Courtesy of explorecharleston.com

 

 

THE MANSION ON THE RIVER

 

     It was my father who called the city the Mansion on the River. He was talking about Charleston, South Carolina, and he was a native son, peacock proud of a town so pretty it makes your eyes ache with pleasure just to walk down its spellbinding, narrow streets. Charleston was my father's ministry, his hobbyhorse, his quiet obsession, and the great love of his life. His bloodstream lit up my own with a passion for the city that I've never lost nor ever will. I'm Charleston-born, and bred. The city's two rivers, the Ashley and the Cooper, have flooded and shaped all the days of my life on this storied peninsula.

     I carry the delicate porcelain beauty of Charleston like the hinged shell of some soft-tissued mollusk. My soul is peninsula-shaped and sun-hardened and river-swollen. The high tides of the city flood my consciousness each day, subject to the whims and harmonies of full moons rising out of the Atlantic. I grow calm when I see the ranks of palmetto trees pulling guard duty on the banks of Colonial Lake or hear the bells of St. Michael's calling cadence in the cicada-filled trees along Meeting Street.

     Deep in my bones, I knew early that I was one of those incorrigible creatures known as Charlestonians. It comes to me as a surprising form of knowledge that my time in the city is more vocation than gift; it is my destiny, not my choice. I consider it a high privilege to be a native of one of the loveliest American cities, not a high-kicking, glossy, or lipsticked city, not a city with bells on its fingers or brightly painted toenails, but a ruffled, low-slung city, understated and tolerant of nothing mismade or ostentatious. Though Charleston feels a seersuckered, tuxedoed view of itself, it approves of restraint far more than vainglory.

     As a boy, in my own backyard I could catch a basket of blue crabs, a string of flounder, a dozen redfish, or a net full of white shrimp. All this I could do in a city enchanting enough to charm cobras out of baskets, one so corniced and filigreed and elaborate that it leaves strangers awed and natives self-satisfied.  In its shadows you can find metalwork as delicate as lace and spiral staircases as elaborate as yachts. In the secrecy of its gardens you can discover jasmine and camellias and hundreds of other plants that look embroidered and stolen from the Garden of Eden for the sheer love of richness and the joy of stealing from the gods. In its kitchens, the stoves are lit up in happiness as the lamb is marinating in red wine sauce, vinaigrette is prepared for the salad, crab meat is anointed with sherry, custards are baked in the oven, and buttermilk biscuits cool on the counter.

 

Pat Conroy, South of Broad - Prologue

Brownie Harris

Maggie Rowe in her colors at Middleton Place. She rides with the Middleton Place Hounds

 

www.middletonplacehounds.com

Find something you love to do, and do it until you go.

Andy Anderson

Benjamin Hardaway

1915 - 2017

By Laura Kreuzer

Ben Hardaway heads out across the field at his farm in Midland, Ga., knee deep in foxhounds.

“Come on, get on,” he fusses, shooing them along. The hounds yip and bugle, bump and run, caught up in the joy of being dogs. “There must be 130 of them,” he says, shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous, isn’t it?’’ Hound manager Mark Dixon and two outriders herd the hounds together and head them out for a training session on the backroads of the farm. As the pack crests the hill and disappears from sight, Hardaway sighs. “There goes my life.”

Hardaway was about 10 years old when he first heard the siren song of the hounds. “An old man who lived out this way had a pack of foxhounds. I was out at the farm one day and they came running down through the draw here. Hearing them just set me on fire. It was like something was in me that had to come out, something primitive. I had to have some of those hounds.”

He acquired a small pack and ran them with a farmhand. He might have been happy with what he had but fate, he says, had more in store for him.

“Mr. George Garrett lived out here on Garrett Road. And he took an interest in me, in this kid who was nuts about foxhounds. “Mr. Garrett was known as the breeder of the July strain of the American foxhound. He was famous for his hounds. Rich Yankees used to come down here to hunt with Mr. Garrett. They’d come down on a train and put it on a siding over there and hunt with him because of his great pack of dogs.” Garrett, who in 1947 wrote the book “Fifty Years with Fox and Hounds” that many consider to be the bible for foxhound breeders, encouraged Hardaway to improve    his pack. “He said my hounds were nice but he wanted me to have his strain of Julys. He didn’t have any of the original strain anymore -- he was already pretty old then --so he sent me to see his nephew, Mr. Kelly, up near Talbotton, and he had a pen full of Mr. Garrett’s dogs. And we bought two puppies from Mr. Kelly.”

“That pure July strain is in each of the dogs in my kennel today,” Hardaway said. “It goes back for 15 generations -- from mother to grandmother to great - grandmother and on back.’’

He has improved the breed, outcrossing it to keep the hybrid cross strong, adding in some deer-resistant genes from English packs. “The English blood gave them some intelligence and some biddability. That’s what we call it. They have to be biddable.”

But it’s how they run together in a pack that is the real test of a foxhound. “If they’re all running together and giving cry together and swinging together, that’s what I’m looking for. I’ve never worried much about the cosmetics or breeding for a certain color or the way a foot turns. I would have lost half my stock that way.”

His hounds, known as Midland foxhounds, are never sold. “I give a lot away,” he says. “We start a lot of packs. I’m real proud that there are about 15-20 packs of hounds that have 90 percent Midland blood in them. Packs that were started by people that believe in me and my breeding program and my hounds.”

