The drive from Atlanta is only 85 miles south on I-75. You could follow that south to Tampa, Sarasota, Naples and finally Miami. But Macon was going to be enough for this trip honoring Susan Conway’s life which began at 607 College Avenue, a stately two-story home with wrought iron wrap around porches, expansive lawns, white picket fence and enormous evergreens and magnolias. But I get ahead of myself.
The highway out of the enormous Hartfield-Jackson Airport is circuitous and confusing if GPS was not engaged. The traffic moves like a hive of African ants over terrain spooling out in asphalt ribbons through the pine forests and upheaved piles of famous Georgia red clay. For minutes at a time, the traffic held the arrival time in check. I was somewhat anxious but also excited to be present to honor my friend. She, who kept traditions and protocol alive. Her own soirées were carefully managed yet sublimely informal. Her introductions subtle, warm and welcoming. The flowers, plates, silver, napkins, glassware, the bar all set up in advance giving a guest the sense of just something having been thrown together yet oh, so elegant. To be in attendance was to feel special.
I thought of all these things and all the people who I had met at one of these evenings. “Drinks.” She would say and all would know they were lucky and would see familiars but also most likely meet someone very interesting or a young relative she was moving forward in life.
Billboards line the highway and occasionally a brackish swamp is passed over. But mostly second, third or fourth grown forests – it’s not unusual to see a semi loaded with raw, fresh cut pines, the rough bark still adhered, the sap gathering around the stumps. And all the other cars, who know where they are headed?
I booked a hotel on the Mercer University campus fairly close to the historic downtown. A lovely campus, heavily treed with traditional brick buildings, a quad and lively co-eds. It’s spring after all. The first destination was 607 College Avenue, the house I heard so many stories about, where Susan grew up. And surely if I could have I would have roamed through the sheltered home surrounded by porches and large windows, wrought ironwork all bordered by a white picket fence, a long green wall along the alley that encompasses the massive back garden
designed and planted by Susan’s mother, Pauline(Polly) Pierce Corn. Susan’s great grandfather George Foster Pierce was a founder of the other college in Macon, Wesleyan College in 1836, originally Georgia Female College. I learned about Susan’s connection with the college after mentioning a book I had read, The Secret Eye, the journal of Ella Gertrude Clanton Thomas 1848-1889. The author of these journals grew up in a rich household in Augusta, on a plantation with over 200 enslaved people. She attended Georgia Female College and I mentioned it to Susan and she told me about her connection. The book chronicles the author’s life before and after the Civil War (she learned she did not like doing dishes) and how she rebuilt her life. A fascinating read. Anyway, getting back to the garden, Polly Corn wrote a garden column for fifty years in the Macon Telegraph and News. A collection of her writing was printed in a publication called Garden Ventures. Susan gifted me a copy.
Back to 607 College Avenue. The neighboring homes are equally as large and elaborate with porticos that once must have welcomed buggies. It is not difficult to imagine the staffs needed to keep things tip top. Susan talked about her nanny Georgia who was by her side throughout childhood. She mentioned the servants would not allow her to help with the washing because “young ladies had to have soft lovely hands.”
Next was the church. Christ Church of Macon, 582 Walnut Street. Established in 1825. An overwhelmingly tranquil and spiritual place complete with massive stained glass windows (including a rare Louis Comfort TIffany window of the Good Samaritan parable.) The current church bell was installed in 1868. The original having been donated toward the efforts of the confederacy. This is where Susan attended church no doubt in white gloves and a hat. Her service was very traditional, including communion and having grown up attending Methodist and Protestant churches the hymns came back, the words, the melodies. Amazing Grace just as a start.
Rose Hill Cemetery, established in 1840 was designed to be both a public park and also a cemetery. They hilly terrain makes for magnificent vistas filled with broken down monuments and wild flowers that have naturalized amongst the iron work, stone walls and cracked ornaments. The statuary is regal and poignant. The names and dates provide a history of our country. There is a massive hillside of confederate soldiers and a monument to the “women of the confederacy.”
Then the signs about the Allman Brothers popped up. What? Turns out Duane and Greg Allman are buried there as they hail from Macon! In the historic district the Grant Lounge, (the birthplace of Southern Rock) fostered mixed racial gatherings in the early seventies and also fostered music talents. Little Richard and Otis Redding! Both from Macon. Both played at the Grant. Along with the Allman Brothers, Marshall Tucker Band and Tom Petty. Who knew? Of course I had to visit the gravesites. A worn path over the grass has been worn and a fence erected but of course there are bandanas, notes and other momentos tied to the fence.
In a rambling aside (pun intended) Macon intersects with Highway 41. Having lived in Sarasota (on Highway 41) just a stone’s throw from Bradenton and Anna Maria Island where the “boys” hung out and played in a barn at jam sessions(did Dickie Betts live in Bradenton?) I always thought the Highway 41 was referring to my experience of it. Full circle to find out it referred to Macon, Georgia. But then if I had really paid attention to the lyrics…
I was alone in the cemetery that evening for about an hour and a half. I looked for a place that showed where Susan’s burial was going to take place but it was too convoluted and twisting to find it. That was for after the service.
I ate at the Piedmont distillery just down the street from the Grant Lounge which is still run by its original owners. Back at the hotel I got a nightcap and began to talk with Erica the bartender. It turns out her parents are the owners of the Grant Lounge and she is doing history on it. We talked for a long time and I encouraged her to get an oral history.
Day of the service it was a perfect humid, hot Georgia day. The magnolias were blooming on massive grandifloras. But also in the air was the sweet scent of jasmine and honeysuckle, both in prolific bloom throughout the city. No doubt at Susan’s request.
Dan and his family were there with many cousins, aunts uncles and lots of other Pollys. I heard my name called so many times it took awhile to realize they weren’t talking to me.
After the service we all drove to cemetery for another short closure (I haven’t said The Lord’s Prayer twice in one day since…when?) Susan overlooks a large ravine heavily wooded. Her parents and brother Charles are also there.
The closure gave me peace. I had been missing our usual teeth gnashing at this time of year about whether or not to put the dahlias out yet, where to purchase the best annuals and whether or not it was time to set up the bar in the portale outside.
Rest in Peace Susan and thank you for all the incredible memories and friendships you nurtured over the years and countless meals and drinks you served us all! We miss you terribly.