Stroll by any sweetgrass basket-selling hub (near the corner of Broad and Meeting streets, the City Market, Mount Pleasant Memorial Waterfront Park’s Sweetgrass Pavilion) around the holidays, and you’ll find these uniquely Charleston adornments that are made from the berries of the Chinese tallow tree—colloquially known as the ”popcorn tree.” Having decorated doors and windows here for generations, the wreaths may also be found ringing candles on tabletops

Full Circle While the original wreaths were small and tightly clustered, using only popcorn berries, today’s are sometimes larger and intermingled with other mediums such as woven sweetgrass and holly.

Pop Culture Popcorn-berry wreaths likely began with the Gullah flower ladies and sweetgrass basket makers who, for generations, purveyed their flowers and handiwork from the steps of the post office on the corner of Broad and Meeting streets. Patrons could also buy tree branches wrapped in bunches held together by tight cords of Spanish moss.

Practical matters The Chinese tallow’s botanical name is Sapium sebiferum, which loosely means “wax-bearing.” A waxy coating covers the seeds and, in the Far East, this vegetable tallow is used in candle- and soap-making, thus the common names of “candleberry tree” and “tallow tree.” The seed also contains a toxic oil that’s used in industrial and biodiesel applications.

Exotic Roots French botanist André Michaux, whose French Botanical Garden was located in North Charleston near the present-day airport, introduced the tree to Charleston in the 1790s. (He’s also responsible for bringing us camellias and azaleas.)

White Christmas The white berries that hang in clusters from the bare branches of the tree in winter look almost exactly like popped corn. Charleston hostesses have traditionally used branches of them in holiday floral arrangements, sometimes alone or mixed with other native plants like smilax, magnolia leaves, cassina, and holly. If kept indoors in dried arrangements, the berries will remain on a branch for years.

There was a time in the history of our country, a 13-year period between 1920 and 1933, when a pesky inconvenience called Prohibition was made law. This was a nationwide ban on the manufacture, sale, and transportation of alcoholic beverages—except for the religious wine served at communion. Across the land, citizens lawfully put away their bottles of aged Kentucky bourbon and dutifully pulled out the teacups. People forgot their fondness for their afternoon gin and tonic and settled instead for tall glasses filled with sassafras and soda.

Well, some did. From time immemorial, Charlestonians have shown a propensity for the enjoyment of alcoholic beverages. What’s more, they have few compunctions when it comes to flaunting laws with which they disagree. Prohibition? A nuisance, no question about it, but did it stop drinking in this town? Not in the least. People not only continued to imbibe, but with a tradition dating to the days of the Confederate blockade runners, the Lowcountry became a hotbed for rum-running and the manufacture of a home-brewed corn whiskey called “moonshine.”

While backwoods bootleggers were active across the state during Prohibition, one place outshined them all. Hell Hole Swamp in Berkeley County became so famous for the corn liquor made in its hinterlands that it gained a national reputation. “Berkeley County is a festering sore in South Carolina,” ranted the state’s pious and fervently dry Governor John G. Richards in 1929. A rabid prohibitionist, Richards had gained even less popularity two years prior when he resurrected a blue law dating from 1700 making selling gasoline and playing golf illegal on Sundays. Richards was so determined to wipe clean the stills of Hell Hole Swamp that in 1930, Charleston newsman Tom Waring Jr. wrote, “Hell Hole Swamp, exuding an aroma of spirituous liquors which reeked throughout the Southeast, was a stench in his nostrils.”

Despite Richards’ attempts to drain Hell Hole Swamp of its highly profitable bootlegging business—and the repeated raids by the state and federal revenue agents known as “Prohi” men—the illegal corn-liquor trade flourished. Mason jars filled with Hell Hole Swamp moonshine were shipped by the boxcar-full to Al Capone’s Chicago, lined the shelves of speakeasies in New York, and filled the teacups at the blind tigers in Columbia, Savannah, and Atlanta. Closer to home, it kept the citizens of Charleston in the afternoon cocktails to which they were long accustomed. As one elder matriarch of Holy City society quipped, “Of course we continued to drink during Prohibition. I don’t know where Daddy bought the liquor. It was just delivered to the back porch every morning with the milk.”

Hell Hole Swamp
While there are probably topographical maps showing distinct geographic boundaries for Hell Hole Swamp, the name generally refers to an area of forlorn and unforsaken swamplands and dense, piney woods that stretch from Jamestown on the Santee River to Moncks Corner on the Cooper River, and from Awendaw and Cainhoy upwards to Huger, Cordesville, and St. Stephen.

From the beginning of colonial settlement, this misbegotten area has been called “Hell Hole;” the name shows up on maps that predate the Revolutionary War. In fact, General Francis Marion gained fame for the ease with which he and his partisan rangers eluded the British in Hell Hole’s murky recesses, earning the nickname, “Swamp Fox.”

Even today, Hell Hole Swamp is better left to the alligators, bears, bobcats, foxes, snakes, panthers, and other denizens that crawl, slither, and stalk its indefinite boundaries. Hell Hole is the rightful domain of the water moccasin and anvil-headed rattlesnake. Its air is choked with swarms of mosquitoes and biting deer flies. Entering the treacherous mires of this wild part of the Lowcountry is not for the faint-hearted or inexperienced. If you don’t get lost, you will assuredly get bitten by something. With luck, the worst will be a rash of chigger bites.

There was a time that this region had a wealth and prosperity brought by the great rice plantations that once lined the rivers. Starting in the late 1600s, the French Huguenots were among the earliest to settle these lands, joined by colonists from the British Isles and the Caribbean. The swamps were tamed into rice fields, reaping profits that bought the planters town houses in Charleston and sent their sons to England for education and their daughters to finishing schools and on European tours.

The Civil War changed all that. By the 1920s, the plantations were in ruins and the rice fields had reverted back to swamps. Hell Hole had been left behind, forgotten. Those with better sense had long since fled to Charleston or Columbia, any place where a reasonable livelihood could be made. Those who remained were a hardy lot, but some had become almost as feral as the swamp. “People there became a hard, unkempt, and illiterate race, ignorant and superstitious, but with a pioneer’s jealous love of freedom,” wrote Waring. Far removed from their cultured antecedents, they had been changed by time, isolation, and a lack of education.

Hell Hole’s Prohibition-era inhabitants lived a hardscrabble existence in dogtrot cabins with tar-paper roofs and newspaper-covered interior walls. There was often an outhouse in the yard and a blue-tick hound asleep in the dirt under the sagging front porch. Behind the house, there was a garden where tomatoes, beans, and the essential stand of tall corn grew. And back yonder in the woods, hidden in the swamp, was the still.

Corn liquor had been made by the people of Hell Hole Swamp for ages. Most families had their own recipes, their own special products with distinct tastes. Prohibition made little difference to them. For that matter, sometimes the “law” was a brother-in-law or uncle who gladly turned a blind eye. Thus when people from Charleston came knocking at the door, looking for raw “still juice” to take home and age in charred kegs, they gladly made the sale.
As Prohibition dragged on, sales became more numerous. So did the number of stills. For years moonshine had been a household commodity—now it was profitable. Rusty trucks and automobiles filled with brimming mason jars rattled down the dirt roads to all parts of the state. The whole region was getting happily drenched in Hell Hole corn whiskey.

Business was booming. “Stills sprang up like mushrooms,” wrote Waring. “Sandy farms which never had been productive were abandoned. It was much easier to run a still.” But Governor Richards had other plans for the residents of Hell Hole who were so blatantly ignoring the law. And, as in any bull market, competition became keen. Soon the fighting between rival families grew as hot as the boilers cooking the mash.

Fox In The Henhouse
One of the enterprising magnates of the Hell Hole moonshine business was kingpin Glennie McKnight. He furnished the equipment, sugar, and cornmeal to the men who ran the stills and took care of distribution and marketing. At all steps of the process, “McKnight corn” was putting money into everybody’s pockets. Others within the McKnight organization were his brother, Sammie, and their friends, the Mitchums and Johnsons. Among McKnight’s rivals were the Ben Villeponteaux clan, which included his cronies, the Wrights and Andersons. The feud between the two groups turned violent.

