1 Ferne Jackson (17th Street)
2 Florence Scheible (Dimon Street/Eberhart Avenue)
3 Jean Dimenstein (21st Street)
4 Martha Thurmond (Marion Street)
5 Kathleen Woodruff (Buena Vista Road)
6 Ruth Schwob (Carter Avenue)
7 Mildred Borom (Forest Avenue)
8 Janet Cofer (Steam Mill Road)
9 Callye Eastâs house â Henry Sandersonâs gun stolen (Eberhart Avenue)
10 Gertrude Miller â survived first attack by strangler (Hood Street)
11 Historic District
12 Big Eddy Club
13 Lynching of Teasy McElhaney 1912
14 Lynching of Simon Adams 1900
15 Carlton Garyâs apartment 1977â79
16 Fort Benning
17 Area of Land family holdings 1900â20
18 G.W. Ashburn murdered 1868
19 Dr Thomas H. Brewer murdered 1956
Way down in Columbus, Georgia
Want to be back in Tennessee
Way down in Columbus Stockade
Friends have turned their backs on me.
Last night as I lay sleeping
I was dreaming you were in my arms
Then I found I was mistaken
I was peeping through the bars.
âColumbus Stockade Bluesâ (traditional)
âWe donât take just anybody as a member,â said Daniel Senne, the Big Eddy Clubâs general manager. âThey have to be known to the community. Itâs not a question of money, but of standing, morality, personality. And they must be people who conduct themselves well in business. Integrity is important.â
We were talking in the hush of the clubâs sumptuous lounge, perched on deep sofas, our feet on a Turkoman rug, surrounded by antiques. With the seasons on the turn from winter to spring, the huge stone fireplace was not in use, but there was no need yet for air-conditioning. From the oak-vaulted dining room next door came the muffled clink of staff laying tables for lunch: silver cutlery, three goblets at every setting, and crisply starched napery. The clubâs broad windows provided a backdrop of uninterrupted calm. Framed by pines that filtered the sunlight, a pair of geese glided across the state line, making barely a ripple. Behind them, across a mile of open water, lay the smoky outline of the Alabama hills.
The minutes of the clubâs founding meeting were framed on the wall, a single typed folio dated 17 May 1920. On that day, ten of the most prominent citizens of Columbus, Georgia, led by the textile baron Gunby Jordan II, had formed a committee âto perfect an organization for building a suitable club at a place to be determined ⦠for having fish fries, âcues and picnicsâ. A postscript added: âArrangements will be made at the club for entertaining ladies and children.â
The Big Eddyâs buildings had expanded since that time, but were still on the spot the founders chose, a promontory at the confluence of the Chattahoochee River and its tributary, Standing Boy Creek. In 1920, before the river was dammed, the turbulence formed where the currents came together was an excellent place to catch catfish. Anyone who ate Chattahoochee catfish now would likely suffer unpleasant consequences, thanks to the effluent swept downstream from Atlanta, but the clubâs location remains idyllic. Escaping the traffic that mars so much of modern Columbus, Iâd driven down a vertiginous hill to the riverside, where I followed a winding lane along the shoreline, past grand homes and jetties. Before passing through the clubâs wrought-iron gates, I pulled off the road to feel the warmth of the sun. The only sounds were birds and a distant chainsaw.
Senne and his wife Elizabeth, dapper and petite, spoke with heavy French accents. They had served their apprenticeship in some of the worldâs more glamorous restaurants: Londonâs Mirabelle and the Pavilion in New York, at a time when its regular patrons included Frank Sinatra, Bette Davis, Salvador Dalì, Cary Grant and the Kennedys.
âIf you had told me twenty years ago that this is the place to be, I would not have believed you,â Elizabeth said. âBut it is. They are nice people, really down-to-earth.â
Membership was strictly limited to 475 families, Elizabeth went on, and applicants must accept that their backgrounds would be carefully investigated by the board. Even in summer, the dress code was strictly observed: a jacket and tie for men, and for women, âno unkempt hair or wrinkled pantsâ.
The rules served their purpose, Daniel said. âItâs a good community. People take care of you.â Just as in the 1920s, the club could count many of Columbusâs most distinguished inhabitants as members: the leaders of business, and local, state and national politicians. Former President Jimmy Carter was an honorary member for life.