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.

Pleasures of Life Dept.

All the Pretty Horses

Jolly holidays on our regions local merry-go-rounds

By Annie Ferguson

It’s hard to deny the magical aura of carousels. Their sheer beauty and craftsmanship harken back to times long gone, bestowing upon them an other-worldly aspect. And who doesn’t remember the Disney film version of Mary Poppins, where Mary’s, Bert’s and the Banks children’s steeds break free from a roundabout to join a foxhunt? Add a little enchanting music, some twinkling lights and the mechanical whir of going round and round, and suddenly you’re transported back into a simpler, gentler era, if only for a few minutes.

On vacations, my family makes it a point to seek out carousels whenever possible — even if it’s just a family visit to my hometown of Salisbury, location of Haden’s Carousel at Dan Nicholas Park. We’ve gone round in circles in farther-flung places such as Boston’s common, Disney World in Orlando, Florida; Busch Gardens in Williamsburg, Virginia. We’ve even ridden the carousel in Hersheypark, the largest I’ve ever seen.

Leading up to our trip to Hershey, Pennsylvania, my then 4-year-old innocently asked, “Will the carousel be made of chocolate?” No, but it rotates to the soundtrack from a Wurlitzer model 153 military band organ.

For our children — and many others — carousels offered life’s first theme park rides. Our oldest has graduated to seeking thrills on some of the more heart-stopping roller coasters at the amusement parks we visit, yet like her parents, she’s still drawn to merry-go-rounds everywhere we go.  As luck would have it, we don’t have to wait to go on vacation from the Triad to enjoy kinder, gentler rides now that warm weather has rolled around. An abundance of carousels await merry-go-round lovers within a 40-mile radius of Greensboro. Transport yourself to a footloose and fancy-free time this summer on one of our area carousels

One of my favorites is the Three-Row Dentzel Menagerie Carousel at Burlington’s City Park. I’ve ridden it dozens of times, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard the same song played twice (though I never tire of hearing “Carolina in the Morning”). The exact date of the carousel’s construction — or its first location — is unknown, but it was likely built sometime between 1906–1910 at the Dentzel Carousel Company on Germantown Avenue in Philadelphia. Its mirrors are stamped March and April of 1913, and the bottom of the wooden platform reads May 1914. Another fun fact: One of the rounding boards is a copy of a 1903 Remington painting.

The early 1900s were known as the Golden Era of carousels, and it was common for an older model to be sent back to its manufacturer to be refurbished or recycled. For this reason, it’s difficult to authenticate official dates for many carousels still operating in the United States. Their familiar construction, a series of horses or animals mounted on poles to a rotating board, are a revision of the earliest carousels that appeared at fairs in the early 18th century. These usually consisted of flying horse figures suspended in the air, while some poor beast of burden — or groups of people — generated centrifugal force by pulling the contraption from a chain while walking circles, or even hand-cranking it. The entire concept has roots in Middle Eastern jousting and cavalry drills from the Crusades that required a high level of equestrian skill.

The Dentzel, which the city of Burlington acquired in 1948 from Carl Utoff, owner of the Forest Park Amusement Park in Genoa, Ohio, exemplifies the uncanny craftsmanship that German and French artisans applied to carousels in the 19th century. It features forty-six animals — horses, cats, ostriches, rabbits, pigs, a deer, giraffe, lion and tiger, as well as two chariots — hand-carved out of bass and poplar wood. The Dentzel carvers, like their predecessors, achieved a high level of realism, carving the veins and muscles into the animal figures and fashioning their eyes from glass. Their tails are from real horsehair. The precision mechanism of the Carousel, like a cuckoo clock or Volkswagen Beetle engine, is a testament to German engineering with its battery of bearings and gears and an unusual clutch system.

In the early 1980s, as part of an extensive restoration, an army of artists and volunteers was dispatched to strip and repaint the animals and the rounding boards, which revealed original tableaus underneath cracked outer layers of paint. With its made over exterior and rejuvenated gear system, the Denzel bears the moniker of one of the “newest old” carousels around, and entices new generations of riders when it opens Easter weekend through the fall, its season culminating in a two-day Carousel Festival every September.

