When my family moved to South Carolina December 22, 1985 I was convinced we had moved to Hell. Having come from the Seattle area I thought Charleston was a backward thinking, redneck filled wasteland that was stuck in the past and I couldn’t wait to get out. I was 16 years, 11 months and 2 days old.
Since high school I had been going from place to place to
escape South Carolina and find a place to call home. Being a former Navy brat I never had a “home”
but I knew it wasn’t in South Carolina.
Life in the land of Strom Thurmond felt so oppressed that I felt like I
was suffocating on the stagnant air and I wanted more out of life so in 1988 I
left and moved back to Washington State… then I moved to Columbia, SC and then
to Staten Island, NY. I had no
responsibilities nor care in the world and at the time I liked it that way.
Being 21 and living in NYC was a crazy time in my life full
of partying and being free but I was also restless and in turn was very reckless
with some life choices. I was young,
immature and selfish and in a place that I couldn’t easily escape from. The only place to run to was back to South
Carolina and that’s the last place I wanted to be.
I wasn’t working so I was usually broke during that
time. When I couldn’t afford to go into
the city my days were filled with wandering around Fort Wadsworth and all the
old tunnels and batteries, taking walks under the Verrazano-Narrows bridge
where there was the most amazing view of the Manhattan skyline and picking up
sea glass on the filthy Staten Island beach which was at the mouth of the New
York harbor. Directly across from me was
Brooklyn and on the far end was Coney Island.
One morning I was back at the house sitting on the couch
wondering what to do with my day. There
was a stack of books next to me and I picked up the one on top which happened
to be “The Prince of Tides” by Pat Conroy.
I started leafing through it and was immediately absorbed by the pages. I stayed up late reading it and only put it
down to go to the restroom… probably not even then. Every word I read touched a nerve deep inside
of my body and made me feel something I had never felt before. I was homesick. I was homesick for South Carolina and left
New York a few days later.
By the end of that month I had read all of Pat Conroy’s
books that had been published at the time.
I made my sister read them too.
When he was in Charleston doing a book signing I was one of the people
who waited for 4 hours to get him to sign my books. He is the only person I have ever met that
pronounced my maiden name correctly on the first try. I joked to friends that I wanted to have his
baby.
After I read ‘The Water is Wide’ I drove solo to Beaufort
and hopped on a boat to Daufuskie Island.
I wanted to see where Pat Conroy lived and taught school early in his
career. At the time the island was
incredibly rural and there was only one vehicle on the island, a big pink school
bus that was used for tours. There was
maybe 20 people on the boat and everyone besides myself was over 50. When the bus driver started the tour he asked
if anyone had read the book and I was the only person who raised my hand. Really?!
The tour guide asked if I remember the couple that lived on the island
that ran the “store” and delivered the mail… yes, of course I did. Well, he was their son. Hello Bob Burns. From that moment on I felt like it was just
myself and Bob on the bus.
When my sister finally read ‘The Water is Wide’ I brought
her to Daufuskie. I was surprised to see
how developed the island was becoming and it made me a bit sad that it wasn’t
as pristine as it was the first time I went.
Instead of the bus tour we opted to rent a golf cart to tour the island –
that wasn’t even an option the first time I visited! We drove around the island at a snail’s pace
since our big asses were weighing that poor golf cart down. I showed her all of the spots significant to
the book and then we headed back to catch the boat to the mainland. Since the golf cart was so slow we were
almost late and would have had to stay the night on the island. I think we would have made it sooner by
walking back!
Over the years I went to every one of Pat Conroy’s book
signings, I tried to find his house on Lady’s Island (before he was married!),
I wrote him letters on stationary I made… and when I say made I REALLY mean
that I made the paper… from pulp. Yes,
it’s true… from pulp.
Spoleto did a Pat Conroy lecture series that I attended each
year. I loved to hear the stories he
told about his personal life. Not only
was he an incredible writer but he was an amazing public speaker as well. I went to so many of his appearances that he
started to recognize me. I’m not sure if
that’s a good thing or a bad thing though.
My friends joked that I was the Pat Conroy stalker and there was some
truth to that I suppose.
When the book ‘Beach Music’ came out the Jewish Community
Center in Charleston had a ceremony to honor Pat for his beautiful and touching
stories in the book which came from several members of the center. During his speech Pat told of how he met with
many people who gave him the inspiration and permission to use their life experiences
in the book, most memorable being the “lady of coins.” I was late for work because of that ceremony
and had to convince my supervisor how important it was for me to be there. She didn’t understand my fandom but excused
my tardiness nonetheless.
The last time I met Pat it was at another lecture but I can’t
remember where it was, only that it was in Charleston. He had just married his wife Cassandra King
and she was with him when I went backstage to say hello. I have a friend who has been hounding me to
write a book about my Great Nana and I wanted some advice on how to get
started. My sister was with me and I
introduced her then I asked him what the best advice he could give to a person
who wanted to write a book that would be fiction but based on a true story. He took a moment, looked me in the eye and
said “Just do it.” Not exactly the
advice I was looking for but he definitely had a point.
Over the years my love for South Carolina has grown and although
I move away from time to time it is undoubtedly home for me. I was living in Ohio February of 2009 when my
mother passed away. I came back to South
Carolina, among other reasons, to settle her estate. The following month I learned that Pat was
going to be inducted into the South Carolina Hall of Fame. The ceremony was to be held in Myrtle Beach
at the convention center. Of course I
had to go. Unfortunately, he was
continuously surrounded by well-wishers so I wasn’t able to speak with him that
time. I was happy that even though I was
going through a very difficult time in life I was still able to go to the
ceremony. It was nice to be able to
focus on something positive for a moment.
Last year a group of people from the Charleston History
Before 1945 Facebook group decided to take a daytrip to Daufuskie Island. I was so excited to be able to go back to a
place that I really loved visiting. When
we arrived by boat I was astounded at what was there… a store, a restaurant, small huts to stay
overnight in, a marina and a lot of mansions and condos. Wow.
Daufuskie definitely was not the same magical place I first visited
years before. I am so glad I was able to
see it when it was practically pristine.
This was definitely not the Daufuskie from ‘The Water is Wide’!
Any friend that knows me well knows of my love for Pat
Conroy and his books. Last night I was
sitting on my bed when I got a text message from my friend Devin telling me
about Pat’s passing. I was shocked. It had only been announced last month that he
was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I
sat and cried like a dummy by myself, well me and my dog Murray.
There are really no real words that I can write telling of what
a profound effect Pat Conroy’s work has had on me. He gave me a home when I had no clue what a
home was. He made me love a place I was
so busy despising that I never took the time to discover the real beauty of. Once I discovered the Lowcountry and it
became such a part of me whenever I was away Pat Conroy was my connection to it
once again. His words were like the
beacon I needed to always find my way home to the sea air, the sweetgrass
basket ladies, the cobblestone streets of Charleston and the familiar smell of
pluff mud.
I am away now, in another state, but because I have the
words of Pat Conroy I will never be lost again.
He gave me that and I will forever be grateful to him for helping me
find my way home all those years ago.
