Beauvoir

Jefferson Davis, 1st and only president of the Confederacy, ran away and was put on a manhunt only a few days after the war, as John Wilkes Booth, the assassin of President Lincoln of the Union, was also being hunted. Davis's lasted a little longer however. After the whole Reconstruction era, "President" Davis was put under house arrest and things like that, until it was presumed he, an old man at this time, would not strike back and stir up more discontent among southerners. He lost all his slaves, and retired to Biloxi, Mississippi, in the rural and deep south. He stayed in a cabin close to a mansion while thinking about buying it and getting the payments in. The person who had it first, a lovely old lady, died and in her will gave him the money for the last two payments he was not able to pay for. Very kind. Then, he spent the rest of his life with his wife and daughters in Beauvoir, which in French means, "beautiful view." And it was a beautiful view. Right on the Gulf of Mexico, the very beach shore with all the beautiful view. So he got what he asked for. Then he died after having a peaceful retirement and after contributing to thousands of young boys dying in battle in the Civil War. His daughter and Mom moved to NYC, of all places. 

Then, in 2005, disaster struck as most of the original structure of Beauvoir was taken out by Katrina. They rebuilt it using the same look as it had been before, maybe better. They are currently building a presidential library for research and have a small trailer right by the gate. The day before on the 20th, Mom and I entered there.

It had a gift shop all around, the full length except for the right side where there was a counter, computers, a desk, and some back rooms including a restroom. As Mom and I saw the prior day (forgot to write about it sorry) looking for post cards, books, t-shirts even, we saw The Uncle Remus Tales, as well as a color full length DVD version of Song of the South! Mom told me how it was banned from America because it was supposed to be racist (which it's not) and that Pop loved it and I remembered how I was curious and I went on YouTube and sought it out. So funny. We got one, as Mom asked to one of the grey headed ladies where she got it. "Black Market," she whispered. 

We went back outside and got tickets for the rodeo, and this was after the book store and lunch with Ann and Mickey. I then remembered I left my book in the trailer, when Mom was talking to them about what time the tours were and all! So we drove back up and I snuck in, and was out as soon as I was in, getting quickly the book off the shelf. That night I finished it, another thing I forgot to mention. Great plot and story, man was it good. I'm sorry I keep writing things afterward; it's because I'm so darn far behind. Once again I apologize for your inconvenience.

But back to the day we went to Beauvoir, on the 21st of January. I was in my bed as the dogs came over and licked my faces. Dad came out and we walked them a little, and when they were done with the restroom we came back inside and put their wet little doggie legs in the crate. Dad asked me if I wanted to go eat. I got my book, a jacket, jeans, and other things on as we went through the doors, silently, not wanting to wake up Rebecca or Mom. We got in the car as we felt the chill morning air, and warmed up the car as we pulled out. By our R.V. park was the ocean, and we spent a long time going down the coast as we saw dead trees turned into artwork, spun around and carved into animals like eagles and dolphins. Very cool. We passed by Beauvoir, and wanted to go there, and saw the white mansion in it's elegant form. 

Then we saw up ahead a waffle house, and stopped in front of the yellow restaurant. One of the letters in the sign was out, like all the other Waf le houses I've seen, or the Wffle houses, or the Waffe houses, or the Waffl Houses. The one we came into was Waf le house. There's never, that I've seen, a affle house. But there might be one out there. After holding the door for some people in the threshold, we walked in.

On our right, some booths with openings to the kitchen you saw, and a bar counter in the middle. On the other side were some tables, all filled. We tried to find one, but they were already full of talking eating patrons. No booths either. So we sat on the counter, and I put the book Mockingjay down, having not really read any of it yet except the first page of the first chapter. We looked at the glossy menu, and I decided to have a waffle with sausage and eggs, plus hashbrowns and toast. More often than not, breakfast is the biggest meal of the day for some reason. I can't really figure why. A nice waitress got us drinks as we watched the cooks and servers making the food, putting the dough in the waffle shaped metal thing, and all the fry cooks. Dad and I talked a little about the founders of this very successful business, that it was started in Atlanta (Coca-cola and Home Depot, Chick-Filet founded there too) and that a manager got mad and formed the Huddle House, which was basically the same thing. Copy loik. (I know you must be confused at this word; in a script called Stuck In Space aliens use that word as a galactic cat. They are a despised creature on the fake planet of Drape.) We watched the employees also informally and casually talk. Interesting conversations.