On May 8, 1926, they came to blows on a highway near Moncks Corner in a regular gangland-style shoot-out. Glennie McKnight came out unhurt, but his brother, Sammie, was killed, as was Jervey Mitchum. Ben Villeponteaux was seriously wounded, as were Jeremiah Wright and James Anderson. Less than two weeks later, another ambush shooting near the little crossroads town of Huger killed LeGrand Cumbee and seriously wounded his father, the “king of Hell Hole Swamp,” Sabb Cumbee.

The gunfights in “bloody Berkeley” made national news, and the Federal government decided to take action. While there had been efforts by the state government to enforce Prohibition in Hell Hole Swamp, they had been half-hearted and largely ineffective. Agents would occasionally blunder onto a still and destroy it. Mostly, though, they got lost in the swamp’s wild morasses. The Feds realized they needed someone who knew the territory, a man familiar with the bootlegging families and the wilds of Hell Hole Swamp to lead the effort. They hired none other than the kingpin himself, Glennie McKnight.

Why McKnight became involved is probably still up for discussion. Some say he took the job to avoid a Federal indictment. Others claim he sought revenge for his brother’s murder. Almost all agree it provided him with a legal way to destroy rival stills. Whatever the reason, McKnight put on his badge and went to work.

On September 3, 1926, the Coast Guard cutter Yamacraw carrying 100 Federal agents entered Charleston Harbor. The following day, led by McKnight, they invaded Hell Hole Swamp. The raid took two days and resulted in the arrest of 33 men (including a sheriff and a deputy) and the destruction of 17 stills. Thousands of gallons of whiskey were poured onto the ground.

More raids followed during the year that McKnight worked for the Feds. On the local and state level, the raids were considered a success; however, the U.S. Senate was not impressed. Moonshine was still gushing out of Hell Hole Swamp. As newsman Waring wrote, “The stream of white corn whiskey still flowed from that valley of a thousand smokes, where nearly every smoke marked a still.”

Infighting & Politics
“Do you mean to say you hired the king of the bootleggers to be a Prohibition officer?” gasped Senator K. D. McKellar of Tennessee, a member of the U.S. Senate’s Brookhart Committee, which was investigating the numerous discrepancies uncovered with the Hell Hole Swamp raids. The more the Senate probed into the Prohibition-ignoring moonshiners of Hell Hole, the more they became displeased.

“Bootlegging continues,” attested state constable J. L. Poppenheim. “McKnight may have cleaned up part of the county, but it didn’t help much.” Indeed, after McKnight turned in his badge, he went right back into the bootlegging business.

The findings of the Brookhart Committee’s investigations and later hearings in Columbia brought even greater gasps of astonishment and not a few sniggers of amusement. It was becoming evident that law-enforcement officers, from sheriffs to deputies, had either been buying corn whiskey, selling it, or giving seized whiskey away to their friends. Even squeaky-clean Governor Richards became involved: His own son-in-law had been found transporting whiskey across the state after leaving a deer hunt near Hell Hole Swamp; four bottles of Hell Hole liquor had been put in his car trunk by Berkeley County deputy sheriff W. E. Woodward.

Enraged, Governor Richards ordered Sheriff C. P. Ballentine to fire Woodward. When Ballentine refused, Richards ordered Ballentine removed from office. Ballentine, who was an elected official, appealed to the Supreme Court, saying the governor did not hold such executive privilege. Meanwhile, the governor also accused Ballentine and Woodward of not only selling seized liquor but imbibing it themselves. In the end, the Supreme Court decided with the governor. Ballentine was out.

Clouds were also beginning to gather around Berkeley County’s state senator, Edward J. Dennis. The Feds, still on the hunt, called in Ballentine and Woodward to testify about what was really going on in Berkeley County. The real people in the whiskey business, they said, were none other than Senator Dennis and the state constables (purportedly members of the Anderson-Villeponteaux gang) who Dennis had personally asked the governor to appoint as Prohibition agents.

Ballentine’s and Woodward’s testimonies were damning. They explained how Dennis and his cronies were getting rich through a foolproof system that operated on many levels. It worked like this: The constables would arrest a moonshiner and seize his whiskey. They then sold the whiskey to their own bootleggers. Senator Dennis, who was a lawyer, made his money through attorney’s fees when he represented the moonshiners who’d been caught. Given his influence, Dennis could arrange to have the cases dropped, but only for a “consideration.” These fees, said Ballentine and Woodward, amounted to nothing short of paying tribute to the “king of the bootleggers.”

A special investigator and prosecuting attorney were appointed. Indictments were issued against Senator Dennis and the constables. The trial was held in Charleston, with a long line of moonshiners parading across the witness stand, most of whom substantiated the charges.

It was all nonsense, testified the senator. Who could believe bootleggers, anyway? With a brilliant defense that included testimonies from congressmen and some of the foremost lawyers of the state, the jury eventually brought in a verdict of acquittal. Throughout it all, corn whiskey poured from the stills in Hell Hole Swamp. Raids continued but with the same, ineffectual results. And the bitterness between rivals festered.

This came to another bloody climax when, on the morning of July 24, 1930, as Senator Dennis was walking to his office in Moncks Corner, 30-year-old W. L. “Sporty” Thornley placed a shotgun on the radiator of his car and fired a load of buckshot into the senator’s brain. The senator died the following day.

Thornley was arrested, as was his brother, Curtis, and Fred Artis, the bodyguard of Glennie McKnight. Sporty, who was described in newspaper articles as a “tubercular, disabled, World War I veteran” and town loafer with the “intelligence of a boy of 12,” later testified that it was Glennie McKnight who had furnished him with the gun. For shooting Dennis, McKnight had promised Sporty cash, protection, and a house for his family. McKnight was also arrested. Yet in the end, only Sporty was convicted and given a life sentence.

Moonshining continued and McKnight and his rivals continued to profit from the stills of Hell Hole Swamp. McKnight, himself, barely avoided death. In May 1930, he was wounded by a hail of gunshot as he was leaving his home. In late April 1932, McKnight was ambushed again, his car riddled with bullets as he pulled away from a store in Huger.

Prohibition was finally repealed in 1933. Now that liquor was legal, the flow of big money into Hell Hole Swamp ceased. As for the backwoods stills? The Hell Hole residents continued to enjoy, and sell, the white corn liquor they concocted in the swamp’s murky interiors. In all likelihood, they still do.
 

Al Capone
Hell Hole Swamp was purportedly one of the biggest suppliers of illegal liquor to Chicago during Prohibition. Stories abound about how racketeer Al Capone would arrive in a fancy limo with his henchmen and wads of money “to take care of business.” Moonshine kingpins Glennie McKnight and Jerry “Foxy” Christian would buy all the corn whiskey they could from local bootleggers and ship it to Chicago in railroad boxcars. One yarn tells of the time Capone didn’t pay for a shipment sent up by McKnight. When McKnight refused to send more, Capone supposedly sent six Cadillacs filled with his toughest hoods down to teach the Hell Hole moonshiners a lesson. McKnight’s boys led the gangsters in their leather shoes and fancy suits into the swamp and left them there after taking their money and their cars.
 

Moonshining: A Glossary

MOONSHINE: The word is an adaptation of the word “moonrakers,” an archaic term for early English smugglers; of course, it was also inspired by the fact that in order to avoid discovery, most distillation was done at night by the light of the moon.

BOOTLEGGER: Some state that the term hearkens back to the age of sail and the smugglers’ custom of hiding packages of valuables in their large sea-boots to avoid detection. Others attribute it to the Civil War, when soldiers would sneak liquor into army camps by concealing pint bottles in their boots or beneath their trouser legs.

SPEAKEASY: The name given to saloons during Prohibition (they were also known as “speak softly shops”) arose from the practice of speaking quietly in public about a place that sold illegal alcoholic beverages.

BLIND TIGER: Also called a “blind pig,” it was the term for establishments that sold alcohol without a license. To circumvent the law, they would charge customers to see an attraction, such as an animal, and then serve a “complimentary” alcoholic beverage.

RUM-RUNNING: The many inlets and rivers on the Lowcountry coast made running liquor in from Canada, Bermuda, and the Caribbean a profitable business. Charleston newspapers often reported the discovery of “red liquor,” wine, and various imported whiskeys that “exchanged hands” in Berkeley County and Charleston.
Others simply smuggled in labels. Under the headline of “Foreign Labels on Moonshine,” one newspaper report told of agents who raided an abandoned house near Moncks Corner and found “several hundred empty bottles bearing Canadian Club and other labels, a considerable quantity of wrapping paper with similar designs, a supply of corks, loose labels, sealing wax, mucilage, caps, seals, and other supplies, together with several hundred empty fruit jars whose odor indicated that ordinary moonshine had recently been poured from them.”

