
Now, we say, “He’s a rock”
Now, we say, “She’s keeping it together for the children”
Now, we say, “Oh, life goes on”
Does it?
Handling it?
She wants to scream her head off and tell you all to leave her alone
He wants you to know that he will never love anyone again
When there’s a death, we should just let the family be, and we should just be with the family
Just be
Just be
Sit
Hold a hand
Don’t engage in inane conversation, just be
In our age of constant entertainment and distraction, we think we should take the family on a vacation somewhere wonderful ASAP
“It will get their mind off it”
Why?
Why would they want to have their mind off their loved one?
They don’t
Ever
See, e.g.,Funeral Blues by W.H. Auden, not repeated her because Auden’s Estate did not give me permission
As I write in every single condolence letter, if Jesus wept at the loss of a friend, then who are we to not?
Why do we need to move on?
How awful
As some of you know from an earlier missive, my Eighth Grade English teacher was the wife of the long time minister of the Baptist Church of Beaufort. Mrs. Spears taught us many things, but, when a classmate’s father died, she took a group of us to the house. Before we arrived, Mrs. Spears told us to follow the lead of those closest to the deceased and let them talk.
“Just tell them you’re sorry,” said Mrs. Spears, “They’ll talk when they want to talk. If not, just stand or sit with them. They’re glad you’re there”
In the receiving line for another friend, I told her husband that I was just so sorry that she was gone
“Fifty plus years of marriage, and, now, just me”
“I’m so sorry,” was all I could say again and again as he talked
After a minute or two, he said, “I’ll miss that laugh”
“Oh, she had such a great sense of humor,” I responded. Then, I told a funny story about the deceased which the widower had forgotten
He beamed
“Thank you, Hamlin. She thought y’all were just wonnerful”
“We thought she was wonnerful, too”
The Victorians excelled at mourning and creating parkland graveyards
Be close to those who mourn
They shall be comforted
May be by you
Stand with them
Just stand with them
Put your arm around their shoulder
Hold their hand
Just be
Bring some food
Bring a cooler of ice
Bring your grandmama’s award winning pie
Bring a sad pound cake, and, if you know what that is, then you should totally bring one
Bring a casserole that can be frozen for later use
Bring a bag of paper products, including toilet paper
Bring prepared sandwiches
If you live in Charleston, call Miz Hamby’s for same
Don’t bring that slick ham platter from the grocery store deli department
Offer to help write the obituary
Offer to call anyone to spread the news
Bring flowers
I always bing cheese straws
I’m a one trick pony
Years ago, when someone died at home, a friend’s mother was overheard talking to the local florist, “Yes, that would be fine but nothing funerally like glads or carnations, hear?”
No glads
No carnations
No sprays with a toy telephone that says, “He Called.”
That is a real arrangement that I’ve seen with my own two eyes
Add the deceased and the family to the prayer list
Write the family a note on your stationery, which, I hope you have purchased from Arzberger’s in Charlotte, NC
When my sister-in-law died in 2014, the most wonderful note we revived was the most simple
Dear MP, Hamlin, Margaret, and Perrin
I am so sorry. There are no words. None. I love you all
That was it
Impactful
Perfection
Elegant
In four months, when no one is knocking on the widow’s door or asking the children how they’re doing, or telling the widower that they’ll check on him, or remembering to call, take them supper, talk about the loved one, ask them to coffee, tell them how much you, too, missed the deceased
Let the tears flow
For the family, it will soon be as still as the Wragg Mausoleum
In those quiet moments months from now, when they can’t sleep, when they hear a song that reminds them of the deceased, they need friends
We should bring back mourning, complete with black arm bands and heavy crepe
Instead, we will say
“They’re holding up so well”
“They’re so brave”
I have heard dear friends, people whom I adore, say “Well, she never got over his death”
From 1959 until 1985, The Yankee Tavern occupied almost a full city block on Boundary Street in Beaufort, South Carolina
A dive
A greasy spoon
A hole in the wall
Good food
Fair prices
Ice cold beer
Not that I was ever old enough to have one there
Not even the sign remains. Photo by Billy Palmer
Pearl and Manny Palmer were tough New Jersey folks who opened a restaurant in downtown Beaufort in a one-story cinder block building with a brick facade.
