Showing posts with label Daufuskie Island. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Daufuskie Island. Show all posts

Thursday, January 29, 2026

Praying for Sheetrock: A Work of Nonfiction by Melissa Greene Fey BOOK REVIEW FIVE STARS

 

BOOK REVIEW: FIVE STARS

Praying for Sheetrock: A Work of Nonfiction by Melissa Greene Fey

From award-winning author and journalist Melissa Fay Greene, Praying for Sheetrock is the story of McIntosh County, a small, isolated, and lovely place on the flowery coast of Georgia—and a county where, in the 1970s, the white sheriff—Tom Poppell—still wielded all the power, controlling everything and everybody. Somehow the sweeping changes of the civil rights movement managed to bypass McIntosh entirely.
It took one uneducated, unemployed black man, Thurnell Alston, to challenge the sheriff and his courthouse gang—and to change the way of life in this community forever.” quote from Amazon.com


My wife Jane and I actually tried to buy waterfront property in the area of McIntosh County back in the day. We loved the place but after exhaustive exploration and investigation found out that outsiders were not welcome.

We wrote about McIntosh County, Georgia, in Sailing The Sea Islands set in the era of Pat Conroy and his monumental book, The Water is Wide, that was about Daufuskie Island and had the names changed to protect the guilty.

We were there too and amazingly watched history evolve.

EXCERPTS:

The civil rights movement is told like a litany at times, as if well-anticipated goals were achieved in a series of distinct and strategic skirmishes: Montgomery, Little Rock, Greensboro, Albany. But it happened in McIntosh County, too.


Whether you see the place as a footnote or as the front lines, it happened here, too.

According to their inner moral compasses—one must drop down to the level of the sidewalks, kitchens, and backyards. What were people saying? Who was saying what? How did their own histories, biases, and perceptions inspire them? And why did an epoch of social change play differently here than in New York or Detroit, Atlanta or Memphis, or in the small county up the road?

Large and important things happening in a very little place. It is about the end of the good old boy era and the rise of civil rights, and what that famous epoch looked like, sounded like, smelled like, and felt like in a Georgia backwater in the 1970s.

For fifty years before the construction of modern Interstate 95, on the east coast, old U.S. 17 through McIntosh County was the northerners’ main route to Florida. Traffic, even in the middle of the night, was fast and constant.


It was the spirit of fleecing the Yankees that was tolerated by even the law-abiding citizens, I suppose,” said Woody Hunter, dean of the Emory University Law School and a former resident of McIntosh. “Tom Poppell was Billy the Kid. He was Robin Hood.”

We had the postwar South, the poorest-of-the-poor South right here in McIntosh County. It was the dirt-poor type of people swarmed the place like ants, and Tom wasn’t about to stop anybody from getting a pair of shoes.”

The court system is full of all sorts of little junk, but back then the sheriff was judge, jury, and monarch. He’d help a young man out of trouble the first time. But then a lot of people he flat run out of the county because they wouldn’t abide by his law.


In 1971, Tom Poppell was a dinosaur, the last of his kind. Statewide observers called him “the last of the old-time political bosses in Georgia.”


Georgia State Troopers, Georgia Bureau of Investigation agents, FBI agents, DEA agents, and U.S. Customs agents up and down the southern coast all agreed with the words of a Brunswick police detective: “The only crime that existed in McIntosh County was Tom Poppell’s. He was the last of the great old-time High Sheriffs.”

The people here were just happy with nothing. It was a plantation mentality. The sheriff was running this county just like an old plantation.”


View John Grimsrud's page on Amazon

Link to Sailing the Sea Islands:

https://www.amazon.com/Sailing-Sea-Islands-Travels-Dursmirg-ebook/dp/B009438L96?ref_=ast_author_dp_rw&th=1&psc=1&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.0BOlEhsBG_fvQ48GrUY8SBKqrmR_q60hk665lya9x_PRYGwkLFzh1qD_cjBwnnuuXQZ_UgLzThWQoo9hwY1nufcYIyzYrYe5u7pWy9QbxFQ9FhhLnVW5hLDyOZv9Uos2pQ8JRw0rEuDkcM2a3KnllfsU47XirezwKoOAZV9QE7Y.SbZv87BnmllnHA2Bnp8zSQyxTzSGZryZvUUsOpkqxtY&dib_tag=AUTHOR

Friday, August 18, 2023

My Exaggerated Life: Pat Conroy by Katherine Clark - Five Star Book Review

 BOOK REVIEW - FIVE STARS

My Exaggerated Life: Pat Conroy by Katherine Clark

In 1972 as fate would have it my wife and I first encountered Daufuskie Island, South Carolina, on the maiden voyage of our dream boat Dursmirg. This was one of the Sea Islands with no bridge or telephone and had just gotten electric. The population was 85 and eleven were white. Pat Conroy had just been there, written his controversial book The Water is Wide and monumental change was about to change this place forever.