The Party: Charleston celebrated its big 4-0, ’70s-style with a swanky soirée at the new Gaillard Center. Guests donned their grooviest garb and enjoyed great food, drinks, entertainment, and a live auction.

The Highlight: Charleston’s own Elise Testone got guests on their feet with a showstopping performance to end the night.

Overheard:“Is that a trapeze artist pouring champagne?”

Beneficiary: The Campaign for MUSC Shawn Jenkins Children’s Hospital

Take Five
Borrowed from the Sanskrit word for “five,” the word “punch” was brought to England in the late 1600s by sailors with the East India Company. Why? Because the first true punches were originally made with five ingredients: alcohol, sugar, lemon, water, and tea or spices.

Proof’s in the punch
St. Cecilia Society punch features lemon slices and pineapple pieces. Because of their rarity in the Colonial era, pineapples represented hospitality at its fullest. The fruit’s presence at the table, or in a punch, denoted affluence and the hostess’ wish to provide her guests with the very best.

In Good Spirits
While cognac was often poured into punches in earlier times, the less expensive brandy is now typically used—a peach variety goes into the St. Cecilia recipe. Champagne and carbonated water bring the drink to a bubbling sparkle.

High Society
St. Cecilia is one of the oldest private organizations in the United States, founded in 1766 as a subscription concert society (St. Cecilia is the patron saint of music). In its early years, it held as many as six musical performances each year.

Who’s included
Today, the society’s elite, gentlemen-only membership is limited to direct descendants of original members. The intensely private group holds one ball a year, introducing Charleston debutantes each January.

St. Cecilia Punch
(Serves 80 to 90)
6 lemons
1 quart brandy
1 pineapple
1½ lbs. of sugar
1 quart green tea
1 pint heavy rum
1 quart peach brandy
4 quarts champagne
2 quarts carbonated water

Slice lemons thin and cover with brandy. Allow to steep for 24 hours. Several hours before ready to serve, slice the pineapple into the bowl with the lemon slices, then add the sugar, tea, rum, and peach brandy. Stir well. When ready to serve, add the champagne and water.

Note: “The unit of measure designated herein is the quart, since most of the ‘spirits’ used by our ancestors were imported in casks and bottled in this country in quarts. Now most spirits, imported and domestic, come in ‘fifths.’... And never forget that punch stock should be poured over a block of ice and served cold, cold, cold!”

Reprinted with permission from Junior League of Charleston

Take this Quiz

Find out if you qualify as a Charlestonian (or as close as you can without having been born here) or if you’re “from off”—way, way off

1. Which of the following phrases may be used by a Charleston man at any time in response to any statement?

a) “Ah hee dat, Bo!”

b) “That’s high cotton!”

c) “Gotta fish when the fish are bitin’.”

d) “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

2. What time is the traditional dinner here?

a) 2 p.m.

b) 5 p.m.

c) 6:30 p.m.

d) 8 p.m.

3. Pluff mud...

a) Can be spelled “plough.”

b) Serves as the floor of the most diverse ecosystem in the world.

c) Can suck you in up to your waist faster than quicksand.

d) Smells like the ninth level of Hell when disturbed.

e) All of the above

4. True or false: The place where virtually every Charlestonian under the age of 50 drank their first beer in a bar was Big Jim’s.

True

False

5. The Hat Man has been an icon in the city for decades, but must be repainted frequently due to:

a) The heat

b) The humidity

c) Heavy rains that move in from the West

d) I cannot say in polite company.

a) She’s sweet.

b) She’s pathetic.

c) I’m gossiping, but don’t want to sound mean.

d) I hope she dies in a fire.

e) All of the above

a) The War Between the States

b) The War of Northern Aggression

c) The Late Unpleasantness

d) All of the above

8. The state dog of South Carolina, the Boykin spaniel, is best known for:

a) Its skill at retrieving ducks

b) Its talent in locating doves lost in the deepest briars

c) Its uncanny aptitude for finding and pointing quail

d) Its ability to attend an expensive hunting school, return home, & convince its owners that it’s a sofa & lap dog

9. Charleston’s Native American TV princess was:

a) Shining Sun

b) Kiawah Kate

c) Happy Raine

d) Stands with a Fist

10. True or false: When visiting the Holy City, it’s illegal to use your blinker.

True

False

11. Which of these is an actual term in Charlestonese?

a) Ben-yah

b) Come-yah

c) U-gee Screet

d) All of the above

12. PHOTO ID: Which of these is a piazza?

a)

b)

13. The Mosquito Fleet is:

a) The children seen sailing on the harbor during the heat of the day

b) A fleet of African-American fishermen from the 1800s

c) The boats participating in the Rockville Regatta each year

d) A swarm of mosquitoes capable of lifting a grown man to the top of a palmetto tree and sucking his blood dry

14. True or false: Charleston once had an African-American, Jewish police chief.

True

False

15. Native Charleston men most desire:

a) The pride of sending a child to an Ivy League school

b) A cameo on Southern Charm

c) College football played year-round

d) A monster-sized buck to put on the wall

16. Which of these is considered an acceptable boat to own?

a) A Glastron

b) A Bayliner

c) A Stingray

d) A 14-foot jon boat powered by a 1978 two-stroke Evinrude that pours smoke like a Chinese paper mill

17. Castle Pinckney was built because:

a) Charleston was preparing to fight in the Revolution.

b) Charleston was preparing to fight in the War of 1812.

c) Charleston was preparing to fight the pirates that ravaged the coast.

d) The Masons (Local #245) were secretly running the world and needed a place to offer sacrifices and drink bourbon.

18. What is the proper pronunciation of Gaillard?

a) GIH-YAHD

b) GUY-YARD

c) GILL-YARD

d) GILL-YAHD

19. When referring to “the Old Bridge” and “the New Bridge,” you are speaking of:

a) The old Sullivan’s Island bridge and the Ben Sawyer Bridge

b) The Ashley River Bridge and the North Bridge

c) The bridges that used to span the Cooper River

d) The Ravenel Bridge and the Don Holt Bridge

20. True or false: The very grumpy-looking man standing atop a column in Marion Square is a statue of Francis “The Swamp Fox” Marion, a heroic figure in Charleston’s fight against the British.

True

False

21. What is the “Broad Street tuxedo?”

a) Formal wear purchased at Berlin’s for Men (located on King and Broad streets since 1883)

b) White tie and tails for the St. Cecilia Society debutante ball

c) Khaki pants with a blue blazer, button-down shirt, and bow tie

Scoring

For every correct answer, give yourself one point.

16-21 points – Blue Blood or Longtime Come-yah: Any ben-yah should score this high, but for a come-yah to achieve this score takes decades and an extraordinary aptitude for absorbing useless information.

11-15 points – Bless Your Heart: Not bad. Sure, you’re not a local, but you’ve been giving it the old gin-and-tonic try. A couple more decades, and you may qualify to be an inmate in “the asylum” known as Charleston, South Carolina.

6-10 points – Tourist: Odds seem good that you’ve been here several times, taken some tours, and heard (but not really listened to) a few locals blah-blah-blah about how wonderful Charleston is.

1-5 points – “From Off,” Way Off:  You’ve probably visited Charleston once or twice, fallen in love, and spent some money in the local economy. However, rational thinking has prevented you from selling everything and moving here without a job lined up. This is not something to feel bad about, because you are beloved; in fact, you and your brethren are Charlestonians’ favorite people in America. You are always welcome to visit.

Quiz Answers:
 

1. Which of the following phrases may be used by a Charleston man at any time in response to any statement?

Answer:
a) “Ah hee dat, Bo!” is a multi-use expression, suitable for any occasion. “I hate my job,” or “It’s hot—I’m wearing a poplin suit,” or “My wife threw me out,” or “This has been the best day of my life.” No matter how different, all sentences can be acknowledged and affirmed by “Ah hee dat, Bo!”