They were damned Yankees
The kind we Southern kids know who come South and stay
I loved them
The Yankee had two entries, one on Boundary Street and one on the side facing Newcastle Street
Everyone entered from Newcastle Street
A long bar
Pool tables
Dim lighting
Cigarette haze
Pin ball machines
Bathrooms in the back corner that could have used a little bleach
Manny was the impresario in a white t-shirt
Sometimes that t-shirt had the Playboy bunny on it
Think of Mel of Mel’s Diner fame from the t.v. show Alice but with a Joisey accent and a lot cooler than Mel
Pearl was the enforcer with a tight perm, short fuse, dangling cigarette
Everyone in Beaufort went there
I mean everyone
Politicians
Shrimpers
Doctors
Lawyers
Businessmen
Families with small children
Singles looking for a good time
Marines from Parris Island and the Air Station
Young people playing pool
Movie stars filming either The Great Santini or The Big Chill
Migrant workers in town to pick tomatoes during the tomato harvest season in the summer
The one demographic not represented were ladies who lunch, but they would come in with their husbands at night or on the weekend
The late Hedy Williams used to drape a paper napkin over the seat before she sat on any of the naugahyde cushioned metal framed chairs, most of which had a tear or two in them
No one gave her a second look
A local attorney ate there so often for lunch that they named a sandwich after him. I can’t remember what was on The Bruce, but I know it was on the menu forever
Their soup was Damn Good Chowder
Our father would take us there on Saturday mornings to sit at the bar and eat breakfast while watching cartoons
There were always fathers and children at the The Yankee on Saturday mornings
You know who you are and were
Bill Bowden, the Palmers’ most trusted employee, would emerge from the back and ask if we wanted him to turn the channel while confirming our standing order of pancakes drowning in syrup with a side of bacon cooked on the griddle. It was he who made sure the cooks put M&M’s in our pancakes if we asked.
Bill, as we called him, was a gentle giant. He cleaned, mopped, bussed tables, wiped down the bar, all while clad in bib overalls. He never stopped moving
We lived five minutes from The Yankee
My parents would order takeout from there, and it would be at our house in no time
What a treat to see the foil wrapped package of perfectly fried mushrooms with a small plastic container of ranch dressing in which to dip those battered fungi
The motto at The Yankee: “The Customer is Never Right”
But, the customer was always right at The Yankee
When the drinking age was 18, young folks in town would go to The Yankee to shoot pool, drink beer, and smoke cigarettes.
One evening, a group of teens, may be some of legal drinking age, may be some not, cavorted around a pool table. Some were barefooted. Anyway, they got too rowdy and Pearl told them to leave
They refused
Systematically, Pearl began to smash beer bottles on the hard concrete slab floor of her own establishment
The teens hightailed it before they had to walk across broken glass in bare feet
I’m sure Pearl had Bill sweep it up as she moved on to the next issue
Older locals told us the story that The Yankee stayed open during Hurricane Gracie. Manny and Pearl kept serving food and drinks in ankle deep water
Pearl was quoted in the Beaufort Gazette saying, “It was a riot!”
We took tennis lessons from a man named Ben Owens at the municipal tennis courts about a block away from The Yankee. It being the late 70’s and early 80’s, Ben smoked like a chimney as he taught us to be the next Bjorn Borgs and Tracy Austins
Often, Ben would have us drill or play practice games and say in his Winston Light graveled accent, “Y’all keep practicing. I’ll be right back.”
We all knew that Ben was walking down Boundary Street to The Yankee for a cold beer
We introduced Blythe Danner and her husband Bruce Paltrow to The Yankee
They loved it
The night The Great Santini premiered in Beaufort, my father took the Paltrow children, including a future Oscar winner, her brother, my brothers, our dear pal Hugh Patrick, and me to The Yankee for pizza. All of our parents had a premier to attend!
We all jumped on the tables, ran around the place, made a bunch of noise
Our favorite game at The Yankee was jumping form chair to chair, table to table
We did it all the time
We taught the Paltrow children the art of behaving badly in The Yankee
While we were standing on the tables, Pearl yelled at us across the joint, “Hey, sit down, kids!”
The future Oscar winner looked at us and said, “Who’s that mean old lady?”
My reply, “That’s no lady. That’s just Pearl!”
We sat down
We saw said Oscar winner last year; she asked if The Yankee was still in business
When I told her it closed in the mid-80’s, she sighed and said, “Oh, that’s too bad. Remember the lady who yelled at us?”
Of course, GP
I will never forget her or her husband
Those of us lucky enough to have gone there know it occupies a big place in our hearts
For years after it closed, we would see folks who worked there
They and we would say “I haven’t seen you since The Yankee”
It was a place and time none could replicate
None
I think Heaven will be a lot like The Yankee
Full of all types of people
All glad to see you
No judgment
Fair dealings
A place to never leave
Great food and drink
Full of laughter
So much laughter
While all are under the watchful eye of an owner who may have to pull you up short a time or two
So, all you fans of The Yankee, if you get to Heaven before me and see Bill, please tell him that Hambone wants to know if he can to turn the t.v. to Bugs Bunny
That most representative dish of Lowcountry cooking
Shrimp and grits
Shrimp and hominy
Breakfast shrimp
Shrimp gravy
It’s not hard
It’s not complicated
But, for the love of all that is, chefs from Key West to Campobello, from Charleston to Los Angeles, from Seattle to Jacksonville, from New Orleans to Detroit and everywhere in between have to mess with it time and time and time again
A chef in Asheville, North Carolina, espoused her creative use of foraged bounty in making her version
Foraged?