Opening a little later in the spring is the merry-go-round in City Lake Park in Jamestown near High Point. Built by San Antonio Roller Works in the early 1960s, it was designed as a traveling carousel, and rests on a trailer that can be moved from site to site. But why move it, with picturesque City Lake as its dramatic backdrop? Though not as historic or elaborate as the Dentzel in Burlington, High Point’s carousel still draws legions of kids, who line up for turns with an all-day pass on the roundabout’s wooden deck, bearing sixteen horses, and two benches. From May to October, the number of riders has swelled to 25,000 people annually, since High Point bought the carousel in 1979.

Farther afield, you can take a spin on the Endangered Species Carousel at the North Carolina Zoo in Asheboro, which was designed by The Chance Morgan Ride Company and opened at the park in 2006. The polar bear figure was specifically designed for our zoo, and the rest of the ride features lights, old-time music, as well as zebras, bears, sea lions, elephants and gorillas. Among other animals, you can go round and round accompanied by a spinning tub shaped like a bird’s nest or a swan in a bench seat that accommodates wheelchairs. All of the animals are shaped from fiberglass and hand-painted. It’s a great place to take a break from your North America and Africa walkabouts.

Unless you’d like a taste of Venice at Winston-Salem’s Hanes Mall, of all places. On the exterior panels of its Venetian Carousel are scenes of canals and gondolas from the confection-like Italian city. Ride on any of the three rows of horses and a spinning tub. Winston is also home to Wayne Ketner, who during his retirement years has been carving all kinds of figures including carousel animals. “I always liked carousels because they’re colorful,” he recently told an interviewer. The more intricate and detailed the project, the more the self-taught artist enjoys it. Some take as much as six months to complete.

And where does Greensboro fit into this merry-go-roundup? Well, hold your horses: A year-round, custom-made carousel illustrating the Gate City’s history has been in the works for about ten years. Now possibly targeted to open within the next year. Initial plans are to make the Greensboro ride enclosed in a glass structure during winter months, similar to Jane’s Carousel in New York’s Brooklyn Bridge Park. The force behind its creator is the Greensboro Rotary Club which plans to give the carousel to Senior Resources to operate, and proceeds will go — fittingly —  to the organization’s Mobile Meals program. Though a permanent site is yet to be determined (somewhere downtown or at the Greensboro Science Center are leading candidates) the ride will feed not only hungry mouths, but the imaginations of the young and young at heart — just as carousels have for centuries.  OH

One of the oldest carousels in the nation, the Watch Hill Flying Horses, is on Annie Ferguson’s vacation bucket list. Located along the seaside in Westerly, Rhode Island and originally powered by a horse and built circa 1894, the carousel’s horses are suspended from above instead of being attached to the floor.

The King of Burning Love

Elvis Presley’s love affair with the Gate City

By Billy Ingram

Elvis Aaron Presley sold more records than any other solo artist in history, a quarter billion at the time of his death at age 42. When “Burning Love” was released as a single on August 1, 1972, it became his fortieth and last Top Ten hit, one he sang on stage for the first time four months earlier at the Greensboro Coliseum before a sold out crowd that screamed and wailed at his every sideways glance. The tune was so unfamiliar Elvis had to read the lyrics from a sheet, a scene captured by a film crew embedded with the band who were shooting what would be the King of Rock ’n’ Roll’s thirty-third and final motion picture, Elvis on Tour.

No other recording star has had a more enduring relationship with our city than Elvis, which is why his flirtations with Greensboro will remain forever pressed between the pages of our minds, sweetened through the ages just like wine.

The first time Elvis was heard on the radio, in July of 1954, the Memphis station was inundated with phone calls and telegrams (expensive, but that was how you tweeted in the ’50s). The response was so overwhelming, the deejay played that acetate seven times in a row, then called Elvis’ mom and had her retrieve the shy 19-year-old from a movie theater to rush him down to the station for an interview.

Elvis the mama’s boy (never an insult down South) didn’t drink or smoke, was demure and unassuming, but flung himself into performances with an unnerving intensity accented by quivering lips, unnaturally dark eyes and a slicked up, black ducktail pompadour. His ’do took three kinds of grease and considerable time to prep so that it curled and flopped as he threw his head forward to sing. Teen girls squealed and swooned uncontrollably at his pelvic gyrations and raw sex appeal, and before long, riots were breaking out with young women mobbing the singer, tearing his clothes off in a feeding frenzy.

