All Hands on Deck

(A Brief History of the Hunley)

Whether it is specific history or history in general that you seek, few items hold the significance that the CSS Hunley does.

Not only is it significant to Charleston because it was the sight of its singular mission, and the resulting rescue and display, but it is formidable in its place in modern warfare. This was no easy task because in the effort to develop and build this craft much drama occurred. Multiple models and working prototypes were built and put to sea with both loss of product and loss of life (two versions of the Hunley sank with hands on board before the third was put to sea).

The efforts of multiple designers, builders and investors began in New Orleans, LA, in 1861. Mr. James Mcclintick and Mr. Baxter Watson began the development of a three-man underwater boat in the late fall of 1861. Horace Hunley joined them and added his expertise to theirs. They succeeded in creating two more crafts that eventually failed to satisfy the underwater testing. The inventors had to scuttle their second craft during subsequent trials due to the fact that the union forces had begun their siege of New Orleans, which forced them to flee to Mobile, AL.

With their plans in hand, they began to put together their third prototype which eventually became the CSS Hunley. Together with multiple new investors and the confederacy supporting them, they launched their efforts. After demonstrating that their submarine could pull a charge behind it, then dive towing the charge into its target and sinking it, and then resurface safely

beyond the target; the CSS Hunley was transported by rail to Charleston, SC for its ultimate use there.

The Hunley was being put through sea trials by Mcclintick after it arrived in Charleston, but it was seized by the confederacy because of the slow pace of readiness. On August 29th, 1863, the Hunley sank at the dock with several reasons being offered for the cause. Five crewmen died. During the ensuing months. Horace Hunley arrived in Charleston and demanded the return of his vessel. It was found and then hoisted from the bottom then refitted. Hunley then recruited a new crew which included himself. In October of the same year, a second test run was initiated with a second failure and with all hands lost. It appeared that someone forgot to close the seacock valve or lost the wrench needed leaving them unable to save themselves. Because of the two failed efforts, Union spies in Charleston learned of the new war machine and began developing anti-submarine measures which are still in use today.

Confederate general Beauregard reluctantly allowed lieutenants Dixon and Alexander both proponents of the project to move forward. They saw the need to modify the weapons delivery mode because their own intelligence informed them of the union understanding. General Beauregard demanded that they operate only on the service and therefore added urgency to the change that placed the torpedo on a spar which extended from the bow and would need to be rammed into the hull of the target vessel.

In February of 1864, the Hunley set out into the harbor on its first -and last- official mission - the sinking of the USS Housatonic. The rest as they say is history...

So, 150 plus years passed with numerous attempts made to locate the Hunley until in 1995 when a team with highly sophisticated sonar equipment and submersible vessels pinpointed the wreck. In 2000, a team of maritime recovery experts and historians began the recovery process with millions watching the broadcast.

Many years later, the submarine is still being probed and prodded for any clues as to why it sank on that fateful February night in 1864. There are several strong theories but no definitive answers without some communication from the eight men on board.

~ David Joyner

Hippo Hero? I Don’t Think So!

Every year around this time, Christmas music invades the radio and the lyric “I want a hippopotamus for Christmas/Only a hippopotamus will do” floats from the speakers. But this is a living nightmare for me and it should be for you too.

The lyrics go on…

“I don't want a doll, no dinky Tinker toy/I want a hippopotamus to play with and enjoy.”

At the tender age of 10 years old, did Gayla Peevy know what she was doing when she recorded this soon-to-be hit classic in 1953? My guess is no. But ignorance isn’t bliss to those clueless kids who now add this dangerous beast to the top of their must-have-lists every December.

You may be asking yourself, ”Brandon, what is it that gets your feathers ruffled about such an innocent song?” I will put it plain and simple. I am scared of hippos.

“But why?” you ask.

This might take a minute to explain but stick with me. I love Jurassic Park.

“But those are velociraptors, Brandon. They’ve been extinct for millions of years.”

I know they no longer occupy a place on this Earth. BUT… In 1993, they were very much alive on the silver screen in the hit Steven Spielberg movie of the same title as the Michael Crichton book, Jurassic Park. A fan of dinosaurs for years, even though I was frightened, I was excited that these long-gone creatures came to life on film. I was ready to read anything and everything that Crichton released and continue to head back time and time again to visit with Mr. Spielberg in the darkened recesses of the cinema.

Also, for the record, I am still scared of velociraptors. Even the animatronics ones from themed parks.

That brings me back to high school study hall. I had gotten my hands on a copy of Congo. The characters jump off the page fighting with wild animals in this (let’s be honest) overwhelmingly mediocre book. That didn’t matter. It begged for my attention. I plowed through that novel in a few hours.

I was done with Congo. But Congo wasn’t done with me.

“Mom says the hippo would eat me up / But the teacher says a hippo is a vegetarian.”

I had no idea at the time how correct Mrs. Peevy was. How dangerous are these animals? I’ll point out that I’ve never had any personal interactions with hippos. It is true that they are herbivores. But still…

Based on the success of Jurassic Park, it seemed that every book that Crichton had written was being optioned for the screen. This included a laughable but wonderfully enjoyable adaptation of Congo. About half the movie passes, in the dead of night, where dozens of men and women are rafting down the river when… they’re attacked!

The waters rumble and churn. Boats are flipped over. People flail in a chaotic ballet of death and destruction as each is snapped in two or pulled down to the murky depths by – you guessed it – a bloat of hippos.

There have been a handful of movies that have changed my life: Citizen Kane, Back to the Future, Amadeus. And now… Congo.

“There's lots of room for him in our two-car garage / I'd feed him there and wash him there /And give him his massage.”

Chances are, even if this wild animal didn’t break through your flimsy garage door and trample the other neighborhood children, it would probably sense danger when you tried to rub up on it and violently ravage you to protect itself.

But I digress…

I came home and did my research. In a time before Wikieverything, I flipped through our encyclopedia set and read up on these creatures. While the movie was frightening, knowing what I know now (then), I was right to be afraid.

Do I own a copy of Congo on DVD? Absolutely. Should I not? Up for debate. It’s my family and friends who truly won’t let me forget the deep and enduring mark left on me by this terrifying movie.

You see, I’ve shared this same story with them. Instead of sympathy, it's met with jeers and laughter. On top of that, whether it be my stocking or in a neatly wrapped package under the tree, a bountiful bow sat on top, I am gifted a hippo icon of some kind.

My best friend Kristen’s mother, Cheryl, and my mom – I know she’s a talented artist but she’s more sadist than saint – are the main culprits.

“I can see me now on Christmas morning / Creeping down the stairs / Oh, what joy and what surprise / When I open up my eyes / To see my hippo hero standing there.”

This eerily prescient lyric echoed through the halls of my home nearly 50 plus years later. Every Christmas a different reminder of my fears is all but guaranteed.

Let’s go over a quick list of what I’ve been surprised with over the years.

• A plastic figurine, its mouth wide open and ready to attack with beady red eyes.

• A stress ball – one assumes to counteract the former.

• Soap.

• A potato chip clip.

• A jewelry holder adorned with Swarovski crystal.

The list goes on and on.

And, by the way, young Ms. Peevy, even in a cape, it’s hard to consider a hippo a hero.

“No crocodiles, or rhinoceroseses / I only like hippopotamuses / And hippopotamuses like me too”

They most certainly do not, Ms. Peevy, like you. Or anything else. (Except, perhaps, in their jowls or mouths agape…)

Before I go, I would like to present two counterpoints for your consideration.

Hippos are dangerous creatures. According to the internet, which we all know is digital gospel, the hippo is the most dangerous mammal on Earth, after only humans. They kill over 500 people a year. But their numbers have reached quadruple digits some years. Sharks barely dispatch a dozen people a year. While crocodiles reach hippo heights, rhinos might be a better pet as a gift. Just learn the proper pluralization of the word. (You were so close. It’s rhinoceroses.)

It’s Christmas. Let’s end on a positive note. This song actually saved a hippo. When the song became a hit, there was a fundraiser so that Gayla Peevy could be gifted an actual hippo for Christmas. It worked. This hippo was made comfortable in the city zoo and lived a happy, non-murderous life for the next FIFTY YEARS!

