Travel: Gone with the Wind

If You're one of the folks who loves the movie and has even read the thick book, maybe more than once, this travel story is for you. I thrill at learning more about Margaret  Mitchell, the author, and how she ticked, How did she come up with characters like Scarlett O'Hara, a survivalist willing to do whatever it took to get by, and Rhett Butler, the handsome scoundrel who pursued and aided her, and mammy, the no-nonsense nanny and others with just as much passion and appeal. That's why on the day we visited the Margaret Mitchell House I stood waiting for the tour to begin as giddy as a debutante at the Twelve Oaks ball.

The house, on the corner of Peachtree and 10th Street in Midtown Atlanta, was not actually a one-family dwelling, but rather the Crescent Apartment House. Mitchell and her husband, John Marsh rented a one bedroom unit they affectionately named The Dump.

As we stand ready to enter the unit we learn much about Mitchell's life. In 1926, She worked for the Atlanta Journal Sunday Magazine and even before she penned her great novel, her articles generated mail and controversy that didn't fit the accepted standards of femininity.

She quit her job following a sprained ankle that was slow to heal and immersed herself in reading library books her husband brought home until at last he proclaimed she'd read everything they had and she should write her own book. He presented her with a Remingron Portable No. 3 typewriter and she began her work. Mitchell always knew she wanted her book to be about the American Civil War and Reconstruction and in her own words said, "I knew every detail of the book before I ever typed the first word." 

Entry into their unit. 

As our tour guide opens the door, he tells us sections of Mitchell's epic story were patterned after things in her own life or those of her family. Her mother, after her wedding, changed into a gown of green English cloth and velvet hat to match which reminds me of Scarlett and her gown and hat made from drapes. 

Mitchell's first love and fiancee, Clifford West, a Harvard graduate, was mortally wounded in World War I whereas Scarlett's first husband died of pneumonia and measles while serving in the Confederate Army. Her first marriage ended in divorce when her husband beat her badly enough to require hospitalization. Scarlett's second marriage ended when her husband, Frank Kennedy was shot and killed trying to avenge her honor.

Mitchell came from a wealthy and politically prominent family just like Scarlett. Both her grandfathers fought in the Civil War. Afterward, her paternal grandfather made a fortune supplying lumber for the rapid rebuilding of Atlanta. Sound familiar? In the book Scarlett opened a lumber business with money borrowed from Rhett Butler.

Stepping into the kitchen, a tiny room to be sure, it becomes obvious the unit was never a mansion as I always dreamed it would be. With little more than you see here, the kitchen contains only the bare necessities. 

 The guide continues his story by telling us as a child, Mitchell's family visited the older generations where she sat on knees and listened to Civil War stories. Perhaps Gone with the Wind began forming in her mind even then. 

In high school she wrote two stories that were published in the school paper. In one, Little Sister, the young girl hears her older sister being raped and grabs a gun and shoots the man. In Gone with the Wind, a Yankee soldier comes in to plunder and rape Scarlett and Melanie. Scarlett kills him with Charles's pistol, and then sees Melanie, like a little sister to her, holding a sword, ready to fight. 

In addition, we learn that Mitchell's mother actually did die after helping nurse some neighbors back to health and then contracted the disease herself as Scarlett's mother did. 

Next, we step into the bedroom leading off the kitchen. No wasted space here with a dresser and double bed on one side and a tiny table where they would've taken their meals at the other end of the room. Two large windows bathe the room in sunlight and give it a cozy feel. A candlestick phone sits on a table in the corner. 

The furniture in the apartment is not original, but matched as closely as possible. 

We're told Margaret Mitchell began writing Gone with the Wind in 1926 starting with the last chapter and then the moments leading up to it with the first chapter rewritten several times. It's said when stacked one on another, the manuscripts comprising the novel towered to just shy of her four foot eleven frame.

In 1935 Harold Latham, a publisher came to Atlanta looking for new talent. He heard about Mitchell's work, but she twice denied it's existence before finally allowing him to see it. Once he agreed to publish it, Mitchell and her husband, a copy editor by trade, edited the final version, 1037 pages long.

Our guide extends an arm and ushers us through a hall about the length of two strides for a tall man. It connects the bedroom with the living room. A bath, leading off the hallway, consumes more space than necessary considering it has only a wall-hung sink, a simple commode and a claw foot tub. 

We step into the living room and finally lay eyes on the area where Mitchell sat between two windows and wrote all but one chapter of her novel. 

We learn Scarlett's name started out being Pansy, and several titles were proposed for the book including, Tomorrow is Another Day, her last words in the novel. Gone with the Wind, a metaphor for how the South would never be the same, was taken from a stanza in a poem by Ernest Dowson.

