


References
- Kress Building, 281 King Street | Discovering Our Past: College of Charleston Histories ↩︎
- A Guidebook to South Carolina Historical Markers. Columbia, South Carolina: University of South Carolina Press (2021). ↩︎




This postcard depicts St. Mary’s Catholic Church, designed by G.L. Norrman and completed in 1892.
Published by the American News Company of New York and printed in Germany, the postcard was postmarked in Americus on September 25, 1908.
On the back, B.P. wrote the following note to Mr. C.F. Wade in South Carolina:
“I don’t owe you a card but will send you this to show you some of Americus.
Hello, how do you like this?
Do you ever see Miss Maggie? Am at
home to day – Sumter Co”
Well, that’s definitely some of Americus.









This postcard depicts the Hotel Aragon in Atlanta, designed by Bruce & Morgan and completed in 1892.
Published by the I.F. Company of Atlanta, the card includes the following promotional copy on the back:
HOTEL ARAGON, PEACHTREE AND ELLIS STS.,
ATLANTA, GA.Located in the hart of the city only minutes from
shops, theatres and depots. All modern conveniences.
The card was postmarked in Atlanta on April 15, 1923, and addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Terrel of 652 East 101st Street, Cleveland, Ohio.
R.H.R. Charles wrote on the back:
“Dear Friends,
I expect to leave for Cleveland around about Wed or Thurs. [?] and many [?] having great time and lots to drink. P”
Judging by his handwriting, he had a little too much.








This postcard depicts the Windsor Hotel in Americus, Georgia, designed by G.L. Norrman and completed in 1892.
Published by Holliday’s Book Store in Americus, the card was postmarked in Americus on February 12, 1912, and addressed to Mademoiselle [Myte Schmitz?] of 26 rue de la [something] in [Don’t know] France. Ooh la la.
Barrien wrote on the back:
“La Palace hotel de cetta [?]. C’est ici que j’ai éler domicile.”
Roughly translated and filling in the blank, we get:
“The Palace hotel of this [shithole town]. This is where I have taken up residence.”
Let’s hope he got out of there—Americus isn’t kind to outsiders.

Picture the scene: A warm summer afternoon in Washington Square Park, lounging on a bench with a slice of pizza, probably on my way to watch an indie film.
The air was heavy and lethargic, and the sounds of the city were muffled by the trees, except for the shrieks of nearby children running around the splash pad.
While I was reviewing the day’s pics on my camera, I looked over and spotted this little scavenger helping itself to a snack off the ground.
Glad someone is keeping this place clean, I thought.

The family never spoke of him: He was an objector.
You won’t find him in any records, either—history never remembers those with the greatest impact.
One night, while the others slept, he quietly packed his rifle and bag, grabbed his dog, and disappeared into the darkness.
His parents and siblings reviled and shunned him: they were ashamed, embarrassed, and thought him a coward.
In fact, he had enormous courage—more guts than any of them could ever hope for.
He saw clearly the clan’s madness and rebuked their self-righteous cruelty. They, in turn, made him a pariah for obeying his conscience.
With enormous bravery, he traversed the treacherous terrain alone to higher places, finding safety in the absence of familiar support.
The clan continued their warring, and when death came for each of them, it was with thrashes and terror—every last one gripped with horror as they realized, in their final moments, that they had wasted their lives in violence.
But death came gently for the objector—the cause of his passing is unimportant. He died in peace, his soul at rest, having accomplished his life’s purpose.
The objector’s name has disappeared as quietly as he did—to leave no hint of your existence is the greatest marker of a life well-lived.