Road Trip 2017 Continues. Atlanta.

I am so behind with our travelogue. This blog has become my journal, replacing the Moleskines I’ve used for years. If I don’t write about the experiences here I’ll lose them forever.  My gray matter is sadly shrinking.  Having photos jogs my memory way more than the scribbled doodles I used to draw.

We stopped in both Nashville and Atlanta on the way home. And we had other blogworthy adventures while in Chicago. Bit by bit, out of any chronological order, I’ll capture them here.

Atlanta. My trip advisor research suggested we tour The Swan House and Margaret Mitchell’s home. I added Oakland Cemetery to the “must see” list. Jim indulges my fascination with cemeteries.

Swan House: Built in 1928 for Edward and Emily Inman and intended to be their empty nest home. But Edward died in 1931. Emily then invited her children and grandchildren to come live with her. The kids weren’t allowed to use the grand staircase. They ascended and descended via the back stairs. Bronson felt smug as he walked up that elegant winding set of stairs.  Sadly I failed to take a photo of the stairway.

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This sign describes the car in the next photo. 

 

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The name of the house references the many swans collected and depicted throughout.

 

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Look at all those fancy appliances!

 

 

When the Hunger Game franchise was looking for locations to film Hunger Games: Catching Fire they chose the Swan House to be villain President Snow’s home.

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If you look close you can see the names of the cast on the pages next to the script.

 

We had lunch at Mary Mac’s Tea Room. Mary Mac’s Tea Room doors opened in 1945 when Mary McKenzie decided to use her good Southern cooking to make money in the difficult post-World War II days. In those times, a woman couldn’t just open up a restaurant, so many female proprietors used the more genteel Southern name of “Tea Room.”  There were at least sixteen other Tea Rooms around Atlanta. Mary Mac’s is now the only one left.

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The sweet potato souffle was delicious.   Jim regretted not getting fried chicken.

 

The walls of Mary Mac’s are covered with framed photos of famous people who have dined there, up to and including these guys.

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We also visited the apartment where Margaret Mitchell wrote Gone with the Wind. Mitchell had been a journalist, writing the Atlanta society news. When she broke her ankle, in 1926 she was immobilized and housebound. Her husband brought her library books regularly. Eventually, he said, “Margaret, you’ve read every book in the library. Why not just write your own?”  She did, and the rest is history.

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Margaret lived in the little apartment on the lower left.

 

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Margaret kept a towel near the typewriter.  When people came to call she covered the pages so they wouldn’t see what she was working on.  After each chapter was finished she would put the pages in a brown envelope and hide them.  The completed book is sixty-three chapters.  That’s a lot of hidden envelopes.

 

Jim bought the book, I added to my dish towel collection.  I just read that page in the book.  It seems Rhett never used the word “Frankly.” Maybe that was added in the movie.

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Lastly, we went to Oakland Cemetery where I was determined to find Margaret’s headstone.  I followed signs and everything but never found her.  She died at age forty-eight after being hit by a streetcar while crossing Peachtree Street.  The heirs to the estate continue to collect royalties to this day.

While I was unable to locate Margaret, I did find these sad reminders of the Civil War.

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 Here is why cemeteries move me. I wonder about the people buried there., their dreams, families, worries.  J. Higgens.  How old was he when he passed?  Who did he leave behind?  Probably he was not more than a boy.  People wander around the cemetery looking for the resting places of the famous.  I’m intrigued by the anonymous too.

 

 

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So that’s it for today.  Finally, time to shower, put on my war-paint and get ready to go to watch the Cubs at Tropicana Field.  Go Cubbies Go!