So… if instead of a White Christmas you’re dreaming of a holiday spent with the third largest land mammal, my recommendation would be to reconsider. After all, wherever would they sit at the dinner table?

~ Brandon L. Joyner

Like Father, Like Son

Let's see... my dad. There's so much that I can't get into it really!

He's nice and he helps me a little bit. He helps me get my clothes out and match them. He helps shave my face a little bit [grooms me]. Cause if he doesn't help; it might grow too long [and John does NOT like that] but sometimes I do shave myself. He also helps clean my hands and fingernails and stuff; clips them. He helps me health-wise, reminds me to take my medicine; helps me with my red drops at night in my left eye. He helps around the house a little bit... puts clothes in the drawer and does stuff in the kitchen like wash the dishes. He helps me know when it's time to get ready for church or choir. When we get ready to go out of town in general and when we go to family reunions or vacations like Florida or Lake Junaluska, he helps me get prepared for the weather [summer and winter]. Then after all that he helps everyone pack the car.

Also... when I was younger, I used to get good report cards I would get comic books as a treat and for doing good in school. Welp, I used to get those a long time ago, like in the 70s and I still collect them today... It's something that I still enjoy to this day. I used to go to school and I used to have a chart like with purple dots for good and yellow dots if you misbehaved and then if you were really bad, you'd get a red dot. And if I didn't behave in school, I couldn't get comic books or CDs. If I got all purples, he would take me to get these fun things. A couple of favorites I was into was well... y'all know I'm always into Marvel AND DC, like Spiderman, Hulk, Thor, Captain America and Iron Man. Those were my main thing, ‘cause they would always get them, hide them from me and then surprise me with them when I was good at school. They've [comic books have] got small print so I really just look at them and flip through the pictures.

Around the holidays, Dad helps mom decorate. He gets the harvest stuff out and the Halloween decorations. He would help get Christmas stuff out and we used to go to the Tree Farm to pick out Christmas trees. Now we still go and pick them out but go to the stores like Home Depot or Lowe's to find good ones. When we first started though, we used to go to the woods to get them... that's what I remember. Sometimes small trees, big trees, I really don't have a favorite one, and that is true, by the way... I liked them all.

When we get together for the holidays before we eat, Dad will pray, you know... say the blessing at the gatherings. The big ones are like Thanksgiving and Christmas. Christmas is a big one. That's Dad's birthday on Christmas Eve. We celebrate on that Day just before we get together in the living room as a family and read the Christmas Story from the Bible and The Night Before Christmas. We give him the big present for his birthday on Christmas and the smaller presents at night on his birthday before Christmas. And that's how we celebrate his birthday really... depending on what day of the week it falls, we just go by that... because sometimes if it's on a Sunday we'll go to church after we open presents but it just depends on the year whatever it falls on. And that's why I wanna wish him a happy birthday for his birthday blog.

What makes him my dad and different than other dads? [John laughs nervously....] He's different than other dads. I'll say that he's always there when I need him. He cares... He's a good person. He's a little stubborn, but he's good.

[Kristen asks, "Is that where you get it from?" John quickly replies with a grimacing smile as he nervously wrenches his hands, "Who me? No... no... I'm not stubborn."]

He's a good parent, good provider, hard worker, good at what he does (I know he misses working at the Post Office) and, well, he's just a nice guy... He's my dad!

~ John Joyner

Second Verse, Same As the First

It was December of 1989. We had just been ravaged by the worst hurricane of the century, Hurricane Hugo. Now, dreaming of a white Christmas, we got it... snow had begun to fall all around Charleston. The church bells rang out on Sunday, December 24th—Christmas Eve, and the snow was deep enough that all the meteorologists were mandating that everyone stay home and off the unsafe roads.

This was all well and good, except that we as a family were very involved in our church’s programs. Immediately, we wondered what was going to happen for the broadcast that Sunday morning. (Citadel Square, with its formerly mono-lithic steeple, as it was knocked down in the hurricane). While we were contemplating this problem, a call came in from our associate pastor and our choir director wondering if we were going to make it to church that morning.

We thought they were just trying to get a head count for the cameras, but it turns out that they were trying to make sure we would have a program at all for that morning rather than having to do a “re-run.”

At the time, we lived on James Island and it became obvious to us that we had two problems getting to church—they both came in the form of a bridge; one over the Wappoo Creek and the other over the Ashley River. After a moment's consideration, we decided we would try.

Thinking that would end the call, a second question came: “Do you think Brandon would like to sing on T.V. this morning?”

Being proud parents, we had no hesitation in saying, “Yes!”

We didn’t have any idea that “our young star” was not yet ready for prime time. This was the first time that he had been presented with the idea of being on T.V. They were asking if he could sing “Away in a Manger” for the morning service; that and one or two carols would be all the music for Christmas Day.

To calm our son’s quasi-fears of “being on T.V.”, Jim Long (the associate pastor) said he would be standing up there with Brandon the whole time.

Brandon huffed and puffed in true 9-year-old diva form and in his singular statement said, “I only know the first verse to ‘Away in a Manger.’”

Jim’s reply was, “Good! He can sing the first verse twice.”

And now, it was simply a matter of getting there.

While snow isn’t an issue for those in the North East, a tiny “popcorn” convection seems to put the town out of commission. So, you can only imagine what a blizzard would do to the driving habits of Charlestonians. The slight incline to the Wappoo Cut Bridge was made even more treacherous by it being frozen over by the ice and snow; a true manifestation of the sign: “Bridge ices before road.” The Ashley would prove to be much less of a struggle once the other bridge was crossed. We slowly inched along, but finally arriving at the church, we scurried inside, shaking the flurries off our rarely used winter coats.

While it was simply a flick of the switch for all those waiting to enjoy their Sunday morning service broadcast from home, we discovered that there were a few more unexpected hurdles to overcome once we arrived at Citadel Square.

With a smattering of people in the pews that morning, we were tasked with finding someone familiar enough to operate the equipment for the communications tower, transmission and T.V. camera. Securing the services of one, Will Haselden, to provided his master skills of all three: transmission handling between local television station and church, connecting the transmission to that electronics equipment and manning the T.V. camera during the service, we were technically readied to be “live on air.”

All of the members of the congregation were moved up to the choir loft because we were so few in number and we needed to “fill it out.” Now, with all “talent in place,” the countdown to go time commenced...

“Five.”

“Four.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

And... Will signaled to us to begin transmission.

Pastor Jim opened us up in a prayer of thanksgiving and we were ready to spread joy and cheer right into the homes of all who were tuned in!

When it was Brandon’s time to sing, Jim led him over to the piano and as promised stood by his side. With Pat at the piano and Brandon dressed to the nines in his bright red sports jacket, white shirt and Christmas plaid pants, he was ready to sing to the heavens (and to the viewers at home)!

He sang:

“Away in a manger, No crib for His bed The little Lord Jesus Laid down His sweet head The stars in the bright sky Looked down where He lay The little Lord Jesus Asleep on the hay.”

While everyone might have expected to hear about “Cattle lowing...” and so on...

What was heard was not the second verse... it was just the same as the first! Again, Brandon sang: “Away in a manger, no crib for His bed, the little Lord Jesus... Asleep on the hay.” Well, at that point, no

one in the church nor at home were asleep, but instead was chuckling while applauding. He had done it. While it was definitely his first televised performance, it certainly wouldn’t be his last.

And, even though the service was abridged, due to the myriad of unforeseen circumstances, its memory lives long in our hearts.

Needles, Needles Everywhere

I guess most families have Christmas traditions and my family’s tradition is picking out the perfect Christmas tree!

When my 2 sons were younger, we would always go to a tree farm to cut down our Christmas tree. That was so much fun. We would dress in our warm clothes and comfortable shoes and head out to one of the farms, generally on Johns Island, Ravenel or Wadmalaw Island.

This “trip” took most of the day because we had to wander the grounds to make sure we had the best tree they had to offer. It had to be a very tall tree—and it had to be a full tree. I remember one year we purchased a thinner tree and NO ONE was happy.