Peter Winants, a retired writer for the weekly Chronicle of the Horse, calls Hardaway’s hounds “hunting machines.” Winants, who lives in the prime hunt country of Middleburg, Va., has hunted many times with Hardaway. He remembers when Hardaway brought his dogs to Virginia for a major foxhunting trial -- a recreation of a showdown between a pack of English dogs and American dogs. For this trial, the Midland foxhounds were pitted against the Piedmont hounds for a five-day trial.

“The Piedmont Hunt has been around since 1840. They were considered to be some of the best dogs in the country. Stocky, bred for running open fields, they were all the uniform tricolor like the English foxhounds you see in pictures.”

Hardaway’s skinny, coats-of-many- colors hounds, bred for the pine forests and underbrush of South Georgia, stood out like rubes at the cotillion.

“But boy, could they hunt. They beat all the Piedmont hounds, they beat every hound on the field.” Hardaway is pleased that his hounds are known all over the country and even in England. “That’s been a real ego trip for me, to have English breeders import my hounds. After all, they are the foxhound people. They hated to admit it, but my dogs have a better nose and a better cry and they just do the job better.”

Ann Hughston, of Columbus, has been foxhunting with Hardaway and his hounds since she was 10. “A bunch of us started riding ponies as kids and then as we got older moved up to the hunt. You can go into any hound situation anywhere in the world and say ‘I hunt with Ben Hardaway’ and doors will open for you,’” she said. “Everybody knows him. You have instant friends.’’ Hardaway is at ease with everyone, she added. “He can have lunch with Prince Charles one day and the next day be talking to someone who doesn’t have two nickels to rub together. It doesn’t matter to him.”

Hughston, who breeds Bassett hounds, credits Hardaway with an intuitive sense of what makes a good dog. “I can look at 6-8-week-old puppies and to me they don’t look like anything but puppies.”

But, she says, Hardaway will look at the puppies “and say ‘I like that one and this one looks good’ and sure enough, every time, those will be the ones that turn out to be the best. He sees something that no one else does. And to him it’s so clear. It’s a gift he was born with and he’s pursued it.”

The piece above was written when Ben Hardaway was 77 - 21 years ago.  He was an extraordinary individual, both as a horseman and someone who could bind a great deal of land together with different individuals to make a vibrant hunt. It has been said that it takes about 30,000 acres of continous joined together land to make a great hunt. The photographs above and below were from a Garden & Gun shoot in 2007.

Andy Anderson

Winsome, Derby, Racy, Stringer, Churchill, Reckless, Moonshine, Freezer, Rocket, Lavish, Maple, Liege, Turk, Madam, Tuner, Neptune, Bellman, Indian, Crystal, Ghost, Krypton, Elvis, Rally, Luck, Mostyn, Nip, Polly, Able, Nectar, Glider, Cutesy, Rucksack and Steamboat are but a few of the many names. Ben Hardaway seemed to know them all individually.

Andy Anderson

We usually refer to the sound of hounds running in full cry as music. I am the conductor of my pack and it is usually up to me to breed, cull and draft hounds so that I can bring into the field the best possible orchestration of hunting hounds. All my years of work in breeding and developing my pack have been dedicated to the singular goal of providing excitement, fulfillment and inspiration to the hunter of foxes. Unless you have personally experienced the thrilling cry and execution of a pack of hounds close on a red fox... it's hard to describe to you just what a sensation it is... In full cry your nerves will tingle with intoxicated delight. Peter Beckford came the closest: "It is like trying to pen a whisper."             Benjamin  H. Hardaway, III

The photographer for Ben Hardaway was Andy Anderson. from Ketchum,  Idaho.  Recently, Yeti and  Orvis featured him in one of their 2017 tribute videos simply called Andy. You can view the short video below.

 

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bS55_wzWl74

 

City With A View

Like all good things Charleston, Spring comes a little early in the Lowcountry and the Summer goes too fast.  Life springs eternal.  But the favored time of the year in Charleston is the Fall and mild Winter. Welcome to the premier issue of the digital magazine of the Portal to Charleston, View. Now with this digital issue it is in it's thirty second year.  Warm October and November, a cold December and January now moves slowly to February and a short respite from the heat.

You just never know who is pulling into town these days. It has always been like that here, though. Mark Twain visited the city on the yacht, Kanawha, with his best friend and financial savior;  H.H. Rogers. George Gershwin played his new song, “Rhapsody in Blue,” on the second floor of a home on the High Battery on a breezy summer evening in the 1930’s.  He was living on Folly Beach in a weathered beach shack. With his brother, Ira, he was working on his new opera “Porgy.”  The Folly Beach cottage was

furnished simply and had a piano.  The brothers had just composed and written Summertime with folly beach as the backdrop.  Movie stars, artists and great writers live, hide out and enjoy living in and visiting Charleston.

View magazine first launched in Charleston in 1985 with a small office at 27 State Street, in the French Quarter. It soon moved to the City Marina until Hurricane Hugo arrived and swept it all away until now in the Winter of 2018.  What you will see here is the digital rebirth of View, with the same Editor in Chief / Publisher and the same great content, style, writers and photographers. The sea town still has her charm and grace as she moves further into the 21st Century.  As Pat Conroy wrote when he was still with us, "I carry the delicate porcelain beauty of Charleston like the hinged shell of some soft-tissued mollusk. My soul is peninsula-shaped and sun-hardened and river-swollen."   Pat gave us all an anchor in the meaning of time and how quickly it moves past us now that he is gone.

                                                                                                                        John Wilson

George Gershwin sketched his cottage at Folly Beach  in watercolor.

George Gershwin passed away young at 38. He loved Charleston.

