Tag Archives: Beau Kester
When he designed Savannah’s urban grid 260-plus years ago, General Oglethorpe knew that our common spaces would define us. Now a new generation of visionaries is taking that plan one step further. Native Zach Powers explores the city’s newest—and oldest—trend. » Photography by Beau KesterThe building on the corner of Congress and Montgomery languished for more than a decade. Warped plywood the color of wet ash covered every window. I could only imagine the rot on the inside, the dust that clung thick to every surface. Whenever I walked past, I cringed, but not at the decay. My disgust was a little more pragmatic than that. I resented the circumstances that allowed such a prime piece of real estate to waste away. When the chain link fence went up around the building last summer, I rejoiced. No, I probably won’t be shopping at the new Anthropologie on a regular basis, but I celebrate every time I see progress in Savannah. What I value more than a new shop for myself is the growth and diversification of our community. I want my city to thrive.
A Ghost TownWhen my family moved away from Savannah in 1991, I can only remember there being two establishments on Broughton Street: Levy Jewelers at one end and Welsh Pawn Shop at the other. A couple more might have lived and died in between over the years, but I’ll never know. Back then, nobody went to Broughton. There was no reason. Out of the entire Historic District, the only spot that ever warranted a visit was River Street. As a kid, I probably didn’t know that “downtown” meant anything more than the strip between Factors Walk and the river. There are several well-worn theories concerning Savannah’s stagnation and its subsequent revitalization. I’ll offer my own summary: it involved politicians and prominent residents who thought preserving the past meant preventing progress. The collapse of this regime coincided with Forrest Gump, The Book, and the rise of the Savannah College of Art and Design. That was 20 years ago, and the perfect storm of tourism and increased downtown residency allowed restaurants and boutiques to move in and, to my pleasant surprise, succeed.
Lovely But LonelyJump ahead to 2009. My teenage self wouldn’t recognize downtown Savannah. I’ve got an apartment in the heart of it all, around the corner from the current Gallery Espresso and just a short walk to dozens of restaurants and bars. The city bustles, sidewalks full of tourists, Forsyth Park dotted with sunbathers. Frisbees and footballs sail overhead. Every square plays host to its own microcosmic community. It seems ideal. But I’ve spent several years applying for jobs in other cities, looking for a way out. As much as the city has grown, I find it a hard place to be a writer. More specifically, in 2009, I’m the only writer I know. I crave a community of the literarily like-minded, the kind I’ve seen in places like Atlanta and Boston and Chicago. Not to mention New York. With each day and every ignored job application, I feel myself more isolated. More frustrated. While the city flourishes physically, local culture—from writing to music to theater—is still an abandoned storefront.
The GatheringIn 2010, I take matters into my own hands. Along with Christopher Berinato and Brian Dean, I launch the literary arts nonprofit Seersucker Live. Our goal is to establish a literary scene in Savannah, to fill cultural storefronts that had long been abandoned. And Seersucker isn’t alone. Around the same time that we’re getting started, JinHi Soucy Rand raises the curtain on Muse Arts Warehouse, a nonprofit blackbox theater on Lousiville Road, and Kayne Lanahan kicks off the Savannah Stopover Festival, bringing more indie bands to Savannah in a weekend than performed here over several years prior. Savannah’s culture erupts from paucity to glut almost overnight. Welcome to 2014. Seersucker, Muse and Stopover have connected artists with an eager audience. They helped create a community where before there had been only individuals. As these innovations become household names, I can’t help but wonder: What’s next for Savannah? Where do we grow from here? My quest for answers takes me away from downtown, to meet the people who see possibilities in unusual places.
