I’m a bit late putting out this “daily” blog, but time got away from me and the amount of work I have to do on this project is immense… and school is a week and a half away.

I left Atlanta and headed to Clemson University, where I met with J. Brent Morris, the person who directed the National Endowment for the Humanities program that I give tons of credit to for changing the direction of my career. For awhile I’d been calling it the “third (and final) act,” but I suspect my post-teaching career — my “retirement” — will continue to focus on this work. Like I asked myself sitting alone in the Civil Rights Memorial center in Montgomery, “Have I done enough?” — the answer is no. The work must continue.

Brent also happened to write Dismal Freedom: A History of the Maroons of the Great Dismal Swamp, a book that came out last year. I interviewed him about the book for much longer than is probably acceptable for a podcast (that’s close to the top of the list in terms of things to do related to this project… after I deal with all the reporting requirements of the grant!). For those who don’t know, the Dismal is a giant swamp that is evenly split between North Carolina and Virginia. It was seemingly impenetrable to white settlers, but self-liberated Black men and women would use the swamp for a wide variety of reasons from temporary shelter to the building of permanent communities deep within the swamp where they had little to no contact with the outside world. In the book Brent shares a wide array of stories about individuals — as well as larger findings about the various groups of people — exhibiting the fundamental traits of agency, resistance, and resilience that are the center of my project.

Next I drove to Raleigh to meet with Peele Wimberley, who I mentioned on Day 3. Peele is the brother of Carmen Cauthen, who I spent much of that day with. In an incredible coincidence, I had spent much of the previous 48 hours listening to Peele’s drumming as I listened to the first seven albums from the Raleigh-based band The Connells. He heard about my project and the discovery of the crazy coincidence and reached out to me to let me know he’d be like to participate in the project. We met in the dive bar Circa 1888. I got there before Peele, and was wearing a shirt I’d bought from the Niagara Falls Underground Railroad Heritage Center last year that said “Black History Matters.” A guy playing pool was eyeing me for a bit before he got my attention and wanted to ask my opinion about BLM, before telling me that George Floyd died of a fentanyl overdose (he did not), and that somehow whatever Breanna Taylor might or might not have done outside the night she was murdered by police was super relevant to whether police had the right to break down her door. Just as I asked him whether it would be okay for him to defend himself if people broke down his door unannounced, Peele arrived and I made clear that I was done with the conversation… but not before he mentioned that he’d been arrested 19 times. (So I guess it would have been okay if police shot him, considering all the stuff he likely did?)

Peele and I talked for about two and a half hours. At least half of the conversation was about his time in the Connells. Some of my supposition about why he left the band proved to be on point, but there were pretty interesting anecdotes along the way. We had great fun talking about this trainwreck of an interview, along with the somewhat bizarre aftermath (which has gotten stranger upon doing a bit of Internet browsing, but that’s a story for another day, or perhaps best kept private). We also talked about his journey as an individual, his childhood, figuring out who he was as a person, why leaving the band was a part of that journey, and how race is intermingled with just about everything. And we talked about his role as a producer, record label owner, and music in general. The entirety of the conversation would have made for a great podcast, but it wasn’t for public consumption, instead serving as a preliminary for a more formal sit-down we will have in September.

I then headed over to Shane O’Donnell and Jennifer Mansfield’s home and was super impressed to learn that they knew quite a bit about the Great Dismal Swamp, having read an article and listened to a podcast that was likely focusing on Daniel Sayers, the archaeologist whose project was pivotal for Brent’s research. I was able to share some stories from the book with them and sold at least one more copy for Dr. Morris.

Early the next morning I got up to race across the state to Edenton which was the home of Harriet Jacobs, the author of Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl. Along with two other people, I was given a tour of the gorgeous town of Edenton, focusing on the locations where Harriet’s incredible story unfolded. Born into slavery, she suffered unwelcome sexual advances from her enslaver as early as age 12. His interest made his jealous wife take out her frustrations on Harriet as well, making her already terrible life circumstances even worse. There’s a ton more to her saga, but it culminates in her escaping and hiding in her grandmother’s tiny attic for seven years. It’s pretty clear that she would have come out of hiding from time to time at night, but would have to be scrupulously careful. She stayed close because by that point she had children. She escaped to the north and was eventually reunited with her children. During the Civil War she returned to the occupied part of the South and helped organize two schools for formerly enslaved people and stayed active in feminist and civil rights circles until her death in 1897. I didn’t realize she was buried in Cambridge, Massachusetts, otherwise I would have visited her gravesite during my various trips to Boston and the surrounding area.

