Noodling in Norfolk

One of the serendipities of taking a Greyhound Ameripass is finding a way to end your ramble with a bang rather than a whimper. So when I boarded my bus in Detroit on the second to last day, I was pleased to see that it said “Norfolk” on the destination slot.

Norfolk! I had planned to pitstop in D.C. and see the Helga pictures at the National Gallery, which I had passed by the month before when I went to the opening of the Wyeth at the Corcoran, on the grounds that it is dangerous to your intellectual health to see too much Wyeth in one day.

Norfolk! Almost two decades ago I had pitstopped there when visiting Hampton Institute and the splendid Maritime Museum at Newport News. Then it had seemed tacky and unworthy a visit. But ten years ago, word of the Art Deco and Art Nouveau holdings, as well as the Garbisch American folk art collection had tempted me down.

The Deco was dandy (what would you expect form the man who commissioned the Chrysler Building?) and the folk art as good as the Williamsburg stuff (Mrs. G. was Chrysler’s sister). Besides, the bus arrived in D.C. at 5:30 a.m. and the toilets were chained until 7 a.m., making you question the security of the station in general. So Norfolk it was.

Alas, because the Chrysler is in the throes of building expansion, I didn’t get another ogle at the Deco or the folk art, but a show on the second stage of Impressionism from the Indianapolis Museum was more than consolation. Norfolk’s other attractions were the real bonuses.

Take the MacArthur Memorial. I’ve never been the Big Mac booster (I had relished Truman’s comeuppancing him), at least until Japanese journalists explained their current egalitarianism as a gift from Their Occupier. But there is the gleaming black Chrysler Imperial (license plate USA 1!) with a caption that explains that every time Mac stepped into it, all the red lights between SHQ and his residence were hand-turned to green. Perks.

I didn’t know either that his grandfather made a name for himself as a Civil War general. General’s genes. In short, the Mac Mem is memorable and should be visited. Why Norfolk? His ma was born and bred there.

At the Visitor’s and Convention Center, they told me Phillips Waterside was my best bet for a good seafood feed. Were they right. For 20 bucks I chomped lazily through a huge mound of shrimps, mussels and hard-shell crabs, capping my gluttonous act with an ice-cold slab of watermelon. Port Folio is the name of the weekly alternative paper that tells you what is going on.

There’s a fine view of the waterside, where tourists were taking ferry rides across the water (instead of bumper to bumper through the tunnels, which are an aggravation to be avoided at peak drive time). There’s a free trolley bus that will take you through downtown, hassle-free. It took me to two places I urge you to visit. D’Art Centre is a year-old arts co-op (they’ve patterned after a successful rehab in Alexandria). It’s set up so you can watch and palaver with the artists. Gemutlich. Wander around.

And don’t miss Freemason Lane, full of 19th Century architecture. Nice folks in Norfolk.

Reprinted from Welcomat: After Dark, Hazard-at-Large, September 2, 1987