In the mountains?
Who eats seafood in Asheville?
Mountain trout?
Yes
Shrimp?
No
Just quit
In glossy food magazines, there are paeans to plates of muddled messes of shrimp cooked with olive oil, garlic, tasso, mushrooms, red pepper, sherry vinegar, jalapeno peppers
It ain’t right
Growing up, the now highly exalted Shrimp and Grits were simply, well, breakfast on the weekend or supper on nights when moms were too tired to make much else
It’s easy fare
Peeling the shrimp is the hardest part
On weekends at our fish camp on Pritchard’s Island, the dads would saute a chopped onion, may be a diced bell pepper, in butter or a little bacon grease, they would throw in some Worcestershire sauce, perhaps a bit of sausage, may be make a roux, may be not, and then they’d add some water to make a fairly thin and wan colored gravy. Lastly, they would cook shrimp in the sauce, then sprinkle it with bacon
Definitely not Instagramable
The Junior League of Charleston’s venerable old Charleston Receipts has “Breakfast Shrimp” by Mrs. Ben Scott Whaley (Emily Fishburne), late of Mrs. Whaley and Her CharlestonGarden fame. Her version is almost the one I grew up with in the 1970s and 1980s. She adds a little ketchup.
I’m sure her hominy was simple boiled grits. No heavy cream and chicken stock to be found. Just water, salt, and grits.
In the heading of the section with her receipt there’s an explanation called “Shrimp for Breakfast.” The editors of the cookbook wrote that shrimp have long been a breakfast favorite in the coastal region.
Good enough remains good enough
No mousselline sauces
No beurre blancs
No oyster mushrooms
No sugar
No tomatoes
No stock made with shrimp heads
No diced green onion garnishment
Just simplicity on a plate on a Saturday morning
That’s what we knew
Beaufort, South Carolina’s own Larry Taylor, who cooked at the Beaufort Yacht Club and his now shuttered restaurant, L.T.’s, made the absolute best shrimp gravy
My mother would order from him and take him containers to fill with that velvety goodness to be reheated slowly in a pot and served with hominy. He put cooked sausage in his. There was nothing fancy about it, though
I get that chefs want to…
…wait for it…
…my least favorite expression which is overused by everyone in the culinary world…
…wait for it…
…you can’t un-hear it once you hear it…
…wait for it…
…riff on the classics
Stop it
Really
Stop it
Back in 2018 at this amazing party weekend, a friend who lives in Denver of all places challenged me to a shrimp and grits cook off.
She said that she would crush me
Dahlin, where you get your shrimp in the Mile High City in the middle of the country?
Bless your heart, Sweet Pea
She will probably add ghee and lemon juice and parsley and cheddar cheese to her version which would most likely derive from Brooklyn’s own Bobby Flay or Long Island’s Ina Garten. She will probably roast the shrimp in a convection oven or something else amazing
They don’t got these in Denver
My version will be so simple and will highlight the fine creek shrimp we get around here, especially in late summer
I have a great pal who is a damned fine cook. Recently we were all together, and he said he was going to make shrimp for breakfast to go with his grits. No, he didn’t call it shrimp and grits. He just said he was making shrimp for the grits. He’s an umpteenth generation local. He knows the deal
All he did was melt some butter, add the shrimp and saute, add a little salt and pepper and a bop of Worcestershire at the end. He crumbled a little cooked bacon over and spooned over warm hominy. Perfection. Not a hint of fish stock or andouille sausage, which is from New Orleans and not from South Carolina
Here’s what I make when the shrimp are running
I don’t charge $25.00 a plate, either
Again, really, just stop with the silliness and make you some true Lowcountry shrimp and grits, shrimp and hominy, shrimp gravy, breakfast shrimp
It’s the real deal
Shrimp Gravy
1/2 stick butter, salted, unsalted, it does not matter
1 small yellow onion, diced small
1 small green pepper, diced small (optional)
1 tsp salt
1/2 tsp black pepper
2 tbsp. Worcestershire sauce
A dash of hot sauce
1/4 c. flour
1 cup water
2 lbs shrimp, peeled, devein if you wish, but I don’t bother
5 slices bacon, cooked crisp, crumbled, reserved
Cooked grits
Melt the butter in a frying pan and add the vegetables. Add salt and pepper and saute until the vegetables are soft. Add the Worcestershire and hot sauce. Add in the flour and cook for 1-2 mins to get the raw taste out and then add the water and make into a smooth sauce, using a whisk. Bring to a boil slowly. It will thicken once it boils. If it gets too thick, add more water. Once the desired consistency, add the shrimp and cook until shrimp are pink. The water in the shrimp will thin out the gravy. Do not overcook the shrimp. About 3 minutes is all it takes to cook the shrimp through. This is a super fast receipt. You can cook it and then let it sit. Add some more water if you want to reheat it that way
Serve the shrimp gravy over the grits and garnish with crumbled bacon
Don’t garnish with lemon juice, or parsley, or sous vided anything
It doesn’t have a hint of pretension, though, and truly represents that simple dish now highly exalted in fancy kitchens around the world
As Dorothy Parker was fond of saying, “An ounce of pretension is worth a pound of manure”
I posted this one after camp drop off last year….sadly….no Junior or June Camps at Greystone this year…..we all shed some tears over it as we all love that place….see you next year … it will be GR8!