It was an enchanting place still locked in a forgotten century with more ox carts than automobiles.

We fell in love with the place and even wrote a book about it, Sailing the Sea Islands: Travels of Dursmirg.

We were so very lucky to to find this once in a lifetime place and the timing was right.

This biographical story of Pat Conroy is a classic and a real gem...we loved it!


Excerpts:

When someone once asked him why he collaborated with me on this book, Conroy replied, “My vanity got the better of my false modesty.” Although I love that response, I believe he was being—as usual—comically self-deprecating. A more serious and true answer to that question can be found I think in The Lords of Discipline, when the protagonist Will McLean reacts to the cruelties and injustices he experiences by vowing to himself: “I shall bear witness against them.” Conroy himself suffered cruelties and injustices throughout his life, from the time he was a child beaten by a violent and abusive father. The man who emerged from the crucible of chronic trauma was a warrior of words, determined to bear witness to the wrongs inflicted on the innocent and vulnerable by the corrupt and powerful. Pat Conroy never stopped being such a warrior, never ceased in his mission to bear witness against all kinds of evil, both individual and institutional.


There was a time when I had blood surging through my veins, when I was young and could not do enough good for the world. So Bernie and I applied to the Peace Corps. When we never heard from that, Bernie found out about this job on Daufuskie Island.


It was the first year of teacher integration, and the county was in a bind. They needed some white schoolteachers on this all-black island, which had two black teachers there already. So Bernie said, “Pat, why don’t you and I go over, rent a house and live there?


In the world of literature I don’t like bindings; I don’t like handcuffs; I don’t like readers who point and say you cannot go there; you are not allowed to go.


View my author's page on Amazon



Saturday, January 7, 2023

Get Your Gun, John! Stories 2023 January

New 2023 Monthly Series: Stories 2023

Get Your Gun, John!

Shorty screamed!

Shorty and Ben were living in a cottage at Papy’s Landing. My wife Jane and I were on our sailboat Dursmirg anchored at the south end of Daufuskie Island, South Carolina, a hundred yards away.

In the 1970s Daufuskie Island was part of the past with more ox carts than automobiles. Of the 85 inhabitants, eleven were white. Electric had arrived and they awaited phones. A best selling book, The Water is Wide about Daufuskie using factitious names was published; it cast negativity, bringing national attention. Do-gooders and activists picked up on the publicity. The big obstacle was access with no bridges or ferry service. For those persistent enough to arrive from Savannah, Georgia, fifteen miles away, the Island had no facilities or accommodations. You better bring your own gasoline.

The third time Shorty screamed at the top of her lungs, “get your gun, John,” I could detect a panicky urgency in her voice.

I had no idea what Shorty could have confronted to provoke such a passionate scream. I grabbed my shot gun, Jane got me some shells, and I made a hasty trip to shore in our dinghy.

When I approached their little cabin at Papy’s Landing, Shorty was pointing to the little screened porch and exclaiming that a huge snake had just crawled underneath.

I ducked down with my gun loaded to confront a rattlesnake about three feet long coiled and more or less standing its ground. A stick would have dispatched the critter but Shorty was excited and insisted that I blow that serpent out of existence. I did as she wished. A blast at close range with a 12-gauge shotgun converted the snake to bloody mush.

It took time to calm Shorty, and then I wondered how she could possibly live on an island that was literally slithering with snakes.

The week before Jane had helped Shorty’s sister in-law, Billie Burn, clean a 6 foot 4 inch rattlesnake that Billie had killed with a stick while she was making her rounds driving the school bus. I was very impressed with Billie’s guts to pursue a snake that size with only a stick and actually run it down in the woods and dispatch it. When I arrived at the Burn home, I was amazed that this snake coiled into a bushel basket filled it to overflowing. That trophy was skinned, fastened to a board and prominently displayed in her home. That wasn’t the largest snakeskin hanging on the wall.

