Clary’s Cafe ’22

Posted on March 3, 2024 by admin

Clary’s Cafe in Savannah is apparently an institution, boosted by a mention in both the book and movie versions of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. More than that, it serves up good food at popular prices.

“The stalwart Clary’s, which over the past century has evolved from a drugstore with a lunch counter into a knickknack-strewn café, serves a classic old-school breakfast,” says Garden & Gun.

We arrived for lunch on our first full day in Savannah, enjoying the warmth of an early March that Illinois had not been providing. We didn’t end up at Clary’s, eating lunch at one of the handful of outside tables at Clary’s, because it appeared on a list of the 10 best breakfasts in the South or 10 storied Southern diners or the 10 most creative eggmeisters of Southern nouvelle cuisine.

Instead, after our walking tour, and a quick look at Wesley Monumental United Methodist Church, I consulted Google Maps for places to eat, looking for something simple and filling. Clary’s was only a few blocks away and seemed to fit the bill.

Though we ate outside, I took a quick look around inside, en route to the bathroom.

I don’t know about knickknack-strewn, but I can say that the food was simple and filling, though I can’t remember exactly what I had. One of those breakfasts for lunch, but I forgot to do the modern thing and take a picture of the plate and send it to a dozen friends.

Vestiges of Marshall Field’s

Posted on January 12, 2023 by admin

Back to posting on January 17, out of respect to the legacy of Dr. King, because a holiday’s a holiday, and also since it’s nice to have a little time off not long after a sizable stretch of holidays, which can be a bit tiring.

We’re just ahead the pit of winter, but for now anyway the weather isn’t that bad. “Pit” is an inexact term, of course, but I think of it as the last week of January and the first one of February, more or less. Since the Christmas freeze, temps have been more moderate, but I expect another gelid blast sometime soon.

The following is a reminder that, once upon a time, department stores were the disruptors.

“The development of the department store posed a serious threat to smaller retailers,” explains the Encyclopedia of Chicago. “Many small merchants tried to rally the public against the new behemoths, but they failed to gain much support. Rather than rally to the side of traditional merchants, Chicago shoppers embraced the new form of retail.

“The opening of the new Marshall Field’s State Street store in 1902, only a few years after anti–department store protests, signaled that this newer type of institution had won the admiration of consumers. The opening was a sensational event, and the store decided not to start selling items on its first day of business so that more of the eager public would be able to pass through.”

Ah, if only passing through the building were quite as awe-inspiring here in the fraught 21st century. Still, a visit has its moments of visual splendor. If you look up.

I need to spend more time looking this masterpiece. In person, I mean. Closer views are available on higher floors, but it’s a wow even from the ground floor. Worth the crick you might get putting your neck in just the right position to see it.

“The highlight of the Marshall Field store was the Tiffany Dome (1907), a glass mosaic covering six thousand square feet, six floors high,” EOC says.

Not just any glass, but a special kind of glass that Tiffany & Co. had just invented. State-of-the-Victorian-art amorphous solids in a glassy myriad of hues, in other words.

The Marshall Field Building’s other yawning space – a building that takes up a city block has ample room for yawning spaces – is worth the uplook too.

A building of this kind also has a practically limitless supply of engaging detail. Some of it is literally underfoot, and by literally, I mean literally.

Back on the seventh floor, not long after noon, we wandered through a not particularly busy clutch of quick-service restaurants. At some point, department store management erased the longstanding and high-quality casual food service in the basement, and reconfigured parts of the seventh floor for food service.

Near the restaurants is a corner with floor-to-ceiling windows. Hard to pass those up, so we didn’t. We took in the views from northwest corner of the building.

Looking north on State St.

Looking west on Washington St.

A few years ago, the ornate venue originally known as the Oriental Theatre, which started as a 1920s movie palace, took a new name, Nederlander. After theater impresario James M. Nederlander (d. 2016). Doesn’t he count as a New Yorker? Guess his company would argue that it is national, as indeed it is.

Elsewhere on the seventh floor is a pocket-sized, plain hallway with a small exhibit of figures from Marshall Field Christmas windows on State Street, which were as much holiday tradition at the store as decorating the Walnut Room or hiring a Santa Claus, with thousands of Chicagoans and tourists seeing the windows every year and developing fond memories of the place.

As recently as 2015, the windows were inventive expressions of the window designers’ art.

The items on display in the hall aren’t particularly old: most are from this century. Such as from 2004.

2006.

A luminous creation from 2005.

I could write more – say, 1000 words – contrasting these artifacts with the 2022 State Street Christmas windows, but I don’t need to. Here’s one of the storied windows this Christmastime.

One could take the current owners of the building to task for this diminished creativity, but it isn’t the cause of anything, only a symptom.

I can’t end on that sour note.

While taking pictures at an elegantly decorated part of the seventh floor, I caught an image of a passing lass, elegant as her surroundings.

Martin Luther King, Jr. National Historical Park

Posted on November 10, 2022 by admin

Today was probably the last warm day of the year. For the next week and then some, at least, the chill will be on. Lunch and dinner were on our deck.

On the morning of October 15, a warm, clear Saturday in Atlanta, I got up early (for me) and walked from my short-term rental apartment in the Mechanicsville neighborhood to Garnett Station (on Marta’s Red and Gold Lines), mostly via Windsor Street, which was quiet and largely devoid of people.

From the station, I took the train to Peachtree Center, after which I spent time in Centennial Olympic Park.

The CNN Center is adjacent to the park, so I went there for a look too. Also, to find a bathroom, since the management of Centennial Olympic Park, in a gesture I take as hostile to the public at large, hasn’t bothered to re-open the park’s public bathrooms that closed during the pandemic emergency.

CNN employees can ride that tall escalator through a model Earth.

Soon after, I went to catch a streetcar — called a tram on the maps — which stops just outside the park. But I had a little time before the next arrival, so I looked around. In the vicinity of the park, you can see this building, whose name or address I didn’t bother with. Its Pac-Man-ish features, which appear to be the profile of a bold bird, move.

Then it changes its pattern, and they move some more.

The Ferris wheel Skyview Atlanta, another feature of that part of downtown, wasn’t moving yet.

After a short ride, I arrived at the streetcar stop near the Martin Luther King, Jr. National Historical Park and Preservation District.

I have the MLK park service publication in front of me. Don’t let anyone tell you that QR codes are better, NPS. The paper pamphlet unfolds in a way a smart phone image cannot, and it allows things to jump out at you in a way they can’t.

As soon as I unfolded it completely, the beginning of a sentence jumped out at me.

“In the twelve or so years that Martin Luther King, Jr. led the American Civil Rights Movement…”

Twelve years. Making Martin Luther King Jr. a bright meteor in American history, an illumination of the better angels of our nature, that’s over and done all too soon. Except that his legacy, his ethical bequest to the nation and the world, is hardly over and done.

The park captures the geography of Dr. King’s early life: a line from his birthplace and boyhood home on Auburn Avenue to his church — the church of his father and grandfather — also on Auburn, only blocks away.

When the King family led Ebenezer Baptist Church, it met here, a building now known as Historic Ebenezer Baptist Church, Heritage Sanctuary. It was completed in the 1920s and restored in recent years to look like it did in the 1960s.

Not open. Some kind of maintenance going on, I think. I’d liked to have seen the inside.

This is the Horizon Sanctuary, a 1999 structure, where the church gathers now.

It isn’t part of the park, but on its border, next to the main visitor center and museum devoted to Dr. King and his times. The church isn’t a relic of the past either, its congregation robust these days. Its pastor, Sen. Raphael Warnock, is in the thick of trying to win a full term in the U.S. Senate.

Close to the historic church and also on Auburn, Dr. and Mrs. King repose in a tomb perched on a circular island, the focus of a deep blue reflecting pool running the length of a brick plaza. Promenade might be a better way to put it, considering that people were strolling the length of it.

An eternal flame on the grounds.

I spent some time in the museum. A fair amount to read and view, but the most poignant artifact was the wagon that carried his coffin.

Outside the museum, there’s a garden with a mouthful of a name: The Martin Luther King, Jr. “I Have A Dream” World Peace Rose Garden.

Also on Auburn, his birth house.