I loved Camp
Camp High Rocks in Cedar Mountain, North Carolina
My wife loved Camp
Camp Greystone in Tuxedo, North Carolina
The mountains and hills around Flat Rock, Hendersonville, Brevard, Asheville, Cashiers, are full of camps
Once and former spend the night camps for youth include and included:
High Rocks, Greystone, Carolina, Keystone, Green Cove, Mondamin, Greenville, Ton-A-Wandah, Rockbrook, Kanuga, Illahee, Green River Preserve, Merrie-Wood, Merri Mac, Blue Star, Rockmont, Arrowhead, Pinnacle, Cheerio, Gwynn Valley, Falling Creek, Ridgecrest, Deep Woods, Bonclarken, Lutheridge, Wayfarer, Glen Arden, Hollymont
Each has its own loyal following
Some attached to certain religious denominations
Some non-religious
Spend the night camp isn’t cheap. Children of privilege fill the bunks. They have a leg up by virtue of their ability to attend such wonderful places. I know that I would have never considered going to boarding school had I not had such a wonderful camp experience in Western North Carolina.
Had I not gone to camp for years, I would not be writing all of this down for your reading pleasure
I went to High Rocks because boys from Beaufort went there
Locked and loaded
My wife went to Greystone because she had friends there
My girls have been attending Greystone for the last nine (9) years
Our eldest aged out two summers ago by her own volition
Our youngest is on her fifth summer and will probably go until they tell her she’s too old
Greystone is in her 100th Summer
It’s kind of amazing all that happens there
It gets a bad wrap as being the country club of the camps of North Carolina. We did spy a famous country artist at Opening Day this year. I attended camp with the children of the famous, too. It’s no big deal. But, again, there is an element of privilege and familiarity that these children have that non-campers don’t have by virtue of attendance.
We are wild about Greystone. It’s a place where Jesus comes first, and everything else is secondary. Really. The directors’ family has been focused on the Christian aspect of camp for five generations. The founder was an ordained minister who wanted girls to have the same experience as boys, enjoying God’s creation as a form of worship
Opening Day is our Christmas in June
For almost a decade we have had the same experience for the Opening Day at Greystone
The Sunday before, we load up the stuffed trunk, the laundry bag, the toiletries, the bunk decorations early in the morning. We then hightail it up I26 to Little Charleston in the Mountains a/k/a Flat Rock
Our ears pop as we climb up the Saluda Grade just over the border in North Carolina
Our ears pop again as we hurtle down into the Green River gorge
We always take the Saluda Exit and mosey through downtown Saluda where Mr. Pace’s store stands strong
We head on over to Lake Summit and drive around that damned river water to spy the lake that borders Greystone, Mondamin, and Green Cove
That’s where it first hits: the North Carolina mountain smell. If green had a smell, this would be it all fecund with new growth and earth and the slightest tinge of mildew. Any of you who have been to the North Carolina mountains know that smell
I love it
We circle to the north side of the Lake and pass the main entrance to Greystone and Apple Tree Hill. From there we go straight into Flat Rock
That summer retreat was named Little Charleston in the Mountains due to the sheer number of Lowcoutnry folks who migrated there in the summer. They still migrate there in droves. America’s poet, Carl Sandburg lived at Conmerra, a house built by the Memminger family
We usually eat at the Village Bakery and always run into someone we know
Our beloved former Charleston neighbors moved to Flat Rock five years ago (See? Charleston people LOVE Flat Rock). We always get in a good visit with them every year
We take a turn on Main Street, Hendersonville, after our visit with our neighbors. The Mast Store. Kilwins. The old trips to the The Fountainhead Bookstore were epic. We miss that place. Local bookstores continue to head the way of the Dodo. Yet, there’s that Antique Mall that never goes anywhere and never seems to ring up any sales. We wonder how it stays in bidness
On the way back to Flat Rock we stop at The Fresh Market for snacks. I call it the Cocktail Party Store. Plenty of items for cocktails but no real groceries.
For years, we have stayed at the Highland Lake Inn. Our favorite rooms are in old camp cabins as that Inn on Highland Lake used to be an old Roman Catholic summer camp, the only vestige of which is a statue of the Virgin Mary watching over one of the fields
We have a good friend whose parents, from Charleston, met as camp counselors at Highland Lake. See what I mean about Charleston and Flat Rock?