It also had to be fresh—losing no needles as we pulled and tugged on each branch to see how many needles would come off in our hands.

Looking back on my childhood, that was not exactly how my parents handled Christmas tree shopping. Some years, we would go to a local Christmas tree lot and pick out a tree. (But never over 7-feet as our apartment could only handle a 7-footer.) Other years, if my parents couldn’t afford it, my dad would go somewhere in the woods to cut a tree.

Any idea what most look for when they are in the woods searching for a tree? Me neither!

One particular Christmas, the tree he brought home was sad, to say the least...

Yes, it was 7-feet tall, but that tree was sooooo sparce. It wasn’t as bad as a “Charlie Brown Tree” but not far from it. All my mom could do was just stand there, staring at the tree that my father was so proud of, and not say a word.

Now we didn’t have a Christmas tree stand, so my dad made us one from 2 pieces of wood in the shape of an “X” and nailed it to the bottom of the tree.

Some of you may be familiar with that kind of stand... Maybe not! Anyway, you can probably see where this story is headed...

Mom got out all the Christmas decorations and began decorating the tree. We had a lot of ornaments that resembled “Christopher Radko” ornaments, but we didn’t own a real “Radko.” They were all ornaments that looked like the German-made ones—but they were all very inexpensive. And then she started with the tinsel—one strand at a time!

NO ONE ELSE could help!

If you didn’t decorate with one tinsel strand at a time, you couldn’t help. She worked on this for hours and hours... (and hours)…

The tree topper was placed on top and finally the beautiful, “colorful” tree skirt—an old white sheet that was supposed to resemble snow. But the sight was beautiful to me—even with its sparce branches, its homemade tree skirt and homemade tree stand.

Remember what I said about the tree stand?

In the shape of an “X” nailed to the bottom of the tree... That’s right folks!

So, the tree had no water supply, which meant in a day or 2 that the tree would begin to dry out—and dry out it did.

A few days after we had completed decorating the tree, I heard a strange sound. And this happened every time I came in the front door... “What is that sound?” I asked my mom. It sounded like a rain storm. We just couldn’t figure it out. A few more days passed and still that strange sound—every time I opened the front door.

I walked over to where I thought the sound was coming from and grabbed a hold of the tree branch. All of the needles on that branch came off in my hand.

When I went to take a closer look at the tree, to my amazement, it was void of almost all of its needles. The only things left on the tree were ornaments and thousands of strands of tinsel. What we had heard were all the needles raining down on the presents and sheet under the tree making the sound like fallen rain.

So, the week before Christmas there was not one needle left on this tree. THE TREE WAS DEAD. All we could do was giggle at the situation (and every time we passed by that dead tree).

We took the tree down the day after New Year's and there was not a single needle remaining on it nor under it. Boy, were we embarrassed to carry it out and put it on the curb!

And so... we hope that you and your family share memories and traditions that you look forward to each year. It’s not the presents that are important during this most special, sacred time of the year, but the time we spend together making those unforgettable memories that fill our hearts with joy and laughter.

Out of all the trees we’ve decorated, ask me which tree I remember the most?!?!?

Heroes In a Half Shell

(A Brief History of the Sea Turtle)

We won't tell you to "Just keep swimming…" or "Ride the E.A.C." or even speak in a surfer accent. What we will say is that sea turtles are sometimes referred to as marine turtles —species: Testudines chordata— and are not confined to one single area of the ocean but instead take on the motto that "the entire world is, in fact, theirs for the taking" (save for the extremely cold waters of the Antarctic and Arctic).

The reptilian name of "sea turtle" actually encompasses 7 different kinds of turtle: leatherback, loggerhead, Kemp’s ridley, green, olive ridley, flatback, and hawksbill. Though there are several differences between these types, the backs of the turtles that we refer to as “shells” are made up of hard, thick plates called scutes. The only exception to this is the leatherback whose carapace is soft, flexible and slightly rubbery. Turtles can vary in size between 2 feet to 7 feet long and range between 70 to 1500 pounds depending on the exact type.

How are do these guys come into existence, you may be asking yourself?

And, have we got the story to shell out to you! These swimmers migrate up to 3,700 miles each way, mating at sea. All the while, the female turtle selects the perfect beach for nesting, typically somewhere tropical. The temperature of the sand determines the sex of the sea turtles with cooler sand producing a male and warmer giving way to a female.

After selecting the spot where she can lay her clutch of 2-7 eggs, she buries them in the sand and then returns to the ocean. Anywhere from 6 to 8 weeks later, tiny hatchlings will peck their way out of their shells, writhing their way to the surface of the sand.

Soon after working their way up, these little sea turtle hatchlings then make their journey toward the shoreline and on to the waves of the big blue. But, not before being forced to dodge every possible predator one might imagine, including but not limited to: humans, dogs, raccoons, fire ants, lizards, coyotes, wild hogs, and even birds.

Once in the ocean, despite being rapid swimmers—in part due to their webbed feet, they are faced yet with even more predators: sea birds, dolphins, jellyfish, and many carnivorous fish. When not worrying about escaping, they enjoy the liberties of feasting on the sea around them: most turtles turn to algae and marine grasses while loggerheads dine on mollusks.

These turtles can survive anywhere between 50-100 years with the common lifespan of 80 years. Unfortunately, it is rare to see them live this long (the odds of making it an entire lifetime is one in a thousand). Most species are endangered as they are slow to mature and many times before procreating are unintentionally captured or killed by fisheries or the aforementioned predators.

Many rehabilitations centers exist for turtles that have been harmed. If you’d like to adopt a sea turtle, most sites will allow you to do so. The South Carolina Aquarium here in Charleston, SC has a Sea Turtle Care Center which will allow you to become a sea turtle guardian while they’re on the mend.

So, next time you hear the phrase “Lights Out,” this might bring new depth of meaning to you so that you can aid in allowing the turtles to find their way safely to the ocean after hatching and providing them a better chance at survival in the great blue beyond!  

~ Kristen N. Granet

Ice Cream for Breakfast!

I had several wonderful loving aunts when I was growing up so it would be almost impossible to pick a favorite. Each had special talents and each holds a special place in my heart.

My aunt Ruby was the Grand Dame of our family. I guess you would say she was a “fashion plate.” When my aunt would see me, she would start at the top of my head and scan down to the tips of my toes to make sure I was dressed properly. Did I mind? No, not at all. She did it because she cared. As a matter of fact, it tickled me. And, yes, when we were going over to her house, I made sure that I was “put together.”

My aunt Ester was a baker. Not so much a cook. She made the most delicious, moist, flavorful cakes that I had ever eaten. To this day, I haven’t found a better tasking cake. I can still taste those cakes and wish that she were here to bake me one of her “delicious delights.”

My aunt Jo was what I called a professional shopper, so to speak, and with her two daughters in tow, you can imagine how much fun they would have spending all day in the department store. She would immediately call us upon her return and would bring over all their purchases to show them to us and ask our opinions. It was so enjoyable to see her coming with those arm-loads of packages.

My aunt Tina was known by everyone for her cooking. She could cook anything and everything. I can still taste those fresh colored butterbeans and rice. When any of the children were invited to her house for dinner, we would be the first ones at the table. We didn’t want to miss out on anything that she had to offer. We even ate the vegetables ‘cause they always tasted better at her house.

I spent a lot of time in the summers with my aunt Tina. I would spend the night at my aunt Ruby’s house and when she left for work, I would walk the two blocks to spend the day with Aunt Tina, just in time for BREAKFAST! She had a special cabinet that was easily accessible to kids. My uncle had filled this special cabinet with every kind of cookie and candy one could imagine. I can remember his smiling face as we raided that cabinet. He just loved making all of us happy with all those treats.

“Jeannie, what do you and Deborah (my cousin) want for breakfast?” my aunt Tina would say. Then she would rattle off all the choices: pancakes, eggs, grits, bacon, sausage, waffles, toast... And, without batting an eye, my cousin and I would shout, “ICE CREAM!” I was waiting for her to say, “Absolutely not,” when she walked over to the cabinet, pulled out two bowls and filled them with vanilla ice cream. Then she walked over to the goodie cabinet and offered cookies to dip into the ice cream.

