Day Three, 1-17-2011

1-17-2011

Sick of being on the highway, we jumped on smaller roads to take us south to St. Augustine. This was much better in terms of sights (we finally saw America's Smallest Church, which was about the size and shape of Snoopy's doghouse), but also great for us finally being able to shop at thrift stores. We hit up a couple around Brunswick, GA, but it was also Martin Luther King day, so a lot of the stores we saw were closed.

We stopped in St. Mary's, GA and were told that this town was “arguably the oldest city in America. But all the records proving that we were here before St. Augustine were lost in a fire.” Aren't they always. But one thing St. Mary's has that St. Augustine can't take away is a used bookstore called Once Upon a Bookseller. Which, to borrow a joke from a friend, it the beginning of a very accurate statement: Once upon a bookseller, you never go back.

We met Mike Pius at his house in St. Augustine, and then went to Jeff and Jeannie's new restaurant, The Floridian. Amazing food! The funniest part of the restaurant is that due to local ABC laws and the fact that their front door is within 50 feet of a church, they can only serve draft beer in the back room, which, thank God, is far enough from the church to corrupt any delicate souls.

It was really nice to spend MLK day in a place where his legacy wasn't shared with those of Stonewall Jackson and Robert E. Lee. Richmond, if you don't already know, officially celebrates Lee-Jackson-King Day, so it was refreshing to see an MLK parade as we left Savannah and to read an article in the St. Augustine free weekly about their spotty history of civil rights. But that night, as if to remind us that we were only so far from Richmond, we were plagued by a 35 year old wearing overalls, a Bob Marley shirt, and a knit hat with Jamaican colors (presumably to hold back his dreads). We ran into him at a quiet bar when his friend offered us a beer and he offered us some poorly veiled insults, but when he found out we were from Richmond he became our immediate ally. “No shit! I'm from Henrico, boy! Hermitage High, class of 93!” This was our bond for the rest of the night, one we could not shake even with direct suggestions that we would be happy if he walked home to Henrico. The worst part is that in reminiscing about his beloved home town, he bemoaned the Arthur Ashe statue on Monument Avenue. “I mean, here's a black guy, who died from AIDS, and they have the nerve to put him on a street honoring war heroes who died for their country.” OK, keep in mind that he was wearing a Marley t-shirt and rasta hat (a fact that he advised we not let fool us when Stephanie pointed out the contradiction), and let us also remember that most of the Confederates honored did not die in battle, and that they were fighting to secede from their country. But facts weren't really an issue here. “He already has a sports center named for him. Why didn't they put the statue there?” Ward replied “Probably for the same reason they didn't put Lee's statue in front of the Confederacy Museum.” Again, logic could not derail his rant. And all this proved on Martin Luther King Day, 2011, was that the old adage still rings true: No matter where you go, there you are... drinking with a racist from Richmond.