2:02am at Pulse.

Posted on by Thor

December 12, 2016 at 2:02am, Barbara Poma, the owner of the Pulse nightclub opened the gate to the fence that surrounds the club. It was exactly six months since the horrific mass shooting that killed 49 Orlando citizens. Friends and family of victims were invited inside for a private memorial candlelight service. A Pulse employee handed out rainbow ribbons to everyone in line. There was a small Christmas Tree outside the had ornaments for each of the 49 victims. As family and friends entered the gate, they had to empty their pockets and then go through a metal detector search. I sat on a stone bench right next to the entry door. In this exact spot I once comforted a friend who had too much to drink about nine years ago.

Cut out stars and candles were arranged on the pavement inside the perimeter in a pulse shaped pattern. Couples hugged each other and everyone stood facing the building. A woman I didn’t know hugged me and said she couldn’t wait to see the sketch. She returned to her girlfriend in the crowd. A purple neon circle illuminated the spot above the entry. We were told not to go near the door since it was alarmed. I returned outside to join the line of TV news cameras. Cory James Connell‘s parents Tara and James Connell gave me a hug and a handshake. Tara said she was doing fine until they got to the club. She looked across the street with trepidation and then they walked across and entered the gate. As I sketched I could hear crying from behind the art decorated fence. Someone was wailing, bereft. My heart broke.

Afterward Tara told me that the six month memorial had been done right. Some memorial items were left inside and a bright rainbow sign was left for Cory. It was all so sad. I gave Tara a hug. She invited me to Woodlawn Cemetery that evening where her son was buried. Three other victims of the Pulse shooting were buried right beside him. A couple was buried to his right and the third to his left. At dusk they were having a service and would release Japanese floating lanterns in his honor. Tara gave directions to the grave site but there were so many twists and turns in the directions that I knew I was going to be lost. She confessed that she gets turned around when she goes. They went to their SUV, but James returned and gave me abbreviated directions. They both waved as they drove away. I wasn’t alone. I love that family.

“When a wave of love
takes over a human being… such an exaltation takes him that he knows
he has put his finger on the pulse of the great secret and the great
answer.”

~Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings

Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings Historic State Park

Posted on by Thor

Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings wrote the Pulitzer Prize winning Novel “The Yearling” while at a typewriter on a hand made table on the front porch of this old batten board house first built in 1884. Marjorie moved into the home in 1928. She renovated the building adding indoor plumbing which was incredibly modern for the day. The home is in Cross Creek which was a several hour drive north of Orlando. The property has a small orange grove, a barn, tenant house, a garden and plenty of chickens and ducks. Terry took the tour while I sketched the 1940 Oldsmobile in the carport. The Yearling was written in 1938 and it was made into a movie staring Gregory Peck in 1946.

One of the women on Terry’s tour had been to the Rawlings home before. She thought that the ducks on the property were animatronics since they have no fear of humans.  She decided to step over a duck and one of the caretakers insisted she leave. When the tour reached the south porch, which is in my sketch, the tour guide told the story of the ice man delivering ice for the ice box. He found a snarling raccoon in there and told Marjorie he wouldn’t return until she removed the varmint.

The guest bedroom had such distinguished guests as poet Robert Frost, authors Margaret Mitchell and Thornton Wilder, artist N.C. Wyeth and actor Gregory Peck. Marjorie was friends with author Zora Neale Hurston from Eatonville Florida. She visited Marjorie but since Zora was black she couldn’t sleep in the house. She had to sleep in the tiny tenant house with the help out in the orange grove.

A bold red rooster lead a brood of hens around the yard and the ducks seemed content to soak up the sun.  Fluffy new born duck chicks bobbed like corks in a small pool near the hen house. Time really feels like it has stood still at the Rawlings home. Marjorie died in 1958. Major restoration to the home was completed in 1996 and preservation work is ongoing.

Terry and I had lunch at the Yearling Restaurant down the road where Willie Green played the blues.  A sparrow seemed intent on getting inside. It flapped its wings and fluttered up and down against the window pane unable to pass through the mysterious glass. The fried green tomatoes and catfish were fried and filling.

“Bless Us”, I thought, “the world must be hungry.” And so it is. Hungry for food and drink-not so much for the mouth as for the mind; not for the stomach, but for the spirit.””

– Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings