Voices from the Village

It’s sort of amusing to imagine the occasional tourist, who, on his way from Charleston to the Isle of Palms, contracts a severe case of directional delirium, and instead of proceeding north on Coleman Boulevard, veers to the right onto Whilden Street then, totally disconcerted, takes a fateful right onto Venning. Imagine his growing bewilderment as he stops briefly at the end of Pitt Street, and then continues straight to Bennett, where in a trembling Midwest accent, he is forced to tell his wife that not only is he lost—a male admission more shameful than impotence or gender confusion—but that they are apparently stuck in some kind of time warp.

“My God, Hester, look at these old white frame houses, these narrow streets, the picket fences, the old oak trees. We’ve just bought a ticket to the Twilight Zone.”

A serendipitous turn into a driveway with a street sign “Toomer Lane” brings him face to face with a Mercedes 580 series convertible. Turning back onto the tree-darkened street he begins to realize that time is not at a standstill—in every driveway is either a late model Mercedes, BMW or Volvo. He completes his emasculation by asking a young couple directions and heads back toward the beach. “Pretty place, but it sure had me going there for a minute…”

Mt. Pleasant’s “Old Village,” historically upstaged by its more sophisticated cousin across the harbor, has some into its own during the past 10 to 15 years. At least as far as real estate value is concerned: Homes may sell for more than a half million, suggesting an upwardly mobile group of inhabitants. But the Villagers, I prefer to believe, choose to live like Lucille Odom, the protagonist in Josephine Humphreys’ Mt. Pleasant-set novel, Rich in Love—“in a hidden house in a hidden town.”

When I set out to talk to a few of The Village’s longtime residents this past fall, to ask their thoughts and feelings on this unique area of the Lowcountry, the town was far from hidden. Rich in Love was being transformed from book to film, and many of the Villagers were charting their daily walks near the MGM film site on Bennett Street. Names such as Albert Finney, Jill Clayburgh, Kyle MacLachlan and Piper Laurie were better known to the local I sought: Realtor and former Mt. Pleasant mayor, Francis F. Coleman; MUSC president and former governor Dr. James B. Edwards; Raleigh Johnson, owner of the H&R Sweet Shop, as well as Jo Humphreys, the Charleston writer whose novel has spawned much of the recent attention.

Not possessing the chutzpah to request a Playboy¬ style roundtable discussion, I spoke with them one at a time.

Francis Coleman, a very engaging and opinionated gentleman, was born in the Village 84 years ago. We met in his real estate office, filled with pictures of his family and such political figures as Ronald Reagan and Strom Thurmond. There is one of Coleman in 1946, during the early days of his first mayoral term (he served until 1960) and one of Boone Hall Plantation circa 1950. Mr. Coleman’s accent sounds like an old Charlestonian’s but I guess it’s an old “Mumplesson” one—and a dialectologist could detect a difference. He’s a perpetual font of interesting facts with his early memories of life in the Village. He recalls taking the ferries, which left from the foot of Hibben Street, the same street on which he runs his real estate business. He remembers the trolley tracks which stretched from the south end of Pitt St. to the Isle of Palms and talks of the long, rattling rides. “In those days, in the 1920s and ‘30s,” he recounts, “the Village was strictly a farming community and the few grocery stores were mostly owned by German families like the Patjens and the Schuzes.” There was no commercial shrimping, he says, till the ‘40s; only the occasional recreational shrimper tried his luck. With the lines of docks and restaurants stretching along the creek today, this description seems almost primeval.

“The Village is prettier now than it was then, because young people with money are moving in and renovating the old homes.”

Renovation restrictions posed by the Board of Architectural Review, he says, are for the most part needed. “though the requirement that a tin roof which has been damaged must be replaced only by another tin roof is ridiculous because those old tin roofs were only bought because people couldn’t afford anything better during the depression days.”

Somewhat wistfully, he says the 15 years he served as mayor were the “best years of my life.” But his most memorable Village experience was when ,as an eight-year-old, he jumped in the water at the foot of Venning Street where he had been playing, to save a drowning six-year-old boy who had fallen out of a bateau.

Dr. James B. Edwards moved to Me. Pleasant with his parents in 1938, arriving on one of the old Hibben Street ferries. “There were only about 750 people here then, and everybody knew each other. Nobody had any money, but we didn’t realize we were poor. It was a great place to live.” The kids used to meet at the Hay family’s wharf at the foot of Venning Street every day for a swim. And there was a boys-only spot on Shem Creek for skinny dipping—just outside the village, about where Shemwood II subdivision is now.

Dr. Edwards, who served during the Reagan Administration at Atomic Energy Commission director, could compile a book of short stories filled with his Tom Sawyer escapades. But his time spent with Peter Simmons, the local blacksmith, “a short but powerful black man,” seems to bring the biggest smile to his face. “I used to take the horses from my father’s farm to him to be shoed. He’d let me pump up the bellows while he hammered on the anvil.

“Back then you could have bought the entire Village for what you would pay for a single house today. Real estate has definitely soared. The houses are much more impressive now. But, it’s still a great place to live.”