I always take a walk down to the lake to look at the lily pads and reflection of evergreens in the water. We hear the shrill call of the resident albino peacock
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help
We’ve gone swimming in the lake and in the pool.
We have stayed at Highland Lake in past years with all manner of camp drop off friends.
Our girls love the swings on the old oak tree
“Push me, Dad!”
There are rope hammocks for reading.
Lightning bugs come out at twilight
We often have cocktails on the porch of the cabin
This year, our pal Stephen Gaddy requisitioned our ironing board to set up as the buffet table for cocktail hour
Every year, we walk over to suppers at Seasons at Highland Lake. We have broken bread there with the Gaddys, the Allens, the Davises, the Lucases, the Givens, and other Charleston Greystone families.
We log an early bed time and set the alarm
Much like Christmas Eve as a child, I cannot sleep. I wake every hour. I am in the shower by 6:00 a.m.
Highland Lake serves a hearty buffet breakfast right at 6:30 a.m.
We leave for Camp by 7:15
No later
We arrive at the back gate, the staff entrance, along with the hundreds of other SUVS loaded with trunks, bags, crates, pillows, stuffed animals, upholstered “husbands”, lap desks, posters, fans, bedding
Greystone has it down to a science
The counselors greet the car, ask the child’s name, slap a sticker with her cabin on her shirt, and tag the trunks and the cabin. From there, a legion of young folks load trunks and bags into carts to go up the hill to be unloaded and delivered to cabins for the next three hours. We arrive early to ensure the trunks and bags are on the porch of the cabin by 8:30 a.m. when the tape drops and the girls run up the hill
7:31 a.m., June 3, 2019
In past years, there was an actual bunk run where girls would stampede to get to their assigned cabins to get a bed. There were fewer deaths on the bunk run than in Pamplona, but it was pretty chaotic.
There was always a trampled lovey left in the dewey grass
The Camp changed that policy a couple years ago, but the girls still run as soon as the 8:30 bell rings
Bunks are now assigned and counselors stand ready to greet their charges
We arrive and make the beds
Our pal from Atlanta, Land Bridgers, taught me a great trick about making bunks. Take the mattress off the bunk and make it fully on the floor of the yet to be soiled cabin. Make said mattress. Then, lift and tuck it right back into place
This year, as I made the bed, I said, “Time for the Land Bridgers’ maneuver”
It should be taught to all camp parents
We put towels in bathrooms, arrange shoes on porches, unload clothes, dance around with other parents calling out questions to their campers
Bed made, pictures taped to the wall, ready to make it a GR8 Day
We head over to the welcome reception on the porch of the Dining Hall with fresh baked scones, coffee, water, and an almunae table with stickers marking decades, the number of generations, and gifts for those returning.
Every year, we run into someone we know on the dining hall porch, waiting for the bunk run, unloading the trunk
My friend from Beaufort, Chandler Bailey, who now lives in Birmingham, has a theory that you could connect every college educated person in the South if you could interview all the parents dropping off at Greystone or its former brother camp, Falling Creek
He has a valid point
Prius? What’s a Prius?
Our youngest returns to Greystone with other Charleston girls who go but who don’t bunk together. This year they have decided to take at least one activity/class together
Our eldest and her best friend always requested each other as cabin mates for years
There’s only been one year with a bad counselor
Not all sweetness and light, she played favorites and did not live by the Camp’s ethos
She was not invited back the following year
The place improves itself yearly and takes criticism to heart
But, it can be kind of overwhelming for the uninitiated and kind of intimidating for new campers where everyone else seems to know everyone else
This year, we received our daughter’s schedule via a PDF emailed to us after the first full day
No kidding
The traditional summer camp activities reign
Riflery
Archery
Canoeing
Kayaking
Sailing
Swimming
Hiking
Horse back riding
Ceramics
All manner of sports
Fishing
Ropes courses
Over night camp outs
You are like the clay in the potter’s hands, and I am the potter. Jeremiah 18:6
There are talent shows, evening programs, big events, including an end of session banquet with a theme. We hear that there are fireworks this year to celebrate the 100th Season
Oh, and it takes about two years to get in off the waiting list…really…at least two
Once you’re in the system as a family, though, you’re in forever
We try to write a letter a day or at least send an email
The camp does a great job communicating with parents
The counselors do make the children write their parents
We could hire a full time assistant to cull the pictures posted on the Camp’s website to find our daughters
The best letter we ever received from camp was written by our youngest. It read as follows:
Dear Mom and Dad:
I don’t miss you. I love it here. The food
Love, P
I think she meant she loved the food
Last year on Fathers Day, I received a missive that said she didn’t miss me as she was “somewhere better right now”
It’s worth every penny just for that
Several years back, the camp shared a video of all the girls gathered in The Pavilion for Vespers. To the sounds of a lone guitar strumming and a lead from one of the Camp’s counselors, those assembled softly sang “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing”. As they sang, they deliberately and reverently passed on the flame of lit of candles from one camper to the other. By the time they begged God to take their hearts and seal them for His courts above, well, I couldn’t even look at the screen as they finished that melodious sonnet
Even though we pay for this privilege, it warmed the cockles of my heart, which is a direct quote from the Greystone songbook.