Also within this Portal to Charleston is Charleston Traveler. It launched 22 years ago in 1996.  It was a web site as well as a printed guide, published by Wilson Hill Publishing. Charleston Traveler enjoyed 98,000 unique visitors a day until 2004 when John Wilson and Pierre Manigault created Garden & Gun magazine that launched in 2007. G&G just happened to be conceived and engineered at Dubose Heyward's house at 190 Tradd Street where he lived as a child.  In the Spring View, Vic Brandt will write a portrait of Alfred Hutty who happened to live up the block on Tradd Street in his carriage house studio home.

Charleston Traveler Prologue 1996

Perhaps no other city in Colonial and antebellum America has enjoyed as much celebrity as Charleston, South Carolina. Named after King Charles of England and inhabited by the most sophisticated people of that era, Charleston was not only the "Holy City," but also the port of opportunity for every stripe of society from Europe and the Caribbean: swashbucklers and entrepreneurs; planters and potentates; slaves and agricultural engineers from West Africa. It was a city steeped in history and romance. Charleston has now been rediscovered, and has a vibrant new international reputation as a destination of choice. The energy and vitality of the old city is virtually palpable. The arts, food, culture, gentility and variety of Charleston are unsurpassed in America.

And then of course the last lines of Margaret Mitchell’s classic book, Gone with the Wind, available at the Mockingbird Bookstore.

Scarlett: Rhett! Rhett, where are you going?

Rhett : I’m going back to Charleston, back where I belong.

Scarlett: Please, please take me with you!

Rhett: No, I’m through with everything here. I want peace. I want to see if somewhere there isn’t something left in life of charm and grace.

 

 

The Gershwin brothers with DuBose Heyward, (center) the Charleston author of Porgy, a close friend and collaborator of the Gershwin brothers.

  Anna Heyward Taylor                                                                           Gibbes Museum Collection

And to use one of Mark Twain’s great quotes, “Apparently, there is nothing that cannot happen today,” you might want to just sit down and have Charleston’s favorite drink,  just one more.

 

2018

View cover image  -  Brownie Harris

Middleton Place Hunt Club

74% of all the Mercedes sold

in the last 55 years

are still on the road.

 

A Classic In It's Own Time

 

Baker Motor Company

 

www.bakermotorcompany.com

 

843-852-4000

 

 

FAST FORWARD

Charleston, SC

 

Charleston is the talk of the town in Houston, Chicago, Manhattan, Washington and Atlanta.  It is not the Beaux Arts or the architecture. It is the digital culture and young style of 21st Century America with the American Renaissance as the backdrop that is causing a stir. Well, perhaps one of America's most dynamic companies building an airplane final assembly plant in Charleston might have just a little bit of an effect on that conversation.

When the engineering marvel and pride of American ingenuity, Boeing, built their new 787 Dreamliner Final Assembly factory in North Charleston; they partnered with South Carolina Electric and Gas to draw part of their power from the sun. There are a lot of lessons to be learned by watching their lead position of forward thinking. America continues to be the most inventive country in the world.

 

The Charleston rollout for the first 787-10

At 10:27 am Pacific Time (18:27 GMT), on the 15th December 2009 the first “Boeing 787 Dreamliner” eased effortlessly in the skies into Everett, Washington,  powered by two Rolls-Royce Trent 1000 engines.  It marked the debut of the quietest, cleanest, and most efficient airframe and engine partnership flying today.  The 787 is the future of aviation.  In 2016, Boeing celebrated it’s Centennial birthday – 100 years of aerospace innovation!  On February 14, 2017 the first Boeing 787 - 10 rolled out of the plant in North Charleston.

787-10 and the 737 Max Fly Together at the 2017

Paris Air Show

“Now I would say that people want to ride in airplanes more and more each day -- and I shall go so far as to say they will someday regard airplane travel to be as commonplace and incidental as train travel. We are trustees of a veritable revolution that is taking place once more in the economic, social, and political fabric with the advent of this new speed medium.”

-William E. Boeing, 1929

On March 3, 1919, William Boeing (right) and pilot Eddie Hubbard performed the first U.S. international airmail flight in this Boeing Model C, a modified World War I trainer they flew from Vancouver, British Columbia  to Seattle. The  famous plane is located in the wonderful Air & Space Museum in Washington, DC.

William Edward Boeing founded one of the great dynasties of commercial aviation -- transforming the Pacific Northwest into a major aeronautical center. When he arrived in Seattle in the first decade of the new century, however, he was armed with little more than the optimism of his generation and the idea that “it was time to do something.” That optimism and vision to do something – to build something better – lives on with Boeing and the 787 today.

The key to the exceptional performance of the 787 is a suite of new technologies being developed by Boeing.  As much as 50 percent of the primary structure – including the fuselage and wing – is made of composite materials. General Electric and Rolls-Royce are making the engines. The new airplane is more than 20 percent more efficient than the airplane it replaces. Airlines and the flying public wanted a more efficient airplane and Boeing stepped up to meet the challenge.

