Over his first cup of coffee of the day, George Gwinnett admitted to himself that unless he did something, things wouldn’t change here in Savannah. This old city, one of the true painted ladies of the deep South, had seen it all. From the sweating Irishmen cursing the heat and humidity as they loaded the hundreds of thousands of cotton bales shipped to Europe every year, to Sherman who refused to destroy the city, and now the heat and oak midges that were stripping her to the bones.
The politicians of thirty years ago gerrymandering their way to power ensured this future would come sooner rather than later.
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