2. What time is the traditional dinner here?

Answer:
a) 2 p.m.
Dinner is a large meal eaten at 2 p.m. Supper is a smaller meal of lighter fare that occurs around 7 p.m. Back in the day, local businessmen would go home for dinner, return to work, then be home for supper. Due to the discovery that eating fried chicken, white rice and gravy, green beans, and apple pie makes for an overwhelming food coma, the tradition isn’t seen much anymore.

3. Pluff mud...

Answer:
e) All of the above
Pluff mud was, for centuries, an unnoticed part of life in the Lowcountry. It was the “stuff” where oysters grew or that engulfed you after you were launched from a boat-towed inner tube. Its potential to exude horrifying smells and ability to immobilize you faster than quicksand was just…there. It wasn’t until the “come-yahs” (see question 11) began marveling at this wonder that “ben-yahs” realized—with horror—that there was something special about the Lowcountry they hadn’t yet noticed and laid claim to as their own.  

4. True or False:
The place where virtually every Charlestonian under the age of 50 drank their first beer in a bar was Big Jim’s.

Answer: False
The actual name of the bar was Big John’s Tavern, a pre-1990 magnet for every 16-year-old with a fake ID. Big John was once a lineman for the New York Giants, a fact unknown to an ill-advised thief who attempted to rob his establishment. Big John told him to leave, and the robber shot him in the neck…then ran. Big John stemmed the bleeding with what surely must’ve been history’s most unsanitary bar rag, gave chase, pummeled the hapless fool into oblivion, waited for the police to arrive, then drove himself to the ER. Is there any wonder everyone wanted to drink beer with him?

5. The Hat Man has been a Charleston icon for decades, but must be repainted frequently due to:

Answer:
d) I cannot say in polite company.
Located on the corner of Church and Broad, the Hat Man first arrived in Charleston in the 1890s as an advertisement for the haberdashery inside the building. Every couple of years, someone feels called to ensure passersby know that the Hat Man is indeed a man and spray-paints the anatomical addition by which males are most readily identified.

6. What does a local lady mean when she says, “Bless her heart”?

Answer: e)
All of the above
Once mastered, this phrase is extraordinarily useful. Let’s take a listen, shall we?
“She volunteers at the homeless shelter, bless her heart.”
“She’s a raging alcoholic, bless her heart.”
“She can’t help where she comes from, bless her heart.”
“She’s engaged to a billionaire? Well, bless her heart.”

7. Charlestonians refer to the Civil War as:

Answer: d) All of the above
To Charlestonians, the use of the words “Civil War” to describe the War for Southern Independence is—well, them’s fightin’ words. A civil war is fought between citizens of the same country in a quest to gain power and rule over the land. The Confederate States declared themselves a new nation and requested the United States armed forces skedaddle. There was never an intention to overthrow the federal government and gain national power, and thus no “civil war.”   

8. The state dog of South Carolina, the Boykin spaniel, is best know for:

Answer: d) Its supernatural ability to attend an expensive hunting school, return home, and within two days, convince its owners that it’s a sofa and lap dog
About one percent of hunting dogs in the Lowcountry actually hunt, but for some reason, everyone with a yard larger than 1/8 acre feels the need to own one. Within this calling is the Charleston male’s insistence his dog attend a “hunting” school that lasts weeks and costs north of $1,000 to turn his pup into a bird-retrieving machine. Upon arriving home, no breed is more adept than the Boykin at shaking off this training and returning to its rightful place on the sofa.

9. Charleston’s Native American TV princess was:

Answer: c) Happy Raine
In the 1960s and ’70s, Charleston’s most beloved TV star was Happy Raine, played by Lorraine Evans. Her Happy Raine Show first aired on WCSC; in between Looney Tunes cartoons, she interviewed her child guests. As for the local kids who made it onto the show? Let’s just say the rest of us experienced our first cases of white-knuckled jealousy and rage.

10. True or False:
When visiting the Holy City, it’s illegal to use your blinker.

Answer: Either answer is correct.
It is believed by locals that there’s a sadistic experiment being conducted within the greater Charleston area by the Federal Highway and Safety Administration. The theory goes that the administration utilizes a microwave signal to disable the blinkers on every visiting car. The theory has never been proven, and thus either answer is acceptable.

11. Which of the following are actual terms in Charlestonese?

Answer:
d) All of the above
a) Ben-yah. This is someone who’s “been here” his or her entire life—aka born here. Recent modifications allow elementary-school-aged children who move here to achieve ben-yah status, but not their parents. No adult relocating to Charleston can ever become a ben-yah.
b) Come-yah. This is someone who “came here” after the age of 10. South of Broad is now 95 percent come-yah.
c) U-gee Screet. This is Huger Street. As a point of reference, here are a few more street pronunciations that may help you sound more like a ben-yah:
Prioleau = Pray-Low
LeGare = La-Gree Vanderhorst = Van-Drost Hasell = Hay-Zel

12. PHOTO ID: Which of these is a piazza?

Answer: a) The porch of a single house
The piazza of a local home—referred to by normal people as a “porch”—played an important role in pre-air-conditioned Charleston, when the leading causes of death were heat exhaustion, heat stroke, and drowning in sweat. For all intents and purposes, families lived on the porch during the 340 days of summer, even dining, dressing, and sleeping there. The opposite side of the house contains very few windows, in order to provide privacy for the family next door.

13. The Mosquito Fleet is:

Answer: b) A fleet of African-American fishermen from the 1800s
Beginning during the days of slavery and continuing until the 1950s, the Mosquito Fleet consisted of African-American fishermen sailing to the open sea for both commercial and subsistence purposes.

14. True or False:
Charleston once had an African-American, Jewish police chief.

Answer: True
The late Reuben Greenberg, who served the city for 23 years, was the top cop during Hurricane Hugo and announced publicly on the topic of looters, “Don’t arrest anybody. Beat ’em. We have nowhere to put them.” Awesomeness in Blue. RIP, Chief.

15. Native Charleston  men most desire:

Answer: d) A monster-sized buck to put on the wall (Although you should give yourself .5 point if you chose c) College football played year-round.)
It’s a very close call. Whitetail deer are very skilled in the art of staying alive, and the big bucks go pretty much nocturnal at age four or five. But they are, after all, males, so during mating season, they come out of hiding and run around chasing does like Australian shepherds on meth. Since mating season occurs in the fall, a huge rack on your wall indicates you just might’ve missed a college football game to go hunting. Now that’s commitment.

16. Which of these is considered an acceptable boat to own?

Answer: d) A 14-foot jon boat
Glastrons, Bayliners, and Stingrays fall into the category of “bowriders,” which are known locally as “sofa boats.” They are comfortable and great for families, which is exactly why they are shunned. An acceptable boat must be a working or fishing boat, and in the hierarchy among such vessels, nothing tops a jon boat with a crappy engine. Small, flat, made of aluminum, tiller-driven, and prone to break down, its only purpose is toil, thus it sits atop the pyramid. If you see one, it’s tradition to ask the captain if it’s for sale. Don’t worry. It won’t be. Your response, “Ah hee dat, Bo!”

17. Castle Pinckney was built because:

Answer: b) Charleston was preparing to fight in the War of 1812.
Due to all the early-1800s saber rattling in Europe, the Founding Fathers decided it would be wise to shore up harbor defenses across the nation. Shutes’ Folly island was identified as a good place to build a fort, and the Feds asked for the deed to it. When the Charlestonians finished laughing, the Feds said, “No deed, no fort.” After another round of raucous laughter, locals raised the money and built it themselves. The Founding Fathers were right, and the War of 1812 materialized—but none of it was fought down South. Castle Pinckney has gone on to a long history of doing, well, not much. The Sons of Confederate Veterans recently purchased it from the Federal government for the sum of $5, paid in Confederate money.

18. What is the proper pronunciation of “Gaillard”?

Answer: a) GIH-YAHD
The extremely odd pronunciation of Charleston words is believed to be a result of our predilection to drink. I mean, how do you get GIH-YAHD out of a word phonetically pronounced as GAL-LEE-ARD?
 
19. When referring to “the Old Bridge” and “the New Bridge,” you are speaking of:

Answer: c) The bridges that used to span the Cooper River
Prior to the construction of the Arthur Ravenel Jr. Bridge, two structures carried commuters from Charleston to Mount Pleasant: the Old Bridge, held together by rust, and the New Bridge, held together by newer rust. Replacement efforts were put into fast-forward when the Old Bridge underwent an engineering inspection. Rated on a safety scale of one to 100, the Old Bridge garnered a three.