Did someone say Oreos?!?

That was my aunt Tina! Always trying to make us feel special. We didn’t get to do that at home. Home was where we had to eat all those vegetables (and these weren’t like my aunt Tina’s). My mom would say, “If you don’t finish those peas, you can just sit there ‘till you do.” So, I would be left alone, at the table, in the kitchen trying to figure out how and where to dispose of those green things so that my mother couldn’t find them. There were some evenings I sat there for quite a while... There’re some children that can entertain themselves for a Looooooong Tiiiiimmmmeeeeeeeee...

Those moments with my aunts were so memorable. Carefree times. My place of retreat. I guess we all need those places in our lives no matter what our age.

Yes, even now... I will grab a bowl, open the freezer, and help myself with gigantic scoops of ice cream. And yes... with Oreos for dipping. I do this when I’m alone. No witnesses.

YOU OUGHT TO TRY THIS SOME TIME!

~ Jeannie Joyner

The Family Jewels

I know a lot but not really some. I have a lot of cousins, aunts, and uncles that I enjoy seeing. We don’t really have it on both sides of the family, just one. It’s Dad’s side of the family (my Dad’s mom’s side of the family, I think... well, it’s his dad’s dad’s side)…

We get up early in the morning to drive up. We normally go to Columbia in South Carolina. It’s not a park, it’s at a church... like a church... it’s the church hall. Church gets out... at 12, but then we stay ‘till like 2 or 3 to visit and eat. It’s like church food, a pot-luck—where everyone brings something and it’s GOOD. Sometimes we bring broccoli casserole or black-eyed peas, it just depends. There’s a lot of different foods. My favorite thing there is the chicken and macaroni and cheese... sometimes rice, different kinds of desserts... chocolate—chocolate cake!

When I was a young kid, I used to play with my cousins—not really running around inside—sometimes we were outside, but it was very hot so we would stay inside most of the time, just kinda talking, but now we don’t really do that anymore... just kinda stand and talk with the adults. We also used to sing church music but we don’t do that anymore either. I used to love singing with the family, many good songs. I loved to sing with them.

Now, I just stay inside and talk and watch the family. I enjoy seeing my aunts and everyone comes up to talk to me. There’s a talk, not exactly like a meeting, but talks about life and how everyone is. It’s like celebrating birthdays if someone passes on or not here and sometimes anniversaries. That sort of thing.

We count [guess] how many candies in the jar and if you guess it right then you win and get to take the candy, but I’ve never won. So, I’m not real sure... but Dad says you do. And... we play BINGO! We put nickels, well not money, but sour candies [Sweet Tarts] on the words (instead of the numbers) under the letters. If you win, then you get a prize. There are different ones [prizes]. Then it [BINGO] starts up again... we play several times... maybe two or more.

After all the activities, we have to clean up and put all the tables and chairs back. I was sad leaving and was very tired by the time we headed home from the fun, but still had a good time while I was there.

~ John Joyner

Let's A-Do the Twist!

Parents have the task of being parents from the birth of their children until they (the parents) pass away at a ripe old age. That’s the perfect order of things. The perfect order of things usually applies only to books and movies and imaginations. That being said – we must deal with the realities of everyday life as they occur. Those “realities” differ greatly with the age of our children.

The behavior of our children is foremost on our minds throughout their lives but it’s must important during their formative years. It is imperative during the early stages that we are responsible for the social education of children. I’m talking about the way they act in and around others when we are in public venues such as school, or theater, or church. We try to emphasize the need for stillness and quietness and attentiveness that society expects when attending those places.

While we parents are still learning all the nuances of public interaction, our children are paying attention to their own wants and desires and give little heed to what we are trying to teach them about those “nuances.”

Now that you are completely bored with what we who have children already know, let me tell you how the need for those perfect behaviors conflicted with our commitment to our choir on Sunday mornings.

Both Jeannie and I have sung in choir since we were in our mid-teens. That said, after our son John had graduated from the church nursery and was going to be attending “big” church, it was necessary to find a way to make sure that he had a place to sit where we could watch him during the services. He couldn’t stay in the choir loft for the lack of enough space for the singers much less a place for him to play while we were singing.

We finally decided that we would alternate Sundays sitting with John in the congregation so as to give him the needed example to show what was expected of him and how to behave when sitting there by himself at a later age. We approached our choir director with our decision. He was insistent that there must be another solution and made it his mission to convince us of that thought. The problem became known to others in the choir and resulted in the offer of the aid of the husband of one of the sopranos. She spoke to her husband and he agreed to be John’s “keeper” during the Sunday services. We were very happy and hopeful that this was the answer to our dilemma.

From the first Sunday after we allowed John to go with Mr. Tommy into the service without us, we were anxious to have the solution work for all of us. Luckily, all involved had had enough time up to this point to become friends. We were satisfied that Mr. Tommy could handle the situation without any problem. Our major concern dealt with the unknown factor – John. Each Sunday we paid more attention to the interaction between John and our friend than we did to the service.

Sunday after Sunday we watched as John settled in next to Mr. Tommy and went from wide awake to sleeping and snoring which would elicit chuckles from those around him until Tommy would give John a little poke in the ribs or shake his arm to rouse him from his slumber. (He hadn’t begun to appreciate preaching at that point.)

After service, we would collect John from Tommy’s care and try to admonish him for not realizing that his snoring might remind the pastor that his sermon might have had the same effect on some of the older parishioners. Tommy would jump to John’s defense and remind us that he was in good hands.

A few Sundays later, we were taken aback when we saw Tommy get up during the sermon and, with John in hand, leave the sanctuary. After service was over, we hurried to find them both to see what problem John had caused that led them to leave during the service. Tommy assured us that it was a simple trip to the restroom and we had no reason to fret. The explanation satisfied for the moment even though there seemed to be some secret that John and Mr. Tommy were sharing and keeping from John’s curious parents.

A number of Sundays passed before the same sort of incident reoccurred. This time, however, we were satisfied with the same explanation even though it was not offered. It became a real curiosity after several more weeks of the same event.

We were particularly interested when Tommy’s wife began to laugh when we expressed our concerns that we did not have all the facts. This became a dead give-a-way that there was much more to the story than we were being told. This time when we approached Mr. Tommy & John after church, it was obvious to Mr. Tommy that we were no longer satisfied with the previously stated reason for departing the service.

With a great deal of laughter, he imparted the truth to us... John had been used.

Mr. Tommy would pinch him on the leg, causing him to squirm, making it obvious to others that something was up. He would then lean over to John, whisper in his ear... and they would get up to leave the service. When pressed for the details of the whispered communication, we found out that John was being bribed to give Mr. Tommy a reason to depart.

It seems that all it took for John to become a willing participant was the offer of a hamburger, fries & Coke from the Burger King just a few blocks away. All of this so that Mr. Tommy wouldn’t be bored in church. John found great sport & joined the laughter when all of us knew then what had been going on.

The unfortunate upshot of all of this activity as relates to John’s younger brother, Brandon, was that he got to sit in church with John when he was old enough and they both behaved beautifully during the service. Brandon never received an offer of that kind of opportunity (aka “bribe”) for his good behavior.

Both John and Brandon learned and are still well-versed in how to behave. John does enjoy the telling of the tale and Brandon learned a few tricks from Mr. Tommy.

There are times now when I have to nudge John to wake him during service because he also sings in the choir; at least he’s closer now! (And sometimes he has to elbow me...) But, thank you, Lord, for a minister whose sermons are a pleasure to listen to

A Nightmare On My Street

It had been about a year since we had moved to our new location on James Island. The cul-de-sac where we resided had begun development shortly before we moved there. Even so, the area was chock full of kids.  It took no time for Brandon to develop friendships and a following. These young people were very smart, somewhat athletic, others were academically inclined, and all of them were admired by their parents for their combined talents.  

