Hominy and Whiffenpoofs

Musings on a Charleston youth, by way of a Colbert or two

Every time I step onto the fossil-dotted checkerboard floor of Charleston Library Society’s grand Beaux Arts building on lower King Street, my childhood rushes back.

Today, fresh off a renovation, the private lending library gleams. Then, it was serene and dusty, steeped in the scent of old tomes and time-tested knowledge. My family had a membership, so as a kid I would wander up to the mezzanine, curl up in a chair at the back window between two rows of shelves and get to reading, finally free from the constant cacophony of my four rowdy siblings at home.

Likely among those books was A Wrinkle in Time. It was written by Madeleine L’Engle, a fellow alumna of Ashley Hall, the single-sex Charleston school I attended from sixth through senior year. L’Engle’s celebrated science fantasy novel involved a clever young girl who slipped into another mind-blowing dimension through a wrinkle in time.

Image: From left, Author Evie McGee Colbert, Buxton Books Co-founder Polly Buxton and Ashley Hall Head of School Anne Thornhill Weston at Charleston Library Society/Provided

On Monday night, I slipped into my own wrinkle in time. I went to the Charleston Library Society to see another alumna, my childhood theater pal Evie McGee Colbert, who was there to talk about her own book, Does This Taste Funny? Already a New York Times bestseller, it is a cookbook of much-loved Lowcountry family recipes, or receipts as Evie emphatically calls them. It is a word that she proudly holds over from her Charleston youth, learned from her mother Patti, a consummate host. Evie is also partial to the term hominy, eschewing the more ubiquitous grits.

Image: Copies of Does This Taste Funny? Recipes Our Family Loves by Stephen Colbert & Evie McGee Colbert at Charleston Library Society/Provided

She cooked up the book at home with her husband, Stephen Colbert, who was also raised in Charleston. The idea for it came about when during the pandemic they landed at their home on Sullivan’s Island, filming The Late Show with Stephen Colbert there, with family, including the kids, enlisted as crew.

At the Library Society, Evie was in conversation with another alumna, Polly Buxton, who is co-founder of Buxton Books with her husband Julian. Perhaps because of this shared history, the two talked with polished, personable ease — about cooking, about reading, about the changing Lowcountry and about Ashley Hall, which has remained a touchstone in all of our lives.

Evie recalled how in those days, we would perform all the parts in the works of Shakespeare, regardless of gender. We did so also in the annual Christmas play, which is based on the Medieval Chester Cycle. In class, we would raise our hands high, without worry of mansplaining or embarrassment, shoring our confidence before our ultimate foray into a man’s world.

And each year, we’d welcome the Whiffenpoofs, a charming male cadre of suited-up, a cappella singers on tour from Yale. Established in 1909, the same year as Ashley Hall, the renowned ensemble is the oldest group of its kind in the country. During high school, some parents of classmates would host the undergrads for the night, their Yalie presence in the homes causing quite a stir at school.

Image: The Whiffenpoofs give a surprise performance at an Ashley Hall evening with Evie McGee Colbert/Charleston Library Society

Then, poof, last night, the Whiffenpoofs materialized. When Evie’s lovely, buoyant talk wrapped up, she gathered the current ensemble in front of the dais. It turns out her son John is among them. With a beaming smile, he introduced the group, which now includes women. (Both Ashley Hall and the Whiffenpoofs are different institutions than those of our youth.) They performed a glorious rendition of “Operator,” their clear, beguiling voices washing over the delighted crowd.

For those who missed it, here’s the good news. The Whiffenpoofs are in Charleston for a concert at Circular Congregational Church this Thursday.

As for me, I’m grateful for the whiff of my storied childhood that they conjured in one gorgeously delivered song. For a slender moment, I was tucked between timeworn bookshelves in the sleepy Charleston of yesteryear, one that once assured me I was in a safe and sensical world.

I was tucked back in time, too, when those books along the creaking shelves also revealed to me how distinct voices can come together in such transcendent harmony, a notion that resonated as much as the students’ blithe singing.

So do yourself a solid and venture to the Whiffenpoofs at Circular Congregational Church on Thursday. At the risk of mixing metaphors, perhaps through collective memories of a gentler world view it might offer, we will somehow find that recipe again—pardon me—I meant receipt.