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February 2022 DEPARTMENTS 12 From the Editor
By Mary Best
17 Simple Life
By Jim Dodson
18 Short Stories 21 Tea Leaf Astrologer
By Zora Stellanova
22 Life’s Funny
By Maria Johnson
24 The Omnivorous Reader
By Anne Blythe
28 The Creators of N.C.
By Wiley Cash
35 Home by Design
By Cynthia Adams
36 Pleasures of Life
By David Claude Bailey
39 Birdwatch
By Susan Campbell
41 Wandering Billy
By Billy Eye
100 Events Calendar 112 O.Henry Ending By Georgianna Penn
FEATURES 45
Long Homestead in Winter
46
Colors of Love Poetry
54
Sticking With It
62
The Magnolia Network
75
Almanac
Poetry by Julian Long
By Maria Johnson How Englishman John Broadhurst walks his talk with art that harks to home By Cynthia Adams Historic haven reimagined as a vibrant motel By Ashley Walshe
Cover photograph
and photograph this
page by Amy Freeman
8 O.Henry
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
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M A G A Z I N E
Volume 12, No. 2 “I have a fancy that every city has a voice.” 336.617.0090 111 Bain Street, Suite 334, Greensboro, NC 27406
www.ohenrymag.com PUBLISHER
David Woronoff david@thepilot.com Mary Best, Editor mary@ohenrymag.com Jim Dodson, Dog Lover-at-Large Andie Rose, Creative Director andie@thepilot.com
smile GIVE YOUR
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Cassie Bustamante, cassie@ohenrymag.com CONTRIBUTING EDITORS
Cynthia Adams, David Claude Bailey, Harry Blair, Amy Freeman, Maria Johnson CONTRIBUTING PHOTOGRAPHERS
Mallory Cash, Lynn Donovan, John Gessner, Bert VanderVeen, Mark Wagoner CONTRIBUTORS
Anne Blythe, Susan Campbell, Wiley Cash, Jason Cooke, Billy Eye, Billy Ingram, Paul Jones, Gerry O’Neill, Jason Oliver Nixon, Ogi Overman, Georgianna Penn, Corrinne Rosquillo, Stephen E. Smith, Zora Stellanova, Ashley Walshe ADVERTISING SALES
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OWNERS Jack Andrews, Frank Daniels Jr., Frank Daniels III, Lee Dirks, David Woronoff © Copyright 2022. Reproduction in whole or in part without written permission is prohibited. O.Henry Magazine is published by The Pilot LLC
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
From The Editor
F
Mary Best Editor
mary@ohenrymag.com
12 O.Henry
ebruary is named after a Roman purification ceremony. In the spirit of starting with a clean slate, stories this month embrace that theme, with tributes to love poems, artistic expression and more. While I applaud these gallant efforts, for me, the second month of the year brings back memories that vacillate between Do the Right Thing and Fargo. Frankly, I’m not a cold weather girl. Here’s one reason why. Years ago, a few friends convinced me to go snow skiing. Never having been skiing, I thought why not? How bad could it be? Obviously, I didn’t think this through, given that I can’t keep my balance on a straight sidewalk on drought-laden July afternoon. The problem was that my friends didn’t know what I didn’t know. After all, they grew up on Alpine slopes. And, in turn, I didn’t realize how much they thought I knew. When we topped the expert slope, I was transported to what seemed suspiciously like the Ardennes in 1945. Not to mention that I had put the skis on the wrong feet, barely caught the ski chairlift thing and then was told to jump at what seemed like eight feet from the lift while it never even slowed down. Who jumps off a moving vehicle while it’s in motion? Before Axl had blared out the first verse of “Welcome to the Jungle,” my first — and only — romp down the ice-glazed suicide path propelled me into a mountain of snow that felt like the Donner Pass. My descent (literally and figuratively) continued as I repeatedly crashed into skiers and unforeseeable moguls. The stupid skis kept coming off, while members of the poor ski patrol tried in vain to escort me to an exit ramp. Nice folks, but the horror on their faces reminded me of the final moments of a Hitchcock movie. On television, it all looked so easy. I finally traversed the hill to an icy area where, with graceless, uncontrollable acceleration, I crashed into the deck in front of the lodge. After the patrol team tended to my wounds, steadied me to my feet and located my skis, a member of the ski patrol approached and whispered: “Here’s $20, please go to bar, buy a few drinks and never come back.” They escorted my crackling and nearly hypothermic body to the bar, where they placed me in a comfortable booth. They were merciful enough to seat me by a window overlooking the slopes. From there, I watched my friends play like children, captured by the magic of falling flakes. Sitting there alone, having needed a respite, I cherished the warmth of each sip of a Kentucky Coffee. I’m almost certain O. Henry gave me a nod from above, as we watched and smiled. OH
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Simple Life
“The Chosen One” A red-tailed sentinel; the discovery of a spirit animal; and a faithful, four-legged soulmate
By Jim Dodson
Late in the afternoon on an unnaturally
ILLUSTRATION BY GERRY O'NEILL
warm New Year’s Eve, I hauled the last of autumn’s motherlode of leaves to the curb and sat down to rest on an iron bench at the back of the new shade garden I’ve spent hours building during the COVID pandemic.
My dog Mulligan walked over and sat down beside me. Mully, as I call her, is a wise old border collie of 16 who still walks a mile with us every morning before sunrise before spending much of her day in the garden keeping a sharp eye on things, including the head gardener. I call her my “God Dog,” the perfect palindrome for the joyful young stray I found running wild and free back in 2006. Our journey together has been a gift from the universe, which is why I officially named my garden for the old girl on Christmas morning. As we sat together beneath the old oak trees that arch over the yard like the beams from some ancient Druid’s lost cathedral, watching the final rays of the old year slip away, I followed her gaze up the huge white oak I call Honest Abe and discovered — rather startlingly — a large female red-tailed hawk sitting on a limb, not 20 feet above us. I’d seen this same handsome lady hawk several times that week. But never this close. Perhaps, like me, she was merely resting from a long afternoon of hunting and being harassed by a murder of pesky crows that behave like drunken teenagers in our neighborhood, enjoying a moment of peace and quiet to contemplate the end of another challenging year on the planet. Or maybe she was simply waiting for an early supper to appear, which could explain the sudden scarcity of squirrels, rabbits and chipmunks that normally scamper around our backyard at that hour. Given the timing of the moment, however, and the dramatic presence just feet above our heads, I had a slightly nobler thought. In Native American lore, hawks are considered sacred creatures that frequently appear as messengers from one’s ancestors, benevolent The Art & Soul of Greensboro
spirit animals sent to warn or offer a blessing. Almost every ancient culture on the planet, in fact, holds some version of this interpretation of hawks — noble creatures that symbolize clear-eyed sight and the urge for freedom. The knight-hero Gawain mentioned in the legend of Arthur — whose very name contains the Celtic word “gwalch,” which means hawk — sets off in search of the Holy Grail. Was this a message from my ancestors? A simple New Year warning or blessing being sent as the three of us — man, dog and scary mythic bird — sat calmly eyeballing each other from close range in the lengthening shadows of an unnaturally warm winter afternoon? Was it a final warning about the rapidly vanishing Arctic ice? Or welcome news that liberation from the killer virus might finally come in the days and weeks just ahead? Impossible to say. But either way, old Mully appeared to have her doubts about our visitor, keeping a wary custodial eye on the big bird in case she tried some funny business in her garden. In the meantime, I took out my smartphone to sneak a photograph and do a quick fact-check on spirit animals over the internet. I was surprised to find several websites designed to determine one’s own spirit animal through various lifestyle questions that sounded more like a personality test for a dating website. The first quiz I took revealed my spirit animal to be an owl. Not quite what I expected. The second, a turtle. Seriously? Finally, I became the 7,437,375th person to take the animated YouTube “soul animal” test that revealed my spirit animal is a bear. I’ll admit to being kind of bummed that no red-tailed hawk made my spirit animal menagerie. All three sites did agree on one thing, however — that spirit animals choose us rather than the other way around. When I finally glanced up from my phone, the lady red-tailed hawk had flown away. Maybe she was looking for an early New Year’s Eve supper, after all. I’ve never seen her since. Mully, on the other hand, was still by my side. After 16 years together, whatever lies ahead in 2022, it was comforting to still be chosen by such a spirited animal. OH Jim Dodson is the founding editor of O.Henry. O.Henry 17
Short Stories
Lion King Roars Into Town
Unparalleled Art
Consider these binaries: “both/ and,” “Black/White,” “self/other,” “past/present,” “West/non-West.” Lorraine O’Grady has done just that since becoming a visual artist at the age of 45. Lorraine O’Grady: Both/And, on loan from the Brooklyn Museum, spans four decades of her work, exploring parallel threads in society and seemingly contradictory ideas embedded in our culture — via video, photomontage, concrete poetry, cultural criticism and public art. Previously an intelligence analyst for the U.S. government and then a rock critic for The Village Voice and Rolling Stone, O’Grady was raised in Boston by middle-class Jamaican immigrants. Assuming the radical persona of Mlle Bourgeois Noire, O’Grady — one of the most significant figures in contemporary performance, conceptual, and feminist art — “dismantles either-or-thinking in favor of broader possibilities.” A virtual discussion of O’Grady’s work, on display through April, takes place on February 10 at noon. Register at weatherspoonart.org.
18 O.Henry
Not Guilty
In April 1989, a woman was raped in Central Park. Five men, who became known as the Central Park Joggers, were tried and convicted for a host of heinous crimes. Years went by before the Central Park Five’s convictions were overturned. Today, one of those five men, Yusef Salaam, has launched a crusade to vindicate racial injustices. At 7:30 p.m., Tuesday, Feb. 15, Salaam, an award-winning speaker, takes the stage as part of the Guilford College Bryan Series at the Tanger Center to share the injustices he has faced. For more information, contact tangercenter.com/events.
Wine-Tasting Cardio
We don’t always choc, but when we do, we choc a lot — with wine. The N.C. Wine & Chocolate Festival comes to the Greensboro Coliseum February 12 — just in time for Valentine’s Day. It had us at hello — and “unlimited tastings of North Carolina wines.” But if your preferred bar is made of candy, caramel and nuts, the festival has you chocolate-covered. Grab your pals and pour your heart out — 1–4 and 5–8 p.m. Refill. Repeat. (And did we mention there’s also shopping? Between candy and wine workouts, browse through mini boutiques with purses, jewelry, clothing and more.) Info: wineandchocolatefestivals.com/ events/greensboro-nc/
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
PHOTOGRAPH BOTTOM LEFT: LORRAINE O'GRADY, ART IS . . . (GIRL POINTING), 1983/2009. CHROMOGENIC PHOTOGRAPH IN 40 PARTS, 20 × 16 IN. (50.8 × 40.64 CM). EDITION OF 8 PLUS 1 ARTIST’S PROOF. COURTESY OF ALEXANDER GRAY ASSOCIATES, NEW YORK. © LORRAINE O’GRADY/ARTISTS RIGHTS SOCIETY (ARS), NEW YORK
“Giraffes strut. Birds swoop. Gazelles leap. The entire Serengeti comes to life as never before. And as the music soars, Pride Rock slowly emerges from the mist.” What is it? The description of the opening of Disney’s The Lion King, of course, which makes its premiere in Greensboro February 23 through March 6. With theatrical awe, visual artistry and captivating music, the story follows Simba, a young lion embarking on a journey to adulthood. The Broadway show (the winner of six Tony awards, including Best Musical) has entertained more than a million people worldwide. And why not — it is adored by children of all ages. Info: tangercenter.com/events/detail/disneys-the-lion-king
Ogi Sez Ogi Overman
On Stage With Margaret Atwood
UNCG College of Visual and Performing Arts Dean bruce d. mcclung has announced the rescheduling of Margaret Atwood for February. The famed Canadian author was to kick off the 109th season of UNCG’s University Concert and Lecture Series in September but canceled all United States appearances through October 2021 because of COVID-19 concerns. Atwood’s appearance, an evening of moderated conversation and performances of new works inspired by her prose and poetry by the faculty and students from the College of Visual and Performing Arts, has been rescheduled for Sunday, Feb. 6, 2022, at 7 p.m. All tickets will be honored for the rescheduled date. Any questions regarding the rescheduled date for Atwood should be directed to the College’s Box Office at (336) 256-8618. Tickets for Atwood — or any of the other University Concert and Lecture Series events — may be purchased online through UNCG’s ticketing partner ETix at ucls.uncg.edu. A full listing of the 2021–2022 series, which began on Oct. 8, 2021, with the Sphinx Virtuosi is available at ucls.uncg.edu.