The server brought our food out as many little girls in cheerleader costumes came in, in black and blue sparkly tights. It was a Saturday morning, I guessed there was some kind of event going on in the Coliseum and they were part of it, and were getting a good breakfast before they did it or practiced for it. The food looked good that we got. Putting salt and pepper on it and then syrup on the waffles, we preceded to eat the warm great food. We talked some more, ate most of it (can't eat it all though) and after that we paid the bill and left, fuller than the Gulf of Mexico is of water. Then, back in the jeep, we drove down all the way to Biloxi, talked about serious things like the economy and jobs, and went all the way down to see a Hard Rock Cafe and the Casino the rodeo promoted last night, where the after party was to be held, at Royal Casino. Huge sparkly building right by the coast. We drove up a levee to a light house, discussed some of the parts of "To Kill a Mockinbird" and how life was back then as we went through a depressed neighborhood with shabby houses. I loved that time talking to Dad, contemplating life, and also driving around and seeing Biloxi and Gulf Port. I read a little of the Mockingjay book as we looked at all the homes that used to be there before the hurricane. We also looked at the R.V. park we could of stayed at, and it was pretty nice.

We came to the R.V., silently turned off the engine, and went through. Mom and Rebecca were relaxing, Mom by her computer and Rebecca on her phone. We took showers and Mom and Rebecca got a little breakfast, unlike the extravagant one that Dad and I ate. They were a little mean spirited toward us, jokingly, wanting us to take them and such. But long story short we got ready to leave for Beauvoir, President Davis's home, and drove up to the gate, to the guy who was not even making us pay, just to direct traffic. We parked to the little space facing this small trailer, and walked up the ramp/ walkway. It was the first time I have been at a museum that has a trailer. We walked in where those two nice ladies were, and we got tickets for the tour that was about to go on. Mom and Dad talked as we slowly drifted back, going forward, and I saw on the left of me a door going to the restroom, and to the right was yet another room, the mini museum the people talked about, and a continually running film that goes over the whole story. Mom and Dad looked at that while I saw old artifacts and a story about a Confederate solider who had no identity. There were chips of wood and old china salvaged from the destruction caused from Katrina, like swords and old guns. There was a before and after pictures of the mansion, and it was so destroyed that I saw, all the wreckage. I hate you Katrina. Just like I hate you, Irene. And Ike. And Camil. And Andrew. Huh. Never said I hated myself before.

Dad and Mom made me come as Rebecca was looking in the gift shop. I didn't know that, and as Mom and Dad were outside, I found her and told her we had to leave. We then walked out of the door, that was to the far left. Now I found myself in a green field, where the mansion was in front of me, the research library was far to the right, and the gulf was on the left of me, plus many benches and some oaks. Also two little square cabins with porches on all sides on either side of the mansion, in the front. There was a stone statue of J. Davis, the short hair and skinny appearance, and two little kids on either side of him, one with no hair, and one with a little. He looked really happy. Another statue in the front of this place had Davis very tall, more than life size. I caught up with Mom and Dad and Rebecca, who were looking at a panel. I asked if we were gonna look at the cabin on the right, the one that we passed. Mom and Dad said no, we needed to get to the tour guide, we would do that later, and that they told us to go up to the mansion first, the ladies. We walked up the long blue steps, wooden in material, like the ones I used to have at my house before we changed it to a more pretty and modern version, not the stairs that come up from the right and go to the porch, or the big empty wooden space. I kind of miss it, but I like the new one too.

The home had a porch on the front, and was very high up, with blue steps and white paint with columns. There were many windows with blue sides closing them and a grey roof. Very pretty.

There were rocking chairs with people's names on them, they paid money. Sitting down and overlooking, I saw how tall this place was and such a good view it was of the Gulf. Whoever named it Beauvoir (it was one of the people who owned it before Davis) was right, it was a beautiful view. Well, a few other people came up with us, later followed by more as a tan guy with a uniform and long black hair down his big head. He said hello, in a funny voice, kind of Hawaiian. He asked everyone as they came up if they had gone to the cabin on the left and looked at the painting with his dog. We said no, they had told us to go to the mansion first. He said we missed out and should've gone there. Mom asked if maybe he could just tell, because the other people have done and he shouldn't punish them for our mistake. Besides, we could always go back later and learn the history and what he was talking about. Oddly, the guide just dropped the subject, told us to come inside, and preceded to talk about the house as we came inside. Weird. There was a lobby with a room on the left, one on the right, and two more downward. In here was coat racks, little tables and a huge round ottoman. There were mirrors and paintings also. The ceiling had a bowl shaped look to it, and had pale green designs. The guide told us that they were newly painted every time they needed to be, but they had to use a darker shade every time, for age. Interesting.

