‘Stop speeding’: Let Bluffton buzzards run the unappreciative masses out of town

Y’all be quiet.

Babbie Guscio, the Mona Lisa of Bluffton’s artsy Calhoun Street, has something important to say.

“Can I ask a very simple uncomplicated request......stop speeding on Calhoun Street…Bridge Street....all of the little lanes....in old town......this is really getting to be a problem...I wish no ill will.....stop...park your gorgeous hunk of junk...enjoy Bluffton....remember...we are used to mules and wagons....and people who walk and enjoy life at a slow pace...I think that may be the reason you came here...”

Babbie has been watching the pace of Calhoun Street for 40 years from her store, cleverly called The Store.

The pace has raced from dogs sleeping in the street to, I guess, mules and wagons. From the tricycle Easter parade to farmers market. From people stopping in cars to chat, to people driving like Manhattan cabbies.

Babbie posted that plea on her Facebook page. It created more waves than the “Lowcountry” armada ripping through the No Wake Zone down the street on the May River.

“Bridge Street posse unit!” one friend replied. “I will gladly help put out speed bumps/humps! Or fill up a pellet gun and sit on my porch.”

“Seriously,” said another. “How about literally everywhere lately. This little town has way too many people in a damn hurry.”

Here are some of the running themes:

Not long ago Bluffton was famous for nailing anyone going over the infamous 30-mph speed limit. Why not now?

Even if you want to walk, or ride a bike, good luck. You often have to share the road with the frantic drivers.

But the bigger issue seems to be this:

No one loves us for who we are.

And they won’t slow down or get out of their speeding cars and boats long enough to even try to find out who we are, or who we hope we are.

It’s as if we invited a few friends over for an oyster roast and a Black Sabbath concert broke out.

In truth, we invited more than a few friends over, and they invited a few of their friends, and when we said “sand bar,” they heard “mosh pit.”

Here’s how one outsider saw us 40 years ago.

Bluffton was the cover story in an Atlanta Constitution Sunday magazine spread, featuring a photo of young Babbie and her funky store with its slow-world name.

Writer Emma Edmunds looked around Bluffton in 1982 and observed:

“Its most urban feature is a policeman who sits ready to siren down anyone who speeds through town trying to escape the tar-paper shacks, ugly service stations and houses that look mildewed and in need of Lysol.

“Blufftonians — in their snobby way — hope outsiders pass right along and don’t discover the beautiful May River, the true heart of town. ‘It’s our protection,’ they say of the ugly S.C. 46 that tourists travel.”

It’s fair to say that chapter of Lowcountry life has been closed.

But here’s a suggestion.

Remember the man on Hilton Head Island who got tired of people speeding through his quiet neighborhood?

He patrolled Point Comfort Road in a chicken suit, pointing a radar gun at passing cars and holding up a sign that said “Slow The Cluck Down.”

And remember the times Bluffton’s mayor dressed as a buzzard in the Christmas parade?

What if hordes of Bluffton people roamed the streets dressed as buzzards, armed with radar guns, holding up edgy signs, spraying Lysol?

Maybe the jet set would think we’re crazy.

And leave.

David Lauderdale may be reached at LauderdaleColumn@gmail.com.