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Last year at this time, as I got my first COVID shot, I was hoping for the rest of 2021 to be the beginning of a deliriously happy era. Well, I got the delirious part right. (Don’t get me started.) But this February, I hope against hope that the worst is over and that the lingering effects of the pandemic are subsiding. I pray that we see some semblance of normalcy returning. And that means getting our weary, couch-riding, junk-food-eating butts out in the real world where our souls can once again be rejuvenated with some live music. And, brothers and sisters, there’s enough of it out there, in the words of the Bard, to not only soothe the savage beast but to slay the bastard.
• February 3, Durham Carolina Theatre: Generally, I don’t send folks this far, but occasionally an act merits a little road trip. Back in the day, two of my all-time fave Zen-out (code) tunes were “Eye in the Sky” and “Don’t Answer Me” by the Alan Parsons Project. I had no idea they were still touring and recording, but here they are. And there I’ll be. • February 5, R.J. Reynolds Auditorium (Winston-Salem): I’ve always had a special place in my heart for the Steep Canyon Rangers, dating back to their early days scraping up gigs at Greensboro’s Presbyterian Church of the Covenant. I’ve followed their meteoric rise to the top of the bluegrass heap and interviewed banjoist Graham Sharp, a Greensboro native. But here’s the twist: They will play with the Winston-Salem Symphony, following in the footsteps of Béla Fleck • February 11, Greensboro Coliseum: Speaking of meteoric rises, a couple or three years ago, nobody outside the bluegrass world had ever heard of Billy Strings. And now the boy wonder is headlining shows at 20,000-seat venues. It seems almost sacrilegious to say it, but he is being hailed as the flatpick successor to the late, great Tony Rice. And that, my friends, is about the highest compliment a guitarist can be given. • February 18, Tanger Center (Greensboro): I’ll give you five seconds to name the two greatest vocal groups of the Motown era. You’ll be excused if you said anyone other than the Temptations and the Four Tops, but, well, you’d also be wrong. Granted, there were dozens, but none have been touring continually since then. As a side note, Greensboro’s baritone saxmaster Scott Adair headed up the tour’s horn section for many years. • February 19, High Point Theatre: Pardon me for being heavy on
bluegrass this month, but sometimes that’s just where the musical chips fall. (And, besides, I’m eat slap up with it.) Darin Aldridge got his big break years ago when my bluegrass hero, the late Charlie Waller, asked him to join the Country Gentlemen. One day, he met his new playing partner, Brooke Justice, who soon became his life partner, as well. The duo is now the finest in the land, and if you don’t believe me, check out “Every Time You Leave.” O.Henry 19
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Tea Leaf Astrologer
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b e ach
winter beach
GETAWAY Aquarius (January 20 – February 18)
Say what you will about Aquarians. That they’re headstrong. Paradoxical. Emotionally detached. But if there’s one thing to admire about this enigmatic air sign, it’s that they’re hell-bent on seeking the truth. In other words: You won’t find them drinking the Kool-Aid. This month, cut your favorite water-bearer some slack as they navigate some rather turbulent tides. Give them space. Give them time. They’re sure to come out shining.
Tea leaf “fortunes” for the rest of you: Pisces (February 19 – March 20) At this point, suffering is a choice. Aries (March 21 – April 19) Does the word “squirrel” mean anything to you? Taurus (April 20 – May 20) With great risk comes, well, you’ll see. Gemini (May 21 – June 20) Two words: trigger warning. Cancer (June 21 – July 22) No need to intervene. Read that again. Leo (July 23 – August 22) Yes, it’s shiny. Very shiny. But is it merely a distraction? Virgo (August 23 – September 22) Eat the cake. Libra (September 23 – October 22) Ask again later. Scorpio (October 23 – November 21) Just walk away. It doesn’t matter what they think. Sagittarius (November 22 – December 21) Let the candy hearts do the talking. Capricorn (December 22 – January 19) Put your phone on silent. It’s time for some “you time.” OH Zora Stellanova has been divining with tea leaves since Game of Thrones’ Starbucks cup mishap of 2019. While she’s not exactly a medium, she’s far from average. She lives in the N.C. foothills with her Sphynx cat, Lyla. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
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O.Henry 21
Life's Funny
Reply to Y’all Getting catty about election season
By Maria Johnson
To: Maria
From: Your Friend in Washington
Subject: We Haven’t Heard from You in While . . .
Dear Maria: We miss you, and we need you! As you know, this is a CRITICAL year, with mid-term elections just around the corner. My staff and I have been working around the clock, fighting for common people like you and fending off THE OTHER SIDE, which is bent on destroying OUR WAY OF LIFE! So, I wanted to reach out to you personally. CAN WE COUNT ON YOU, MARIA?? If you send a donation before midnight tonight, it will be matched 100 percent. ANY AMOUNT WILL HELP! We cannot continue to make strides without you, Maria. There is so much work to be done on . . . so many things. To: My Friend in Washington From: Maria Subject: We Haven’t Heard from You in a While … Hey there — Thanks for reaching out. It’s good to know that you’re working on behalf of people like me, but I’ll be honest — it stung a little bit to see you use the word “common”. I mean, I know I’m no great shakes in some areas, but in other ways, I think I’m OK. For example, I’m a pretty decent photographer. I’m attaching a picture that I took of my younger son’s cat. Her name is Penny Bean, but we call her Peebs. Isn’t she cute? She’s kinda heavy, I know. We can’t really figure out why. She gets a lot of exercise and doesn’t eat that much. Anyway, since we’re friends, I want to tell you that I appreciate everything you do. I know things are really divisive in Washington, but please tell me the truth … do you think it could be her thyroid? To: Maria From: Your Friend in Washington Subject: URGENT!!! Dear Maria: Did you get our last email? If so, you know that TIME IS RUNNING OUT! THE OTHER SIDE has just released a position paper making it
22 O.Henry
clear that they are against everything. Well, I have news for them. In AMERICA, you can be against three things. Maybe four. That’s it. That’s why it’s ESSENTIAL, Maria, that we hold onto this seat so that we can continue our work on … so many things. Donate now, Maria, and I will send you a special “SO MANY THINGS” lapel button so that everyone will know that you are on our team! ACT NOW, BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE! To: My friend in Washington From: Maria Subject: Did You Get Our Last Email? Yeah, I got your last email. Did you get mine? With the picture of Peebs? Perhaps I did not make it clear how adorable she is. My son says she likes to walk on the edge of the bathtub between the inner curtain and the outer shower curtains. She also chewed a hole in the living room blinds, so she can “hide” behind the blinds and spy on him. And every night, around 3 a.m., she gets the crazies and starts running laps around the apartment. Maybe you’re a dog person. I don’t know. But since we’re friends, it seems the least you could do is send a photo of yourself signed, “To Peebs — Your whiskers are so long and beautiful. I can’t wait to see you on my next trip home!” I think it would make her feel better about herself. To: Maria From: Your Friend in Washington Subject: EMERGENCY!!! REPLY ASAP!!! PLEASE HELP, MARIA!!! We are at a critical phase in our campaign. I know I said that last time. But this time, I’m for real. REALLY REAL!!! Frankly, the OTHER SIDE is raising money at a faster clip than we are. My aides just handed me a list of their top donors: VOLDEMORT, HANNIBAL LECTER AND THE PENGUIN. WE CANNOT LET THIS BUNCH TAKE OVER!!! Basically, unless you help us meet our weekly fundraising goal, Maria, the demise of our country is on you. PLEASE SAY YOU’LL STAND WITH US!!! Every morning, my staff hands me a list of our donors. I’m waiting to see your name on that list, Maria. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Life's Funny To: My Friend in Washington From: Maria Subject: EMERGENCY!!! REPLY ASAP!!!! Well, mystery solved. No thanks to you. My son figured out that Peebs was getting into the cupboard where her kibble is stored and eating her fill while he was at work. He locked the cabinet, and she is already slimming down. But, oh Lord, now we have another crisis. My son is moving. He has his eye on a nice apartment, but they don’t allow cats. Only small dogs. WHO DOES THAT IN AMERICA? Anyway, I was wondering if you could write my grandkitty a letter of recommendation. Nothing too long. Just a page or two attesting to her general good character and the fact that she is fully litter-box trained and has never killed an endangered species that we know of. I’m trying not to panic here, but I hope you understand this is URGENT!! To: Maria From: The Staff of Your Friend in Washington Subject: Sad news Maria, we regret to inform you that our Honorable Friend
SPONTANEOUSLY COMBUSTED last night after our fundraising campaign fell short of its weekly goal. To speed his recuperation in the hospital, we ask that you send a donation of any amount. If you respond in the next three hours, your contribution will be matched 5,000 PERCENT!! DON’T DELAY, MARIA! GIVE NOW!
To: The Staff of My Friend in Washington From: Maria Subject: Sad News Dear Staff: I’m afraid I was too hard on your boss in my recent correspondence. After reading about his spontaneous combustion, I made a large donation to your campaign. Peebs and I will be sending our thoughts and prayers for a speedy recovery. We reasonable people need to stick together and keep talking like the friends that we are. OH Maria Johnson is a contributing editor of O.Henry magazine. You can reach her at ohenrymaria@gmail.com
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O.Henry 23
Omnivorous Reader
Mastering the Monsters A sci-fi novel for our surreal world
By Anne Blythe
If the past couple of years have proven
anything, it’s to expect the unexpected.
We’ve battled a virus that has shown its ability to morph and shape-shift. Some people accepted it as real. Others chose not to believe. The world imagined by Cadwell Turnbull, a creative writing professor at N.C. State University, in his latest work of fiction, No Gods, No Monsters, gives us a similar choice. There are monsters, gods and humans living together and living apart throughout his book. They force readers to reconsider what is real and what is not, to look at others with a sense that they might be more like you than different — or more different than you know. Introduced as the first in a trilogy, No Gods, No Monsters opens with a professor sitting at a restaurant in Cameron Village in Raleigh, saying goodbye to his friend Tanya, and his academic life. As Tanya sits across from him, he tells her he has decided to leave his job and go home to St. Thomas in the Virgin Islands (Turnbull’s childhood home), where the professor has unresolved issues over the death of his brother. Initially, we don’t know the professor’s name or how he’s connected to the characters in the pages ahead. He drops in and out of chapters, sometimes interjecting a jarring and puzzling voice, leaving readers to wonder who he really is and how the many storylines that Turnbull is juggling will come together. Along the way, we meet a wild variety of characters: bookstore workers who can turn into werewolves; a character named Dragon (a child who can sprout wings and fly); a senator from the Virgin Islands who can become a dog; an invisible sibling; a witch; and more. It’s not until the very end that we can see the novel’s worlds merging. Even then, much remains unanswered, leaving readers to wonder what the next book in the trilogy has in store. “I’m going to tell you a story,” the narrator says. “And like so many stories, it begins with a body.” That body belongs to Lincoln, a naked Black man, dead in the street, shot by police. Laina, Lincoln’s sister, picks up the storytelling. We learn from her that Lincoln had been hooked on drugs and living on the
24 O.Henry
streets, estranged from his family. At first, it might seem as if this will be another story about an unarmed Black man being shot by police. While that theme pulses through the book, we quickly find out that this story is going to be different. Suppressed bodycam footage surfaces, and with its release comes a tale of monsters, werewolves and gods on Earth and beyond. Initially, Laina is in disbelief as she watches the bodycam footage of her brother’s shooting. It’s dark at first, difficult to make anything out. Then she hears the cop say, “I see it. It’s big.” Then she sees the creature, too. It’s doglike, she says, but “bigger than doglike.” It snarls at the cop and he fires his gun. His target falls to the ground. As residents from the houses along the street come out to see the aftermath of the shooting, the creature the cop saw lunging at him has become simply a naked man, left slain between two cars. “I don’t understand,” the cop says. The bodycam shows that Laina’s brother, at least for a moment, was a werewolf. Turnbull calls that moment “the Fracture.” It’s the instant when someone’s world opens to the realization that monsters are among them. Some people take notice. Others look away. “Most people outgrew true belief in monsters by adulthood, but even adults knew not to go outside at night during a power outage, go past a certain house or respond to whispers in the dark,” the senator from St. Thomas tells us after we meet her in the Virgin Islands. “Monsters existed in the liminal space of half-belief and The Art & Soul of Greensboro
practical superstition. Even folks who claimed not to believe in God knew not to tempt devils. Superstition allowed a certain kind of freedom, allowed a certain kind of power.” The arc of the story can be disjointed at times, adding a touch of mystery, as readers go on a spellbinding journey from North Carolina to Massachusetts to the U.S. Virgin Islands and places in between. The characters are good and evil, lovable and at times abominable. We see humans transform into werewolves as they shed their clothes and go on four-legged runs in the woods, chasing squirrels and other small critters. We meet a woman who drinks the blood of her sister and can pull her skin off and on. Others lead mundane lives while battling monsters of their own. Many of these characters eventually come together at a monster march, depicted as a kind of otherworldly Black Lives Matter rally when a large crowd marches through the Boston streets after Lincoln’s death, chanting, “No gods, no monsters!” By using the sci-fi genre, Turnbull tempts his readers to explore tough and touchy topics such as drug addiction, police shootings, societal divisions and the monsters that can be created when neither side explores the motivation of the other. Laina introduces us to Ridley, her asexual, transgender, anarchist husband who moved from Harrisonburg, Virginia, where his parents still live, to Massachusetts to open a co-op bookstore. We meet Rebecca, Laina’s girlfriend, who knew Lincoln, and Sarah, her housemate. Both Rebecca and Sarah have the ability to trans-
Omnivorous Reader
form into sturdy-legged werewolves. Throughout Turnbull’s book, we end up wondering whether monsters are people or people are monsters. “You think monsters are dangerous? Or you think people who believe in them are? Which one? Both?” Sarah asks Ridley after he tells her he might not go to the monster march in Boston because he’s worried about the potential for violence. “People need to be protected, too,” Ridley tells Sarah. The book tugs and pulls its characters through inner wars as they deal with a fractured world around them and their own splintered lives. At one point, Ridley sees the Earth open up below a circle of glowing red ants while on a retreat at a collective peanut farm in Virginia. He tumbles into an abyss with monsters so jarring that he stays mum about his experience. What are the consequences of speaking out or the cost of staying silent? Turnbull’s complex story takes readers across the surface of the Earth and into the many dimensions of the mind as his characters carom through a multitude of societies — some secret from long ago, some modern and seemingly ordinary but very destructive. Even for people not typically drawn to sci-fi or fantasy novels, settling in with this story is well worth it. OH
Anne Blythe has been a reporter in North Carolina for more than three decades. She has covered city halls, higher education, the courts, crime, hurricanes, ice storms, droughts, floods, college sports, health care and many wonderful characters who make this state such an interesting place.