It’s on the left. On the right is a book store and the museum shop. Tours of the birth house were already booked for the day.

“Auburn Avenue was the commercial, cultural, and spiritual center of African American life in Atlanta prior to the civil rights movement,” says the New Georgia Encyclopedia. ” ‘Sweet Auburn’ boasted a concentration of Black-owned businesses, entertainment venues, and churches that was unrivaled elsewhere in the South.”

The street had been renamed Auburn in 1893; originally it had been Wheat Street.

“During the next two decades, as restrictive Jim Crow legislation was codified into law, the city’s African American population became confined to the area between downtown and Atlanta University and to neighborhoods on the city’s east side, known today as the Old Fourth Ward,” the encyclopedia notes.

“It was during this period that Auburn Avenue first achieved prominence as a commercial corridor and became home to the city’s emerging Black middle class.

“Ironically, Auburn’s civic activism led to its undoing. As the NAACP and local voting-rights organizations, from their Sweet Auburn offices, lobbied state and local governments for an end to segregation, and as native son Martin Luther King Jr… led the crusade for civil rights before a national audience, the street began its steep decline. With the legal barriers to integration removed, many Auburn shopkeepers moved their businesses to other areas of the city, and residents began migrating to Atlanta’s west side.”

Historic No. 6 Fire Station, which is part of the park.

The NPS says: Built in 1894 in Romanesque Revival style, the fire station stood guard over the city for nearly 100 years. In the 1960s, it became one of Atlanta’s first racially integrated firehouses. It closed in 1991.

So before the ’60s, Atlanta firehouses were segregated. How nuts is that?

Besides sites associated with Dr. King, Auburn still features some shotgun houses, which mostly aren’t part of the park.

Plus some larger houses. This one is home to the Historic District Development Corp.

Eventually, I wandered beyond Auburn to a parallel street, Edgewood Avenue. It’s an active commercial street in our time, with various establishments.

Plus murals.

I had a late lunch of breakfast food at Thumbs Up, a diner. Its outside wall.

Eggs and pancakes, done up right. Worth the half-hour wait sitting outside.

Centennial Olympic Park, Atlanta

Posted on November 9, 2022 by admin

Remarkably, the election seems to have been anticlimactic. So far, anyway. Probably the best outcome to be hoped for, two sumo wrestlers huffing noisily to a draw. I did my little part, voting about two hours before the polls closed, because it had been a busy day at work, and every time I considered voting early during the last few weeks, I thought, nah.

Even more remarkably, we had lunch on the deck today. This evening at about 8, I sat out there in a light jacket under the waning moon and Jupiter high in the sky, and comfortably drank tea and ate a banana-flavored Choco Pie.

For anyone who’s interested, the International Olympic Committee created a report called “Over 125 years of Olympic venues: post-Games Use.” I can’t speak to the organization’s exact motives in producing such a document, but it seems to be a way to assert that most host cities weren’t stuck with too many white elephants after the Games.

Maybe so. The report notes that of the permanent venues used in both Summer and Winter Games from 1896 to 2018 — there were 817 all together — 85 percent are still in use. Many of those, if not most, already existed when the Games came to town, however.

Those 15 percent of unused venues are what tend to get attention. Or rather, a fraction of them.

“Of the 15 per cent of permanent venues not in use (124 venues), the majority (88 venues) were unbuilt or demolished for a variety of reasons,” the report says, using that charming British style for spelling out % and unbuilt as a verb.

“Some had reached the end of their life, some were destroyed during war periods or in accidents, while others were replaced by new urban development projects or were removed for lack of a business model. The remaining venues not in use are closed or abandoned (36 venues).”

Those last ones would be fodder for urban explorers and editorialists who want to discuss the deleterious impact of the Games on urban spaces. Tellingly, the report notes that Los Angeles isn’t going to build any new venues for ’28.

“The ‘radical reuse’ concept also applies to the training facilities and the Athletes’ Village,” it says.

Guess the IOC is going to have to live with the fact that cities are now hesitant to build spiffy new facilities that mostly benefit the IOC.

