Fresh Loaf

(photo by Joeff Davis)

Tea aficionada Carmelle Killick has hosted a Victorian-style tea ceremony at her home every spring for a decade. The Alpharetta resident invites friends and neighbors for a formal sit-down steeped in tradition, with international teas, waltzing and hat contests.

“We make tea every night, practice tea etiquette every night, so it becomes second nature. I try to keep that tradition in the family, and try to keep it as formal as possible.”

She’s a tea-totalitarian. “There’s no such thing as coming here and not having tea. If you come here I’m giving you tea.”

“I went to Catholic school in Haiti. You know how Catholics are. You have to sit straight, can’t talk, can’t laugh. I guess all this stuff stayed with me. I’m not a loose person at all. Even in a relaxed situation, I sit straight and am very formal.”

On sweet tea: “Southern tea is excellent. … But I see Southerners like their tea sweet. To me the sugar kills the taste of the tea.”

Killick’s French grandmother introduced her to tea and to her favorite tea, basil lemon honey.

She’s versed in a wide array of tea etiquettes, including English, French, Iranian, Turkish, Japanese and Arabian. “It’s something that, when you get into the practice, the etiquette, the tradition, the china, the settings, you can fall in love with it.”

“We travel a lot. Everywhere we go we bring tea back with us. Some of them we can’t pronounce, but we know if it’s good.”

Killick says she’s addicted to buying teacups and saucers on eBay, adding that some cost more than $500. “Some tea parties are like weddings. You can go broke if you’re not careful.”

On the tea party’s turnout: “You never know how many people will show up. You send out a lot of invitations hoping not everyone will show up.”

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Prince Prinston wants to get a job, get rich and provide for his family. A recent transplant from West Palm Beach, Fla., the 17-year-old plans to become a lightweight boxer and learn to cook. He lives with his brother and sister-in-law in College Park.

“I wanna be a pro [boxer] in five years. I want my hands to be weapons, so I can’t fight a regular man.”

His favorite boxing movies: “Rocky, of course. The first one, second one and third one. My brother told me Cinderella Man was a good one.”

On leaving West Palm Beach: “There was too much violence there. I moved to get away from it. Ghetto stuff.”

“I’m going to Atlanta Job Corps. It’s just like school, but they pay you to go there. I’m gonna be doing culinary arts. I can’t cook, but they’ll teach me.”

On job prospects. “I ain’t consistent, but I’m looking. Wal-Mart, Publix, places for 17-year-olds.”

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(photo by Joeff Davis)

Better known to Facebook and MySpace users as “Alice the Snorg Girl,” the 19-year-old Mariettan has been an Internet sensation since she first agreed three years ago to be a model for a T-shirt company launched by her brother’s friends. Now a sophomore at Auburn, she’s gotten used to being recognized wherever she goes.

Often, Alice gets that “You look familiar” look from fellow students who can’t seem to place her. “Some days, I’ll wear a T-shirt and people will say, “Oh, that’s why I know you.’”

Alice’s claim to fame is her wide-eyed, open-mouthed expressions of dorky joy. “People always ask me why I’m so happy in my photos and it’s because [company co-owner] Bryan is always dancing and making me laugh. I’m very easily entertained.”

“The worst thing about being recognized is when I’m in a bar and the bartender says, ‘Hey, aren’t you the Snorg girl?’ and I realize he knows I’m underage.”

Modeling has made Alice semifamous but not rich, because she gets paid in T-shirts. But she has gotten other offers. “I’ve gotten messages from so and so agency saying they’d like me to model. But then when I Google the company name, nothing comes up. That’s kind of creepy.”

Although she’s not sure what career to pursue, Alice knows she wants to travel around the world. She’s already got plenty of friends out there. “I was looking myself up on the Internet the other day and found out I have a fan club in Australia. That’s pretty cool!”

While she describes herself as outdoorsy and athletic, Alice is also obsessed with all things Harry Potter and plans to reread all the books. “My favorite new T-shirt says, ‘Wizards do it with wands.’”

The Alice you see in her online photos is basically what you get in real life. “I’m really nerdy and weird, and I don’t mind making fun of myself. The reason I probably appeal to some people is they think, ‘She looks goofy; I bet she’s fun.’”

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(photo by Joeff Davis)

Dent Myers is the proprietor of Wildman’s Civil War Surplus and Herb Shop, a store in Kennesaw selling Civil War, KKK and Nazi memorabilia. He is famous for his beard, his friendly demeanor, his love of guns and his racism.

How long have you lived in Kennesaw?
I was here when Kennesaw was still a real town. Used to be a town with a history. Then all these people came. You know, with more people there’s more crime. Kennesaw is like North Atlanta.