I then got in my car for the final drive of 7 and a half hours. Except, I ultimately made an unexpected stop when I saw signs for the Great Dismal Swamp visitors center! Somehow I had no idea it was located on the final leg of my trip. Because I wanted to avoid driving in the night (after many hours in the car), I kept my visit short. Today the swamp has dozens of miles of walking trails. One can even rent a kayak to explore the canal (more on that in the upcoming interview). It actually looks lovely, particularly if you brought along some bug spray. And in a way, it is lovely, as the swamp should be considered hallowed ground where so many Black women, men, and children found ways to exercise control over their lives in the face of great oppression.

My work on this project is just beginning. I mean that regarding the culling together of photos, interviews, and even video that I took into podcasts, videos, and instructional materials. I also have to do follow-up interviews with about a dozen people. But there’s no way that I will be able to stop there. There are so many more stories of agency and resilience to explore, and most importantly, to share. Stay tuned.

After checking out of my last motel of the trip, I headed over to Mavis Tire to get a replacement for the blown out tire. I spent a couple hours in their surprisingly large and quiet waiting room reading and preparing for an upcoming interview. The damage wasn’t as bad financially as I thought it might be (and zero pressure to upsale me on a matching set!), so I headed out for my day at a reasonable hour. After getting my coffee, I headed for downtown Birmingham.

The first stop of the walking tour was the 16th Street Baptist Church. Talk about starting off big. This was the site of the bombing on September 15, 1963 that took the life of four young girls. I’ll pause here to write their names, something a whole lot of websites do not bother to do: 14-year-olds Addie Mae Collins, Denise McNair, Carole Robertson, and 11-year-old Cynthia Wesley. Addie’s sister Sarah was also there, but she survived, losing her right eye. On the same day in Birmingham two boys were killed by likely white supremacists:

“13-year-old Virgil Ware was riding on the handlebars of his brother’s bike when he was struck by two bullets and collapsed on the ground. His killer – 16-year-old Larry Sims – served just six months in a juvenile detention center. 16-year-old Johnnie Robinson was shot in the back by a police officer. The officer alleged Robinson was throwing rocks at cars.” [wbrc.com]

More on the justice system in a bit.

I interrupted the tour because I realized the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute was right across the street. It was the other item on my agenda, and I wasn’t positive if the walking tour would make a full loop. The one in Montgomery did not. As it turned out this one circled back around through the park caddy corner to the church.

The Civil Rights Institute was both overwhelming and underwhelming. It started off a bit disappointing, with an 8-minute film that clearly was produced quite awhile ago. The opening room had some nice period items in it, but I was particularly “meh” about the recreated history like the white and Black classrooms that were mere demos. I have no question they were accurate in spirit, but it’s less impactful when it’s essentially a simulation. There was a room that featured a long string of white supremacist quotations that I assume were read by actors. They didn’t shy away from the n-word, which I thought was an interesting choice. Assuming the quotations were derived from real statements, it was powerful. But there was no accompanying text indicating that these were real quotes and not imagined ones.

Once the museum took on a more chronological approach, it was clearly fact-based and quite powerful. There were a lot of strong exhibits, but for me the room on the Freedom Rides was most impactful. I forgot to circle back to the Freedom Riders museum in Montgomery and had that hanging over me when I entered the first room and at least felt I got some of the experience I would have had. My teacher brain suggested to me that I start my AP Gov class with the subject matter as a way to introduce federalism. I’ve often talked about Little Rock as an example, but I’m just bored with that. Why not introduce my students to some history that they may not have spent time with in the previous history class?

I should mention that all of these exhibits were in significant need of updating. Besides the lack of person-first language (they really loved to say “Blacks” instead of “Black people,” among other things), everything about the placards reeked of 1990s style. The content overall was good, but it just felt old compared to the other museums I’d been to on the trip.

