The first thing that came to mind, apart from family, when I learned we were coming to Charleston, is Edgar Allan Poe. I learned about Poe from my brother at a young age and he may be the earliest author I recognized. Over the years I’ve visited his birthplace memorial in Boston, his college dorm room in Charlottesville, his house in Philadelphia, and his grave in Baltimore. I did visit Richmond a quarter century ago, but I had a migraine that day and couldn’t think straight. When I heard “Charleston,” I immediately recalled that Poe had been here. He was stationed at Fort Moultrie on Sullivan’s Island, not far from where we’re staying. As in many cities that Poe called home, he’s become a favorite son of Charleston. I knew we wouldn’t be able to see all the haunts—I don’t think the larger family shares my fascination—but we got a start before the reunion began.
The first stop was the most tenuous. Rumor has long had it that Annabel Lee, of Poe’s last complete poem, is buried in the cemetery of the Unitarian Church. The cemetery is renowned for its flora, which are kept largely untrimmed to match original wishes. It proved an atmospheric place even on a sunny day. Then it was a trip to Fort Moultrie itself, where Poe would’ve wandered as a young man. The thick walls and largely subterranean emplacement would’ve been impressive in the days before modern warfare. In fact, with the large military presence here, war seems an accepted fact of life. We didn’t have time to find the Edgar Allan Poe Library, but we were honored to eat in his presence at Poe’s Tavern. This spot makes it into travel books not because Poe ate here, but because its decor is all Poe-themed.
This journey has been a voyage of discovery. Our first night in Charleston I had probing dreams about my father. They actually began a couple days before our flight. Like Poe, my father had a problem with alcohol. Like Poe, I never really knew him personally. Although Joseph Campbell’s overblown, I believe he’s right that the hero’s journey is the search for the father. Critics sometimes complain that they don’t understand my integration of Poe in my nonfiction books on horror films. My only defense is that something deeply personal is going on. This odyssey began over half a century ago, in my childhood, and coming here, I knew that I had to meet the man and claim my heritage.
