Abraham Lincoln had it right. “He who represents himself has a fool for a client”
I just tried a case in a smaller county near Charleston. More rural. Less people, but deep Lowcountry
Before a jury
Duly qualified, sworn in, accepting of their juror’s oath
On the other side, a couple representing themselves. They had a lawyer at one point, but they fired that fellow member of the bar claiming inability to pay. I suspect the lawyer called them out, instead, on their mendacity
In what should have been a simple, half day case, the Defendants lack of knowledge of the rules, the law, the procedures made things take longer and the jury was not amused. Like Not Amused. Like We Are Not Amused
Neither was our Judge, who really did her absolute best to accommodate parties who have every right to represent themselves. Which these people did. Not to their own benefit
Hearsay? What’s that?
Best Evidence Rule? Never heard of it
The Judge and I had full on legal discussions regarding voir dire, Batson challenges, objections, directed verdict motions, jury charges, elections of remedies, prejudicial statements in closing arguments, and potential bifurcation of damages, actual and punitive. The Defendants sat in confused silence
“Sir, you absolutely cannot ask the jury to put themselves in your situation during a closing argument. That may work in the movies, but not in a South Carolina courtroom. That is highly prejudicial. Jurors, you will disregard everything the Defendant just said”
Ouch
I went to three more years of college (law school) and have been doing this for a minute (almost a quarter century) and was a total procedure geek in law school (SCRCivP; SCREvid)
The Defendants flat out lied about something in a real estate transaction and refused to acknowledge it
The Defendants flat out lied in court, too
After the Judge charged the jury as to negligent misrepresentation, violation of the South Carolina Residential Property Condition Disclosure Act, and fraud, the three causes of action brought by my clients against Defendant, the jury retired to deliberate
They deliberated for an hour and sent out a question asking for clarification as to the jury charge for fraud. A good sign for my clients
Another hour went by and the jury advised one of the bailiffs they had reached a verdict
A fabulous older bailiff, retired county sheriff’s deputy, with a strong regional accent, said, “I’ll get Huh Honuh”
Huh Honuh returned to the bench
My clients and I stood as the jury entered into the courtroom. That’s an old sign of respect taught me by older lawyers
“Mr. Foreman, has the jury reached a verdict?”
“Yes, Your Honor, we have”
“Please pass the verdict form to the Bailiff”
The Bailiff then passed the verdict to Huh Honuh who read the form and passed it to the assistant Clerk of Court
“Madame Clerk, please publish the verdict”
Well, Madame Clerk did. The jury found for our clients on all three causes of action and awarded six figures worth of damages
“Anything from the Plaintiff or the Defendant?”
“Your Honor, please poll the jurors,” I requested
“Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, if this is your true and unanimous, please raise your right hand”
All the jurors raised their right hands
“I find that every juror has raised his or her right hand and has indicated this is their true and unanimous verdict”
So, these Defendants will now have a verdict over $200,000 following them around for the next ten years, provided we don’t collect first
I would imagine on their ride home, they quoted Dick the Butcher in good old Billy Shakespeare’s Henry VI
“The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers”
Those of us of a certain age will remember James Oldsmobile, late of Charleston. Hell, those of us of a certain age remember Oldsmobiles. James Olds had a very specific and memorable television ad where their Olds were advertised for $8,888. In a good old Charleston accent that was pronounced ate-e-ate-ate-e-ate.
At the end of the ad, old Mr. James said, “That’s bettah than grits on the tay-bull”
He was wrong then and now
There’s nothing better than grits on the table
Or is it hominy when it’s on the table?
In this part of the world hominy means cooked grits, not the hominy that has to be soaked in lye or whatever they do out west or south of the border
Venerable Charleston Receipts tells us that grits are the raw product, hominy on the table
Either way, there is nothing better than grits on the table
For a recent gathering, I made the following baked grits
Charleston Receipts has a version called an “Awendaw” or a “Hominy Surprise”
My mother added a contribution for a grits casserole to Sea Island Seasons published by the Beaufort County Open Land Trust
There are many versions for Cheese Grits Souffle’, too
All are good
But I think this Cheesy Grits Casserole is damned fine
Especially if you use our pals’ stone ground grits. Milled from the same family mill for generations. Thanks Anne Marie and Jimmy Hagood!