And so it was that in the spring of 1955, Elvis and his rough-hewn combo played their first dates in North Carolina, first at the New Bern Shrine Auditorium and then in Asheville’s City Auditorium, followed by September dates in those towns, augmented with stops in Raleigh, Wilson and, closer to the Gate City, the Thomasville High School Auditorium. 

Then, on Monday, February 6, 1956, Greensboro welcomed the up-and-coming pop star for two matinee and two evening performances at the ornately elegant National Theater at 311 South Elm. Elvis had driven into town the night before in his pink 1955 Cadillac Fleetwood just as his first single on RCA Records “Heartbreak Hotel” began climbing the charts on the way to the No. 1 spot. Suddenly, it was his name that would be featured most prominently in advertisements and on the marquee, above more established acts like The Louvin Brothers and the Carter Sisters. George Perry and Jim Tucker, seen as The Old Rebel and Pecos Pete on WFMY-TV, ventured backstage at the National to meet the Carters when a bashful Elvis walked over to introduce himself.

Elvis left touring behind soon after in favor of cranking out lightweight Hollywood musicals, as many as three a year. No other movie star was pulling down a million dollars a picture on an ongoing basis, his happy-go-lucky cinematic romps were known as, “the only sure thing in Hollywood.”

One of the buxom objects of The King’s desire in Tickle Me, actress Francine York, knows firsthand what it’s like to be wrapped in the arms of one of Tinseltown’s sexiest leading men. She described Elvis in 1965 to me as, “Not at all shy, very outgoing, great sense of humor. So gorgeous in person. Always kidding around, kiddingly talking back to Norman Taurog, the director. Very kind to me and complimentary. So different than a lot of stars who were stuck up.”

By 1968, a succession of hastily produced, impossibly anachronistic travelogues with sappy soundtracks had diminished Elvis’ star so completely he was considered washed up. With rare exceptions he hadn’t appeared in concert in over a decade, with seemingly no apparent demand for such a thing. Singles barely cracked the Top 40 (when they did) and album sales were in steady decline. American tweens had outgrown Hound Dogs and Teddy Bears, gravitating instead towards Partridges, Monkees and Cowsills.

But an electrifying performance in December of 1968 on an NBC television special caused America to fall in love all over again, arguably the greatest comeback in show business history. Within a year Elvis was riding high again on the pop charts, the biggest act ever to hit Las Vegas. Elvis’ first concert outside of Vegas since 1961 made headlines when 207,494 people crowded the aisles for six shows in Houston. Elvis took his act on the road beginning in 1970, breaking attendance records everywhere he went, but his schedule brought him no closer to Greensboro than Cleveland until 1972.

Elvis’ second rendezvous with Greensboro came on April 14, 1972.

Before the King arrived, Elvis’ advance men covered with aluminum foil every window on the top floor of the posh new high-rise Radisson Hilton on West Market (across the street from Greensboro College) to create an environment unencumbered by the outside world.

A typical day on tour began around 3 in the afternoon because Elvis partied with his bandmates past dawn. Other than getting in and out of a limousine, the group wouldn’t see the light of day for weeks on end. As one of The King’s attendants put it, “At a point you get nuts.”

Documentary filmmakers who had been recording the stage show since April 9th rejoined the tour in Greensboro after a short hiatus. Concerned that the project might be scrapped, a screening of the assembled footage was arranged at a local theater for Elvis’ manager Tom Parker. The Colonel was enthusiastic about what he saw and eager to continue.

For this show Elvis wore his Royal Blue Fireworks outfit, open to the waist, with an Owl Belt and matching cape, draped with one of his trademark scarves, which would be occasionally bestowed upon an adoring fan. His every twitch sent forward ripples of excitement, fever-pitched screams, Instamatic cubes flashing like strobe lights, hands reaching out as if to touch what surely seemed to be an apparition but, no, was The King of Hollywood and Las Vegas, every girl’s teen idol, here before them.

Estelle Brown of the Sweet Inspirations told BBC2, “When Elvis walks out on stage it’s like the building is being torn down. People were screaming and hollering and falling out and throwing stuff on the stage, oh, it was just amazing. Not only did he have the Sweets and the TCB band, but he had the gospel quartets like The Stamps or Imperials. If you include the orchestra it would be about 60, it was a lot of people on stage.”