 

The 787 program has signed on 45 of the world’s most capable top-tier supplier partners and together finalized the airplane’s configuration in September 2005. The suppliers are connected virtually at 137 sites around the world. Basically Boeing bet the ranch on this aircraft. It incorporated all of the history of American ingenuity rolled into one airplane. It is the first time that Boeing outsourced components and materials to craft their new commercial aircraft. Forty five logos are building the 787. Four modified Boeing 747's fly around the world twenty four hours a day seven days a week picking up parts for the aircraft to then be assembled in North Charleston. The finest large and small manufacturing companies in the world craft the airplane. Technically it is beyond wizardry. Mitsubishi Heavy Industries, Ltd is responsible for the design and manufacture of the 787 wing box which is a composite material that spans 190 feet and reduces the weight by 20 percent. Smaller companies like PPG Aerospace based in Huntsville, Alabama are making the windows. With all of the Newtonian mechanics and theories of Albert Einstein at play, Charleston moves into the future. It would certainly not be surprising to see some of the 45 logos ponder the possibilities of making some of those parts here in South Carolina.

 

Delivering the component parts to the North Charleston Boeing plant the converted 747 Dreamlifter delivery system for the 787 is but one of the many modern engineering plans of crafting the aircraft.

The moment passengers step into the 787 Dreamliner, they feel welcomed aboard by the spacious surroundings. The interior designers for the Boeing 787 Dreamliner understand fully that first impressions can be everlasting. Therefore, they’ve designed a larger, more open entryway with sweeping arches that immediately direct the eye upward. The romance of flying has returned with the 787. Every detail of comfort – the roomy cabin interior, larger windows, has been addressed. The air pressure is the equivalent of 6,000 feet  - 2,000 feet lower than in other airplanes. This improves oxygen absorption into the blood, reducing in-flight headaches and fatigue. And passengers enjoy better air humidity, so they arrive feeling refreshed.

 

The 787-10 has impressive aircraft statistics:

197 ft. wingspan

Mach .85 cruising speed

6,430 nm (11,910 km) range.

Two of either the General Electric GEnx-1B or Rolls-Royce Trent 1000 engines

will be used,  producing 76,000 lbs. of thrust per engine

Life has a way of throwing things at you  Be prepared

 

www.bakermotorcompany.com

843 852 4000    Charleston, SC

Through the Years

LAND ROVER TESTED AND PERFECTED

 

BROWNIE  HARRIS

David Brinkley at Home in Wyoming

 

twenty first century artists photography editions

The Mockingbird Gallery

 

www.mockingbirbookstore.com

 

 

THE ART of PHOTOGRAPHY

William Watson McCullough

Brownie Harris

Bill McCullough was born on a farm close to Kingstree, South Carolina. The farm is a Kings Grant. Though he often paints all over the southeast, and the South of France where he currently resides, you can usually find him in the countryside close to the farm.  “One can learn about a lot of things simply by painting - how and why they work. No other endeavor allows one to go out and spend ten to twelve hours looking at a clump of trees, or that spread of sky. It is pure visual information.” The McCulloughs lived in Charleston on Rutledge Avenue for many years. Kingstree is only an hour away from Charleston and he often paints around the city. He has two daughters and a son. One who lives in Charleston,  another on the West Coast and another in France. In the Fall of 2017 McCullough is in a studio in the beautiful 2000 year old town of Uzes, France not far from the border of Spain.

Cannon Street  Charleston    oil on canvas

Neither has he given up his connection to his Southern Heritage.  A reverence for sense of place has allowed this painter to depict the light and natural essence of a locale whether McCullough paints a tryptic of the city center for The Greenville County Art Museum’s “25 Years of Greenville”, or depicts the interior of a cracker cottage as in his work, “Napoleon in The New World” for The Ogden Collection of Southern Art in New Orleans. Although his trade has taken him to other locales, collectors and academics recognize his ability to divine and depict the true heart and essence of his subject.

“Thus while the so-called post-modernist heirs continue to pursue novelty, realists such as William McCullough would prefer to remind us of the extraordinary beauty of the light on the side of a house. In a time when the survival of this lovely little blue planet has come into question, this is not an insignificant thing”, writes Bradford R. Collins, PhD, Professor of Art History at the University of South Carolina. McCullough has never wavered from his “older, realistic traditions”, never.

                                             Water Tower    oil on canvas

                                 Studio Interior      oil on canvas

                                            Porch Light      oil on canvas

In 2004 Bill McCullough saved an 1810 house north of Charleston from destruction and moved the structure to his farm in Kingstree. The house was moved to the exact site of his relatives home site that had burned long ago. He currently uses the saved house as a studio while he restores the house. The following is a transcript of the conversation with William Baldwin and William McCullough discussing the house.

 

A Conversation with William McCullough

and William Baldwin

 

WB:  Good to see you, Bill. Good to leave the coast occasionally and get into the hinterlands. Think there’s any relationship between Jesus Saves signs and the god forsakenness of the countryside?

WM:  Must be a relationship. Here as opposed to Charleston?

WB:  I’ll have to think on that. Let’s jump right in. Tell me about the “new” old house.