Stifel is a diversified global wealth management and investment banking company focused on building relationships that help individuals, families, and organizations pursue their financial goals.
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O.Henry 25
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26 O.Henry
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Bookshelf
February Books
FICTION Carolina Built, by Kianna Alexander Based on the life of real estate magnate Josephine N. Leary, Carolina Built tells the story of a woman born into slavery who gained her freedom at the age of 9 and succeeds in building a real estate empire in Edenton, North Carolina. Striving to create a legacy for her two daughters, Josephine teaches herself to be a businesswoman, to manage her finances, and to make smart investments. But with each passing year, it grows more and more difficult to juggle work and family obligations. Alexander brings Leary to life in her page-turning book of historical fiction as Josephine becomes a wife, landowner, business partner and visionary. Love and Saffron, by Kim Fay This witty and tender novel follows two women in 1960s America as they discover that food really does connect us all, and that friendship and laughter are the best medicine. When 27-yearold Joan Bergstrom sends a fan letter — and a gift of saffron — to 59-year-old Imogen Fortier, a life-changing friendship begins. Joan lives in Los Angeles and is just starting out as a food writer. Imogen lives on Camano Island outside Seattle, writing a monthly column for a Pacific Northwest magazine. While she can hunt elk and dig for clams, she’s never tasted fresh garlic. The two women bond through their letters, building a closeness that sustains them through the Cuban Missile Crisis, the assassination of President John F. Kennedy and the unexpected events in their own lives. Told in three parts, this tender and honest book is a reminder that we are never finished growing, changing and loving.
The Christie Affair, by Nina de Gramont “A long time ago, in another country, I nearly killed a woman . . . ” So begins The Christie Affair, a stunning new novel that reimagines the unexplained 11-day disappearance of Agatha Christie that captivated the world. The story is narrated by Miss Nan O’Dea, a fictional character based on a real person who infiltrated the wealthy, rarified world of author Christie and her husband, Archie — a world of London townhomes, country houses, shooting parties and tennis matches. First, she became part of their world, and then she became Archie’s mistress. What did it have to do with the mysterious 11 days that Agatha Christie went missing? The answer takes you back in time, to Ireland, to a young girl in love, to a time before The Great War, to a star-crossed couple destined to be together until war and their shameful secrets tore them apart. Black Cake, by Charmaine Wilkerson In this moving debut novel, two estranged siblings must set aside their differences to deal with their mother’s death and her hidden past — a journey of discovery that takes them from the Caribbean to London to California, beginning and ending with her famous black cake. Eleanor Bennett passes away in presentday California, leaving behind a puzzling inheritance for her two children, Byron and Benny: a traditional Caribbean black cake — made from a family recipe — and a voice recording. In her message, Eleanor shares a tumultuous story about a headstrong young swimmer who escapes her island home under suspicion of murder. The heartbreaking journey that unfolds challenges everything the siblings thought they knew about their family, the secrets their mother held back and the mystery of a long-lost child. OH Compiled by Kimberly Daniels Taws and Angie Tally.
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O.Henry 27
28 O.Henry
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
The Creators of N.C.
Red Clay and Jewels
Jaki Shelton Green captures the beauty and cruelty of humanity By Wiley Cash • Photographs by Mallory Cash
To read the work of North Carolina
Poet Laureate Jaki Shelton Green is to know exactly where her inspiration comes from; it comes from the red clay of Orange County, North Carolina, where a little girl leaves footprints in the dirt as she follows her grandmother down to the water’s edge, fishing pole in hand; it comes from the silence of held breath as parents hide their children beneath the pews of a darkened church while the Ku Klux Klan encircles the building; it comes from the peace and grandeur of a community-owned cemetery on a warm winter day when the past, present and future stretch out on a continuum that can be seen and felt. You can open almost any page in Jaki’s numerous collections of poetry and plant your feet firmly on that same red clay, witness the suffocating fear of racial terror, and feel the healing energy of the dead as they gather around you.
I’ve known Jaki for years, mostly as a fellow writer at various festivals across the state. I’ve also hosted her for my own literary events when I needed the kind of in-person power that only a writer like Jaki can bring. To witness her read her poetry is akin to witnessing a god touching down on Earth to opine on the beauty and brutality of humanity. But I had never visited Jaki’s home, nor had I ever joined her on her native soil in Orange County. When my family and I pulled into the driveway of the neatly kept ranch home where Jaki lives with her husband, Abdul, she immediately opened the door to her writing room and welcomed us with a wide smile. Inside, morning light poured through the windows on the east side of the room. In the center sat a long table where Jaki’s laptop was open as if she’d just paused in her work. Books were stacked throughout the room, not as if they were being stored, but as if they were
being read, the reader having taken a break here to pick up another volume there. Art adorned the space: paintings, framed jewelry, sculpture, photographs. I smiled as my eyes took in the room. “Jaki, this is exactly where I thought you’d live,” I said. “You should’ve seen it when I bought it,” she said. “I think it had been condemned, but this was the house I wanted. My family begged me not to buy it.” It was nearly impossible to believe that this place so clearly suffused with peaceful, creative energy had ever been absent of life, but perhaps that speaks to the regenerative power of Jaki’s spirit. “Years ago, I bought this house just before Thanksgiving,” she said, “and then I got to work on it. By the holidays I was ready to host our family Christmas party.” Jaki took a seat at her writing table while my wife, Mallory, unpacked her photography gear. I followed my daughters into the living room, where Abdul set down a small cradle full of handmade dolls for our daughters to play with. He and Jaki have a 3-year-old granddaughter, and they are used to having small children underfoot. Later, as Abdul prepared breakfast for Jaki’s 105-year-old mother, who lives with the couple, he patiently listened as my first-grader shared with him the moment-by-moment intricacies of her school day while my kindergartner crawled on the kitchen floor, answering only to the name “Princess Kitty.” “How did you and Jaki meet?” I asked him. He smiled. “I was working in a furniture store, and Jaki came in. It didn’t seem like anyone else was interested in helping her, so I asked her what she was looking for. She said, ‘I don’t need help, brother. I know how to look for furniture.’” He finally got Jaki to share that she was in the market for a fainting couch, and that only made him more interested in her. “I found out she was a poet,” he said, “and I went to the bookstore and bought some of her books, and then . . . ” He smiled and shrugged as if nothing more needed to be said. Throughout the house, framed photographs of family members lined the walls, some of them recent pictures of grandchildren, others weathered black and white portrayals of family members who have been gone for decades. Jaki’s voice drifted into the living room, and I could hear that she was talking about her daughter Imani, who passed away from cancer in 2009 at the age of 38. I never met Imani, and I only know her through Jaki’s heartrending poem “I Want to Undie You,” but O.Henry 29
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The Creators of N.C. as I looked at the photographs throughout the house, I wondered if I was seeing photos of Imani at the same moment her mother was evoking her name. Jaki, as if sensing my search, called to me from her writing room. “Do you want to go out to our family’s cemetery where Imani is buried?” Jaki asked. “Of course,” I said, sensing that we were being invited into a sacred space. “Will it be OK if I ask you some questions out there?” “That’s probably the best place for it,” she said. We left Abdul behind to serve breakfast to his mother-inlaw, and Jaki climbed into the passenger’s seat while Mallory squeezed between the girls and their car seats in the back. Jaki turned and looked at them. “So, you girls like jewels?” They nodded, and she opened her hand and dropped gorgeous, polished rocks into theirs. The private cemetery where Jaki’s ancestors and other community members are buried sits just a mile or so up the road. Forests bordered the cleared land on both sides, and across the gravel road a crane stacked felled trees in a lumber yard, the low rumble of its engine edging through the air. Jaki and I sat down on a bench that had been placed by Imani’s headstone by Jaki’s two surviving children. Jaki looked at the markers around her, the names on them so familiar that she didn’t even have to read them to know who rests there. “I will never forget standing out here when my father was being buried, and my mom looked at Sherman (Jaki’s first husband) and FIND ME ON SOCIAL MEDIA
me and said, ‘It’s all right, because y’all are going to have a baby next year.’ And we did.” Jaki grew up in a close-knit community called Efland less than 7 miles away, where two A.M.E. churches anchored the community. Her family members were active at Gaines Chapel A.M.E., and it was there that Jaki was first encouraged to write by her grandmother, even though she wanted to be a scientist or an oceanographer. “I was fascinated by the stories around me,” Jaki said, “especially what was happening on Sunday morning. As a child I would sit there and make up stories about people, and my grandmother gave me little notebooks to write in. I was very nosy, but I’ve come to understand that writers should be nosy. We should be nosy about everything.” According to Jaki, she was not only nosy about the people in her congregation, she was nosy about the world around her, constantly asking questions like, “Where does the rain really come from?” and, “What makes dark dark?” You can see the questions in her poetry. In “I Wanted to Ask the Trees,” about the trauma of lynching in Black communities, she writes: I wanted to ask the trees. do you remember. were you there. did you shudder. did your skin cry out against the skin of my great uncle’s skin. “I want to tell stories of the South that are being erased and forgotten while reminding people that what’s nostalgic for some
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O.Henry 31
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32 O.Henry
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
The Creators of N.C. Southern writers is absolutely terror for others,” Jaki said. “White people talk about hound dogs in one context, but when we think about hound dogs we think about full moons and lynchings. When people talk about coon dogs, the coon was us.” When I asked Jaki why she left the South as a young person, she made clear how complicated her exodus was for her and her family. She was kicked out of public school in Orange County for organizing and participating in a walkout after Black students demanded equity during school desegregation. Before readmitting her, the board of education insisted that she sign an affidavit promising that she would not participate in or encourage any acts of civil disobedience. Her parents, themselves active in political and social issues, saw the board’s demand as an infringement on their daughter’s rights. She was readmitted, but being branded a troublemaker made life harder than she deserved. After being offered an academic scholarship to a Quaker boarding school called George School in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, Jaki headed north. For the first time in her life she was living outside the South and away from her family, surrounded by young people from all over the world, from different backgrounds and classes. “It took me leaving to really look back and see the entire landscape,” she said. Although she’d written poetry from an early age, leaving home and encountering the work of Amiri Baraka, Sonia Sanchez and Nikki Giovanni made clear to Jaki the urgency of putting herself and
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
her people on the page. Though away from home, she understood that life continued on in rural Orange County, the cycles of birth and death and political upheaval and cultural change never ceasing. “If we don’t tell ourselves who we are, then someone else will tell us who we are,” she said. Jaki and her first husband returned to the South after starting a family because they wanted their three young children to know their great-grandparents, to experience their wisdom and love, to know the place that had forged the lives of their ancestors. Sitting in the cemetery where so many of those ancestors and Jaki’s daughter have been laid to rest, Jaki is clear-eyed about the journey that saw her exiled from public school in Orange County to visiting public schools across the state as North Carolina’s first Black Poet Laureate. “There’s nothing magical about how I’ve arrived at this place,” she said. “It’s called working hard. It’s called having determination about what you want, and really knowing who you are.” The little girl who wanted to be an oceanographer became a writer instead, still asking questions about the world around her, still investigating it, continuing to draft poetic reports on the place she has always called home, the landscape where inspiration takes root and ideas are born, nurtured, and recorded. OH Wiley Cash is the Alumni Author-in-Residence at the University of North Carolina Asheville. His new novel, When Ghosts Come Home, is available wherever books are sold.
