THE BIG ASK!!

Just trying to have me some fun(d)

By Maria Johnson

Dear Potential Sponsors,

I wanted to let you know that I have the most amazing opportunity. I can’t believe it. It’s like a dream come true. I could go to Tahiti!

THAT’S RIGHT, Tahiti!!

I have always wanted to go to Tahiti!! And now it’s possible for me to go!! YES!!

There’s just one hitch: money.

Don’t get me wrong. I could save enough money to go to Tahiti.

But I really don’t want to do that.

I want YOU to pay for it!!

ISN’T CROWDFUNDING AWESOME?!!

In case you don’t know, crowdfunding happens when people go online (and sometimes in magazines!!) to ask for money for specific projects. This idea is, you can raise a lot of money if everyone gives a little. Usually, the projects help people who are truly needy or down on their luck. But sometimes, the campaigns are like mine!!!

Just to be clear, I am not sick.

I am not a flood victim.

Or a crime victim.

I have no religious agenda.

I’m not trying to help anyone.

Or be reunited.

Or start a business to benefit people.

I JUST WANT TO GO TO TAHITI!!!

COME TO THINK OF IT, MY HUSBAND WANTS TO GO, TOO!

He’s a swell guy. We’ve been married twenty-seven years, and he’s always there for me. He loads the dishwasher every night! He walks the dog every morning! Sometimes, when we grill hamburgers, he points to the last one on the platter and says, “Do you want that?”

And I’m like, “Awwwwwwwww! You are soooooooo sweeeeeeet! Yes. Yes, I do!”

And he gets this sad little look on his face.

WHAT AN ADORABLE GUY!

How can you not send this man to Tahiti with me?

Right about now, you might be saying, “Where the heck is Tahiti, and why do you want to go?”

Well, allow me to educate you. Tahiti is an island in the South Pacific. It is part of the Society Islands in French Polynesia, south of Hawaii and directly east of Australia.

The sunsets are breathtaking, and water is Ty-D-Bol blue.

The area is a magnet for movie stars and artists, and it has been for a long time. The French painter Paul Gauguin lived in Tahiti in the late 1890s. Marlon Brando liked it, too. He bought a chain of tiny islets near Tahiti after filming there for his 1962 film Mutiny on the Bounty.

In fact, his former islets are now home to a super-luxury resort called
The Brando.

You guessed it!! That’s where we want to stay!!

Yes, it’s expensive, but we plan to go in the OFF SEASON!!

BIG $$$$AVINGS!

I can hear the cynics now. “Maria, why should we help you and your husband go Tahiti? Why don’t you spend your own money on something that benefits only you?”

Wow. OK. Wow.

Let me explain something, all right? This trip is about ENRICHMENT. It’s about enabling us to OPEN our minds, and UNDERSTAND another culture, and RESPECT indigenous people.

Who do you think bakes the croissants in these places? Who rakes the beaches and minds the bicycle liveries? Who gives the massages at the spas? The local people, that’s who. We will be interacting with them face-to-face, talking to them as needed, and tipping them — but not too much because we will be good stewards of your generous donations!

If we happen to see people in dire need — which, let’s face it, would be a total vacation downer — we will point them to local churches.

Also, we will be documenting things with our cell phones and posting our photos and videos.

DOCUMENTATION IS VERY IMPORTANT WHEN YOU DO A CROWDFUNDING PROJECT!!

What will we be documenting? Well, endangered stuff for sure.

Coral reefs, probably, when we go snorkeling.

Maybe migrating whales, when we go kayaking.

Birds. God knows there’s got to be an endangered bird over there somewhere.

So, really, this trip is about learning, which is almost like RESEARCH, which, as we all know, has been linked to SCIENCE!

Let’s just call this trip what it is: a SCIENTIFIC EXPEDITION!!

WHOA! YOU HAVE A CHANCE TO BACK A SCIENTIFIC EXPEDITION!!

I’ll tell you something else: You ARE going to directly benefit from this trip because a) We will tell the most wonderful stories about Tahiti at your next party, and b) We will text all of our donors the recipes for the best drinks we encounter in the course of our research at The Brando. Don’t you want to know how to make The Dirty Old Bob? YOU KNOW YOU DO!!!

So don’t hesitate. Please give to this worthy cause. We would sooooooo appreciate it! THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU in advance!!!

With Beaucoup Good Energy,

Maria

P.S.: A few people have asked about going to Tahiti with us. We have carefully considered these requests, and, after many nanoseconds of thought, we have decided it’s probably best if you create your own crowdfunding pitch. In other words: Go fund yourselves.  OH

To help Maria get to Tahiti, go to www.giveit-heresukkah.com and click on the button that says “hahaha.”

Early Pickin’

The virtuosity of guitarist Presley Barker

He shares a surname with the king of rock’n’roll. But neither Presley Barker’s music nor his moniker pays homage to Elvis. His parents were at a loss to find something unique, “so they just came up with Presley,” the 11-year-old guitarist says.

Inclined toward bluegrass, Presley is already busy filling his room at home in Traphill, North Carolina, with awards and trophies, including first place in the guitar competition at last year’s Galax Fiddlers Convention. He’s also jammed on stage with Ricky Skaggs in Houston, played MerleFest and has gotten to study and play with bluegrass titans Uwe and Jens Kruger, who have high praise for his focus and skills.

Barker’s mom, Julie, says her son has always loved music. “Since he was old enough to ask for some kind of toy, he wanted a trumpet, he wanted a flute, he wanted a drum — anything that made noise,” she says.

When Presley was 4, his parents got him a small banjo, but his guitar teacher advised them to start him on a child-sized guitar instead. “Took that little guitar, started learning how to read music, and he just picked it right up,” Julie says proudly.

So well that he’s made some influential friends, including renowned guitarist/luthier Wayne Henderson, who has built instruments for Doc Watson, Gillian Welch and Eric Clapton and was awarded a National Heritage Fellowship in 1995. Henderson’s also a world-class fingerpicker who travels the globe showing off his skills  Henderson thought so much of Presley’s skills that he built him his own custom guitar. “a beautiful D-42 Dreadnought Brazilian rosewood, Appalachian spruce top,” Presley says. “It sounds great, I really love it. He put my name on the seventeenth fret, in abalone.”

But all the flash is not on the instrument.

