‘The Griswolds Have Nothing on Us’

Disembark…Where’s Beaufort Pusser when we need him?

Disembarking the ship had its challenges. We couldn’t do it on an empty stomach so we had to hit the Lido deck one last time for breakfast. One had to wean one’s self off of endless grazing gradually. After a healthy and hardy pant’s splitting breakfast, we opted to carry off our luggage. Bad decision, sort of, as it appeared most everyone else had chosen this option. Elevators were a near impossibility to catch. We were assigned the Place Theater as our destination to wait until time to disembark, because we had to be out of our cabins by 8:30. Luckily we caught the elevator going up from deck 6 to 8. Luck ran out when we had to haul our luggage down 6 decks, two flights of stairs each. Clumsy wheeled luggage is suited for stairways filled with impatience luggage carrying people.  Luggage rage was running rampant, a new serial killer in the making. Victims could be easily targeted, no shortage for sure. Somehow we survived. Putting the oceanic adventure behind us, The Griswolds motored to their next destination.

The last two days of our after cruise journey were scheduled for Beaufort, S.C., about a three hour drive from Jacksonville and a stop on our way back to Myrtle Beach. We already had two hotel rooms reserved. None of us had ever stayed in Beaufort so we weren’t exactly sure what to expect. Many movies had been filmed in the area and that was part of their claim to fame. Forrest would say ‘It might be like a ‘box of chocolates.’  Forrest Gump or at least portions of it were supposedly filmed there, as was the Big Chill, The Great Santini, GI Jane, Platoon and Forces of Nature and a few others. We had marked movie locations tour on our to do list. No, Walking Tall was not one of the films but I couldn’t help thinking Sheriff Buford Pusser when the name Beaufort comes up. He was the Sheriff of McNairy County, Tennessee, from 1964 to 1970. That Buford is known for his virtual one-man war on moonshining, prostitution and gambling. It prompted several movies and TV series as he battled the then Dixie Mafia and Stare Line Mob. 

After much of a rain free cruise we were in one monsoon after the next commuting towards Beaufort.  We didn’t have access to Doppler radar and the ability to perform zig-zag maneuvers as had our cruise captain dodging rainstorms, similar to battleships confusing submarines intent on sinking them.  We managed to make it to Beaufort with only one grazing stop.  We didn’t want to suffer withdrawals. We eventually arrived and after unloading the car, freshening up, we ventured out and about to check things out. We ended up in the old downtown section, Mayberry with heat and humidity. Finding a parking spot on the Bay Street, we began feeding coins in the parking meter.  A quarter bought you about six minutes. We started with an hours’ worth, later returning to up the ante when we found a place to dine on the bay front.  Like Nassau, we had completed a several block walk-about and other than the meter feeding and feeding our faces, we did nothing else to boost the quaint little town’s economy.  We rode around afterwards in this and that direction to get the lay of the land.

The next morning we were ready to take our show to the streets and tour some more. Several consignment shops had been targeted; historical ones I’m assuming or maybe these were film locations…NOT. Sister-in-law was not doing well. She made it to several stops before crying uncle and the next stop was Food Lion to purchase meds. They bowed out before noon, opting to settle back in the room. We ventured out and scoped out more of Beaufort, returning in time to see if they were up to some grazing. An addiction is tough to kick. They emerged from their cave long enough to join us before packing it back in a second time. We told them happy hour started at 6. The sister-in-law was still feeling a bit puny, hacking and coughing so neither she nor my brother-in-law joined us for happy hour @ 6 at poolside. Perhaps they thought a bathing suit was required.  It was optional and we had opted out.  I bet if I would have said a buffet was being served…

No one had felt up to doing any tours, neither by van or horse drawn carriage; either too sick or it was just plain too hot and humid. Again, we didn’t do too much to boost the economy on our little pit stop.  Instead of heading back to Myrtle Beach via Charleston, we decided to skirt through Summerville, distance about the same. There we intended to stop for lunch at Perfectly Franks, a dinner we had seen highlighted on Guy Fiei’s Drive-ns, Dinners and Dives.  We arrived @ 1100 Am. The sign on the store said hours begin @ 11:15, an odd time for opening. One couple pushing a stroller was already there waiting. We asked them had they ever eaten there and she said, “Oh my God yes.” We knew then that we wouldn’t be disappointed. Crowds began forming in the next few minutes and they opened up at 11:10. Every Frank on the menu was named after someone or something aka the Frank Sinatra. Aretha Franklin, etc.

I had the Frank Cuda…chili, topped with blue cheese slaw, bacon, crumpled fried onions, and a special mayo, watch out elbows. The Cuda family tradition began in 1910, when Perry’s grandfather, Frank Cuda, Sr., at the age of 15, stowed away on a boat from Italy to America. Later he moved to Pittsburgh, PA. From there, he brought all of his family, eight brothers and sisters and his father, to live with him in America. As the oldest brother, Frank was determined to make his way in his new home by opening a food store and selling hot dogs. With just three stools and a counter, “Cuda’s Hot Dogs” was born. Frank Cuda, Sr. continued to grow his business and soon had four hot dog stores managed exclusively by his family, which included Perry’s father, also named Frank. Today, Perry Cuda is carrying on the tradition and continues to pay tribute to the “Franks”.  Go to http://www.perfectlyfranksonline.com/menus.html#3

We eventually, Lido like belly popping full, made our way back to the grand strand. The in-laws made a swift retreat and headed for Abbeville, a four and half hour driver, having apparently had enough of our company. A vacation is what you make out of it and I like to keep my memorable. Being a little foolish is okay. Enjoying it is priceless. I can’t wait for the next time the Griswold wantebees hit the highway. Maybe next time we’ll too go in search of Wally World.