Here are photos of some of those abandoned sites. The ones that surprise me are the abandoned swimming pool and amphitheater from the ’36 Games. Sure, those were the Nazi Olympics, but the main stadium has been maintained by a more benevolent German government, why not the pool?

I took a look at that stadium — Olympiastadion — during a walkabout in West Berlin in 1983. That’s only one of two former Olympic sites that I can remember visiting. The other was a facility for the 1976 Montreal Games, the Centre Aquatique, where we went swimming in 2002.

I had these places in mind when I strolled through Centennial Olympic Park in downtown Atlanta. Its origins are on display.

The 21-acre park actually isn’t listed in the IOC report, because no sporting activity took place there. Rather, it was intended to be a gathering spot for visitors and spectators, and then a city park once the Games were over, and so it is. A pleasant place to wander on a warm weekend morning.

The park includes green space.

Water features and plazas.

Some structures left over from ’96.

Sculpture from that same year.

“Tribute” by Greek artist Peter Calaboyias, depicting (right to left) an ancient Olympic athlete, a participant in the first modern Games in Athens in 1896, and an Atlanta Games participant.

Poor old Richard Jewell has a memorial too.

Dedicated only in 2021. About time, I’d say.

The Georgia State Capitol

Posted on November 8, 2022 by admin

It’s been a good year for visiting U.S. capitols. Four all together: Utah, Nevada, California and most recently, Georgia. I believe that makes about 40 exteriors over the years, about 30 of which I’ve ventured inside, and not counting two provincial parliaments in Canada. Not sure about a few of those, because memory is an uncertain thing.

The Georgia State Capitol is in the thick of downtown. It has an impressive dome.

The painted copper statue that looks so small from the ground is known as Miss Freedom, dating from 1889, only a year after the capitol was completed. It’s about 26 feet tall, weighs over 1600 lbs. and is wearing a Phrygian cap, a detail one has to read about to know.

Fittingly, gold leaf from near Dahlonega, Georgia, adorns the dome. One of these days, I need to visit that place, to take in the historic mint. I’d toyed with the idea this time, but stuck around Atlanta instead during the day or so after the conference. The capitol was the first place I went when I had some free time.

The legislature isn’t in session now, and besides, a capitol is an office building — and a lot of people don’t work as much as they used to in offices. So the place was practically deserted. I wandered around the quiet marble halls, a design by Willoughby J. Edbrooke and Franklin Pierce Burnham of Chicago, no less.

The rotunda. Plain, but still worth a look.

The chambers. Closed, but with nice big windows to peer through.

The capitol also has a museum aspect to it, as many capitols do. Including something I’d never seen before in any capitol. Or anywhere that I can remember. A two-headed calf.

The unfortunate beast was born in Palmetto, Georgia in 1987, a nearby sign said. Other curiosities were on display at the capitol, too, but none quite so curious.

Or maybe this is.

It took me moment to realize it was Jimmy Carter, as governor. That isn’t quite the face the nation outside Georgia got to know in the late ’70s. Also, it’s odd that there’s no mention that Gov. Carter went on to, you know, some other office. Even the California capitol acknowledged that Ronald Reagan was more than governor for a spell.

Besides Jimmy, there’s a decided mix of other historic personages on display, some too famous to need naming. A chronological posting:

Interesting, but I was more delighted to find Button Gwinnett. Not only has this been a year for visiting capitols, but for Button sites too.

“Brief but brilliant was the career of Button Gwinnett, Revolutionary Patriot,” the bust says, emphasis on brief.

Guess I need to visit the Button Gwinnett House someday, to really be a complete Button tourist. Or was it really his house?

Buckhead From on High

Posted on November 7, 2022 by admin

Two days after I returned from the West last month, I went to Atlanta for a work conference for most of week. Atlanta and I go back a ways; I first went there by bus in ’82, but also later. Still, my most recent visit was in 1999, so it’s been a while.

This time, there was work to do, of course, and events to attend, and I got to spend time with colleagues I hadn’t seen in a number of years, or ever, except for Zoom. That was good.

I also had a few excellent meals not at my expense, especially one at The Consulate, a restaurant in Midtown that rates its own Atlas Obscura page.