“Presley plays nice and clean,” Henderson says, and Jens Kruger has said that the young picker is already developing his own style even when he covers others’ works. “His versions are distinct, his version,” Kruger says, “It’s very charming.” The brothers saw his skills close up when Presley attended their music camp in Wilkesboro. “I got taught by Uwe, great teacher, he was teaching some on improvising, and stage presence and how to use a microphone,” he recalls.

Some of his skills seem intuitive, including his fingerpicking style: His picking hand floats above the strings. “I just started doing that from the beginning,” Presley says. “Never even thought much about it, never even tried to anchor my thumb or my pinkie.”

In addition to his solo gig, Presley works with other young pickers in the Shawdowgrass band. “We first met at a fiddlers convention, we’d kinda been jamming and stuff, and we said well we ought to get a band together,” Presley says. Kitty Amaral, 14, doubles on fiddle and vocals, 11-year-old Kyser George is on bass and vocals, 15-year-old Clay Russell on banjo, 16-year-old Luke Morris on mandolin and vocals, and Presley on guitar and vocals.

He is content with his career, happy hanging out with Henderson and playing with Shadowgrass, as well as his teacher, national banjo and guitar contest champion Steve Lewis, who usually accompanies him on gigs.

For all his technical prowess, Presley is still a kid, and his musical future is a long journey he’s just started. “I might want to go to a music academy or something,” he says. And continue to be really something.  OH

—Grant Britt

Short Stories

Venture Capitol

Here’s something Greensboro residents — and in fact every North Carolinian — would agree is worth a road trip to Raleigh: a shindig to help preserve our state’s capitol. Since 1840, the Greek Revival monument with the iconic domed rotunda has been home to N.C.’s seat of government. But the er, state-ly lady with National Historic Landmark status needs constant primping. Thanks to the North Carolina Capitol Foundation, she has, since 1976, seen windows and lighting repaired, statues and paintings restored, desks, chairs and lighting refurbished, and received 60,000 schoolchildren (and more than 100,000 across the state, county and globe) every year. So why not help keep the People’s House of North Carolina presentable, by presenting yourself at the “Shuckin’ and Shaggin’” oyster roast at 7 p.m. on September 16? Held on the capitol’s grounds (1 East Edenton Street, Raleigh), the affair is a casual one, with shagging demos, music by the Embers, tasty food and beverages and a silent auction. Tickets: ncstatecapitol.org.

Wingin’ It

Who isn’t charmed at the sight of tiny, ruby-throated visitors hovering over red flowers and feeders, while beating their wings at an astonishing fifty times per second? Known for their ability to fly extremely long distances (and backward), hummingbirds never fail to fascinate — and in some cultures have become the symbol of joy and playfulness. On September 8th at noon, find out how to attract them to your yard at “Gardening for Hummingbirds,” a Lunch and Learn at Ciener Botanical Garden (215 South Main Street, Kernersville), courtesy of Audubon North Carolina’s Bird Friendly Community Coordinator Kim Brand. To register:
(336) 996-7888 or cienerbotanicalgarden.org.

Toque-n of Affection

Burners are on, pans are sizzlin,’ spatulas are raised. Yes, it’s that time again: Men Can Cook takes place at on September 24 at 6 p.m. at the Coliseum Special Events Center (1921 West Gate City Boulevard, Greensboro). Line up to sample hors d’oeuvres, meats, sweets, sides and more from various chefs — some amateur, some professional, all of them fellas who have a desire to dish it out while serving the community. The event, which also features a silent auction, benefits the Women’s Resource Center, whose mission is to promote the self-reliance of women by meeting unmet needs, holding educational programs and workshops. Tickets: (336) 2a75-6090 or
womenscentergso.org.

Love, Not War

Opposing views of war erupt in the bedroom when an idealistic young Bulgarian woman (Raina) hides a Swiss mercenary and war skeptic (Buchstil) during the 1885 Serbo-Bulgarian war, the backdrop for George Bernard Shaw’s popular comedy, Arms and the Man. Deemed Shaw’s wittiest by author George Orwell fifty years after the play’s debut, Arms was Shaw’s first commercial success. We wish Triad Stage similar success when it launches its 2016–17 season with a revival of Arms and the Man September 11–October 1 at the Pyrle Theatre (232 South Elm Street, Greensboro). Tickets: (336) 274-0067 or triadstage.org.

A Time to Read

Winston-Salem’s BookMarks Festival of Books and Authors has outdone itself again. Expanding from three days to four, the event kicks off on Thursday September 8th at
7 p.m. with a keynote opening event with Azar Nafasi, author of Reading Lolita in Tehran: A Memoir in Books at Hanesbrands Theatre (209 North Spruce Street, Winston-Salem), continues on Friday the 9th with three “Eat & Greets” at various locations around town, before the free festival on Saturday the 10th in front of the Rhodes Center for the Arts. The roster of scribes on hand includes Annie Barrows, John Hart, Terry McMillan, Simon Goodman, Davis Miller and on and on. Capping off the weekend is an address from the master of the legal thriller, John Grisham. And that’s just the beginning. BookMarks is currently scouting locations for an independent bookstore, which it hopes to open in 2017, another way to spread education, outreach . . . and a love of books. Tickets and info: (800) 838-3006 or bookmarksnc.org.

The Feminine Mystique

Remove the slogans and taglines, and a hundred years of advertising images paint a different story than intended. Falk Visiting Artist Hank Willis Thomas does just that in Unbranded: A Century of White Women 1915–2015, opening at Weatherspoon Art Museum (500 Tate Street, Greensboro) on September 3. Revealing how corporate ad campaigns have marketed products to women and created a perception of women’s social roles, the exhibition addresses larger themes of virtue, beauty, power and desire. The exhibition will be on view until December 11.  Info: (336) 334-5770 or
weatherspoon.uncg.edu.        

The Way of All Flesh

The art of bodypainting has been an accepted art form throughout most of the world for at least a half-century, but only in the last decade has America gotten in on the act. Much of that overdue interest is due to Reidsville couple Scott Fray and Madelyn Greco, who from 2011–2014 captured an unprecedented five world titles in five categories. They have since made the leap from competitors to presenters at The North American Bodypainting Championship, which for years called Atlanta home — until this year. Starting September 24, the event’s main competition comes to the Greensboro Coliseum Special Events Center, with ancillary events, such as live painting, a film festival and an awards gala taking place for the remaining five days at the Carolina Theatre, Revolution Mill and the Millennium Center in Winston-Salem. It is expected to draw as many as sixty artists from five continents and twenty countries, including current and past world champions, who will compete for a share of the total purse of $15,000. Proceeds go to benefit the Chelko Foundation, which seeks to empower women through art. Tickets: livingartamerica.com. —Ogi O.