WM:  I had a photograph of the original house, the house that once stood on this site. It was taken around 1906 which was the year my father was born. I took the photograph to Charleston and asked a friend of my daughters what would it cost to build. He looked at the photograph and said he knew where one was --could be the sister of what I was showing him and the owners were trying to get rid of it. Something was to be built there. Turned out the something was mini storage units, those things going on the remains of a beautiful old estate. All I had to do was move the house. Helped that Summerville wasn’t Charleston, that we didn’t fall under any of the strict ordinances. And we didn’t bother with the ones we did face and Historic Summerville did have some. We had an urgent time line. The house had to go. I contacted a man named JoJo Powell. He’s famous in this area for moving things. Makes a living now moving beach houses. I called him. He was very matter of fact. He could move it. How many miles? A hundred dollars a mile. We had to take off the roof and the second floor and the porches and the kitchen house. I got two Mexican friends and four others and we prepared it for moving. Took it down to the core and stacked those pieces on the second floor. He moved it up to Kingstree on a Sunday. The blown in insulation created a snow effect going through Summerville. He did it on Sunday ‘cause he wanted the move to be permit free. No paperwork on this part either. We were free of permits. He was to arrange for all that and his arranging involved not telling anyone. We went blowing though Summerville like a blizzard while everybody was in church. Hit 50 miles an hour at some points. I had put up stakes where I’d been told the original house stood. This had been a field all my life. When we got it positioned and started digging a foundation we discovered bricks. When we dug the chimney foundation we hit the original chimney foundation. Uncanny. The reason it’s faced this way the little track in front of us used to be a proper road that went from Kingstree to Georgetown. They were still using it to drive cattle to market in Georgetown when my father was a child. The woods behind this house was the communal pasture for this area. The cattle and sheep were all branded. They roamed that 10,000 acres of open woodlands. Our natural prairie. All surrounded by a split rail fence. The local cowboys were called drovers. They were still having round ups in the early 30’s. This county didn’t give up open range until even later. Before Georgetown they drove to Charleston. They had a drover’s inn in North Charleston. Where Meeting St. becomes Morrison Drive. Pens were there. My grandfather told a story of waking one morning and discovering that one of the Kingstree men had had his throat cut and robbed while sleeping in the inn. After that they took tents. And camped on the ground. Back in Summerville the house I was rescuing had sat off the road. I wish I could have saved the shrubs, the plantings. All that was bull dozed. Replaced with storage units for young people and old people who need to put all there things in boxes. People without roots. People who have done other things. Gone off to war maybe.

Brownie Harris

WM:  It was pegged together so it came apart like a puzzle. We realized the chimneys had been moved after the big earthquake of 1889, moved from the center of the house to the ends. The plaster was lost at the same time. We have replaced that. They boarded up the interior and wall papered that. Five layers of paper and plywood paneling over that. The wainscoting is still there. Except for one piece of recycled oak, everything in the house is heart pine. On the sides I’m replacing pine with cypress. It had been whitewashed and given one coat of latex paint in the 1980’s. One coat of paint on the shutters. Green. I matched that at a paint shop. The house is 200 years old. It served as a hospital in the Civil War. It was a stage set for a silent movie called Dixie. I feel blessed to have such a building. A house built in 1810 that’s perfect for this site. I’m trading a painting for the new chimneys. New brick chimneys covered with a veneer of the original brick. I’ve been gathering salvage for years. I have crates of hinges and rimlock knobs. Light fixtures. Carriage lamps from France. This will be a showplace.

WB:  Can you make an analogy between the house and paintings?

WM:  I needed to make this place more mine. This house is doing that for me. It will keep me here for a long time, and willingly keep me. I just started the first painting that shows the house. A landscape. I think it will figure into a lot of paintings. I hope so. I’ll do interiors, too.

WB: You’re already imagining interior paintings of this? You’ve barely got walls.

WM: Exactly. The painting imagined ahead of the actual interior.

WB: The house you are in was your parents’ dream house.

WM: And it’s a good house. But my father always lamented the site. This house has a microclimate. This site does. Old homesites often had that. People who had spent their whole life out of doors understood the land in a way we often don’t. They had reason for putting houses where they did in those frontier days. My father used to talk about how strange it was the house that stood here always had a breeze going through the hallway, a breeze found nowhere else on the property. I assumed that was childhood imaginings until I put this house here. You can feel the air flow now. In the dog days of August there’s a breeze whipping through it. And water is close to the surface. Though it is on a bit of a rise. To a friend in North Carolina I once described it as “that little hill.” He said, You’ll have to help me see that hill. We’re 40 feet above sea level. Hills have a different dimension. How far are we from the road? 50 feet. People don’t realize how close they wanted their houses to the road.

WB: My great grandfather J.B. Morrison had the political power to place the highway, and when Hwy 17 came, he brought it to within 20 feet of his front door. A paved highway. They never imagined.

WM: And at the same time there are whole networks of dirt roads in the South became obsolete. Disappeared. Gertrude Stein talks about that in something she wrote.

WB: Feel that? The breeze is still here. You think anybody else in Williamsburg County is reading Gertrude Stein?

WM: You’d be amazed at what people here read. A couple came up to me the other day and said they’d just read Under the Tuscan Sun, and for them my project in France, the time Kathy and I spend there, finally made sense. They’d never bothered to ask me what it was like. But there was an authority to the printed page. Yes. It sold a million copies. Now it made sense. Kingstree is very literate. A satellite of a Charleston, the Charleston that doesn’t exist anymore. Last week one of the bankers walked by in a bow tie and an expensive suit. I thought he could be on Broad Street. And here we are on the banks of the Black River swamp. You have to have a certain mind set to dress like that and it’s a good mind set. You have to respect people who care.

From the book: - Conversations Between William Baldwin and William McCullough

By Currie McCullough

 

William McCullough and William Baldwin have shared a close friendship since the 1970s.  Billy Baldwin is the author of 23 books and lives with his wife in McClellanville, SC. His books are available at www.mockingbirdbookstore.com  The book above where the excerpt is taken is also available at the Mockingbird Bookstore.  Friend both Billy and Bill on Facebook. Billy Baldwin posts most everyday with new writings and photography of his explorations throughout the Lowcountry.  Bill McCullough is working on his new website and posting new work and musings from Southern France where he will be painting for the summer of 2017.