20. True or false:
The very grumpy-looking man standing atop a column in Marion Square is a statue of Francis “The Swamp Fox” Marion, a heroic figure in Charleston’s fight against the British.

Answer: False
While the square is named for Francis Marion, the grim-looking fellow supervising the place is John C. Calhoun. A lifelong politician representing South Carolina, he was a fierce proponent of states’ rights and slavery. It cannot be stressed enough the importance of Googling photos of him, should you like to peer into the eyes of... Fury? Insanity? Trust me—Google him.

21. What is the “Broad Street tuxedo?”

Answer: c) Khaki pants with a blue blazer, button-down shirt, and bow tie
There is no easier way to look like a local. The basics are simple: khakis, a cotton button-down shirt, a bow tie, and a blazer. As long as the basics are in place, it is acceptable to add a few (very few) touches of one’s personal style. Except for a wedding that begins at 6 p.m. or later, the Broad Street tux is acceptable for any occasion. For occasions like oyster roasts and mug shots, the bow tie should be removed.

Gentle Giant This massive oak has a trunk circumference of some 28 feet. That means that if it were possible to magically transport the tree to the intersection of Charleston’s Broad and Meeting streets (the Four Corners of Law), its trunk would take up most of the intersection.

Angelic History While the oak’s spreading limbs are thought to resemble the wings of an angel, its name actually comes from the Angel family who owned the land on which it stands. In 1717, the property was granted to colonist Abraham Waight, whose daughter, Martha, married Justus Angel in 1810; their descendants owned it until the mid-1900s. The Angel Oak site was purchased by the city of Charleston in 1991.

Ageless Wonder One reason for the Angel Oak’s longevity is its natural hardiness. Live oaks have a deep taproot (the largest root, from which other roots sprout) and widespread root system that anchors them solidly into the ground, making them extremely resistant to winds and floods.

Heavenly Host Like other live oaks, the Angel Oak provides a home for countless bugs, reptiles, and mammals, with its dense canopy offering a safe nesting space for numerous songbirds as well as owls, woodpeckers, and hawks.

Resurrected Beauty Many plants dwell amidst the tree’s spreading branches, most notably the resurrection fern. Like Spanish moss, it is an epiphyte, or air plant, and lives symbiotically atop the surface of the branches without harm to the oak. The fern’s name comes from its ability to survive long periods of drought (some estimate as long as 100 years) and come back to life with even a small amount of rain.

Welcoming to all In a 1980 interview, local civil rights activist Septima P. Clark described picnicking around the Angel Oak from 1916 until 1929, when she was a teacher on John’s Island. She noted that even when ”segregation was at its height,” the tree’s grounds were open to everyone. African-American families visited often, bringing their children to play among the limbs.In a 1980 interview, local civil rights activist Septima P. Clark described picnicking around the Angel Oak from 1916 until 1929, when she was a teacher on John’s Island. She noted that even when ”segregation was at its height,” the tree’s grounds were open to everyone. African-American families visited often, bringing their children to play among the limbs.

Made in the Shade The tree’s canopy provides a shade area of 17,000 square feet. Many of its limbs are the size of normal tree trunks and so heavy they rest on the ground—the longest stretches almost 90 feet in length.
 

Visit Angel Oak Park: It’s open daily, 9 a.m.-5 p.m. at 3688 Angel Oak Rd., John’s Island. No charge for admission. Call (843) 559-3496 or visit www.charlestonparksconservancy.org for more info.

Photographer Dustin K. Ryan's video, "Angel Oak Tree of Life," takes you on a journey through the tree’s sprawling branches:

Angel Oak Tree of Life from DKR on Vimeo.

You’re eight years old, and your grandfather died this morning. You’re pissed off at God, and your sadness steals your breath. You run from the house toward the creek after you hear the news. You lie on your stomach feeling the weathered boards of the dock beneath you and watch fiddler crabs scurry in the pluff mud until your tears subside, and the skittish fiddlers emerge from their holes and resume their crabby activities. The fiddlers with the large claws used to scare you, but now you know how to grab them by that one big claw so they won’t pinch you. Your older sister taught you how to do that and also that the ones with the single large claws are the boy fiddlers. You lie there until Church Creek rises and fills the crab holes. You watch, thinking about your grandfather and God, and wonder if you can now talk to Granddaddy by praying, the way you talk to God. You decide you can, and so you close your eyes and think all the thoughts you want your grandfather to know. You tell him about the fiddlers.

You’re 13. You’re at your best friend’s house, and you’ve spent the day on the Kiawah River pulling each other on the kneeboard behind the johnboat. If you’d been at your house you’d have been on Church Creek or the Bohicket River doing the same thing. You putter a little farther down the river than you ever have before, and you discover a small island with a narrow strip of sandy beach. You and your friend pull the boat up and toss the anchor onto the sand. You spread your towels and drink Cokes from the little cooler you’ve brought and talk about high school boys, your junior varsity basketball team, where you’ll go to college, and how you’ll decorate your dorm room when you’re roommates. The tide goes out, but by the time you notice, the boat is high and dry. Shoving the boat down to the water takes the two of you over an hour. That evening your muscles ache and you’re brown as a berry, but you sleep like only a 13-year-old can sleep and vow to tell no one about your secret island. You plan to return there many more times, but the summer races by, and you never go there again. You can’t imagine that you and your best friend will go to different colleges where you each room with people neither of you knew when you were 13. Nor can you know then that on your road trips to the Lowcountry from Clemson University you’ll always lower the car window when you near the Ashley River, regardless of the weather, to inhale the briny scent of home.

You’re 17, and you have a boyfriend, and he loves the river as much as you do. It’s late June, and the dolphinfish are biting. You know when you speak to tourists from Ohio or Kentucky at the restaurant on Big Bay Creek at Edisto Beach where you wait tables that you must say “mahimahi” when referring to a dolphinfish, or else the tourists will freak out and think they’re eating Flipper. You, your boyfriend, and his father leave the Intracoastal Waterway before sunrise and make your way offshore to where the Gulfstream flows, and you rig the ballyhoo and feel something you suspect is akin to the exuberance a mullet feels when he jumps in the ebbing tide. You could almost cry at the beauty of the brilliant sky and the mystery of flying fish that somehow go the length of a football field before submerging, and a sea so slick it’s like blue oil. When you hook a 30-pound dolphin and witness that beautiful green-blue-yellow creature explode through the water 40 yards from the boat, you cannot believe such a powerful gorgeous thing is on your line, and you reel-reel-reel until your forearm might burst, but you know if you don’t get him to the boat all by yourself, the catch doesn’t count as your catch. That night your mama fries the pink fillets and serves them with creamy grits and Wadmalaw Island tomatoes, and you suspect you’ll marry that boy who took you fishing.

You’re 25, and you arrive home from a weekend in Spartanburg wearing a diamond and ruby ring on your left ring finger. You’re engaged to a boy from the Upstate. Daddy tells people that you’re marrying a Yankee since your intended hails from north of Orangeburg County. You’re excited and nervous, but mostly you’re just extraordinarily happy. A know-it-all neighbor from down the road says to your father within earshot of you, “That marriage ain’t gonna last. That gal can’t handle living away from the salt marsh.” You want to punch him, but later, at the day’s gloaming, you sit alone on the dock dangling your feet in the cool green-brown water, watching a periwinkle snail work its way up a stalk of spartina as the tide slowly floods and blue herons head to the far trees to roost, and, though you love your Spartanburg boy more than just about anything, you secretly fear that the loudmouth from down the road is on to something.

You’re 36, and you just had your third child at Spartanburg Regional Hospital, and you name him William after your maternal grandfather, who, like eight generations before him, lived on the sea islands of South Carolina and knitted his own cast nets. Your other two children are girls, two and a half and six, and you are adamant that (1) you will always send Christmas card photos of your children, and (2) the photos must be taken in the South Carolina Lowcountry. When you tell your babies bedtime stories, the tales do not come from books but from your memories of days spent as a feral child hauling shrimp and mullet in the cast net and of catching blue crabs with your brothers using chicken necks for bait and selling the crabs three bucks a dozen. You tell of bogging in creek mud and getting oyster cuts on your bare feet and exploring islands in johnboats. Your stories are such that on the rare occasion when you pull a book from the shelf for a bedtime story, the children shriek in protest. “No! No,” they say. “Tell us about when you were a girl! Tell us about the Lowcountry!”