O.Henry 33
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1/10/2022 4:59:24 PM The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Home by Design
The Party
A daughter’s startling serenade offers a parting gift of joy to her elderly mother
By Cynthia Adams
A moving episode of
Grace and Frankie, “The Party to End All Parties,” concerns a terminally ill friend, Babe, who wishes to exit the astral plane on her own terms. Babe teaches a master class on dying.
Her celebratory, clear-eyed plan required a party. Our more conventional, terminally ill mother’s exit shared few aspects with Babe’s leave-taking. This was Charlotte not Los Angeles, after all — and we had no plan apart from celebrating her 91st with a party. Mom rallied as we arrived bearing cake, food, flowers and gifts. Our fragile matriarch was surprisingly alert. Her excitement and engagement were so unexpected it was startling, even unsettling. Watching her hold court, somehow summoning the strength to sit upright, something clicked in me as someone announced entertainment before gifts. One grandchild read an essay. Another sang Frank Sinatra’s “My Way.” But there would be no dignified reading of an essay or poem. No decorum from me. I rose solemnly. Standing before our emaciated mother, her body sunk into a recliner, her dark eyes fluttered wide as I announced I had discovered my inner yodeler. Swinging like a batter on the mound, I pretended to wind up and warm up, swinging my arms and shaking out my hands. I let loose a hideous howl. “YOOOOOO-deeeeeeeeee-lady-hooooooo,” I hollered. From the expression on everybody’s face but Mom’s, I realized they thought I had done something inexplicably, stupidly horrible. My stunned family obviously did not realize this foolishness was a play on the movie about Florence Foster Jenkins, the 1940s socialite played by Meryl Streep. Jenkins seemed unaware that her voice was hideous, however.
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
I knew my yodeling attempt was hideous. But Mom was grinning and said, “Do it again!” “YOOOOOO-deeeeeeeeee-lady-hooooooo,” I yowled, windmilling my arms while watching my family’s stupefied faces. Mom giggled and conjured up a teasing nickname from the past, “Cindy Lou, you just won’t do!” At this encouragement, I let loose a shriller, off-key yodel, one alerting the neighborhood dogs and the pond geese to flee. Mom shrieked. “Such foolishness!” she chided, still laughing, her birdlike chest rising and falling with the effort. My heart lifted at her face, now alight, even joyful. We both wiped away tears of laughter while the rest of the family gaped, and I dipped into a low bow. Her party rally was brief. She strongly had resisted the inevitable, choosing longevity over quality of life, until neither was possible. Two days later, Mom spoke weakly, with strength remaining to grasp our hands before lapsing into permanent silence on the third day. It was a slower, sadder, more protracted version of Babe’s party to end all parties. However, death offers strange gifts. Mom was gently guided to her exit with the support of hospice nurses, loyal health care aides and her family. Two years later, as her birthday passes again, I ask myself, “Why did I yodel?” My obscene yodel ricocheted that afternoon, a primal howling registering beyond the yellow walls of Mom’s living room. Inasmuch as it was a spectacle, it was also a keening. Scattering the waterfowl. Causing geese to take flight. Even as I foolishly flapped my arms, the fowl took to the bluest of cerulean skies. Up and up, whirring, blurring with sky and cloud. Into the firmament. Away. OH Cynthia Adams is a contributing editor to O.Henry. O.Henry 35
The Pleasures of Life
Luvin’ Spoonfuls
Family recipes filled with sugar and spice and everything nice
By David Claude Bailey
How do I love thee, my Val-
entine? Let me count the ways: your paper-thin Moravian cookies melting in my mouth at Christmas; the house filling with the buttery aroma of a chocolate chess pie bubbling in the oven; the raised doughnuts that you fried for our girls — dripping a trail of white frosting; and, oh, that pineapple upside-down cake you once cooked in a Dutch oven, which caramelized on the bottom into a lovely, sticky, golden goo.
“All you need is love,” Mr. Peanuts, Charles M. Schulz, once said, and then added, “But a little chocolate now and then doesn’t hurt.” Which brings to mind your double-chocolate brownies, made with butter, cocoa, chocolate chips and a triple dose of love. Licking her fork, one of my women friends once said, “I wish I had Anne for a wife.” My men friends merely stuff their faces. I know I’m lucky, but not just to have found and married a serious eater who learned to cook in her grandmothers’ and mother’s kitchens deep in the Lowcountry of South Carolina, where I ate my first pralines, crunchy bennie-seed wafers and divinity as light as a sugar-frosted cloud.
36 O.Henry
But it’s not just Anne. Call me the Don Juan of dessert divas because I have a host of other lovers, who, over the years, have let me know in no uncertain terms, “Nothing says loving like something from the oven.” For some reason, women like watching me eat. Maybe it’s the way I lick my lips or arch my eyebrows or giggle between bites. And, if what they give me is transcendent, I have been known to stand up and do a little jig of joy. Let’s start with my mother, about whose cooking I’ve written in these pages before (www.ohenrymag.com/o-henry-ending-31/). How many mothers would cook their son a green birthday cake complete with a chartreuse lime frosting? From the savory persimmon pudding with hard sauce she made at Thanksgiving to the raised Swedish nut roll stuffed with black walnuts she always served on Christmas morning, Zella Romaine Zettle Bailey created desserts that became family legends. Then there was my Aunt Rachel who, when I spent the night with her three sons, plied me with pungent gingerbread, always hot from the oven and slathered with lemon sauce. I’ve never been much of a cake fan, but my friend Spencer’s mother made a pound cake that was so rich it would stick to the cake plate, leaving a sort of golden slurry subject to our dirty little fingers. (Anne loves cakes and once reproduced a 14-layer cake we first ate in Manns Harbor.) In fact, the ’50s, when we grew up, was sort of the golden age of cake mixes. Anne’s grandmother went through a stage where she The Art & Soul of Greensboro
The Pleasures of Life baked cakes with funny names — sock-it-to-me cake (mostly just butter, sour cream, brown sugar, cinnamon and cake flour), dump cake (pineapple, cherries and nuts swimming in yellow cake mix) and, my favorite, hummingbird cake (crushed pineapple, bananas and pecans plus black walnuts with flour and sugar). If something tasted good, Gladys seemed to think, just add it to a cake mix and, “Voila!” Me? Just call me pie face. Some of the world’s most delicious pies have disappeared through this pie hole. Mom’s mincemeat or cherry pie. My sister-in-law Tammy’s pecan pie — better than candy. And what I call Anne’s crunch-apple pie. The recipe appears on a yellowed and batter-spattered page from a 1981 copy of Family Circle and is entitled, “The Mom’s Apple Pie to End All Mom’s Apple Pies.” Here’s the recipe with slight alterations made by my Valentine, the princess of pies.
The Mom’s Apple Pie to End All Mom’s Apple Pies 1/3 cup sugar 1/2 cup light brown sugar 3 tablespoons flour 1 teaspoon cinnamon 6 large tart apples, pared, quartered, cored and sliced
9-inch unbaked pie shell 2 tablespoons butter Topping 1 cup all-purpose flour 1/2 cup light brown sugar 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon 1/2 cup (one stick) butter Combine sugar, brown sugar, flour and cinnamon in a large mixing bowl, pressing out any lumps. Add sliced apples and toss well to mix. Fill pastry shell with mixture. Dot with 2 tablespoons of butter. For the topping, combine flour, brown sugar and cinnamon in a small bowl. Cut in butter until mixture is crumbly. Scatter topping thickly over the apple filling, heaping it high. Bake in a hot oven (400 degrees F) for 30 minutes. Turn the oven down to 350 degrees F and cook it for 30 minutes more until it’s all bubbly and done. OH I need your love: Send me a one-to-two sentence description of your sweetest treat — and a recipe if you want — and we’ll see if we get enough to publish them next Valentine’s Day (davidclaudebailey@ gmail.com).
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O.Henry 37
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The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Love, American Woodcock Style
Birdwatch
There’s hope for the pudgy and short-legged
By Susan Campbell
February is the month for love and,
for the American woodcock, this is certainly the case! By mid-month this pudgy, short-legged, long-billed bird of forest and field is in full courtship mode. However, most folks have no clue since their unique singing and dancing occurs completely under the cover of darkness. American woodcocks, also called “timberdoodles,” are cousins of the long-legged shorebirds typically found at the beach. Like plovers, turnstones, dowitchers and other sandpipers, these birds have highly adapted bills and cryptic plumage. Woodcocks, having no need to wade, sport short legs that they use to slowly scuffle along as they forage in moist woods and shrubby fields. This behavior is thought to startle worms and other soft-bodied invertebrates in the leaf litter and/or just below the soil surface. Their long, sensitive bills are perfect for probing and/or grabbing food items. And camouflaged plumage hides woodcocks from all but the most discerning eye. Speaking of eyes, American woodcocks have eyes that are large and uniquely arranged on their heads. They are very high up and far back, allowing them to see both potential predators above as well as food items in front and below them.
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Beginning in late winter, male American woodcocks find open areas adjacent to wet, wooded feeding habitat and begin to display at dusk. They alternately do their thing on the ground and then in the air. A male begins by walking around in the open area uttering repeated loud “peeent” calls. He will then take off and fly in circles high into the sky, twittering as he goes. Finally, the male will turn and drop sharply back to the ground in zigzag fashion, chirping as he goes, and then begin another round of vocalizations. In the Piedmont and Sandhills of North Carolina, displaying begins on calm nights in December. Some of these males are most likely Northern birds that have made the journey to the Southeast for the colder weather. They may just be practicing ahead of their real effort — in early spring back up North. Regardless, females visit multiple spots where males are known to do their thing before they choose a mate. So, it behooves the males to display as often as possible to impress as many females as possible during the weeks that they are on the hunt for a mate. Although long hunted for sport, it was Aldo Leopold, the renowned conservationist, who implored sportsmen to better appreciate these little birds. They are well adapted for a forest floor existence, hidden from all but their mates come this time of the year. And, on rare occasions, from birdwatchers keen on getting a glimpse of the American woodcock’s antics. OH Susan Campbell would love to receive your wildlife sightings and photos. She can be contacted at susan@ncaves.com. O.Henry 39
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The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Wandering Billy
The Day They ʼDozed Old Dixie Down
By Billy Eye The past is never dead. It’s not even past. — William Faulkner
In 1997, I moved downtown, just a cou-
ple of blocks west of Hamburger Square. Anytime I told someone where I was living, their faces would scrunch into a look of genuine astonishment, “Why would you do that? There’s no one down there but bums,” they’d each say.