Contact Currie McCullough at

843 853 2004

currie@me.com

 

 

 

 

williamwatsonmccullough@gmail.com

William McCullough's work is exhibited and sold at the Cheryl Newby Gallery

in Pawley's Island

 

  843.979.0149

E.O. Wilson

Birmingham View

Winter 2018

 

The fascinating Birmingham native EO Wilson is the current Pellegrino University Research Professor Emeritus in Entomology for the Department of Organismic and Evolutionary Biology at Harvard University, a lecturer at Duke University, and a Fellow of the Committee for Skeptical Inquiry. He is a Humanist Laureate of the International Academy of Humanism. Blind in one eye from a boyhood fishing accident, Wilson has written 14 books since 2000.  He is a two-time winner of the Pulitzer Prize for General Nonfiction (for On Human Nature in 1979, and The Ants in 1991) and a New York Times bestseller for The Social Conquest of Earth, Letters to a Young Scientist, and The Meaning of Human Existence.

EDWARD BRICKELL WHITE

 

CIVIL ENGINEER, ARCHITECT AND SURVEYOR

1806 - 1882

 

By FRANK O’NEILL

 

with Neil Stevenson

As it is, 19th Century Charleston is to a startling degree the city of E.B. White. The Huguenot Church, St. Philip’s Steeple, The Second Baptist Church, Grace Church, St. Johannes Lutheran Church, the Market Hall, the Gothic parts of the old Citadel, the old Charleston High School on Society Street, the most striking elements of the College of Charleston, The South Carolina Electric & Gas building and the Petigru Law office, the Customs House and the sturdy embankment along East Battery and White Point Gardens are all his.

 

It is a vast achievement.

   Between Chalmers Street and Marion Square the gravity of Charleston’s architecture thickens. The Barbadian housefronts lacquered and waiting south of Broad Street, frail as wasps’ nests north of Calhoun (but always children of the sun and breeze) change in this middle ground to an urban mixture.  Still open, yet heavier,  more insistent.  Three things change: the buildings are often mid-Nineteenth century instead of late Eighteenth, they are often public, and their architect is often Edward Brickell White.

     This Central District is the germ of a very different Charleston, one that would have grown over much of the Charleston that is, just as Nineteenth century Boston  supplanted the baytown of cod merchants and chandlers,  and Nineteenth century New York supplanted to the old market and port of up river Dutch patroons.  But in Charleston, decline, war,  an earthquake and great fire arrested it at the moment of its quickening. It is easy to forget from a Lowcountry perspective that 18th Century Boston and New York were towns of charm, and that late 19th-century Charleston brought then to full development could have been a city of a immense distinction.

     As it is 19th-century Charleston is to a startling degree the city of E. B. White.  The Huguenot Church, St. Philip’s steeple, the Second Baptist (now Centennial Methodist) Church, St. Johannes Lutheran Church, Grace Church, the Market Hall, the Gothic parts of the old Citadel, the (old) Charleston High School on Society  Street, the most striking elements of The College of Charleston the South Carolina Electric and Gas building at 141 Meeting Street,  the Petigru Law office on St. Michael’s Alley, and the sturdy embankment along East Battery and White Point Gardens still stand  to his name, as do various small monuments and the major post - 1865 repair of St. Michael’s Church; the United States arsenal and all but a gate of the Ann Street railroad yard have gone. The United States Customs House rising majestically above East Bay Street, enormously impressive even in the form to which it was reduced after the War Between the States, was nominally by a Boston architect, but White devoted eight of his best years to it as Superintending Architect and the building is significantly his.

     This is a vast achievement. In tons of material,  in ground covered, in institutions served, in sheer costs it dwarfs those of Gabriel Manigault and Robert Mills, Charleston’s  more well-known architectural leaders.  True to its mid-19th century formative energies it is overwhelmingly reserved to government, business, and large institutions.  (White designed some houses and small charming country churches but they are of lesser importance.) Some of it is pedestrian, some of it is very nearly glorious, all of it is extremely competent, structurally impeccable, aesthetically harmonious at least.  Nearly all of it is in daily use eight generations apart from its creator.

Charleston in 1855

E.B. White's Huguenot Church  -  Church and Queen Street

Steven Hyatt

E.B. White was, to be sure, the originator of the Gothic revival in the Deep South though he never troubled to study it in Europe, and it is unclear how far his heart was in it or his sensibility at one with it:   Grace Episcopal Church on Wentworth Street relates to the High Gothic as a groundhog to a swallow.

     This inceptive transformation of Charleston was carried out by a   man not merely a native son, but thoroughly connected with the Lowcountry’s patrician class. Edward Brickell White was the offspring of cultivated planters;  that is, in Charleston, a class by no means bucolic, but one which used its landholdings for cornerstones for careers largely spent in the professions, business and the arts.   E. B. White always direct, demonstrated this at the outset by being born in 1806 at Chapel Hill plantation near Charleston, the seat of his namesake uncle, Dr. James Brickell, a physician. His father, John Blake White, was one of those polymaths whose impassioned indecision made pockets of the American wilderness almost as cultivated as Bath: he flourished as a painter, author, sculptor, lawyer, playwright, planter, and political flaneur.  His mother was an Alston by birth; her family included a more than competent painter, Washington Alston, and had a long literate tradition (the excellent surviving library of the Edmonston-Alston House on East Battery is a rump reminder of this.)

