The Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club

by Duncan Whitehead

  “What about her sons? Do you think they’ll fly in for the funeral?” Cindy asked. Thelma had two sons from a previous marriage, both highly successful Los Angeles television producers.

  “I would think so,” said Heidi, and the ladies all agreed that Thelma’s sons would make the trip to Savannah for their mother’s funeral.

  “You know, they’re both queer,” announced Heidi, taking another sip from her cup.

  “I had heard that too,” agreed Cindy. “Who would believe that two brothers could both be gay? What a cross for Thelma and Elliot to bear. And how sad to think that they could never hope to be blessed with grandchildren either.”

  “You know, of course, that Elliott isn’t their father,” added Carla.

  “I knew that,” Heidi nodded. “Thelma told me once about her first husband. Died young, she said.”

  “So Elliott inherited a whole family. What a good man,” said Cindy.

  “They are good boys, though, despite, you know, them not being like other men,” added Heidi. “I remember when they were growing up. You would never have guessed.”

  “Maybe that’s why they went into television—they’re all homosexuals, those TV people,” Carla said, her overgeneralization readily accepted by the other two women.

  “Poor, poor Elliott,” said Cindy again, as all eyes again turned to the large white house that overlooked the east side of the park. Well, let’s hope he runs for mayor at least,” said Carla. “God knows, Savannah needs a decent mayor!” All three ladies, in unison, raised the cups to their mouths and drank, as if toasting Carla’s words.

  The ladies were now joined at the picnic table by four dogs, panting and out of breath. Walter, Paddy, and Fuchsl were accompanied by Bern, Veronica and Doug’s German shepherd. After greeting the trio of women, the four dogs made their way to the water bowl outside the scout hut and gathered round it. The hose that filled the bowl was set to a slow drip, ensuring that no dog playing in the park ever became thirsty or dehydrated. It was a hot afternoon, as it always was in the summer, but like everything else that came with living in such a unique place, the residents of Savannah were used to it. The afternoon temperature hovered just below ninety degrees, though the coastal breeze brought some light relief.

  “Bern! Bern!” Veronica’s husband was calling his dog to join him at the gate. Bern looked up from the water bowl and sped toward his master. The three ladies waved at the man. “I am not sure what to make of him,” said Carla. “My neighbor Kelly told me he was once rude to her, for no reason—trying to be smart,” said Cindy.

  “I haven’t spoken to him yet,” said Heidi as she inspected the man who was now waving back to the women. “He looks scruffy. He’s always dressed in a T-shirt and shorts. I’ve never seen him wear anything else.”

  “I like Veronica, though,” said Carla, and the ladies all agreed that they preferred Veronica to her English husband, despite the fact that not one of them had ever spoken to the man or even so much as given him the time of the day.

  “I bet he suffers with this heat though,” said Heidi. “I know I did when I first got here.” They watched as Bern was put on his leash and continued to watch as man, baby, and dog disappeared from view.

  More cars were arriving at the Miller residence, as those wishing to bid a final farewell to poor Thelma came by to do so.

  “Should we pay our last respects to Thelma now, all together,” asked Carla, “or wait until the relatives have left?”

  Heidi and Cindy considered their friend’s suggestion.

  “You know, I am not sure what the protocol is,” said Heidi. “Maybe we should. Perhaps we should knock on the door and see her. I saw her last week, but I think since then she has been in and out of consciousness.”

  “I think I’ll pay my respects at the funeral,” said Cindy. “I hear she’s incoherent, that she doesn’t even recognize poor Elliott. I don’t want to remember her that way.”

  “Poor Elliott,” said Carla.

  “Indeed, poor Elliott,” repeated Heidi as she slowly raised her cup to her lips, a slight trace of a smile developing as she took a sip of her afternoon cocktail.

  Again all heads turned to the big, white house. The number of cars outside the Miller residence had begun to dwindle, and Edgewood Road had resumed its normal sedate and tranquil state.

  “Look, it's Kelly, my neighbor,” exclaimed Cindy. At the gate, about to enter the park, was an attractive young woman with blond hair, accompanied by a Golden Labrador. As soon as his owner opened the gate, the dog bounded over to where the other three dogs had resumed their playful frolicking in the park.