For the most part that was true. I recall a time in ’98 when friends visited from Detroit. As we were touring the empty storefronts and abandoned restaurants downtown, my friends wondered if a nuclear bomb had gone off. On a Friday at 5 p.m., we encountered not a single car on the street and, when a truck finally did speed by, “Welcome to Greensboro!” wasn’t even close to what they shouted at us. In the ’90s, about the only action downtown at night (or during the day for that matter) was the Paisley Pineapple sofa bar where Natty Greene’s is today and, a few blocks north on Elm, a notorious rave club known as Babylon. There also was the funky-time apartment building on Bellemeade and Eugene where many of Babylon’s hopped-up, whirling dervishes spun down, The Dixie. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
The Dixie began life in 1888 as a tobacco warehouse erected by businessman W.W. Dick on Bellemeade Street at the northwest outskirts of a burgeoning Greensborough. It wasn’t long before a lovely, shaded neighborhood of finely crafted, single-family homes sprang up around that warehouse, so, sensing a need for such a thing, in 1921 Dick converted the building into the handsomest apartment complex in town, three stories fronted with levels of multicolored bricks expanding outward, a fanciful array of red bricks splaying outward around the entryway. Crowned by bold, squared-off, concrete ornamentations, with ribbed metal awnings adorning each window, modern amenities included built-in ironing boards, hot water radiators, and a chute for ice delivered daily to keep food cooled in the ice box. Only the fourth such establishment in town, rent for a one-bedroom unit was $12 a month (about $186 in today’s dollars). Single working women favored 336 Bellemeade, and no wonder — reasonable rent and jobs galore within walking distance. The El-Rees-So cigar factory was a stroll away, one of more than a dozen such stogie-oriented enterprises clustered around Hamburger Square, each employing a phalanx of female assemblers, the thinking being that male cigar rollers would be tempted to steal from the stash. There were so many cigars being produced by women in the 1920s that our city became one of the largest exporters of pre-rolled tobacco products in the world. O.Henry 41
Wandering Billy By the 1950s, the rapid expansion of businesses across downtown Greensboro rolled like a wave around the now centrally located Dixie, a tsunami of commerce and concrete wiping out swathes of neighboring houses in favor of service stations, office buildings and the towering O.Henry Hotel. Hundreds of jobs traditionally awarded exclusively to men were providing fresh opportunities for women in the workplace. Employment could be found at the center city’s massive S&W and Mayfair cafeterias, slinging hash at greasy spoons like Dee’s Grill, whipping up malteds at Lanier’s Soda Shop, in addition to a plethora of hotel, department and drug-store sales and lunch-counter positions. There were at least two dozen coffee shops alone within a five-block radius of The Dixie in the early 1950s. Sears and Roebuck’s retail showroom and Burlington Industries’ headquarters were directly across the street. It was a gradual and deliberate transition but, beginning in the 1950s, as the last remaining men moved out, The Dixie became an almost all-female community. Over the next four decades, as tenants aged out and vacated, younger male and female tenants began gravitating toward The Dixie. “It was cheap,” former resident (19951999) Chis Kennedy breaks it down. “The rent was like $300 and it was right downtown. If I needed to, I could walk to two of my jobs because I worked at Babylon and Paisley Pineapple.” During the 1990s, The Dixie was populated by single, young and middle-aged stoners; artists; programmers; and maladjusted Bukowski clones. Walking the hallways, visitors were greeted with the aroma of marijuana, cigarette smoke, stale beer and the unmistakable pungency of overflowing cat boxes. “It was mostly young people in their 20s,” Kennedy says. “I was in the rave scene with all these people. Pretty much everybody in the counter-culture scene lived there at some point or another.” The younger tenants appreciated The Dixie for what it was — an antiquated relic of a bygone era with loads of character.
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The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Wandering Billy “Everybody had really nicely decorated and painted apartments. The owners didn’t seem to care what you did to them,” he says. You know how old folks like to reminisce about life being so safe back in the day that no one locked their front doors? The entrance to The Dixie was never locked either. While that made sense in earlier times, by the 1990s homeless folks were lining the hallways in the wintertime. Not that anyone seemed to mind. The fire escape clung so precariously to the back of the building, anyone with any sense would have taken their chances with the fire. You would have had to anyway; the door to the fire escape was locked tight. “There were a lot of colorful stories about the building, that’s for sure,” Kennedy says. Unfortunately, given the genteel nature of this magazine, I can’t tell you a single one of them — not about the girl who haunted Kennedy’s apartment, the Mafia snitch who mysteriously overdosed, what went on in the alleyway after hours — none of it. My impression of The Dixie from the numerous parties I attended during the same period Kennedy lived there in the mid- to late-’90s was one of community. The Dixie was there to help launch someone on to better things or wallow in the quicksand one had created. Residents were known to frequent the joint next door at 300 Bellemeade, a one-story dump with a somewhat colorful history at its nadir. Originally constructed as an overflow office for Burlington Industries in the 1940s, sometime in the ’80s it was gutted and reemerged as a cavernous, hole-in-the-wall, gay bar called Busby’s Tavern. In the late ’90s, 300 Bellemeade morphed into a delightfully weird hangout where many a coin vanished. In the City Directory it was listed as Aitch’s Toys and Games, but it was primarily a dive bar where the proprietor dazzled beer-sodden barflies with his sleight of hand surrounded by rubber chickens, collapsable top hats, marked cards and whoopee cushions. In the 2000s, that space became a gay bar for women, Time Out. Around 2008, with nearby businesses and eateries thriving and the recently opened ballpark across the street drawing crowds, suddenly living downtown became hip, creating a housing boom. Although The Dixie had fallen into disrepair and ill-repute, it was, nonetheless, the last bastion of Bohemia remaining at the center of the city. If I’m not mistaken, it was the oldest apartment complex in Greensboro, when in 2014, this grande dame of the displaced along with the block of structures alongside her were reduced to rubble for the Hyatt Place Hotel and the accompanying Carroll at Bellemeade luxury apartments. OH Correction: Eye goofed, misidentifying a photo in last month’s column! “FYI, the photo on page 37 above the article about the Star Theatre is not Grimsley students in 1978. That photo is the Page High School Junior Civitan Club taken circa 1971 for the yearbook. Most of them are seniors, Class of 1971, and I knew nearly all of them. The ‘gentleman’ in the hat, leaning on a crutch, is the class president, Charles Robinson, whom I married in 1975. Though someone misidentified the photo, I enjoyed seeing it again after 50 years.” — Chris Garton The Art & Soul of Greensboro
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O.Henry 43
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The Art & Soul of Greensboro
February 2022 Long Homestead in Winter — Las Cruces, circa 1932
Not in any literal sense a homestead: it was purchased you learned from an old deed sent you by a cousin. And in this winter photo, strange with magic of the never seen, a study in whites and grays, foreground trees and background barn shading towards true black, porch windows canvas covered against the cold, original adobe brooding behind, just one slender strand of air, smokey warm you guess, rising from a single flue suggests habitation, warmth inside. No one living knows its history now, when the barn was built; porch facing pristine snow now fades into surrounding silence. What was the day like when someone, your father perhaps, had hiked out the back door around towards the railroad track to capture the snow before it turned to mud underfoot; foot sodden you suspect later that morning when indoor voices might have called to breakfast, but leave your boots outside. All gone wherever memories are stored — you never saw the place in winter but you slept many a summer night there on that porch already mythical, heard the Santa Fe hoot by, carry the present away. — Julian Long Julian Long is the author of Reading Evening Prayer in an Empty Church. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
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46 O.Henry
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Colors of Love Poetry
O
ne of February’s troubadours, love poems glimmer like candy hearts against a blue sky. Coming in all hues, like love itself, they have the power to adore, seduce, honor, bind, anger, grieve, forgive, appreciate, engage, mend, reconcile and more. From classic to contemporary, verses of love and passion inspire us to give voice to the seemingly indescribable. In honor of Valentine’s Day, we have assembled a collection of poetry submitted from area writers that will warm the heart of Saint Valentine himself.
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
O.Henry 47
The Savings & Moan These Days we walk slower, hand in hand. I miss my good knees, the miles I ran on blacktop, on country roads through fields, always running, moving, covering distance as if that would take me anywhere—when all I ever needed, I see now, is you, right here: this home, our yard, my hand in yours, on a Sunday afternoon.
Maybe swinging a nine-pound hammer in Hell, sweat hissing on pillow-shaped rocks that break and bind, mocking my stinging eyes, I’ll lose track of Friday nights when we were alone at the top of the savings & loan building. Or stroke-addled, swabbing the floor at the Mission shelter, I’ll drop the mop to end a week, mutter past the wet floor sign, false teeth clicking, and not want you — tilting into our spell, then pulling back, true to your computer. But never in my right mind will Fridays above the lights go blank, lovely Friend. — Michael Gaspeny
— Steve Cushman
48 O.Henry
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Tiramisu When Julie says she wants Tiramisu I do what husbands have done forever, go searching. First the Italian Bakery on Westridge, but they’re out, then Alex’s Cheesecake downtown, but no luck there. I even try a couple chain restaurants but you guessed it they’re out. Finally, I asked the pastry chef at Cugino Forno and he said, “Man, it’s National Tiramisu Day.” Okay, so let’s add that to the list of things I don’t know. Finally, I hit Bestway’s frozen food aisle and somehow they have a Sarah Lee two-pack, which I buy. Julie smiles, says, “Thank you this is just what I wanted. But what took you so long?” I shrug, “There’s a run on Tiramisu today,” and she laughs as we settle in to watch a gardening show on Netflix. I wave away her attempts to share the Tiramisu, tell her to enjoy the whole thing, secretly hoping she’ll save a little, perhaps a bite or two, for me. — Steve Cushman (*March 21 is Tiramisu Day)
Dried Flowers & Other Crafts Leaf through pages of my flesh, find quilt-comfort memories. Read how the day before yesterday becomes three decades. Showers together, coffee, cozy socks and couches. Enough, for a time. Peel back three pages from my book of skin at shoulder, where muscle meets gauze-white membrane, a spot that holds one dried iris pressed between two black & white photos. One shows us hiking near Lolo Pass Road, between mounds of boulders, before we found our almost-smooth meadow. I will not speak of the second photo. Not yet. — John Haugh
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
O.Henry 49
July 12, 2007, Kitty Hawk, North Carolina Full from ice cream and a sun-filled day my son and I walk the half mile back to our rental house, as the gulls circle overhead and the bikinied girls pass us by on pink and yellow rental bikes. Of course, I’d like to stretch this week at the beach out forever, but I can’t. Back home, there are rooms to be painted and yards to be mowed, not to mention bills to be paid. But for a few more minutes, Trevor and I are walking barefoot on the hot sidewalk and when I turn to the left I spot this dark-haired woman waving at us from a balcony and as she waves I realize she’s my wife, and this is my life, and I’m no doubt luckier than I have any right to be. — Steve Cushman
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The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Serenade I promise there will always be sweet fresh sheets for you: I have labored to iron away the creases of many solitary nights, pledge that we will lie on a new bed with carefully sorted memories, even as we crumple toward our inevitable berths. — Valerie Nieman
Power Outage For three days the power was out, so each night after work we huddled close on the couch, under that thick blue blanket, reading books by candlelight, drinking wine, our legs intertwined. Later, in bed, even if we didn’t make love we reached for each other, for warmth, which at times felt more intimate than lovemaking. When the lights flickered on the third day I closed my eyes and thought no, not yet, as if my thoughts had the power to do anything, and she cussed, dammit. In the morning, we woke under so many layers, both of us covered in sweat as if a fever had broken and what was ahead might be better days, the start of something new. — Steve Cushman
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
O.Henry 51
Secret Admirer Whoever set the bouquet at your door, in a vase with pink bows double-knotted around its glass throat, doesn’t know you well. You hate pink. Maybe whoever, approaching so intimately with sex and death in hand, breathed in the faint scent of (pink) carnations, but probably just the funereal odor that clings to every petal, eucalyptus and vinegar. Vinegar that you pour at the feet of gardenias so the leaves will be green and the flowers so sweet before they jaundice and fall. Cut flowers, bright in their dying, daisies, asters, roses, carnations. Casting messages around like pollen, innocence/patience/pride/love. Hardly any fragrance to flowers anymore except for chrysanthemums; your cousin’s funeral put you off them forever, the way your mother hated gardenias. Why gardenias? Another woman’s perfume, perhaps, she herself favoring Chanel No. 5 when she could, thick with jasmine. Gardenia is named jasminoides, yet not even kin, like someone pilfering a dead child’s name. Such sniffery. You wait for another delivery. Whoever, maybe.
