Rule number one: ALWAYS STICK AROUND FOR ONE MORE DRINK. That’s when things happen. That’s when you find out everything you want to know. – John Berendt, Midnight In The Garden of Good & Evil
Impressions.
Not an easy place to park. One empty spot on the whole street, right in front of my destination. Just like when the hero drives up, there’s always a vacant spot waiting.
Alternate side of the street shit with neighbors likely lurking at 0300 – Jesus, three a.m. – it’s like musical chairs. I suck at musical chairs.
Parallel-parking. Only took me about three attempts. Catholic schoolgirls not as adept. But they squealed in delight better than I did as they crammed an SUV into a spot approximately the same size as their vehicle. They jumped up and down, achieving more altitude than my wife had when I’d finally managed to get our own car properly situated.
Buxom Catholic schoolgirls squealing and jumping in delight. Like a Japanese porn video. Uniforms with starched bright blouses, the shortest pleated skirts and white bobby sox. Weirdly disorienting. Like if I was single and fifty-five years younger….
The only grocery store in the neighborhood sells gas but not cottage cheese.
Deep dark blue brand-new convertible Bentley parked on the street safely overnight.
I came for the historic homes and the museums. She came for the Mercer House. Walk and walk and walk and to be honest, after a while, you’ve seen a few hundred historic homes, you’ve seen about all you need to see. Easy to get lost. Hot, too. With two black dogs.
Only had time to visit the art school gift store, where I saw a lovely pair of art studentish leather boots available for half price. Originally $420, marked down – couldn’t believe it myself – to just $210. I know what you’re thinking… handtooled by local artists. But nooooooo. “Made in Brooklyn.”
Didn’t get to any actual museums but we did tour the Mercer House. You knew it would go down that way.
The nicest guide with the best diction and timbre and wit and enthusiasm. Not a young man, he was leading his eighth group of the day. Self-admittedly, he could use a stiff drink.
But not until he answered all our questions.
“Did he have any children?,” some old white female tourist asks.
We are standing in the famously gay man’s study. The same study, where in 1981, Williams famously shot his gay lover, Danny Hansford, a former gay prostitute. Williams was charged with Hansford’s murder, and subsequently tried four times for the crime. The first trial sentenced him to life in prison, though many people speculated Williams was only convicted because he was a gay man. The judgment was later overturned upon the discovery of contradicting police reports. Yet another trial (this one the third) ended in a hung jury. Two years later, the fourth and final trial ended with Williams being found not guilty.
About six months after his not guilty verdict, Williams, at home stricken with pneumonia, died from heart failure. He allegedly collapsed to his death near the spot were Hansford was shot dead.
Right where the lady is standing. “No, ma’m, Mr. Williams had no issue.” Geez, people, if you can’t read a book, at least see the movie. These days, you don’t even have to leave your chair.
Leaving, I told our guide how much truly I enjoyed his presentation, thanked him heartedly and suggested he see Spike Lee’s latest joint, BlacKKKlansman. He said he meant to.
If we only did one thing while we were here, I wanted it to be that, my wife said. She’s read the book twice, seen the movie a couple of times and is now listening to the audio-version. She’s wondering which character she’d like to play. Because Lady Chablis is out of the question, she came up with Emma Kelly, “Lady of 6,000 Songs.”
Me, I’m more a mid-century kind of guy myself. “Dog With 1,000 Scars.”
The Mercer House reminded me of something my mom once said: “I’m glad I came. We won’t be back.”
I went back.