In the season of barren trees, coming from snow laden New York City to a land filled with pockets of greenery in manicured squares, streets lined with palm trees and dripping with Spanish moss was a January delight. That’s what we found over MLK weekend when my friend Jermaine and I decided to visit The Coastal Empire, the Garden City: Savannah, Georgia.
She was founded in the 1700s, out of the marsh and wilderness of rural Georgia by a British General (James Oglethorpe) and an Indian Chief (Tomochichi, leader of the Yamacraw tribe) – a diamond in the rough. The Downtown Landmark Historic District is made up of twenty two squares, each named for historical figures and contributors to the development of Georgia and Savannah. We decided to take them in the day after our arrival, when the temperature reached fifty three degrees, a vacation in itself.
In later years, the city would remove most of the walls surrounding the cemetery and convert it into a park commemorating those buried there – Savannah’s original citizens. I found the tombstones that were attached to remaining wall interesting. I learned that these orphan stones were displaced during renovations and now, to me, seemed to hold a special place in the park. We continued on down walkways with sea shells mixed into the concrete like nuts into brownies and eventually reached our destination.
The Cathedral of St. John the Baptist, the oldest Roman Catholic Church in Georgia, was established in the late 1700s by Catholic French settlers and has been built and rebuilt over the centuries into the wonderfully ornate landmark it is today. I was particularly drawn to the elaborate statues depicting the Stations of the Cross, beginning with the condemnation of Jesus Christ at the hands of Pontius Pilate, and ending with his being laid to rest in a tomb. Here, Jermaine discovered the panoramic feature of his camera, which allowed him to better capture the scope of the church’s majesty. Was it divine intervention? Perhaps.
Cathedral photograph by Jermaine Evans
We continued our exploration of the historic district, pausing in this square or that to listen to the chatter of squirrels, and the occasional wail of a Jazz musician on saxophone.
“What are you folks trying to find?” a helpful native stopped to ask. “A little of everything,” I answered. “Well,” he said, “Don’t miss Forsyth Park. Go up one more square and make a left. Careful, if you go too far up, you’ll miss it. Have a good day!”
The people there were as charming as the architecture. There was something deeply genuine about their helpfulness and concern that extended far beyond the hospitality of people like Jennifer at the hotel front desk. You could argue that she was paid to be courteous. But everyone else seemed to also say, “Welcome to my town. Let me show it off for you.”
Jermaine and I separated for a while, and I headed toward the Park. When I veered away from my path into an even more residential area, I was struck by the serenity. Where were the people who lived in these beautiful homes? Where was the bustle? From far away, I could hear the tinkling of wind chimes and, what could only be, the steady up and down creaking of a seesaw. Although the buildings became less ornate, there was still neatness to the structures and their relationship to one another that made them belong.
Under the warmth of the sun, the cold melted into what seemed like a beautiful spring day in January as I reached the park. In a city devoted to memorial parks, Forsyth Park is Savannah’s Grand Dame, spreading from the Victorian District all the way to the Historic District. Forsyth Park was originally named Forsyth Place for former Governor John Forsyth, the 33rd Governor of Georgia in the 1840s.
I entered at the north entrance, and was greeted by the popular Forsyth Fountain. People and pets peppered the great lawn of the park. I came across a wedding party, taking post nuptial photographs around the fountain. They’d chosen a perfect day. The sunlight played in the folds of the bridesmaid’s bright canary wraps. They were abuzz with excitement. I wanted to get close enough to snap photos of my own, but I wasn’t brave enough to intrude. Instead, I took shots of the fountain itself, and my other surroundings.
While I am a loyal subject of New York City’s much larger Central Park, I am respectful of Forsyth’s place in the city’s history. Many of the areas that make up the park were once military training grounds. It is one of the more popular attractions for Savannah tourists. I was very grateful to that native for sharing with me his pride and joy. After a few more photographs of the beautiful surroundings, I retired to the hotel while Jermaine attended evening Mass at St. John’s.
We were blessed with a glorious view overlooking the Savannah River. We had arrived the evening before and, after checking in, headed down the rough cobblestone walkways to nearby River Street.
Our main objective was to catch the show at Club One, famous for its regular performer, and star of the film Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, the Lady Chablis. Although we were aware that she wouldn’t be performing this weekend, we were sure the cabaret show would be top notch. We had time to kill, and we made a brief stop at Wet Willies, before we came across Chuck’s Bar, partially tucked into an alley on River Street.
The crowd was a mix of different ages and races, straight and gay alike. It was divey in that good way a place can be divey –comfortable, neighborly and lived-in, without pretension.
The bartender was lively and talkative. “Honey, that show is tired,” she confided to us when asked what time the cabaret at Club One started. She dished about the decline in local nightlife entertainment, and shared that she didn’t understand the fuss over “that falling down coke whore” that was the main attraction. Priceless. Furthermore, she’d had an altercation at the door years ago, and refused to go back. She said we were welcome to waste our time if we wanted to. Show time was at Midnight. Once again, we made our way over the cobblestone and up the very steep stone stairs to find our way to Jefferson Street and Club One.
I was with Kitty LeClaw’s Road Kill Tour the last time I visited Savannah. We performed at Club One during that visit to a crowd eager for outside entertainment. When we arrived this time, it was suspiciously quiet for a Friday night. What was even more disappointing was that it stayed that way.
True to the earlier review, the show was a bit lackluster. It offered nothing new in drag entertainment. Those were the same routines I’d been seeing for years. In the Kitty Le Claw show, years before, one of the drag queens would strip off most of her costume while lip syncing to “Man I Feel Like a Woman.” By the end of the number, she looked like something from mythology – a man/drag amalgamation. So, it didn’t impress me when one of the drag queens in Friday night’s show did the exact same thing to a different country song. Had she caught our act all those years ago?
The show ended just as we decided to check out the dance floor. Downstairs, two tragic go-go boys were slung atop boxes, grinding for all their worth in their disco Underoos. Bless their hearts. The crowd was so sparse; they were trying to make a dollar out of fifteen cents. We didn’t stay long.
Saturday night was different. Jermaine and I ran into friends of his from Charlotte, NC and we ducked into Venus de Milo’s, where they were having their Trailer Trash Party. We passed boys in mullet wigs and girls in plaid as we headed to the upstairs lounge area. Being a New Yorker during a bed bug epidemic, I was a bit wary of the comfy sofas that awaited us in the dimly lit area. But, I relaxed and remembered that I wasn’t in New York, and I settled in to converse with two graphic artists, a couple, visiting from Florida. He’d once lived in Williamsburg, and she’d once lived in Atlanta, so we made an instant connection. Later, we returned to River Street to say our good-byes to Chuck’s Bar before retiring to rest up for the long journey home.
Oh! Did I mention there are no open container laws on River Street? I’ll come back y’all, ya hear?
Cheers!
-Ceddy
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