Cameras rolling, Elvis had in mind to attempt a new song this night, one he’d recorded a few weeks before. Apologetic about holding the lyrics in front of him, Elvis rendered a rousing performance of “Burning Love,” creating yet another anthem, his last Top Ten smash. After finishing “I Can’t Help Falling In Love” with amazing vocal flourish, Presley spread his caped wings, exiting like a condor. Amid much fanfare from the orchestra, a booming voice was heard over the Coliseum speakers that spoke with a terse finality: “Elvis has left the building.”

After a two-year absence, the Coliseum sold all 16,000 tickets for Elvis’ return to Greensboro on March 13, 1974. Within minutes scalpers were able to command $200 for a front row seat that cost them $10.

The King was looking sharp in his high-collared, Blue Starburst belted jumpsuit with wildly exaggerated, pleated flairs. Pointing out a child in the audience outfitted in a sequined jumpsuit and cape, he brought the boy on stage, draped a scarf around him, then commanded jokingly, “Get him out of here, he’s dressed better than I am.”

There was considerable drama surrounding Elvis’ 1975 engagement here. He and his entourage deplaned shortly after midnight on Monday, July 22nd, from his newly acquired, 96-seat Convair 800, christened the Lisa Marie. The airplane was customized, like all his vehicles, by 1966 Batmobile designer George Barris, who equipped it with an executive bedroom, teak paneling, gold bathroom fixtures, a fifty-two speaker sound system and a sophisticated videotape network.

Moments after settling in at the Hilton, word went out to the Greensboro Coliseum that there was a problem. Armed with a telephone and a copy of the City Directory, the Coliseum’s harried manager began waking up local dentists starting with the A’s until he found someone who could see the star of that night’s sold-out concert for an emergency procedure. It wasn’t until Dr. J. Baxter Caldwell’s patient sauntered in around 3:30 a.m. that the Greensboro dentist realized he’d be working on the most famous mouth in America, drilling behind the upturned upper lip of the King of Rock ’n’ Roll. Returning to the Hilton after the procedure around sunup, Elvis dined on a fruit tray before heading off to bed.

Ironically, Dr. Caldwell was known for his reluctance to use painkillers on his patients. Two days later in Asheville, when the dentist there left the examination room, Elvis had reportedly ransacked the premises looking for drugs. It had become a common practice for Presley to remove a filling in one of his teeth so as to be seen on a rush basis for what would eventually yield him a prescription or two. It was also in Asheville that Elvis — angry that his personal physician, Dr. George C. Nichopoulos, had taken away the drugs he’d scored from the dentist that day and perturbed by a rolling vertical hold — had fired a bullet into the television set at the Rodeway Inn. Biographers say that the bullet ricocheted into Dr. Nick’s chest but caused no injury.

But back to Greensboro. Christopher Newsom shares a snapshot of Elvis leaving the Hilton for the Coliseum on July 22nd, “My dad and his brother went and waited for him to come out. His bodyguards told everybody he had a toothache or something and wouldn’t be hanging around to talk.”

Elvis had been inexplicably pestering his female backup singers from the stage for several nights with crude insults, serving up most of his vitriol for on-again, off-again girlfriend Kathy Westmoreland, who harmonized with the Sweet Inspirations. When it got to be too much, all but one of the women walked off stage mid-performance in Norfolk on July 21st. They had decided to quit then and there, but finally agreed to make the trip to the Gate City without saying whether they’d go on or not. After a heartfelt apology from Elvis, all but Kathy performed at the Coliseum on the 22nd.

One reviewer declared the show that night, “better than ever.” After returning to the dentist’s office for a follow-up, Kathy met with Elvis as he sat on his bed in karate pajamas brandishing a gun in one hand and a gift-wrapped watch in the other. “Which do you want, this or this?” he asked. She nervously took the gift, agreeing to stay on until the end of the tour.

More bewildering, the next afternoon all of those who were supposed to be flying on to Asheville for the final three nights of the tour discovered, upon arriving at the airport, that Elvis had left the tarmac and gone ahead without them. After the plane was sent back and they finally arrived at the Rodeway Inn, Elvis was in a contrite mood. Summoning the jeweler that traveled with a portable jewelry store in case he was feeling generous, Elvis purchased everything he had on him, with more flown in from Memphis, to be distributed to everyone in the roadshow. He took the $40,000 diamond ring off his finger to give to J.D. Sumner of The Stamps. When The King didn’t receive his customary standing ovations in Asheville, he doled out expensive trinkets to audience members, expending some $85,000 all together, then handed over his guitar to a random fan (who, just this year, tried unsuccessfully to sell it for $300,000).