Swords and Ploughshares

“War! What is it good for?” Before you answer “absolutely nuthin’” and say it again, think again. Armed conflict has been a muse for countless works of art, literature and, as the lyric of this anti-bellum Motown hit suggests, music. Examining the role of conflict in culture, and giving nod to the centennial of the United States’ entry into World War I is the interdisciplinary initiative, “Imagining War and Peace” for the 2016–17 academic year. It includes a broad scope of courses on Tolstoy’s War and Peace, medieval love and war, and Trojan war narratives, concerts, lectures and films, from Platoon to The King of Hearts and much more. For a complete listing of events and information on a mobile app and social media tie-ins, go to http://warandpeace.uncg.edu

Walkin’ Man

By Jim Dodson

After two years of being sidelined from a severe injury, I recently underwent knee surgery and began walking to work in the mornings again and with our dogs in the evenings.

Frankly I’d forgotten how good it feels — how walking through a busy world at a neighborly pace provides useful time to think and helps one notice important small things right in front of your nose. 

“I tell people that I walk for sanity, not vanity,” says my friend Dennis Quaintance, the Greensboro hotelier who has been a dedicated daily walker in historic Green Hill Cemetery for years. “A walk helps me make sense of the world.”

The health benefits of a daily walk are also amply documented, and I’ve even managed to drop a dozen pounds since I resumed my regular walks three or four weeks ago. Soon I hope to be up to walking a complete golf course again, just in time for my wife and me to slip away to Scotland later this month.

In some ways my involuntary removal from golf prompted a true awakening. I probably took the ability to walk for granted and am both relieved and resolved to be back cruising the world on two feet.

Ditto my new friend and fellow golfer Kevin Reinert.

We met last Father’s Day at a family golf event I host annually for the Pinewhurst Resort, a gathering of like-minded souls created around a surprise best-selling book of mine called Final Rounds, a story about taking my father back to England and Scotland, where he learned to play golf during the Second World War.

On the first night of the event I typically welcome 125 or so folks from around the country and give a little talk aimed at setting a lighthearted tone for golf and fellowship.

After this year’s opening dinner, a fit-looking fellow about my age came up to say hello with his wife, Jean.

“This is my first year here,” explained Reinert, offering me his hand.  “I just want to say thank you for saving my life.”

I smiled, waiting for the punch line.

But there wasn’t one.

“No, seriously,” he said, “your book on Ben Hogan inspired me to get up and teach myself to walk again.”

And with that, he told me an absolutely extraordinary story of courage and one man’s resolve to put his shattered world — and legs — back together.

It was a beautiful evening a year ago this October when Kevin Reinert put his golf bag on a trolley at Greensboro’s Starmount Forest Country Club, hoping to get in a quick 18 before meeting Jean at a special fundraiser at the club. “It had been raining for days,” he remembers, “but the weather had suddenly cleared. It was a beautiful evening.”

Reinert, 62, is a retired Air Force colonel who spent almost 30 years working in recruiting and public affairs for the Air Force and Air Force Reserve. He was the administrator responsible for overseeing public affairs for 35 different Reserve units around the United States and the men who helped transform the Reserve’s recruiting profile.

Eleven years ago, Kevin and Jean, who met and married while both were captains on active duty in 1985, relocated from Georgia to Greensboro, where Kevin went to work for The Brooks Group, a leading sales management consulting firm. Before being deployed to Ramstein Air Base in Germany, Jean Reinert taught nursing at UNCG and returned from active duty to become nursing administrator for Cone Health.

“Greensboro was a place we fell for in an instant,” Reinert explained. “It has everything, great restaurants, theaters, wonderful people and a location that was perfect for us — the mountains in one direction, the coast in another. Our kids were grown and doing their thing, and North Carolina really felt like home.”

But all of that changed in an instant as Reinert pushed his golf trolley toward Starmount’s beautiful finishing tee.

“There was a group ahead of me, just out in the fairway, when my phone went off alerting me to incoming messages. I looked down, thinking it might be Jean, as I walked toward the tee. That’s when I heard this ferocious sound. I looked up but I didn’t quite register what I was seeing.”

What he saw was a Kia Rio with smashed side mirrors barreling directly toward him over the course’s cart path.

“I had just enough time to try and jump out of its way. So I jumped, hoping — I don’t know — that maybe I’d land on the hood and roll over the top like you see guys do in the movies. I didn’t get high enough,” he notes with a laugh.

The car struck him at the knees and knocked him over the hood and roof before barreling on. Reinert was tossed 30 feet from the site of impact, landing on the tee. The car was estimated to have been traveling anywhere from 35 to 45 mph, driven by a man who was on a violent robbery and mugging spree, trying to outrun the police. He managed to get one hole farther before the car went out of control and wound up in one of Starmount’s meandering creeks. The driver set off on foot, commandeered another car and was later apprehended.

“My first thought, as I lay there, was a kind of stunned disbelief. I saw that one leg was lying at a 90 degree angle from my body, and when I tried to lift myself up, my arm wouldn’t function.”

Workmen from a nearby residence hurried over, calling 911. The group ahead also rushed back. Reinert asked one of the golfers, a fellow member named Mike Corbett, to find his phone and call his wife. “Jean was over at UNCG and thought I said I’d been hit by a golf cart. She hurried over and actually got there before the ambulance did.”

Owing to heavy rains, the EMS unit couldn’t reach the spot on the course where Reinert lay, but head professional Bill Hall hurried out with a flatbed cart just as a fire unit arrived with a rescue board.

“They got me on the board and Bill drove me back to the parking lot, where the ambulance was waiting. It was a bumpy ride and he kept apologizing. I was probably close to being in shock but joked to him that he’d better not charge me for a cart because I’d walked the course. He thought that was funny. I also told him that if I’d parred the hole, I probably would have shot 87. He couldn’t believe I was conscious and making jokes. But I knew I was in pretty bad shape.”

