SUN SONG 24: Nothing Is Free
A late start, chicken sandwiches, and parking lots.
June 7th, 2022
Savannah, GA
12.63 miles
I had a scheduled day off yesterday, so this newsletter is coming a day later than usual. More on that tonight or tomorrow.
I thought the day wouldn’t be anything special. I woke up exhausted and in need of some extra rest, so I slept in. It was 1:45pm by the time I finished writing and left the house. In my eyes, the day was already over.
I had a few places I wanted to visit. One being Randy’s Bar-B-Q (as recommended by my Lyft driver when I got to town) on Wheaton Street, which was shy of a 15 minute walk. Savannah has been a peach, but walking on Wheaton reminded me of the brutal Georgia heat. It’s been relatively warm here, around the mid-80’s, but it’s easy to forget considering all the massive oak trees covered with Spanish moss. Wheaton Street is a much different story. Instead of trees, it’s wide open fields, a Baptist church, a CSX signal shop, and a Family Dollar. This part of town is a little down and out and it’s difficult to cross the street, but it’s quiet and free from the constant traffic of tourist trolleys. I saw a plastic container of pastries sitting on a bench and cooking beneath the sun. A perfect image to describe the day.
Randy's is past the Baptist church and housed in the tiniest cinderblock building. You’ll know when you get there, especially when you see the large collection of trailer smokers sitting outside. A couple folks ranted and raved about this place stating it was the best barbeque in Savannah. I should have taken notes. After a brief wait in line, I walked up the window (you’re not allowed inside) and learned the guy before me had taken the last of the barbeque.
That’s it. He took ‘em! We closed. Come back tomorrow.
If I wanted barbeque, I suppose I’d have to swing by in the morning. Looks like I’m having ribs for breakfast.
My bad luck continued after stopping at a convenience store nearby. It was hosted in a steel roof shack and advertised itself as serving the best chicken wings in all of Savannah (everybody says they're the best). Given my empty stomach, I would have tried, but my card was declined as I tried purchasing a couple bottles of water. WiFi issues, supposedly. I wasn’t carrying cash, something I typically do as you almost always need it while traveling by foot.TJ, the guy behind the counter, asked if I had Zelle or Cashapp, but I didn’t.
I’ll try those wings next time, TJ.
My fortune changed on a whim visit to Bradley Lock and Key Shop on State Street. I had no real business in a key shop other than I had a feeling about the place. Downtown Savannah is full of new shops that cater to tourists or people with money, but Bradley’s has obviously been around for a long time. Outside, the facade was covered with hand painted signs advertising their services with slogans that read, “We fix anything but a broken heart” or “We sharpen anything but your wits.”
Inside the shop is filled with old junk, neon signs, a large bell, and decades of family photos. At the counter, I met Chris, who sat in front of a wall lined with keys of all varieties. It's funny, I debated getting a set of keys duplicated during my visit to strike conversation (I do need an extra set for my apartment back in Brooklyn), but knew I was being irrational. Instead, I came clean about my visit, stating the place looked interesting, and I was in the middle of a very long, long walk.
You want some water?
I sure did.
Chris isn’t a member of the Bradley family, but he was hired to hold down the shop while the owner fills service calls around town. The shop has been in operation since 1883 likely making it one of the oldest lock shops in the United States. The place was empty when I visited, but the bulk of Bradley’s business is done elsewhere, either fixing, installing, or popping locks for the unlucky bunch who lost their keys.
I talked with Chris for a little while and he gave me a tour of the shop. Noticing my camera, he pointed out all the things I should photograph, like a bunch of rusted locks hanging from the ceiling.
An older man with a ponytail, bearing a cane, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and sunglasses walked in with his dog. He rang the large bell by the door and mentioned he was just stopping by to use their parking lot. Supposedly old man Bradley, the man who owned the shop before handing it down to his grandson (the current owner) had many friends and made a habit of letting them use his parking lot. His grandson was now dealing with the repercussions as the lot was so popular and was preventing paying customers from having a place to park. Nowadays he is cracking down.
You can’t use the lot. Customers only.
Oh yeah? Says who? I’m just gonna run to the store.
You can’t park here. New policy.
I've been parking here for years!
The old guy was clearly flustered, but Chris wouldn’t budge. He ushered his dog outside, tapping the bell one last time before heading out.
C’mon boy, this guy is no fun. He sucks!
I asked Chris if he knew the guy.
Nope. Can I get you another water?
My other destination was a little hole-in-the-wall called Grandma’s Diner. Located on the eastside of town, I read Grandma’s served the best chicken sandwich in all of Savannah (I suppose today was all about finding the best of the best). I was apprehensive about making the trek as the place had no real online presence save for a few old reviews. For having the best chicken sandwich, nobody I spoke to had even heard of it. As with Bradley Lock, I had a feeling. These are the places I’m after.
The east side of Savannah, between Drayton and Bee Road, reminds me of Thomas Square (the neighborhood I walked the day before), but is more spaced out and filled with single family homes. The sidewalk tends to come and go as it pleases. I had no choice but to walk in the street.
It’s a mix of different folks over here, although primarily Black and working class. Some houses are old, but well cared for, while others could use a bit of love. Occasionally I’d stumble across completely renovated, vacant homes or a high-end coffee shop signaling the area was going through changes. Whatever is going on, the eastside is just another gorgeous sliver of Savannah. It’s hard not to fall in love with this place while walking around.