Like a man possessed, two days later he presented the Colonel with a Gulfstream jet and, on Sunday, July 27th, gave thirteen 1975 model Cadillacs totaling $140,000 to band members and another to a lady admiring his personal Caddy parked in front of the dealership. When she told him her birthday was coming up, Elvis had a check written so she could buy some new outfits, “to go with the car.”

By his next Greensboro appearance on June 30, 1976, a theatrical practicality had taken over. Presley only pretended to play guitar, his moves now mere poses. The audience lapped it up nonetheless. Elton John met Elvis backstage a few nights before this show in Greensboro and stated, “He had dozens of people around him, supposedly looking after him, but he already looked like a corpse.”

Every year in the Gate City Elvis wore a different outfit, in 1976 the Blue Egyptian Bird. When he wore this elaborately beaded getup for the first time in March he ripped the seat of his pants and made front pages headlines all around the world. Elvis in 1976 was described by close associate Red West as, “A boy in a man’s body who could not handle the celebrity he had now become. I had a sinking feeling that I would not see my best friend again. And I didn’t.”

By spring of 1977 when he performed in Greensboro for the last time on April 21st, the King of Rock ’n’ Roll was on a years’ long rockin’ roller coaster of amphetamines and downers. A full-time nursing staff and a retinue of unknowing physicians in every time zone reportedly kept Elvis Presley medicated between near-fatal overdoses and brief bouts of drying out.

Weighing in at over 250 pounds, with a little over a million dollars in his checking account and $500,000 a month in expenses, the King was effectively broke after a lifetime of hit records, movies and sold out concerts. Regardless of his precarious health and chemical dependencies, Presley needed to be constantly on the road to make ends meet. Opening venue for what would be the last ten weeks of concerts before his untimely death was Greensboro, about which Elvis declared from the stage in more coherent days: “Of all the places we’ve been to, you’re one of the most fantastic audiences we’ve had.”

The enthusiastic capacity crowd of 16,500 at the Coliseum was treated to one of the strongest and most exuberant of what would be The King’s farewell performances. Wearing his golden Mexican Sundial suit, Elvis was feeling so frisky he sang three songs he’d long ago dropped from his repertoire: “Little Sister,” “Little Darlin’” and “Fever.”

He could still send shrieking shock waves throughout the audience with a mere turn of his head but pelvic thrusts were a thing of the past. Action on the stage was reduced to dispensing as many scarves as possible, his naturally drowsy eyes now woozy winks.

Small wonder. Elvis had been prescribed more than 5,300 pills while on the road, a mind-numbing cocktail of opioids, amphetamines and central nervous system depressants that included (get out your Physician’s Desk Reference): valmid, placidyl, valium, pentobarbital, phenobarbital, butabarbital, dilaudid, demerol, morphine, biphetamine, amytal, percodan, carbrital, dexedrine, cocaine hydrochloride but most especially codeine and quaaludes.

In anticipation of an upcoming tour, which would have bypassed Greensboro in favor of Asheville and Fayetteville, 600 pills were dispensed for Presley on the day before departure. It wasn’t enough. Indicative of his compulsively crepuscular lifestyle, the last photo taken of Elvis was snapped by a waiting fan as The King returned to Graceland in the pre-dawn hours from a trip to the dentist. Hours later he was found dead of an overdose. It had been a little over twenty-one years after his first show here and just four months after his last.

Elvis’ co-star Francine York appeared in dozens of motion pictures and memorable television shows like Lost in Space, Bewitched and Hot in Cleveland, starring with many a matinee idol. She even played a villainess on Batman. But The King made a lasting impression: “I will be going back to Graceland again this year with all expenses paid. It was sad being in his home for the first time in 2008 and seeing his white outfit on display with the cummerbund and watch him singing on the TV up to the left. I just loved him and find it difficult to watch his movies now, it just breaks my heart.”  OH

Billy Ingram is a frequent contributor to O.Henry.

O.Henry Ending

Things That Go Burp in the Night

Including iPads

By David Claude Bailey

Even in this hi-tech age of vigilant home security systems, things still go bump in the night. And what sound is more frightening than the thump of a tablet or laptop sliding off the bed onto the floor?