The final room was quite modern and included a fascinating exhibit on the road to justice for the men who were responsible for the bombing of the church I opened with. Former Senator Doug Jones was the primary prosecutor of the case that saw two of the perpetrators go to prison where they would die. Justice came late to those men, but ultimately they got what they deserved. It doesn’t do a thing to wipe away the tragedy, but does provide a small dose of feeling good about the potential for our country to atone for its sins.

I then drove to Atlanta to stay with the mighty Jeff Jensen and family. I got to watch his band ambulette rehearse before returning to my quiet room for some rest for the big day 12 ahead.

After saying goodbye to New Orleans and paying my ridiculously expensive hotel parking, I drove 45 minutes to Whitney Plantation, a truly remarkable place that solely focuses on the experience of the enslaved population as well as teaching about the German Coast Rebellion and the maroons of the region. The audio tour took over an hour, and was utterly gripping. They have an impressive number of buildings that are still standing from slavery as well as ones that were built shortly after the Civil War. The content was absolutely impeccable. I was struck by the words of the plantation’s executive director who explained a wide array of ways in which enslaved people resisted. Her words were exactly in line with how I teach the subject, and essentially a summary of what my current project is all about. I’m hopeful I will be able to get her on my podcast to talk about Whitney Plantation’s approach to telling history and the larger story of nearly every action taken by enslaved people being a form of resistance.

At some point during my planning I got super ambitious and added a stop in Natchez, Mississippi, but ultimately decided last night to scale back my ambition. And it’s a good thing, as I had a 5 1/2 hour drive to Birmingham — and an hour away from my motel I had a blowout on the highway. I pulled over under an overpass, but the combination of 98 degree weather and scarcely any room on the shoulder led me to choose not to change the tire on my own. Roadside assistance arrived an hour later and helped me put on my wonderful doughnut. I arrived at my motel, checked in, and found my room right by the pool and icemaker with a bunch of kids making all sorts of noise. It seemed like a recipe for disaster, but after I went out to grab some food and came back, the kids were gone and everything seemed quiet.

Tomorrow I’ll be doing an early morning walking tour of Birmingham and will visit a museum or two.

Today I participated in two tours, first a canned walking tour of the French Quarter that focused on the very topic of my overall project – Black resistance, both enslaved and free. There were an array of interesting stories, some that I would like to follow up on regarding the maroons who lived on the outskirts of the city as well as unsung individual enslaved people who sought decent lives, with or without freedom. Although I went early in the morning, the weather app indicated that it “felt like 105 degrees.” By the time I got back to my hotel room — 10:30 am — I had nearly 11,500 steps and all of my clothing was completely sopping wet with sweat.

Naturally I showered and took some time to relax and rehydrate. In the early afternoon I drove over to Chris Dier’s house. Chris is an award-winning educator I met through my recent participation in the National Education Association Foundation’s Global Leader Fellowship program (my trip to South Africa). I should mention that I plan to do a blog for that trip as well, but I ran out of time after the trip and needed to start working on plans for the current trip.

Chris is not only a social studies teacher, but an activist and author of a book on the history of the St. Bernard Parish massacre. What’s that, you never heard of this massacre? Neither has anyone else, but his investigative work uncovered a story local to him about an out-and-out act of sadistic violence and terrorism carried out by the white power structure against Black men, women, and children. Chris brought me to the grave of one the handful of white men who lost their lives in the atrocity (the vast majority of those killed were Black), and I’ll share the shocking epitaph on his gravesite in an upcoming podcast.

Much of the tour focused on the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina and the amazing resilience of the Black community here in New Orleans. He also shared with me the story of an entire Black community dating back to Reconstruction that was forced to relocate by the National Park Service in an effort to preserve land that was part of the Battle of New Orleans. Chris also showed me a similar Reconstruction-era community that has managed to persevere through an endless series of challenges, including the aforementioned massacre. I recorded Chris’s tour and it will comprise part of an upcoming podcast, although I’ll also likely have him sit for a more traditional Q&A session.