The “Gilmore Gang” (I’m the only one that ever called them that) played, laughed, ran around, and enjoyed each other. It was not unusual for some or all of these young people to be in, at, or around our house any time of the day or evening. It was a parents’ joy to watch their kids be a real part of the neighborhood.  

It seemed obvious to me and his mother that more often than not, Brandon was in charge of the activities that “The Gillmore Gang” happened to be involved in. One of the pivotal moments as relates to his leadership ability came during October. 

My work schedule didn’t allow me to be home during the late afternoon and evening, so it was more apparent to Brandon’s mother that he had something going on due to his absence from the house and the area out front where she could see him most often. This went on for a few days until one evening Brandon came in to announce that they had it all done, they had it finished, it was “ready!” 

His mother and I looked at each other like, “OK, what might that be?” 

Brandon answered, “Our Halloween Haunted House!” 

So, of course, the set of questions came to mind: “Where was this haunted house? What did they use to build this? Who assisted with this haunted house? And (the parent’s last question), who paid for it?” 

The answer to all of these questions became moot when we were led by our young genius behind the house out onto a trail into the woods that brought us to the moment of presentation. Brandon had stopped us to wait until everything was prepared while all of his actors got in place. At just the right moment, Brandon took his role as tour guide and let us into their haunted house. 

We were led, with eyes closed, to the first location where we stopped in front of the remains of an old abandoned car. No sooner had we the chance to realize what we were looking at that the hood flew open to reveal a ghoulishly costumed actor growling at us and relishing our obvious horror.  

All of us were laughing and beginning to realize that we were getting much more than we anticipated. We continued through the woods with the underbrush seeming to pull at us the sides of the path until we almost stumbled into/onto the next tableau where we were abruptly presented with the resident ‘Vampire’ resting in his coffin hidden in the carefully dug grave right in the middle of the narrow walkway. 

The early evening darkness was perfect for the well-lit and well-orchestrated scenes that Brandon and his friends had meticulously constructed. After our tour was finished, we were grilled to find out exactly what we thought; what needed to be changed; did we like it; did we think the kids in the neighborhood would respond well; etc., etc. I wasn’t there to hear the other parents voice their opinions, but since the ‘gang’ immediately began to call all their friends who lived close by, and many who didn’t, to come and visit their masterpiece, it became obvious that everyone was taken with this event. Our only question was that of how much to charge for the admission. A quarter was their decision and garnered them what they deemed to be a profit after several days of tours through the ‘haunted pathway’. 

Brandon still has the hand drawn/written diagram for the event and, like many his age, he has put that memory on the shelf in his very creative mind. That doesn’t stop the rest of us who toured their wonderful event from reliving our joy and our pride. All that resulted from the realization that our children had progressed in their development to the stage of being in charge of the outcome of their thinking rather than waiting for their parents telling them how to evaluate events. In short – they had grown up and we got to see that moment 

It’s hard for me to write all this and not reek of the tendency to brag on my child for his part in this, and the many times since, but that is what we long for and revel in – the successful growth and happiness of our children. 

I can’t help myself. 

I hope the rest of you parents have those moments in your memories that brighten your days and lighten the heaviness of the world.   

Arthur in the Sky with Diamonds

(A Brief History of the Arthur Ravenel, Jr. Bridge)

Since the beginning of time, new has replaced old. This isn’t any different when it comes to getting from place to place which includes the structures needed to get there. The Cooper River Bridges were in use for nearly 80 years connecting Downtown Charleston to Mount Pleasant.

The traffic flow on US 17 from Charleston to Mount Pleasant and back again could no longer be supported by the deteriorating metal beams of the older bridges. And thus... a new bridge-child was born: The Arthur Ravenel Jr, Bridge. This new bridge was named after the Senator/ Congressman with the plan to raise enough money to make Mount Pleasant Mayor Harry Hallman’s dream a reality.

The ARJ Bridge was erected with Skanska as the managing partner and Parsons Brinckerhoff as the lead bridge designer. The project was meant to portray double diamond-shapes to compliment Charleston’s harbor which teems with boats and sails. Construction was completed in 2005, 1 year ahead of schedule, and opened to the public on July 16th—only 48 months after beginning the project in 2001. The Ravenel Bridge has won many prestigious awards both nationally and globally due to its incredible style, structure, and its savvy green footprint.

The ARJ Bridge in numbers--

It’s the #1 way to reach the #1 City in the World—1 of the longest cable-stayed spans in North America; 2 diamond towers, clocking in at 2.5 miles long; earthquakes under 7.4 on the Richter scale won’t down it; supporting more motor vehicles with 8 lanes plus a 12-foot-wide path added for pedestrians and bikers; erected by more than 40 cranes and raised to 186 ft above the average high-tide mark (which allows for larger import ships); able to withstand 300 mph wind gusts, it stands a wee bit under 573 feet tall; built with 40,000 tons of structural steel and 50,000 tons of reinforcing steel; made up of about 300,000 yds3 of concrete overall; costing just about $650 million dollars in total to bring it to life!

Some refer to the Ravenel Bridge as Charleston's signature bridge, which is a literal statement of the obvious—many of the workers, builders, engineers, and the like have put their signature (in name and hand-print or carving) on this architectural diamond phenomena.

At times the cables can play tricks on the eyes, seeming to disappear on one side only forming a right triangle, but as motion continues, shifting back to the right, the other side returns to focus. Driving under the bridge’s diamond tower and looking up through a sunroof or out of a window is also a neat architectural treat.

To this day, approximately 40,000 people gather on the first weekend of April every year for the 10K Cooper River Bridge Run. The trek begins on Coleman Boulevard in Mount Pleasant, heads over Shem Creek, leads up into the sky, runs under the diamond pyramids and then into historic downtown Charleston complete with a party at the finish line.

We can’t think of a better way to experience all of the sights, sounds, smells and tastes of Charleston in one weekend! But, even if running or walking isn’t your cup of tea, there are many places to drink in this beauty from all angles throughout Charleston!

~ Kristen N. Granet

Shaft and Bolts

There are reasons why our parents tell us—don't play in the street, don’t' throw rocks, don’t splash in the mud puddles, don’t go barefooted—don't, don’t, don’t! 

My goodness! So, many “don’ts.” 

Did we ever really pay attention to all the “don’ts?!” Nah... 

I still went barefooted and almost cut my toe off, splashed in the mud puddles and got ringworms (Ouch! Those sessions with the doctor freezing my foot were NOT pleasant!), and was hit in the eye with a rock. This list does not stop here. As kids, we had to learn our lessons by doing, but as parents we wanted our children to avoid all of those unpleasantries. 

I know my parents must have felt like they were wasting their time and breath. Still, the “don’ts” continued to come.  

My cousins, David and Derald, were very close. David was born first, then me, and then Derald; we were all one year apart. We lived close enough for us all to develop that special cousin bond.  

They loved the outdoors, so they were always outside. They did things like target practice with bb guns, riding horses, and playing in the pond located on their property. Oh, and let’s not forget, shooting bows and arrows. 

David had been practicing with his new bow and arrows and his mom had given him the necessary “don’t” warnings. Shooting the arrow straight up in the air was probably one of these warnings that my aunt did not give him. It must be safe enough to do this, right?! 

He grabbed his bow, and out David went to target shoot. I guess he just wanted to see how far into space he could shoot an arrow. So, he pointed the arrow toward the sky and let it fly!  

In the meantime, Derald had come outside to watch his brother. Well, everyone knows that if you shoot an arrow up into space, then it had to come down somewhere. And come down it did. Right into Derald’s head, sticking up in his scalp! OUCH! 

Without thinking, Derald grabbed the arrow and jerked it out of his head. And, when he did, blood started spurting everywhere. They both yelled for their dad, my uncle Willie. He ran from the house and when he saw all the blood, he threw Derald into the car and headed for the hospital for treatment. Within a few hours, they patched him up and sent him back home.  

Did Derald tattle on his brother? Did his mom and dad ever know that he was shot in the head with an arrow with a nail in it? No. And, never! 

As far as I know, Uncle Willie thought he was punctured with a nail while climbing a tree. 