Another Daufuskie snake story: One day Jane and I were rowing near Bloody Point on the southeast end of Daufuskie Island when we encountered a relatively large rattlesnake. This one was in the salty seawater and swimming. It took a notion to board our little dinghy and I have never seen Jane row as fast as she did that particular day. I had heard stories of shrimp boats getting rattlesnakes in their nets offshore but this was the first and only time I had ever seen one in the briny sea waters. We were definitely believers now!

I liked what one of the colorful old Daufuskie locals, Hinson White, used to say about snakes on the island. In a broken Gullah accent, he said, “John, when you go a walking in the woods, you are forever tripping over sticks until you spot a big snake. Then you can’t find a stick to save your life.”

Copyright © 2011 John. M. Grimsrud

All rights reserved.


John is the author of the Sailing the Sea Islands: Travels of Dursmirg, and Yucatán’s Magic series.

See John's info. page on Amazon

Link to Doings of Dudley Doolittle Index 2022

Thursday, December 1, 2022

Doings of Dudley Doolittle: Ben's Beer Bomb, 12th in series December 2022

Doings of Dudley Doolittle: Ben's Beer Bomb, 12th in series December 2022

Doings of Dudley Doolittle: This is the name I use in the sometimes hilarious, outrageous, or cynical short stories posted monthly.

A fictitious name will be used in most of the stories. It is there to protect the identity of the guilty.

These true stories are over half a century old or more.


Ben’s Beer Bomb

Jane and I became winemakers when a friend got us “kicking” plum, persimmon, elderberry, and sassafras wines, made from things available in the Daufuskie Island woods.

Interest grew with our successes and making beer became appealing.

We received a beer recipe from friends. This “home-brew” was made using Blue Ribbon Malt Extract. The extract resembled molasses, was tasty on its own and intended for making bread. It came in a variety of flavors. Other ingredients needed were water, sugar and yeast. The amount of ingredients determined the body and alcohol content. Timing was another factor; if the beer was bottled too soon it would taste yeasty.

The quantity of ingredients gives beer its taste and determines how heavy it is.

You should be able to drink quality beer at room temperature and still have it taste good. We joked; there were only two kinds of beer in Georgia, hot and cold.

After a year of production aboard our sailboat Dursmirg, we refined the process and got raves.

This is where Ben Smith enters the story: Ben remembered back in Prohibition days his family was making home-brew with malt extract. He thought he would like to try his own because it was a long way to town and it would be a savings.

Jane gave Ben a recipe and helpful hints to make brewing a good experience.

Ben thought he could improve on everything. He added extra sugar and doubled the yeast. It kicked in record time in the South Carolina heat.

Ben rounded up old Coca-Cola bottles that dated from World War II and were so tough you could back a truck over them. He borrowed our caper and caps. He bottled his beer and put it to rest in his cabin under his bunk.

The big surprise! After a couple of days the extra sugar built pressure, making the bottles into hand grenades.

The first explosion came in the night, almost giving Ben and his wife Shorty cardiac arrest. The explosion sent shrapnel of glass and spray of beer throughout their shack. Containment was imperative so Ben covered his prized “brew” with a heavy canvas.

The explosions continued. Ben got a large tub, again covering it with canvas. The explosions continued and tore the canvas cover to shreds.

Ben came to Jane for advice. He related his alterations. The problem was apparent. Ben used enough sugar to make 25 gallons in a five-gallon batch.

I told Ben I would pry up the caps and relieve the pressure, recap. and then the beer would be okay.

A crowd gathered to witness the happenings.

Carefully I picked one of the little bombs up, handling it like it was nitroglycerin and stepped outside. All eyes were on me. I confidently took my opener and eased off the cap holding my mouth ready to catch any beer that might escape. I had the situation totally under control.

Wow! Pow! Whoosh! An uncontrolled eruption in what seemed like a nanosecond, and I only got misted by the explosive ingredients. The contents totally left the little hand grenade. I didn’t get a drop. The crowd went wild with laughter. I too had to laugh. In my years with all of the beers I had opened, I never witnessed anything so totally beyond my control.

Ben did the ultimate in home-brewing. His brewery was short lived, but luckily we all gleaned a hilarious story—thanks Ben.

Copyright © 2011 John M. Grimsrud


Link to index of Dudley Doolittle Stories

Monday, June 27, 2016

Minimalism: What is it?