I finished the evening with another walk down Bourbon Street. This time I watched more live musicians, although on Sunday, the street sees a fraction of the normal foot traffic. My time in New Orleans was an interesting combination of conventional tourism, history, and some off-the-beaten trail visits. Tomorrow I will finish my time in Louisiana with what promises to be a sobering trip to Whitney Plantation. Then, onto Birmingham.

I had quite a day today. It started at the Equal Justice Initiative’s Legacy Museum: From Enslavement to Mass Incarceration. I can say with no hint of exaggeration, it was one of the most impactful experiences of my life, up there with Yad Vashem, the Washington DC Holocaust Museum, and the African American History Museum (also in DC). From the opening rooms that give sensory placement about the Middle Passage to the powerful descriptions of over 4,000 lynchings (which they’ve documented) to the powerful exhibit of modern mass incarceration, the two hours I spent there flew by. I hadn’t allotted that much time, but I absolutely HAD to spend it there. It could have easily been three of four hours, but I had several other visits on my agenda. I’m typically exhausted from museums after an hour — physically more than mentally. I had none of those sensations at this remarkable place.

There’s an exhibit of large glass bottles containing dirt with the names of lynching victims on each. At first I thought it was merely a powerful artistic expression, but an accompanying film showed that EJI has had descendants and other relevant parties go to the sites of the various lynchings to gather dirt from roughly the spot of the murders. While it’s ultimately “just” symbolic, it was one of about 15 things that had me in tears.

I was the first person in the museum and for awhile I had the place to myself, except for the many guards on duty making sure people didn’t take photographs or do anything inappropriate. I had the urge to engage all of them in conversation to talk about how the museum was impacting me, but also felt the need to navigate the tendency for white people to make the suffering of marginalized minorities somehow about them and their guilt or other feelings. I mostly resisted the temptation.

I could go on for many paragraphs about the museum, but frankly think it needs to be experience. By everyone. Yes, it’s Montgomery, Alabama, a place many of my friends and colleagues feel they should avoid. I’m telling you, this museum alone is worth a trip to Alabama.

The accompanying peace and justice memorial is extremely powerful. It’s outside, and unlike the museum, photography is allowed. At some point, I’ll revise and alter my blog, adding in the many photographs I’ve taken. The centerpiece of the memorial are pillars that list the names of counties and the litany of lynching victims, including names (when they have them) and dates. It’s overwhelming. Remember, somewhere in the neighborhood of 4,400 lynchings have been documented by EJI (with many more likely, just currently unknown and lost to undocumented history). As you walk through the installation, the ground slopes downward and the pillars suddenly are no longer attached to the ground. I’m not quick when it comes to artistic interpretation, but it very quickly struck me that these pillars had become the men, women, and children hanging from the branches of trees. The tears came once again, and once more, I wanted to avoid making a spectacle of myself. I wanted to read the names of every person, but it became physically impossible, not to mention the heat and both the physical and emotional exhaustion that was overtaking me. What an amazing place.

Next stop, a break from civil rights: the Hank Williams museum. It’s relatively small, but the place is so chock full of memorabilia that it’s quite amazing. They don’t allow any photography, but I’d recommend it to anyone who understands his important place in music history. They had a lot of information about his descendants, but I noted nary a mention of Hank III. I can’t help but wonder if the owners of the museum have an issue with his music (or whatever else). I then took a short trip to the graveyard where Hank and his wife were buried.

My last stop in Montgomery was the First White House of the Confederacy. It’s a free museum, so I figured I’d check it out. I really wanted to know if they were apologists or if they had developed a somewhat nuanced take on history. I basically encountered a preserved home (or refurbished with lots of replicas) and plenty of information about the inhabitants, with no mention of slavery. Little mention of the Civil War, actually, until I climbed the stairs to the second floor. There were some very problematic statements in one room about the causes of the Civil War, a well-preserved Confederate flag, and various pieces that seemed to be apologist in nature. I went back downstairs to the gift shop (with no intention of giving them a penny). I had noted the caretaker there had been in animated conversation with two guests, sharing all sorts of stories, and I dreaded telling him why I was there. Fortunately he had left the shop unattended. I noted a children’s book about an enslaved boy… whose enslaver was Jefferson Davis. I flipped the book open to a page where the boy was being grabbed by two American soldiers. I furtively read the text and took out my phone to snap a photo. I quickly took a photo of the next page which detailed his frustration that he was unable to go “home” to his “family.” The last page, which I didn’t take a photo of talked about Jefferson Davis worrying about the plight of poor little Jim, and a post-script saying his fate was an unanswered mystery. So horrible, so gross.

