Savannah - SCAD

Many, many, many years ago I attended the Savannah College of Art + Design. Recently I went back to visit. It had been 29 years! I can’t believe that much time had slipped by without me going back to the beautiful city of Savannah, but after a move to the West Coast, I just never made it back.

Savannah has grown so much. And the school has been a huge contributor. SCAD began in 1978, so when I started in 1989, it had only been around for about 11 years. Savannah, although filled with beautiful old homes, flowering azaleas and a historic river front was also struggling with a boarded up main street and continuous crime.

When I first went to visit SCAD in the summer of 1989 I absolutely hated it. You haven’t felt heat and humidity until you’ve walked the streets of the south in July. It was sweltering. There weren’t many tourists and there were barely any students. The few that I saw had piercings and pink hair. (So, nothing has really changed.) I wasn’t a super artsy kid and felt outta place with my nike sneakers, pleated shorts and hair scrunchy.

But SCAD accepted me and I had professed my ambition for architecture when I was in 4th grade, so off I went to make dreams come true. It wasn’t until January of 1990 that I felt things fall into place. I changed dorms with a girl I adored, I met some of the kindest and warmest people and found myself enjoying classes. And as the years slipped by, that continued. Warm, kind people surrounded me.

I’ve written in another post that this part of my life had a darker side. My dad died in 1989, so leaving for college was not easy. I had not processed his death and wouldn’t until I had graduated and received therapy. But the years at SCAD were bright. I loved the independence. I loved living in a small city, where I could get a job outside of the school, belong to a gym and meet friends from all overl. I loved being submerged with creatives, people that thought outside the box and wanted to build, draw and paint.

Going back to SCAD brought back all those creative times. All the laughter and fun things my friends and I did. I felt proud to see how SCAD has developed and built up all their programs. Savannah and SCAD are one to me. It felt like going back to a home.

Indiana Jones, me + my dad

In 1981 Raiders of the Lost Ark came to the screen. I was ten. My brother had to have a small surgery and my mom was staying overnight with him in the hospital, so my dad took me to the movies. The theater we went to doesn’t exist anymore, but I remember the shopping mall and taking the escalator downstairs to the cinema. Just me and my dad. I felt special. Born in 1929, my dad grew up on the heroes of pulp fiction that cracked whips and shot off a gun while saving the day. I can’t watch any of the Indiana movies today without thinking fondly of that night with my dad.

Yesterday I went with my husband and kids to see the last of the series, Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny. I loved every second of it and thought it was genius to open with a young Harrison Ford flashback. Filled with Nazis and precious artifacts, wise cracking women and a few of the original cast, I watched transfixed.

At the end of the movie, while the credits rolled, I excused myself to use the restroom. My family stayed, hoping for a post-credit scene. I waited for them at the doors, watching people exit. I whispered to myself, “Did you like it dad? I miss you.” I’d like to think he was in the theater with me, chuckling at the crisp one liners, gasping as yet another chase scene unfolded. I sure hope so.

A funny thing.....

After writing about my dad and going to the movies with him, it reminded me of a funny thing that happened last summer.

My daughter was in a play, The Wizard of Oz, and my husband, son and I had tickets to see it. The theater was full…or almost full, except for the seat next to me. My son and I were chatting and he suddenly blurted out, “Mr. Scholz.” That was my dads name, my maiden name. I don’t even know what my son was talking about…the theater was humming with noise, but the end part of his sentence was definitely, Mr. Scholz. My son was fourteen at the time, not a child that would be chit-chatting away, kicking his heels on the seat, waiting for the show to begin.

It was the weirdest thing. He doesn’t recall even saying it.

The moment I heard my dads name, I had an overwhelming sensation that my dad was in the seat next to me, the one and only empty seat in the ENTIRE theater. He’d come to see his granddaughter perform.