Thankful for an honest man and an honest Thanksgiving feast on Hilton Head Island
Editor’s note: A version of this column was originally published on Nov. 25, 2014.
Diogenes Singleton makes me thankful for the South Carolina Lowcountry.
He was a stout and proud Gullah man from the era when a complete feast could be gathered from the yard.
Singleton’s home and Amoco station can no longer be found on Hilton Head’s busy main highway, the William Hilton Parkway.
We the people now own the Singleton place in the Chaplin community. Works of public art — metallic horses — stand on land nearby.
Old trees are the only giveaway that the grassy field was once a homeplace. Pecan and sycamore trees whisper the same secret on a number of old Gullah places in a fast-paced town.
Many years ago, Singleton taught agriculture and other subjects at the segregated Robinson Junior High on Beach City Road, and the M.C. Riley School in Bluffton.
Singleton later made a living on the gas station, starting when gas cost 34 cents a gallon. His lighted sign stood out like the Eiffel Tower on a rural island when this Gullah entrepreneur stepped into the fast lane. Singleton added a snack bar specializing in pit-cooked barbecue, and he rented space to a cobbler and a tailor.
Through it all, Singleton never quit living off the land. It was the old Gullah way. Today, we call it “sustainability.” They probably called it “survival.”
Singleton could produce all the Lowcountry delicacies we’d need for a Thanksgiving dinner.
We would have pecans and sweet potatoes. The sweet potato was such a staple that it might not be considered dessert, but it should be. Same with the cane syrup made after cutting and grinding sugar cane about this time of year.
Red rice, corn bread and oyster pie could be found on any Lowcountry Thanksgiving table.
That’s right. Oyster pie. Think about cracker crumbs or bread crumbs held together with melted butter and layered between a spread of plump oysters. Pour oyster liquor and cream over it and heat until it’s brown and bubbly.
Singleton also had peach trees in his yard. Canned peaches would taste mighty fine at Thanksgiving. And fresh lemons, limes and oranges could be brought in from the yard.
And then there would be pork, maybe from a neighborhood hog-killing.
Singleton’s hog story is still one of my favorites on this “posh” island of “fat cats.”
Singleton was once stalked by double-naught spies from the university and charged with feeding slop to the hogs he kept on Marshland Road. He was arrested for feeding day-old bread and doughnuts to hogs that would be sold at market. Seems you can feed hogs whatever you want if they’re for your own table, but not so if you’re taking your little piggy to market.
Singleton got an attorney and eventually won in a pretty funny day in court at the old brick elementary school, now long gone except for its memories.
Attorney Dale Akins well remembers the day Singleton walked into the law office. The name Diogenes triggered a memory from a college philosophy class.
“I said, ‘Diogenes, you must be seeking an honest man,’” Akins recalls. “Diogenes said, ‘No, I’m seeking an honest lawyer.’”
Singleton was born and buried on Hilton Head, just like his parents and grandparents. In his mind, the hog arrest was an absurdity. And it wasn’t the only absurdity he saw around here, which he’d point out in letters to the editor, or to anyone who would listen.
I’m thankful to have known Diogenes Singleton, as well as that long-lost island we both called home.