I then drove 4 and a half hours to New Orleans. I’m staying in the nicest hotel of the many on my trip (most have been borderline fleabag motels) in the central business district, a half mile walk to the French Quarter. After checking in (it’s only $45 a night for parking, ugh), I walked to the French Quarter and checked out Bourbon Street. Much less jazz than I expected, maybe four places playing some incarnation of the genre, with most live music being something more modern, including one bar where the band was playing “Blue Collar Man” by Styx, a song I performed at an early Themestock. I was tempted to buy one of the popular drinks — hurricanes or hand grenades, but ended up buying a strawberry pina colada slushy to drink while I strolled up and down. I ended up at a nice little restaurant a block away from bourbon and got the most amazing red beans and rice with sausage. The bartender was from Serbia and we had a nice conversation. He made me an original drink he came up with on the fly, giving me quite the buzz (I’m a complete lightweight). I was fairly close to the hotel, so I returned, knowing I will be back in that area tomorrow night before departing from New Orleans on Monday morning.

It was a long drive from Savannah to Montgomery, but I didn’t encounter any traffic along the way. I would end up hitting several long standstills in Montgomery itself when I was headed to a museum, despite the fact that the business district was all but deserted by the time I got there. Ah, a theme will be developed, but wait for it.

My first stop was at the Tuskegee Airmen National Historic Site. It’s a little weirdly designed; you park atop a hill and then walk a long ways to get to the historic hangars. The first of the two main buildings is still set up like a hangar with two planes in it and a variety of interactive displays. I should mention I was the only person in the building other than the one ranger on duty. In the second building, which is much more like a museum and education center, I encounter one couple with a dog, the ranger on duty, and two employees in the small gift shop (they actually limit it to five people at a time in the gift shop, though that obviously wasn’t an issue). I learned quite a bit about the Airmen — and women whose jobs included mechanics. Apparently some were from New Jersey, and “Tuskegee Airmen” applied to men who would get trained at various places around the country — including New Jersey. I took a bunch of photos which I’ll share with the US 2 teachers in the event they want to develop some activities.

After checking in at my hotel outside the city proper, I drove to the Civil Rights Memorial Center, which is a product of the Southern Poverty Law Center. They have a beautiful monument designed by Maya Lin and a relatively modest museum (in the sense that it doesn’t take long to see all the exhibits). The centerpiece of the museum is a terrific film that is intended to inspire — and largely does — by juxtaposing our recent history of racial tragedies with a variety of Black activists and non-Black allies carrying on the civil rights movement. I found myself in tears for probably three different reasons: the weight of the litany of tragedies, inspiration of these awesome young people, and questioning whether I’d done enough in my allyship and in my role as an educator. I think I know the answer is “no,” but I’m not done. By the way, I was the only patron in the museum the entire hour I was there.

I then took an audio walking tour which brought me to the site where Rosa Parks boarded the bus that would result in her arrest, along with a variety of other sites connected to Dr. King and other civil rights heroes. I’m not sure I learned all that much from the audio tour, but it was powerful to walk in the same places as these giants. And for fun, I got to eat at Chris’s Famous Hotdogs, a restaurant that goes back at least 70 years and was the favorite of many a Montgomery luminary. For the first time — really, my first time — I got a hot dog with the works. Sauerkraut, onions, chili. It was good, though I really don’t need anything more than either mustard or ketchup. Yep, I’m a heathen.

Tomorrow I’ll hit up two museums – the Legacy Museum and the Hank Williams Museum. I am not sure the second exactly fits my prime directive on this trip, but I’m not missing it. Who knows when I’ll ever be back in Montgomery?

