Road Trip to Hope Mills, North Carolina

The vibrating and chirping sounds of the Blackberry Storm alarm began my day at 7:30 a.m. in my room at Chateau Johnston in Charlotte. Cindi was to be here so that the caravan could depart for the 130-mile journey to our ancestral lands in Hope Mills, North Carolina by 9:30. Seven of us made the trek:
-Me
-Bill (whom you've met if you read the earlier post)
-Myrline (Bill's wife)
-Cindi (their daughter, who eats turkey sandwiches slathered in ketchup and forces people to wish her happy birthday)
-Jeff (Bill's nephew)
-Jennifer and Casey (Jeff's daughters)

As a quick aside, I’m especially impressed by Casey. She’s 23 and was the youngest one of us on the expedition. She really cares about this genealogy stuff. I’m a big nerd for traveling all over in search of history, but Casey’s interest began 13 years earlier than mine and for that, I am envious. If only I would have had her sense while my parents were still alive. Luckily, my mom was a talker so I learned a lot from her. My dad, on the other hand, was an only child and not much of a talker, and I now know more about his family than he did in his lifetime. Kudos to Casey for caring before it’s too late.

But I digress…

Dale Earnhardt, Jr., I mean Cindi, led the way in Bill's Cadillac with Casey just behind us and Jeff bringing up the rear to keep us all in line. Two cars, one pick up truck, lots of loud, bassy music, not nearly enough coffee for Bill, one missed exit and 2 hours and 37 minutes later (Mapquest time, not actual time) we arrived at our lunch destination in Hope Mills — Fred Chason's Grandsons.Now this is an authentic southern, home style, all-you-can-eat buffet for $8.95 including a quenching beverage of choice. Pretty sweet deal. And no, Lucy, I didn't take a picture of the buffet offerings, but I found this awesome photo on Google images! God bless Google.My friend, the Mayor, beat us to Grandsons and served as the welcoming ambassador to a group of the Fayetteville cousins who made the 9-mile trip to meet us for a reunion of sorts, although they were really meeting the Charlotte folks for the first time. The Fayetteville cousin contingent included:
-Earl and Carolyn Goldman
-Their son Ronnie, his wife Cheryl and their sons Scottie and Devlin. (Ronnie, Cheryl and Devlin took me to my first-ever monster truck show back in September at the Cape Fear Fair, where you might recall I, witnessed the famed Truckasaurus live and in person!)
-Randy, Earl and Carolyn’s other son and Ronnie’s younger brother
The only flaw with the buffet was not the lack of choices, but the lack of signage accompanying those items. I am not southern although my roots may be planted in Carolina piedmont, fire ant infested “soil.” I’ve never tasted a collard green, nor have I had the desire. To my pallet, sweet tea is the devil’s poison and “fatback” is the name of a band that a hippie-loving friend of mine likes to see in concert. I rarely eat pork items and I never consume swimming or bottom dwelling animals. I just don’t. So without proper signage, my selective Midwestern (read “picky”) self tends to shy away from some items. To paraphrase Forrest Gump, “Grandsons is like a box of chocolates…”

Cindi, who might just be certifiable, likes to have fun — so much so that I wouldn’t put it past her to feed me some of those undesirable items just for her amusement. Needless to say, when she offered me a fatback, I declined — especially when she wouldn’t divulge the main ingredient. My confidence level in her just wasn’t soaring at that point. It took my trustworthy elected official friend’s encouragement to get me to take a nibble. Oh…my…god! It’s basically a deep fried piece of bacon/salt lick in French fry shapes! While solid as granite and dangerous to dental work, they rock harder than 31 Prince concerts! Okay, a slight exaggeration maybe, but not too far off the mark.

Our party of fifteen ate, drank and was merry until about 2 p.m. when it was time for the Hope Mills grave hunting and town tour led by none other than my friend, the recently reelected Mayor. You might remember the Mayor from such posts as North Carolina: Day 3. I’ll fight anyone who has a bad thing to say about the Mayor — wherever, whenever — just be ready to bring it.

The Mayor led the caravan to several cemeteries, including one long hidden in the woods where we’re pretty certain my murdered great-grandfather is buried, as well as the murder site.After that we were treated to a tour of the town and a trip to town hall to visit his office. There’s something to be said for personal guided tours!When I visited NYC last month, Michael Bloomberg didn't drop everything to lead us around his city. Maybe he should consider doing so…

Mayor Dees is THE MAN. Once again, he took time away from his family to spend it with me and mine helping us explore our Johnson heritage. I am proud to know him and call him my friend. I hope he knows how extraordinary he made today. Bill, like me, can’t stop singing his praises. Thank you Mayor. And thank you Johnstons for allowing me to be a part of this occasion.

Even if I were to do nothing else on this trip, today was every bit worth it. To be able to visit Hope Mills once again, and to share that experience with my new found cousins, especially Bill, made for a truly exceptional and memorable day, even if Ms. Earnhardt, Jr. almost veered into ditches and fire ant hills approximately 4,539 times.

But it doesn’t stop there. Tomorrow brings with it the scanning of photos, letters and postcards (yes, Don, they found them!) as well as conversation, connections and reconnections, food and, of course, the nectar of the gods, Dr. Pepper. I think Chateau Johnston will be rocking with fifteen of us and will probably end with Myrline serving Bill and me apple pie a la mode — it’s quickly become a tradition over the past two nights — why mess with a good thing?