Both Reinert’s knees were crushed. He’d suffered a shattered femur, a broken tibia, a broken right ankle and a fractured right humerus bone, the upper bone of the arm. “There was a deep cut on my face but, amazingly, no head injuries,” he said. “I was conscious the whole way, already wondering if I would be able to walk again.”

The next morning he underwent six hours of surgery. This was followed by four more surgeries over the ensuing weeks. “The doctors couldn’t give me a clear prognosis or even tell me if I would ever be able to walk or referee or even play golf again.” Besides golf, one of Kevin Reinert’s other pleasures was a budding avocation as a college-level lacrosse official.

After 18 days in the hospital, he was sent home.

He began therapy three days a week that continues to this day.

“The hardest part was just not knowing what was ahead. I sat and tried to watch TV, but the news was so discouraging I decided to turn it off and read books instead.”

An old pal from Long Island who taught him to play golf during their college years together at Adelphi University sent him a box of books, one of which was Ben Hogan: An American Life, my biography of professional golf’s most elusive superstar.

At the height of his success, while returning home from a golf tournament in Arizona, Hogan and his wife, Valerie, were struck head-on by a Greyhound bus that shattered Hogan’s legs and nearly killed the star golfer. His obituary, in fact, went out over the Associated Press wires before it was learned that he was actually hanging on in a rural Texas hospital. Doctors advised Hogan he would likely never walk again, much less play championship golf.

“Frankly I was really down before those books arrived, worried that I might not even be able to walk and play golf,” Reinert admits. “There were real similarities in our stories. I was so moved by his determination to somehow get back to the game — to simply walking — I vowed to myself that I would do the same.”

In 1950, at Merion Golf Club outside Philadelphia, Ben Hogan did indeed come back, capturing the U.S Open on a pair of legs that had little circulation — widely regarded as one of the most heroic comebacks in sports history.

Kevin Reinert made his own big comeback, too. One evening last May, family and 60 or so friends turned out to watch him finish playing Starmount’s 18th hole. “I was blown away so many folk came out to watch,” he said. “Everyone had been so encouraging. I’d made so many new good friends. The support I got from complete strangers was incredible. I simply wouldn’t have made it without them — especially my wife and children. My daughter LeeAnne, who is also a nurse, really pushed me at times.”

Son Phillip, an Air Force flight engineer working at the Boeing factory in Seattle, was also present to play that final hole with his father. He’d flo wn home the day after the accident on air miles donated by Mike Corbett.

Reinert was wearing a cap given to him by a friend that cleverly read: I Was Run Over By A Car On The Golf Course. What’s Your Excuse?

Another gifted cap read Starmount 18: The Toughest Hole in Golf.

“It was very emotional for us all,” he says. “Made even more amazing by what happened before we teed off.”

On the facing hill, a Scottish bagpiper strolled out in full ceremonial regalia and began playing “Amazing Grace.” Another new friend offered to be Reinert’s caddie.

“Somehow I made bogey on the hole, which allowing for my handicap let me write a par on the card,” he explained to me as we played Pinehurst No. 4 on the first day of the Father’s Day golf fest.

It was his first full round of golf since the accident and he did very well indeed, shooting in the low 90s with both legs wrapped in athletic supports, just like Hogan.

The next day, he even walked mighty Pinehurst No. 2 with a caddie.

“This was one of the greatest weekends of my life,” he told me later. “It feels good to be back.”  OH

Contact editor Jim Dodson at jim@ohenrymag.com.

Spirits

Summer Well

Must reading for your craft cocktail enjoyment

By Tony Cross

The craft cocktail movement has been in full effect for well over a decade now, and Moscow Mules are a thing. I had no clue about such cocktails until three years ago. When I started to delve into the world of balancing drinks, there was already so much information out there to give me a head start: I would watch videos on YouTube, check out menus from bars and restaurants across the globe, and, of course, study books from respected and famous bartenders. There are so many great reads, but I’ve picked three that have inspired me when I’ve prepared menus and drinks for events, and friends.

Speakeasy, by Jason Kosmas and Dushan Zaric

Written by the guys that started up Employees Only, one of the first craft cocktail joints that started the movement at the beginning of the millennium, Speakeasy was the first book I read when I became serious about making drinks. I first discovered Employees Only in a small New York Times article about a bar that sold their homemade grenadine and other syrups to guests and surrounding bars. Needless to say, that article piqued my interest and got the ball rolling on my curiosity for cocktails and the fancy establishments that perfected them. Ice is discussed in one of the first chapters; this may seem pretentious at first, but ice is a crucial ingredient to any good cocktail. Classics are covered, as well as many signature drinks that found their way onto the EO menu over the years.

Billionaire Cocktail

2 oz Baker’s 7 Year Old Bourbon

1 oz lemon juice

½ 1/2 oz simple syrup

½ 1/2 oz grenadine

¼ 1/4 oz absinthe bitters (or substitute Pernod)

1 lemon wheel

Combine bourbon, lemon juice, syrup, grenadine and bitters into a mixing glass. Add ice and shake like hell for 10 seconds. Double strain into a chilled cocktail glass. Garnish with lemon wheel.

Bitterman’s Field Guide to Bitters and Amari,
by Mark Bitterman

This one isn’t even a year old yet, but has been a staple at my home. Mark Bitterman has two shops (New York City, and Portland, Oregon) called The Meadow, which sells salts, chocolates and bitters. I was lucky enough to step into The Meadow a few years ago, and I was quickly overwhelmed by the large selection of tonics and bitters. Having this book on hand would’ve been a godsend. It’s only fitting that Bitterman’s passion is also part of his last name; his attention to detail goes above and beyond when describing amari and bitters. When breaking down the various brands of bitters, Bitterman uses a rating system from 1 (least) to 5 (most) on aromatics, bitterness and sweetness levels. There are also tasting notes to describe each product, along with the types of drinks that each one pairs with well. The same rating system and descriptions are used in his “Amari” section. In addition to describing practically every bitters on the planet, there are also recipes for making your own bitters (with a sitting time of less than a week!), cooking with bitters, and, of course, making cocktails with bitters. Bitterman gives plenty of examples of how switching up your bitters arsenal puts a great twist on the classics.

This recipe comes from Kirk Estopinal, bartender at Cure in New Orleans, and his now nowhere to be found Rogue Cocktails book (I borrowed it from a friend last year). Bitterman published this in his Field Guide, and it’s absolutely delicious.

