It was Friday morning July 12, 2019 and I had made it through the night at the General Morgan Inn without incident. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary; I never heard any strange sounds – except for the poofs of air that my photographer had released in his sleep. And quite frankly, I was disappointed. I had hoped to catch a glimpse of Greene Room Grace or Front Desk Bill; or even the notorious General John Hunt Morgan himself. When Vicki finally made her way into the shower, Tom needed to get some pictures loaded onto his computer. But first, my photographer placed his clothes neatly on his bed. His shorts were on the bottom; his shirt, which was still folded, was placed carefully on top of his pants; and his folded socks were set on top of the stack.
Finished with his work, Tom swiveled around in the chair and was about to pack the computer away. Suddenly, I heard my photographer say out loud: “Okay, that was a good one ghost; I know that was you. It was impressive that you kept my clothes neatly stacked, too.” At first, I didn’t know what had happened because I was turned towards the television set and never saw anything strange. But it turned out that Tom’s clothes had mysteriously left the bed and were set onto the floor between his chair and the bed. The unbelievable part was the clothes were still perfectly stacked and in the exact order that Tom had placed them on the bed. There was no doubt Tom’s clothes didn’t fall off the bed by themselves; that would’ve been impossible. My photographer stood up; opened the bathroom door; and proceeded to ask his wife if she had snuck out of the bathroom to set the clothes on the floor. Vicki confirmed that she’d been in the shower the entire time; but being a skeptic of the supernatural, she tried to convince her husband that there were no ghosts in their room. “There has to be a sensible explanation,” she said. In my mind, there was no logical rationale other than an apparition. As a matter of fact, my money was on John Hunt Morgan – the Confederate general whose spirit has been known to roam the second floor of the hotel.
Once they were packed and my companions had finished putting their belongings into the Highlander, Tom spent a few minutes snapping daylight images of the General Morgan Inn from the same location as the night before. He also reported our ghostly encounter to the girl at the front desk. Upon hearing his story, the young lady asked what room we had been in; and then she simply smiled.
We headed out of historic, yet spooky Greeneville, Tennessee; a town that Russell Emmette said was spelled with a middle ‘E’ because according to legend “the town was Eville and full of spirits and witchcraft”. Even though I was happy to be headed towards Atlanta, I knew in my heart that at some point in the future I would be back inside the General Morgan Inn.
With Vicki behind the wheel of our Toyota, she drove like Kyle Busch because and made great time. At roughly 1:00pm, my photographer’s wife had our vehicle parked around the corner from the Georgia governor’s mansion that was located in the upscale Tuxedo Park neighborhood North of downtown Atlanta. Immediately I found myself being carried alongside a busy road where Tom searched for the best angle to capture a photo of the mansion. The three-level, 30-room home to the Governor of Georgia was built in 1967 and served as the residence of Jimmy Carter and his family from 1971 to 1975. Tours of the mansion are usually conducted three days a week, including Thursdays, but we had arrived too late in the day to get onto the property. Although Tom did his best to get good images of me and the mansion, the building sat back a ways from West Paces Ferry Road; which made our photoshoot difficult at best.
Although we were finished at the Governor’s Mansion, we weren’t done with Jimmy Carter sites. As a matter of fact, we had only just begun with Jimmy in Georgia. The next site on our agenda was one that Tom had wanted to visit for a long time, and it was located just ten miles South of the Governor’s house in the Poncey-Highland section of Atlanta. The Jimmy Carter Presidential Library and Museum was originally opened to the public on October 1, 1986; which was Carter’s 62nd birthday. I was extremely excited to visit the museum and compare it to the other Presidential Libraries that I had already been to. Once I was carried through the front doors, it didn’t take long to discover that Carter’s museum was far better than the one built for Bill Clinton. I saw some cool authentic artifacts that were on display, including the Bible that was used when Jimmy Carter took the Presidential Oath of Office on January 20, 1977. Usually I’m not overly excited to see the reproduction of the Oval Office that’s featured at most of the Presidential Libraries. But on that day, seeing the replica of the Resolute Desk situated in the imitation Oval Office had taken on a whole new outlook for me. After all, it was less than two months since I had been in the West Wing of the White House and stood at the doorway of the “Real McCoy”. As we jockeyed for position behind the barricade of Carter’s replica office, I laughed when my photographer said to an older guy who stood nearby: “Do you see that outline of a door on that far wall? Less than two months ago, I stood at that doorway and looked into the real Oval Office at the White House. If you think this one looks good, imagine seeing the real thing in person.” While the guy pretended to be interested, he quickly turned and walked away.