Charleston Favorites Stone Ground Grits. White Grits. Gluten Free for anyone with a gluten issue
This works well when there’s a crowd to feed and can be made a day ahead then baked the next morning. If making the day ahead, pour into casserole dish and let cool on counter before covering with plastic wrap and putting in the fridge overnight
I adapted this from a receipt Billy Reid, he of the fashion world fame, submitted to a food magazine
The last time I made it, I made it a day ahead
Those who were partakers asked for the receipt
Here it is
And, there is nothing better than grits on the table
Cheesy Grits Casserole
8 cups water
2 cups stone ground grits
Salt and white pepper
1 stick butter, cut into 8 tsps
1/2 lb. (8 oz) extra sharp white cheddar cheese (yellow is fine, too), grated by hand. Do NOT use pre-grated cheese. It’s covered in starches to keep it from caking and it doesn’t melt well
3 eggs, beaten
Preheat oven to 350.
Butter well a 13×9 baking dish. Bring water to full boil and stir in grits. Turn down heat to low to medium low and cook grits over for 30 minutes stirring to prevent lumping and sticking. After 30 mins add salt and white pepper to taste. Stir and cook 10 more minutes. You may need to add a cup of water or so if the grits are too lumpy.
Take off the heat and add butter and mix well, then cheese and mix well then, finally, eggs and mix well. The residual heat from the grits will cause the eggs to set up but not cook
Pour into baking dish and bake at 350 for 1 hour until top is starting to brown a little
Let stand 15 minutes before serving
You can serve another Bloody Mary, fill water glasses, gather the plates, pour another cup of coffee, and say the blessing while it cools
Really a guest friendly dish
All for less than $8,888
But it’ll be one of the best things you ate-e-ate.
Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. Hebrews 13:2
Bag from the Teetah
That final shopping trip to the grocery store before Christmas. It happened today for me. Around noon, I went to the Harris Teeter on East Bay Street. It’s my store of choice
After gathering all but one item on my list – supply chain and all – I stood in line to check out. With a real person. I loathe self-checkout
In front of me were three women chatting in Spanish. They wore painters’ clothes and had splatters of paint on their pants. Each of them held a lunch of some kind. One held a package containing half of a chocolate cake coated with a chocolate buttercream frosting and Christmas colored sprinkles
As they began to pay, the woman holding the cake held up her phone and pointed to it. The woman behind the cash register said, “Oh, we don’t do that kind of payment. It’s cash or card or check.”
The woman holding cake looked at her and motioned for her to refund the cake.
Without any hesitation, I looked at the young woman and said, “Ma’am, I’ll pay for the cake”
$5.99
The three painters each thanked me in Spanish and English. Two of the three wished me Feliz Navidad and Merry Christmas. The one who originally held the cake looked me dead in the eye, patted my shoulder, and said, “God love you”
They all thanked me again and left the store.
The cashier said, “Thank you, Sir. That’s very kind”
She then began to speak quietly into her communication device hanging just below her neck while I was bagging my groceries
The next thing I knew, the manager of the grocery store was at the young woman’s side.
The manager looked at me and said, “Sir, what you did was lovely. Your groceries are on the Harris Teeter today.”
I protested
“But, these are going to cost way more than $5.99!”
Her reply, “Not today, Sir”
At least I waited for the automatic doors to close behind me before I burst into tears
What an honor to have been asked to read at St. Philip’s service of Lessons and Carols.
Fear not….I think it’s the most repeated phrase in the Good Book
Matthew 1:18-23 in which St. Matthew tells of the birth of Jesus.
The famous scripture where Joseph determined to put away his espoused Mary privily, as the King James Version tells us. Then, the Angel comes to him in a dream, and, behold, he knows the child is of the Holy Ghost, and He shall save us from our sins.
Recovering from a cold, and, yes, it’s just a cold, my voice had the timbre of a croaking frog
Remember when Peter Brady’s voice changed? That was similar to my delivery when the appointed Sixth Lesson time approached.
After the choir finished Ave Maria as put to music by Philip Stopford, I made my way to the lectern
The lectern is in the shape of an eagle, symbol of St. John. Makes sense. “In the beginning was the Word…”
I started with “St. Matthew tells the birth of Jesus”
I ended with “…and they shall call his name Emmanuel, which, being interpreted is, God with us.”
A brief pause and then, “The Word of the Lord”
I walked back to our pew and enjoyed the rest of the service.
My wife, girls, and I were honored and privileged to share the pew with our friend Palmer Gaillard, who is a genuinely funny man. At least I think he is. Quick witted.
At the end of church, after the last “Thanks be to God! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!”, we chit chatted on our way out of the church.
Palmer looked me dead in the eye and said, “Hamlin, you read that precisely the way I wrote it.”
I replied, “Thanks, St. Matthew”
Not missing a beat, Palmer said, “Matt. My friends call me Matt.”