What minimalists have in common:
   The “enough is enough” moment
   A desire to live with less
   Making the decision to change
           Courtney Carver

Forty-four years ago Jane and I set sail on our home-built sailboat. We sold everything that would not go aboard. We sailed across distant horizons where the wind blew us, when the spirit moved us, and the price was right.
Sailing away was like leaping off a tall building, it might have seemed like the right thing to do at the time but once airborne our fate was sealed, and no matter how much remorse we might have had turning back was not an option.
Living out of the sea and off the land and foraging for food became a thrilling way of life.
We wrote four books covering these precious years: Sailing Beyond Lake Superior (our inspiration and motivation that made it happen,) Sailing the Sea Islands and Sailing the Florida Keys (our bicycling and boating adventure,) Sailing to St Augustine, (what we did to survive the economic rollercoaster rides.)
Like our favorite German author Herman Hesse so aptly put it when he described the Magic Theater: “Not for everybody.”
We became minimalists before minimalism was coined.
Attempting to leave the world a better place than we found it, we strive to make a positive environmental impact.
A final thought:
WHEN ASSETS BECOME A LIABILITY
Youthful dreams and aspirations whet your appetite for the unlimited acquisition of material things, and buying something shiny becomes irresistible because heaping more worldly positions on your pile is justified as asset building.
In your twilight years after you have played with your toys and time has removed their glittery luster those youthful assets become burdensome liabilities.

June 25, 2016 copyright John M. Grimsrud

Thursday, November 1, 2012

Sailing the Sea Islands, Savannah and the Waving Girl



Waving Girl: This statue on the riverfront in downtown Savannah, Georgia, commemorates the Savannahian Florence Martus, (1869 – 1943). She had lived near the Savannah River Harbor entrance and waved to every ship that passed -- for 44 years!
 


At the eastern end of the old waterfront warehouse district in downtown Savannah is situated the Waving Girl monument that relates one of the saddest stories I can remember. The Waving Girl had more significance to us after being told her heartbreaking story by a personal friend of ours who took her place. 
The Waving Girl story as related to us by Billie Burn from Daufuskie Island, South Carolina: Billie told Jane and I of the young girl, Florence Martus, who became known as the Waving Girl.  As we recalled the story; this young lady, whose brother was the lighthouse keeper, had a love affair with a sea going sailor who promised to return to his love.  Everyday this lady would go out to the lighthouse station and wave to all incoming ships in the hope that her lover would be returning as promised.
The Waving Girl passed her entire life in undying hope, and she faithfully met each ship with a wave looking for her lover who never returned.
Over the years, the ships came to expect the lady’s wave when they passed.    
After the death of the Waving Girl in 1943, the wife of the new light keeper kept the tradition of the Waving Girl alive by waving at each passing ship in the Savannah River. Billie Burn and her husband Lance were substitute light keepers that maintained the lights on the Savannah River and also along the Intracoastal Waterway.  When Billie and Lance were on duty, Billie took the place of the Waving girl and waved at each passing ship.




The Waving Girl was also the name of a riverboat owned by Captain Sam Stevens that docked downtown in the historic district on the Savannah River. Jane and I, in the following years, got to know Captain Sam and his boat when we, along with many of the residents of Daufuskie Island, South Carolina, took the once a month trip to Savannah aboard Captain Sam’s boat the Waving Girl.
I have written more of this fascinating story in Sailing the Sea Islands, Travels of Dursmirg, (Summers at Daufuskie) available in paperback and digital editions worldwide.
Read more


Saturday, October 20, 2012

Daufuskie Island, South Carolina - Sailing the Sea Islands

High tide is a very bad time to run aground, especially in the Sea Islands with their nearly nine feet of tide that can range to twelve feet or more on spring tides.
The crew of this shrimp trawler will have nearly twelve hours to wait before their vessel floats again.

These tides are wonderful if you use them to your advantage, going with the tide, not bucking it. 
I used to joke that the ebb tide in the Savannah River was so strong that you could water ski behind an anchored boat…not a stretch of the imagination. The channel marker buoys get pulled under by these powerful currents, leaving only a churning swirl of turbulent water to mark the place they went under. 
Read more about this fascinating end of the world in Sailing the Sea Islands: Travels of Dursmirg by John M. Grimsrud. View here.
Available in paperback and digital editions.
More Sea Islands recommended reading
The Water is Wide by Pat Conroy
Lighthouse, New Moon Rising, and The Beloved Invader by Eugenia Price
Tuxedo Park by Jennet Conant; The man who first developed Hilton Head
Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil by John Berendt
For recommended reading and links to the books, click here.