were always popular in Charleston, and today that had certainly been the case. As the parades, carriage rides, special plantation events, and boat tours started to wind down, everyone began to anticipate the traditional evening fireworks extravaganza launched over the water toward Fort Sumter. At the bandstand in Battery Park (a.k.a. White Point Gardens, named from the myriad of white oyster shells that used to wash up there), the local favorite band, South of Broad, was just finishing their last song as the sun began to set and its golden evening rays filtered through the leaves of the many towering live oaks that filled the park. The historic old streetlamps were flickering on as the last chorus of the band’s catchy reggae version of an old John Denver tune echoed through the park. A crowd of about three hundred locals and tourists had gathered there to hear the group and then view the fireworks display soon to illuminate the bay beyond.
Ryan Christie, the band’s founder and lead guitarist, was a tall sandy-haired slim young man with captivating green eyes and a mesmerizing personality that made him an ideal front man for the group. His rather avant-garde rendition of the 1969 Peter, Paul, and Mary hit was a fabulous remake of the old song, and tonight served as an apropos reminder of the upcoming departure of both Ryan and his lifelong friend Julian Russell—the band’s somewhat-reserved and definitely more traditional bass player. Julian had always been a sort of “straight man” behind Ryan—not quite as physically striking, with his five-foot, nine-inch slightly pudgy frame, and definitely not as loquacious. Nevertheless, he was quite witty himself, although in a more dry, less showy sort of way. Julian was a good sounding board for Ryan’s rather eccentric ideas, and frequently assumed the role of devil’s advocate, in order to shield his friend from his own impulsive behavior and highly unconventional thinking.
As Ryan finished a very funky guitar solo, he winked over at Julian, as if to say, This is it, buddy…our last gig with South of Broad, so let’s leave them a great memory! Julian instinctively knew what Ryan was thinking as the two harmonized masterfully their version of a goodbye to all their fans:
We’re leaving’ in an old van
Don’t know when we’ll be back again
Oh, yes…we hate to go…
Not quite the original lyrics, but aptly chosen as their swan song to Charleston, for tomorrow the boys would be heading west to Portland, Oregon, regrettably in Ryan’s old VW bus rather than a sleek jet plane, but nonetheless with the mission of settling into their new digs before college started in the fall. Lots of old friends and fans cheered and applauded as the tune faded and they realized that this was probably the last time South of Broad would be playing in their midst. The band looked sharp in their summer attire—off-white slacks with matching floral short-sleeved shirts—as they joined hands and bowed to their audience, acknowledging their gratitude for the popularity they had achieved there in the past year and a half…an amazing feat, actually, for four boys just now graduating from high school.
Not that they hadn’t earned the accolades, mind you. Ryan and Julian were the young Lennon and McCartney of Charleston, both incredibly talented in their own unique ways, with Julian being more the thinker, philosopher, and lyricist, while Ryan was something of a musical genius, effortlessly translating Julian’s ideas into music and playing at least three instruments with incredible finesse for an eighteen-year-old. It was Ryan’s stage presence, however, that was the big draw for the band, as he also possessed that remarkable charisma of a natural leader, and always maintained an incredible connection with audiences wherever they played.
Tonight, he wiped a tear from his eye as he looked out into the crowd and saw his family—parents, Martin and Cathy, plus sister Sara—and the Russells standing next to them, waving their arms and cheering for their sons. Julian’s parents were almost indistinguishable from his own in Ryan’s mind, having been friends with Julian and his family since kindergarten. Living literally a stone’s throw away—the Russell home on Meeting Street and the Christie residence backing up to it on Church Street—the boys always had ample opportunity for overt and secret rendezvous. There was a gate in a wall between the two properties that they scampered through many times a day as children and still used regularly to this day. The timeless elegance of old Charleston was in their blood, and the thought of leaving their singularly unique city was almost overwhelming.
As the two boys stood there with their bandmates, taking in the applause and appreciation from friends and families they had known all their lives, they couldn’t help but mourn their upcoming loss and wonder if they were making the right choice.
Julian was especially skeptical of their decision and reluctant to leave the only home he had ever known. As was often the case, he had let Ryan talk him into “flying the coop” and testing their wings in unknown territory, but right now, he felt like they might have made a big mistake. He loved Charleston—its timeless traditions, venerable history, genteel lifestyle, and overall predictability—all of which would be notably absent in the new surroundings. The band had been fun, too; he truly enjoyed writing songs and performing. Although pretty much always in Ryan’s shadow, he really didn’t mind that, for now at least. It took the pressure off of him and allowed him to be more of the quiet, pensive person that he was. Ryan, on the other hand, was always a bit over the edge, at least in Julian’s estimation, but that was what made it all such a hoot. He enjoyed Ryan’s charisma, spontaneity, and winsome way with the crowd. It actually brought more incidental recognition to him than he ever would have achieved on his own. The limelight sometimes did filter out in his direction, too, like this evening, and that was more than enough.
Sadly, when it came to personal vision and sense of direction, Julian, at least at this point in his life, was at a total loss. He lacked the clear-cut goals and unfaltering tenacity that Ryan always seemed to have. This current lack of purpose and sense of identity made their upcoming departure all the more upsetting to Julian. With no overriding vision to motivate him, apart from Ryan, he probably would have been content just to hang around Charleston and his family until he began to figure out the course of his future. “Too late now, though,” he mumbled reluctantly to himself. Alea iacta est! (the die is cast!)
Obviously, both sets of parents had expected their sons to continue on at the Citadel, or the College of Charleston, but it was pretty clear, at least to Ryan, that it was time to leave the nest—the security and tradition of old Charleston—and get out on their own. The West Coast, with its more liberal thinking and unconventional lifestyles, seemed particularly appealing to him, and far enough away to discourage frequent parental visits. He and Julian had made several trips “out West” since the beginning of their senior year, looking for just the right spot, and had finally decided on Portland as a nice mix of California and Washington. Their applications to Portland State University had been accepted, with Ryan pursuing a degree in biochemistry and Julian still struggling to find his niche, leaning more toward philosophy and psychology. They were both excited, in varying degrees, to be embarking shortly on their new lives apart from parents, but the emotion of leaving Charleston was still overpowering at the moment.
Julian looked over at Ryan and whispered, “I sure hope we’re doin’ the right thing here, Ry…you know, skippin’ out on our home and all. I’m pretty sad to be leaving the band AND all our friends and family, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Ryan whispered back, still smiling out to the crowd as he wiped the last of the tears from his cheek. “There’s nothing like home and family,” he agreed, “but it’s time to move on, don’t you think? We can start another band, but we’ve lived in Charleston all our lives. We’ve gotta see something new, and try livin’ on our own for a while. It’s just time, Jules.”
“I guess,” Julian somewhat hesitantly concurred as the applause finally faded and they set their instruments down. “Uh-oh, here come the parents!”
“Hey, you guys!” shouted Martin Christie. “Great show! I loved that last song—hadn’t heard that since I was