And, so to the Miller/Hanna/Sevier Family, we give you all our thanks and appreciation for 100 years of Witness and Faithfulness to our girls and young women.
Recently, I had the displeasure of attending an old friend’s funeral in Beaufort
It’s all I do
The only upside of that experience was the distinct pleasure I had of spending three hours in the car with my truly ancient friend Sydney Meeks Fowler
a/k/a Syd, Schneidah, Sweet Meeks, Syd-arth-thra
We have known each other forever
Our fathers were in the Marine Corps together. Our families have been friends for four generations. We went to school together in Beaufort, Chapel Hill, Columbia
Our eldest was the flower girl at her wedding
I’ve written about Syd and her family in the past
Some of our oldest and dearest
We’ve been through a lot together
I mean
A
LOT
I used to have a picture of me and Syd on the steps of the Basilica di Santa Croce in Florence, Italy, circa 1989. Thirty damn years ago. A great shot of us in front of the Franciscan facade. Halcyon youth blithely unaware of the journey ahead. Skinny. Tan. Probably mildly hungover from cheap Italian wine.
Our traveling together has been literal and figurative for over forty years
This kid. Sydney. Wedding party brunch in Beaufort, SC. 1999. I still wear that belt buckle.
Anyway, after the funeral in Beaufort and our ride up Highway 17, Syd came back to our house for a restorative cocktail
As one must
Porch sitting
My favorite competitive sport
The next morning, I awoke and thought of the following:
In the movie Crocodile Dundee, someone is explaining what a shrink does to that fish out of water in the urban jungle of NYC.
The Croc asks, “Well, don’t they have any mates?”
And, that’s just it
Syd is our mate
Always has been
Always will be
Sorry
Stuck with us
Stuck by us
We have been through a lot together
I mean
A
LOT
In three hours in the car with Sydney, there were
gut busting laughs
moments of quiet reflection
therapy sessions
news
critiques
roasts of friends and family
tears of laughter
tears of tears
updates on our families
retellings of shared history
revelations about other friends
knowing approvals
archaic references
acidic tongues wagging
Really, my side hurt, though, after so much laughter
At one point, I had to tell Syd to be quiet as I was going to have a major accident due to mirth induced incontinence
I really almost wet my pants
The only thing missing from the ride up and down Highway 17 through the Lowcountry were a few others who would have totally been in on the jokes, the shared history, the disdain and, most importantly, the unconditional love
Unflippingconditional
You know who you are
We missed you being with us
We ran by my parents house on North Street for a bit and it was like two standup comedians had crossed the threshold
My parents never quit laughing at us and with us
My mother said, “Oh, you two are so irreverent.”
Duh
Arriving at the church for the funeral, one of the greeters, who has known the deceased and us forever realized Syd and I had ridden down together
The greeter looked at us and said facetiously, “Oh, I’m sorry for you two. That ride was probably really boring. No fun. Y’all didn’t talk about anyone. There was probably no laughter. Really solemn.”
Then that lovely Lowcountry lady said, “Man, I’d have loved to have been in the car with y’all”
One of the ones who would have been in on the jokes
After the funeral, we ran by Syd’s mother’s house
Again, the traveling comedy troupe caused some laughter over on New Street
As we departed from her mother, Lila Meeks looked at us and said, “I challenge y’all to not talk about anyone on the ride back to Charleston and discuss something lofty”
We failed miserably
Instead, we debriefed and debrided
The radio never played
It wasn’t just constant talk to be talking to fill an awkward void
“Youth is wasted on the young” George Bernard Shaw
Eleventh graders around the country read The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
They should not
They are too young to know the true meaning of pining for the green light across the water
They have not lived enough to know that we truly do beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
Ceaselessly
Ceaselessly
Ceaselessly
Ceaselessly
Hear the sound of the water lapping against the gunwale?
They have not lived enough to know careless people like Daisy and Tom Buchanan who, to quote Fitzgerald, smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness.
