Pluff Mud Chronicles

By David Farrow and Charles W. Waring III

David

I lived in Manhattan for six months in 1984. It was one of the best times I ever had. It was one of the worst times I ever had. I moved to sell a novel I had written. I ended up leaving with the shirt on my back even though I landed a $35,000 a year job. Trouble was I got it in December, but wouldn’t start until April. Hello, Amtrak.

Pluff Mud Chronicles

By David Farrow and Charles W. Waring III

David

This year we will be treated to an event during the cool week of August that could be the coolest thing we people have ever seen ... a total eclipse of the sun. Turn around bright eyes. On Monday, August 21, we will be under a total eclipse here in the Holy City: at 2:47 p.m. the sun will be completely hidden by the moon.

Pluff Mud Chronicles

  

By David Farrow and Charles W. Waring III

David

T.S. Eliot nailed it. April truly is the cruelest month. In April of 1978, I was possibly a month from finally graduating from college. It had been quite a slog. After leaving George Washington University in the spring of 1976, I was determined to drop out of college with all due haste despite imprecations from friends and family.

In August of 1976, I moved into a tiny apartment above the beauty shop on Wentworth between Pitt and Coming. After a semester of painting houses (rather poorly, I might add), I decided that a whole range of opportunities awaited me if I were to go back and flunk trigonometry just one more time.

Pluff Mud Chronicles

By David Farrow and Charles W. Waring III

David

It was the end of the Endless Summer. On a lazy late summer early afternoon in September of 1968, I was seated at a friend’s downtown dinner table right before returning to Christ School.

It was precisely 1 p.m. that torrid September afternoon weekday. We sat at the formal dining room table surrounded on the north wall by portraits of Charleston ancestors who had shaped the city 150 years before and open outsized French doors on the south. My friend and I sat on one side, his sister and their stepbrother sat on the other. Their father, who could well have been the funniest man I ever met, sat on one end, a perfect foil to his more formal wife who had a bit of a patrician air and sat on the other side of the long table and closest to the kitchen.

By David Farrow and Charles W. Waring III

Forty years ago when Gerald Ford was president, it was time to head back to start the fall semester at George Washington University. It was time to pack up my things to head for Bev-er-ly. Problem was, unlike the, Clampetts, I had nothing with which to move my stuff.

Back in those days, the “Automile” was up on Morrison Drive. I ventured up to — I think it was Hoover the Mover — where I bought a 1963 Plymouth Satellite for $400. It was great. The automatic transmission was controlled by push buttons for the gears. It rolled upon massive mag wheels. It had no back seats; they had been replaced with red swivel chairs. I’m not making this up. Oh … someone had painted the exterior with a paintbrush — black streaks of oil paint brushstrokes glinting in the hot September sun.

Pluff Mud Chronicles

By David Farrow and Charles W. Waring III

David

The morning sun rising over Fort Sumter was shining like a red rubber ball as I stepped from my parents’ home on South Battery, surfboard in hand at 6:20 a.m. that early June morning. I was 15 years old going on 25 as I marched into the dawn. I turned left on Legare Street. I knew everyone in every house. The sun peeked over centuries-old brick walls, early rays spilled through tended lawns, then onto me as I walked past ancient live oaks that spread their roots and limbs and defined the street; I am secure that this day will be a fine one indeed.

Pluff Mud Chronicles

By David Farrow and Charles W. Waring III

Well, here we are: May, magnolias, gardenias and graduation; the latter has taken a personal turn this year at Chez Farrow on the Ashley. My girlfriend’s best friend’s daughter is graduating from the College O’Knowledge in mere days. I bring this up not because I am eager to hear the speaker (Couldn’t tell you who it is if you put a gun to my head), but because I have been charged to find an extra ticket for that blessed event. They are rare as hen’s teeth. Apparently, I am on a very short list. If that fails, then it’s off to Craig’s List where they are flying off the shelves at $250 a clip.

Mercury newspaper racks are located at the following locations:

The Meeting Street Inn

Clair's Service Station at 334 Folly Rd.

Harris Teeter on Houston-Northcutt Blvd.

The Square Onion in I'On

Mt. Pleasant Library on Mathis Ferry Rd.