A blonde haired lady in a big jacket and glasses went to the far side of the entering room, the lobby, taking pictures. The guide said, “Uh, ma’am, we will get to those rooms in time, please come over here now.” “Oh I was just taking a picture of the entrance, that’s all,” she answered calmly. “Well you have 45 minutes to do that, now please come over here.”

She gave him a confused and freaked out kind of look, but did his bidding, and came over. He led us past a grandfather clock to the bedroom of the girl. There was a nice bed, and knitting kit with basket by the bed, and some other things you would see in a room of that era. He told us all about the girl, and a lot about how the room was renovated and ALL about Katrina and the storm. I kinda wanted to know more about Jefferson Davis, the man, his life, and about his life after the war, but all he really talked about for a while was about Katrina and people who came in and studied and found out what it looked like and things. He also talked about her name being Winnie, how she died young, sadly, and that she(before dying) spent summers in the little cabin to the right with her kids.Nowadays, the guide said, the place is used for real guests(of the Organization's workers who are going to meetings at the library.) and it has modern conveniences, and "you could of seen it in if you went there," the guide stated to us. It's like telling the whole story to a little kid and then kissing them goodnight, telling them you would tell them ten years from then. So cruel. I mean he didn't have to be mean to the people for our mistake, that's just wrong. Oh well.

The guide took us to the left front room, where there wasn't much in the room, just an organ and desks, and a few good paintings. I asked the guide about a few, and he just stated that they were just paintings that they had, no cool story. In my mind I was still trying to think about what he was going to say about the dog but never did. It bugged me for the rest of the time there. This is where the guide talked about Sarah Dorsey purchasing the house from a guy named Sam, who got it from the widow of the guy who started it, James Brown. Mrs. Dorsey was the one who gave it the famous name... of Beauvoir. Jefferson Davis wanted a quiet place to write his books so Dorsey, the family friend, let him stay in that cabin the guide wanted us to go to. He fell in love with it, but didn't have too much money, so he paid it in three payments. He got the first one but Dorsey died and in the will he found out that she gave all the money to him, and the house, of course. "But, being the honorable man he was," the tour guide said, "he gave all the money he received to her grandkids. Mom whispered to Dad that she doubted this, if Davis was in need of money. Oh well. We moved down, and instead of going left, where we could be, the guide went right. Weird.

We saw the ottoman you couldn't get on, and I asked him if they got the word from Ottoman, because in movies and shows I was Arabs on those, in pray formation. You know like Aladdin and The Arabian Nights. It's about a king who has a wife every night, and then the next day he executes her, and a clever wife tells him a story and doesn't reveal the ending, saying she was tired. So, him wanting to know the end of the story, doesn't execute her and then talks to her in the night. She finishes the story but then starts another, and then doesn't reveal the ending. You see where this is going? She does this for a thousand and one nights, the name of the book before it was shortened to it's current form. The stories make up the whole volume. Very interesting. It's like Germany's Grimm stories, or Britain's Robin Hood and King Arthur, or even America's Uncle Remus. Everywhere has some kind of famous folklore. Except for Spain. Well, they got being credited as the first country to visit America, so why do they keep pouting about not having a folklore. Who knows, they might have one, and I just don't know. Oh well. Now why am I talking about this? Man I get hooked up in a conversation and just start blabbering away. To the blog!

In there was a cute little kids bedroom, with little beds and a lot of toys, and a side bed where a girl sometimes slept. Outside this room was a picture of Mr. Brown, the first owner, and he had thirteen kids! I don't really think it's cheaper by the dozen and one. I feel bad for the 13th child. Unlucky. Inside the room was more knitting kits, and a stove and things like that. There were a lot of paintings in the household, some that were good and some that weren't. Most of them were good. Across the hall was a den, that had a double rocking chair, where two kids could rock back and forth, kind of like a sea saw. There were couches and it looked cool to see where the family would sit. And a bookcase on the right. Sadly, all three of their boys died suddenly, just not at the same time. The eccentric tour guide, who stuttered much, and got excited when talking about something, liked me asking questions as we drifted outside. There was a little three sided back porch, of all blue wood. There was some rooms on one side and ones on the other. I talked to him as he told me Jefferson coincidentally was born in Kentucky, like Abraham Lincoln, his Union equivalent. He went to West Point and became a senator in D.C. Later the people told him they wanted him to be the president of the Confederacy, so they just appointed him to the cause. This was all the guide told me.