52 O.Henry
— Valerie Nieman The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Sizing Up The carpenter in the Craignure Inn, carrying still his flat pencil in its narrow pocket, looks my way now and again, gauging this accidental bird alighted at his local. A small man precise as his work, measure twice and cut once; he has a curved nose and not a spare bit of flesh, the plane having worked him close to the bone. His vest is joined neatly, his ginger hair clipped. I unfold myself from the low chair like a carpenter’s rule, near six feet of well-fed American woman, and go to settle up. Behind me at the bar, I don’t see him but I feel him quietly slip away. — Valerie Nieman
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Popover I had never heard of Yorkshire Puddings until my wife made them. Julie’s British, says her family ate them every Sunday growing up, along with a baked chicken, some potatoes, roasted carrots or green beans. Sometimes she calls them Popovers. That’s the name our son uses for these overgrown muffins of oil and flour and egg, puffed in the middle, so that a fork or knife can send them toppling in on themselves. What I’m trying to say here is I can’t imagine my life without these treats from across the ocean and my son, if you could see the way he ravages them, you would know, feels the same. — Steve Cushman
O.Henry 53
Sticking With It How Englishman John Broadhurst walks his talk with art that harks to home By Maria Johnson • Photograghs by Bert VanderVeen
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
O.Henry 55
P
ick a special stick and tell about it? John Broadhurst nods and steps to a rack bristling with walking sticks that he has hewn by hand. He heaves one up and catches it midair. The staff is ash, the rigid stuff of baseball bats, but this branch is way slimmer than a Louisville Slugger, and it still wears the tree’s dove gray bark, lightly varnished. The stick’s handle, warm with hues of coal and butter, is wrought from ram’s horn, worked into a cursive “n” and buffed to a high gleam. “It’s a big thing to make a ram’s horn handle in England. It’s a common thing for shepherds,” says the 74-year-old Broadhurst, whose British accent shrouds his words like the winter fog of his hometown, the western port city of Liverpool. His mother often put him on a train headed due east, to a station near her parents’ home in the lamb-dabbed hills of Lincolnshire. When his fox-hunting uncles rode to the hounds, young John followed on a bike, pedaling furiously over the hills, cementing with sweat and a pounding heart the joy of being outside, of mov-
56 O.Henry
ing through the open air whether by horse or by bike or — the most common means — by foot. Then and now, he says, most people in the countryside carry a chest-high stick, the flag of a culture built on walking. “You go to these farm markets, and I’d say 95 percent of them have a stick. It’s a way of life, and it helps you so much,” he says. Broadhurst demonstrates by centering a stick at his sternum and leaning over it: When chatting with friends, he says, you can use the stick as a kickstand to take some weight off your feet. He thrusts the stick forward, planting it as a cross-country skier might. When going uphill, you can stab the incline and pull yourself up. He eases back the top of the stick: Going downhill, you can brace yourself against gravity. He jabs at imaginary teeth, knee high. If an aggressive animal comes at you, you have a weapon. “Your stick is a companion as well, you know,” says Broadhurst, who’s as spare and straight as one of his canes. “You got your dog and The Art & Soul of Greensboro
“Your stick is a companion as well, you know”
Ram's horn handle
your stick, and you can go where you like, you know what I mean?” He worked city jobs as a teen, learning stone craft on construction sites before yielding to his boyhood love of the countryside. A professional terrierman, he followed fox hunters in a Land Rover, carting the Jack Russell terriers that flushed quarry from their burrows, a practice that’s now illegal. He weathered winters by sorting and shaping the dried hardwood branches that he’d sawed off a couple of autumns earlier when the leaves and sap were down. He developed an eye for spotting straight segments, about five feet long and as thick as a man’s thumb, still live on the trees and often spiraled with still-green honeysuckle vines. Blackthorn. Hazel. Crabapple. Oak. He chose an ash limb to complement his first ram’s horn handle. An older guy had shown him how to work the bony spikes of a Jacob sheep, a black-and-white breed known for having two sets of The Art & Soul of Greensboro
horns, one curled beside the ears, another pronged atop the head. When John saw a ram’s head at a slaughterhouse where he’d gone to pick up food for the dogs, he asked for a curled horn. Back in his shed, he heated the horn with a blow torch to make it pliable, then wrapped it around a steel form to set the distinctive shepherd’s hook shape. It was wide enough to snare a sheep by the neck but gentle enough, with a curlicued end, not to dig in. “It’s a long process,” Broadhurst says. “You’re messing with it and messing with it, you know? Once you get the shape, you can start polishing it, sanding it, filing it and finishing it off with wire wool.” He points to the subtle pits in the ebony surface: “This wasn’t a real good horn, you see, but it was good enough,” he says. “You gotta take what you find, you know what I mean?” He joined handle and stick with a threaded steel rod. A white spacer of deer horn, found in the wild, bridged the gap, adding ornament and strength. Ever keen to improve, he honed his knack for sticks and hounds. He managed a champion pack of hunting beagles on foot until a rogue and riderless horse trampled him in 1997, mangling O.Henry 57
his left leg and ending his time with the hunt. He fell back on the trade he’d learned as a teenager, laying stone. He kept his hand in the dog game by judging shows around the world. He met his wife, Susan, the manager of a veterinary clinic, at a Jack Russell terrier show in Mocksville. She was handling. He was taking note. Today, they live south of Winston-Salem, in a double-wide mobile home that John has clad with a handsome yellow knock-off of chiseled English Yorkstone. He’s trying to retire from stone, but folks keep calling him about chimneys and patios and gate piers. He still judges dog shows. And he still plays with hardwood in the stretchy hours of winter evenings, when the pens of Plott hounds and Jack Russells that he and Susan keep and call by name have piped down. He’s gotten pretty good at making walking sticks, he allows, but he’s a novice compared with stick makers in England. He springs up from a chair and returns with a small, slick magazine published
58 O.Henry
by the British Stickmakers Guild. On the cover is a finely carved handle painted in jewel tones. A peacock’s head. He flips to likenesses of rosy rainbow trout and dagger-beaked woodcock. He shakes his head in awe of the craftsmen. “Some of them lads, that’s all they do, you know what I mean? Some of them are absolutely brilliant,” he says. There aren’t many stick makers in these parts, he adds with a crooked smile, so it’s easy for him to look good. He makes maybe 70 sticks a year and sells most of them — at prices ranging from $85 to $170 — at hound shows and steeplechases. He also sets up at WGHP-TV’s Roy’s Folks Craft Fair that’s held in High Point whenever COVID is in check, which hasn’t been for a couple of years now. Buyers marvel at the variety of his designs. Dark sticks and light sticks. Sticks with resin handles cast in the shape of dogs’ heads. “Thumb sticks” with notches at the top. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
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Sticks capped with deer antler, cow horn and burled wood. Sticks that end in wooden whistles. He blows a cheery note. “People use them to call their dogs and the like,” Broadhurst says. The special stick, the one with a ram’s horn handle, will never sell because he’ll never offer it for sale. “You keep your first one like that, you know?” he says. He’ll never use it, either. His favorite stick to use is what he calls a “nothing stick.” He pops out of his armchair again — he and stillness don’t mix well — to another rack of sticks. He hikes up a white-elm rod topped with twist of spalted maple. The handle is dark with the oil of his hand. “That’s my favorite stick,” he says grinning like a boy who’s riding his bike after the horses and hound songs. “Just nothing at all.” OH To learn more, contact John Broadhurst at jjbluebear70@gmail.com. Maria Johnson is a contributing editor of O.Henry. She can be reached at ohenrymaria@gmail.com.
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The Magnolia Network
Historic haven reimagined as a vibrant motel By Cynthia Adams • Photographs by Amy Freeman
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PHOTOGRAPH BY AURA MARZOUK
Laura Mensch & Gina Hicks
H
ow did two hip interior designers, Gina Hicks and Laura Mensch, approach an historic project reeking of cultural significance — specifically Greensboro’s 1889 Magnolia House Motel — given their trade signature is youthful, contemporary and anything but stodgy? The short answer is vividly. The duo, who owns Vivid Interiors, leans into exuberant, artsy, color-saturated decors, which are not exactly standard fare for a venue that’s as much a museum as a dining destination and inn. (One of the pair sports a tattoo.) The Magnolia is an historic hybrid, reopened in late 2021, that was once a landing place for some of the hippest of the hip, who once rocked a packed house, singed a baseball with a thwack, thrilled with a knockout in the ring or seared an audience with discourse. Famous motel guests included Ray Charles, Satchel s and James Baldwin. Athletes, intellectuals and musicians rested their heads at 442 Gorrell Street. Only a year ago, Hicks and Mensch pored over photographs for clues and provenance, immersed in the likes of Ike and Tina Turner, former Magnolia guests when it was listed in the “Green Book” (more about that later). They reimagined the house’s rooms infused with the blue jazzy vibes of Miles Davis, the pink hotness of Turner or Gladys Knight, the cerebral white heat of James Baldwin or the leathery sports-cool of a Jackie Robinson. Slowly, the brilliance of legendary figures who stayed there bled into the reimagined interiors, coaxed into being by Hicks and Mensch. Their creative guide was the historic property’s manager,
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Natalie Miller, who channeled the history with her father, owner Samuel Pass. Miller wanted to recapture visual, visceral elements that cultural legends experienced within the Magnolia’s walls, which were now 133 years old. “We will never look at an historic property the same way,” Mensch admits. “We’ve worked on older properties. But . . .” Nothing they had done, she says, was so absorbing, artistically meaningful, as this. “Natalie helped us see it.” “We said we’d love to help a year ago, not knowing how far it would go,” Hicks says. “Initially thought we’d set up a room for some photos. But once you get in it, you have to go through with it.” First, some background. The house, which features four en-suite guest rooms, was small but history-packed. Originally the private home of Daniel D. Debutts, it was converted to an inn 60 years later after purchase by Arthur and Louise Gist. The Magnolia was variously called a hotel, motel and inn. It appeared in The Negro Motorist Green Book from 1955 to 1957 and 1959 to 1961. The guide ceased publication in 1966. In 1995, Pass, who had grown up nearby, bought the house
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from Grace Gist, widow of state representative Herman Gist. (Keen to own the place he had admired from youth, Pass removed the for-sale sign and placed it in his trunk, according to the Magnolia House website. He later drove straight to Grace Gist to settle on the price.) Lying within the South Greensboro Historic District, the property, which opened to the public in late December, is listed in the National Register of Historic Places. As the Magnolia receded with the end of the Jim Crow era, it might have disappeared, as did most Green Book properties. According to Miller in recent interviews, it is among only four or five such N.C. sites that are “structurally replicated and functionally replicated.” Mike Cowhig, who works with historic preservation for the City of Greensboro, says the city wanted to prevent its disappearance. “Around 2000, the city, recognizing the importance of the house, used federal redevelopment funds to award a grant to the owner, Sam Pass, for restoration plans, a business plan, and for a new roof and other stabilization measures to keep the house from deteriorating further,” he recalls. “N.C. A&T also made a grant toward the stabilization of the house around that time.” The Art & Soul of Greensboro
“
Honor the present and look to the future.
”
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Then, Hicks and Mensch met Miller through Launch GSO, a chamber of commerce entrepreneurial program. Miller had assumed the mantle of managing the property and realizing her father’s vision to approximate its heyday. Miller wanted Vivid to handle the interior decoration. By early 2021, the inn was on the cusp of a new chapter. “When we first started working with Natalie, they were offering the shoebox lunches and history tours,” Hicks says. “There were a few other Green Guide places that were doing this.” With the house 85 percent restored, Miller anticipated the critical finishing touches on the part museum/part inn project, engaging a new generation of guests. As the design duo contemplated the interior design, they needed to channel its creative history while adapting needed creature comforts. “How do you design a space to invite people and honor the past? Some people are purists and want everything preserved,” Hicks says. Mensch adds, “A house still needs to feel fresh and right for the time.” They developed a creed: “Honor the present and look to the future.” “Then Natalie asked us to watch a movie called Sylvie’s Love, a modern movie based on a 1950s musician, for the colors, scenery,”
Hicks says. She captured screen pics and researched the film sets. But there was a hiccup: no budget. Interior design wasn’t a line item. The designers agreed to work pro bono but were offered $1,000 from people invested in Launch, “which would cover about 5.4 hours,” Hicks says with a laugh. It was not long before they logged more than 500 hours. They considered ways to engage others for material products and, with Miller’s help, decided to look for interested sponsors. “We jumped into this going backwards,” Hicks says. But she also had an ace: a neighbor, Kathy Devereux. Devereux was a member of the planning group for High Point X Design, a group seeking to keep High Point showrooms open year-round. After HPXD held an event, the Vivid designers were stunned that everyone wanted to help. Circa Lighting, reseller of the Visual Comfort line, offered a great deal on lighting. Thibaut, the nation’s oldest designer of wallpaper, sponsored wallpaper and fabric. Sherwin Williams offered paint. The list of help expanded. Mensch says they had to figure out how to organize all that largesse: How was it going to fit, to look? “It was a little different from a regular project.” “We had zero budget, but we started with what we loved,” she adds.
