THE DISCOVERER BLOG’S “10 ESSENTIAL STOPS Along the Southeastern Coast” rekindled memories of my own touring down that way. Several of these have already appeared here at SimanaitisSays, but I’d like to think they’re tales worthy of retelling—maybe even with some exaggeration. Indeed, I have personal tales of three of The Discoverer’s ten, tidbits of which follow.
Charleston, South Carolina. I think of Charleston in the context of Catfish Row, the setting for the Gershwins’ Porgy and Bess. In “Celebrating Porgy and Bess,“ I asked, “Is this famed musical work a folk opera? A Broadway show? An opera? Is it an American cultural artifact? A controversial depiction of the African-American experience? An affirmative statement of human resilience?”
Yes, all of the above.
One of its tales, a real favorite of mine, concerns the Danish Royal Opera’s performances of Porgy and Bess during the Nazi occupation: The Nazis demanded it be closed down immediately; the Danes resisted for 22 sold-out performances. And, for the rest of the occupation, the Nazi’s nightly radio propaganda broadcasts were often interrupted by Danish Resistance renderings of the opera’s “It Ain’t Necessarily So.”
I could imagine replaying this song interspersing today’s Trumpisms.
My Charleston Visit. I visited Charleston’s vintage racer Alex Quattlebaum for an R&T “Salon” of Bill Devin’s Super Sports. At the time, this city was an east-coast port for Porsche, and I was able to borrow a Carrera 4 coupe, with pickup and dropoff at Charleston’s airport. The car was wonderfully sinister in its coal-black livery.”
Earlier in the trip, I had visited my mother in eastern Pennsylvania, where she and I enjoyed touring Amish country. There, at the request of Wife Dottie, I bought a 2-lb. bag of local baking flour. Double-wrapped in plastic, it resided in a corner of my duffle bag for the rest of the trip.
Sniffin’ Amish. Until, that is, I checked the duffle and dropped off the Porsche for an early morning departure. The duffle got through the system, but I never saw the Amish flour again. As I noted in subsequent airline correspondence, “It’s disturbing that somewhere within your organization there’s a thief sniffing a kilo of Amish flour.”
Savannah, Georgia. The Discoverer recounts, “Enormous old oak trees draped in Spanish moss, spectacular fountains, historic mansions, public squares, and the reportedly haunted River Street are just a few of the things that make Savannah such an interesting city.” I remember it fondly for Mrs. Wilkes’ Boardinghouse.
Mrs. Wilkes’ Boardinghouse Cookbook: Recipes and Recollections, by Sema Wilkes, Ten Speed Press, 2001.
When I bought my copy, Mrs. Wilkes asked me, “Who’s the boss?”
Rattled for a second, I realized she wanted my wife’s name too.
Our Oldest City. The Discoverer recounts that “St. Augustine is our nation’s oldest, continually-occupied settlement (founded by Europeans). Spanish explorers found the city in 1565, and it served as the capital of Spanish Florida for more than 200 years.”
Sticky Fingers in St. Augustine. Years ago, I enjoyed a long weekend at the Amelia Island Concours, with a side trip to St. Augustine in a borrowed Cadillac CTS Sport Wagon.
The parking-lot guy there gave me a wonderful quote, which Cadillac could well have used in marketing the Sport Wagon (available only 2010–2014): “If admiring glances were sticky fingers,” he said, “that car of yours would be all covered with smudges.” ds
© Dennis Simanaitis, SimanaitisSays.com, 2024