  “Hi, Shmitty,” said Carla as the dog sped past the picnic table, oblivious to the seated women, and headed into the dense trees.

  “You know she could be a model, that girl,” said Carla, referring to Kelly. “She must be on her lunch break, just letting Shmitty out for a run.” The women watched as the young woman talked on her cell phone.

  “She just missed the Englishman. I wonder what he said to her?” said Carla.

  “Who knows?” said Cindy. “She must have her work shoes on. I don’t think I have ever seen her actually come inside the park. She always just stays outside.”

  “Maybe we should call her over?” suggested Heidi. “I would love to know what Veronica’s husband said to her.” The others agreed that it would be good to know.

  Kelly didn’t join the group, however. She waved and called for Shmitty to come back to the gate before they had the chance to summon her over to the picnic table. The three women waved back as Shmitty once again bounded past them to return to his owner.

  “She does this sometimes,” said Cindy. “She comes home from the mall to let Shmitty stretch his legs for a few minutes. She works at Macy’s, at one of the perfume counters.”

  “Her husband’s Tom, isn’t he?” asked Heidi. “A lovely boy, just as handsome and good-looking as she is.” The ladies all agreed that Cindy’s neighbors, Kelly and Tom, were a good-looking couple. “Hollywood” was how Carla described the couple.

  Kelly and Shmitty disappeared from view. “You know, they are great neighbors,” said Cindy. “He’s always doing odd jobs for me, very kind. They’re a great couple.”

  As they discussed the virtues of Cindy’s young neighbors, the ladies didn’t notice an elderly black man enter the park, followed closely by his white Cairn terrier dog. He saw the ladies, though, as he saw them every day at around this time, and he raised his arm to wave at the three of them, even though they weren’t looking. Then he let his dog off the leash, but unlike the other dogs that had arrived at the park that afternoon, the terrier didn’t run to play. Instead, the old dog stayed at his master’s side as he slowly traversed the park’s perimeter path.

  Now Heidi caught a glimpse of him. “There’s the old man,” she said. “You know, he doesn’t scoop.” The other two women turned to watch as he disappeared behind a clump of trees.

  “Maybe we should say something to him. You know everybody else does it. Scoop, I mean. I’ve seen his dog—Chalky, I think he’s called—poop near the swings,” said Carla indignantly.

  “Do you know his name?” asked Cindy.

  “No. I know he lives in Gordonston in the house with the turret. You know, he’s the only one who doesn’t clean up the mess,” Heidi complained. The three ladies decided that the best course of action would be to have the Gordonston Residents’ Association write to the old man, reminding him to clean up after his dog.

  The three women agreed to meet again the next day at 4:00 p.m., when the Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club would reconvene. They finished their cocktails and called their respective dogs to heel, each dog responding immediately to his mistress’s voice. Once the three dogs were leashed, the trio of women made their way to the gate. As they exited the park, they paused across the street from the Miller house.

&
nbsp; “Poor Elliott,” said Carla.

  “Yes, poor Elliott,” said Cindy.

  Of the three women, Heidi lived nearest to the park, along Kentucky Avenue. She owned a large five-bedroom home, set on the corner where Kentucky Avenue joined Edgewood Road, which made Heidi and the Millers neighbors. As they reached her house, Heidi bade farewell to her friends, “Well, let’s all hope Thelma is still with us in the morning,” she said. “I’ll say a prayer for her tonight.” The other two women agreed that they too would include Thelma in their prayers.

  “And we mustn’t forget poor Elliott,” added Carla.

  “Yes, of course, let’s pray for poor Elliott too” agreed Cindy.

  Cindy’s home was a modest cottage-type bungalow located on Henry Street about five hundred yards from the park. After bidding goodbye to her two friends, she headed eastward toward her home.

  Carla also made her goodbyes and began her short walk home, Walter trailing behind on his leash. Carla’s home was situated along Georgia Avenue. Like the Miller residence, her home overlooked the park, on the south side. Like Heidi, she had a large five-bedroom home. Even she admitted that it was far too big for just her and little Walter.