I stayed in an upper floor of the conference hotel in Buckhead, which is like a second downtown for Atlanta, something like the Galleria district in Houston. I enjoyed some good views from the room.

Including much of the rooftop of a major regional mall. Not something you see every day.

Sure, the property’s mechanicals need to be up there. But isn’t there also the opportunity to use at least part of the roof for games that might attract hipsters and their always at-hand cameras — to promote the mall on social media — such as ax throwing, bocce and shuffleboard?

Savannah Bits

Posted on March 22, 2022 by admin

By the time we got to Factors Walk in downtown Savannah on March 7, it was already dark. Daytime pictures of the area, which used to be home to the sizable business of selling and shipping cotton, are available here.

The ground floor of the Factors Walk buildings facing the Savannah River are mostly oriented to tourists these days, including restaurants and small shops. I bought some postcards at a souvenir store, and when I told the clerk where I lived (he asked), he further asked whether Illinois has mandatory auto emissions tests. I said it does.

He said, as a life-long resident of Savannah, he only recently found out that some states do that. He looked to be in his 30s. It seemed to be a subject of some fascination for him.

Later I checked, and I was only partly correct. Only some counties in Illinois test auto emissions — Cook and Du Page among them, the only counties I’ve ever lived in here. Some Georgia counties do too, but not Chatham, where Savannah is located.

Some of the tourist attractions at Factors Walk are more mobile than the stores, such as the good tourist ship Georgia Queen, apparently docked for the evening.

Another thing I heard from a resident: St. Patrick’s Day is a big to-do in Savannah, probably even bigger this year after two years of cancelation. We came to town nearly two weeks ahead of all that, and so were able to find a room. Closer to the event and we’d have been out of luck, even booking as I did in January.

Some houses were already ready for the festivities, such as along Jones St.

Other places had more topical colors flying.

Savannah is easily as picturesque as Charleston, maybe more so, but it needs more stylish cast-iron covers.

The first evening we were in town, I took a walk near the Isseta Inn. I chanced by the Gingerbread House. I knew it was called that because of the sign out front.

“Built in 1899 by Cord Asendorf, this magnificent house is considered among the finest examples of Steamboat Gothic architecture in America,” the house web site asserts. These days it hosts weddings and other events.

Even closer to the Isetta Inn — on the next block — evidence that the neighborhood continues to gentrify.

Though a little clogged with traffic, Victory Drive is a good drive, among the palms that line it. There is some commercial development, including this sign — which has its own Atlas Obscura page. We weren’t inspired to buy anything there.

The town of Tybee Island has very little free parking. I understand the reasons: lots of visitors, infrastructure needs to be maintained, etc. Still, that grated, especially since it applied even on a Sunday, which is when we drove through.

So besides The Crab Shack, which had a gravel parking lot shaded by tall trees, the only place we stopped was along U.S. 80 on the outskirts of town, where no meters or fee signage existed.

We took a look at a small cluster of shops on the road.

More interestingly, visited Fish Art Gallerie. It has its own Roadside America item, though not including a lot of information. “The folk art environment/gallery/store of Ralph Douglas Jones, who turns junk into fish art. Much colorful nonsense is visible from the street,” RA says.

This is a video of the founder Jones. The guy at the counter when we visited didn’t look like him, which is too bad, since meeting Ralph might be the same kind of trip as meeting Randy in Pittsburgh.

Ann bought some beads and other small items, I bought a cast-iron bottle opener in the shape of a turtle.

One more pic from Tybee Island.

Just more of the trees that helped make visiting this part of the country a delight.

The Isetta Inn

Posted on March 21, 2022 by admin

At one of the corners of Whitaker St. and W. 37th St. in Savannah stands the Isetta Inn, where we stayed three nights.

I didn’t take careful notes when I read a framed article hung on a stairway landing at the Isetta, and I can’t find it posted on line, but I do remember it said that the property was built in 1907, suffered a period of neglect much later in the 20th century (of course) and might have been torn down, but it was restored to magnificence by a dedicated renovationist in the early 21st century. Now it’s a one-of-a-kind hotel.

Its fate could have been like the lot cater-cornered across the intersection. Wonder what used to be there.

