Greeting Flannery at 99
The Southern gothic ghosts might’ve preferred a gloomy day rumbling with distant thunder and misery, but they would have been deeply disappointed.
For anyone else intending to indulge in brooding existential angst, the picnic-perfect weather would have definitely spoiled Flannery O’Connor’s 99th birthday party last Sunday. The rest of us rejoiced in the afternoon’s atmospheric bliss, celebrating the enduring legacy of Savannah’s reluctant literary saint, whether she would’ve liked it or not.
Flannery herself would be approaching the century mark this year, but the gathering in her name near the Flannery O’Connor Childhood Home isn’t even a teenager yet. This delightful Savannah spring tradition only began in 2012, with a band of off-beat weirdos looking for some good trouble. Their “homemade parade” honoring the author’s sardonic view of Southern culture has caught on—turns out, Savannah’s got a lot of off-beat weirdos.
The good-natured mayhem of those first years has evolved into something a tad more civilized, though proper permitting hasn’t dimmed the giddy fun of this annual takeover of Lafayette Square. Horn-rimmed glasses and dainty white gloves abound for the Flannery look-alike contest, and there’s always enough peacock-themed birthday cake to go around. Obviously there must be a gorilla, the suit donned this year by proud papa poet Chad Faries doing his duty as a FOCCH board member. Children amuse themselves with literary-themed games; however, the Chickpoop Bingo booth has been permanently shelved after the main game piece got murdered a few years back.
Leaning into Flannery’s edict that “all writers are local somewhere,” The Book Lady’s generous hosting of Savannah scribes now fills the southwest corner of the square with camaraderie and reverence for all you stubborn people who still love to read. This year’s local authors included legendary writing guru Rosemary Daniell and poetical treasure Aberjhani, along with Savannah secret spiller Christopher Berinato, who was also promoting Seersucker Live’s upcoming performance April 25 for those who like their literature in person.
I hawked my own books next to my favorite editrix Amy Paige Condon, who has managed to co-author Chef Todd Richards’ captivating new cookbook while juggling duties at the Savannah Morning News. Anchoring the sunny corner spot was the Book Lady herself, Joni Saxon-Giusti, acting as sales proxy for Flannery’s books as well as the canon of our beloved Jane Fishman, who would never accept the mantle of “saint” but nevertheless joins FOC in the immortal pantheon of storied Savannah writers.
The afternoon always culminates with a boisterous musical promenade (the permit doesn’t cover a whole parade, OK?) led by the jangly sounds of the Sweet Thunder Band. Seasoned party goers and a few surprised tourists followed pied piper percussionist Andrew Hartzell around the square, accompanied by Jared Hall on accordion, Ben Austin strumming the ax and Andrew Sovine bumping out the bass on his new sousaphone, plus a few others. (Several of you expressed surprise at seeing yours truly sauntering along with the band and asked, You can play the trumpet?!” To which I reply, No! But I’ve never let that stop me!)
All in all, Flannery’s 99th birthday was befitting of the event’s absurdist origins, even if no one brought a prosthetic leg. More importantly, this tradition—still relatively new by Savannah standards—remains an unapologetic respite for bookworms and weirdos from here and everywhere, a chance to celebrate that being different can mean finding so much in common.
As the wonderful Rev. Helen White remarked in her blessing, Flannery may have experienced isolation and otherness, but her stories have helped make Savannah “a place where people like her could belong.”
The good reverend—dressed for the occasion in a cute vintage dress and cloche hat—even referred to this DIY ceremony as a convergence of the “cool kids,” a statement that led Sweet Thunder lead trumpeter and lifelong band nerd Gary Strickland to exclaim, “I’ve waited 61 years to be called a cool kid!”
Trapped in 1950s social mores with a penchant for absurdity and religion, it is not very likely that Flannery would have considered herself cool. But in spite of her characters’ cruelty and ostracization, there’s just something about Flannery that allows us to accept ourselves in our own imperfections—celebrate them, even. FOCCH executive director Janie Bragg said it best when describing this effect, that her stories make you “feel like you’re sort of the main character of your own story.”
I’ve been marching around the square in March since 2013, and every year amid the revelry I wonder what Flannery would make of this merry scene. As a recalcitrant youngster she seemed already haunted by life’s sad brutality and the “stinking mad shadow of Jesus,” and her success as a writer came from fearless observations that did not exactly paint humanity in a rosy glow.
The tension between faith and disgust is what gives her work such fascinating depth, and I’m loath to think of how we might be deprived these days of such wry, sly wit by a round or two of antidepressants.
(On a related note, Wildcat, the new Flannery biopic directed by Ethan Hawke and starring his super-talented progeny Maya has debuted to rave reviews. Watch the trailer here and be sure to grab your tickets to the May 12 screening at Trustees Treater — not only will everyone’s favorite GenX boyfriend be in town for a post-show director Q&A, a portion of the proceeds will benefit FOCCH.)
Given her internal struggles and judgy gimlet eye — not to mention the accusations of racism in her work — she would have probably been dismayed at the idea of herself as an icon of inclusivity. I also suspect she’d rather spend her birthday afternoon up in the trees rather than pretending to like any of us.
The world is an awfully different place since Mary Flannery O’Connor was felled far too early, and maybe we ought to mourn what she would’ve written had she lived to witness what has changed and what hasn’t. But even with her limited body of work, we continue to find reason to come together in her name each March.
Maybe because she represents a South that all of us could belong to regardless of our awkwardness and otherness. As Aberjhani muses in his book Greeting Flannery O’Connor at the Back Door of My Mind, “it is a reality which leaves us no choice but to step outside our individual culture-comfort zones and exercise a more mindful sense of inclusion—as opposed to indulging biased instincts conditioned to reinforce mindless exclusion.”
Or maybe we just do it because the best way to stave off the existential angst is to be weird and talk about books and sing to the sky.
In any case, here’s to being the main character of you own story. Hope to see y’all when Flannery turns 100.
We have known the truth and it has made us odd ~ JLL
Hated missing this past Sunday's festivities, but very much excited to attend the Wildcat screening and Ethan Hawke Q&A on Mother's Day!
Flannery would be mildly miffed but invite you in for a cup of tea anyway. XXXM