On the left was the ill-fated boys room, which consisted of only a few beds. Then the Jefferson's desk, and bedroom. We went to the right, where an outdoor kitchen and little table where the kids were, plus the nanny. The guide showed us a cabinet out there, that even though from the 1800's, just came right open easily as something from 2012. He told me that after he got out of jail he came here to write his memoirs, and then Jefferson died. His wife and Mom took it, and they went to NYC. He asked me who the person they worked under in the north, the deep union, the big apple. He said I would never know the person. Horace Greeley. Immediately I said, "Go west my boy, go west" a quote from Greeley when he promoted people, mostly young men, going west into the frontier. I learned about that from a museum in Nebraska about homesteading. Greeley also was used in a little story Mark Twain wrote about Roughing It, how he was going for a lecture and he wanted to get there quickly and the driver went him go up and down and his head struck through the top of the carriage. Greeley was a News Paper editor, a famous one. The guide widened his eyes, and said, over and over, "I thought he wouldn't know it!" He clearly was in shock that I knew.

But he didn't tell anyone else, who were not in the know, who Horace Greeley was. He just told us about the kids staying nights under the house, in hammocks, in the cellar, with the hot stove. He told us to check out those cabins, and a few other things, that after Winnie and Davis died, MRS. Davis made it a confederate soldiers helping place, where they helped out people who had come out from the war. Then he went back into the house, to take the next tour. I wanted to find out by those ladies what the man was going to talk about the painting, and to see those cabins, as Rebecca ran into the trailer to go to the restroom and Dad took some pictures of the pretty mansion. As Mom and I peeked through the windows of the left cabin, going around and seeing so many bookcases and old books on shelves, plus a desk in the middle. So this was where Davis stayed before going into the real mansion. Only a desk and so many old books, Encyclopedia Britannica's and such, and papers. No cot or even bed that I could see. It just goes to show a man's priorities. Oh a man's priorities.

I saw the painting of old Jefferson Davis petting his brown boxer that sits at his feet. He has a black suit on with white shirt and bow tie. The man, not the dog. No, that on a dog would just be weird. I tried to find something strange about it,what the guide wanted to talk about but just couldn't. All there was other was a bookshelf and a window showing the mansion in the background, and bright green grass. Dad came and looked at it, then left to go to his car. Rebecca came back, we looked at some of the statues, before walking over to the cabin where there were beds, couches, microwaves, counters, bathrooms, and all of modern convenience for you, sir. Shiver. I just felt like a flight attendant. So scary. But after that I looked at the statue of the two kids, and remembered the guide saying that after the war Davis actually adopted an african american kid. That's so weird, you become the president of the cause of keeping blacks as slaves, and then you adopt one like a child. Make up your mind, man! So we went back in the giftshop, and I wanted to find out about that painting. I told them a tour guide had talked about it and when we told him we hadn't gone to the cabin that he didn't tell us about it. One of them, northern sounding with grey short hair, said to another, "Think it was Steve?"

She turned toward me. "What did he look like?"

He was tan and had black hair, and long pony tail, and uh.." I didn't want to say he was large, it was rude and the info might come back to him. She said, "Oh it's Jerry. Oh yeah he's just pulling your string. He was talking about this. Here come back here so you can get a bigger view." She led me back behind the counter, where a painting of the painting I saw was, a copy. Back after the window were two white spots, with beaks. She told me that he always likes to ask people what they saw in the background, that no one ever knows. I thanked her and told the people we had complained that he hadn't told us on the walk over, one of whom was the photo lady who Jerry stopped. 

We all went back in the R.V. to a Walgreens, and I could go in detail all about going to the restroom, staying in line, sitting down, a guy telling a little about how they put the chemicals in, searching for cough medicine for the sick Rebecca, and other things, but I do not want to bore you. For the rest of the day we chilled out there, and I went into the lounge, spinning in while the door shut. It was close. Mom and I were walking the dogs and some ladies said I could have some dougnuts, as I looked at all the old people talking at the tables. They said that "the ladies were sure to entertain you." That made me shiver too. Weird. But I politely said no but thanks anyway and got out of there. When old ladies want to talk and eat doughnuts you must run!

Just kidding, I love to speak to old ladies. Just not alone without Mom or Dad.

Regular fun night of the R.V., sitting out in chairs and talking to passerbies, riding on bikes, going inside and having a dinner, and watching a lot of T.V. and sadly not getting much of a blog done, due to distraction. Went to sleep.

I'm glad I went to Beauvoir. I learned more about the man of Jefferson Davis, what he stood for, his traits, and that he loved books. It was very informational, and the mini museum was interesting. Although our tour guide Jerry was a little odd and strange, I had a good time looking at the mansion. And Beauvoir isn't just a beautiful view, it is a beautiful house, beautiful furniture and paintings, and if you go, you're sure to have a beautiful time.

Goodbye for now.

White birds no one can see

Spring upon the enemy and take the key

Only one knows how to spot the robbers

And it's Jerry the tour guide, but boy does he jabber!-

Andrew.