The novel was published in June,1936 with sales being beyond expectation, especially considering the cost of the book was three dollars and the nation was deep in the Great Depression. Nevertheless, about a million copies were sold by the end of December and she received the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 1937. The book has always ranked popular among readers, even eighty years later. 

Upon its release December 15, 1939, the movie broke attendance records everywhere. In Atlanta Mayor William B. Hartsfield led three days of festivities which included a parade of limousines featuring stars from the film, receptions and a costume ball with about 300,000 people coming out to watch the parade procession. Governor Eurith D. Rivers declared it a state holiday.

Our guide in the living room.

A question often posed to Mitchell about her book was, what became of their lovers. Her response, "For all I know Rhett may have found someone else who was less difficult." Gone with the Wind was the only novel Mitchell published in her lifetime. Two sequels, Scarlett and Rhett Butler's People were authorized and published many years later. More recently a prequel titled, Ruth's Journey was written about the life of Mammy, the beloved house servant. 

There have been many parody's including my favorite, "Starlett" on the Carol Burnett Show where she descends a long staircase wearing a green curtain complete with hanging rod. The book has been adapted for stage and screen as well. 

There's a group of ardent fans known as Windies. They follow the latest news and events surrounding the book and film much as the Jame Austin fans do her books, films and life.

Our tour guide leads us out of her small apartment and invites us to go upstairs if we wish and view the portraits and memorabilia contained on the top floor. 

Hattie McDaniel who played Mammy in the film became the first African-American to win an Academy Award.

Clark Gable and Margaret Mitchell had a private meeting behind locked doors when he arrived in town. Neither discussed what they talked about. All Mitchel would say is, "Isn't he grand?" And, "Just what I expected."

We make our way out to the front porch and sit where Mitchel and her husband may have sat many years ago. Tall buildings loom about the home as traffic hurries past on Peachtree Street. Still, sitting there holding hands, we can imagine Margaret Mitchell and her husband spending some quiet moments there after a long day of writing and editing. It's a place where the sound of a breeze rustling through the trees, a squirrel scampering across the lawn and the sweet scent of a magnolia tree in bloom can erase the cares of the day.  

Margaret and John enjoyed a good life here until the evening of August 11, 1949. As they crossed Peachtree Street at 13th  on their way to see A Canterbury Tale, she was struck by a speeding car. She died five days later as a result of her injuries. One wonders what other epic tales grew inside her mind that we'll never be able to enjoy.

I love the book because it speaks of unstoppable fortitude and a spirit that couldn't be conquered. What do I think eventually happened to Scarlett and Rhett? I believe she tracked him down, sweet talked him into coming back home and then they fought for control the rest of their lives, that is, between plenty of hot love scenes. How do you think their story ended?     

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What Bugs Me: A Malfunctioning Plane

Have you ever gotten on a plane only to find the door won’t latch? Not the bathroom door. The door that keeps you sealed safely in the plane. It happened to us early one morning and I can tell you it bugged me.

 Arriving back at the airport the day after a canceled flight the evening before, the attendant upgraded our tickets to first class, "Considering your inconvenience," he said. No argument from us. 

We took our seats, front row, all roomy and soft, and turned into the pleasant, smiling people most flights make it impossible to be.

Photo from Flickr

“Care for coffee or tea? A sweet roll?” the attendant asked.

Who would resist, especially since we were new to flying first class and the refreshments were brought to us on a platter, the cups fine china?

All was good, until the cabin crew couldn’t arm the door. They tried. As we sat there nibbling our rolls and sipping our tea and coffee, we were certain we’d be leaving any minute.

Time passed and the door still wasn’t armed. We squirmed in our seats a little, the air-conditioning not up to speed. The attendant offered us cool, refreshing drinks, as though trying to pacify unruly children. We glanced over our shoulders at the poor passengers in back, squeezed into tiny seats, who had to fend for themselves.

Photo from Flickr

Soon maintenance men arrived carrying a tool box. Oh no, I thought, this must be serious. I sat back, closed my eyes and let my imagination run wild. High above the ground, mid flight to Nashville the door pops open. The slide inflates just in time as we're sucked out of the plane. Can I catch it and hold on? Uh, the plane’s going six-hundred miles an hour. I doubt you’re going to get a good grasp before you plunge straight to your death, I tell myself. Who will come to my funeral? I wonder. How hard will the mourners cry?

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I heard the captain say. Coming out of my imaginary free fall, I sat up and listened. “The door can’t be fixed and we’re going to have to ask all of you to disembark.”

James and I looked at each other. Had we come this close to flying first class only to get pushed back to our usual crowded seats? But alas, a properly working plane was brought around especially for our gang and we all got back in our same seats. As the plane lifted off the ground, I squeezed James’s hand and gave the door a visual inspection.

“Could I get you anything?” The attendant said as soon as we were airborne. I twisted my head and thought. She looked so eager to assist. Just inside my open purse was a bottle of polish. I pulled it out and held it forward. “Do you do nails?”