Has your store ever been robbed?
Oh, no. Do you see any blood anywhere?

Do you have regular customers?
Some. A lot of people come here from overseas. They know about the store more than people here.

How did you get the idea to open Wildman’s?
I was into metal detecting and I had a few guns. I opened the store with a few hundred dollars.

Are the guns you carry loaded?
I wouldn’t carry them if they weren’t loaded. If you have a saw, you keep the blade sharp, if you’re going to use it.

Have you ever had to use them?
No, it’s just security. People won’t try to mess with you if they think you can protect yourself. Unless they’re on drugs or something. [He goes into an impression of someone on drugs, tugging on his mustache and waving his hands.] Like, “Hey, man …”

I saw the “No dogs, negroes or Mexicans” sign. Is that enforced?
That’s really old. A friend gave it to me. Anyone’s welcome in here, as long as they’re not causing trouble. I mean, you can see the pictures there. [He gestures toward a bulletin board full of photographs of smiling black customers.]

How do you respond when people call you racist?
I like it. It’s my name. My full name is Racist Bigot Honky Redneck.

Do people ever come in to complain or protest? Or just to insult you?
No, not in here. That wouldn’t be a smart thing to do. They just don’t like me.

Do you have children?
No, I know what you gotta do to get them. It’s just me since my dog died a few years back. I’m always either here or home.

I understand you’re friends with [Led Zeppelin guitarist] Jimmy Page.
Well, he spent a weekend with me once. [Indicating a picture taped by the register] That’s him there, with my girlfriend at the time.

I think that’s about all I have for ya.
I wanna just — [Myers pulls out a magazine article about the store titled, “Little Shop of Horrors.”]

What’s this from?
That’s Morris Dees’ paper. You know who Morris Dees is? Southern Poverty Unit? He’s a Jew boy that hates the Klan and skinheads and white people. But see what he called it? But that—that’s good. I couldn’t buy that much publicity. I can’t hide, that’s for sure.

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For six years, Tommy Morgan has worked at Videodrome, an independent video-rental store on North Highland Avenue specializing in titles movies buffs can’t find at chains.

“Not like Blockbuster” is how Morgan describes the store.

“If there’s a movie I think we should have, we get it. The store is like a film archive. I’m almost a librarian.”

“[Business] definitely picks up over the holidays. When it’s nice out, our business drops significantly.”

“If there’s an ice storm, that’s the best [rental] day of the year … if the power isn’t out.”

“Recommending comedies is the hardest thing to do. What you think is funny isn’t always funny to other people.”

A popular misconception, Morgan says, is that working at Videodrome is like Clerks, referring to the 1994 cult hit film.

Store employees do not judge customers by their taste in movies, Morgan says. “I don’t think about it. You give me a tag for a movie, I get the movie. Everybody watches good movies and bad movies.”

He says his friends wrongly assume he’s snobbish about the movies he’ll watch. “People assume I wouldn’t want to watch what they’d consider a dumb movie.”

Morgan’s holiday film tradition: “I watch Planet of the Vampires every Thanksgiving in the store.”

On the movies they watch in the store: “Even if it’s PG, the [most offensive] part of the film always comes on when someone walks in the store.”

Asked how intown gentrification has altered the store’s stock over the years, Morgan says simply, “I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry.”

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(photo by Joeff Davis)

Brad Peeler is a wild-animal removal specialist in Marietta. He captures animals in or near people’s homes and relocates them to parks and refuges.

What is the most interesting call you’ve ever gotten? That’s a tough one. There have been situations where people had squirrels in the house begging for food. There was a standoff between a dog and raccoon in a kitchen. It became very interesting for everyone. It’s a delicate matter. You don’t want anyone to get hurt.

What is the most interesting animal you have encountered? A mother fox and seven pups. She burrowed under a deck, and eight feet under the foundation made a den. It was in Alpharetta, so it was a populated area. There were even neighbors’ dog toys drug under the deck. While catching the cubs before the mom, there was a brief standoff. I was watching how protective she was of them. I literally asked her, “Let’s not do this.” I ended up releasing them all together, healthy, on my granddaddy’s land.

Do you ever have to deal with escaped exotic pets or other non-natives? Occasionally, people’s snakes, i.e. boas and pythons. One time, we had to track down an eight-foot [snake] that made its home in a crawl space. They may not like you dragging them out of that space. No parrots or llamas, personally, but it happens occasionally. Like that crocodile on the Chattahoochee. Not a whole lot of non-natives. Some have made their home here, and are essentially natives now.