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They designed it, and it began to coalesce. In the meantime, with every visit to the site, the designers, who had worked with few historic properties — the Julian Price house and another on Church Street — knew this was their oldest and most complex. Miller planned adding a museum annex and more rooms. This was more than an inn. Then, too, there was the omnipresence of famous guests: James Baldwin, Louis Armstrong, Miles Davis, Jackie Robinson, Ike and Tina Turner, Ray Charles, Duke Ellington’s band, James Brown, Gladys Knight, Louis Armstrong, in addition to artists and sports figures. “It means a lot to us. It’s in the community,” Hicks says. “We were glad to be involved with this project. We put our hearts and souls in it. And we will have an eternal connection to it.” “For the ‘Kind of Blue’ room, it was kind of the culmination of characters. Miles (Davis) and Buddy Gist (son of Arthur Gist) were friends. The design team mined details, seeking to give the rooms names and themes.” Now the Carlotta room honors “queens of The Art & Soul of Greensboro
soul,” and the Legends room honors sports guests. The Baldwin room honors African American intellectuals. Mensch recalls sitting in the living room for the inn’s soft opening. “It felt so good! It was a great mix.” Hicks agrees: “It came to life.” She mentions “designing for a difference.” When Gladys Knight performed at the Tanger in November, Miller gave the designers tickets. As they thrilled to Knight’s performance, they felt re-inspired by the project as it was winding down. “There are so many things I like about so many spaces there,” Hicks reflects. “It feels cohesive, even while trying to honor so many different people. There’s a rhythm in there. A general mood in the house.” Then she smiles. “Rich! Deep. And smooth!” As Ellington sang, “It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing.” OH Cynthia Adams is a contributing editor to O.Henry. O.Henry 73
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A L M A N A C
February By Ashley Walshe
F
ebruary is a creature from an ancient myth, a wise old woman, a mystical crone goddess. At first glance, she is homely, haggard and frightening. Her face is gaunt. Her garments, threadbare. Her skin like gray, crinkled paper. There is nothing soft or warm or pleasant about her. Time and the elements stripped her of her beauty long ago. She lurks in the shadows, a bag of bones with sunken eyes, crooked fingers and limbs like wind-swept trees. Her icy breath swirls through the air like a ravenous arctic wolf. Few have dared to approach — let alone understand — her. Most avoid her like the plague. She does not require your favor. And yet, should you dare to gaze upon her, she will offer a wisp of a smile. A mysterious light will shine from her deep-set eyes, and while she will not speak with words, you will hear her, clear as a bell in the night: follow me. Into the darkness you’ll trudge, cold air burning like poison ivy, frozen earth crunching beneath your feet. Rows of naked trees reach toward a grim, abysmal sky, and you wonder how life could possibly grow in this barren landscape, this pregnant silence, this bitter womb of winter. As she walks, the crone slips her wrinkled hand into her cloak pocket and withdraws a rusted skeleton key. At once it is clear: This is no forsaken beast. She is the chosen one: the gatekeeper between death and life, the end and the beginning, the black of night and the first blush of dawn. You begin to notice what was already here: early crocuses bursting through the frosty soil; milky white snowdrops and fragrant wintersweet; a host of sunny jonquil. A great horned owl screams out. The crone does not glow like a young maiden or a new mother. But as you softly gaze upon her, you see the grace of a soul who has witnessed many seasons — a wise one who knows that spring is ever on the silvery horizon. That the only way to it is through it.
Feed the Birds
It’s been a long winter for everybody — especially our winged friends. Feed the Birds Day is celebrated each year on February 3. If ever you’ve wondered where St. Francis of Assisi, patron saint of animals, came up with his “For it is in giving that we receive” line, consider that he’s often depicted with a bird in his hands.
You think winter will never end, and then, when you don’t expect it, when you have almost forgotten it, warmth comes and a different light. — Wendell Berry
Space and Time
According to EarthSky.org, one of the most anticipated sky scenes of 2022 happens 40 minutes before sunrise from February 11–16, when Venus, Mars and Mercury will all be visible in the darkest spell of morning. Another scene not to be missed this month: The “Winter Hexagon,” a prominent group of stars comprised of Rigel (in Orion), Sirius (in Canis Major), Procyon (in Canis Minor), Aldebaran (in Taurus), Capella (in Auriga) and Pollux (in Gemini). Also called the “Winter Circle,” you can find this asterism by first looking for Orion’s brightest star, Rigel, the bluish star at the lower right (in other words, below the belt). From here, draw a line straight up to Aldebaran, then continue following the bright points counterclockwise until you complete the circle.
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Although a conscientious effort has been made to provide accurate and up-to-date information, all events are subject to change and errors can occur! Please call to verify times, costs, status and location before planning or attending an event.
February 1 PLOGGING. 9 a.m.–5 p.m. Try the Swedish custom of picking up trash while jogging for a chance to win eco-friendly prizes. Free; registration required. Kathleen Clay Edwards Library, 1420 Price Park Rd., Greensboro. Info: greensboro-nc.gov (click on “events”).
February 2 PB KICKOFF. 7–8:30 p.m. The Greensboro History Museum presents the virtual Participatory Budgeting Kickoff and Community Workshop, which provides $500,000 for resident-driven projects or programs across the city. Learn about the program and how to get neighborhood projects on the ballot for funding. Free; registration
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Rogue
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required. Info: pbgreensboro.com.
February 3
READING THE WORLD. 7 p.m. This online event features a discussion of the 2021 Nobel Prize winning novel Gravel Heart by author Abdulrazak Gurnah as part of Scuppernong’s Reading the World Book Club. Free; registration required. Info: scuppernongbooks.com/event.
ALL BEESWAX. 2–3 p.m. Make a homemade candle for your Valentine (or yourself)! Both adults and young adults welcome. Free; registration required. Glenn McNairy Branch Library, 4860 Lake Jeanette Rd., Greensboro. Info: greensboro-nc.gov (click on “events”).
February 2, 4 & 5
SURFIN’ USA. 7:30 p.m. The Beach Boys mark more than a half-century of musicmaking as they bring their famous California sound to the Gate City. Tickets: $51+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter.com/events.
DOG SEES GOD. 7:30 p.m. (weekdays) & 2 p.m. (weekend). Dog Sees God: Confessions of a Teenage Blockhead reimagines characters from the comic strip Peanuts as degenerate teenagers. Drug use, child sexual abuse, suicide, eating disorders, teen violence, rebellion, sexual relations and identity are covered in this homage to the works of Charles M. Schulz. Free; tickets and masks required. The Gail Brower Huggins Performance Center, Odell Building, 815 W. Market St., Greensboro. Info: greensboro.edu/theatre.
February 3, 5 & 6 VAGINA MONOLOGUES. 7:30 p.m. (weekday) & 2 p.m. (weekend). This episodic play explores everything from consensual and nonconsensual sexual experiences to sex workers and other topics through the eyes of women of varying age, race and sexuality. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Calendar Free; tickets and masks required. The Gail Brower Huggins Performance Center, Odell Building, 815 W. Market St., Greensboro. Info: greensboro.edu/theatre.
February 4 RICARDO MONTANER. 7 p.m. The Argentine-Venezuelen singer-songwriter takes over the Coliseum for a night of Latin music. Tickets: $48+. Greensboro Coliseum Complex, 1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: greensborocoliseum.com/ events. ROGUE. 8 p.m. The Southeast’s only contemporary dance and circus company, Carolina Calouche & Co., stops in Greensboro. Circus artists and dancers entertain during Rouge: A Cirque & Dance Cabaret. Tickets: $25+. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events.
February 4–6 RENT’S FAREWELL. Jonathan Larson’s Tony Award and Pulitzer Prize-winning musical RENT has taught fans to choose love over fear and live without regret for 25 years. Now, it takes its final bow in its Farewell Season of Love Tour. Tickets: $29+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter.com/events.
February 5 LUNAR NEW YEAR. 2–3 p.m. Enjoy stories, snacks and STEAM (science, technology, engineering, arts and mathematics education) activities, then show off fierce dance moves to celebrate the Year of the Tiger. Free. Kathleen Clay Edwards Library, 1420 Price Park Rd. Greensboro. Info: greensboro-nc. gov (click on “events”). CIVIL RIGHTS GALA. 6–8 p.m. The International Civil Rights Center & Museum presents their Annual Fundraising Gala, marking the 62nd anniversary of the lunch counter sit-in protests. Tickets: $50+. Koury Convention Center, 3121 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: sitinmovement.org. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
VIVA LA MUERTE. 7:30 p.m. Greensborobased band Viva la Muerte debuts music from their newest album, Storm Country. Tickets: $10/advance, $15/door. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events.
craft kit and make a handmade gift for a special someone. Free. Central Library, 219 N. Church St., Greensboro. Info: greensboronc.gov (click on “events”).
NO LIMITS. 8 p.m. The Colonel has reassembled his soldiers for a No Limit Reunion Tour at the Coliseum; they reunite after 20 years of building the No Limit legacy. Tickets: $59+. Greensboro Coliseum Complex, 1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: greensborocoliseum.com/ events.
TOMLIN UNITED. 7 p.m. Tickets: $20+. Contemporary Christian music artist Chris Tomlin joins Hillsong United for a night of praise and worship. Greensboro Coliseum Complex, 1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: greensborocoliseum.com/ events.
February 5, 12, 19 & 26 WAKE UP, BROTHER BEAR! 2:30 p.m. The North Carolina Theatre for Young People presents Wake Up, Brother Bear! Intended for children younger than 6, watch as Brother and Sister Bear experience a full year of glorious seasons. Tickets: $5+. Pam and David Sprinkle Theatre, 402 Tate St., Greensboro. Info: vpa.uncg.edu/ performances-and-events.
February 6 MARGARET ATWOOD. 7 p.m. UNCG’s Concert and Lecture Series’ hosts Margaret Atwood, one of the world’s most influential writers. Tickets: $5/UNCG Students, $10+/ Nonstudents. UNCG Auditorium, 408 Tate St., Greensboro. Info: vpa.uncg.edu/ performances-and-events.
February 7 ENHANCED OUTDOOR LIVING. 7–8 p.m. Steve Windham, Founder of Root & Branch Gardens, shares techniques on choosing native plantings that encourage food webs and fit landscapes. Free; registration required. Kathleen Clay Edwards Library, 1420 Price Park Rd. Greensboro. Info: greensboro-nc.gov (click on “events”).
February 7–14 VALENTINE MAKE-N-TAKE. School-aged children are invited to take home a Valentine
February 9
February 10 LOOKING GOOD. Noon. Join UNCG Profs Jazmin Graves and Neelofer Qadir and explore new ways of looking at the work of Lorraine O’Grady, one of the most significant contemporary figures working in performance, conceptual and feminist art. Virtual event; registration required. Info: weatherspoonart.org. SOUTHERN (DIS)COMFORT. 6–7:30 p.m. Celebrate Black History month with a screening and discussion of Southern (Dis) comfort by poet Johnny Lee Chapman III. Q&A and poetry writing session to follow. Free; registration required. Glenn McNairy Branch Library, 4860 Lake Jeanette Rd., Greensboro. Info: greensboro-nc.gov (click on “events”). AND I STILL RISE. 6–8 p.m. Join in a film screening and discussion of Maya Angelou: And I Still Rise. Virtual viewing options available. Free; registration required. Benjamin Branch Library, 1530 Benjamin Parkway, Greensboro. Info: greensboro-nc.gov (click on “events”).
February 11 2 GUYS NAMED CHRIS. 7:30 p.m. Rock 92 hosts a one-of-a-kind comedy night featuring comedians Kelly Collette, Grey Morton and Mike Merryfield. VIP Meet & Greet tickets: $40. General admission: $20. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events. O.Henry 101
Calendar GREGORY AMOS. 8 p.m. North Carolina soul and inspirational saxophonist Gregory Amos performs in the Crown alongside guest Rod McCoy. Tickets: $14/advance, $17/door. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/ events. STRINGS TOUR. 8:30 p.m. Featuring Billy Strings, a Grammy award-winning singer, songwriter and musician who has been called “one of string music’s most dynamic young stars.” Tickets: $39.50+. Greensboro Coliseum Complex, 1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: greensborocoliseum.com/events.
February 11–20 DREAMGIRLS. Tickets: $15+. CTG tells the rags-to-riches story of a 1960s Motown group, highlighting the triumphs and tribulations its members experienced as they
acquired fame and fortune. Community Theatre of Greensboro, 520 S. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: ctgso.org
February 12 HOLIDAY HIKES. 9 a.m. Meet at the Palmetto Trail Head off of Old Battleground Road for a two-hour, 2.8-mile Valentine’s Hike. Dog-friendly. Free; registration required. Info: greensboro-nc.gov (click on “events”). AMORE. 6 p.m. The Bel Canto Company hosts their annual gala and fundraiser, complete with wine, beer and hors d’oeuvres, silent auction and raffle, a plated dinner with dessert and cabaret performance. RSVP by February 2. Tickets: $100. The Colonnade at Revolution Mill, 1000 Revolution Mill Dr., Greensboro. Info: belcantocompany.com/ event.
NO REMORSE TOUR. 7:30 p.m. Actor and comedian Mike Epps brings the laughs to Greensboro alongside special guest host Sommore and comedic talents Gary Own, Arnez J and Tony Rock. Tickets: $59+. Greensboro Coliseum Complex, 1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: greensborocoliseum.com/events. ANDY GROSS. 8 p.m. One of the hottest corporate entertainers, stand-up comics, magicians and ventriloquists in the business, Andy Gross will leave audiences spellbound. Tickets: $32.75. Greensboro Coliseum Complex, 1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: greensborocoliseum.com/events. HEATHER HEADLEY. 8 p.m. GSO presents one of Broadway’s brightest stars as she performs hits from The Lion King, Elton John and Tim Rice’s Aida! Tickets: $35+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter.com/events.
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Calendar February 12–13 WINE & CHOCOLATE FESTIVAL. 5 p.m. & 1 p.m. This festival brings together wineries and chocolatiers from across the region for unlimited tastings of North Carolina wines, chocolates and sweets. Tickets: $35/advance, $40. Greensboro Coliseum Complex, 1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: greensborocoliseum.com/events.