“I can’t think of a thing to give, y’all. Guess I’ll just write a check”
Y’all
Come on
December 25th is not an emergency. I will repeat. December 25h is not an emergency
The Feast of the Nativity occurs every year at the exact same day since Pope Julius I fixed the date sometime in the mid fourth century. Every year. December 25th. Since the mid-300’s
The height of annoyance during the fall, late fall, Advent remains questions from family about gifts
People think they are being considerate
They think it’s helpful
It’s not
It’s rude as hell
My telling you to give x or y or z to my family removes that x or y or z for me to give to my family or for my family to give to me. Please don’t ask me
Your houses are FULL of things, by the way, dear family and friends. Feel free to give something in a cabinet, hutch, chest that you no longer use or need or love. And old something you no longer want with a note would be more wonderful than a sweatshirt from the SXC store on King Street
Feel free to help with tuition
Feel free to help with tennis lessons
Feel free to help with to help with hosting Christmas meals or something. Stouffer’s lasagne even!
Feel free to help with camp
Feel free to help with spring break
Feel free to help with car repairs
Feel free to divest your self of the hoarded cabinets and chests of drawers and china cabinets and all the things
And, why, oh, why is this about the giver?
It is more blessed to give than receive, yet the givers in these situations want all the blessings, attention, gratefulness
Acts 20:35 tells us that Jesus said it was more blessed to give than to receive
I am going to need to pray to Our Lord and Savior that he give me peace and quiet during this Advent season to get over this annoyance and disquiet
And, I know this sounds deeply spoiled and whiny. Deeply spoiled. Deeply whiny
I am beyond grateful for my family and friends and friends who are family. That they would even think about giving something to me and mine still brings tears to my eyes that anyone would be so considerate and obliging
That being said, I must quote Ellen Griswold who once answered her daughter’s question about the pleasures of the season by saying, “I don’t know what to say, except, it’s Christmas and we’re all in misery”
Give what YOU want to give
Don’t ask me
You’re an adult
You’ve made it this far
You’re just copping out at this point
Don’ give anything
Christmas is not about the gifts
Christmas is not about stuff
Our folks would rather spend time with you then have you spend time figuring out what to put under the tree
Back in May, I took I picture in a bathroom at the first event I had attended since March 14, 2020
A bathroom selfie
I did it as a joke
The face flushed a thousand toilets
There it is. The one that started it all
Since that time I’ve taken more pictures
Again, all with tongue firmly ensconced in cheek
In reply, I’ve received all manner of comments
“Damnit, I hate it when I click on these”
“About to unfollow”
“Dapper”
🤌
🔥🔥🔥🔥
“Don’t hurt em”
This one got the most comments. I think it’s the sport coat
All are valid responses
I generally let people know that the man in the mirror is a certified fool for doing this if anyone slides into the DMs. (Do the kids still say that?)
My mother calls bathrooms “rest rooms” which she shortens to “RR”. With her accent it sounds like “Aah Aah”. We say Aah Aah in my family when facilities are required for personal comfort
So, I’ve been taking pictures in the Aah Aah trying to make people laugh. Didn’t know I’d be making them mad, seem foolish, tricking their sense of propriety
One follower suggested a coffee table book
One suggested I begin a clothing line
One suggested I should be banned from using my phone
More than one has suggested I stop. Really. Please. Stop
Those who know me well can attest that I may be the least narcissistic person they know, which is in itself the most narcissistic statement I have ever written
In fact, I still have imposter syndrome, even though I’ve tried to get rid of that, too.
As Groucho Marx said, “Why would I want to be a member of a club that would have me as a member?”
These pictures are meant to make people laugh. I had no idea that such stupidity would cause so many reactions.
Especially with toilets, toilet paper, stalls, driers in the background
Again, as I have written to several commenters, “That guy is a fool”
Duncan Clinch Heyward wrote Seed from Madagascar in the 1930s. He wrote to chronicle rice cultivation in the Lowcountry from its beginnings in the late 17th Century to its end in the early 20th Century
First edition…still think it was designed to look like an old croker sack
According to Hewyard, it was rumored that Captain John Thurber gave rice seed to Dr. Henry Woodward while Thurber’s vessel harbored in Charleston. From whence came that rice seed? You got it. Madagascar. At least that’s how Mr. Heyward tells the story of the beginnings of rice culture round these environs. That tale is repeated in the Rice section of that venerable Charleston cooking tome, Charleston Receipts
“Long before there were cobblestone streets along the Charleston battery, there was rice, and there were slaves – the twin pillars upon which colonial Carolina wealth was built.” Duncan Clinch Heyward. Seed from Madagascar, The University of North Carolina Press, Chapel Hill (1937)
I have copy number 4593 of the original printing. Mr. Heyward claimed to be a distaff relation of Dr. Woodward, too.
