Finding Eudora

My mother warned me this would happen.

When you get a liberal arts degree, you're just not satisfied with anything. You are trained to keep your fingers in several pies. And once you graduate, you never get to do anything like normal people again.

When I was at Austin College, I fell in love with southern literature in general, and James Dickey and William Faulkner in particular. I even got to meet James Dickey my senior year. Four or five years after graduation, I went to see a friend in Charleston SC and could NOT get that close to Faulkner's home in Oxford, MS without stopping to pay homage. If you've ever been there, you know that the curator looks exactly like Faulkner, down to the bottle glasses, shock of hair, and salt-and pepper mustache. As I left, I told him I imagined he must have the most fun job in the world. In a thick (and perhaps practiced) southern drawl, he replied "I consider it a privilege of which I never tire." I've been possessed by the deep south ever since.

The year before I got married, my best friend and I decided to set out for what we called our "Southern Literature and Kitsch" vacation. We would stop in Jackson MS to learn more about Eudora Welty, return to Oxford to wave at Faulkner again, and wind up in Memphis at Graceland. (that was the kitsch) Memphis is a post in itself; for now, let me tell you about Miss Eudora.

Somehow I had fallen in love with southern lit without reading anything by Miss Eudora. My roommate and best friend, the German major, adored her writing. (a liberal arts education leaves room for German majors to read southern lit). When we decided to include her on the tour, I studied up on her.

Miss Eudora was still alive at the time, and somewhere along the way I read that if one had the gumption to come to Jackson and knock on her door, she would invite them in for tea. I thought, Perfect! Pam was appalled. How could you just go up and knock on Miss Eudora's door without an invitation? I suggested that "Miss Manners" write her, then, and ask if we could come calling. Fully expecting no reply, she gave it a shot.

A couple of weeks before we left, Pam got quite a surprise in the mail. Miss Eudora wrote: "I'm sorry I will not be able to receive you and your friend when you come to Jackson. I am writing you from the hospital, where I have just had back surgery. I hope your visit is lovely." We were squealing like teenagers - a handwritten letter from Eudora Welty! To a stranger! While lying flat on her back in the hospital! We were hooked.

Jackson was our first stop on the trip. After we'd gotten the letter, we determined that at the very least we would like to go by and see where she lived (we contemplated visiting her in the hospital, but not even liberal arts majors are that brash). You cannot imagine how guarded almost everyone in town behaved on behalf of their favorite daughter. The waitress and hostess at her favorite restaurant just had no idea where she might live. The women working at the Colonial Dames mansion didn't have a clue. We drove around town looking for any hint, and finally - aha! The Eudora Welty Public Library.

We whizzed into a parking spot, went straight to the front desk, eyes like silver dollars, and asked the librarian if she could tell us where Miss Eudora lived. There was a pregnant pause. "Let me get the Library Director for you." We were almost giddy.

When the director appeared light years later, we fell over each other to tell our story and seek his help in finding her home. "I'm sorry, ladies, I just can't help you." Puh-LEEZE, we begged! We've come this far - we've gotten this close - we had a letter from her - we're not going to hurt anything... no dice. We tried again. Finally he said, "Well, I can't give you her address, but if you'd like to see a picture of her house there's one over there on the wall." "THANK YOU!"

We raced over to see the oil portrait of her home. We set out to memorize all the details, plotting our path, certain that if we drove around Jackson long enough we'd recognize it: "Okay. Red brick. Two story. Tudor." As we were searing the image onto our brains, the director came over and said quietly, "If you turn down (this certain) Street, you'll see a house which looks very much like this one." "THANK YOU! THANK YOU!" We forgot to whisper while we were clicking our heels. He looked at us with wonder and said, "Who ARE you?"

Who are we? Liberal arts majors. And yes, we found the house.