I arrived at Grandma’s just after 4:30pm, a half hour before the place closed. This isn’t your classic American diner. Most of the restaurant is the kitchen and there’s limited seating for customers. I figured most would order their food and take it to go, but I planned on dining-in so I could soak up the place and momentarily escape the heat. The walls are covered in orange paint. A painting of the last supper hangs beside the television. This is the kind of place that makes you feel like time stands still, especially with the sun shining through the windows. The place was a bit tired, but had a quality about it that made me feel I could have sat there all day long just watching the news or traffic pass without a care in the world.
At the counter, I ordered a chicken sandwich. I could barely hear the young girl from behind the register as she spoke so faintly.
Let me ask my grandpa if he’s making them today.
She ran to the back and ushered in her grandpa to come inside, who burst through the door and shouted something at me with a smile. I couldn’t understand a damn word he said. His accent was so thick. Even though we all spoke English, his granddaughter was the mediator between us and translated his words.
He said it’s gonna be a 15 minute wait.
Take a seat by the fan!
You want some water?
The young woman handed me my sandwich and a large styrofoam cup with a straw. She rattled off some numbers before I handed her my card, but again, I could barely hear her. Grandpa spoke up.
You hear what she said?
I shook my head and Grandpa laughed, but not before busting his granddaughter.
Speak up!
$6.59, sir.
I asked Grandpa how long he’d been on business and he introduced himself as Jerome. I could still barely understand him, but he spoke with a little more clarity. Jerome had been in the business for 10 years and damn right he knew his chicken sandwich was the best of the best.
I landed in a chair and took a bite of the sandwich. It was served in a styrofoam container, with mayonnaise, lettuce, tomatoes and sandwiched in between two pieces of white bread. The presentation was nothing special, but Jerome wasn’t kidding. This was the best chicken sandwich I’d ever had. It was merely a chicken breast, bones included, cut in half and made to order. It made all the difference and was unlike most chicken sandwiches I’ve had. It was juicy and fresh, but if you weren’t careful, you’d likely chomp on a bone.
Jerome asked if I was satisfied and I let him know.
Good!
I’ll tell everyone back in New York City about him. It’s worth the trip.
I spent the remainder of the afternoon weaving and winding throughout the neighborhood, eventually running down to busy Anderson Street where there was little to no sidewalk. Instead there was a worn trail by those moving on foot along fast moving cars. I don't understand why the city doesn’t pave a sidewalk, it’s obviously needed, but so it goes.
Earlier in the day, prior to visiting Grandma’s, I’d caught word of free pizza while visiting a coffee shop. The place had a rustic charm and the sounds of a harp played over the speakers. It was a cozy spot.
A friendly bearded man named Jeremiah greeted me at the register and asked me what I was doing. We got to talking and eventually he made a proposition.
We serve free pizza every Tuesday. Come back around 7, we’d love to see you.
So my intentions were to eventually return to the coffee shop for a free meal. I killed some time winding and weaving and now it was getting close to dinner. Despite my stop at Grandma’s, I was fixing to eat.
During my earlier visit, Jeremiah mentioned the place was operated by members of the faith-based community he belonged to. Their home was right across the street, the employees all lived together, and they had plans to buy more and more properties around the city.
It sounded like a commune, until Jeremiah started talking about God and how he and his fellow employees were here to serve him. This wasn’t the only coffee shop either, they had locations all around the world. Together they gave up all their belongings and lived in service of others and not self interest. Sure, it was strange, but not enough to deter me from free pizza.
So I arrived at 7pm. I found a table inside and Jeremiah took a seat across me, plates of pizza in his hands.
You’re back!
Another man came up to me shortly after and extended his hand.
Hello, Alex.
How did he know my name?
That was bizarre, but pizza was incredible. Everything was homemade and cooked in a brick oven in the backyard.
Nothing is actually free, and I somewhat anticipated this, but in exchange for the food, I had to sit through an hour-long lecture about the work Jeremiah was doing with his community.
Imagine a single candle in the dark. Now imagine multiple candles joining together. Now what difference would that make?
As he spoke, he looked directly into my eyes, continuing to feed me pizza while handing me brochures and a cup of sweet tea.
The day I joined, I destroyed my cell phone and flushed my SIM card down the toilet. I don’t have much use for the internet now or even social media. I have my family.
Another man walked by and handed me a small illustrated note. It was an invitation to join the community at their house this Friday.
I would be long gone by then and walking Orlando, but even if I was still in Savannah, I highly doubt I would have stopped by. Even if there was more pizza.
I said I had to go, but Jeremiah insisted on keeping in contact, asking for my phone number and address. No thanks.
It was great meeting you. We’d love to see you again.
Later that night, I did a little research and discovered Jeremiah was a part of the controversial 12 Tribes Community, which in many circles, is considered a cult.
What a day. It was better than I could have anticipated. My favorite’s are those filled with interactions and suprises, which always fill me with life.
This walk has a way of presenting multiple arcs. Not everyday (or city) proves to be as fruitful or inspiring as the next, but walking around Savannah reminded me why I do this work and left me energized. There’s so much left to walk here, but not enough time. I hope to visit again soon.
Tonight I’ll send another update about my day off yesterday and my final day in Savannah. I just landed in Orlando. I’ve never been to Florida, and understand that it’s the worst state to be a pedestrian, but I’m eager to navigate this strange place. Florida, much like that of Texas, or even New York City and California I suppose, is basically its own country. I got on this train at 4:30 this morning and am running on 3 ½ hours of sleep. Time for some rest.
Till then,
–Alex
Love the half finished house at the end.