From 1685 to 1914, rice grew in the Lowcountry in large amounts. The Big Gun Shoot ended slavery. Hurricanes in the late 19th and early 20th centuries inundated rice fields which could never recover. Subsidence of flooded land didn’t help either. Neither did the discovery that rice could be grown cheaper and easier in Arkansas, Louisiana, and Texas
Local farmers have brought back rice growing round these parts in the last few decades, but we will never be the rice kingdom we once were
Carolina gold indeed
Despite not having large scale rice production for over a hundred years, this part of the world still eats a lot of rice. LOTS of rice.
Mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving? Hell no
It’s always rice and gravy.
Any good meat and three restaurant round these parts always includes rice as a vegetable
Old joke:
Why are Charlestonians like the Chinese?
They eat rice and worship their ancestors
And, oh, what rice they eat! Almost all versions of which evolved from West African cooking through the same people who planted, tended, harvested, winnowed, and packaged the rice for market
From plain white rice steamed hard in the old school rice steamer, to Hoppin’ John on New Year’s Day, to Limpin’ Susan with okra, to all manner of pilaus, and, to get to the point at last, cooked with onions, bacon, and tomato paste to make red rice
Some people add a little sausage to it
Red rice is my all time favorite rice dish, which food historians now tell us is an adaptation of Jollof rice from West Africa. Makes sense considering the slaves who grew the rice were brought from West Africa because of their ability to handle a rice crop
There was rice
There were slaves
My mother makes a baked version with shrimp and sausage. It’s devine. She makes it in an old Le Creuset Dutch oven with a tight fitting lid
The old Piggly Wiggly at the Sea Island Shopping Center in Mount Pleasant made the best red rice. Hands down. Each grain separated. Each grain coated with tomato, bacon grease, a little salt sugar, pepper. Onions cooked to almost liquid. Sausage coins throughout. A little heat from black pepper, but not much else.
I make the red rice from Charleston Receipts. I steam it hard in the old aluminum rice steamer that my parents gave me. It had been given them as a present in the early days of their moving to Beaufort
When I was in college in Chapel Hill, my aunt and uncle who lived there would ask me to make them some red rice and bring it over from time to time. They would freeze it. Both from South Carolina, they just couldn’t find red rice in The Southern Part of Heaven in Orange County, North Carolina
I think red rice might be a dish served from Brunswick, GA, up to Wilmington, NC. The old rice growing areas of the Southeast. I don’t see it anywhere else on the menu
I was asked by a pal in Charlotte, NC, to share the recipe, or I guess I should say receipt
In the old seafood restaurants round here, seafood was always accompanied by red rice and cole slaw
The Shrimp Shack outside of Beaufort always serves red rice with their seafood. It’s perfection, too
This goes great with any manner of fish, shrimp, crab
It’s gluten free
It’s not Keto
It’s not vegan
It is a balm to the soul
If you don’t have a rice steamer, make the rice as set forth below, but add four cups of water, turn into a baking dish large enough to hold all the ingredients, and cover tightly with a lid or with foil and bake for 40-45 minutes, stirring a couple of times
But, really, if you don’t have a rice steamer, then, well, bless your heart
Just kidding
As I said above, my mother has baked her red rice for decades and decades, and it’s amazingly delicious with the addition of shrimp and sausage. I probably should get her receipt
But, I still steam mine
Jeanne Sams Aimar, whom I called Memar, our across the street neighbor growing up, has her version of red rice printed in Sea Island Seasons. Memar steamed her red rice. However, right next to Memar’s version is Mary Olive Whitney’s baked version. No right or wrong to it. Steam it or bake it.
This version is an adaptation of the Red Rice as printed in Charleston Receipts submitted by Mrs. Charles Gibbs (Wilmot Welch).
2 cups raw rice – do not use Uncle Ben’s – trust me
Cook bacon until crisp in a large sauté pan. Remove bacon and crumble when cool. Sauté onions in bacon grease until soft. Do not brown. Add tomato paste, then fill tomato paste can up with water. Add to the onions and tomato paste. Do that two more times for a total of three cans of water. Told you it would make sense. Add salt, sugar, pepper. Cook until smooth, about 5 minutes. Place rice in top of rice steamer and add tomato paste mixture and mix well with a fork. Fill bottom of steamer with as much water so to steam hard but not to touch the bottom of the part that holds the rice. If you steam rice, then you know what I mean. Steam hard for 1/2 hour. Add the bacon and mix well. Steam for another 30 to 40 minutes. If it seems too dry, you can add another half cup of water. You generally don’t have too. Fluff with a fork to mix any sauce that has settled on the top.