In the morning, I visited a number of places in Beaufort that I hadn’t gotten to previously, including the John Mark Verdier House Museum which has a room dedicated to Robert Smalls. Because of the interest in Smalls, but the fact that the museum focuses on mostly other things, they don’t allow people to just walk through. I didn’t have time for the tour and was initially denied the chance to take a peek, but a docent was kind enough to ask someone who worked for the Historic Beaufort organization to throw me a bone and they did. I spent just a few minutes in the room looking at a desk that he used at the customs office, but more interesting was their replica of The Planter, the ship Smalls stole and turned over to the American army. I had not realize the size of the ship, which made the feat all the more impressive. They also had a killer image of Smalls where he truly looked like a badass. I have to see if that image, and some others they had, are online. The women who escorted me indicated there were a considerable number of images available.

I forgot that the Emancipation Oak was literally on a military base and inaccessible to the general public. This is the site where the Emancipation Proclamation was read to a gathering of enslaved Black people on January 1, 1863. It’s really a sin that this isn’t something the public can go see. I was able to visit there six years ago when the NEH program got special permission. I have to see if I have photos I took from then to use in this project.

I then drove to Savannah, thinking I had ample time to park and meet with my tour guide, but traffic was awful and construction in the city blocked my access to a number of public parking places. I settled for street parking and then ran (my knee is finally healthy enough to sort of allow a run). I then took a wrong turn and realized a few blocks away, turned around and ran again. I got to the meeting place about four minutes late, but my guide was nowhere to be found. It took me five minutes to find the phone number, and when I called I was greeted by an answering machine with a three-minute message before I could leave a message. I explained what happened, asked if there was any chance we could reschedule, and if not, if I could have a refund of the $43 I’d spent.

In a way it was a relief. I don’t know whether it was the running that did it or what, but I felt a bit sick and extra sensitive to the heat. I was surprised to see it was “only” 88 degrees after having suffered through several 95 degree days. Ultimately the thought of walking an hour or longer through the heat of the city held little appeal so I didn’t do a self-guided tour either. Instead I found my motel room on the outskirts of the city and cooled off for an hour or two.

Then I made my way to a seafood take-out location and had a lovely shrimp and scallops combo. I didn’t have it in me to go back to Savannah’s downtown so instead visited a few thrift stores before heading back to my room to do some reading.

Not a very productive day for the project, but they can’t all be winners. Tomorrow I plan to take a leisurely pace on my way to Montgomery, Alabama. I don’t have any interviews schedule there, but plan to see an array of sights connected to the Civil Rights movement, and hope to catch up with my friend who lives there.

I returned to Beaufort, South Carolina for the first time in six years. The program on Reconstruction that I did through the National Endowment for Humanities in the summer of 2017 was pivotal for me as an educator, changing my perspective in numerous ways and putting me on the path to this very trip. At some point I’ll write something longer form about my trajectory, but it’s somewhat challenging for me to write even these entries while I’m on the road. Especially difficult considering what happened today (tease).

I started the morning by visiting Penn Center, an amazing place that was created in 1862 as part of the problematically-named “Port Royal Experiment.” Reconstruction began here in the early days of the war. To help my students, I’ve been calling it Preconstruction, the first attempts at envisioning a post-war world without legal barriers to equality. At Penn, they not only started a school for Black children, but ultimately developed a fully sustainable community. There’s so much more to talk about regarding Penn Center, but I’ll dig into that with some future work.

At the welcome center, I encountered Ms. Gardenia Simmons-White, a volunteer who was welcoming guests. She turns 89 later this year, but could easily pass for someone 20 years younger. She actually attended school in the 1940s and early 1950s at Penn Center, used that education to get into Hunter College and became a registered nurse. She returned to St. Helena Island (which is where Penn Center is located) thirty years ago and has been giving back to Penn Center and the community ever since.

Ms. Simmons-White told me about an idyllic-sounding, self-sustaining community where they grew their own food, built the housing, and provided all the services the community needed. She emphasized how respect was instilled in the students at Penn, and a certain selflessness came out of their living circumstances. We talked both about the history of Penn Center during Reconstruction and as a blissfully isolated location during the worst days of Jim Crow. She indicated that when she learned about the civil rights movement, and saw violent images of the resistance to it, there was a bit of bewilderment as it was so foreign to her experience.

And I managed to not record a second of the conversation because I’m a dolt. I thought I was recording… but I wasn’t.

