Excerpt from Satirical History of North Carolina
NEW “ALL-TOO-TRUE-BLUE” (ALTERNATIVE) STATE HISTORIES
1524 – Giovanni de Verrazzano at Cape Fear
In 1524, before any of us were born, Giovanni de Verrazzano traveled to North Carolina. To Cape Fear, to be more precise.
Actually, it wasn’t named Cape Fear before he arrived. It could have had an Indian name, and nobody cares now what that was. Probably “Me Plantum Corn Here” or “Me Huntum Deer Here” or something like that.
Anyway, Cape Fear got that name because Giovanni opened up a pizza stand there, and the locals had never heard of such a food before, and were afraid of it. Not only that, being British, they had never eaten any food that had any flavor, so were very suspicious of even the savory aroma of this new (to them) food item. Suspicious to the point of fear, even.
Oh, and Giovanni, dandy that he was, used to wear a cape, so it’s patently obvious why the place was named Cape Fear (as opposed to T-shirt Fear, or Smoking Jacket Fear, or something else).
Here’s a paparazzi shot of Giovanni during a photo shoot for GQ Magazine, bedecked in his signature cape:
1539, 40 — Hernando de Soto Scouts Around
Hernando de Soto explored much of North Carolina, looking for gold. Ostensibly. In actuality, his main objective was to find somebody who would invent a motorcar, or horseless carriage, and name it after him. Nobody knew what he was talking about, though, and treated him like he had bats in the belfry.
Here he is thinking about what the car should look like (on the left) and (on the right) what he envisioned:
1560s — Spaniards Make Expeditions and Build Forts
During the 1560s (those halcyon days of yore), a Spaniard named Jose Pardo made forays into North Carolina and built forts there. Much to his dismay, though, these structures were destroyed by the Indians.
Apparently the Indians were lonely, and they wanted the Spaniards to come and reside with them in their villages, rather than isolate themselves in their forts like a bunch of hermits.
Below you will see one of these forts that Pardo built. It got its peculiar name from the boastful attitude that Pardo displayed at the ribbon-cutting ceremony.
1584 to 1587 – Coexistence
Not impressed with the efforts by the Spaniards (although respecting them for their equally bland food), from 1584 to 1587 the British tried their hand at coexisting with the Indians.
In 1584, tobacco magnate Walt Raleigh bankrolled/invested in a colony on Roanoke Island. The Indians still yearned for company, apparently, because they obviously didn’t want these settlers living in their separate enclosures.
When a resupply ship arrived to deliver the goods they craved from their ancestral home across the sea (tea, crumpets, back numbers of the London Times), the colonists were nowhere to be found. Doubtless they had been assimilated by the ultra-hospitable Croatan tribe that lived in the next village over.
In 1587, another group, led by John White (ancestor of Betty) arrived with around 140 new colonists. To make friends with the Indians, they built a casino on the island, and invited them to come spend their wampum there. Here it is:
1587 – Virginia Dare Born
The summer of 1587 marked the first birth of a child in the Ewe-Knighted States to English parents.
Elinor Rigby White Dare did the hard part by giving birth to her daughter, Virginia Dare.
The illustrious baby was given this particular and peculiar name because some goofy people thought that North Carolina was Virginia at the time. Also, because some of the other womenfolk there, afraid of giving birth “in the wilderness, among savages” as they put it, had dared Elinor to get pregnant.
Had their geography been better, the child’s name would have been “North Carolina Dare.” Or, had the baby been conceived without the added impetus of fear-driven challenges, perhaps “North Carolina Pleasant Surprise.”
Oh, and by the way: No, Virginia, there is no Santa Claus.
Here’s a cute panorama quadruple exposure (to bring out the colors better) of Virginia Dare being hand fed some soup by a gang member (the skull cap and goatee are dead giveaways as to his affiliation):
1590 – “Croatoan” Skedaddling
In the summer of 1590, John White (after a vacation in England) arrived back in Roanoke to find that the settlers had all absquatulated (skedaddled).
He discovered the word “CROATOAN” carved into a tree. This wasn’t totally baffling, because he had left instructions to those in charge during his absence about this. Specifically, if the colonists were for any reason to leave the fort, they should carve their destination on a tree. And! They should add a Maltese cross to their carving if the reason for their departure was due to attack.
What was the fate of the “Lost Colony”? Did they move in with some neighborly neighborhood Indians? Were they under attack, but didn’t have time to add the Maltese cross? Did they forget that detail? Or were they perhaps abducted by Martians (or K-Paxites) who wanted to perform experiments on them (such as, How can a people eat such bland food and survive?).
The old tobacco fiend Walt Raleigh finally sent a search party in 1602 to look for the lost colonists. Twelve years later! A little lax, wouldn’t you say?
Here’s White and some of his cronies as they discover the artistic wood-carving:
By the way, a Maltese cross is a drawing of a cross made by somebody who has imbibed so much malt beer that it no longer looks like a cross.
1711 to 1713 – Tusk-a-Roaras Unable to Persevere
In the early part of the 18th century (between 1711 and 1713, for the chronologically picky), hostilities between the British settlers and the Tusk-a-Roara Indians broke out.
These former were named as they were because they wore elephant tusks protruding from their head-dresses and roared like lions when going into battle.