Again, if no rice steamer is in your kitchen, add four cups of water and not three cans of water, turn into a baking dish large enough to hold all the ingredients, including the bacon, cover tightly with foil and bake for 40-45 minutes, stirring a couple of times
Serve hot
I put a little hot sauce on the table when I serve it. Tabasco. Texas Pete. Whatever you like
As you savor each bite of goodness, remember to thank John Thurber, Henry Woodward, Wilmot Welch Gibbs (Mrs. Charles), and the thousands of slaves whose names will we never know who really brought, grew, harvested, and taught us to cook that seed from Madagascar
“Wisdom comes to us when it can no longer do any good.” Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Love in the Time of Cholera
In the spring of 1990, there were a privileged group of high school Seniors studying in the southwest back corner room of Bullfinch Hall on the campus of Phillips Academy in Andover, Massachusetts
We were taking a high level English class under the tutelage of Lou Bernieri, then head of the English Department. For some reason, I recall that we had to apply to take the class. I have been told that the class was called “The Myth of America”. I don’t remember what it was called, but I know we read great works, discussed them with great vigor, and wrote great responses to the writing
The material was all over the map, but there was a strong emphasis on magical realism and the beautiful word
Raymond Carver’s Cathedral, Don DeLillo’s White Noise; Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s Love in the Time of Cholera; Vertamae Smart-Grosvenor’s Vibration Cooking: or, the Travel Notes of a Geechee Girl, which was my favorite since Ms. Smart-Grosvenor was from the Lowcountry. Yankees didn’t get it. A friend of mine and I did. Not sure why we read Garcia Marquez in that class, but we did
Speaking of the work, “A Small Good Thing” by Mr. Carver still makes me cry. “They waited all day, but still the boy did not wake up.” If you’ve never read it, I highly encourage it. Bring some tissues
In that rarefied environment, Hamlin O’Kelley, skinny white boy from the Lowcountry, and Todd Isaac, skinny black boy from the Bronx, sat side by side and cracked each other up and drove Mr. Bernieri crazy. We drove our classmates crazy, too. Wanda Mann still recalls our antics. She rolled her eyes in time with the rest of the girls in our class
“Ok, you, two. That’s enough,” Lou would say to us
“Oh, look, the odd couple are at it again”
“Isaac! O’Kelley! I swear I’m sending you two to [Mr.] Carter [the Dean of Students]!” He never did
Todd and I just found so much of the material to be fodder for jokes, which material could be a bit heavy
“Cholera? More like diarrhea! Of the mouth”
“So, the baker keeps calling and calling and calling. Why the hell doesn’t the dad just pay the damn $16.00?”
“The dude in the Hitler Studies department has a kid named Heinrich?”
“Airborne Toxic Event….like after Chicken Kiev from Commons?”
“Reading this makes me HONGRY, Lou!”
Basically, Statler and Waldorf type cracks all class
Todd and I looked forward to Lou’s class and would high five each other around campus whenever we saw each other
Todd and I did not have the same friend group otherwise. We didn’t eat in the same dining hall. We didn’t live in the same dorm. We didn’t hang out on weekends. We didn’t try to flaunt the rules of the Academy together
Todd’s family, like so many black families in New York City, was originally from the South. He told me stories of going to see relatives in North Carolina. When he found out I was going to the University of North Carolina, he said that he would come visit on a trip to see his family in Salisbury
Todd was going to Holy Cross in Worcester, Mass. He had been recruited to play basketball. I said may be I’d see him if I ever came back to Massachusetts.
“You’re never coming to Chapel Hill!”
“You’re never coming to Worcester!”
“Dude, no one wants to go to Worcester. Not even the people from Worcester”
And, then, Todd would laugh and crack another joke and slap me on the arm
“Hammy, you are terrible”
“Todd Antoine, you are terrible”. I liked to kid him using his middle name.
“Dude, that’s what my mama calls me when I’m in trouble”
“Dude”
We said “Dude” all the time. What were we? Surfers?