My photographer and I saw a lot of interesting and historic artifacts from all aspects of Jimmy Carter’s life. In a wing of the museum, we came across a temporary display that featured costumes and props from a wide variety of motion pictures. While some of the movies were ones that didn’t interest Tom, or me, we did enjoy the section that was dedicated to Superheroes – especially when we saw Iron Man’s helmet.
The three of us had spent about 90 minutes at the Jimmy Carter Presidential Library and Museum and I thought it was a worthwhile visit. While it wasn’t nearly as great as Reagan or Nixon’s libraries, the artifacts that I saw made Carter’s museum far better than what Bill Clinton and George W. Bush had. It was roughly 3:15pm when Tom, Vicki, and I boarded the Highlander and headed to the next site in Atlanta; one that was only two miles away. The area around the Martin Luther King, Jr. National Historic Site was filled with tourists and Vicki had no choice but to park the vehicle over a block east of King’s birth home on Auburn Avenue. Tom wanted to visit the gravesite of the civil rights leader first; not only because of its significance in American history, but because it had a Presidential connection as well. On the anniversary of Dr. King’s 75th birth, President George W. Bush laid a wreath at his gravesite while Coretta Scott King and Christine King Farris, sister to the slain leader, stood next to the tomb. When I was removed from the camera case, I couldn’t believe my painted resin eyes – the tomb of Martin Luther King, Jr. was magnificently beautiful. It looked more spectacular than any grave site I’ve ever been to.
I posed for several photos alongside the reflecting pool, and I got as close to King’s grave that I could without my photographer getting wet, or getting into trouble. After Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated on April 4, 1968, he was buried in the South-View Cemetery in Atlanta. On June 13, 1970, the civil rights leader’s body was removed and re-interred at the King Center; where it rested in peace until his wife died. Coretta Scott King passed away on January 30, 2006; following her funeral, she was buried in a temporary grave on the Center’s property until her husband’s sarcophagus could be enlarged. Nearly ten months later, on November 20, 2006, Martin Luther and Coretta Scott King were re-interred in the double sarcophagus that was on the round “island” in front of us.
We made the short walk along Auburn Avenue until we came to the Ebenezer Baptist Church. The three of us went inside and admired the historic place of worship. Not only did Martin Luther King, Jr. preach in this church with his father from 1960 until his death in ’68, King’s mother was also assassinated there in 1974 while she played the organ. Martin Luther King, Jr. spent his life preaching for non-violence; in the end, however, his own family experienced more than their share of violence.
On our way back to the Highlander, we stopped at Dr. King’s Birth Home so my camera guy could snap a few pictures. The two-story house on Auburn Avenue in Atlanta was about a block East of King’s graves site. After his father, Michael, married Alberta Williams in 1926, the couple moved into her parents’ house. On January 15, 1929, Michael King, Jr. was born in an upstairs bedroom of that house. That’s right, I said “Michael”; which was his birth name. Although King’s father began referring to himself and his son as Martin Luther King, Sr. and Jr. in 1934, the future civil rights leader’s birth certificate wasn’t changed until he was 28 years old. While Tom took a handful of photos from different angles, I had hoped that he would let me pose for some of the images, but he didn’t. Once again, I was disappointed.
It was approaching 4:30 in the afternoon and even though the traffic in Atlanta was getting bad, we still had a few sites to visit near the heart of the city. Our first stop was at the State Capitol Building that was less than two miles from the King Historic Site. Vicki did a great job navigating the Highlander to the Capitol, but once we arrived, it was difficult to find a place to park. After she became frustrated during the futile search to park the vehicle, we ended up across the street from the Capitol, albeit in an illegal parking place. Tom hurriedly jumped out of the car and carried me in the camera case to an area across the street from the Capitol where he took a few photos. Since there wasn’t sufficient time for us to walk around the exterior of the building, or go inside the Capitol, I figured my photographer would find a way to return to Atlanta on a future trip.
When we returned to the vehicle after Tom’s half-hearted attempt to photograph the Capitol Building, I heard him say to his wife: “Let’s get out of Dodge and forget about the other two sites. The traffic is bad; it’s really hot; and we still have over 70 miles to drive before we stop for the night.” Being stubborn, especially after she found out the other two sites were less than a half mile down the street, she demanded the directions to the place where Hank Aaron hit his 715th career homerun.