  Heidi Launer, though Austrian by birth, had no trace of a European accent. Her dialect was pure Georgia with a distinct tidewater twang. She had arrived in Savannah in 1939 as a teenager, her parents having left Europe just before the outbreak of war. Her father had started a small butcher shop on Oglethorpe Avenue in the center of the city. The family lived in a large house with servants, adjacent to Wright Square.

  Heidi met and married Oliver Marsh in 1964. Oliver was a successful commercial real estate entrepreneur and leased his many downtown properties to national companies, who, looking to expand their businesses in the thriving city, opened their restaurants and banks in his buildings. After eventually selling his real estate holdings and retiring on the proceeds, Heidi and Oliver moved, at Heidi’s insistence, into the large house in Gordonston. Oliver died soon thereafter, and Heidi became firm friends with Thelma and Elliott Miller and their two sons.

  Heidi and Oliver had one child, a son, Stephen, who moved to New York after graduating from law school. He still lived there with his two children and wife, having established a lucrative practice in criminal law. When time permitted, Stephen still returned to Savannah to visit his mother, bringing with him her grandchildren, who, though practically adults themselves, enjoyed their visits south.

  After Oliver’s death in the mid-eighties, Stephen urged his mother to move out of the big house and join him and his family in New York. Unable to pull herself away from the memories of the past, Heidi decided to remain in Savannah, in the little community she knew so well. She had her good friends, Carla, Cindy, and Thelma, and couldn’t imagine moving away from them. She had a large home to keep up, but she employed a housekeeper who attended to cleaning and cooking four days a week. Fuchsl, her German pointer, was her constant and loyal companion, and over the years she had come to be seen as the matriarch of the small community. As such, her neighbors in Gordonston held her in high esteem.

  Oliver had amassed a small fortune before he died, so Heidi was well provided for. She was an avid reader and had converted one of the larger bedrooms of her home into an extensive library. Shelves of books adorned every wall, with the complete works of such diverse writers as Dickens, Poe, Twain, and Shakespeare among the many displayed. A true bibliophile, she kept a careful inventory of every book she owned.

  The biggest section in her library was her collection of children’s books. A keen collector of any story written for the young, from paperbacks to illustrated works, she had hundreds of such titles. If it was available, then Heidi owned it. She had first editions of all of Enid Blyton’s, Carolyn Keene’s, and even J. K. Rowling’s books. Beside these well-known authors, she owned first editions of works by lesser known and out-of-print authors such as Kenny Wilkes and Brendan Benzie.

  Collecting books, walking Fuchsl in the park, enjoying her afternoon cocktails, and gossiping with her friends were Heidi’s main joys in life. These activities helped keep her healthy and active. Though in her eighties, she still drove and didn’t rely too heavily on neighbors and friends for help. She still hosted dinner parties, her regular guests being other members of the Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club, and Elliott. Her housekeeper, Betty Jenkins, was an excellent cook whose dishes were legendary, and she cherished the evenings when she could entertain her neighbors by setting her housekeeper’s delicious low country–style feasts before them.

  Though she had never returned to her homeland, she vowed that one day, before she passed on, she would go back with Stephen and his family. She’d already begun her search for tickets and planned to travel to the country of her birth the following year. She had organized trips to Austria before, but due to Stephen’s heavy schedule and court appearances, she’d had to cancel more than one of them.

  Though proud of her son’s achievements as a respected defense attorney, she was a little dubious of the company he kept. She had read in the papers of infamous clients he had successfully defended over the years. Stephen had become the lawyer of choice for any mob boss indicted to appear before a jury. Of course, that didn’t make her son a gangster, but she did worry about him and his family. That worry was far outweighed by the pride she felt as he regularly and successfully defended one crime lord after another, earning himself a reputation as one of the country’s most highly regarded criminal lawyers.

  But New York was miles from the tranquil surroundings in which Heidi had decided to spend her twilight years. She was happy with her books, her dog, and her regular afternoon forays into the park for cocktails and gossip with her friends. As she entered the cooled house, she could smell the aroma of the dinner Betty was preparing for that night. Fuchsl, now unleashed, made his way into the living room, where he promptly collapsed, exhausted from his playful frolics in the park. Betty greeted Heidi with a smile and offered her some of the homemade lemonade she had just prepared. Heidi accepted a glass and thanked her.