They have not seen the studied ennui of Jordan Baker crafted as mask and persona
They have not been buffeted by time enough to know the sadness of Owl Eyes crying out to Nick Carraway, “They used to go there by the hundreds”
They don’t hear their own voices that may, like Daisy’s, be full of money
They don’t know the desperation of Myrtle Wilson
They have no point of reference to understand that there are, indeed, men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything after savors of anti-climax
All of this assumes that you, Dear Reader, have read The Great Gatsby
I read the Jazz Age masterpiece in the 11th Grade, like most high school students
I read it while the biggest problem of the day was how to sneak that bottle of vodka into the dorm to mix with orange Fanta
Or wondering if we would be sober enough to get back to the bus in Boston for the last return to campus
The book should have been seared into my conscience at the time
It wasn’t
Too young
Too youthful
Too inexperienced
“I’m p-paralyzed with happiness” Daisy Buchanan
I have memories of the 1974 film of same name, which they made us watch in class one day
The gauzy lenses
Fey beauty
Soft focus
Hazy
Roaring 20’s
I have re-read the book in each decade of life since
In my twenties, it felt a little more familiar
In my thirties, I recognized myself and the broken world watched over by those creepy eyes in the valley of ashes
In my forties, I weep
Every time I read it
Cry like a baby
Racked
Sobbing
Unable to breathe
Like Nick, not everyone has had the advantages I have had. Really. They haven’t
But everyone has had the losses
Dreams deferred
Dreams fulfilled
Sickness
Death
Pain
Things not going according to plan
Not being able to see those we love as much as we would like
Only realizing it when standing at a funeral beside other mourners
On the last page, as Nick concludes that we beat on and yet are borne ceaselessly back into the past, my eyes mist over and tears flow freely
Despair for all that has gone and will never be again
Why they teach this tragedy to teenagers is beyond me
My first job after Law School was serving as a law clerk to the Honorable Jackson V. Gregory, Judge of the Fourteenth Judicial Circuit of South Carolina. That Circuit encompasses Beaufort, Colleton, Jasper, Hampton, and Allendale Counties. It’s pure Lowcountry. Circuit Court judges travel throughout South Carolina hearing civil and criminal matters. We traveled all over the state.
Judge Gregory offered me a clerkship in July of 1997, a full month before our third year of Law School. I was that most obnoxious of 3L’s, one with a job waiting prior to graduation.
I clerked with Judge Gregory from August 10, 1998, to August 6, 1999.
In that year, I got married, bought a house, and learned a lot from the Judge.
He died on April 24, 2019, much too soon
Below are the words I read at his memorial service on April 29, 2019
It was a beautiful day by the river in Beaufort
Absolutely beautiful
He’d have loved it
Thank you, Your Honor, for taking a chance on me twenty years ago.
The Hon. Jackson V. Gregory, Portrait by Susan Graber, Beaufort County Courthouse
For Jack Gregory:
Don’t do crack with Jack
We were in trial in Allendale, South Carolina
A town which had seen its better days
The main industry in Allendale back then was drugs; it still may be.
On trial that week was a defendant charged with Possession with Intent to Distribute a large of amount of cocaine in crack form
Court was held at the old Allendale Municipal Court since someone had burned down the Allendale County Courthouse as retribution for another judge’s heavy sentencing
Judge Gregory, the Court Reporter, Annette Mole, and I decided that we would all go to lunch together at the Village Inn, which was a great old Southern buffet in Allendale
Judge Gregory loved their vegetables
The Clerk of Court, not having access to a safe, asked that we take the main evidence with us, which was a plastic bag, marked State’s Exhibit 1, containing several crack rocks the size of Ritz crackers with us since she, the Clerk, had no way to make sure the crack stayed in the courtroom. It being Allendale, it probably would not have. At night, the police would take it back to the safe in the Clerk’s temporary office in a trailer in Allendale. You can’t make this up.
So, Judge Gregory looked at me and said, “Hamlin, grab that crack and let’s go to lunch.”
Annette Mole, whom we love, said, “Oh, Judge, I don’t think Hamlin can do that…isn’t possession of it a crime?”
Judge Gregory replied, “Well, guess we’ll all go to jail then,” and we laughed and went to lunch.
Judge Gregory, not wanting to be conspicuous, was the only Judge in the state who did not have a vanity tag identifying himself as a Circuit Court Judge.
Well, as luck would have it, he got pulled on the way to lunch after blowing through a stop sign.
The days of Allendale being a speed trap weren’t over yet back in 1998.
So, the cop walks up to the window, and, there, before God and everyone on the dash board is a bag of crack cocaine for all the world to see in the State’s Exhibit 1 bag
“Sir, is that what I think it is?” asked the officer
“State’s Exhibit 1, is what it is,” replied the judge
“Do you work for the Solicitor’s office?” asked the cop
“No, I’m the sitting judge, this is my law clerk, and this is our court reporter, you can call the Clerk’s office to verify.”
“I believe you,” said the cop, “No one but a Judge would be so stupid as to have a bag of crack rock sitting on his dashboard in Allendale”
We then went to lunch with a police escort. He told us to lock the crack in the glove compartment while we ate and the policeman stood guard.
Whitney was right, “Crack is whack”
I’ll Sleep on It
Judge Gregory heard a lot of motions, as do most judges. As he would always say, “To my mind,” he was really big on “to my mind”, but “To my mind, I don’t have to be right, I just have to rule.”