As parents of two boys, my husband and I had many similar situations. And, no matter how many times we said “don’t” they “did” anyway. It’s just life, isn’t it? We had to learn to roll with the punches. 

Our children, in most instances, were going to do it their way no matter what advice we gave them. We had to sit back and watch as they made mistakes and sometimes that was the hardest thing we could do. 

Our boys are men now and we have a new set of worries. 

Oh, my—will the worries never end?! 

The Lodger

Lake Junaluska is in North Carolina. It’s a place where you can stay in a lodge (Ruth & Ted’s Lagoalinda Lodge) where we sing [practice] Christmas music. And, some people from all over Charleston (from the church, including us as well) will come up in the morning and others will come later. We put our stuff in different rooms (some upstairs, downstairs, in the back room, etc.) where we stay in the house and we gather together in the living room to practice our Christmas songs. 

Sometimes we start at 2 or 3 in the afternoon [Friday] and like in the morning 9 ‘til lunch then have lunch and then sing until dinner[time] and head out for dinner. And, Saturday’s the same thing—breakfast, rehearsal, lunch, free time, and then sing in the evening; in the morning we have yellow cheese grits, sing a little, and then we take a break and go different places... we don’t all go together, but go do things separate for free time and have a bite for lunch and then head back to the lodge to sing. On Sundays, we have a church service. (We [my family] normally leave on Sundays right before to head to Dollywood.) I’m never sad to be home, just get to be home. And then I rest until we go to our family reunion. 

Sometimes I like to stay outside to rock in the rocking chair on the front porch [at the lodge]. I look at all the cars going by, the mountains in front of me and clear my thoughts. I don’t really get to see the lake from there though because they have a tennis court. There’re just trees in the back, so I enjoy the front because there’s more to look at. It’s called Lake Junaluska, but I don’t see the lake all the time. Only sometimes do I go down and walk around it. 

When we go out for free time, we get a little bite and explore the surrounding areas. Sometimes we grab fast food or eat at the lodge when there’re no restaurants open. When the restaurants are open, sometimes I get the chicken and mac n cheese, but I can’t remember the name of the restaurant (I think it’s Bogart’s)—the place on the mountain—it tastes like our local restaurant, Harvest Moon. I like to go to the different stores and see what they have. We go to Cabbage Rose [and the General Store] to look around and see what they have; they have a lot of Western stuff and Christmas Ornaments. Sometimes we go on adventures, like to a bamboo jungle and the casino in Cherokee. 

One time when we went [to Harrah’s in Cherokee], I was given $20 from my mom and I gambled at a church retreat. And I wonder who made me do that? I won’t mention any names (points to Brandon). But I was the only one who came back with more money than I started. Everyone else lost. But, again... I wonder whose fault that was (not mine... someone I don’t know, you believe me, right? Who’s was it then? ME! Hahah Gotcha!). I don’t put things in the slot, no... [through laughs] oh, I can tell you more about gamblin’ or I can let Kenny Rogers tell you... I wasn’t born a gamblin’ man... I wish, but that ain’t true. 

Why do I go every year? It has to do with Christmas music. Christmas music is fun and joyful. I listen to it all year round. It makes me feel joy and happiness, that’s why I like singing it too.  We [as a choir] try something different when it comes to Christmas music... you hear all the old music, but we add something new and make it different.  

You can do all kinds of fun stuff at Junaluska—boating, tennis, shopping, going out to eat and being surrounded by the mountains. It helps me relax, clear my thoughts and mind. And when I’m on the front porch in the rocking chair I think about my life. It helps refocus and calm down the chaos inside. It helps me wind down, relax and calm the loud thoughts in my head. 

Just Around the River Creek Bend

(A Brief History of Shem Creek)

From above, the water twists and turns through the landscape of Mount Pleasant like a long-forgotten blacktop in the vein of Route 66. This flowing freeway is called Shem Creek. Shem is based on the word “shemee” which is a Sioux term of unknown meaning, lost to the sands of time.

Long before it was settled by any European group or the like, Shem Creek was inhabited by a tribe of Eastern Sioux named the Sewee. When the 1670s arrived, the town that would eventually become known as Charleston was established and trade with the Sewee tribe was profitable.  At least it was for the English who came to settle there...

Captain Florence O'Sullivan – the man for whom Sullivan’s Island was named – was the first person who was granted land in the area. He would change the name of the land from Shem Creek to Sullivan’s Creek, in fact. It would eventually be passed from owner to owner adopting their surnames year after year. It was even named Distillery Creek for a short period of time when a distillery was built and functioned in the early 1800s. However, during this entire time, the original name of Shem Creek remained as well.

And then? The entire area was soon to be industrialized by that day’s standards.

In the 1740s, Peter Villepontoux owned a lime kiln utilized for the ever-exciting process used to produce quicklime. If you wanted something a little more festive, a distillery was also located on the Creek. Not to mention the other mills and factories that littered the area.  The ebb and flow of the tides would be harnessed by Jonathan Lucas. In 1795, he would construct the first water-driven combination rice and saw mill in Charleston.

This wouldn’t be the last time the tides would bring these bountiful businesses to the shore. Because of the deep water of the waterway, shipbuilding was the perfect fit. This would define Shem Creek in the 1700s and the 1800s. Boats were constructed and sent out to sea as quickly as they were able. Nearly 300 years later—in 1990-- E.O.  Hall’s shipyard shuttered its doors.

If you were sending ships off into the horizon, then some would, of course, be back. Shrimping and fishing were a huge part of the economic culture of the area at the time and remain so to this day. A man named Captain William C. Magwood would introduce shrimping to the area trawling onto the scene in his vessel, the Skipper. By 2011, there were less than a dozen shrimp trawlers on the Creek due to the rising costs and lack of dock space.

If you were to ask anyone today what does Shem Creek have to offer, they would probably tell you: Food, glorious food! A series of restaurants litter either side of the waterway just off of Coleman Boulevard. Each vying to offer the most delicious seafood feast. Each working to pour the most sumptuous libations.

What the future hold for this picturesque postcard of a place? That is where the waters get a little murky – Pun intended—be it building parking garages so more people can enjoy the sights and sounds or leaving it be to keep its original charm... Whatever lies just over the horizon for Shem Creek, you can be sure that the people of Mount Pleasant will take care of their little piece of heaven just East of the Cooper.

~ Brandon L. Joyner

Making Mom Hoppy

My mom was a prissy lady – always fixing her hair, putting on her make-up, and making sure her clothes were perfectly matched; and she made sure that I went by the rules! 

You know them– can't wear white after Labor Day; ladies—no hats after 5 in the afternoon.  And God forbid you should go ‘potty’ without turning on the faucet so no one would hear you. Those were the ‘rules’ I’m talking about.  

My dad was a “man’s man.” He loved fishing, hunting, and the occasional drink with the guys. Even killing an alligator wasn’t unknown to him. You get the point. He was forever coming home with something weird for my mom to prepare – squirrel, all kinds of fish, venison, crab, duck, and shellfish, frequently lobster and shrimp. She would make him do all the prep-work and she would reluctantly prepare the dishes involved. Most of them I ate and most of them were delicious.  

One evening, after a long day out with his drinking buddies, my father came home and handed my mom a bag with something in it. She looked in the bag and was shocked to find—to her surprise—frog legs!  

“Oh, my goodness, Frankie! I am not gonna fix those things. That’s disgusting!” 

So, after they exchanged a few choice words, my mom turned around with the bag in hand and headed for the kitchen. I heard the rattling of pots and pans and before you know it, the sound of sizzling in a pan. 

It was just a little while later that my mom called my dad to come eat. He sat down at the table where she had placed a heaping helping of those frog legs. Within a few bites, he was in “frog leg” heaven. He cleaned that plate like it was his last supper, licking his fingers as he went. 

We watched him till the very last bite and without saying a word, my mom walked to the table, picked up the pan, walked to the trash can, popped the lid open by the foot pedal, and dropped the pan right in the trash. She just turned around and gave Dad that look.  

She didn’t utter a word. 

He didn’t utter a word. 

I didn’t utter a word. 