A local realtor confirmed that Dr. Edwards was not hyperbolizing. Village homes average $94 to $127 per square foot, an increase of about 1,000 percent during the past 25 years. Generally the real estate is higher the closer you are to the water.

About three blocks back from The Bluff, at the intersection of Whilden and Royal streets, stands the H&R Sweet Shop. Its proprietor, Raleigh Johnson, lives next door in a 150-year-old yellow house. He’s an affable 77-year-old business man, who stakes claim to the oldest black-owned establishment in the area. He has worked very hard all his life and maintains an air of modest dignity despite his medical setbacks. His right side is partially paralyzed and he has arthritis as well, but he still manages to get about the neighborhood with his cane. He sat in a chair beneath a picture of his late wife, Harriet—the photograph taken on their 50th wedding anniversary last year. A very devoted orange and white cat—named “Cat”—sits on the left arm of his chair, occasionally interrupting with a brief meow, while staring inquisitively at his owner.

Raleigh Johnson, nicknamed “Pat,” has operated his business since 1960. Born in the Village, he went to New York City when he was 20. He did a lot of odd jobs there, including stints as a porter and as a short order cook. After work, he went to barber school at night. He also spent a few years in the Army in the quartermaster corps, where he learned still more about cooking. He became especially proficient at making different kinds of ice cream syrups. When he was about 40 he decided to return to the more peaceful and slower paced environment of Mt. Pleasant.

“When I came back, all I had with me was my barber supplies and a little bit of furniture.” He set up shop in what was to become an ideal location near Laing High School. It led him to decide that besides giving haircuts, he could also sell ice cream and candy. His parents already owned the property, so all he had to do what borrow the money—which he did—from an individual, not a bank. He named it the H&R Sweet Shop, the “H” standing for his wife’s name, the “R” for his.

He decided to get out of the barbering business because, “in those days,” he says, “most black people just cut their own hair.” And although he had been trained to cut white people’s hair, he never got too many white customers.

When the school closed about 20 years ago Johnson realized he would have to try to attract a different type of customer—adults. That’s when he stopped selling ice cream and candy in favor of offering beer and adult food—sandwiches and dinners including fried fish, fried chicken and his specialty, barbecued ribs. Locals, mostly black, and some white, crowd his shop now.

Raleigh Johnson retired just last year; his son Larry now runs the H&R. He still drops in the shop to chat with customers, and visits the senior citizens center right down the street. “Most of the old people are gone. I don’t know many of the young ones.”

Times have changed, Mr. Johnson agrees. But mostly, at least for ahim, the changes are a result of his age. Having worked since he was about six or seven, his earliest remembrances in the Village are work-related. “I liked picking chickweed in the fields and selling them. Sometimes, if I made enough money, I’d go to Mr. Patjens’ store and buy a cinnamon roll. They were really good.”

Raleigh Johnson enjoyed talking, but he’d rather be working, if he could. He’s had more than 70 years of conditioning.

Before talking with Josephine Humphreys, I visited the set of Rich in Love, a two story waterfront house, down a gravel driveway off Bennett Street. As it ruend out, I had to settle for posing my questions to her by telephone. But as we talked, I imagined our conversation taking place at the Odom family’s home—really the Grange Simons home at 223 Bennett. I fancied us sitting in the old Charleston Green chairs on the first floor porch and chatting while a salty breeze lifted my note paper.

Josephine Humphreys has never lived in the Old Village, much less Mt. Pleasant. Her home is in downtown Charleston. In fact, she made a point, while in the midst of writing the novel, to stay away from the area. “I prefer to use m imagination rather than my memory.

“The Village has always remained mysterious to me since my childhood. Whenever we would ride through it on the way to the beach, I would wonder who lived in those homes. That’s why in the book I refer to the Village as a hidden town.”

The book is not based on a particular family and there is no particular time setting. “It’s timeless, just like the Village itself. And I was really amazed that the movie people picked up on this. Even the clothes of the actors are not representative of any particular time period.”

Such timeless places as Charleston (Dreams of Sleep), Mt. Pleasant (Rich in Love) and the nearby islands (Fireman’s Fair) seem suited to Ms. Humphreys’ writing. And in general she agrees. “They allow me to make full use of my imagination.

“In many ways the Village looks the same today, but a lot of the houses have been fixed up, and there are Mercedes and swimming pools. And of course, the real estate is out of sight.”

With the release of the movie, what remains left of the Hidden Town’s timeless nature will be revealed in larger-than-life proportions. The Odom’s unrenovated house, with its worn-thin Persian rugs, the unpretentious, cluttered rooms with old, well-used furniture, including an ancient barber chair, the heady smell of musty memories frozen in time and the weathered porch, face a fresh present—a Bluff full of freshly painted, beautifully detailed homes.

But it’s the old house, like the one Ms. Humphreys reveals to us in her book, that the old residents know so well: The mysterious and imagination-provoking set fulled with timeless relics and old voices rich in love with the Village.

(Originally published December 1991)