Thursday started with me hearing my alarm at 6 and rising for a not-busy day. Not busy in the sense that I had no travel and no real set plans. The Grand Ole Opry is closed on Thursdays, so I planned to visit Cheekwood Garden and Museum and other easy Nashville sights. I invested my time in the morning, until almost 10, in writing the blog and retelling my experiences at the American Civil War Franklin 1864 Battlefield. I wanted the blog to cover in detail what I experienced, and thus the morning disappeared, mostly, in writing and the usual complementary industrial breakfast.
It was another hot day; I would enjoy 94ºF (34ºF), which limited my time at Cheekwood, since it was mostly an outdoor experience. Cheekwood was built starting in 1929 and finished a few years later. It is a building copying the Georgian British style for manors wtih various updates and changes to align with late 1920s America. The house was lived in for about twenty years, and then converted to the public spaces now found there. Much of the furniture and certainly the art was from the family. I did read that much of it was purchased later, including an Andy Warhall of Rosalynn Carter. The estate seems to have deep pockets.
I bought my ticket for about $29, which was reduced by $5 because I did not use parking. I took an Uber for $ 30-something plus a $10 tip and had a nice trip chatting with the driver. And while an Uber driver would not care for the competition from robot cars, Waymo is now all over the streets; he told me they break the law all the time, but nobody seems to know what to do about it. They cannot be ticketed, according to the driver, and the police now just ignore them. “I will get a $200 ticket for running a light, but these things are just ignored,” he tells me, exasperated.
Ceekwood is hot and dusty. The ticket seller tells me they’re building a new parking garage, and part of the gardens are closed. I see plenty left. I later pass on the garden’s model trains, since they are a long walk down and then back up a hill on serpentine trails or cement stairs. I didn’t notice them until I was ready to leave; the afternoon heat had started. I walked the gardens for about an hour and spoke to a few people in standard coveralls that I saw all the garden folks wear.
I took one spiral down to the water, then climbed slowly back up the hill. The property was compact, full of creeks, ponds, and open structures. A fantasy garden that one could imagine attracts fairies. The trails were mostly cement, and most places had handrails for steps. Some trails were irregular stone steps, but still with rails, gravel, and bark dust. The views turned inward to the garden; there were no mountain views or landscapes, but instead lovely ponds, open outdoor structures, some brick, others thatched, and some assembled from pumpkins for fall, and whimsical garden furniture.
The house disappointed me; it felt empty, with 1930s furniture and items. A movie set more than a museum. The one exception was the library, which still contained books, now under some glass, and felt like the family would be right back. The place was full of early to mid-century American books on Homer, engraved printings, and some cultural studies. A photo showed a near-matching look from the 1930s, but the paintings were different. I asked a security person, and he then chatted with me and said, to his surprise, that the paintings had recently been changed, but he had never seen the painting in the photograph. We talked about Franklin, a local; he had never done a Civil War tour and might try it now, having heard about it from me (a like conversation would happen again for me).
The third floor held the art collection, and about 1/3 had been purchased or borrowed recently. The collection was almost exclusively American painting, with some sketches. They have, and I have started to notice them, a Gilbert Stuart painting of George Washington and another American. This is the painting the US $1 bill carries, and Stuart made many versions. Washington sports different apparel in some (like the one I saw in NYC a few months ago). It was an interesting collection, and a few paintings and sketches caught my eye, but it was mostly what a rich guy would buy to hang on walls in the 1930s, and that makes sense.
I found the cafe after finishing the house. I asked if they had plans or a floor plan of the original layout (the servant quarters and tiny staircases were gone. Replaced by offices, elevators, and modern bathrooms. Nope, and I was told the request was unique. I am always looking for a layout of mansions for 1920s-40s role-playing games with room photos. There was a book on the manor, but it didn’t include the layout or room photos. New Orleans has a few books on the home layout there that are amazing.
My sandwich, a sort of club and chicken salad mix, the Cheeky Club, was served by a former Oregonian, and we talked about home. She is moving back soon and has been enjoying the Nashville Area first for college and then for a total of eight years. With lunch, I head out and walk through the pumpkin display for a later kids’ party and pumpkin carving. I stop by the garden store and am told about the blasting, followed a minute later by a most alarming explosion. The ticket person was supposed to warn me that a blast was scheduled at 2. The explosion was loud, and the floor and building shook. Soon, columns of dust rose.