I had time to mull that question, which I don’t really need to answer, sitting in one of the red rocking chairs on the Isetta’s delightful front porch. I spent some time there, both during the day and in the evening, reading or just gazing out into the surrounding neighborhood, the Starland District. Both 37th and Whitaker are fairly busy streets, and that stretch of 37th especially is a boulevard shaded by tall southern live oaks fully decked out with Spanish moss.

“Starland” doesn’t sound like an historic name, and it isn’t. Two Savannah College of Art and Design graduates reportedly dreamed up the moniker ca. 2000 to use for an arts district for the city.

“The idea of a vanguard arts district may seem counterintuitive in this slow-paced city of courtly manners and stately architecture, but after almost two decades, an emerging area called the Starland District may finally be hitting its stride,” the New York Times reported in 2015.

“… the Starland District is a collection of art studios, small offices, galleries, cafes and retail shops loosely assembled around Bull Street south of Savannah’s historic downtown and Forsyth Park.”

The lobby of the Isetta is an artful place — actually the whole property is — and so right at home in an arts district. In fact, the lobby displays local art on a rotating basis. The sliced off BMW trunk is the reception desk.

Adjacent to the lobby is an ornate but comfortable living room. I spent a while there as well, writing postcards. Wonder how often that happens.

The entrance to the right off the living room is to the kitchen, where guests could use a table, refrigerator, sink, plates and silverware, and a microwave, but not the stove or oven. We had cereal and other breakfast food — also available to guests — two of our mornings there, and leftovers for dinner one night.

A distinctive feature of the kitchen.

Our room, Hedwig’s Perch, was on the third floor. All of the hotel’s rooms have names, also including Sacred Tower, L-Suite, Polaroid Room, Alpha Romeo, and the posh Presidential. Just before we left, we noticed that the guests in that room had left before us, leaving the door open, so we got a peak inside. Posh indeed.

As for Hedwig’s Perch, it might have been a children’s bedroom originally, or maybe a sewing room, cozy as it was. But it did have two single beds, the only room at the inn with that feature, so I booked it. Two other rooms are on the third floor, and the three share one bathroom with a shower, and one without, off a short hallway. This was never an issue.

Our room was L shaped. Open the door and you see a bed with a cast-iron frame, a rolltop desk and a tree painted on the wall, complete with Spanish moss. Ann had to tell me who Hedwig was: Harry Potter’s owl.

The walls, according to the inn, were “custom painted by famed artist Dame Darcy.” I had to look her up, but the world is full of things I don’t know. Could be I’m not in the right demographic, since she’s known for illustrating works like Vegan Love: Dating and Partnering for the Cruelty-Free Gal, with Fashion, Makeup & Wedding Tips and for Tarot decks that went viral.

Then again, demographics are limiting. After all, some young men were reportedly fond of My Little Pony, so there’s no real reason late middle age/early old age men can’t enjoy, for example, Dame Darcy’s autobiographical graphic novel, Hi Jax & Hi Jinx (Life’s a Pitch and Then You Live Forever). But odds are I won’t read it.

Dame Darcy’s arboreal theme continues along the rest of the wall. I slept in the cast-iron bed, under the 2-D tree canopy. The bed squeaked at a low pitch, even when I wasn’t moving, that would have kept me awake for hours had I not figured out to keep the bed absolutely flush with the wall.

Around the corner of the L is another bed, or a reading nook, which is where Ann slept.

For all its high-polish artistic charms, I’m glad to say Isetta wasn’t vastly expensive. I’ve paid about as much for soulless middle- and upper-middle chain hotel rooms, and somehow staying in a soulless room in a city like Savannah would have been a damned shame. I haven’t worked out exactly why the Isetta was named for the bubble car of that name, but the web site does say the following, attributed to owner Jonathan.

“I’m big believer in alternative transportation to improve quality of life for us. We have a fleet of rental bicycles available to all guests. We are perfectly located for you to see all the sites on two wheels. I also personally have a few examples of historical ‘alternative transportation’ ideas in the form of micro cars. Such as a 1950s BMW Isetta that is our namesake.”