After graduating from high school, we went to our separate colleges. After college, I went on to live in Kenya for a year and then on to Law School. After college, Todd went on to working in finance in his native city
He wrote to me a couple of times when I was in Kenya. I wrote him a couple of times when he was in New York. I have the letters he wrote me in Kenya
Lots of jokes about whitey in his homeland. Asking if I felt out of place. Wondering if I had killed a lion on my safari
I can’t remember what I wrote him, but I knew he was off to a storied career already working those crazy NYC finance hours. First in; last out
Then, like a lot of friends, we lost touch. Not because of any falling out but because of entropy
The last I heard about Todd was that he had already become a partner at the place he worked
In big time finance
At Cantor Fitzgerald
One World Trade
Lest we forget
Todd Isaac died at 8:46 a.m. on September 11, 2001
Twenty years ago today
When the news readers repeated the name Cantor Fitzgerald in the aftermath of that terrible day, I knew Todd was dead. We all did
I knew he was probably one of the first ones in to work and one of the last ones out. Always. First in; last out
I knew he probably cracked everyone up as he rode the express elevators to those fated floors. I knew he was cracking up his partners, his staff. I knew he was deadly serious about that which needed to be serious but with a strong sense of humor at the ready to take the piss out of anyone who needed it taking
In those pre-texting days, emails went around among our classmates confirming what we all knew
Todd was somewhere between the 101st and 105th floors of One World Trade that morning that began with the most blue of blue skies over Manhattan. The most beautiful of mornings
On each anniversary of September 11, I laugh and cry thinking about our whispering together, our disrupting, our discussing great literature under Lou Bernieri’s bemused gaze, much to the annoyance of our classmates
You know who you are
Lou acted mad, but Todd and I were the class clowns and class favorites. Lou has since confirmed our obstreperous presences made him smile. He loved that two so different fools found each other and bonded over the written word
In the years after 9/11, our schoolmates have hosted the Todd A. Isaac Memorial Basketball Tournament and an after party in Todd’s memory in New York City. Our high school’s alumni come to play and to laugh and to mourn and to remember. Proceeds established a scholarship to our alma mater in his name. Our class contributed early, often, generously. In two years, we had raised enough funds for a full schlarship in his name. Go Blue!
I need to go to the tournament sometime
Todd would laugh at my showing up and laugh even harder if I tried to play in the tournament
There is a scholarship to Holy Cross in his name, too.
In another twist, our classmate Jake Barton helped design the 9/11 Memorial Museum. Jake noted that Todd was in his thoughts literally every day as he worked on that sacred space
Every
Day
Jake confirmed that Todd would have been laughing his head off knowing that he, Jake, was on the job.
True statement
If you ever go to Ground Zero, please look for Panel N56 on the National September 11 Memorial and find Todd’s name
Last year’s initial college drop off for our elder daughter was tough
Not because of our elder flying the nest. I’ve never read Grown & Flown. Not planning on starting
It was tough because of Covid
Stupid Rona
Hate her
Last year, it was a drop off at the private dorms where I lived 31 years ago
Last year, it was masks and foreboding
Drop off 2020 – not that great
Last year, it was “Where You Heading Carolina?”which was a shaming social media account busting students gathering in groups of more than four and heading out to act like, well, people their own age
Last year, it was uncertainty and dark clouds hovering
Last year, it was graduate from high school and then three days later head to Chapel Hill
Well, this year, it was literally rainbows, unicorns, smiles from ear to ear, joy, joy, and more joy
It’s a great day to be a Tar Heel
#gdtbath
May be that is the benefit of being a sophomore and knowing a good group of people and having a sorority house in which to live in which friends of mine and my daughter’s have also lived. More on that later
May be it was that despite Delta variants and Covid protocols and unprecedented times and admonitions to “stay safe”, life does and will go on and on and on
Thanks be to God
This year’s drop off had a wonderful sense of opportunity and joy
The two weeks before, we began packing, assembling, putting together, organizing, check listing
The week before, we began to amass goods and furniture and items in the dining room
Three days before we had a family farewell supper at a restaurant
Two days before, we had a going away supper with dear pals
The day before, we loaded my car and our elder’s car with everything but hanging clothes and our spend the night clothes
The day of, we were out of our driveway and on the interstate by 8:30 a.m.