Angostura Sour

3/4 oz lemon juice

1 egg white*

1 1/2 oz Angostura bitters

1 oz simple syrup (1:1)

Dry-shake the lemon juice and the egg white. (Put both ingredients into a shaker, and shake without ice. We do this to break up the protein bonds in the egg white; the result is a frothy, velvety texture in your cocktail.) Add the bitters, syrup, and ice and shake hard for 30 seconds. Strain into a chilled cocktail coupe.

*Largely misunderstood, using egg whites in cocktails has been common practice since cocktails were created way back when. Many people are concerned about the risk of salmonella, but as long as you’re using organic/cage-free eggs (with the combination of high-proof alcohol), you’ll be good to go.

Death & Co. Modern Classic Cocktails, by David Kaplan, Nick Fauchald, Alex Day

The hype behind this book before it came out was all over the internet. I ordered it as soon as it became available, and was blown away on my first read. This is definitely, IMO, the best cocktail book out there. Death & Company opened in 2006 in New York City, making its mark in the craft cocktail movement. They’ve won awards at the annual Tales of the Cocktail convention in NOLA (Best Cocktail Menu, and Best American Bar), and with 500 cocktails to look over, it’s easy to see what a creative force this bar has been with bartenders from past and present. Death & Co. has a section on every spirit, including brand recommendations; sections on juicing, ice and tools; how to taste-evaluate cocktails, and even pages here and there devoted to their regulars telling fond stories about their first or favorite times at the bar with their favorite cocktail and its recipe on the side page. Too much to say about this work of art.

“Shattered Glasser” Phil Ward, 2008

“I love it when one of our regulars asks us to create a cocktail on the spot based on crazy criteria — and it’s even better when we can pull off a decent drink on the first try. One night Avery Glasser, the man behind Bittermens bitters (no relation to Mark Bitterman) and one of the bar’s original regulars, asked me to make him a drink that contained all of his favorite ingredients. The problem was that he likes a lot of weird shit. But, I gave it a shot, splitting both the base spirit and its modifiers, and it resulted in a surprisingly balanced drink.” — PW

1 oz El Tesoro Reposado Tequila

½1/2 oz Los Amantes Mezcal Joven

3/4 oz Carpano Antica Formula Vermouth

1/2 oz Van Oosten Batavia Arrack

1/4 oz St. Elizabeth Allspice Dram

1/4 oz Benedictine

2 dashes Bittermens Xocolatl Mole Bitters

Stir all ingredients over ice, then strain into a coupe. No garnish.  OH

Tony Cross is a bartender who runs cocktail catering company Reverie Cocktails in Southern pines. He can also recommend a vitamin supplement for the morning after at Nature’s Own.

Vine Wisdom

Arneis the Alternative

The “Little Rascal” of summer wines

By Robyn James

Whenever we enter the dog days of summer, the search is on for refreshing whites to quench your thirst and complement your summer menus of salads, cold plates and seafood. New Zealand sauvignon blanc, Oregon pinot gris and Portugal’s vinho verde are always favored go-to summer whites. But what’s the new secret for a sommelier’s alternate summer white? Try the Italian grape arneis. You can’t really call arneis a “new” grape, since there are references hinting back to the 1400s and definite vineyard references to the grape in the 1800s.

If there were ever a wine region known solely for its red wines, the Piedmont region of Italy would be it. This is nebbiolo land, home to the majestic red wines of Barolo and Barbaresco, some of the hardest, most tannic wines on earth. Decades ago, wine geeks joked that these winemakers made wines for their grandchildren to enjoy.  Fans of these reds have usually assumed they were produced from 100 percent nebbiolo grapes and in most cases they were right. However, Italian law does allow winemakers to blend arneis into their Barolos and Barbarescos to soften the rock-hard tannins. Just as France permitted the Northern Rhone region to blend the white viognier grape into their tannic syrah as a miniscule softener, so goes Piedmont, Italy. Because of this potential blend, many locals refer to arneis as Barolo bianco or nebbiolo bianco even though there is no genetic thread to connect the grapes as relatives. Centuries ago, arneis was planted among the more valuable nebbiolo grapes in a field blend with the hope that the birds would swoop in to eat the cheaper, fruitier arneis and spare the pricey nebbiolo.

Roughly translated, arneis means “little rascal” or “difficult person.” It can be tricky to cultivate, prone to mildew if picked too late, and before the twentieth century winemakers had all but given up on it and extinction threatened.

Modern winemakers plant it in chalky, sandy soil to develop a light-medium body dry wine with more crisp acidity and structure. Common flavors are almonds, apricots, peaches, pears and hops. Winemakers in the United States, always up for a challenge, are planting arneis in Sonoma, Mendocino, Russian River and Oregon with great success. Even Australia and New Zealand are experimenting with plantings.

Two of my favorites come from the Damilano Winery of Barolo and the Cantine Tintero winery from the commune of Mango in Piedmont.

Damilano is one of the oldest wineries in Barolo, passed down to family members for many generations. They pride themselves on their arneis which is dry, delicate, with impressive acidity and full fruit flavors. It has pear flavors, citrus zest and finishes long. It sells for about $18.

Another family operated winery, Cantine Tintero produces Barbaresco, moscato, a rosato (rosé), a blended red, blended white and an arneis.

Possibly the best value I have ever discovered, this delicious white, under $12, has alluring floral aromas and flavors with great acidity and a pleasant spiciness. Branch out, try an arneis and cool off with something different for the summer.  OH

Robyn James is a certified sommelier and proprietor of The Wine Cellar and Tasting Room in Southern Pines. Contact her at robynajames@gmail.com.

Doodad

Shock and Awe

The mesmerizing talent of guitar
virtuoso Eric Gales

In 2012, Memphis,Tennessee, native Eric Gales was one of the headliners at the Carolina Blues Festival in Greensboro. It so happened that an attractive young lady named LaDonna was in attendance that day, and after his show they were introduced. Long story short, today they are Mr. and Mrs. Gales and are residing happily in the Gate City.

Thank you, Piedmont Blues Preservation Society.

“As soon as we met, that was pretty much it,” says Gales, a broad grin creasing his face.