Old Men, New ConceptCohen’s Retreat is hard to miss from Skidaway Road. The main structure reminds me of a small-town train station, its two-story entranceway flanked on either side by long, low wings. Set back from the roadway, it possesses an air of detachment from everything going on around it. When I was a kid, attending Hancock Day School’s former campus right across Skidaway, aging men would idle away afternoons on the row of benches up against the fence, facing the street. The men were the residents of Cohen’s Old Men’s Retreat, a cast of quirky characters I only ever knew by their waved greetings. That was the scene for five decades, but then Cohen’s closed its doors, and those benches sat empty for years. Every time I drove by and saw the overgrown lawn and darkened windows, I wished I had the time and inspiration necessary to reclaim the space. While the building may have been physically empty, I knew it teemed with potential. Enter Colleen Smith and Karen Langston, the founders of the new Cohen’s Retreat. They purchased the facility—the main building plus sixteen cottages and a few additional structures—two years ago, and began the process of turning it from an abandoned asylum into a creative collective. “We had seen similar settings in other, bigger cities,” says Smith, “but Savannah has so much untapped talent. We knew it was possible to bring this kind of setting.” Smith and Langston, both products of Savannah, used to visit the men who lived at Cohen’s. They share with me fond memories of the place and the people. I’m struck right away by the warmth of these women, and it truly shines as they reminisce. Their personal history allows them to see their new development as a continuation of the Retreat’s legacy. Smith can’t help but grin as she talks about her work. “This building is phenomenal. We didn’t dream we’d get the chance to be here.” I enter through the tall columns on the front porch into a cozy lobby. I’d expected something more “in progress,” but the renovations to the main building are nearly complete, and the south wing, a gallery space, has already hosted two shows. A banquet table dominates another room. The back wall is finished in wood left over from the renovation, arranged in random mosaic. Small candles rest atop the pieces of wood that jut out. Subtle touches like this abound, revealing the meticulous care with which the project has been undertaken.
If You Build ItThe space, however, is only half the work. Without someone to use it, Cohen’s would just be a big, pretty building. But creative types are already flocking to the retreat from all over the city. A couple of working craftspeople live in the cottages out back. Two designers, as well as Smith and Langston’s own business, Savannah Plush, have offices upstairs. The next gallery exhibition, featuring several area artists, is already being installed. Soon, the north wing—newly opened up into a single large room—will host lectures, classes, workshops, and more. Smith says, “We just wanted to provide a setting where the most accomplished artist can come in and go away with something, but so can someone who has never even picked up a paintbrush.” Both founders downplay their desire to engineer a community, saying instead that they want Cohen’s to grow into a living place. By welcoming creative people into their shared space, they intend to encourage its natural evolution. By the end of January, a public café will open in the main building, operated by Form’s Brian Torres. A restaurant and artists’ retreat will follow. They’ve even fixed up the shuffleboard court out back. “We wanted to open it up to all the possibilities,” Smith says. “It’s too cool to keep to yourself. We have to share this.” While the facility looks nearly finished to me, I’m told work remains to be done. Langston shows me a map that features a new patio space, vegetable and herb gardens, and a fountain to be installed out front. Many of the fully-renovated cottages are still available for rent. A few landscaping projects remain to spruce up the grounds. Even without the finishing touches, Cohen’s is already a success, and I’m excited to see how it grows over the next few years. It demonstrates that, with a little vision and a big effort, the same kind of community that developed downtown can be cultivated on Skidaway, connecting the corridor from Five Points to Sandfly. It also models a new type of space for Savannah: a shared hub where creative people can gather to innovate, socialize and live. Cohen’s is no longer a forgotten building on the side of the road; it’s the center of a new Savannah community.
“We wanted to open it up to all the possibilities,” Smith says. “It’s too cool to keep to yourself. We have to share this.”
Common GroundTim Cone is a high school teacher, but that wouldn’t be your first guess if you saw him around town. His beard better befits a lumberjack. Like me, he’s probably most often mistaken for a SCAD student. But a teacher he is, and now he has the plaque to prove it: Cone recently was named teacher of the year by the Savannah-Chatham County Public School System. When he’s not enlightening young minds on the science of engineering, Cone devotes his time to Maven Makers, a group that plans to open a makers’ space in Savannah. Put briefly, a makers’ space is a shared workshop furnished with the tools of light industry, from woodshop to metalworking equipment to 3D printers. Members pay a monthly fee, and have access to hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of equipment they wouldn’t have access to otherwise. “It works sort of like a gym,” Cone tells me. If all goes well, the space could be up and running within the year. But Cone almost didn’t stick around long enough to even begin the project. “My first year, I loved my teaching job one hundred percent, but I hated Savannah,” he confesses. “I didn’t get plugged into anything. I just went to work, came home to my apartment, ate dinner, and went to bed. But I moved downtown my second year, got plugged into a lot of different areas, and started really connecting with the community. I started learning that there are all these little pockets of things that are happening.” Savannah’s cultural and community offerings helped Cone find his place in Savannah—a shared space he’s building, people first. His network of innovators and entrepreneurs is united by their desire for this space and working together to bring it into being.