I ordered an Uber and returned to my hotel; it was very hot. Cheekwood has lots of brick, cement, and blacktop, and it was all radiating heat. Time to go.
My next Uber driver was friendly and pointed out the other mansion as we passed it by, a former antebellum plantation, Belle Meade Historic Site & Winery, and I added that and the closed American Civil War fort to my next-time list. We also passed the full-sized recreation of the Pantheon near Vanderbilt University. Soon we arrived at the hotel. I took a short break to drop off some items, wash up, and drink some water.
I ordered another Uber and left the Pantheon. A crazy former museum, rebuilt as a cement model of the original, with a full-sized giant Athena recently added. This I had to see. The Uber driver dropped me off at the entrance, and there was another $20 entrance fee, and I was soon looking at a huge Athena, slightly creepy and massive.
It is gilded and painted white like ivory, with grey eyes, “Athena, the Grey-eyed Goddess,” as Homer often repeated. The now mostly London-based frieze (see here for details on how it is in London and not Athens) is recreated outside in cast cement. The frieze’s remains were copied in casts made in London, and then the artists invented the rest. Some of the invention was created from old drawings from before the original building was blown up (yes, it really happened). The building includes the copies and a small version of the frieze, one for each end of the building for easy viewing. Crazy. Ridiculous. I got a T-shirt.
I also noticed that in the reconstruction, Dionysus is naked with a club and reclining on a lion skin. The body form is not that of muscular Hercules, as I would have expected, but of the disguised Dionysus as Hercules, which fits The Frogs by Aristophanes, his winning play in Athens. I also learned that only the head of this statue was recovered from the wreckage of the original. Thus, this figure was more original than most of the reconstruction. Somehow, Dionysus, disguised, being the most complete surviving figure, it just seems right. Though the building was built 40 years before the play, it must have been a well-known story.
Vanderbilt University and a huge park, Centennial Park, surround the structure. Even though it’s hot, I walk in the park. The grass and trees make it feel less like an oven. I find a monument to the suffragettes and remember that Tennessee was the last state to pass the Women’s suffrage amendment.
I also find a fenced-off cement bow of a ship: the U.S. Navy armored cruiser USS Tennessee (1904). Ships of this time had decorated bows, and that was recovered and moved here (the ship was wrecked), I read later. The steps and nature of this turn-of-the-century monument make it unsafe for kids, and it is fenced off. It was still a surprise to see this artifact.
I found the Vanderbilt University bookstore next, but learned that school books are now purchased online, and that it only had clothing and a few school items. I got a small notebook. But across the street (sort of, as this is a weird junction of roads here) was Martin’s BBQ, which I had heard of. It was just 4 (and the heat of the day), and a cold brew and ribs, maybe a small plate, sounded perfect.
My idea of small and theirs are different, and I had dinner on just four ribs and end pieces. The bartender, there was full-service only at the bar, offered a cool beer, cold water, and food. This was a come-and-get-it place with tables for family style. I chatted with the bartender, and I picked a “snack.” And when he delivered a huge slab, he almost smiled and said, “snack.”
The ribs were excellent, and I tried some with their vinegar-based sauce, and while it added more life, it covered the smokiness. I ate them plain. The beans, recommended, were OK, and the coleslaw was creamy without too much edge. An excellent “snack”; I got no dinner after that!
I ordered another Uber; while it costs $$ it is less than $$$ for a car, and $$$ for parking. And I meet a lot of drivers and see more of the town instead of trying to find my way. Better, I think.
Back at the hotel, a nap comes, and I head out for my last night here. I head to the Bon Jovi place, JBJ, and find I know the songs and sing along. I look around, and only grey-haired folks are singing. But I do see some men with hats, though none with my comfortable wool version (crushable). Still, I spend an hour finding an open chair near the front and enjoy the music.
I talk to Deborah, having to call her back, as it is loud outside. I then chatted with her for a bit. I miss dancing with her.
I try a few bars, but the music is often something I don’t know or have only heard on the radio. I return to JBJ and walk to the top, stopping at the balconies for other views. I reach the roof, and there is no promised live music, and a DJ is setting up. Not my scene. I stay at the JBJ, find a table on the balcony, and stand on the main floor until 10, when the band, after playing over three hours of mostly requests and letting one person take the mic once, finally packs it in. I leave as they finish, return to my hotel, pack (mostly squishing and making things fit, and soon sleep. I wake only a few times. Thanks for reading.
Aside: My bus is delayed, and I am waiting at the Greyhound station while writing this on Friday.
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