Gales, now 41, might be a bluesman at his core, but after fifteen or sixteen albums (he’s not sure), he defies categorization. While his repertoire ranges from blues to rock, funk to jazz, and beyond, Gales calls his brand of music simply “inspirational.” He writes most of his own material but is apt to throw in snatches of Stevie Ray or Clapton or Hendrix, as if to let folks know just who his equals are.

In fact, when concertgoers first see Gales’ inventiveness, skill and showmanship on stage, comparisons to Jimi Hendrix inevitably follow. Apart from the fact that both guitarists share the same race and left-handed playing style, the comparison ends. And yet, Gales’ mastery of the instrument is decidedly different. Most southpaws simply reverse the strings and play chords and leads the way a right-hander would. But Gales turned over a right-handed guitar and learned to play it upside-down. Even more astounding, he is naturally right-handed.

“I picked it up on my own,” says Gales. “My older brothers were left-handed, and it just so happened I just started playing the way they did. I write right-handed and everything else; it’s the only thing I do left-handed.”

Hey . . . whatever works. There are but a handful of electric guitarists on the planet who can do what Gales does. The effect of his music leaves listeners either mesmerized or gyrating.

“Some people get up and go crazy and others just sit there,” he says. “It’s like ‘shock and awe.’”

These days, Gales is on the road most of the time, touring nationally with his six-piece band, including three backup vocalists — one of whom is LaDonna. He recently appeared on The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon with Lauryn Hill. He is also enjoying increased demand as a session guitarist, and is working on an album for his new label, Mascot Records.

The road will wind its way home next month when Gales appears at the John Coltrane International Jazz and Blues Festival in High Point, September 3–4.

“It’s an honor to play on anything named ‘Coltrane,’” he remarks, “but it’s even better because it’s home.”  OH

— Ogi Overman

Birdwatch

Dawn Patrol

Look for the common nighthawk
at sunup or sundown

By Susan Campbell

Common nighthawks can be found all across the Sandhills and throughout Piedmont North Carolina, but they are neither “common” nor are they “hawks.”

For one thing, nighthawks feed exclusively on insects, which they dine on mostly during the night. Nor do they grab their prey using their talons as true hawks do. Instead they use their oversized mouths to snap up beetles and other insects in mid-air.

Nighthawks take to the skies mainly at dawn and dusk when insects are most active. Given their aerodynamic prowess, though, nighthawks are very successful predators at any hour. Due to their terrific night vision, they’re able to hunt quite effectively in total darkness. It is not, however, unusual to see them feeding during daylight hours, especially when they have young to feed. Look for them in early summer, when cicadas, grasshoppers, larger wasps and other bugs are especially abundant. Their characteristic low “peee-nt” call and erratic moth-like flight is unmistakable.

Common nighthawks spend much of their day perched on pine branches. Invisibility is the goal, and it is easily attained with their mottled black, gray and white feathering. Their nests also are well camouflaged. On the forest floor, females simply scrape out a spot to lay their speckled egg, which blend in well with the mineral soil and miscellaneous debris typical of native arid terrain. Females perform a feeble “broken wing” display when disturbed. This is the only defense they have to draw potential predators away from the eggs or young.

A great place to encounter a nighthawk is at an airport or any other large open area. There, you’ll likely hear the unmistakable “booming” of males during the early morning. The unique noise is not a vocalization but comes from air passing over the wing feathers of breeding males as they dive through the air.

Unlike some other species, the urbanization of the Triad and Sandhills has not taken a big toll on nighthawks. For instance, the abundant insects drawn to floodlights at the Piedmont’s many athletic fields and other outdoor venues provide nighthawks with excellent habitat to support their families. And nighthawks are one of only a handful of bird species that seem perfectly at home nesting on flat rooftops. It is not unusual to see or hear nighthawks at summer baseball games or early fall football games throughout the region.

Found in so many open areas in the Eastern United States in summer, common nighthawks begin to move south in early fall — often in large flocks. They migrate long distances to winter destinations in Central America and northern South America. But all across Piedmont North Carolina during August and September, you can spot them just before dark in the evening or early in the morning. So you have lots of time left to spot a nighthawk this season — keep an eye out! OH

Susan would love to receive your wildlife sightings and photographs at susan@ncaves.com.

Story of a House

Towering Success

A noble transformation for The Castle

By Maria Johnson     photographs by Amy Freeman & Mekenzie Loli

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book about a murder at 27 Flagship Cove threw a scare into prospective buyers Chris and Scott Shoener when they Googled the address in late 2014.

A couple of clicks later, they learned that the book — which was titled 27 Flagship Cove and carried a photo of the Greensboro home on its cover, banishing any doubt about the location — was a work of fiction. The Shoeners and their kids, Olivia, Davis and Hannah, breathed a sigh of relief, and the 8,000-square foot home on the shore of Lake Jeanette got a green light again.

The brick-and-stone structure had several features that Chris and Scott were looking for — open floor plan, garage space for at least three cars, proximity to the kids’ school — and a hard-to-describe quality that spoke to them.

“We knew it when we saw it,” says Scott.

“It was unique,” says Chris. “The kids called it The Castle.”

The name came from the copper-topped stone turret on the front of the house, which the kids liked. They were also fond of the home’s large bedrooms, the rec-friendly daylight basement — which includes a home theater and opens onto a pool and patio — and the lakefront location.

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“Olivia loves to paddleboard, and we have a kayak, too,” says Chris. “The ability to launch from the backyard was huge.”

The Shoeners (pronounced SHAY-ners) looked at more than a dozen homes before settling on The Castle. They gave their children a lot of say in the decision. It was a difficult time to uproot Davis and Olivia, who were in high school in Franklin, Tennessee, at the time.  Hannah was a freshman at Auburn University.

“It’s been an adjustment, but the kids have done a great job,” says Chris, an executive with clothing maker VF Corporation.

The Flagship home is the family’s sixth. They’ve moved five times to follow Chris’s career with VF; this is the third time they’ve relocated to Greensboro. The first time, in 1991, they lived near The Cardinal development. The second time, in 1998, they lived in Oak Ridge, northwest of town.

When they were transferred to Greensboro again, the Shoeners knew what to expect.

“There wasn’t much resistance,” says Chris. “It’s a nice place to live and raise your family.”

In Franklin, which is near Nashville, the family lived in a 4,000-square-foot home. They weren’t looking to double their living space with the move to Greensboro, but by the time they checked off their must-haves, they ended up with a whopper.