     E.B.White was an intellectual child of the period bridging the classical and romantic impulses. It was also a long era when architecture was counted among the polite sciences closely allied to literature: Jefferson had not long before built Monticello.  Horace Walpole has initiated the Gothic revival with “The Castle of Otranto” and then built Strawberry Hill to prove it, the medieval building boom within Walter Scott was breaking ground (Edgar Allan Poe’s architectural suggestions, with their manifold domestic inconveniences and structural failings were by contrast mainly studied in France, giving rise to the Paris apartment.)

     Young Edward, however, took the sternly conventional path of West Point, then as now one of America’s  premier educations.  By guiding him into military engineering,  the Academy served him extremely well, perhaps focusing the multiple talents as parents bequeathed. White had the experience of war at the beginning and end of his adult life, in the Black Hawk expedition 1832 and as a recruiter and leader of troops on James Island and later in North Carolina during the Civil War.  Yet there is no doubt his military interest lay in construction. By the time he left the U.S. Army at 

 the age of thirty he had worked on or designed Forts Pulaski and Adams, a major bridge (the Potomac at Georgetown,) and a trans-mountain railroad of several hundred miles. The military, this time Confederate and much later, also provides one surviving physical vignette of White (described by an acquaintance as “a pompous, remarkably short officer in large boots on a very large horse.”) a vision the hilarity of which should not obscure the courage of a sixty year old civilian gentleman leading troops through musket fire at its center.  At all events by the time he set up private practice as a relatively young man, White was a formidable engineer, and as Beatrice St. Julien Ravenel notes, entered architecture “obliquely.”breaking ground (Edgar Allan Poe’s architectural suggestions, with their manifold domestic inconveniences and structural failings were by contrast mainly studied in France, giving rise to the Paris apartment.)

     Young Edward, however, took the sternly conventional path of West Point, then as now one of America’s  premier educations.  By guiding him into military engineering,  the Academy served him extremely well, perhaps focusing the multiple talents as parents bequeathed. White had the experience of war at the beginning and end of his adult life, in the Black Hawk expedition 1832 and as a recruiter and leader of troops on James Island and later in North Carolina during the Civil War.  Yet there is no doubt his military interest lay in construction. By the time he left the U.S. Army at the age of thirty he had worked on or designed Forts Pulaski and Adams,  a major bridge (the Potomac at Georgetown,) and a trans-mountain railroad of several hundred miles. The military, this time Confederate and much later, also provides one surviving physical vignette of White (described by an acquaintance as “a pompous, remarkably short officer in large boots on a very large horse.”) a vision the hilarity of which should not obscure the courage of a sixty year old civilian gentleman leading troops through musket fire at its center.  At all events by the time he set up private practice as a relatively young man, White was a formidable engineer, and as Beatrice St. Julien Ravenel notes, entered architecture “obliquely.”

   The Petigru Law Office                                                                      William W. McCullough

The City Market

LAURA WITTE WARING

 

The E.B. White designed building at the front of the City Market on Meeting Street across from the Planters Inn.

An excerpt from the book, The Way It Was In Charleston, SC.   Mrs. Laura Witte Waring was born in Charleston in 1877

 

The city market used to be an exciting place to visit. One whole section of the market was occupied by the vegetable women. They sat behind their stalls, and would hold up bunches of carrots, or soup bunches, yelling to the passer-by, “Here you is Mauser,”  “I got um Missus.” They quarreled among themselves, if a customer they considered as their own rightful property would go to another stall for  something better and fresher. Usually men did the marketing for the families, carrying a servant along with a basket.

 At the meat section of the market, the butchers would throw waste to the buzzards which would be on  Market Street throughout the marketing hours, and they would sidle up to snatch at whatever was thrown out.  A fine of ten dollars was levied for anybody running over a buzzard. They were very disgusting, but important scavengers.

 The fish market held a variety of fine fish, which formerly were so plentiful in these waters; there was a poultry section also. It was customary to do your own marketing, and the older generation knew the cuts of meat, and what food was the best.

 

Laura Witte grew up with her five sisters in the house that is now Ashley Hall school. She painted a picture of Charleston from 1882 to 1895 in her book The Way It Was In Charleston, SC. The Witte house was a vibrant and animated household and they enjoyed exotic pets. The black bear was named Frederick and the alligator in the fountain was named Wishy Washy.  A current version of the book is published by The Evening Post Industries.

Anna Heyward Taylor                                                                      Gibbes Museum Collection

CHARLESTON MUSIC HALL

At the end of the growing season this next summer ex Charlestonian John Sutcliffe will have a few people over for dinner in McElmo Canyon. Usually over a hundred will attend. This past year he was celebrating 29 years  of his vineyard’s wonderful life.  And they said you could not make fantastic wine in Colorado.

 

Photography  Heather Greene

 

The

SUTCLIFFE VINYARD

 

 

 

by John Sutcliffe

107  people  are seated at one  long,  beautiful  table  that runs  the  length  of  the orchard. But this exquisite candle-lit moment was two days in the making.  One of our hogs is split and dressed, the massa has been molded into tamales around young lamb, trays of charcuterie lie dense and seasoned, the succulent, white flesh of freshly-picked peaches is being pressed into chutney, black plums are pared open to be grilled on the sizzling pork. Summer squash for the soup, red onions sliced thin and pickled, new potatoes scrubbed not peeled. A table of preserved lemons, figs, candied nuts, shimmering olive oil, plump olives, pickled cucumbers and ripe chevre, might have graced Caesar’s Table.  Young Cinsault drawn from the barrel, brilliant and garnet in a plump carboy.

Charleston Architect Reggie Gibson worked with Sutcliffe on the buildings at the vineyard.

