30-31: trolley tour, planned city, but no jews, epiphyte moss, first african baptist church, haircut, forrest's bench, wrought iron, flannery and deen, headstones, graveface, mark 15, happy underwear

April 16, 2025 to April 17, 2025

Savannah

History drapes the city of Savannah like the Spanish moss on its live oak trees. On every street, in every square, there are reminders of the past. And today I'm going to go exploring.

I took a trolley car tour in St. Augustine and it turned out to be worthwhile, so I bought a ticket for one here as well. My plan is to hop off at any point that looks interesting and check it out.

Unfortunately, the Savannah tour company is about as organized as my junk drawer. The first couple of buses that came by were full, and the third only had room for one person. Fortunately, I'm only one person.

After boarding, every time we stopped during the 90-minute tour, there were about fifteen people who were told that there was no room, and that the next bus will be by "in about fifteen minutes." Consequently, I did no hopping off.

The tour guide told me very little I hadn't already read about in my research of the city and, like St. Augustine, I'll try to minimize a lot of historical facts and just pass along some interesting tidbits.

Savannah was founded in 1733 by General James Edward Oglethorpe, and is considered to be "America's First Planned City." He organized it into 24 grids, each one surrounded by a small square. 22 of the original 24 remain. There are a lot of statues and sculptures, and if you're interested in them you should come to Savannah.

The good news is that Oglethorpe hated slavery, so when Savannah was originally founded it was illegal to own slaves. The bad news is that, in addition to slavery, he also hated Jews, Catholics, and lawyers, and outlawed them as well.

Shortly after Savannah's doctor died from a raging epidemic, a boatload of Jewish families arrived. Because a physician was among them, Oglethorpe relented and allowed the Jewish families to settle in the colony. They were instrumental in slowing the fever rampaging through the city.

Shortly thereafter, the Jewish colonists founded the third synagogue in the United States, Mickve Israel.

Bill noticed a peculiarity yesterday: in some squares the trees were covered with Spanish moss, and in other squares there wasn't any at all. Reading later, I found that there are a lot of factors contributing to the growth, and in this case it most likely has to do with sunlight and airflow. If there are tall buildings around shading the square, or if it isn't open to the breeze, then it won't grow.

In reading about it I also learned that Spanish moss isn't a moss at all, nor is it a parasite like I originally believed. It's an epiphyte, a plant that absorbs water and nutrients from the air (weirdly, like a pineapple, which is also an epiphyte). But, of course, Spanish epiphyte doesn't sound as evocative.

This is the First African Baptist Church, the oldest black church in North America. It was established in 1777 and served as a stop on the Underground Railroad. You can still see the holes in the floorboards that were used to ventilate the concealed spaces where the fugitives hid.

I really need to get a haircut so I looked at a few barber shops. The Barber Pole seemed reasonable so I walked over and, once inside, found all of the barber chairs empty. Three women were casually chatting, and when I said I needed a haircut I was directed to Connie, in the front corner, who asked me how I wanted it cut.

Before I left for this trip I asked Ally, the woman who usually cuts my hair, what I should tell my road barber when they ask. I definitely should've written it down, because all I could remember is "cut about a finger off." Knowing that I'm missing some key component in the transmission I told her, but kept my hands in a fist secreted away under my thighs the entire time just in case she's one of those people who takes things literally, or doesn't have any formal training in barbering.

I also remembered "feather razor around the sides," and when I told Connie she looked at me askance as if I'd asked her to graft a chicken onto my head and said, "Oh, honey, you don't want that. You want me to shave the sides?"

Horrified, I admitted that I didn't, and mewled "Maybe just a trim?"

"You just sit right down here and I'll take care of you." So I did.

Connie's a bit of a close talker, and one of the things she mentioned when she was a mere inches away was, "Whew! My allergies are really acting up today." Then, turning her head, let out a wheezy cough and blew her nose.

Without even asking, I've become quite adept at determining whether a person gets vaccinated. Using my deductive skills, and knowing that she's a resident of the United States and in particular, Georgia, figured probably not.

I asked her where the best seafood restaurant in town is. It's interesting, because I should probably start qualifying that statement to exclude fried food. The last three people I've asked go straight to "Oh, [this place]. They have the best fried fish you can get."

