Luckie Street

A back hallway led us to an elevator door tucked behind the restaurant.

Richard and I had weaved through the dining tables of Ted’s Montana Grill, inhaling the mouth-watering smell of sizzling bison burgers as we approached that hallway. We were attending a fundraiser for the Decatur Book Festival. Located at 133 Luckie Street in Atlanta, the event was hosted by Elizabeth Dewberry, an award-winning author and friend of Ted Turner, the cable news mogul. He generously opened his penthouse apartment for the soiree.

Ted had sold CNN to Time-Warner a decade and a half ago. Like an adult child moving out of their parents’ home, he relocated his memorabilia and belongings from his CNN penthouse home to his digs on the eighth floor of the historic Bona Allen building. The site became known as the Turner Building, located on the corner of Luckie and Turner Streets. A buffalo-adorned sign over the front door announced that the restaurant was “Ted’s Montana Grill,” Turner’s foray into the restaurant industry.

The building also housed the Turner Foundation, an environmental organization founded by Ted in 1990 and dedicated to protecting habitat, supporting sustainability, and preserving wildlife diversity. Seven years later, in 1997, Turner pledged $1 billion to the United Nations to support its missions of global health, sustainability, environmental work, and gender equality.

One sensed that Ted Turner meant to leave his mark.

Our invitations were checked at the elevator, then the attendant pushed the button to the restricted floor. He cautioned us that pictures were not permitted except on the outside terrace.

The doors opened to an apartment filled with light. Long, golden rays of an early winter setting sun spilled through tall windows. Savory smells from baking hors d’oeuvres replaced those of the smoky grill. Sounds of laughter, softly muffled voices, and clinking wine glasses greeted us.

Though modest in furnishings and size, the apartment masqueraded as a museum with one theme: Ted Turner.

After taking a few steps towards the apartment, we confronted an oversized reproduction of the 1977 Sports Illustratedcover depicting a youthful, ebullient Ted Turner at the helm of his yacht Courageous. Pictures of Turner holding the 3-foot-tall America’s Cup trophy accompanied framed articles extolling the victory from Time, The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal. A detailed model of the yacht perched on a console alongside media awards.

Nearby hung the framed cover of Time magazine’s January 1992 featuring Ted as the 1991 “Man of the Year.”

Some had dubbed a similar area in his CNN apartment as his “ego wall.”

Richard and I found our friends and after hugs and air kisses, we grabbed some wine and strolled through the apartment.

We assumed we were allowed.

As we discovered another area, my jaw dropped. The 1995 World Series Champion baseball trophy, signifying the Turner-owned Atlanta Braves’ victory, stood proudly on a side table. Flanked by more pictures of an older Ted — curly hair flecked with silver — the gleaming trophy glowed.

“I was at the game when they won that,” Richard said.

I smiled, feeling sweat from my chilled glass moistening my hands. “I was at the theatre watching Miss Saigon,” I replied. “Right after the helicopter landed, an actor interrupted the play and shouted that the Braves won.”

“Everyone in Atlanta remembered where they were that day, I think,” Richard added, taking a sip of Cabernet.

We turned a corner that led to the primary bedroom and en suite bathroom. If memory serves, the rooms were, let’s just say, primed for romance. I caught myself looking over my shoulder at one point, thinking Ted was in the room; his aura was that present in the space.

This area felt private. With a quickened pulse, I grabbed Richard’s hand and we returned to the main room. We slipped through the partially opened glass door and out onto the rooftop terrace.

 A balmy breeze stroked my cheek. In the distance, the gleaming red letters “CNN” winked at us. And perhaps taunted Ted when he was in residence. Just a couple of months earlier, Turner had told Charlie Rose of CBS This Morning that selling CNN was one of his biggest regrets.

My warming Pinot Grigio wet my lips as I took a sip. My mind clouded with images of the mementos we had just seen. I couldn’t help wondering if Ted left behind the thing he perhaps cherished most while surrounding himself with the memorabilia of the things that made him famous. Yet, like an embedded thorn, one glance through the windows of his home must have rendered an immediate, perhaps painful reminder of what he had lost.

I pushed up the sleeves of my jacket and sighed as the sun slipped behind the cityscape, draping its buildings in salmon hue. It was a beautiful and rare view of Atlanta.

Our host gathered the group and snapped a rooftop picture. It was the only memento of visiting the billionaire’s home.

As Richard and I re-entered the elevator to leave, I turned to look one more time at the apartment. It seemed to be the embodiment of what I knew about Ted Turner. Modest in some ways, self-aggrandizing in others. His apartment was adorned with the fruits of his labor and his risk taking.

We strolled back to the car, hand in hand, as streetlights threw glittering beams at the dusk. Long shadows darkened the broken sidewalks.

“Honey,” I said to Richard. “That was an experience.”

Richard smiled. “It was the quintessential bachelor’s pad, wasn’t it?”  he replied.

“For sure,” I said. “But in some ways, it seemed more like a museum and less like a home.”

“What do you mean?” Richard asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “It seemed to me the apartment was a little boy’s treasure box. Someone moving through life collecting things to prove he mattered. Was loved. Surrounded by trophies — both wins and women. And so many pictures documenting his successes.”

“Maybe that’s what we all do,” Richard replied. “Try to wrap ourselves in life’s big moments in hopes we will be remembered. That we meant something to someone.”

It was a warmer-than-usual December evening. As I slid into the front seat, I turned the air on high to cool the heat on my neck. Face close to the vent and hair blowing, I glanced at the side view mirror. Light splashed from the restaurant windows creating a buttery glow. The top of the Turner Building was now shrouded in darkness.

We drove off, carrying only what we remembered.

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For additional stores about visiting a city, check out Pretty Girl or After the Rain

What do you hope you will be remembered for? Tell us in comments below. And thanks for reading!