That’s pretty cool, but I’ll bet the bubblecar that’s for hard-core enthusiasts is the Soviet SMZ cyclecar.

Tybee Island Seafood, Gators & Birds

Posted on March 20, 2022 by admin

The seaside town and island called Tybee Island isn’t far from Savannah, connected to the city by U.S. 80. In the city, that route is the palm-lined Victory Drive. Outside town, the road passes the entrance to Fort Pulaski NM along the South Channel of the Savannah River and eventually takes you to Tybee Island, with its beaches and accommodations and shops for beachgoers.

On the way, the drive takes you within sight of Captain Derek’s Dolphin Adventure and Amick’s Deep Sea Fishing (tour operators), Seaside Sisters Gift Shop, Gerald’s Pig & Shrimp, Tybee Island Wedding Chapel & Grand Ballroom and lots of other enterprises longing for sweet visitor dollars. I expect it’s been a hard few years lately, but to judge by traffic to and in Tybee Island, things have picked up.

Not visible from U.S. 80, but evident on Google Maps, is The Crab Shack, about a minute’s drive off the main road on the outskirts of town, down a street that’s otherwise residential. We went there for lunch after visiting Fort Pulaski.

The restaurant isn’t affiliated with Joe’s Crab Shack or any other chain, as far as I can tell. The place apparently evolved from a mid-century fishing camp on Chimney Creek — a place where boats docked and fishing enthusiasts bought bait and beer — into a multi-building restaurant and tourist attraction over the last four decades or so. Organic, mostly unplanned growth, and looks like it.

Try as they might, neither restaurant consultants, nor algorithms nor AI-generated consumer-facing gastrolocus experience programs, can put all the elements of a place like The Crab Shack together in as pleasing a way as individual human effort can, bit by bit over years. Good thing, too.

The tables sprawl out on a wooden deck overlooking the creek, with trees towering overhead and forming a much-needed canopy where there’s no roof (though bird droppings were a worry). The Crab Shack could easily been a tourist trap, especially if the food wasn’t up to par. But it was very good.

This is Captain Crab’s Sampler Platter (for two), featuring boiled shrimp, snow crab, mussels, crawfish, corn, potatoes and sausage. We ate a lot of it, though some mussels, shrimp and crawdads ended up in the refrigerator at the Isetta Inn for later consumption. Ann sent a picture of the platter to Lilly, to inspire envy. The platter happened to be a lot like what Lilly and I ate in New Orleans.

The pie slices we shared for dessert — coconut cream and Key lime — were much better than very good. So good I persuaded myself to eat very them slowly, bite by savored bite, something I don’t often do.

As you’d expect, eating is only part of The Crab Shack experience.

After our meal, we spent a few moments at the Gator Deck, which overlooks a pond.

A pond stocked with alligators. Quite a few, actually. Real and otherwise.

A Crab Shack employee told me the pond alligators were all juveniles, born in captivity and destined for alligator farms. Destined to be wallets and purses, she didn’t say, but I expect that’s what often happens. As far as I could see, alligator wasn’t on the menu at the restaurant, but I don’t see why not.

Elsewhere in the compound is the Bird Shack, stocked with various birds.

Damned if the two multicolored birds weren’t loud. Loud — KAHHHH! without warning. The white bird, less noisy, danced and said a few words when he was so inspired.

Fort Pulaski National Monument

Posted on March 17, 2022 by admin

Today turned out to be an pleasant early spring day. There will be more winterish days to come, of course, and the nights are still chilly, but I’ll enjoy the warmth as much as I can. Had a very civilized lunch on the deck today, including casarecce and mussels, Greek olives and mineral water.

American schoolchildren learn, or at least used to learn, the story of the early 1862 battle between the Monitor and the Virginia (a.k.a., the Merrimack, which does have a euphonious ring when paired with the Monitor). That incident demonstrated the vulnerability of wooden hulls to armored ships, and the navies of the world took note. That was my takeaway about the Battle of Hampton Roads.

I don’t remember ever being taught about Fort Pulaski, which is on Cockspur Island in the Savannah River, and whose short siege, only about a month after Hampton Roads, revolutionized warfare in its own way. If I ever learned that before, I’d forgotten. So I relearned it by visiting Fort Pulaski National Monument outside Savannah on the morning of March 7.