You are 43, and your parents say they need to figure out their wills. You want to say, “Don’t talk like that! You’re not going anywhere!” But you know such planning is prudent. You have three siblings who all live in the Lowcountry, but you and that Spartanburg boy, despite warnings from dubious neighbors of your youth, are going on your 20th year of wedded bliss, and still, somehow, reside in the Upcountry, and you are happy there. Your parents in all their wisdom send their four adult children into a room with a list of their assets and say, before shutting the door behind them, “Y’all figure it out, and let us know what you decide. We’re going fishing.”

When the figuring is done, your siblings have decided you should have Mama and Daddy’s house when the time comes.

You don’t want the time to come. Ever.

But you know that your happiest place on earth is there beside the river, that that place is your sacred place, the place where you are most connected to nature, your ancestors, and God, there among live oaks, salt breeze, exuberant mullet, and the primordial smells of the river. You know that just being there heals hurts of all kinds.

You are 44, and you’ve published a few stories and once even a novel. You’re asked to write an essay about your favorite place in South Carolina. You nod. Yes. You can do that. Yours is a place that flows in your soul like lifeblood, its ebbing and flooding the rhythm of your being. In your mind’s eye you see Lowcountry rivers as sharp as a million shards of glass in sunshine, and you know exactly what you’ll write.

State of the Heart
This essay was excerpted with permission from State of the Heart: South Carolina Writers on the Places They Love, Volume 2, edited by Aïda Rogers (University of South Carolina Press ©2015 University of South Carolina). In this compilation of 38 essays, accomplished writers, including Josephine Humphreys, Harlan Greene, and Mary Alice Monroe, transport readers across the state. The book is available for purchase from local bookstores, such as Blue Bicycle Books and Barnes and Noble; online retailers; and directly from USC Press (www.sc.edu/uscpress/books/2015/7597.html or 800-768-2500).

Michel Smoak Stone was born in Charleston, raised on John’s Island, and currently splits her time between Spartanburg and Edisto Island. Her second novel, Border Child, is due out early next year from Nan A. Talese/Doubleday.

Between the leaning reeds and grasses,
near the grey and pocked clusters of oysters,

a mud thick as chowder threatens to swallow
your shoes and ankles. But you are used to its grip.

You know: don’t struggle, let the rich earth
do what it will. Like the gnarled roots of towering oaks

that break red brick sidewalks into obstacles
as students shuffle to class, tipsy friends pour

into the night. You teeter on heels, and are thrust
forward. For a moment, you are perfect in flight.

The next morning, a man you don’t yet know
might trip on that same broken walkway.

Years pass, you grow sure-footed, learn to map
and avoid those small dangers. You stop to admire

walled gardens, the bright notes of honeysuckle
that punctuate the air. Once, the city was walled,

but boundaries toppled, and this place moved
through the hands of others, whose grips loosened,

fell, were forgotten. Now your two voices linger
in the warm evenings: on porches, in parks,

where each spring praisesongs and operas rise
into the heat as a candymaker stirs again

another copper pot of bubbling sugar,
and the scent floats, lazily, languid

through your city wrapped safely in rivers,
toward a sky pierced by spires.
__________________________________
A College of Charleston alum, Anna Claire Hodge
is a PhD candidate at Florida State University.
Her poems have appeared in Prairie Schooner,
Mid-American Review, Best New Poets 2013,
and many other publications. Read more of her
work at annaclairehodge.com.

On the Hunt - The only raptor that plunges into the water (sometimes entirely submerging itself), the osprey can often be seen hovering up to 100 feet in the air as it searches for food. Once it has spotted prey, the hunter makes a steep dive at up to 80 mph before hitting the water feet first so that, with luck, it can grab the fish with its talons; typically, one out of every four dives is successful. The bird then flies off with its catch oriented headfirst for ideal aerodynamics.

Back from the Brink - Because DDT and other insecticides resulted in thin-shelled, easily broken or infertile eggs, osprey populations declined drastically in the 1950s and ’60s. Since these chemicals were banned in the ’70s, the birds have moved from the “endangered” to the “protected” species list.

Built to Last - Both sexes collect nesting materials—sticks, plus smaller items like moss and grass—though the female typically arranges the structure herself. You’ll spy the nests high in trees or atop man-made features like utility and lighting poles. Sometimes, municipalities and organizations construct artificial platforms for the birds. For example, the John’s Island Conservancy and Berkeley Electric Cooperative put up one at Legare Farms and another at Mullet Hall.

Big Bird - This impressive creature is often confused with its larger relation, the eagle, because of its similar white and brown markings and tremendous size. The adult osprey’s body can reach nearly two feet and its wingspan five-and-a-half feet.

Family Life - Ospreys often mate for life (they’ve been known to grow as old as 25 in the wild), and a pair frequently returns to the same nest year after year to breed in the spring. A female lays two to four cream-colored eggs with brownish blotches that hatch after five to six weeks. While the male hunts for the family, she remains at the nest to look after the young until they fledge.

The Holy City still uses the 17th-century term “piazza”—which comes from the Italian word meaning “open space”—instead of the more common “porch” or “veranda.” The unique verbage seems rather appropriate when you consider that the Charleston single house piazza is a distinctive example of vernacular architecture—design based on local needs, culture, and tradition. Read on to learn more about this outdoor expanse particularly critical in the days before air conditioning.

Southern Exposure - Charleston single houses were purposely built with the piazzas facing south or west to get the cooling, prevailing breezes from the sea. Louvered wooden screens on some piazzas provided privacy and blocked the afternoon sun’s rays.

Capital Orders - The decorative columns often represent the classic revival style of architecture using Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian motifs. Some grander homes feature the simpler Doric columns on the ground-level piazza, with more detailed Ionic columns on the second floor and elaborately carved Corinthian capitals on the third.

Party Proper - The ground-floor piazza was primarily an entrance area, with entertaining done on the second floor, further from the dust and noise of the street. This piazza adjoined the upstairs drawing room, often the main “living room” in earlier times.

Post Notes -The protective railings called ”balustrades” differ in style according to the home’s architecture. Some smaller houses have simple wooden posts for balusters, while more elaborate residences boast those in Chinese Chippendale or candlestick-shaped motifs.

It Haint Necessarily So - The idea that piazza ceilings were painted light blue due to the Gullah belief that the color warded off evil spirits (or ”haints”) is more fable than fact. “Piazza blue” likely resulted from a desire to use a light, reflective hue to visually open the enclosed space, coupled with the availability of blue dye made from the indigo plant—a prized commodity in 18th century Charleston.

From May to midsummer, Holy City gardens are bathed in the sweet scent of blooming gardenias. And yet those less versed in local history may not know that these evergreen shrubs are named for 18th-century Charleston naturalist and physician Dr. Alexander Garden (1730-1791). Though the Scottish-born emigrant shipped all manner of South Carolina flora and fauna (including live eels) to Dr. Carl Linnaeus, father of scientific nomenclature, the plant ultimately named Gardenia was not among them. Read on to find out why and learn more about this quintessential Southern grower:

Named for Fame

Dr. Garden corresponded with zoologist John Ellis in England as well as Linnaeus in Sweden, sending them specimens of ”new” birds, fish, plants, and more. Ultimately, he only got credit for discovering the Congo snake and mud eel, but Ellis convinced Linnaeus to create the scientific name of Gardenia in his honor.

Double the Pleasure

There are more than 200 species in the Gardenia genus (which is part of the coffee family, Rubiaceae). Depending on the cultivar, the waxy, white, headily fragrant flowers can be either single or double form and as large as four inches in diameter.

Growing Local 

Gardenia jasminoides is the variety most often seen in the Lowcountry. Though originally found in China and Japan, the plant was first introduced to the West from the South African cape, arriving in Charleston in the 18th century. Because its flowers were scented like jasmine, it was called “cape jasmine.” Today, it’s also referred to as ”common gardenia.”

Scent-sibility

The spicy, soft sweetness of a gardenia bloom is an unforgettable fragrance, so delightful that plants are placed at the corners of houses or near windows to take advantage of the beguiling scent. The aroma becomes even more powerful at night, with the strong smell attracting moths and other important nocturnal pollinators.