Chris had always enjoyed decorating the family’s homes herself, but she and Scott were ready for new furniture, and they wanted the decorating to be finished sooner rather than later, so Chris called in reinforcement.

“I knew I’d labor over every little detail, so I decide it was time trust someone,” she says.

She perused the portfolios of local interior designers who were linked to the website Houzz.com. She found many of their styles too traditional for her taste. Then she saw the work of Lisa Sherry Intérieurs of High Point.

Despite the continental tilt of her business’s name, Sherry decorates with a casual, modern spirit. Relying on blacks, whites, grays and beiges to ground her rooms, Sherry spices her interiors with clean-lined furniture, flecks of color and lots of texture and whimsy.

“I describe it as classic modern,” she says. “The bones are classic, but we twist it so the overall feel is updated. Within the classic modern, I’m all about organics. I love neutrals and textures.”

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The biggest challenge inside the Shoeners’ home was to balance the “seriousness of the architecture,” says Sherry.

“Before, it was so sophisticated . . . we wanted to bring it down a little bit, take the formality out of it and make it livable. We wanted you to feel like you could walk in and put your feet up.”

She has completed two rounds of design at the Shoeners’ home.

Her first pass targeted what you see when you walk in: a two-story foyer backed by an equally tall formal living room and flanked by a dining room and powder room.

When the Shoeners bought The Castle — it last belonged to North Carolina commercial real estate mogul Jeff Schwarz, who died in 2015 — the home had an opulent Old World feeling, owing partly to marble galore. Floors, columns, a living room fireplace and a spiral staircase were hewn from the buff-colored stone. Dark walls, curtains and scrollwork fixtures added to the weighty vibe.

The Shoeners wanted to lighten up. With Sherry’s help, they went with soft bluish-gray walls in the foyer and dining room. The dining room is remarkable for its layered, beaded drum-shade chandelier — think of an upside down wedding cake.

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“I love the texture,” says Sherry. “It has almost a macramé feel to it.”

Another eye-grabber is a blown-up photo of the plaza outside the Louvre Museum in Paris. The photographer was Sherry’s husband, Ron Royals, a well-known furniture photographer with a booming art-photo business.

The circular dining table by Jonathan Charles Furniture is ingenious. When you rotate the tabletop, it “explodes” into four pie-shaped wedges and exposes an “X” of leaves between the wedges. The squared-off dining room chairs, by Verellen Home Collection in High Point, are covered in white linen.

A few feet away, a rectangular farmhouse table anchors the foyer with a crop of interesting textures and shapes. Among them are a rust-colored horse-head sculpture, a faux topiary, feathers, green glass bottle, a stone and chrome pieces and a chunk of coral.

The sightseeing continues by the circular staircase.

A bust of a goat, affectionately called Pedro, rests on a pedestal. Pedro wears an assortment of hats and a couple of feathers. He never fails to make visitors smile.

“We didn’t want to be so serious,” says Chris. “We had prom pictures here, and they all took turns with the goat.”

The living room behind the foyer feels library-ish with its marble fireplace, frame-and-panel wooden walls and coffered ceiling. Again, Sherry helped to visually and viscerally lighten the room. She brought in whitewashed driftwood for high niches on both sides of the fireplace. On the floor, she placed a couple of white chenille swiveling tub chairs and a modern, custom-made tête-à-tête, a small gray sofa that mandates conversation by seating two people face-to-face. The Shoeners’ two Siberian huskies love to loll on the shaggy Moroccan vintage wool accent rug that lies over a larger sea grass rug.

“Because it’s already vintage, you can’t hurt it,” says Sherry.

The Shoeners already owned a few of the room’s pieces: a clock-gear sculpture on the mantel; a baby grand piano; and a 12-by-5-foot mirror that leans against the wall next to the piano.

“As big as this house is, that’s the only place that fits,” says Chris.

The mirror’s reflection, along with the light from two stories of windows overlooking the lake, leavens the room.

“You’re inside, but you feel like you can touch the outside,” says Scott.

The powder room around the corner was modernized with large black-and-white print wallpaper, bone-like brass sconces with elongated Edison-style bulbs, and a dark-rimmed porthole mirror over the floating vanity.

The Shoeners say they would never have put those elements together by themselves, but they’re happy with the result.

“Lisa pushed us into things that we didn’t think we wanted,” says Scott.

More nudging happened in the walkout basement, in Sherry’s second round of decorating. The basement wore a coat of dark khaki paint. The Shoeners’ first impulse was to lighten the walls, but Sherry convinced them to go darker, with slate gray walls and ceiling.

Her thinking: Forget trying to lighten a room that doesn’t get much natural light. Instead, embrace the darkness and go for a moody, luxurious feeling.

The result is a cool, dark man cave that accentuates the shine from can lights in the ceiling and from sunlight that filters through the windows and bounces off of the shiny cork and tile floors.

Sherry urged the Shoeners to paint the woodwork around the stone-and-granite bar, but the couple stood firm, and Sherry admitted later they were right. Perhaps they plied her with their Yuengling on tap, a nod to Scott’s birthplace of Pottsville, Pennsylvania, where the brewer is based.

With a pool table that accommodates a table tennis top; a foosball table; an old-school video arcade machine and a fireplace, the Shoeners’ basement probably contains more entertainment than all of the bars in Pottsville put together.

Son Davis’s friends love the games and plentiful supply of Gatorade and soda. They also give thumbs-up to the theater room. Most home theaters try to look like, well, theaters with deluxe oversized seats.

“I’m not a fan of brown leather, which is what you usually see in home theaters,” says Sherry. “Not gonna do it.”

The Shoeners went with her suggestion: blocky, denim sofas and chairs, which make the room looks more like a den than a knock-off theater. Sherry finished the room with gray linen walls, tawny faux fur throws, wood block tables and a black-white-and-gray carpet with a jagged, stain-hiding pattern.

“It’s like a cross between a movie-theater carpet and an EKG,” jokes Scott.

The Shoeners updated all of the home’s audio and visual components, along with lighting and security, with the help of Advanced Tech Systems Inc. of Greensboro.

Sherry’s signature was softer in daughter Olivia’s room, also a part of the second design phase. Standouts include a campaign-style iron canopy bed; a birdcage-style chandelier; a mod black desk lamp and drum shade with matching molded “S”-shape chair; and clear acrylic bedside lamps.