What is the most frightening situation you have ever been in? Having to stare down a raccoon in a crawl space where she had her young. In the process of getting traps out, she evacuated her young and came after me. I fended her off. I’ve probably never moved that fast in my life. I was at a disadvantage. She was on all fours and very angry. I was crawling. You know Looney Toons? Raccoons can be like that sometimes, jump up and latch on and start tearing away. It’s not a pleasurable experience.

Have you ever been injured by an animal on the job? No. I’ve managed not to get bitten. We wear thick gloves. The worst case is being stung by a hornet or honeybee. Nice thing is, things like that don’t typically happen … or I’m just lucky.

How did you get interested in this career? I was raised in a small town in Kentucky, so I have always been out and about, in the woods. I went to school for recombinant genetics. I was interested in biology and stuff. I also used to manage restaurants.

How do you feel about the animals that you remove? They’re doing it because we encroached on their land. I don’t begrudge them. We, as a species, spread out and knock down more land. This is an effect of that. Everything lives and adjusts to us. Turnabout’s fair play.

What is your favorite animal? I love raccoons. They’re amazing creatures. Very intelligent. Amazing dexterity; they can open up a trash can, a door. They’re fantastic climbers. And they’re pretty laid-back if you don’t have them cornered in a crawl space. To me, they’re just neat creatures, like a cross between a cat and a dog.

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(photo by Joeff Davis)

A native of South Africa, Peter Swerdlow moved to Atlanta 11 years ago to work as a software consultant. When the dot-com bust left him unemployed, he found a way to make ends meet: make friends meat.

What started as sausage-making in his kitchen is now Griller’s Pride, a full-service kosher butchery in Doraville with customers all over the country.

Thanksgiving is his third-busiest time of year, following Passover and Rosh Hashanah.

Swerdlow says he’s sold about 500 turkeys in the two weeks leading up to Thanksgiving. “That’s a lot of turkeys, believe me.”

Kosher turkeys are slaughtered by slitting their throats, then draining the blood.

Lesions, broken bones or even strange preslaughter behavior is enough to disqualify a bird from kosher status.

Swerdlow gets most of his poultry from Canada. “Canadians far and away have the cleanest and most featherless poultry you can get.”

Swerdlow’s turkeys are kosher when they arrive at his plant, but he also has kosher and USDA inspectors on-site to be sure.

His grandfather was a butcher and his father built slaughterhouses.

Despite his pedigree, Swerdlow says he never expected to get into butchery. “That was the furthest thing from my mind.”

On running a delivery-based business: “Atlanta is so dispersed that wherever we located a store would be out of the way of 70 percent of the market.”

Swerdlow delivers meats by truck throughout metro Atlanta and to several cities in the Southeast. He has mail-order customers as far away as Switzerland.

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• Editor’s note: A special treat for you! This week’s profilee, Pastor D.L. Foster, was kind enough to stop by our office for a podcast interview. CL Online Producer Alejandro Leal recorded the interview and edited it with the author of the profile, Tammy Vinson.

(Photo by Joeff Davis)

Pastor D.L. Foster ministers at Forest Park’s Praise Power Ministries, where he counsels people struggling with their sexuality. He credits Christ with turning him away from homosexuality, “reactivating” his feelings for women and helping him find his wife.

Foster is often labeled as “ex-gay,” but he prefers to use biblical terms such as “transformed” or “healed” to reflect his spiritual change.

Living as a homosexual, he says, was like “chasing a ghost” because he thought a stable, perfect relationship with “Mr. Right” was not going to happen for him.

On the difficult process of turning away from homosexuality: “I would say, ‘I’m not going to go to the club again,’ ‘I’m not going to see Johnny again,’ ‘I’m just not going to feel this way again.’ It would last two or three weeks until, you know, my white knuckles would release themselves and I would go back to it.”

“I had to look to a power that was greater than myself.”

On his wife: “When I met her, the feelings that I had toward her were feelings I’d never felt before and it wasn’t a passing thing.”

Don’t forget to listen to our podcast interview with Pastor D.L. Foster.

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Steve Farris controls one of Buckhead’s abundant tower cranes. Perched 300 feet in the air for 10 to 12 hours at a time, the 30-year-old endures danger and bottling his urine to build Atlanta’s high-rises and elevate Atlanta’s image.

“There’s a lot of stress on me. Everyone within my [crane’s] reach, I hold their life in my hands. The people I work with don’t realize how easy it is for me to kill them.”

Farris takes a DVD player and a GameCube into the cab in case he has free time, which he currently doesn’t. He’s heard of other operators taking refrigerators, microwaves, wives and “not wives” into the crane.

Farris is known on construction sites by his nickname, Shotgun. It was given to him by his now-father-in-law after Farris sired his granddaughter and married his daughter, in that order. Since his father-in-law was also the one who got Farris into the crane-operating business, the handle stuck in Farris’ construction life.