  Heidi took this opportunity to ask Betty if she knew the name of Chalky’s owner. She wanted to begin the process of drafting the letter of complaint, detailing the Resident Association’s disappointment in the man’s failure to clean up after his dog.

  “I know the man who you mean,” said Betty. “I’ve seen him at church.” Betty attended the Sunview Baptist Church at the edge of the Gordonston neighborhood along Gwinnett Street. Though housed just within the borders of Gordonston, the congregation was mainly made up of African American worshippers from outside the neighborhood. Betty spent four days a week in Gordonston cooking and cleaning for her employer, but her home was across President Street, in an area known as East Savannah.

  “I think he is a widow-man,” Betty continued. “He lives just by the park, in that big house on Gordon Avenue. Hardly ever passes the time of day with folks. He’s so quiet, I don’t even know his name.”

  Heidi asked her housekeeper to do some discreet investigating on behalf of the Gordonston Residents Association. The park, she believed, was for all the residents of Gordonston to enjoy, and for one user to let his pet defecate, without even attempting to clean up the mess—well, that was not going to happen, not if she could help it. Heidi was seen as the unofficial chairperson when it came to matters of etiquette like this one. Betty was happy to do what her employer asked, and promised that when she went to church that Sunday, she would ask some questions.

  After thanking her housekeeper, Heidi made her way up the winding staircase to her bedroom. As she reached the second floor, she passed the one room that remained permanently locked. She checked the door, as she always did. It remained tightly shut. Only she had the key; only she ever entered the sealed room, and then only when Betty was not around. Satisfied that the door was locked, she retired to her bedroom for her regular afternoon nap.

  The f
irst thing Cindy did when she returned home with Paddy was to open a can of his favorite dog food. Paddy was a large dog, who would be having his usual hunger pangs after an afternoon in the park. After feeding Paddy, Cindy took a seat, kicked off her shoes, and relaxed.

  Cindy’s afternoons in the park were the highlight of her day. As cofounder with Thelma Miller of the Gordonston Ladies Dog Walking Club, many years before, she had intended the club to be a way for the older female residents to socialize and bond together. The cocktails had been Thelma’s idea. It was a pleasant way to spend afternoons, chatting with friends while their dogs ran free. Cindy was active in the Gordonston community, a member, along with Heidi, of the Gordonston Book Club and secretary of the Residents Association. She was also a neighborhood watch block captain and helped organize neighborhood events in the park.

  Cindy Mopper had lived in Savannah all her life, the last ten years in Gordonston. She’d moved from the south side of the city after her husband Ronnie’s death. Ronnie had sold cars for a living and had managed a car lot along Abercorn Street, home to Savannah’s two malls and the main shopping thoroughfare for the city and nearby towns. Ronnie’s relatively early death, the result of a stroke, came as a shock to Cindy, who threw herself into as many activities as she could, to cope with her sudden loss and subsequent grieving.

  Cindy and Ronnie had been a childless couple. Cindy’s closest relative, in blood and distance, was a brother who lived just outside of Atlanta but whom she seldom saw. She doted on her brother’s son, Billy, and she looked forward to her nephew’s letters and emails. It was Billy who had encouraged his aunt to buy a computer, which she had done. The computer enabled her to produce neighborhood newsletters and fulfill her role as secretary to the Gordonston Residents Association with efficiency. Her newsletters were well written, and her neighbors looked forward to reading them. The newsletters were informative—introducing new arrivals to Gordonston and announcing events to be held in the park. Heidi provided most of the information for the newsletter, and Cindy would produce the pamphlets and distribute them to the homes of the area. It was her nephew, Billy, who had encouraged her to set up an email account. He had also introduced her to the workings of the Internet, which Cindy now found to be a tool she could no longer be without. It was the best way to stay in touch, he told her. He intended one day to travel the world, and they would be able to communicate quickly and cheaply, no matter how far apart they were.