All Like It Hot

Considering its origins in tropical regions of the world, the gardenia is well-suited to the Lowcountry’s climate. The plant enjoys heat and grows best in light to partial shade (ideally receiving morning sun and afternoon shade) and acidic, well-drained soils.

Bark with Bite 
The palmetto-log fortification Moultrie’s men built on Sullivan’s Island was only half finished when the British attacked. Because of the palmetto’s fibrous nature, the enemy’s cannonballs didn’t explode. Instead, they soaked into the logs’ spongy material, leaving the fort with minimal damage. Immediately after, the palmetto tree became a symbol of victory for the Americans; it’s believed the word ”liberty” may have appeared on versions of Moultrie’s flag that flew later in the Revolution.  

Date to remember
This June 28 marks the 240th anniversary of the battle at Fort Sullivan. The date has been celebrated in Charleston as ”Carolina Day” since 1777, with a downtown commemoration, living history events at Fort Moultrie, and other activities typically taking place during the days surrounding it.

Palmetto Pride 
In 1861, South Carolina needed to create its own ”national” flag after seceding from the Union, and the General Assembly elected to use Moultrie’s banner, with the addition of a palmetto tree in the center. That design has been our state flag since.

Serious Business
According to South Carolina law, it is a misdemeanor to desecrate or mutilate a state flag—say, by writing a word or painting a design upon it—no matter where it’s displayed. The penalty? A fine of up to $100, imprisonment of up to 30 days, or both.

Moonstruck 
The crescent at the upper left of the palmetto flag wasn’t originally representative of a half moon. It was the insignia of Moultrie’s troops, likely an adaptation of a military gorget. In ages past, this was a crescent-shaped armor plate that protected the throat and upper chest in battle. By the Revolutionary War, the gorget had evolved into a stylized ornamental badge made of silver and worn by officers or sewn onto uniforms and hats. 

Sea Island Steed 
Though small, standing between 13 and 15 hands high (or 4.3 to five feet), marsh tackies are strong. In the Sea Island Gullah community, they were integral to agricultural life, providing the everyday horsepower needed for riding, pulling, and plowing—even delivering mail. Only with the advent of the automobile and tractors did their usefulness began to ebb, as did their numbers.

Historic Bloodline
While these animals have adapted to the coastal environment over the last 400 years, due to the relative isolation of the Sea Islands, their genetic ties to the original colonial Spanish horses remain relatively pure. In 2006, researchers took DNA samples from nearly 100 tackies in an attempt to better understand how they are also related to other early colonial strains such as the Florida cracker and Spanish mustang.

Uncommon Competence
The name “tacky” comes from the English slang for “cheap” or “common,” and for centuries the marsh tacky was the horse most often found along the South Carolina and Georgia coasts. Indeed, its built-in “woods sense,” or ability to negotiate water and swampy areas without panicking or getting stuck in the mud, makes it quite the uncommon horse.

Swamp Foxes
During the American Revolution, the marsh tacky’s sure-footedness in rough terrain made it a favored mount for the “Swamp Fox,” General Francis Marion. They carried his Partisan Rangers into areas impassable to the British horses and outfoxed the foes by disappearing into the murky recesses of Lowcountry swamps.

Join in the tradition
The Carolina Marsh Tacky Association holds events including the July 2 All Breeds Fun Show in Lexington, South Carolina. Find details at marshtacky.info, which also showcases horses for sale and includes stallion and breeder directories.

Visit the horses at a South Carolina farm via an SCETV video:

FORWARD CHARGE The sub’s original design called for a spar torpedo attached to a 22-foot wooden spar mounted to the bow. The Hunley was to ram the spar into the enemy ship, then back off and detonate the torpedo. Scientific findings indicate that the spar was actually iron and more of a ”contact mine” only 17 feet long. That means the sub was less than 20 feet from the Housatonic when the torpedo exploded. One theory is that the crew was knocked unconscious—an idea supported by the fact that their remains were found at their stations.

CRAMPED QUARTERS The Hunley was only 39 feet long, 4.5 feet high, and 3.5 feet across. She carried a crew of eight—seven to turn the hand-cranked propeller and one to steer the boat. Each end of the craft was equipped with water ballast tanks that could be flooded via valves (to lower the sub) or pumped dry by hand (to raise it).

BEFORE ITS TIME The submarine was, at the time, an invention stretching the boundaries of innovation, and the Hunley’s crew members have been called the astronaut test pilots of their time. Two crews of men (including one of its inventors, Horace Hunley) perished in earlier Hunley dives, and they were buried together at Charleston’s Magnolia Cemetery. On April 17, 2004, the remains of the third crew joined them, laid to rest with full military honors.

LUCKY GOLD Near the remains of Hunley commander Lieutenant George Dixon, archaeologists found a $20 gold piece with the inscription “Shiloh April 6, 1862 My life Preserver G. E. D.” This appears to be the coin described in Dixon family lore: George’s sweetheart gave it to him as a lucky charm, and tucked in his pocket, it diverted a bullet at the Battle of Shiloh, saving his leg (and maybe his life)

RAISING HISTORY The recovery of the Hunley is generally considered to be the most important underwater archaeological expedition of the century. After the ship was raised, it was carried by barge up the Cooper River to the specially designed Warren Lasch Conservation Center in North Charleston.

FISH OUT OF WATER Under the auspices of the Hunley Commission, created by the State of South Carolina, scientists and marine archaeologists have been working painstakingly since 2000 to conserve the Hunley and solve its myriad mysteries. They recently finished removing the hard layer of sand, sediment, and shell from the boat’s exterior and are now at work on the interior.

VISIT THE HUNLEY Tours are given at the Warren Lasch Conservation Center, 1250 Supply Street, North Charleston, on Saturdays and Sundays ($16; $8 ages six-17; free for child under six). Visitors can view the sub in her conservation tank and get an up-close look at artifacts (like that gold coin) excavated from the sub, facial reconstructions of the crew, and more. Find details at hunley.org.

Now it’s your turn to choose your favorite! You may vote for your favorite image once per day through August 26, 2016. 

Click here to vote!

Where in the World? In various parts of the year, snowy egrets can be found throughout much of the United States (though they don’t venture to the most northern areas), as well as in Central and South America. The Cornell Lab of Ornithology notes that habitat loss is the animal’s greatest threat, as more than 100 million acres of US wetlands have been drained since Colonial days.

Age Matters While there’s a nearly 72-percent mortality rate during the bird’s first year (starvation and bad weather are often to blame), they can live to about 17 years.

Dangerous Beauty During the spring breeding season, both males and females grow long, wispy feathers on their backs, necks, and heads to attract mates. These plumes were once so prized in the fashion industry (they were worth $32 per ounce in 1886—then twice the price of gold) that hunting almost decimated the species. Now protected by law, their populations have rebounded.

Color Coding Adults have bright yellow feet and black legs (immature birds have duller greenish legs). A yellow patch of skin shows at the base of their solid black bills. During breeding season, this skin takes on a reddish hue, and their feet turn a deeper orange.

Family Dynamics Males choose the nesting site—often in the top or outer branches of a woody vine, shrub, or tree—and start building even before finding a mate. The female finishes with materials furnished by her partner, creating a shallow oval woven loosely from twigs, grasses, and Spanish moss. Both parents help feed the young; as one takes over duties from the other, they sometimes offer a stick in what looks rather like a ”passing of the baton.”

Rustling Up Dinner Enjoying a diet of aquatic animals, including fish, frogs, crabs, and insects, snowy egrets spend more time feeding than other herons, often rounding up critters by paddling their feet in the water or using them to probe in the mud. You may also spy this bird running through the water, chasing prey with its wings spread wide.

Birds of Many Feathers These extremely social, gregarious creatures are often seen fishing the shallows with other shorebirds and nesting with different species (roseate spoonbills, great egrets, glossy ibises, and on) in busy waterfront colonies in isolated places, including barrier islands, salt marsh islands, and marshes. They have also been known to mate with other herons, producing hybrid offspring.

Watch a snowy egret fishing on South Carolina's Fripp Island below:

Dinner on the Fly Though small (four to five inches long, on average), big browns consume an unbelievable amount of food, including moths, flies, beetles, mosquitoes, and even wasps. A single animal can gobble up a third of its weight in one night. This natural form of pest control is vital to reducing insect populations that plague crops, as well as those that carry diseases harmful to humans.