During a super long motions hearing where both sides where arguing really fine points of law in a case about insurance coverages related to a multi-car carwreck where some of the folks where uninsured, underinsured, and some in jail, and some in the country illegally, one of the lawyers, who happened to be a female attorney, was totally winning the arguments. She knew her stuff. She had it down. The lawyers on the other side, all of whom were generally Plaintiffs lawyer types who didn’t do a lot of coverage work, were really blowing it.
Judge Gregory said he needed a break
We went back into the hallway of the Beaufort County Courthouse and he told me that he was going to most likely rule in favor of the lady. But, he said, he would take it under advisement so as to not embarrass the other lawyers, most of whom had brought their clients along with him
We went back into the Courtroom, and there were a few more minutes of arguments
The lady lawyer was the last to speak
Judge Gregory looked at her and said, “Thank you Miz So and So. I’ll take that under advisement and sleep with you tonight”
At first there was silence in the courtroom
Then, I started laughing
Then, the lady started laughing
Then, Judge Gregory turned beet red and said, “I’ll sleep on it…I’ll sleep on it….”
Lewd and Unpronounceable
During my clerkship, Judge Gregory and I were assigned to six months in the Capital City. Judge Henry McKellar let us his office.
Most of the terms of Court we had in Columbia were criminal terms.
The worst case we had involved criminal sexual violence against a minor. The defendant was the child’s father. There was conflicting testimony about who could be believed. The child’s mother and father had gone through a horrible divorce and conflicting experts took the stand to discuss the minor’s authenticity. One said she was telling the truth. The other said she wasn’t. One doctor took the stand to say there had been abuse. One doctor took the stand to say that there wasn’t.
Beyond a reasonable doubt is the standard
Judge Gregory had me type up all of the jury charges and get them approved by the Solicitor’s office and by the Defendant’s counsel, who was represented by I.S. Leevy Johnson, who was, and is, and old friend of the Judge’s and my father’s.
Part of the charges had the term “lewd and lascivious” in several places.
Every time the judge read that term, he would botch the pronunciation “lewd and lash a viscious” or “loud and laskenvious” or “lute and luscious”
It was horrible
I think he had a mental block as the case was just that bad
After his last “Lou and lashless”, one of the Juror’s stood up in the jury box and said, “It’s lewd and lascivious, Your Honor”
Judge Gregory, turning red, said, “Why yes it is, Ma’am, yes it is, but that’s for you to determine, not me, because I can’t even pronounce it”
During my clerkship, I was engaged, there was a wedding coming up, there was a house to buy
Judge Gregory would give me extra time off and allow me to take off some afternoons when we weren’t busy.
I’ll always be grateful
I’m a fairly collegial lawyer, because, as the Judge would say, “You don’t want other lawyers to hate you. You’re going to have to work with them a long time.”
At our wedding reception, the judge came up to me and said that he’d never seen a cooler groom, a more collected groom
In my 20 years of practice, I’ve never seen a cooler judge
I’ve never seen a more collected judge
I only saw him get mad once, at a pro se plaintiff who threatened bodily harm to opposing counsel and his opponent
I would see him in the grocery store in Beaufort, at parties from time to time, and it was like NO time had passed.
We would discuss my family, his girls and their families, his undying love of the Democrat party, with generally no comment from me
We always left hoping that we would see each other soon
So, see you soon Your Honor
And, as you said at the end of each term, Court is adjourned, sine die.
P.S. Erin Dean, a damned fine trial lawyer herself, and one of Judge Gregory’s former clerks also spoke in remembrance of the Judge. Here is what she shared. Good advice all around.
[On April 29, 2019], I had the privilege of speaking at Judge Jackson V. Gregory’s memorial service. I was Judge Gregory’s second law clerk (‘92-‘94) and he taught me more than just the law. As requested, here are the”Top Ten Things I Learned from Judge Gregory”. Good advice for lawyers and humans!
1. Be humble 2. Be respectful of others, no matter their tone 3. Never pass up an opportunity for a Meat & 3
4. You learn more by listening than you ever do by talking
5. The Clerk’s office staff and Courtroom Bailiffs are your best friends
6. It’s ok to change your mind
7. It’s also ok to admit you’re wrong (still working on that one)
8. Lawyers are public servants, no matter who you work for or where you work, your job is to serve the public
9. Be kind, always…and if you can’t be kind, be quiet
10. The best words uttered in a Courtroom are sine die, signifying the Court term is over and you can head to play golf or go to the beach!
Judge Gregory was one of a kind and his absence in our community will be deeply felt. Rest In Peace my mentor and friend!
Erin Dean, April 29, 2019, repeated here with her permission.
Hamlin O’Kelley and Erin Dean, April 29, 2019. Judge Gregory would have been so disappointed to know that there was only water in those cups…..
Dad, what's for supper? 