“It’s just my iPad,” my wife, Anne said in a semislumber. “Happens all the time.”

What doesn’t happen all the time, I learned when I brought her morning cup of Earl Grey in bed the next morning, was the screen going black save for an ominous, flickering blue aura on one edge.

I’ve watched as my wife has become addicted to watching ospreys hatch in Washington state; getting all hot and bothered while slinging barbs on Facebook at relatives with opposing political views; and, worst of all, howling aloud after watching another YouTube “Funniest Cat Video Ever.” Selfishly, I like her being iConnected. I can ask Anne to put things on our social calendar, issue reminders (Emergency: We’re almost out of kimchi) and make urgent requests (Let’s have Korean barbecued pork belly for supper tonight, requiring said kimchi).

The tone of voice she assumed the morning after the drop was the same one she used when our springer spaniel had its first seizure — grave without any opening for humor. We needed to go to the Apple Store, she announced, a place she knows I despise.

“Can’t I first send out an email asking for advice?” I wondered aloud.

“You can do whatever you want, but I’m going to the Apple Store as soon as I can get an appointment,” was the reply.

Email dispatched. Within seconds, O.Henry’s resident comic wrote, “Drop it again. LOL.”

Meanwhile I’d been trolling the Internet for advice.

At www.ifixit.com, I found a number of distressed iPad owners with either poor typing skills or bad grammar or a poor command of English or a combination thereof.

“Hi my touch panel is broke but screen is warking I am change the screen but after I fix all part screen not come on but sound is coming what I can do please,” wondered Roofi.

Someone named Haris suggested: “Try to tap it with your hand on its back frequently and then press power button.” A flurry of grateful responses followed agreeing that spanking your iPad is not a bad thing.

I waited until Anne was out in the garden and took her iPad to the woodshed. Nothing.

The genius at the Apple Store was oh-so-sympathetic and confirmed that Anne’s iPad was still alive by plugging it into his MacBook Air. The screen, however, had broken off all relations with the rest of the computer. The geniuses at the Apple Store, like all the king’s horses and all the king’s men, don’t do repairs. But for a mere $279, Anne could get a refurbished iPad and they’d help her retrieve from the iCloud all her stored and treasured URLs for the World’s Funniest Cat Videos, not to mention the password to the Starz site where she can view Outlander episodes a day early.

I asked the genius how broken an iPad had to be before they’d refuse it as trade-in for refurbishment. Couldn’t I just take it apart to see if I could fix it?? Anne looked at me as if I had suggested performing DIY brain surgery on our spaniel. The genius was a little shaken. I could try it, and if I brought back anything resembling an iPad, they’d swap it.

With Anne’s blessing I took my friend’s LOL advice and dropped it on our car’s floor mat from a height of about a foot. The luminous, cheerful blue of the startup screen blinked on and, Maria and I were declared brilliant — until the screen went black again that night. I dropped it a few more times and the screen came back on looking like a tie-dyed T-shirt. Far out!

Plan B: a rendezvous with one of iCracked’s local iTechs. Frank Harmuth assuaged our fears; what I had been doing was fine. “We call it burping the iPad,” he said at the Starbucks in Barnes & Noble’s at Friendly. Wrapping Anne’s in a weekend edition of The Wall Street Journal he “burped” it again — to no effect. A few alternate moves produced temporary flashes of luminescent blue. “I don’t want to break the screen,” Frank said, explaining that it was attached to the computer by a male and female connection via a wiring harness. The original drop had resulted in a sort of coitus interruptus. Jiggling and lightly tapping the iPad usually restored the lost spark, so to speak — until it needed burping again, he explained. Noticing that he was afraid to give it the Maria and David treatment, I said, “Can I try it?”

I did a hard drop from the height of a few feet onto Starbucks’ hardwood table and Bingo: IfixedIt. The cats are back. The latest political diatribe comes via Facebook. Anne’s watching her bird chick cams again. Outlander’s in the queue.

And I’m now known, at least around our house, as the resident iGenius.  OH

David Bailey, O.Henry’s editor at large, doesn’t suggest hard burping your iPad or trying to iFix your laptop without Frank Marmuth’s expert guidance via FrankH@iTechs.com.