Free SAVANNAH GONE by DOUG KEELER Page A

goal.”
    “Congratulations,” I said. “You look great.” Seconds later I added, “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.”
    “Ready to walk?” she asked, arms pumping.
    “Let’s do it,” I replied.
    We headed south through the center of the park. Claire’s Whitaker Street townhouse was up ahead and off to our right. When we were parallel to it, Olivia said, “I represented Claire when she bought her home. I was her realtor before we became friends.”
    “How long ago was that?”
    “Let’s see. We closed on her townhouse in May of 2009. The market was still in the toilet. I’d had my license for about a year and a half by then, and it was touch and go for quite a while.”
    “How did the two of you meet?”
    “I met Claire during a volunteer cleanup day for the Wilmington River. We were side by side, pulling trash and old tires out of the water. We were knee deep in water and mud, trying to dislodge a sunken tire. Claire told me she was a marine biologist, and I told her I was a realtor. We started looking at houses approximately a month later.”
    We passed by the basketball court on our right. A couple of black guys were enjoying a lunchtime pickup game, talking smack and giving each other a hard time. The four public tennis courts on our left were all in use.
    We were now at the south end of the park. There’s a small parking area here. Across the street sat a small commercial strip of buildings. The Sentient Bean coffee shop where I had my first Facebook experience is located here, and the hipsters that frequent it were sitting out front enjoying the day.
    We took a left toward Drayton Street, and I lightbulbed back to something Claire’s mother said about the Savannah River dredging project. I asked, “Did Claire ever talk to you about the port expansion and the river dredging?”
    Olivia nodded. “All the time. She’s dead set against it, which, by the way, isn’t a very popular stance around here. Everyone seems convinced it’s going to bring jobs to Savannah.”
    “Not just Savannah,” I said, “It’s supposed to add jobs to the entire state.”
    “That’s what they say.”
    “Why is Claire so opposed to the dredging?”
    “She’s convinced we’ll pay a heavy ecological price, and doesn’t think the trade-off is worth it. She said something like, ‘We’re rolling the dice and putting the coast at risk.’ It just doesn’t make sense to her. She thinks Charleston is a better choice for the mega-ships.”
    I thought about that for a while, then said, “Is that just Claire showing hometown favoritism?”
    “I don’t think so. Even though Charleston will need to dredge just like us, their port sits right on the coast. Here the ships have to travel almost thirty miles up the river. Claire lives in Georgia. This is her home. She just wants to protect it.”
    South Carolina, which shares the Savannah River with Georgia, spent years trying to scuttle Savannah’s harbor project. They want the Post Panamax ships docking and unloading at the Charleston port. But unlike Savannah, Charleston sat on its hands, putting scant effort into the required eco-impact studies. Being only one hundred miles apart, there’s a deep-seated rivalry between the two cities. In the last five years, Savannah’s port has eclipsed Charleston and it’s now the fourth busiest in the nation. More cargo equals more jobs, at least in theory.
    I asked Olivia, “Do you know if Claire made her opposition known?”
    “That’s putting it mildly. Claire’s not afraid to express her opinion. She’s had run-ins with several prominent people, including John Thigpen.”
    “The congressman?”
    Thigpen is a Savannah resident and a Republican firebrand. His congressional district covers southeast Georgia. A staunch conservative often referred to as the Prince of Pork for his ability to wrangle government funds for earmarks, he’s a climate change denier and thinks evolution is a lie. He’s also an unabashed