Most of September was spent away from home. We left on Sunday August 27th and arrived home on Wednesday, September 20th. Looking back the only time away when it was just the two of us, was at the beginning of the journey and the end…like book ends with a long volume of activity in between. In the ‘in between’ times’ we visited children, grandchildren, and friends and were with Shirley, Rich McSorley’s wife. He died as were driving to his home on Thursday August 31st. He had been under hospice care and terminal for many months so it was not a surprise.
We left St. Petersburg on that Sunday around eight AM arriving in Savannah, GA around two PM. We finally were going to visit Savannah. We say ‘finally’ because over the years living in Florida, now nine, whenever we made a trip north we promised ourselves that on the return run we would stop in Savannah. But it never happened. By the time we arrived in Georgia we were too anxious to get home and promised ‘next’ time we would do so. So this time we decided on visiting Savannah first and it was well worth even the short time we did so.
“Savannah was born way back in 1733, shaped from the wilderness by John Edward Oglethorpe” It was some sixteen miles from the Atlantic and is high upon a bluff that overlooked the Savannah River. He organized the living area in squares, some 24 of them and they remain so in the Historic District even today. The square are park like with beautiful oak trees with Spanish moss and flowers almost every where. Stately old houses, churches, and shops surround the squares also. Its port brought a solid economy to the area and even today it is the second most active port next to New York and occasionally Charleston, NC. It survived the Civil War and Sherman’s march. He saved Savannah as a “Christmas” gift to Abe Lincoln. Our motel was located on the bluff over looking the Savannah River. It was in the Historical District. We took a walk after settling in the motel and found we were a block from “Jefferson” street, which took us to the City Market. The market ran left and right of Jefferson Street for many blocks each way. We ended up at what we later learned was “Franklin” square where we heard live music being played just next to a large Pizza place. When you look at a map of just the Historic District it is easy to see why at least a few weeks would be needed to see much of it. We spent just 2 and half days. We took a bus tour one day, which was followed by a ride up and down the Savannah River in an imitation steamboat. A good thing about the bus tour was you could leave the bus, visit a place or area, and then go back and wait at another stop for it to come pick you up. We did so and got off at the Andrew Low house, the home of Juliette Low built by her grandfather. She is the founder of the Girl Scouts. The tour of the home was fascinating in seeing all the talents of Ms.Low. She was a sculptor, painter, furniture maker and repairer. We had some one take us through the house pointing out all these talents along with her having brought the Girl Scouts to life. Another stop we made was for lunch at Mrs.Wilkes Dining Room. It served only lunch and was family style. We sat at a round table with three other couples and passed around the dishes. An interesting coincidence was that all those at the table were from Florida and specifically from around the Tampa St. Petersburg area! Later on the same tour we stopped at the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist. It matched for me St. Peter’s and Paul’s of Philadelphia. The Stations of the Cross going up and down both sides of the church were individual sculptured statutes on platforms extending from wall. The stain glass windows and paintings on the walls were magnificent. We were planning on trying to visit the Mercer House, the place where a murder had been committed and the home of Johnny Mercer’s grandfather but it was not open that day. We found the same with Flannery O’Connor’s home that I had expressed an interest in visiting since reading some of her works and about her. Even with the few days we were there you could write a book about Savannah and someone already has, namely “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil: A Savannah Story” by John Berendt. Browsing through it on my return made me wish I had had it with me during the visit. It made the point that the Mercer House was the home of Johnny’s Grandfather and Johnny had not been raised there, despite some tour guides saying so. It was this house however that was one of centerpieces of Midnight in the “Garden of Good and Evil”. It was in this house that a man charged with murder lived and after three trials was acquitted. He died there a few years later.
At the other end of this volume of travel we went to New Jersey, specifically to North Wildwood. June’s daughter Tracy and her husband Walt had purchased an apartment there. It was a converted motel and very comfortable. It was located on the corner and one block east was the ocean and beach, and two blocks north was the inlet between the Wildwoods and Stone Harbor. We took a good walk one-day on the boardwalk, and on another day I walked the sea wall along the Inlet. It was made of concrete and was about six feet wide. It gave you a great view of the inlet and was supported by enormous stones that made you feel you were walking along a mountain cliff. I watched the sun rise from the wall one morning. It was as they say ‘awesome’. It slowly peeked up over the water and then changed the hues and colors of the clouds. As usual such sights gives one the feeling of the presence of the Almighty being in action.
Between those bookends of our journey we had a sad detour. My nephew Rich McSorley had been fighting cancer since July. He was terminal and under hospice care. As we left Ashland, Virginia for his home on Thursday morning we had hopes we might see him still alive, but it was not to be. We received a call from his brother Gregory around ten that he was now at peace. We arrived at his and Shirley’s home around noon. We met Gregory. I can’t remember when we last saw him. He resembled his dad much more than we remembered. His dad was my brother John. Greg had been there for over a week helping Rich’s wife Shirley. Rich had been like another son to me. We were reacquainted in 1970 in the Sulu Islands. He was attending Notre Dame of Sulu College there. It was founded by my brother, his uncle Frank the Bishop of the Sulu Islands. My sister Marge and I had gone out to Sulu to take part in the farewell ceremonies for the Bishop who died in November of that year. Rich was about 21 years of age then and was finishing work on getting his degree. He had great pleasure I hear over the years showing people his college ring which read “Notre Dame” and then something else which he didn’t bother noting. While we were there after all the ceremonies we took a plane ride to the end of Sulu Island, the island of Sibutu. It is just across the Sulu Sea from Borneo. We, Marge, Rich, Father Chawky, myself and the pilot Ted filled the small single engine prop well. It was particularly noticeable on landings, which usually had at least one bump. When landed at Sibutu Island, school students, both high and elementary greeted us. They were there to greet the returning pastor. However when Rich stepped out of the plane a chant went up that I could not decipher. I later learned it was the name of a then teenage Filipino idol whom they thought Rich looked like. Rich traveled with me to Manila as I started my home voyage. Our paths would cross over the years as we visited him in Lancaster, watched him romance Shirley then marry her, and be his guest at his home there. Sometime in the eighties he and Shirley purchased a house in Shore Acres. His dad now retired went there to live. He died in April 1990. We had come down some weeks prior to that to visit him in the Veteran’s Hospital. Later we came down often to use Rich’s home, particularly in 1994 after I had had a bypass operation. We fell in love with Florida and Shore Acres thanks to Rich and Shirley’s generosity. In 1996 we purchased the home we now live in, though we didn’t move in until September of 1997. So we owe Rich and Shirley for bringing us to Florida, and to this particular area which we now call ‘home.’
In addition to all the above we did have a good week at Tracy and Walt’s home in Ardsley. We watch their son Eric quarterback his 115 lbs. football team, saw son Paul off to practice Lacrosse and watched grandson Dave pack his refurbished truck for his trip back to college. After returning from North Wildwood we had an all day get together at my daughter Mary’s in Yardley with all of my gang. So it was a good trip for the most part but I agreed, as I heard John Denver sing the next day driving somewhere “Oh, its great to be back home again!” Pax Tecum