“On April 10 [1862], after the Confederates refused [Union Capt. Quincy] Gillmore’s formal demand to surrender, the Federals opened fire,” the NPS Fort Pulaski leaflet says. “The Confederates were not particularly alarmed; the Union guns were a mile away, more than twice the effective range for heavy ordnance of that day.

“But what the fort’s garrison did not know was that the Federal armament included 10 new experimental rifled cannons, whose projectiles began to bore through Pulaski’s walls with shattering effect.”

Before long, within about a day, explosive shells were hitting near the fort’s main powder magazine, and the Confederate commander, Col. Charles Olmstead, surrendered. Though state-of-the-art when constructed in the 1830s and ’40s, the brick fort proved in 1862 to be as obsolete as wooden-hulled ships. Armies of the world took note.

Whatever its role in the history of warfare, Fort Pulaski is a cool relic here in the 21st century. Built of an estimated 25 million bricks, the NPS says, and restored in the 20th century by none other than the energetic lads of the CCC. We arrived via the causeway that crosses to Cockspur Is. and soon approached the fort. Which has a moat.

And a drawbridge.

How often do you get to say you’ve crossed a moat on a drawbridge?

Though vulnerable to new cannon tech in the 1860s, the fort’s thick walls are impressive all the same.

On one of the ceilings, some Union garrison soldiers — who had little to do, since the Confederacy never tried to take the fort back — left some patriotic graffiti.

It’s a little hard to read, but includes a star and says THE UNION NOW AND FOREVER.

This is the entrance to the powder magazine that was in danger of blowing up real good during the bombardment.

The five walls enclose a sizable bit of ground.

Most of the monument’s exhibits are inside the walls, including ones about ordinary soldiers’ quarters, the commanding officer’s quarters (definitely better), the infirmary, the chapel, how the garrison entertained itself (considering that leave in Savannah was out of the question) and more.

A good many cannons still stand at the fort, ready to greet the tourists who show up.

A plate on the cannon below indicated that it was made by the Ames Manufacturing Co. of Chicopee, Mass., a major maker of side arms, swords, light artillery and heavy ordnance for the Union.

This cannon is perched atop the upper level of the walls (the terreplein), which surprised me by being accessible to tourists. There are no guardrails, so you take your chances.

We enjoyed good views of the surrounding territory, Cockspur Island that is, from up there. That kind of view would seem to be an important feature in a fort. I expect most of the flora now seen wasn’t there when Pulaski was an active fort.

Near the entrance of the fort is a small cemetery.

It includes mostly unmarked individual graves, though there is a small stone honoring a man named Robert Rowan. It says:

In Memory of ROBT. ROWAN of No.
Carolina, Lieut in 1st Regimt of Artilrst &
Engirs of the U. States Troops who died
March 3d 1800, Aged 25 Years.

Obviously not involved in the Civil War, he was stationed at Ft. Pulaski’s predecessor, Ft. Greene. I’m a little amazed that the stone still stands, and even the location of Rowan’s resting place is known, considering that a hurricane destroyed that fort only four years after he died.

Also buried in the cemetery are 13 of the Immortal Six Hundred, Confederate POWs held at Ft. Pulaski in 1864 and ’65. A much newer stone at the end of a sidewalk — erected in 2012 by the George Division of the Sons of Confederate Veterans — honors these men.

A number of short walking paths lead away from the fort. We took a walk on one.

Skies were clear and temps warm, about 80 F. Luckily, it seemed to be a little too early in the spring for many bugs to be around. I expect bugs were a major nuisance (and danger, considering the likes of malaria) for the fort’s garrison in those pre-DEET days.

The path we walked eventually led, by way of the aforementioned John Wesley memorial, to the Savannah River, near where it empties into the Atlantic. Across the way is South Carolina.

Signs marked the beach closed, so we didn’t venture on to it. Still, frame it right, and it looks like you’re at a beach resort.

At least, that’s what Ann claimed as she sent pictures to her friends.

Been There, Seen That

By Dees Stribling

Tag Archives: Georgia