She pointed me in the direction of Mrs. Wilkes, and added "I only like fried. I don't like nothin' boiled, only fried... unless it's boiled in butter."

When she found out what I did for a living she said that she used to work in a doctor's office as a med tech.

"Really? How did you end up going from being a med tech to cutting hair?" I asked. It was a story with several plot twists, but the gist is that her Special Ops ex-husband got moved around a lot and a friend of hers suggested she come over and help cut hair at the base. I made the assumption that, at some point, there was some formal training and an eventual certification, but until I walk out with ten fingers I am withholding judgement.

She talked a lot about astrology, and opined that as a Libra she always attracts losers, but still wants to help them. I learned about her current boyfriend, wealthy and lazy, in his mid forties, who lives with his mother.

I enjoyed my visit to this 200-year-old building with a barbering business that's been there for the past 33 years, and I enjoyed my conversation with Connie, a very pleasant woman.

But I would like to know: why does everyone who cuts my hair, excluding Ally, part my hair one inch above my left ear? Do they think I'm 90 years old?

This is what $8.00 at Ben & Jerry's will get you.

Hearing that I'm coming to Savannah, a lot of people have been asking me if I'm going to get a picture of myself sitting on the bench where Tom Hanks sat in Forrest Gump. They're generally surprised to learn that the bench wasn't a permanent fixture. It was placed there just for the film and is facing a direction it normally wouldn't. In fact, because of the bench's location, the film’s production crew needed to adjust traffic flow to move the cars in the opposite direction in order to get the angles they wanted.

One of those angles included this spire in the background, and is part of the reason the location in Chippewa Square was selected. The city ended up moving the bench to a local museum because so many tourists were holding up traffic trying take photos on it and, of course, because a few people tried to steal it.

One of the things that I did learn on the trolley tour was that during this time period, people would use wrought iron as a sign of wealth: the more wrought iron on your house, the wealthier you must be.

It brought to mind something I learned in my training, that during the Middle Ages some men would pretend to have gout by limping. At that time, meat was expensive so only the rich could afford it. Thus, if you have gout, you must have enough money to afford meat. They did this to attract women.

Flannery O’Connor (who, by the way, graduated from the University of Iowa's Writer's Workshop) spent her formative years in Savannah. I took a tour of her childhood home, and it was possibly the highlight of the day. O'Connor's writings, most of which are pretty dark (but which include some dark humor as well), aren't for everyone, but she's a great writer even if you don't like the genre. During the short time she had before dying of lupus at 39, she wrote two novels, thirty short stories, and more than a hundred book reviews.

If you do any reading about Flannery, you'll come across articles mentioning that she taught a chicken to walk backwards.

When she was just six years old, Pathé News (a film newsreel company) actually sent a crew to get some footage of her and the chicken for a short piece but, as you can imagine, the chicken wouldn't cooperate. Consequently, the film company just filmed the chicken walking normally, then ran it backwards.

The film made her the subject of national attention, and she later described the event with her typical dry humor, saying it was “the high point” of her life. She said this after having won The National Book Award for Fiction.

I'm only including one picture of the inside of the house, the bathtub. She would put a bunch of pillows in it and hang out there to read. Just like all of us.

I love this picture of her. Sometimes I see Heather instead.

Jo is the reason for the excellent tour. She volunteers here once a week, and I just got lucky.

Savannah isn't only the home of Flannery O'Connor, it's also where Johnny Mercer was born and raised (wrote the lyrics for Moon River and You Must Have Been a Beautiful Baby), Eli Whitney (inventor of the cotton gin), Juliette Gordon Low (who, in spite of being encumbered by three names, founded the Girl Scouts Of America), Mary Kay Andrews (the author, not the creator of Mary Kay Cosmetics), and, my favorite, Al Jaffee (of Mad Magazine).

Paula Deen is also closely associated with Savannah. She moved here in 1989 and shortly thereafter opened The Lady & Sons, her first restaurant, and the one which helped launch her career. Her Uncle Bubba's Oyster House, also in Savannah, is where several of her TV shows were filmed. Her restaurants feature "Southern Style Cooking," which unsurprisingly does well in the South.

When Deen received some criticism after recommending that children have cheesecake for breakfast, and meatloaf, french fries, and chocolate cake for lunch, she responded with "Everything in moderation." Because that's what kids do: everything in moderation. Especially when their parents aren't around.