"Going Batty" The long-lived phrase comes from the aerodynamic critters’ often-erratic flight—their habit of making sudden turns and twists while chasing prey. The bat’s wings are flexible, with muscles that allow them to move more like human hands than bird wings, which operate as single units.

Health Scare Across the country, bat species that hibernate (including big browns) are dying at an alarming rate from white-nose syndrome, a disease that was found in South Carolina in 2013 and has been spreading since. The fungus that causes it thrives in cool, humid places with minimal airflow, and while humans aren’t affected by it, they can transport its spores.

Dark Secret Bats are not actually blind, but like all mammals, they cannot see in complete darkness. Thus they use echolocation, creating a steady stream of sounds with their mouths (inaudible to us) that bounce off nearby objects to help them find their way in the dark.

Invite Company Habitat loss poses a major threat to bats across the world. To shelter a colony in your own backyard, install a house that’s certified by Bat Conservation International. Locally, Wild Birds Unlimited is a good source for these boxes that must be hung 12 to 20 feet above the ground.

Safety First While bats are often believed to carry rabies, only one-half percent of them actually have the virus. However, their tiny teeth marks are hard to detect, so if one is found inside with a snoozing human or unattended child, that person should seek medical attention. If possible, have the bat professionally captured and tested for rabies by the South Carolina Department of Health and Environmental Control.

Today, two magnificent lighthouses mark the entrance to Charleston Harbor: the 1876 Morris Island Lighthouse—decommissioned in 1962—and its Sullivan’s Island replacement, which is still in operation today. Yet they are far from the first structures to illuminate the Holy City’s waters over the years. Learn about the fascinating forms of beacons, and the early technology behind them, that have helped guide mariners ashore over the centuries.

Shifting Sands
Because tidal movement shifts the location of sandbars and alters channel direction, lights and range markers often need to be moved. One of the most dramatic indications of shifting tidal action is the Morris Island Lighthouse, built on solid land in 1876. Today, it’s completely surrounded by water, with a steel cofferdam built around it in 2008 for stabilization.

Of The First Order
In 1888, the 161-foot-tall Morris Island Lighthouse had five wicks requiring 2,500 gallons of kerosene a year. Once filled, the light could burn for about nine hours and be seen 18 miles out at sea. The lens was said to be “the finest French plate [glass] and as diaphanous as the air itself.” This refers to a First Order Fresnel lens—the strongest of the six orders of lenses invented by French physicist Augustin-Jean Fresnel. 

Great Balls of Fire
Charleston Harbor’s first lighthouse—a wooden tower lit with “fire balls of pitch and ocum [sic]“—was built on Sullivan’s Island in the 1680s. Oakum, made from hemp, provided the wick and was burned with tar (pitch) in an iron basket. After storms destroyed a number of these platforms, a brick tower was erected in 1700 to burn whale oil.

Bright Spots 
By the mid-1800s, several range markers (used in navigation) had been constructed. One of the most decorative, placed at the Battery in 1857, looked like an extremely tall decorative lamp, described as a “colossal candelabra” made of wrought iron. Lit with gas, it could be seen for nine miles.

Coming on Strong 
The 140-foot-tall Sullivan’s Island Lighthouse originally put out 28 million candelas (candlepower) and was the second most powerful in the Western Hemisphere. Although the power has been lowered to 1.2 million candelas, it can still be seen 26 miles out at sea.

Shipping the Light Fanatstic
The Charleston Lightship was a floating lighthouse that marked the outer entrance to Charleston Harbor. Anchored about four miles offshore, it also warned vessels away from the shallow Rattlesnake Shoals. With a bell and horn that blew during fogs, it remained active until 1933.

On High 
Two of Charleston’s churches have acted as lighthouses. From its 1752 construction, the white spire of St. Michael’s Episcopal was an important mariners’ marker, so much so that it was painted darker hue during the Revolutionary and Civil wars. From 1893 to 1915, a light in St. Philip’s steeple served as a beacon to range the entrance to Charleston Harbor through a new channel.

Keeping the Flame Alive
Pole beacons in the harbor marked important geographic locations such as shallows and shoals. Through the early 1900s, these beacons had to be tended by a keeper who rowed out daily to trim their wicks and add oil and/or kerosene.

First & Foremost
On February 12, 1736, the Dock Street Theatre opened with a performance of bawdy comedy The Recruiting Officer. The same year, Flora debuted, becoming the first opera staged in America. Prior to this time, plays and concerts were presented in the assembly rooms of inns and taverns known as “long rooms.”

Place with a Punch 
In 1809, the popular Planter’s Hotel opened on the site. Among the notables who visited was famed actor Junius Brutus Booth (father of Edwin and John Wilkes Booth). Robert Smalls, who would later become a Civil War hero for turning the steamer Planter over to the Union Navy, worked as a waiter in the dining room, no doubt serving Charleston’s famed Planter’s Punch, which was introduced at the hotel.

Fabulous Front 
In 1835, the Church Street façade was improved with the addition of an intricate cast-iron balcony in a morning- glory pattern en vogue during the early 19th century. The Planter’s Hotel also added a line of imposing sandstone columns topped with carved mahogany capitals and cornices.

To the Rescue 
After the Civil War, the building fell into disrepair. It was slated for demolition in 1935, but thanks to the attention of city leaders including Mayor Burnet Maybank, it instead became one of the first historic local structures to undergo renovation. Using Works Progress Administration monies, it was rebuilt as a theater that Charleston architects Albert Simons and Douglas Ellington modeled after 18th-century London playhouses.

Three Times & Charm 
The theater celebrated a third opening on March 18, 2010, after a three-year, $19-million renovation by the City of Charleston that melded the building’s history with state-of-the-art lighting and sound, as well as new seating, sound-proofing, heating, and air-conditioning.

Elegant Appointments 
During the 1935 renovation, new walls were built from local black cypress rubbed mellow with an ancient formula consisting of iron nails dissolved in vinegar, then waxed to bring out the rich grain. A commodious orchestra pit was added to the traditional 18th-century apron stage. Many original materials were saved, but when that wasn’t possible, exact copies were made. The stairs on the right and left of the balcony and drawing room, for example, were cast from molds of the originals.

Twice & Nice
The theater’s second grand opening took place on November 26, 1937, with a revival of The Recruiting Officer presented by Charleston’s Footlight Players, directed by Emmett Robinson. Dock Street would remain the home of the Footlight Players until 1986, when they moved to their present facility at 20 Queen Street.

FORTUNE COOKIE
In Africa, the benne plant was thought to bring good luck and ward off evil, which is doubtlessly one of the reasons it was so widely grown by African-American slaves in their gardens. The Gullah people called it the “goodwill” plant, and, even today, the wafers are said to bring good fortune to those who eat them.

OPEN SESAME 
Benne (pronounced “bennie”) is a West African word for sesame, a tall, flowering annual (Sesamum indicum) brought to our shores via the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade. The seeds have a nutty taste (enhanced when they are roasted) and are used in cooking much the same way as nuts. The oil pressed from them is also incorporated into culinary traditions worldwide.

COCKTAIL CRISP 
The benne wafer is primarily known today as a sweet confection, but it has a cousin of the same name that’s made without sugar and traditionally served as a canapé. It’s as common at Charleston cocktail parties as cheese straws and shrimp paste.

OUT OF AFRICA 
A principal food crop in Africa, benne grew easily in Lowcountry soil and became a staple in the small, domestic gardens planted by plantation slaves. In the 1730s, colonists hoped to turn it into a money crop. While this endeavor ultimately took a back seat to indigo and rice farming, benne seeds, like other African imports such as peanuts, okra, and black-eyed peas, gradually became part of the area’s cuisine.

NEVER TOO RICH OR TOO THIN
The true Charleston benne wafer is almost paper thin—a translucent golden disk no larger than a silver dollar that’s steeped with the rich flavors of sugar, butter, and roasted benne seeds. Benne cookies, made with more flour, are larger and denser but boast the same sweet taste.

TASTE OF THE TOWN 
With the rise of tourism in the early 20th century, these treats surged in popularity—visitors were enchanted by their subtle flavor and interested in their history. Sold in hotel gift shops and made by local bakeries such as Olde Colony on King Street, a box of benne wafers was (and still is) a part of Charleston visitors could take home with them.