Have you got a story about a mishap while flying? I’d love to hear it.

Devotional: Tenacity

James 1:12- Blessed is the one who perseveres under trial because, having stood the test, that person will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him. NIV

Has the Great Predator visited your life lately? Presented trials? Recently I saw a hawk swoop in for a feast at a mockingbird’s nest. He was all set to rob her of her hatchlings and although she was less than half his size, she gave chase and made quick work of getting rid of him.

God gives us other examples of tenacity in nature too: The dandelion that, having been mowed down, pops right back up and is a foot tall the next morning.

A tree branch in our yard made a complete 180 degree turn so it could reach the sunlight.

Then there's a tiny cedar, thriving where it was planted, in the split of a Bradford Pear tree.

Wouldn’t it be great if we were as single minded about following the Lord as these examples of nature are to survive? Satan and his band of demons work hard every day to separate us from serving our risen Christ. What’s one day of not reading your Bible and not praying going to hurt? God intended the Ten Commandments as suggestions, go ahead and lie, covet and put other things before God. He’ll understand. And on it goes until he robs us of the joy of living a life in Christ.

Tenacity is something Christians need plenty of and there are things in nature from which we can take lessons. When Satan feeds us lies, we can chase him off by uttering a prayer for strength and courage. When he mows down our hopes and dreams, we can turn to loving God for resilience. When he tries to hide the Light from us, we can open the Word and feel His will radiating to us. God is always there ready to make us strong in the face of the enemy’s temptations.

Almighty God, help us be more productive in our spiritual lives. Give us tenacity to chase off the devil like things in nature pursue what tries to destroy them. Amen.

Travel: Alaskan Glaciers

When we celebrated our thirtieth wedding anniversary in Alaska a few years ago,  it either drizzled rain or came outright down-pours eleven of the thirteen days. Our seaplane and bush plane adventures were both canceled due to weather. We trudged through the rain and got chilled to the bone every day as we saw a lumber-jack show, a totem pole park, went panning for gold, ate at a salmon bake and took a bus tour through Denali National park. The day we went whale watching the rain came down in sheets. The balcony we'd paid extra for on the cruise ship went unused. That's why by the eleventh day, we didn't feel so happy anymore.

On August 18 we woke up to cloudy skies and drizzle as usual but as we sat in the restaurant eating breakfast, a few patches of blue tore through the clouds. Soon the tour guide found us and said she'd been notified the weather was stable enough to take a helicopter ride up to the glaciers if it was something we were interested in. Are you kidding, lady? We couldn't sign up fast enough, all the while keeping an eye to the sky.

A bus picked us up at the hotel and took us to the site where we were fitted with special boots to walk on the ice. We chatted with others, all of  us excited to get in the air and realize the dream of a lifetime. 

We headed out to the helicopter pad and the pilot directed a woman and her daughter to sit up front beside him. Her husband and James and I sat in the back. I didn't like getting stuck in the middle, but because of weight distribution, it was necessary. The pilot handed us headphones so we could communicate with him during the flight. 

Sun shone on the colorful mountains, their sharp peaks jutted heavenward. Glaciers began dotting the terrain.

As we flew higher, the wind grew fierce, pummeling the helicopter. My heart pounded and my teeth were clenched in fear as I wondered if we'd clear the mountain straight ahead. I think it was a close call, but once we topped it we saw lots more snow with clouds above and below us.

Once we got closer to our destination we saw more detail in the glaciers. An unusual site, they reminded me of light blue roads curving down the mountainside. The ice wasn't one solid sheet. Divisions in it, caused from water flowing, made it look like crookedly wedged slabs.

An Alaskan glacier 

The helicopter landed. The pilot got out and as he opened our doors  the wind, laced with ice, whipped through our jackets straight to our bones. We didn't care though. We were on top of the world, or so it felt.  With our first step, we understood the need for the ice cleats. 

We took in a deep breath of the clean air. Snowflakes fell on our shoulders. As we adjusted to our strange footwear, we watched folks mill around on the frozen paradise. A roaring sound in the distance led us to the glacier's highlight, a waterfall. An aqua flow bounded over the frozen mound and plunged into a crevice about twenty feet away.

Much too soon the pilot, a young German man, began gathering his passengers for the flight back.

Our pilot

The clouds were low and heavy as we lifted off. It seemed they could almost swallow us up. A small glacier, compared to the others, looked almost like the aqua pools we'd seen at Yellowstone the year before.

It began to rain again and water streamed down mountain crevices. It didn't matter now. We'd had our mountain-top experience, a frozen land warmed by Gods creativity. I sat back and relaxed, in my mind hearing the sound of water flowing, a life-giving stream, a gentle rush down the mountainside. Another God encounter. Praise Him.