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Poogan's Porch
The story behind our name
From the moment you step into the parlor of Poogan’s Porch, there is a pervasive sense of history: the knotted heart-of-pine floors, the dual staircases, and (of course) the first and second-story porches that reflect the Charleston of days gone by.
Poogan’s Porch was originally a spacious, commodious home, erected in 1891. By 1976, the character of the neighborhood had changed suitably to allow for the conversion of the house into a restaurant. The last residential owners sold their home and moved away.
A little dog stayed behind. As far as he was concerned, the porch at 72 Queen Street was his. He had been a neighborhood fixture for years, graciously accepting table scraps and back scratches from every family on the block. He was no purebred fluffy puppy; he was a good ol’, down-home Southern porch dog.
His name was Poogan.
Poogan became the guardian of the fledgling restaurant. From his perch on the front porch, he presided over the renovation process, and when we opened our doors for business, he greeted our first guests warmly. The restaurant family cherished him. He became an institution.
Poogan died a natural death in 1979. Some guests who dine with us say they can still feel a gentle brush against their legs just as their meals arrive, as if Poogan is still here, making his rounds, ever the gracious host. This building is his monument. We still miss him.
(Paraphrased from The Ghosts of Charleston,
by Edward B. Macy & Julian T. Buxton, III.)
Zoe Saint Amand was born in Charleston in 1879. Her sister, Liz, was Zoe’s one close lifetime companion. After their parents’ death, the girls continued to live together at various homes around the city, including here at Poogan’s Porch. Neither ever married, and by the 1930s, Zoe epitomized the typical spinster – wire-rimmed glasses, puritanical black dresses with high necks, and hair styled in a no-nonsense bun.
She taught grade school, and former students remember her as being as stern and uncompromising, as her appearance would suggest. “She made us cut the erasers off of our pencils to keep us from being tempted to make mistakes,” one recalled. Liz died in 1945, and Zoe lived alone at 72 Queen Street for several years, where she was reported to spend her time staring out the upstairs windows, and forlornly calling out her sister’s name. She died in 1954. 72 Queen Street officially became Poogan’s Porch in 1976.
The St. Amand sisters of 72 Queen Street
Liz (Left) and Zoe (Right)
And that was when Zoe returned.
Sometimes late at night, guests looking out from their rooms at the Mills House Hotel glimpse an old woman in a black dress waving from the second floor window of the restaurant. Believing an elderly patron of Poogan’s has been locked inside, they notify the police. Upon inspection, the police found that whoever was there had vanished – at least from plain sight.
The employees of Poogan’s know from firsthand experience that Zoe is not gone when she cannot be seen. While making early morning repairs alone in the restaurant, a worker was startled by the sound of pots and pans crashing down in the kitchen. Thinking that the roof had fallen in, he ran to inspect the damage, only to find everything in perfect order, the cupboards and shelves still neat and tidy. Shaking his head in disbelief, he returned to his work area and grabbed his cup of coffee. It was empty, and on the rim was a lipstick stain. He decided to finish his work later – in the presence of humanity.
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Perhaps nothing is more terrifying than sharing close quarters with Zoe’s “physical” presence, as a hostess discovered after a busy night, when an old lady in a long black dress walked in and seated herself in an empty dining room. The girl followed and politely offered the somber guest something to drink. The old woman slowly raised her head and smiled grimly, before vanishing from her seat.
You've read our stories. Now read theirs.
Poogan's Porch is proudly featured in these fine publications