The flat bed of an old Dodge vibrant with flowers. A fence line hung with grapes, delicately colored gourds and mile long vines. And still a day away.  Monday, the day we have worked towards. A pale sky, a hint of Autumn, brushed lightly with Cirrus that frames the Sleeping Ute Mountain. Horses, lots of them, hanging on the fence-line to watch our indefinable exertions. The tables have arrived, sparkling linen, chairs, all as white as fresh drawn milk. The chefs glide confidently around, a hog spits on the grill, long baguettes appear in tall brown bags.

 It’s later. “ Two hours”, I hear myself yell. But it is all moving relentlessly, elegantly forward. The endless table is replete with delicate bunches of flowers, votive candles, snakes of vines, colorful, sculpted squash. The fleshy pop of corks as the red wines are pulled, Field Blend... the grapes the year gave us, Syrah loaded with chocolate and as dark as night, Cinsault garnet, brilliant, young and bright. Chardonnay lying somnolent in its’ bed of ice.

 “Need to change.” All is ready, the bower on the Portales hung with dark ripe grapes, peaches, pears, apples and lemons bobbing for a second day in a barrel of Rose’ Sangria. The staff appear, pristine like Novice Nuns, starched and crisp, hair restrained in soft romantic waves. The chefs immaculate like TV surgeons, handsome and confident.

 

“Welcome, it’s lovely to have you here.” I hear myself saying. People clap, some have attended every dinner we have given. Some are quiet in the still beauty of it all. “Welcome to Sutcliffe Vineyards and Brix Restaurant’s Harvest Dinner”.

   Suddenly it feels so effortless, so polished.  And it is because of the thought, imagination and creativity that it has required. The chefs David and Stephen, Paul the owner of Brix, Joe Buckel the wine maker, Jesus Castillo who grows everything we need and Nor who gently ensures those talented disparate forces work as one. It is always worth it, absolutely always worth it. Let the show begin.

www.sutcliffewines.com

12174 Rd G   Cortez, CO 81321

(970) 565-0825

info@sutcliffewines.com

 

 

John Sutcliffe is an iconic ex Charlestonian Englishman who founded Sutcliffe Vineyards in McElmo Canyon, twenty miles west of Cortez, Colorado. A former British Army Officer, and former  restaurateur (Tavern on the Green was one of the many he ran) Sutcliffe is now producing some of the finest wine in America.

“The Oh-seven Signature,” Sutcliffe said, and then he paused. “That wine came from a single acre of grapes. We got two-and-a-half tons from that acre. We picked over the grapes before we crushed them and put them in oak. We ended up with fifty cases. It’s not an apologetic wine. It’s a grand wine. We thought it so well represented our ambitions—that’s why we called it a signature wine.”

 

 

Joshua Baer  On Sutcliffe's Chardonnay

Which brings us to the 2007 Sutcliffe Vineyards Signature Chardonnay. In the glass, the wine looks like Chardonnay in a glass. It has a pleasing, pale gold color, and there is something special about the way that color manages to catch and hold the light, but the color does not prepare you for what you are about to drink. The bouquet, on the other hand, fires a shot across your bow. It informs you that any preconceived notions you may have about American Chardonnays are about to be blown to smithereens. On the palate, the 2007 Sutcliffe Signature Chardonnay tells you a story you cannot forget. The story travels from your mouth to your heart, and then it breaks your heart. The finish lasts until your heart is in pieces. In 1986, 1989, 1991, and 1992, Andre Ramonet (of Domaine Ramonet in Chassagne-Montrachet, Burgundy) made a series of Batard-Montrachets that displayed (and still display) the rare combination of generosity and restraint that characterizes the 2007 Sutcliffe Vineyards Signature Chardonnay. Andre Ramonet’s Batards are legendary. Collectors pay hundreds of dollars a bottle for them at auction. John Sutcliffe’s Chardonnay is unknown. You can buy it from John for $32 a bottle or $375 a case. John’s telephone number is (970) 565-0825. If you want to read more about John and his wines, go to sutcliffewines.com. After I tasted his 2007 Signature Chardonnay, I called John and asked him why he put the word “Signature” on the label. “The Oh-seven Signature,” he said, and then he paused. “That wine came from a single acre of grapes. We got two-and-a-half tons from that acre. We picked over the grapes before we crushed them and put them in oak. We ended up with fifty cases. It’s not an apologetic wine. It’s a grand wine. We thought it so well represented our ambitions—that’s why we called it a signature wine.” By “we,” John meant himself and Joe Buckle, the winemaker at Sutcliffe Vineyards. Here are John’s thoughts about Joe Buckle. “At first, I was making the wines. Ben Parsons came on as the winemaker in 2003. Joe Buckle came on in 2008. Ben started the 2007 Chardonnay. Joe finished it. Joe came from Flowers Winery, in Sonoma. He is the Charles Dickens of winemaking. He is completely and utterly authentic. His methods are absolutely traditional. He will not do anything that is without proper respect for the wine. He has immense respect for the grapes and immense regard for the farming. He is a first class bloke.” The time will come when it will not be easy to buy the 2007 Sutcliffe Vineyards Signature Chardonnay. When that time comes, a few us of will have cases stashed in our cellars. The world will be a different place, but the wines in our cellars will be time capsules, memories of an era when we could still imagine that being avant-garde had its merits and that our chances of survival were good. One Bottle is dedicated to the appreciation of good wines and good times, one bottle at a time.

www.onebottle.com

Joshua Baer is based in Santa Fe and his site www.onebottle.com is dedicated to the appreciation of good wine and good times one bottle at a time.

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