True story: When I was a child, my mother took me to do “grave rubbings” at Trinity Episcopal Cathedral in Columbia, S.C. (Yes, yes, thank you, I know they have a wonderful organ there.)
A grave rubbing is a form of art, in which you place a piece of paper atop a gravestone, and then stroke the paper with chalk or wax to get an image of the inscription there. It’s art for the artistically challenged, like me. To passers-by, however, the act can look alarmingly like vandalism, so please seek permission from the cemetery office before doing this with wild-eyed abandon.
Anyway, one of the graves we visited was that of the poet Henry Timrod. And, amazingly enough, a few days later, the hosts of a morning radio show – I think it may have been Bill Benton and Gene McKay – asked a trivia question to which the answer was … wait for it … the late, great Mr. Timrod.
Pulsing with excitement, I called in, anticipating fame, glory and fabulous prizes. This transpired: Continue reading