February 13 MASSACRE MARATHON. 10 a.m. The Triad’s greatest running party returns! Run 26.2 miles through Country Park solo or with up to seven friends in relay format. Registration: $60+. 3905 Nathanael Greene Dr., Greensboro. Info: massacremarathon.com. CHAMPIONS OF MAGIC. 4 p.m. Catch magicians performing in a Worldwide
Wonders Tour filled with original ensemble illusions. Tickets: $25+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter.com/events.
February 14 GHOSTS OF LIBERTY 8 p.m. Join Americana folk trio The Ghosts of Liberty as they mix blues, rock and soul Valentine’s night in the Crown. Tickets: $13/advance, $15. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events.
February 15 CAROLINA CLASSIC. 7 p.m. Bill Williamson, a struggling performer, falls in love with a beautiful vocalist named Selina Rogers in this Carolina Classic Movie, Stormy Weather. Tickets: $7. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events.
BRYAN SERIES. 7:30 p.m. Hear Yusef Salaam’s story on how he and others known as the Central Park Five were exonerated. Tickets: $46+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter. com/events.
February 16 FINAL POETRY CAFE. 6–8 p.m. Josephus Thompson III facilitates the final open mic for children ages 10–18 to share poetry, music and art as part of his Youth Cipher Series. Free; registration required. Xperience @ Caldcleugh, 1700 Orchard St., Greensboro. Info: greensboro-nc.gov (click on “events”)
February 17 FOR THE BIRDS. 3:30–4:30 p.m. Schoolaged children are invited to celebrate the Great Bird Count (Feb 18–22) by making simple bird feeders to take. Free. McGirt-
State Street
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Calendar Horton Branch Library, 2501 Phillips Ave., Greensboro. Info: greensboro-nc.gov (click on “events”). NCWN WRITING WORKSHOP. 7 p.m. Author L.C. Fiore will offer a 60-minute generative writing workshop featuring offbeat writing prompts and one-on-one feedback. Virtual options available. Free; registration required. Scuppernong Books, 304 S. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: scuppernongbooks. com/event. POETRY WORKSHOP. 7–8:30 p.m. Join an online or in-person discussion-based workshop for poets of all skill levels. Free; registration required. 1530 Benjamin Branch Library, 1530 Benjamin Parkway, Greensboro. Info: greensboro-nc.gov (click on “events”). DIVE BAR SAINTS. 7:30 p.m. Join Country music band Home Free on a world tour celebrating their fifth studio album release. Tickets: $28.50+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter.com/events.
February 18 HERITAGE BOOK CLUB. 10:30 a.m.– Noon. Wrapped in Rainbows: The Life and Work of Zora Neale Hurston will be discussed as part of the Southern Writers Series. Virtual options available. Free. High Point Public Library, 901 N. Main St., High Point. Info: greensboro-nc.gov (click on “events”). FOUR TEMPTATIONS. 7:30 p.m. The Temptations and The Four Tops join forces to perform classic Motown and Rock’n’Roll hits for fans. Tickets: $35+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter.com/events.
February 18–20 & 23–26 PETER AND THE STARCATCHER. 7:30 p.m. (Fri/Sat) & 2 p.m. (Sun). A young orphan and his friends are shipped from Victorian England to a distant island ruled by an evil king. Tickets: $5+. Taylor Theatre,
104 O.Henry
406 Tate St., Greensboro. Info: vpa.uncg. edu/performances-and-events.
February 19 BLACK WELLNESS. 10–11:30 a.m. Learn about health-care disparities in the Black community and the benefits of trail. Free; registration required. Kathleen Clay Edwards Library, 1420 Price Park Rd., Greensboro. Info: greensboro-nc.gov (click on “events”). N.C. BLACK HERITAGE FESTIVAL. 1–5 p.m. The 2022 Queen City Black Heritage Festival, “Past, Present, & Future,” focuses on 40 Black-owned companies, along with crafts, culture, art, games, performances, kids activities and more. Free admission. Cabarrus Arena and Events Center, 4751 NC Hwy 49, Concord. Info: visitcabarrus.com. CIRCLE OF FRIENDS. 8 p.m. GSO presents a Masterworks spectacular featuring violinist Yevgeny Kutik. Tickets: $20+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter.com/events.
February 20 HOPE FEST 4 HUNGER. 2–4 p.m. The 4th Annual Hope Fest 4 Hunger presents a multicultural dance festival to benefit A Simple Gesture and Greensboro Urban Ministry. Refreshments, photo booth and raffle prizes on site. Free admission. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/events. OUTDOOR ADVENTURES. 2:30–4 p.m. Search for special geocaches hidden in Price Park. Free; registration required. Kathleen Clay Edwards Library, 1420 Price Park Rd., Greensboro. Info: greensboro-nc.gov (click on “events”). SITKOVETSKY & FRIENDS. 4 p.m. Enjoy the Rice Toyota Sitkovetsky & Friends Chamber concert. Tickets: $32. Tew Recital Hall, 100 McIver St., Greensboro. Info: vpa. uncg.edu/performances-and-events.
February 21 UNCG SYMPHONIC. 7:30–9 p.m. The UNCG Symphonic Band, a select ensemble of approximately 55 music majors, performs its spring concert. Free; tickets required. UNCG Auditorium, 408 Tate St., Greensboro. Info: vpa.uncg.edu/ performances-and-events.
February 22 GCS SHOWCASE. 5 p.m. Learn about Guilford County Schools’ 60+ special programs, including magnet and charter schools. Free. Greensboro Coliseum Complex, 1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: greensborocoliseum.com/ events.
February 23–March 6 THE LION KING. Disney’s The Lion King makes its triumphant premiere in the Triad! Tickets: $29+. Steven Tanger Center, 300 N. Elm St., Greensboro. Info: tangercenter. com/events.
February 24–26 DETROIT 67. 7:30 p.m. (weekdays) & 2 p.m. (weekend). Set in 1976 Detroit, Poindexter siblings Chelle and Lank make ends meet by hosting parties in their basement. Free; tickets and masks required. Gail Brower Huggins Performance Center, Odell Building, 815 W. Market St., Greensboro. Info: greensboro.edu/theatre.
February 25 CAMEL CITY YACHT CLUB. 7 p.m. Five Winston-Salem music scene veterans come together again to bring music and joy to the Gate City. Tickets: $18/advance, $20. Carolina Theatre, 310 S. Greene St., Greensboro. Info: carolinatheatre.com/ events.
February 25–27 CAROLINA BOAT & FISHING EXPO. 10 a.m. (Fri/Sun) & 9 a.m. (Sat). The Triad’s only boat and fishing show opens for three big The Art & Soul of Greensboro
Calendar days. Free. Greensboro Coliseum Complex, 1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Info: greensborofishingexpo.com.
February 26 NORTHEAST DUATHLON. 10 a.m. Kick off Multisport season with the first race in Trivium’s Multisport Series. Registration $70+. Northeast Park, 3421 Northeast Park Dr., Gibsonville. Info: triviumracing.com/ event. WINTER JAM. NewSong Ministries presents Christian music’s biggest multi-artist tour with headliners Skillet and Tauren Wells. $10 donations accepted for admission. Greensboro Coliseum Complex, 1921 W. Gate City Blvd., Greensboro. Full schedule and info: 2022.jamtour.com.
JAZZ ENSEMBLES. 7:30–9 p.m. The Miles Davis Jazz Studies program presents an evening of jazz, performed by two separate ensembles. Tickets: $6+. Tew Recital Hall, 100 McIver St., Greensboro. Info: vpa.uncg. edu/performances-and-events. GEENA DAVIS. 8 p.m. Academy Award winning actress Geena Davis (The Accidental Tourist, Thelma & Louise, Commander in Chief) shares her experience in the entertainment industry along with her passion for advocacy. Tickets: $10+/nonstudents. UNCG Auditorium, 408 Tate St., Greensboro. Info: vpa.uncg.edu/performances-and-events.
February 27
of Northeast Park. Registration: $50+/half marathon, $38+/5-miler. 3421 Northeast Park Dr., Gibsonville. Info: triviumracing. com/event. UNCG SYMPHONY. 3:30–5 p.m. The UNCG Symphony Orchestra, 90 music majors, presents its spring concert. Tickets: $10+/nonstudents. UNCG Auditorium, 408 Tate St., Greensboro. Info: vpa.uncg.edu/ performances-and-events.
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WTF. 9:30 a.m. The Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Half Marathon and 5-Miler will take participants through the winding trails
Life & Home
Love is in the air As in, I love staying home and 1st Choice keeps me there!
Think of us as your new friend in the know! Bringing you the intel you need about happenings in and around Greensboro every Tuesday morning. Sign up for our weekly newsletter about what’s happening in Greensboro.
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Phone: 336.285.9107 Fax: 336.285.9109
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Business & Services
Insurance From the Home Team With North Carolina Farm Bureau Insurance , you get bonafide, homegrown Property & Casualty, Life, and Health Coverage from local agents you can trust. So for all you North Carolinians that support the home team…think of us as the home team that supports you right back. Because helping you is what we do best.
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How is Medicare like your Smart phone? The more you learn about it, the easier it is to use... and even discover some new cool features! We now have three new classes on Medicare that are specifically designed to help you get the most out of your plans.
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Arts & Culture
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Arts & Culture
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GLASSFEST A premier sale of handcrafted glass March 5 • 9am - 5pm
Glassblowing demonstrations every hour beginning at 10am
Shop Online and In Person Masks are required. Visiting requirements may change per CDC guidelines
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110 O.Henry
Arts
& CULTURE The Art & Soul of Greensboro
LAWNDALE SHOPPING CENTER • IRVING PARK
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O.Henry Ending
Love During Lockdown How my parents maintained a steady diet of simple pleasures during COVID
“It’s the little things that mean a
lot, just like the song,” says my mom, who, as a teenager in Gretna, Va., sang that song a dozen times on her radio show in the mid-1950s. For my parents, who have been married for more than 63 years, it has been the little things that have kept their love alive.
During COVID lockdown, I got a brief glimpse through that lens of love my parents so cherish. My mom remembers the Alta Vista Rotary Club recommending her as a singer for the Russ Carlton Orchestra. Sax player met young jazz singer, and the rest is history. Remember the saying, “Those who play together stay together”? Dad courted Mom by writing arrangements for her. “In My Solitude” was the first tune. And when they did not have a gig, they danced in the living room on Saturday night. “You Send Me” by Sam Cook was their favorite for non-gig date nights. “We never went to prom because we always played proms,” Mom says. Performing at places like Virginia’s Hotel Roanoke and riding home in the back of the band’s station wagon holding hands was date night for them. On their first Valentine’s together, George gave Dixie a huge heart-shaped box of chocolates. Because of a massive snowstorm, Dad was unable to drive from Danville to Gretna in his 1941 turtle-back Mercury Coupe for weeks, so Dixie made that box of chocolates last an entire month by eating one piece a day. Fast forward 60 years, George and Dixie, who live in Madison, still eat one piece of chocolate a day — after dinner but before the TV show Suits.
112 O.Henry
Dad’s biggest accomplishment during COVID has been having his 1935 Conn Naked Lady baritone sax worked on by Greensboro’s saxophone whisperer, Evan Raines, at Moore Music. He also patched the toe hole in his New Balance sneakers during COVID. That’s a trick he learned from his dad, who patched the innertube tires on his 1936 Ford sedan during World War II when rubber was rationed. If the sweater fits, buy eight of them. With a December birthday, four daughters and Christmas, Mom racked up turtlenecks from Chico’s. One for each day of the week and an extra one for non-gig date nights in the basement. Watching daily rituals of meal planning or choosing what to wear for Rotary Zoom meetings have been special. I often catch them holding hands in their matching recliners with their matching Maine Coon cats and matching Timex watches. Each year for New Year’s, they somehow manage to give each other the same gift, a Timex Indiglo watch. Mom has so many, she keeps extras as backup. During lockdown, gig night has turned into basement jazz. Mom and Dad’s most treasured gigs, however, are playing with their four daughters for the O. Henry Hotel’s Jazz Series before COVID. Their biggest little thing, however, during this time of less-is-more, is their 3 p.m. Bake Me Happy parking lot cupcake dates in Madison, which has taken their romance full circle for sure — while, yes, holding hands. But this time, in the front seat, not the back. OH Madison native and Greensboro College graduate, Georgianna Penn loves sharing stories of hope and finding the extraordinary in the ordinary. Performing the music of the Great American Songbook with her family at O. Henry Hotel’s Jazz Series is what she has missed most during the pandemic. The Art & Soul of Greensboro
ILLUSTRATION BY HARRY BLAIR
By Georgianna Penn
336-852-7107
2222 Patterson St, Suite A, Greensboro, NC 27407 Serving the Triad’s eyewear needs for over 40 years
