Chappy’s finds a Middle Tennessee mooring

   Some people like to go where the wind blows them, but for John “Chappy” Chapman, it wasn’t mere whim that brought him to Nashville. The owner of Chappy’s, the splendid and sprawling seafood-friendly restaurant on Church Street, was uprooted from his home by Hurricane Katrina, which leveled both his house and his Mississippi Gulf Coast restaurant in August 2005. But if his domicile and his livelihood were gone with the wind, tomorrow was another day for Chappy and his dream.

   In Katrina’s aftermath, a friend in Nashville opened his door to Chappy and his wife Star and their two children. They stayed two months, while Chappy got his bearings, took stock and decided to carry on with what he knew best. The former shipping broker had owned and operated Chappy’s Seafood Restaurant on the Gulf Coast since 1984, and he found a building here ideal for not only returning to his past glory, but redoubling it. The 18,000-square foot edifice on Church is almost twice the size of the former Chappy’s.

   Chappy’s on Church specializes in Gulf Coast cuisine, which encompasses both Creole- and Cajun-style, and it also serves steaks, veal, duck, quail and chicken. Another specialty is “old-world charm,” as Chappy himself puts it, represented by, among other things, indoor Parisian street lamps, a hundred-year-old stained-glass wall, a hand-carved bar from Belgium, and European works of art everywhere, including the restrooms. His homage to New Orleans is half a dozen alcoves named for Mardi Gras Krewes (the organizations that put on the parades and other festivities for what Chappy calls “the biggest free show on earth.”)

   The ebullient Chappy does much of the cooking (“I have my finger in the pot every day,” he says), and his rule of thumb (or finger) is simply this: “If I don’t like it, we don’t do it. But I like a lot of things.”  Seafood is his favorite, especially crab, followed closely by shrimp and oysters. The fresh fish at Chappy’s comes from all over, principally from the Gulf Coast but also from the East and West coasts.

   Chappy is an easygoing fellow, but he is seriously distressed by many Nashvillians’ penchant for a diet of “chicken fingers, fried cheese and pulled pork.” And he’s out to liberate them.

   “Here, people eat to live,” he says. “Where I come from, we lived to eat. At breakfast, we’d talk about what we were going to have for lunch. At lunch, we’d talk about what we were going to have for dinner. And at dinner, we’d talk about what we had for breakfast and lunch.”  

   Building the business has been a gradual process, but Chappy’s on Church has attracted a loyal following by offering a taste of something different in elegant surroundings. There’s live music Friday and Saturday nights, and a Champagne brunch every Sunday. The restaurant seats 575, and can book parties in one of three private rooms, the Napoleon Room (seats 250), the Fats Domino Room (seats 60), or the Pete Fountain Room (seat 25). Chappy’s also offers catering, both in-house and on-site.         

  

   Restaurateur John Chapman is a descendant of the peripatetic John Chapman who became Johnny Appleseed. At the risk of comparing apples to seafood, you could say that, like his namesake, “Chappy” Chapman left his home to plant a seed elsewhere.

   Chappy’s on Church is at 1721 Church St. in Nashville. The restaurant is open seven days a week; call 615.322.9932 for hours and to make reservations, or visit www.chappy’s.com.

The flood, one year later -- a remembrance

     The relentless rains that turned the Harpeth River into a rampaging torrent, devastating much of the county, also opened floodgates of fellow feeling, generosity, heroism and self-sacrifice on the part of its citizens.

   While the waters ravaged and sometimes swept away whole houses, forced the closing of businesses, upended lives and claimed several, and touched just about every individual in the community in one way or another, the disaster shined a light on the very best in the human spirit.

   “On the Monday after the flood, Kingston Springs was an island,” said Amy Bruce, co-owner with her sister, Katie Conley, of Red Tree Coffee on Main Street. “We were open, and people were wandering in and out, stunned, looking for information and wanting to help out.

   “By Tuesday morning, we said ‘We have to do something.’”

   The sisters sent out an email blast and Facebook message telling everyone to come to Red Tree. “Within two hours we had over 100 people.” 

   Beginning that day, the café began fielding calls for help and sending out crews of volunteers, while dispatching other volunteers on assessment runs around the community.

   Across town, The Ark anchored at Harpeth Middle School, which became a makeshift shelter from the storm. A nonprofit that provides physical and spiritual support to South Cheatham County citizens, The Ark lived up to its name, helping people stay afloat with food, supplies and information, and identifying those in need of ongoing assistance.

   “We needed to be there,” said The Ark’s director, Missy Bolt. “People were taking refuge there, or coming in and asking what they could do.”
   The school’s teachers pitched in, and every day more volunteers showed up.

   “We had volunteers work until they couldn’t walk,” said HMS teacher/coach Jimmy Mitchell. “It’s made me proud to be part of this community.”
   “I’ve never seen anything like the effort,” said Adair Schippers, an Ark volunteer who spent most days helping take victims in and connecting them with resources. “The generosity was incredible. I’ll be on a high until I die.”

   The Ark worked closely with Red Tree, which commandeered the volunteer part of the operation.

   “Our gift is to take charge,” Amy Bruce said. “And we were raised to help people—to do the right thing.

   “This community has a big, deep heart, and a deep faith. It’s an active faith—we put our hands and our feet to work.”

   Bruce noted that there were people of all ages among the tireless volunteers, and that some didn’t miss a day.        

Kingston Springs was rebuilt,
one brick at a time

   Elsewhere, on every street, in every pocket of the community there were innumerable acts of kindness, small and large, reflecting the fervor to be of use. Neighbors helped neighbors—and strangers—dig out, clean up, begin to dry out, salvage what could be salvaged, and, above all, cope with the physical and emotional toll wrought by the flood.     

   The disaster may have done its utmost to put us under, but in the end it brought forth the qualities that lift us up.