We arrived at the site of old Atlanta – Fulton County Stadium after a short drive from the Capitol. Luckily for all of us, there was a parking lot across the street from the site. At first it didn’t seem as though we would be able to get onto the site, which had been turned into a fenced-in parking lot for Georgia State’s football stadium. But after a short search, Tom found a pedestrian entrance onto the lot and we made our way to “Hank Aaron’s Home Run Wall”. On April 8, 1974, Atlanta Braves slugger Hammerin’ Hank Aaron belted his 715th career home run to break the Major League record set by legendary Babe Ruth. After the stadium met its demise on August 2, 1997, the footprint of the ballpark was imprinted into the new parking lot that was built for the nearby stadium. That footprint included the section of outfield wall where Aaron’s home run ball had landed into the record books. After Tom took numerous photos of the wall, we walked into the infield section of the stadium’s footprint where my photographer took a lap around the bases. My rotund camera guy didn’t jog around the bases like Aaron had done; he simply walked at a snail’s pace. When Tom finished his “home run” lap, he stood in the right-handed batter’s box and envisioned Aaron during his historic at-bat. During our time on the site, my photographer also took a moment to think about two of the world’s most legendary bands who had played concerts at Atlanta – Fulton County Stadium. On August 18, 1965, The Beatles played their first and only concert in Atlanta in that stadium; and in 1976, KISS was there on August 29th during their Destroyer Tour.
Our visit to the site of Atlanta – Fulton County Stadium and the spot where Hank Aaron’s record breaking home run had gone over the fence was far better than any of us could have anticipated. At one point, my photographer placed me onto home plate; but because it wasn’t a Presidential site, he didn’t snap any images of me. Once again, that chubby dude had irritated me with his negligence. I had wondered to myself whether Tom realizes that I enjoy other sites that aren’t necessarily related to Presidents or history. I’m a diverse and well-rounded bobble head.
The final site we saw in Atlanta was within walking distance of the last one. As a matter of fact, I saw the Olympic cauldron for the first time when Tom placed me onto home plate in the old stadium’s footprint. That cauldron, used during the 1996 Atlanta Olympic Games, stood alongside and high above Hank Aaron Drive. Although the cauldron was originally situated on top of Centennial Olympic Stadium that later became Turner Field, it was moved to its present location when the Braves didn’t want it towering over their outfield. As the three of us stood near the 153-foot-tall Olympic cauldron and tower, I envisioned boxing legend Muhammed Ali as he lit the cauldron during the Opening Ceremony on July 19, 1996. Ali was the last of 12,467 torch bearers who carried the flame 16,699 miles through 42 states; a relay that began on April 27th in Los Angeles and ended nearly three months later in Atlanta. As Tom captured numerous images of the Olympic cauldron, he tried at times to use the sun as a ceremonial flame. From an opening in the camera case, I looked at the tower and had mixed feelings of what I saw. The actual cauldron on top reminded me of an empty McDonald’s French fry container; while the tower seemed to be a larger-than-life erector set gone terribly wrong. But the fact that Muhammed Ali had lit that actual cauldron in 1996 made the unsightly design seem a lot better; at least to me.
Although we were finished with the Atlanta sites that Tom had planned on visiting, we weren’t through travelling for the day. The temperature was in the mid-90s outside, and Vicki had grown cranky due to the heat and the never-ending traffic. I began to wonder if she hadn’t contracted COBS from her husband; a flare-up that began when an elderly African American woman gave her a one-finger salute while we were stopped at a traffic signal.
It was about a 70-mile drive South to Warm Springs, Georgia – our final destination of the day. When we pulled into the parking lot of the Meriwether Country Inn Hotel, the dashboard clock read 6:45pm. The late afternoon heat was stifling, and I heard Tom say aloud when he grumbled about the temperature: “This town should be called Hot Springs instead of Warm Springs; but Arkansas already has a copyright on that name.” After we checked into our room at the hotel, my companions discovered that most of the restaurants in the small town of Warm Springs had already closed. That meant we were forced to hop back into the Highlander and travel to nearby Manchester for dinner; where luckily, the Dairy Queen was still open. I thought to myself: “Don’t the people in this area get hungry after seven o’clock?”
We returned to our outdated room at the Meriwether where Tom immediately placed me in my usual position near the television set. When my photographer turned on the TV, it wasn’t to watch reruns of The Andy Griffith Show. Instead, he needed to get an update on Barry; the storm that had gained Category 1 hurricane status and had it sights set on hitting Louisiana in the morning. Up to that point, my photographer had stayed true to his original agenda; but Barry’s overland course could alter ours. When the lights were extinguished around 9:30pm, I didn’t worry much about Barry. Instead, I thought about FDR’s Little White House – our first stop scheduled for the morning. Since Roosevelt had died in that small house, I had wondered if I would get the chance to stand on FDR’s deathbed. That goal depended on the home’s security and how bold my photographer would get. My money was on Tom!