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The three-sided window seat was already there. Sherry worked with Olivia to choose pink, white and black prints for custom seat cushions and pillows.

“We wanted it to be youthful, but not too kiddy and not too seamy,” says Sherry.

Olivia’s guitars decorate one wall. Some of her favorite images are stuck to the walls with outlines of easily removed washi tape.

“That was a really fun, inexpensive way to hang art,” says Sherry. “We just printed out things she liked. By taping them to the wall, she can add or subtract easily along the way.”

Next up for overhaul: the Shoeners’ kitchen, master bedroom and bath. The family looks forward to Phase Three. So does Sherry.

“What I loved is that they were really open to me pushing their boundaries a little bit and trusting me to do what I felt was best for the space,” Sherry says. “They were open to new ideas. That trust level is important, and it makes for the best clients.”  OH

Maria Johnson is a contributing editor of O.Henry.

The Evolving Species

Taking the Kure

A writer remembers idyllic summers

By Pamelia Barham

Every now and then, when my spirits need a lift, I’ll buy a can of biscuits at the grocery store because they always bring a smile to my face. Canned biscuits are one of those things that take me back to my childhood.

I grew up in the 1950s in one of Greensboro’s mill villages. Each one had a name, and ours was Revolution. The mill owners supplied their employees with everything they needed — houses, drugstores, schools, a company store, hospitals, churches and a YMCA, where I learned to swim. It wasn’t so much a neighborhood as a community. I remember Sunday dinners of fried chicken or pork roast, sometimes beef roast, and always cake or pies for dessert. If there was anything left over from the Sunday meal we would have it in our lunch bags on Monday at school. (You haven’t lived until you have eaten a meatloaf sandwich on white bread with ketchup!)

School for me was Proximity Junior High, where I attended my first dance in seventh grade. My grandmother took me to Meyer’s department store for a new dress. It was a royal blue taffeta with white lace on the bodice. I had black patent leather shoes and Mary Jane lace socks to wear. I would go on to attend Page High School, graduating in 1963. While there, from tenth through twelfth grades, I was in the same homeroom with a very talented and life-loving guy named Harry Blair.

It was a miracle that my two sisters, brother and I got to school at all each morning, considering that we shared one bathroom with our grandparents in their small mill house. We had moved in with them after my mother died from complications of ovarian cancer at age 35. (My father remarried and moved to Florida with his new wife and family.) Like so many of the other houses in the area, ours had a kitchen, living room, a “car-shed” and clothesline in the backyard. I have hung many a washer load of clothes on that line no matter the temperature. My siblings and I also shared a bedroom with two double beds and only one window. In the summer, we would sleep with our heads at the foot of the beds toward that open window, hoping for a cool breeze to blow in.

Summers are what I remember most from my childhood. We would play in the yard all day — Red Rover, Kick the Can, and at night, Run Fox Run under the streetlights. On the weekends the neighborhood folks would go to the ball field at the bottom of Lineberry Hill and yell for their favorite players or teams. My grandfather loved to work in the garden, so we had a nice patch of vegetables that my grandmother would cook for those Sunday dinners. We never locked our doors except at night . . . or when we left for summer vacation.

Every year, in the third week in July when the mills would close, we would go to Kure Beach. Because we were living in a mill village, it wasn’t unusual to see the same folks from the neighborhood at the beach. Clothes had to be packed for a week for each of us, along with towels, sheets, pots, pans and water. The water at the beach tasted salty to us so we brought our own from home. It was truly a family affair: my grandparents, four aunts, four uncles, four cousins and us. The adults worked until 3 o’clock, and came home to pack the cars before we started on the long, five-hour drive through the countryside down Highway 421. We had to make sure the gas tank was full because there were very few places to stop. We were like a band of gypsies going down the road, each of the five families’ cars packed for a week’s stay. We would stop on the side of the road and have a picnic and go to the woods if nature called. And when we caught the first whiff of salt in the air, our excitement mounted. The ocean would soon be in sight.

Our family was accustomed to renting a big house right on Kure’s beachfront until Hurricane Hazel destroyed it in 1951. Starting the next year, we had to rent three different houses from a Mrs. Fletcher. But before we could move in for the week, all of us — except our grandparents who would join us later — had to cram into one house for the night. We had stopped at the A&P to stock up on groceries and arrived at the house after dark. It had been closed up and had a musty odor. The men went around opening the windows to air the house out. We left the groceries on the kitchen counters to be taken to the other houses on Saturday. Blankets, quilts and pillows were laid out on the living room floor for us kids. The adults were in the bedrooms. Just when everyone had gotten quiet came the crying and swatting of mosquitos. The place was full of the biting flying terrors. The lights came on and the bug spray came out. Someone in the group realized the windows did not have screens. We finally got all the windows closed and the vicious bugs killed so everyone went back to sleep. It had been a long day, what with packing and driving after a day’s work, and once again we settled back down to sleep.

Until we heard the sound of gunshots.

All the men came running out of the bedrooms into the living room, my uncle hollering, “Everyone keep down and don’t turn on the lights! They are shooting through the house!”

The only thing we heard among the gunshots were the moans and groans from the men, as they bumped their knees and toes on the furniture. Finally the shots stopped and someone thought it was safe enough to turn the lights on. All the adults began to look around. The counter and floor were full of biscuits. The “gunshots” were the canned biscuits exploding. No one had thought to put them in the refrigerator, so they got hot and blew up. We all had a good laugh and agreed not to tell the grandparents.

The next day we checked into Mrs. Fletcher’s three houses and finally got started on a full week of fun at the beach. We have continued the family tradition at Kure Beach ever since. My two girls have grown up going there along with their two girls. I still go each year with my two sisters and any of the family who can join us. Mrs. Fletcher’s three houses are long gone, but we’ve discovered a beautiful rental house on the beach with five bedrooms, five bathrooms, and an elevator because the house has three floors and some of us don’t like going up and down the stairs. We talk about the good old days and make new days full of laughter, food, relaxing, surf fishing and just enjoying being together as a family.

And we always remember to put the canned biscuits in the refrigerator. OH

Since she left Revolution mill village, Pamelia Barham has traveled far and wide, but always enjoys returning to the Greensboro area. She currently lives on a farm in Summerfield.