NO – we did not remove the pan from the trash. We just let that one go! For, we both had the feeling that if we took it from the trash, Mom just might use it on Dad. 

Did my dad ever bring home another frog leg surprise in a bag like that? Not on your life (or more precisely, his life)! 

Not saying that he didn’t bring home other bags of surprises but frog legs were certainly not among them. 

Those frying pans can get expensive! 

Continuing Education

Are you too cool for school? I guess so... 

I used to like school but I’m not a fan of it. When I was two years old, I started going to Charles Webb.  

And, after that, I went to some other school that I tried. Then we moved to Savannah, I went to one there [Jacob G. Smith] ... And, when we moved back, I went to a school in Goose Creek. Then one in North Charleston [Morningside Middle] when we lived on James Island, then in ‘86 I went to North Charleston High School; but I didn’t go to college after [graduating] high school [in 1993]. 

Most things about school have been serious, but when I left Morningside I met my favorite teacher, Mrs. Mary Francis Lundi; she was from Tennessee and we both loved old country music. We had a great time talking about the old country and western music like Hank Williams and all that other stuff. And that’s when we hit it off! I had some really great teachers, but some weren’t so good. She was the best! 

School is like education, it helps you learn things like math, music, social studies, reading, writing, and that sort of thing. Oh, and exercising as well. It's fun... well, sometimes it’s fun, sometimes it’s hard. 

Regarding school and education, I learned different things. I learned some things that I wouldn’t have without it [school]. I did some work... artwork, music, PE class, some recess. I did some mobility training help as well.  

Computer-wise, I learned to type; Music, I learned different songs from the music notes; Reading, I was able to put the words under a magnifier glass to project on a TV; Writing, for example... if they asked you to write something on Social Studies... that’s hard and not even fun to do. Oh, I enjoyed it, but it’s just hard. It was kinda social for me, but also educational. I really enjoy Math... numbers, that’s what I like! 

I had more female friends than male friends. At Charles Webb, I had a friend, Michael, who didn’t know how to talk, and I helped him a little bit. No one would talk to Michael, so I was his friend, and he would always listen to me. We got close and we’ve always been friends. He was able to understand the words but couldn’t or wouldn’t really talk. We had a connection and he liked to talk to me but no one else. With girls, I had several friends... Tasha was my friend. I didn’t have many actual girlfriends. I had other in and out relationships with females, but... I had one particular girl that I liked, Tammy. 

I want to get back into the action of things. I enjoy learning things and doing new things. We hope to start with the Sunrise Program soon so I can learn much more. 

My brother Brandon and I have been cooking recently. The first thing we did together was learning how to cook an egg. First, I had to crack them. One fell in the sink and then one went in the dish. I’m trying to learn, but it’s ok. We prepared it by poaching it. We stirred it around in the bowl to scramble it. Then it went in a hot pan and we cooked it. Preparing to cook and shopping for food at the grocery store is next on the list. 

I learn best by asking questions and then having those questions answered by someone telling me how to do it. If I could teach any one thing to the world, I would help them to do what they feel like doing. I would be a life skills coach... teach them how to do different things about jobs, how to do other things, like how to cook better, I could teach people how to art better... be artists or do art paintings and ceramics, like pots. So, that’s what I would do if I could help people find their passion. It’s not what I want them to do but it’s what THEY want to do. That’s very important to be able to do what you want to do and not necessarily have to do what other people tell you that you have to do. 

If I could improve and work on something and learn something new it would be to work on being a better person. Have more charisma. Learn how to make friends and influence people. And finding better relationships to have a connection with somebody. 

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun!

My memories of high school are not all pleasant ones for me, so at the point that I finally found that person whom I considered a true friend, I felt very blessed. Her name was Cyndy, or “Cyd," as my boyfriend called her.  We had become inseparable since our sophomore year at St. Andrew’s High School. 

Cyd was always full of mischief. I, on the other hand, was the shy, NICE ONE! She was always trying to get me into trouble with her shenanigans and usually blamed everything on me. Imagine that! 

Remember, I was the shy, NICE ONE. 

Besides being in class at school together, we attended church, went to the beach, cooked, traveled, and sang in the choir, but my favorite was being invited to enjoy “sleep-overs” together. You should have seen her bedroom. It was phenomenal. It was painted lavender with all matching gorgeous accessories. 

Can you imagine? What teenager was allowed to decorate in whatever color they wanted? Hers was the coolest room... EVER! 

Sleep-overs didn’t happen often but, oh what fun when they did. 

Cyd, on this particular evening, said she wanted to play a joke on her parents. So, she insisted that I take part. Understand, I would never have thought about doing some of these things because... 

I was the shy, NICE ONE! 

Cyd said, “Jeannie, let’s go through the house and see what we can do.” 

I reluctantly followed her lead, knowing that it was not a good idea, but did it because she was my best friend.  

We opened the refrigerator door and with magic markers in hand, we drew character faces on each egg in the egg crate. 

Butter anyone? Coins were squished down into the sticks of butter and then smoothed over to make it appear that the butter had not been touched. See how mean Cyd was? Someone could have swallowed or choked on a coin. I tried to talk her out of this one. No luck! 

Remember, I was the shy, NICE ONE! 

We proceeded down the hall to her parent’s bedroom door where we took numbers of umbrellas, opened them, and placed them in front of their door. We had the umbrellas stacked and braced to the ceiling. Imagine their surprise the next morning trying to escape! 

On another occasion, Cyd had convinced her father that she was a responsible driver. He would loan us his car after the usual instructions on “how to behave and to always be careful.” With radio blasting (after pulling out of the driveway), we headed out for our joy ride to the Patio Drive-In Restaurant with the glassed disk jockey booth on the roof. 

Remember how you could call in song requests? We would call in before leaving home. And, most likely your song wouldn’t play until much later in the evening, but it sure was fun to hear your name announced on the radio. (This was the time before cellphones, guys!  Anyone remember that?) Those were the days, my friend.  

Later on in the evening, Cyd was giving me a ride home and she had to pull into our driveway between two brick columns. Usually, it was wide enough for a truck to get through. But I guess that night, the columns must have scooted together. So, as she attempted to go through, she pulled the metal trim completely off the car door. No other part of the car door was damaged. She managed to fit that molding back in place with no one the wiser. That just goes to show what a fabulous driver she was, right?! 

Did she tell her dad? Well, my lips are sealed! 

We had dozens of adventures as best friends and it’s nice to reminisce about those “I remember when” stories because they still put smiles on our faces. 

Even though we don’t see each other very often, when we do get together, it’s like no time has passed at all. We still stick our tongues out at each other and make crazy faces. 

I guess she does bring out the devil in me. But that can’t be right?! 

Remember... I'm the shy, NICE ONE! 

Do you Yahoo?

Being a young person in Charleston, South Carolina, in the sixties, it was not unusual on Sunday to be in church. Of course, everybody I went to school with pretty much did too. It became a part of our education both during the week and on Sundays.  

After graduating high school, I started college at the Baptist College of Charleston which is now called Charleston Southern University. In the first years that it was open, it was quite a different education because all of us were required to have certain religion classes as part of our curriculum. The small enrollment also led to classes we all attended simultaneously. It was a new school and that was the way they did it. As a result, there were things that stuck in my memory from the education gained there.  

Skip ahead several years to a Sunday sitting in the Baptist church of our choice (I say that so that you understand exactly how this might have happened). In our sister churches of the more traditional type, you had a very specific liturgy. It was read, and quoted, and responded to in very specific order depending on the season. In the Baptist church we had a lot of traditions, but the sermon on Sunday was one developed by the pastor. The topic of the sermon was usually a result of his daily experiences or divine inspiration. 

On this particular Sunday we were sitting in church listening to the sermon when I began to pick up on the theme of the message. It took me back to certain of my religion classes at the Baptist college. We had Dr. Carpenter as our primary religion teacher. He taught both the Old Testament and New Testament and a good many classes in between. He was very specific and well educated as relates to the translations of the Bible. 

