SAVANNAH, GEORGIA: FLANNERY O'CONNOR AND TWO MORE FAMOUS SAVANNAHIANS

When we planned our trip to Savannah, we hadn't planned on stopping by the Flannery O'Connor Childhood Home, but it turned out that some of what we wanted to do was closed (e.g., the Jewish synagogue) or otherwise unavailable.  When we happened to walk right by the O'Connor house, we decided that perhaps it was worth a visit.

O'Connor was born in 1925 in Savannah and lived there until 1938.  She died in 1964 at age 39 of lupus.  She had written two novels (I confess that I have read neither, although I did buy one of them--Wise Blood--about a year ago, but I haven't started it yet) and thirty-two short stories, not that much for a writer, but apparently enough to make her famous and to win the National Book Award in 1972.  (I have read several of the short stories, a staple of any good English degree.)

As a side note, right after returning from the trip I read a novel called A Good Hard Look by Ann Napolitano.  The adult Flannery O'Connor is one of the main characters, and the author included a lot of the information that we learned from the tour guide in the O'Connor home.  (Since we were the only guests the entire time we were there, we got LOTS and LOTS of stories about Flannery.)  The cover of the book refers to the crop (gaggle? pod? herd?) of forty to fifty peacocks Flannery kept on her farm in Andalusia, Georgia, where she lived and wrote after her college years until her death. She never married, and the eccentricity evident in her during her childhood years apparently remained an integral part of her character.

The home, although it has passed through the hands of several owners since Flannery lived there, has been restored to what it must have looked like during Flannery's childhood, right down to the color of the paint.  That is Flannery on the left, a funky, adult-looking child who called her parents by their first names:

 Flannery was an only child and was always a bit precocious.

 

When she was six years old, she actually trained a chicken to walk backwards and made the news.  She said, "Everything since [the chicken experience] has been an anticlimax."

The house has copies of the books she wrote on display, as well as books she read as a child, complete with her notations.  This one on the left has the inscription: "Not a very good book," followed by her initials.

The O'Connors were devout Catholics, and Flannery attended a private Catholic school.  It looks like her worst subject was spelling.  She was baptized in the Catholic Cathedral where Bob and I had attended mass earlier in the day.

That same Catholic church was visible from Flannery's bedroom window, a constant reminder of a God she either loved and loathed, depending on her mood.

Although this table, doll, and tea set were part of the house, our guide informed us that it was unlikely that Flannery ever played with them. She had a disdain for the usual little girl toys.

Her parents' room was next to hers on the upper level and included this rather creepy dressing gown spread out on the bed in a way that for some reason reminded me of Faulkner's short story "A Rose for Miss Emily."

This "crib" is an interesting albeit claustrophobic way to keep disease-bearing bugs away from the baby:

My favorite room was the upstairs bathroom, complete with reading books in the bathtub and on the back of the toilet:

I am happy to have been born into a time with appliances much more modern than these, although I think the Electrolux vacuum cleaner my mom had was a lot like the one in the bottom right corner of this picture:

I had no idea Flannery O'Connor ever wrote poetry, but she did when she was the student editor of the literary journal at Georgia State College for Women in 1944-1945.  I really liked this one that was framed and hung on the wall. I am sure some of my students would shout a resounding "Hear! Hear!"

 The house also has a good supply of the many newspaper and magazine articles about O'Connor:

I'm glad that we ended up having a little extra time in Savannah, and that we just happened on the O'Connor House.  It was definitely worth the visit for me, and Bob tolerated it quite well.

Another famous citizen of Savannah was Johnny Mercer (1909-1976), lyricist, composer, businessman, and philanthropist.  His most famous work is the song he wrote with Henry Mancini, "Moon River," the theme song of the movie Breakfast at Tiffany's and winner of the 1962 Academy Award for Best Original Song. In all he was nominated for nineteen Oscars and won four. He also co-founded Capitol Records, the label that signed The Beatles. He was such a nice fellow to run into on our afternoon stroll.

One more very important person has connections to Savannah: John Wesley.