The roaring business worked, as it scared the colonists out of what wits they had, but the tusks, being somewhat heavy, impeded the Indians’ agility. This destabilization caused the Indians to topple over due to top-heaviness. The upshot was that they were defeated by the less encumbered European settlers.
Once they learned their lesson, the Tusk-a-Roaras toned down their head-dresses to be light as a feather (or a few feathers), as you can see in the picture below. The subject is mentally kicking himself over the lost opportunity caused by their belated fashion upgrade, thinking, “If only we had worn this kind of hat when we skirmished with those dadburned British!”
1861 to 1865 – Civil War
When the North Carolinians heard about the ruckus at Fort Sumter in South Carolina, they wondered if the Yankees would ever confuse North Carolina for South Carolina, and mistakenly invade them.
So, they hired a guy with a twirly mustache (whose name was Charlemagne Sidney Albert) to stand on a pedestal as a sentinel. He was to fire a shot in the air if any Yankees hove into sight, as a warning to the others to hide their women, whiskey, and food.
Everybody forgot he was there, though, and so failed to relieve him. Albert faithfully remained there standing, on the lookout for the dreaded Yankees, until he became completely covered in pigeon poop, which eventually turned gray and crusted over, leaving him enmeshed and encased in this execrable bird dung.
When his employers finally remembered to check on him, it was too late. He had succumbed to the emoluments of his surrounding environment. He is now known as “The Petrified Man.”
As you can see by the inscription below, he is considered a hero to his country, as they embossed his initials on the pedestal he so manfully bestrode, come hell or high manure:
1903 – Wrong Brothers at Hello Kitty Hawk
In 1903, the Wrong Brothers, Eitherville and Icarus, coaxed their flying machine to lift off the ground and stay airborne for a little while.
Afraid of failing in front of their friends back home in Dayton, Ohio, they had traveled to the out-of-the-way village of Hello Kitty Hawk in North Carolina.
At Hello Kitty Hawk, the Wrong brothers attached wings to the sides of their bicycles, and peddled as fast as they could. They hung fire.
Then they got a great idea. No light bulb appeared over their head, though, because it hadn’t been invented yet. Maybe a chunk of candle appeared above their heads, though, like the pillars of fire at Pentecost.
Whatever the case, they proceeded with their ingenious idea: They built a ramp out of wood, and gave it another go. Although Icarus didn’t exactly fly, Eitherville did exclaim excitedly at one point, “Hey, you got about three feet of air that time!”
So, did the Wrong brothers fly that day? Well, if flying fish and flying squirrels fly, I guess you could say Icarus flew that day.
The optical illusion below makes it appear that Icarus did get barely off the ground for a bit:
1960 – Woolworth’s in Greensburro
In 1960, some crazy teenagers decided to start a new fad. They went to Woolworth’s in Greensburro and just sat around all day. When asked for their order, they declined to order anything. They just wanted to sit there all day without spending a cent.
As they hoped, this pastime became a nationwide fad. Soon other people around the country starting sitting around Woolworth’s all day without buying anything.
Woolworth’s eventually gave in, accepted this behavior, and changed their name to *$$ (Starbucks).
Here are some of those nutty teens that you can blame the Starbucks phenomena on:
1961 – Freedom Riders
In an act of pure ego and fame-seeking (and probably influenced by the Woolworthians), in 1961, a bunch of people (young punks, mostly) decided to flaunt fashion and protest protocol by mixing oil and vinegar.
There were arrested for violating segregation laws, and were sentenced to work twenty-two days on the green-chain crew at the local lumber mill (without pay).
As a warning to others, the drivers license photos of these crazy kids were displayed on bulletin boards:
1960 to 1968 – Andy Griffith Show
The Andy Griffith Show was set in Mayberry, North Carolina, not far from Raleigh, Mount Airy, and Pilot Mountain (“Mount Pilot” in the show).
It was an utter failure, entertaining nobody, and thus was immediately canceled (after about a decade).
The show featured Andy Griffith as Andy Taylor, Howard Hughes as O.P. Taylor, Madame Bovary as Aunt Bee, and Don Knotts as Barney the Dinosaur (who later retired to his Berry Farm in southern California).
The episodes were based on true events in the actual town of Mayberry. The following lantern slides majestically depict some of these historical occurrences, as they were portrayed on the show:
On the left, Andy samples some moonshine to make sure it’s “up to snuff”; in the middle, Andy tries to interest Barney in animals of more recent vintage and smaller than dinosaurs; on the right, Andy reminds O.P. (who is a senior in high school at the time) to drive safely on his way to school.
In another episode, Barney is forced to arrest many of the leading citizens during Andy’s absence, due to their having jaywalked. You can see Aunt Bee staring pleadingly up at Barney as he refuses to unjail them:
Andy commends Barney for his diligence and strict application of the law, and promises him a promotion.
. . .
Each Saturday and Tuesday an excerpt of one State’s (satirized) history will be posted here, in alphabetical order (from Alabama to Wyoming).
For “the rest of the story,” the (32-page) complete book “The New All-too-True-Blue History of North Carolina” is available here.
The regions of the U.S. have been combined into volumes, too; North Carolina is included in the volume The New All-too-True-Blue History of the American Southeast
You can listen to this excerpt here.
Blackbird Crow Raven is also the author of the book “the Zany Time Travels of Warble McGorkle”