I also visited the burial plot of Robert Smalls, located in Beaufort at a church that he attended (I’ll have to check to see if he actually founded it, since he did pretty much everything a person could do in life).

And then I visited the Robert Smalls house, where I was met by one of the owners of the house, the inimitable Billy Keyserling. I had met “Mayor Billy” six years ago as part of the NEH program. I knew him as a larger-than-life character, but I would end up spending about four hours with him, first at the house and then at a late lunch in Port Royal. Billy walked me through the house, explaining the architecturally history, that the modern house is nearly twice as big as the original home, and that only a portion of the additional house was added by Smalls. We talked about the original owner, how upon his death, Smalls used the money rewarded to him for stealing The Planter to buy the home. The late man’s widow, suffering from Alzheimer’s showed up one day thinking it was still her home, and rather than turn her away, Smalls provided a room for her (although it’s unclear which one).

After gathering more stories about Smalls, I asked about the challenges he was facing regarding the use of the home. There have been several lawsuits – from both neighbors and the Historic Beaufort people – who disagree on how the house should be used. Because the home is in a residential community, making it a museum is out of the question. Instead, he wants to have someone live in the home and maintain it, while keeping the first floor’s front two rooms empty (unless they can acquire the original furniture from the Smithsonian). Then there would be a small number of timed, guided tours of the front rooms.

The conversation then steered towards Billy’s background. He comes from a long line of accomplished individuals whose example provided his moral compass, which led him to three terms as mayor and a dizzying array of projects designed to teach and preserve the real history of Beaufort.

And AGAIN I managed to screw up and not record anything. I plan to re-interview Billy online to talk about some of the things we already chatted about, but there’s a good chance we’ll cover lots of new ground.

In the evening I went to a bar and played trivia, at first by myself, but eventually teamed up with a local who was on his own as well. As it turned out he was a history major before taking another path. It was a good distraction from my disappointment during the day.

I had to get up at 5:30am to rush over to Drayton Hall, which is about 20 miles outside of Charleston. They are closed on Tuesdays, but the staff is working and they were gracious enough to invite me to come for a private tour. I met with Amber Satterthwaite, the curator of education and museum affairs at the historic site. We had a great talk and she shared a number of fascinating stories about the enslaved people at Drayton Hall, including the story of Carolina a male enslaved person who was a highly skilled mason who had attempted to liberate himself NINE times. (Think about that — often times an enslaved person who tried to self-liberate would be hobbled in such a way as to make it difficult for them to flee. In Carolina’s case, it seems like his enslaver so valued his work and worth that dealing with Carolina escaping periodically was just part of the cost of doing business.)

I then headed to Charleston and visited the Denmark Vesey statue in Hampton Park. It was unbelievably hot, but the setting of the statue absolutely beautiful. My next stop was the International African American Museum where I met up with Professor Bernie Powers, who I’d met two times previously at back-to-back National Endowment for the Humanities programs. Bernie was instrumental in the development of the museum and he took me on a personal tour, pointing out the rationale for the museum’s focus and layout. Much of the museum’s focus is on South Carolina and Charleston, but it’s reach constantly stretches out across the ocean. The museum itself is absolutely gorgeous. Right on the water (for very specific reasons), it has both thematic and chronological exhibits which manage to densely pack a lot of information in without feeling overwhelming.

Before we headed outside to have a more direct one-on-one interview, we walked past the gift shop where a single book was on display, Black Freedom in the Age of Slavery by John Garrison Marks. I’d actually already alluded to the book earlier in our discussion, both because I learned a lot about Charleston when I read the book, but also because John was my former student and I rarely pass on a chance to brag about him. Bernie was quite familiar with the book, and when he saw just one on display noted that they’d had a bunch of the books, but they must have been sold.

I then headed to my motel, which was one of the sleaziest accommodations I’ve ever seen. I won’t go into too much detail, but I was able to cancel the booking and drive the hour and ten minutes to Beaufort I had been planning to drive in the morning. Two nights in Beaufort instead of one? Yes, please.