We had to be in Chapel Hill in time for a Zoom call at 3:00 p.m. for rush training
It’s a big deal
Trust me
We love Chapel Hill
We don’t love the ride
It’s really dull
I95 to I40
The only good thing about it is that we may stop for food at Smithfield’s Chicken ‘N Bar-B-Q
#scnbbq
There are two that we love
One in Lumberton – Exit 22 on I95 in North Carolina
One in Clayton/Fuquay-Varina – Exit 312 on I40 in North Carolina
Well, it was early, but we stopped at the Smithfield’s in Lumberton
There weren’t many people there
Even though the county seat of Robeson County is only 22 miles from South Carolina, it’s another world
I love their Eastern NC bbq, the fried chicken, the hush puppies, the slaw, the potato salad, the skinny french fries
But, what I really love is the people watching
“Y’all drive careful gettin’ home. We’s fixin’ to have a pour down”
That was the advice from one of the ladies who worked at the Smithfield’s in Lumberton
A pour down
I’ve never heard that term, but it’s mine now
This was also the same lady who said, “Lemme put this tray down right chere, and I’ll hep you with that in a sec”
I love North Carolina
After that repast, we rolled straight on into Chapel Hill
First stop, the Carolina Inn
Early check in requested and granted
We adore that place
Our daughters beat us there by a few minutes. I watched with pride as the elder spoke to the parking attendant, took her parking ticket, and drove over to the self parking lot
Such pride
We took all of our things to check in and Dylan welcomed us. I know him as Dyls at this point
Old pals
“Welcome back, Mr. and Mrs. O’Kelley. See y’all will be here in September and November, too”
Our elder child texted her friends “They know my parents at the Inn. So on brand”
She was full of joy to be in town
We threw our things in our room and headed to Student Stores on campus to pick up some loot for a neighbor who is also a Tar Heel. He has to indoctrinate his children
Much to our chagrin, masks are still required in all UNC owned buildings, so it was masks for all of us
NBD
Then a little walk through campus on the way to Franklin Street
The Old Well, South Building, Tourists
Back to the Inn for our elder who had to jump on her Zoom
We wandered around Franklin Street seeking two items of UNC clothing, both of which we found
It was great to see people on the street
So different from last year
Then, back to the Inn for my wife and younger daughter
I stopped in at the Ackland Museum of Art, which is free and open to the public. Mask required. They have been closed for months and months for renovations and rona. It’s UNC’s art museum. Mr. Ackland wanted his fellow Tar Heels to have access to fine art. He did a great job even if the museum is greatly reduced due to staffing concerns during these, wait for it, unprecedented times
I did get to see Cleopatra and The Peasant by Delacroix. I wrote a paper about that painting for an art history class
Then, I met everyone back at the Inn
We heard Dyls telling another couple at the front desk that there were going to be two weddings that night
I told them they could crash both
I also advised that D.J. Joe Bunn would be working one of them
And, come on, free drinks!
My younger daughter was mortified
I have never crashed a wedding
At this point, we were flagging a bit. It was down to the Crossroads Restaurant for a drink and some snacks
And, it being Chapel Hill, for unplanned mini-reunions
I looked at this lady there
She looked at me
Finally, I said who I was
She replied, “Oh my Lord. Hamlin, it’s [So and So]. You know I’m [So and So]’s pal”
I have not seen her or her husband since 1994
She was dropping off her sophomore son
And, I met a dad who was there dropping off his daughter at the same place we would be
Lovely people
Always great to see a Tar Heel or three
We visited and hung out and laughed and talked about people we knew and who was where and what they were doing these days
As we sat on the patio near the front porch and visited with our pals, we noticed two girls on a Zoom not far from us
A few minutes later, our elder sent a text, “Y’all are on the Zoom background of [So and So’s] screen”
It was the daughter of the dad we had just met
“Y’all need to come back here tonight. We’re going to shut it DOWN”
That was going to be a no for me, but I love the idea
Anyway, after our refreshment, we had to go to Target, because one is never fully prepped for drop off
Then, it was finally time that we could go back to the room
We fixed an adult beverage and went to the private courtyard and garden while our children beautified themselves
No one is ever there in the courtyard
View from my private courtyard
Well, usually no one is there. The bride and groom and the wedding photographer of one of the weddings I planned on crashing all showed up. When we offered our congratulations, the groom seemed a bit grumpy
“Guess he forgot about the wedding night,” I said to my bride
“Shhhhh”, she said to me as we walked inside
We went back to the room to collect our people to go back to supper at 6:30
Early birds
Worms
Big day ahead
My younger child and I were leading the pack and crossing the lobby when a lady walking across our path stopped, turn, and said, “Hamlin? It’s [So and So]. I’m going to a wedding. Cocktails in the tent then supper in the ballroom.” I introduced her to our younger daughter
“What are y’all doing in town?”
“Moving [Elder Daughter] into the [Same Sorority She Was In] House in the morning.”