“I don’t mind [the nickname] at all. There are some people on the job site I don’t want to know my real name. It helps me separate work and home.”

There’s no time for bathroom breaks, so Farris urinates into a bottle: “You’re left to your own devices. If you have to poop, good luck.”

His brother-in-law, also a tower-crane operator, says their experience has given them exceptional timing and restraint.

Farris’ crane has a barbed-wire fence around its base to dissuade Atlanta’s infamous crane-sitters. He isn’t sure why people climb cranes. “Maybe because they’re like you. They’re just interested.”

He takes almost no time off. “Right now it’s pretty much straight into the next job. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there are a lot of these [cranes] up in Atlanta right now.”

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(photo by Joeff Davis)

While studying marketing at Howard University in D.C., John Dabney opened a party-supply store that provided clowns for parties. After moving to Atlanta, business was so good, he started clowning himself to keep up with demand.

“There’s a tremendous market for African-American clowns. Overwhelming.”

“I think African-Americans think the [African-American] clown might have a better connection with the children. The weird part is that it does not matter to children at all. Unfortunately, it is an adult issue.”

His clown name is Bobo. “There was a clown who worked with us in D.C. named Bobo. He stopped clowning, so I stole his name.”

“As a clown, you can educate. You can give them safety tips. They really enjoy it, because it’s not from a parent or teacher.”

On kids who are afraid of clowns: “At 1, they are OK. At 2 and 3, they know what’s going on and when one child screams, it’s a domino effect.”

On adults who are afraid of clowns: “It’s a fear they had when they were children. They’ve never dealt with it.”

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(photo by Joeff Davis)

How long have you worked at Batteries Plus?

About two-and-a-half years.

Are you passionate about batteries?

I wouldn’t say passionate, but uh, it takes a lot of knowledge. It takes a long time to learn this stuff. I do like it, because there’s always something new. Every day there’s always new things to learn.

How long did it take before you felt comfortable answering battery-related questions?

A good eight months to a year before I felt comfortable. There’s just so many numbers, names, different types of batteries — thousands upon thousands — and people come in with the oddest things, from old Kodak Land cameras from the ’50s, all the way until now. Like hybrid cars, they take a certain amount of batteries. I think four to eight batteries per car.

Do you ever get tired of batteries?

Of course, I think, but more the customers than the batteries. There’s just too much to learn to get tired of it.

Describe a typical day at the Batteries Plus.

It’s actually pretty easy. Most of the customers are pretty good, especially in this neighborhood.

And I build a lot of things. We build for the Atlanta SWAT Team; we build batteries for their tactical flashlights, tactical weapons. A lot of local big buildings, they have UPS backups, wall-size rack-mount UPS’. There’s a lot to do.

(more…)

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Robert Hiestand has sold roses at the intersection of West Paces Ferry Road and Northside Drive since 1986. His shop consists of an umbrella and a bucket of roses placed between lanes of traffic. He began selling roses on the street for the Sunshine Floral Company in 1977. He works for himself now.

Hiestand’s formula for roadside rose-selling success: “Take a good corner, invest time and the patience to build a corner; a little bit of elbow grease, a little bit of sticking with it.”

He says he sold 72 dozen red roses, 56 dozen colored roses and 13 mixed-flower bouquets last week.

His first job was working at a metal fabrication shop. There his boss gave him advice he still lives by today: “Find a place where you fit, and fit there.”

Hiestand’s first roadside stand was at Northside Drive and Interstate Parkway North.

His stand has never been robbed, but someone has attempted to grab a couple of his flowers.

Hiestand says he loves “cheering people up with the flowers.”

(Photo by Joeff Davis)

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(Photo by Joeff Davis)

When most people imagine firefighters, they rarely imagine women. Sharyl Chatman joined the Atlanta Fire Rescue Department four years ago. She is one of only 40 women in a department employing 1,045 people.

Why did Chatman become a firefighter? “It’s exciting. I like the variety [and] community involvement. It’s a brotherhood and sisterhood.”

“Imagine you’re trapped in a building with someone. You learn their family, their kids. You feel people’s grief.”

“We work 24 hours on and 48 hours off.”

Her first fire call was her most nerve-racking. “My first fire was the worst. There was a woman yelling, ‘My baby. My baby.’”

Before Chatman was a firefighter, she was a teacher. “I was a math instructor in a high school.”

On why there aren’t more women firefighters: “It’s a very physical job. We’ve lived in a patriarchal society. We are moving forward because our ancestors have fought.”

“I’ve been on a couple of calls and people said, ‘There’s a lady!’ It’s girl power, if you will.”