Cornhole for Creatives“Maven Makers is one of those things that I think everyone can come together and say ‘Yes, this is one thing that we absolutely need.’ It can absolutely be the center of innovation. It can be the driving force that’s going to push Savannah to be a model for other cities to follow.” Innovation is key to Savannah’s future, but what good is that future if it doesn’t extend beyond the individual, if it doesn’t bring people together from time to time? Progress in any venture, from cultural to industrial, can’t occur in a vacuum. As it prepares to share Ramsey Khalidi’s Southern Pine space in the old Star Laundry building, Maven Makers has already drawn interest from local leaders and businesses. Cone says he’s been overwhelmed by the positive reception, and he hopes to secure funding within the year. For the time being, Maven Makers will focus on providing workshops and joining with other organizations throughout the community to host events. One of their first events will be a cornhole tournament, but with a twist. The beanbags have to be lobbed by homemade trebuchets. “A makers’ space is just one small piece of a larger movement in Savannah,” Cone says. “There are a lot of people out there being forward thinkers, wanting to mix things up here in town. They have grand ideas or some kind of passion, and they just need a space to express themselves.”
A Place for UsFor innovators like Cone, building community is about providing greater opportunities for individual success. That begins with the ability to see potential, especially when that potential is hidden under the surface. Where I saw only abandoned storefronts on Broughton Street 20 years ago, I think Smith, Langston, and Cone would have seen the kinds of businesses that could thrive there. Where I see a group of people with shared interests, they see a home base where those people can gather and forge community. “This has kind of renewed my interest in living in Savannah,” Cone says, “and made me realize that this isn’t just a temporary spot. I could be here for a very long time and make this my home.” Savannah is fortunate to have residents for whom the idea of home extends beyond their own four walls. This concept built—and rebuilt—downtown, and similar progress can extend to wherever people are willing to take it. Let’s hope it spreads far and wide.
Ditch the veil! Tackle the most visible areas in bridal beauty with help from Savannah’s look-good, feel-good experts. | By Colleen McNally | Photograph by Beau Kester
With the help of a born ’n’ bred naturalist, editor Annabelle Carr visits an alternate Savannah where development never happened. » Photography by Beau KesterI can taste salt and exultation in the air as we leave civilization behind, skimming across the inscrutable water, blue-black laced with shimmering olive highlights. I’ve asked John “Crawfish” Crawford to show me his favorite places. We’re in a Carolina skiff that belongs to Crawfish’s employer, the University of Georgia Marine Extension Service, aka MAREX. Crawfish’s daughter, Lauren, 11, his wife, Jeana, and my son, Santo, 12, are along for the Sunday ride. “We have one of the largest stretches of undeveloped coastline in the US—60 miles from Tybee to Sea Island—and the highest tidal range from Cape Cod to South America,” Crawfish calls out above the roar of the motor. “This right here is the nursery of the ocean. Dead grass feeds bacteria, which feed plankton, which feed everything.” Underneath a Captain Ahab beard, his voice sparkles with boyish enthusiasm. I feel suddenly privileged to be here, in this diverse ecosystem based on constant change, with a bona fide disciple of Poseidon. A Savannah native, marine science education specialist and U.S. Coast Guard master captain, my host came by the name “Crawfish” honestly. He grew up exploring the woods and marshes of Savannah’s east side, catching specimens in jars, leading his fellow Boy Scouts on natural history expeditions and riding his bike to the now-defunct Savannah Science Museum, where he found mentors and a lifelong passion. After a stint in the Navy, he went on to have a hand in every local ecological organization I can think of, from Wilderness Southeast to the Caretta Research Project. Today, he leads groups “from ages 10 to 110” on learning expeditions into the coastal wilderness. Back in laboratories at MAREX’s saltwater aquarium on Skidaway Island, he and his colleagues teach by example. They involve their students in field research, inspecting plankton, dissecting fish and observing horseshoe crab behavior in salt tanks. When I thank Crawfish for spending his day off at work, he laughs and quotes Georgia folk hero Br’er Rabbit: “Please, please, please don’t throw me in the briar patch!” This is one local man who doesn’t just live on the water—he lives for it.