This entry is going to take a massive detour, but it’s worth it. When I initially conceived of my podcast, I was going to be the proverbial obsessive fan who loved a movie, a TV show, or an album from ten, twenty, or more years ago and convinced a key creator to indulge me for 45 minutes or longer about that particular project. The deepest of dives into Steven Conrad’s Patriot or Ring by the Connells. Well, it so happens that the Connells are celebrating the 30th (!) anniversary of that album and I very much want to interview Mike Connell, the band’s principle songwriter and titular leader. I’ve been nagging management and hope they’ll say yes, because I’ll ask him really good questions that he hasn’t answered a million times. In preparation for that possibility, I downloaded over a dozen interviews with Mike and the band’s lead singer Doug McMillan. After dropping Lily off in Baltimore, all I listened to on the drive to Richmond and from Richmond to Raleigh were these interviews and the band’s entire discography (kinda, sorta nine albums). File that away.

I arrived at the Mount Hope Cemetery in Raleigh at 9:30am where I met up with Alan Welsh, an Oklahoma transplant who has spent thousands of hours delving into the history of Black people in Raleigh. He pored over the transcripts of Works Progress Administration interviews with previously enslaved people and then used various clues to make determinations about the locations of events described, and then filled out their geneaology forward. In numerous cases he has contacted descendants of enslaved people to share their stories with them. Alan told me a dozen different fascinating stories, several of which are likely to be included in podcasts, videos, and mini-lesson plans in the near future.

A little after 10 am, Carmen Cauthen arrived. Carmen is a dynamo of a woman who was my initial contact in Raleigh. Last year she published a book about the history of Black families in Raleigh, and her historical and political work continues. Her family dates back numerous generations and she and Alan shared a variety of stories with me about the Wimberleys and a couple of other names I’ve forgotten. At one point they alluded to Boylan Avenue, and I thought to myself “Ah, like Boylan Heights, the second Connells album.”

We spent nearly two hours in the heat outdoors and all had enough. I met up with my friend Hal Haygood for lunch and then headed to his house, where I’d stay the night. I had some vague aspirations to drive to Durham to see the Historic Stagville plantation with its slave quarters, but the heat was enough of a disincentive to just hang out with the Haygood clan. At 5:30pm, I headed over to Carmen’s house for dinner.

Carmen had invited four extremely cool people, the owner of Black bookstore for children, a college professor, and a journalist (all of whom were Black) and a white school administrator, as well as Alan. For over two hours the conversation covered various issues related to race, ranging from finding a working definition for agency to building a sense of community and the enduring role of Black women in making so much possible. I recorded the entire conversation and am tempted to air much of it unedited, but ultimately I’ll be judicious in pulling out key clips that will contribute to my larger project.

Nearing 9pm, I could barely keep my eyes open. A couple people had already left, so I didn’t feel too bad about announcing I’d have to go. But before I left, I was asked how I’d met Carmen. I said “Google,” which was true, but then expanded on my answer: “I had plans in both Richmond and Charleston, but figured I’d stop in Raleigh rather than have an epice drive. As I have a bunch of friends in Raleigh — we’re all musicians…” at which point Carmen said, “Oh? What kind of music.” I said, “Rock” and she said, “Have you ever heard of the band The Connells?”

“Have I ever heard of the Connells??” I explained that instead of listening to podcasts or audiobooks, all I’d been doing was immersing myself in the band. Carmen said, “You know my brother was the band’s drummer for like 15 years.” Suddenly, I remembered why the name Wimberley sounded familiar… Peele Wimberley, of course! We then talked about the band for a bit, and everything got increasingly surreal as I’d found someone who not only knew the song ’74-’75, but that it had been a big hit in Germany and Scandinavia. I asked Carmen if she knew David Menconi, the Raleigh-based journalist, and she said, “Oh yeah, I know David…” Of course she does. I asked if she knew about the update of the video that he had been involved with, but she did not. I told her to google his name and the song, but since I like you guys, here’s the awesome update along the lines of the Michael Apted “Up” documentary series.

Peele’s no longer with the band and will be touring with another show at the time of the 30th anniversary concerts, so it’s not like knowing his sister gets me an in, but what a bizarre coincidence. Not only did I know the band, I’d spent something like 15 hours listening to them in the last two days.