Interestingly, after being diagnosed with diabetes, she lost forty pounds by making dietary changes. Her restaurant's menu and her cookbooks remained the same, with the exception of adding some healthier choices.

During the Civil War, Union soldiers occupying Savannah used the cemetery as a campground. During that time, for fun, many of the headstones were moved or damaged.

Some soldiers altered the inscriptions, also to get a laugh. Later, when the city cleaned up the site, headstones without known burial locations were placed against the wall along the cemetery’s edge to respectfully preserve them.

These were scattered around the cemetery and the squares. Stepping on the pedal opens the lid so you can deposit your dog poop. Or maybe your dog, since that's what the picture is.

If you've read the beginning of this blog, you'll know that not only did I promise that you'd be able to visit where Aileen Wuornos resided, you'll also be able see Charles Manson's sweatpants, and John Wayne Gacy's paintings. So, in an attempt to keep that promise I paid my $15.00 to visit the Graveface Museum.

In all honesty, I was a bit disappointed. For one, Manson's sweatpants aren't even there. I was hoping, not only to see them, but perhaps to see a mustard stain. A real mustard stain would get my heart racing for sure. Can you imagine?

I like quirk, and the other items, at least to me, didn't seem quirky enough: a five-legged calf, a two-headed sheep, and a collection of "haunted" objects.

I did find it interesting that Gacy, who was convicted of murdering 33 people, is the person who made "prison art" a thing.

He began painting while on death row, producing colorful, often disturbing images, some of which sold for thousands of dollars, especially the ones of his alter ego “Pogo the Clown.” His paintings are on the right.

I have pictures of Jim Jones' glasses, the dolls that Charles Manson made while in San Quentin, Tonya Harding's skate (autographed!), and Jeffrey Dahmer's high school trumpet, but decided not to post them because.... meh.

I am, as a matter of continuity, including a picture of Aileen Wuornos' cremains. I am not, however, including a picture of her underwear. Even I have standards, low though they may be.

Looking east, just around the bend and a tiny bit farther downriver, is Tybee Island.

In 1958, two Air Force jets collided over Savannah airspace. Fortunately, everyone survived the crash but, unfortunately, one of the planes was carrying a Mark 15 nuclear weapon. When the pilot of the damaged B-47 realized he couldn't land his plane with the weight of the bomb, he dropped it just off the coast of Savannah, then managed to land safely. (He later stated, "What I should be remembered for is landing that plane safely. But I guess this bomb is what I'm going to be remembered for.”)

For over two months, more than a hundred Navy divers searched 24 square miles but never located it. Subsequent searches, usually after a high reading of radioactivity, were also unsuccessful

The military repeatedly said the weapon didn't contain a plutonium capsule and that "there was no danger of an explosion or radioactivity." Unsurprisingly, when the documents were declassified in 1994, they stated that it was a complete nuclear weapon, with plutonium included, and that the previous memo was “in error.”

The bomb is still out there.

Since 1950, the U. S. military has been involved in thirty two "broken arrow" incidents, in which they lost or dropped nuclear weapons.

At this point, I'm doubtful that it would go off, but if it did, the face of Savannah would drastically change.

This is much cooler than the picture shows because of the angles of the globe. It's entitled "A World Apart," and honors the 527 Chatham County residents killed during the WW2.

My hotel, which was remarkably inexpensive for Savannah, now has the unique distinction of being the loudest hotel I've ever stayed in. Facing West Bay, I could hear the semis and I could feel the bass speakers. I thought about mentioning it to the front desk to see if I could get a different room but decided against it when I overheard (and it was muffled, so in all journalistic transparency, I might have misheard) a guest very timidly asking for another room: "There's a hole in the wall and I can see out to the street."

At the front desk, I picked up the tail light holder I had mailed to the hotel then, back in my room, attached it. Now, if it falls off again I won't lose it.

I double checked to make sure it can hold it. Thanks for the suggestion, Betsy!

I'm going to end with this, which is the last picture I took today. It makes me happy seeing this guy wearing pink flamingo and palm tree underwear, making me think this big, tough dude has a great sense of humor.

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Gregory GarceauI never heard about Flannery O'Connor's backward walking chicken. Great story. And any bit of trivia involving Mad Magazine is a winner with me.
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