"Wait!" you might say. "Wasn't he British?" Well, yes, he was.  I was stunned to learn that Wesley actually journeyed to Savannah in 1736 at the invitation of Governor Oglethorpe. While there he established a Methodist congregation, but then he ran into all kinds of problems.  First, his mission to the Indians proved to be a complete flop. Then a shipboard romance that had developed between Wesley and a woman named Sophia Hopkey on the journey to the Colonies turned sour when Wesley broke off the relationship on the advice of another minister, leading to a nasty legal battle that ended in a mistrial.  It was the stuff reality TV is made of. (Good thing they didn't have it back then.)  Disgraced and depressed, Wesley returned to England some time in 1737, never fully recovering his self-confidence.  In spite of his ignominious departure, the Georgian Methodists obviously hold him in great esteem.  His statue stands in a beautiful park:

. . . just across the street from the "Mother Church of Savannah Methodism":

Next: From the Queen of Ridicule (Flannery O'Connor) 

to the King of the Sublime (Billy Graham)

SAVANNAH, GEORGIA

After two days in Charleston, South Carolina, we drove to Savannah, Georgia, a distance of just over 100 miles.  Like Charleston, Savannah is an old city (at least by U.S. standards), having been founded in 1733.  Savannah oozes Southern-ness.

On the day we were there (St. Patrick's Day), it also oozed Irish-ness.  Who knew that Savannah has the second largest St. Patrick's Day parade in the U.S., second only to New York City?  Everywhere we turned we saw the wearin' o' the green.

Even the horsies got in on the action:

It so happened that we arrived just in time for mass at the Catholic Cathedral of St. John the Baptist. The building was undergoing some renovations that made the entrance difficult to find. We ended up following two cute young men who slipped into a side door we never would have dared enter on our own. One of them turned out to be the altar boy for the service:

Unfortunately, we were two of only a handful of people in the entire congregation not wearing green. In fact, I was wearing orange, and it was downright awkward. These Savannahians are very serious about their holiday.

The organist for the mass was spectacular, as good as any I've heard in Europe.  The soloist was equally impressive.  I have only been to a Catholic mass a handful of times, but I'm pretty sure this is a first-class operation.

(While you are listening to my recording of the organist's nimble fingers dancing on the keyboard, check out all the green clothing when I pan the departing parishioners.)

I've decided that stained glass windows are my thing. (I tend to include a lot of them in my posts. Have you noticed?) Really, stained glass is the one thing I wish we had more of in my own church.

I also like the soaring ceilings and gorgeous colors in cathedrals. This apse was particularly lovely, a peaceful combination of soft blue, rose pink, gold, and white:

The nave was spacious and light, and the side aisle ceilings echoed the patterns and colors of the apse.

As it was just a few weeks before Easter, the service was centered on the final week in the life of Christ, and we enjoyed singing along with the congregation, listening to the homily (so nice to hear it in English), and watching the pageantry.

Later in the day we passed by the Mickve Synagogue, not too far from the cathedral. Founded in 1733 just five months after the establishment of the Colony of Georgia, it is the oldest Reform Judaism congregation in the United States. This particular synagogue building dates to 1878.  We wish we could have gotten inside, but alas, it was all locked up.

However, I like this excerpt from a letter George Washington wrote to the congregation in 1789 that we found on a brass plaque outside the synagogue:
"May the same wonder-working Deity who long since delivering the Hebrews from their Egyptian oppressors, planted them in the promised land--whose providential agency has lately been conspicuous in establishing these United States as an independent nation--still continue to water them with the dews of Heaven and to make the inhabitants of every denomination participate in the temporal and spiritual blessing of that people whose God is Jehovah."

Although his syntax is a bit convoluted, that George had a way with words, didn't he?

Savannah is also the birthplace (1860) of Juliette Gordon Low, founder of the Girl Scouts. The very first Girl Scouts Headquarters Building is in the historic district of the city. Seeing it gave me a sudden craving for Thin Mints.

We saw several men and women and even children bending and weaving sweetgrass into flowers. When I asked this man, "How much?" he replied, "Whatever you think it's worth."  I gave him all I had in my wallet, $2.00, and he seemed to think that was just fine.

We passed by one cemetery that had this marker:

. . . and I was reminded how grateful I am for modern medicine.

We did make one mistake as we explored the city. We walked down to the local pedestrian shopping area, where the St. Paddy's Day activities were in full swing, complete with loud music and staggering leprechauns who had apparently had a bit too much to drink of some beverage other than this one:

However, at the end of the street was an interesting monument dedicated to the African-Americans who fought in the Revolutionary War:

Coming Next: Everything that rises must converge--on Flannery O'Connor's childhood home.