As he took us particularly through the Old Testament and the relationship between God and the people of God, he taught how in those days, not so long ago, that the name of God was so sacred that it was forbidden to be spoken in public. Not only that, it was to a young Baptist student in an Old Testament class kind of hard to say because of the way that it was spelled. The name of God from the Old Testament was Yhwh. That was spoken as Yahweh and pronounced yah – way. Simple enough. I had never heard it before in all of my Sunday school classes and all the sermons that I had heard up to that point.  

But I digress. 

Back to the particular Sunday in question. We had gotten through the general business of the service and had come to the sermon. The pastor began to reach the heart of his tome when he alluded to the personal relationship between the sinner and his God. I immediately went back in my mind to Dr. Carpenter delivering the lessons that spoke of the same topic. Having no idea which way the pastor was going I was looking around in the sanctuary at the faces of people listening to the message. 

I saw people in one form of alertness or another; some inspecting the backs of their eyelids while others were completely involved and young people passing notes back and forth and others enjoying a quick look at somebody across the room. Yet, others were trying to figure out what they were going to do after they got out of church. All those sorts of things were part of what I observed. I was in the choir and our choir was seated in the front of the sanctuary facing the congregation. We had a firsthand view of the pastor and could not only clearly hear everything he had to say, but we could see the intensity with which it was being said. You got all of the inflection in voice and the gesturing that went with the passion that he was using to deliver this sermon. 

So, we're all listening and out of the quiet, I heard something that I really wasn't quite sure I heard. It piqued my interest and I turned and I looked around and saw that I was not the only one looking around to see if someone else had heard what we thought we had heard. And if they heard what I thought I heard what did they think about what they thought they had heard, or about what we both heard. 

It became obvious very quickly that the pastor had the undivided attention of all the attendees. The intensity of his speech was matched with the intensity of each person’s focus. In the front of the choir loft was the daughter of our minister of music. She faced her dad sitting on the front pew as was the custom so that he'd be ready to direct music at the appropriate time. Before we could discern what had been said, the pastor had reached another point of fever pitch and exclaimed again the words for which his sermon would be forever remembered. 

“The unspoken name of God almighty, the name known only to the holy men of the synagogue was YAHOO!” 

With as much resolve as each of us could muster, we stifled the immediate impulse to laugh. That’s not to say that snickering couldn’t be heard. It was a very strong undercurrent. Before we knew it, the pastor repeated the statement. At this point, laughter began which ended the sermon. 

It was all our Minister of Music could do to salvage the moment by coming to the pulpit and directing everyone to pick up their hymnal and turn to the final hymn for the service. His daughter barely managed to sing the verses for laughing between the words like many of the rest. 

Many of us lingered then to talk about the sermon and the service and even now it is part of conversations between lifelong friends. 

I’m sure some apologized to the pastor for their behavior, but it is remembered today with great fondness and chuckles. I am also convinced that many more faithful will always “cheerfully" remember the lesson from that Sunday’s sermon. 

Forever will we remember the name of... Yahoo? 

~ Jeannie Joyner

Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the REALLY Old Oak Tree

A Brief History of the Angel Oak

Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.

It wasn’t until the late 1600s that English settlers, most that had migrated from the Barbados area, came to what would become the Charles Towne colony. In the grand scheme of things, this seems quaint in comparison to the historical natural sites modern Charleston is known for today.

The Angel Oak is one of those natural phenomena.

Standing at a height of 65+ feet with a spread of 160 feet, some estimate the Angel Oak to be between 400 and 500 years old, while others estimate the age to be around the Biblical age of almost 1500 years! This means that the Angel Oak is the oldest tree in the South – or at least, the Southeast – Right?

Well… Don’t let the gray hair fool ya!

There are other such photogenic photosynthetic flora in the Southeast that are rumored to be as old if not older than the Angel Oak. Several bald cypress trees scattered throughout North and South Carolina have been discussed to be older by several hundred years. None with the personality of the Angel Oak.

Yet, what’s in a name?

Southern Live Oaks, or as they are known in some circles, Quercus virginiana, are prevalent throughout the lowlands of the Coastal Carolinas.  But why is the Angel Oak called the “Angel Oak?” The answers may surprise you.

A total of ninety-six acres on modern-day Wadmalaw Island, the original land on which the Angel Oak grows was granted to Abraham Waight on July 25, 1717. Passed on to one of his ancestors Justus Angel and his wife Martha Waight Tucker Angel, the land was then known as Angel Plantation. The Angel Oak then adopted the same name.

The second namesake of the Angel Oak is much more spectral. Ghosts of the slaves who died in and around the area might be seen as the sun sets behind the horizon… floating, never to find peace...

There are times, however, the Angel Ois simple known as “The Tree.”

Like so many things in Charleston and the outlying areas, the Tree took a beating during Hurricane Hugo in 1989 and was severely damaged. Prosper and recover and then continue to grow the Tree did, even being purchased as part of a deal with the City of Charleston in order to preserve the oak and the outlying areas creating Angel Oak Park.

But progress will not and cannot be stopped. As recent as 2012, land close to the Angel Oak was proposed to be developed as an apartment complex less than 160 yards from the miraculous natural superstructure. Thanks to the dual efforts of Save the Angel Oak and the Coastal Conservation League, they were successful in the courts to thwart this invasion to the oak’s habitat. Hopefully, this will continue in perpetuity.

Its branches, reaching from the past into the future, the Angel Oak is a deep-rooted reminder of the grace and beauty that nature has to offer when allowed to thrive and prosper.

~ Brandon L. Joyner

First Rate Cookie Monster

How many of you parents have a child who waits till the very last minute to do a project or write a paper, etc.? I have a son just like that. A procrastinator! 

One of the most trying times for me was an instance in elementary school when he came to me and said that he needed an original cookie recipe to enter in the Coastal Carolina Fair—and he needed it the next morning. It was 10:30 PM! 

He was always a very smart child—Principal's List, SAIL Program, etc., so why didn't he finish his projects on time?  

“Brandon,” I said, “are you kidding me? It's late! No grocery stores are open, and you have to come up with an “original” recipe? And take it to school in the morning? What were you thinking?” At that point, I should have gone to bed and left him to explain to his teacher why his assignment was not complete. “We’re going into the kitchen, looking through the cabinets to see what we can come up with, and you’re going to stay awake until it is finished! Understand?”  

Plundering through the pantry, we came up with a few ingredients. Now we had to put this “original” recipe together and pray that it would be edible.  

 So, nearing midnight, Brandon started. This is the recipe that he invented: 

Chip and Spice Cookies 

Ingredients: 

2 c Flour  

1 Stick of Butter 

1 c Sugar 

2 Eggs 

1 tsp Vanilla 

½ tsp Baking Soda 

¼ tsp Cinnamon 

¼ tsp Nutmeg 

1 c Milk Chocolate Chips (He used Toll House Morsels.) 

Walnuts (optional) 

Raisins (optional) 

Directions: 

1- Preheat oven to 350 degrees. 

2- Put all ingredients (except chips, nuts, and raisins) in a food processor and pulse. (Remember, it’s the middle of the night, so the faster to finish, the better!)  

3- Stir in the chips, nuts, and raisins by hand (so as not to break apart). 

4- Drop teaspoons full of dough on a cookie sheet sprayed with non-stick spray (Bakers Joy or something comparable). 

5- Bake 8 to 10 minutes.  

6- Remove promptly.

After all this, he waited for the cookies to cool, packed them up, and this assignment was complete. After a few hours' sleep, he took his “original” cookie recipe and headed off to school.  

A couple of days later, Brandon was notified that his recipe had won a blue ribbon at the fair! Imagine that!  

You've heard the expression that a recipe was made with love!? Well, I can assure you this was NOT!  

But there was some satisfaction in knowing that Brandon had won that blue ribbon. So, yes. We hopped in the car, headed to the fair to view his cookies AND his blue ribbon on display.  

As we gazed through the glass, we were both pleased at what he had accomplished, just not what it took to get there.  

“If you ever do that again you can count me out for any help,” I told him! 

That situation had a positive ending, but I wouldn't want to go through it again—not even for a blue ribbon. Do you think he learned his lesson? 

 ~ Jeannie Joyner