Just how inhospitable was
the weather? Well, we even resorted to driving the van we’d rented…the
one that had sat dormant while we hoofed it all over town on foot on Saturday.
The party bus first stopped at the American Prohibition Museum, a site
one of our group had found and suggested because it got good reviews and
sounded like something that would interest us (i.e. a close-knit band of uber-nerds…or,
you know, “my tribe”…).
And let me tell ya, she—and the critiques—hit
this one out of the park. I realized I didn’t actually know that much about America’s
dry period, and we’ve already established how much I love to learn stuff, so I
found the information itself absolutely fascinating. Plus, they did a
fabulous job on the presentation, using plaques you could read, videos
that illustrated some of the events and personalities of the time, actual
artifacts and photos from the era, lifelike wax figures that lent realism to
the stories, and costumed docents who added layers of details to the exhibits.
Because I can’t help myself and am
dying to share what I picked up, here are some of my favorite take-aways:
--the law was in effect for about
14 years, from 1919-1933
--Savannah’s waterways were
actively employed for the smuggling trade, and the city in general tried
to dodge the rules as much as they could get away with (yay, rebels!)
--Maryland was one of the holdout
states that never enacted its own statute
--the unintended consequences
(that eventually led to the regulation’s downfall) were staggering,
including the meteoric rise of organized crime (Al Capone et.al.), detriments
to public health from concocting and consuming poorly made, unregulated,
and/or dangerous substitutes; the rejuvenation of the Klan, who twisted the
prohibitionists’ reasons for the war against alcohol to justify and further
their own anti-immigrant, white supremacist agenda
--it was basically unenforceable,
due to a lack of manpower and resources in the overextended FBI
--of course, a direct result was
the proliferation of secret speakeasies, some of which were…let’s say
“classier than others”, but there were myriad ways people got around the ban
--based on all the previously
legal activities that were now forbidden, there were more arrests and folks
being brought to trial, which taxed the judicial system and led to the
inception of plea bargaining and probation, to ameliorate
crowding in the already jam-packed prisons
--and finally, I was highly
amused by the moguls of the nation’s large beer companies, who
ingeniously turned to manufacturing other products, to wait out the suspension
of their primary livelihood. See if you recognize some of these: Coors
(started a ceramics division, still in existence today!), Pabst (cheese,
which it then sold to Kraft when Prohibition ended), Yuengling (ice
cream and dairy), and the ever-visionary Anheuser-Busch (ice cream, soft
drinks, truck parts (!), and the first non-alcoholic beverage).
Whew! Yes, it was a LOT to take in, but highly
entertaining and well worth it. We weren’t done yet, though, as there was another
tour we wanted to squeeze in, that only offered one timeslot. So we slogged
a couple of blocks to the First African Baptist Church, where we settled
in and prepared for a very different but equally enlightening
educational experience.
I wasn’t sure what I’d expected,
but what we got was a 45-minute interactive lecture given by a young man
with a bountiful gift for storytelling. At the outset he stated, “I don’t like
to see people just nodding at me, ‘cuz that means what I’m saying isn’t really
making an impression.” So he left deliberate pauses in his narrative, for us to
finish his sentence or answer a question. If we got too quiet for his taste,
he’d prompt us to respond to his latest comment with a, “Yes, no, maybe?” (It. Was. Awesome! I wish there’d been
a test, because he was an exceptional teacher, and I was ready!)
Anyway, he told us about the
institution’s founding in 1773 by a freed black man, although
given the timing, all of its early attendees would have been enslaved people.
At first the worshippers gathered on the banks of the Savannah River, until the
congregation grew too big for this to be feasible, at which point they
solicited contributions from members—who donated from their paltry earnings,
sometimes meaning funds they’d been saving to buy their own freedom--and began
to build an actual sanctuary.
Eventually they needed even more
space, so they expanded the lower level, and added a balcony. When we
trooped upstairs to see the newer section, our leader made a point of debunking
a common stereotype: that enslaved people couldn’t read or write.
In fact, he assured us, many were allowed to learn, if their masters leaned
toward the progressive side, and those who gained the skills then taught
others. He used this to preface the fact that each pew in the balcony bore
symbols that at first glance could be mistaken for simple scratches, but were
in reality Hebrew and Arabic characters. Amazing.
It was just one of a plethora of intriguing tidbits about the church and its followers. For example, in the main sanctuary, somehow the oak pews and floors, as well as the stained glass windows, remain in pristine condition. (I mean, they seriously look like they could have been installed, like, yesterday.) And then, for the grand finale, our guide addressed a famous highlight of the church’s background—the assumption that it acted as a stop on the Underground Railroad and assisted slaves in escaping their southern owners. He smiled enigmatically as he declared, “Now, I can’t confirm anything about that. You see, no written records of such events exist…because that could get you thrown in jail or killed. But here’s what we do know…and you can draw your own conclusions.”
So we sat, mesmerized, as his
true talent for weaving a tale unfolded before us. First, he pointed out that
the floorboards in the basement (where we were currently located)
beneath the church proper were made of Georgia White Pine, rather than
the hard oak upstairs. It’s softer, more pliable, and more moisture-prone, so
it had to be treated and dried out before being used to build. However, that
meant it wouldn’t creak—for instance, when someone was trying to move
silently across it…perhaps to hide? Next he described the crawlspace
underneath our feet, presumably designed to allow airflow for the floors to
stay dry and resist warping…but also theoretically big enough for humans to hide
in…if the need arose.
And finally, he drew our
attention to the identical, clearly defined patterns of holes drilled
into said floors at intervals around the large room. These, he explained, took
the shape of the BaKongo Cosmogram, an Ethiopian religious symbol. So,
if someone were to kneel down next to one, lower their head, and appear to be praying,
it wouldn’t ring any alarm bells…like it would if they were actually communicating
with someone concealed in the crawlspace. You see what I mean? Absolutely
compelling stuff.
After that, our brains were chock-full of newfound knowledge…but our stomachs were profoundly empty. Thus we braved an annoying downpour (complete with sneaker-drenching puddles, if you weren’t alert enough) to find a suitable lunch venue. We ended up at Two Cracked Eggs, a quirky joint serving southern delicacies like shrimp and grits, corned beef hash, and biscuits that were almost as big as our heads (plus warm coffee, which at that moment for me was the true selling point).
Warmed up and sated…but
still somewhat bedraggled, we headed back to our rowhome to regroup and
relax. This quickly led us to a unanimous decision to just stay in that
evening, throw together a meal from the varied contents of our refrigerator (homemade
tapas FTW!), lounge around in pjs, and enjoy each other’s company before we
all went our separate ways the next day. Since there was a temporary respite
from the showers, I opted for another brief walk around our charming
neighborhood to admire the dazzling architecture and delightful atmosphere
one final time.
Alas, Monday morning arrived all
too quickly, and our fabulous whirlwind getaway came to an end. Even though
I’ll miss these lovely ladies until our next trip, I’ll console myself by
recalling the abundant laughter, special bonding, and precious memories
we made together in Savannah. Another super-successful mini-vacay with some of
my favorite Mom Friends…and a shoutout to Savannah for the
heartwarming southern hospitality. Besides, we’re already scheming for 2022, so
let the countdown commence!
No comments:
Post a Comment