In response, the Wedding Guest did her arms in the Greek letters along with a signature move
“She’s going to have the best time. I loved living there. Ok – off to the wedding. Actually, they got married last year at Bald Head. This is just a celebration. I’ve not been out in months”
It was off to supper where another table of girls in another sorority and their parents were sitting
And we had a lovely meal
We all went back to the room instead of shutting down the bar
Everyone was asleep by 10 p.m. after watching the gripping “Thirteen Going on Thirty” starting one Jennifer Garner. I highly recommend it
The next day dawned early
I was up and at it
Took things to the car
Drank coffee fast
Straight to breakfast
Where we saw more girls who would be moving in shortly
And my new best friend fellow sorority dad
“What time did you go to bed?”
“Oh, we shut down the bar at 12:30”
“Just like [So and So] said she would”
“Oh yeh…see y’all in a few”
As soon as breakfast was wolfed down we hopped in our cars and drove to the Greek lettered building on East Franklin Street
And, then, it began
The sweat filled move in of 2021 at the [Greek Letter] [Greek Letter] House
Our poor daughter had never been in despite being a Sister/Brother for almost a year
We sweated, we lifted, we groaned, we moved, we coordinated
We spoke to everyone
Everyone spoke to us
By 10:30 we were finished
A few minutes later, one of the roommates announced she and her mama were pulling into the parking lot
I saw new best friend dad several times
We also saw other parents we knew and met some others
Old home week style
Ensconsed behind those two windows on the 2nd Floor – great view of Franklin St
Our younger daughter and I were the real man power, real woman power, real girl power
Elder daughter and Mama were decorators, bed makers, arrangers
Clammy with sweat we were
The house mother could not have been more lovely. She was ready to greet the girls with smiles and warmth and ready, willing, and able to help
And to take my check for the semester’s room and board
We walked back to Student Stores for an exchange and liquids
Then back through campus
“How about a picture by the Old Well?”
’24, ’94
So, iconic images captured
Of the Old Well, not the old alumnus and current student I mean
We went back to the house for one last check in with roomies before lunch
Trying to find the one restroom allowing men, I got turned around, again, and, got lost in the constant upstairs, downstairs. Through my sweat dried eyes, I turned and came face to face with a shot of Ginny Meeks, one of my oldest friends who lived in the same sorority house some thirty three years ago.
She died in 2017
She and I had a moment of prayer, then I may or may not have kissed the composite photo. I asked that she look out for our daughter and not let her doing anything she wouldn’t have done
And, yes, I kissed the glass
We went out to lunch at a local spot our daughter loves
We were all beyond hot and in need of more liquids
Back to the house to check that half of the occupants of the room were fully unpacked
Then, it was time to go
No tears at all
Just joyful hugs
“See you in a month”
“Parents’ weekend is going to be so much fun”
“We will mail you that stuff tomorrow”
“One last selfie”
“Let me take a picture of y’all”
All Smiles 2021
So much different this year
So much happier
So much joy
#gdtbath
It’s a great day to be a Tar Heel
The next day, I awoke to a text advising us that our elder daughter had a wonderful night, went out with a fun group, and hung out with a certain group of boys who live in a similarly Greek lettered establishment not too far away
In the summer, when the tomatoes are really great, we make tomato pie, that wonderful concoction of layered tomatoes, green onions, basil, salt and pepper all baked under a mixture of cheese and mayonnaise.
We always buy two deep dish pie shells. Ain’t nothing wrong with store bought pie shells
We always say we’re going to use the other pie shell. We never do. Instead, we throw it in the back of the freezer where it burns and desiccates into a cracked mess
Instead of that waste, I am prone to make a dessert pie to go with the tomato pie
And, what is easy as pie?
Buttermilk Pie
Specifically that from one lady named Sibyl
I have a splattered sheet entitled “Sibyl’s Buttermilk Pie – Junior League of Jackson, Miss”
It’s really the easiest pie in the world
Most of time, I have the ingredients on hand
Yes, I still buy buttermilk
It’s a great summer dessert
Especially on a Sunday afternoon
And so damned easy
Sibyl’s Buttermilk pie
1 9 inch deep dish unbaked pie shell
1/2 cup butter, softened to room temperature
2 cups sugar
3 tablespoons flour
3 eggs
1 cup buttermilk
1 tsp vanilla
Dash ground nutmeg or mace
Cream butter and sugar with mixer until light and fluffy. Add flour and mix well. Add eggs one at a time and mix well after each addition. Stir in buttermilk, vanilla, and nutmeg. Mix well. Pour into pie shell and bake 350 for 45 -50 mins. May need to shield the crust after 30 minutes or so.
Let cool completely before serving
If you want to gild the lily, you can add whipped cream or some such when serving. I never do
Dad, what's for supper? 