Anybody ever seen the Georgia Guidestones? Ever even heard of the Georgia Guidestones? I hadn’t either, until a couple of weeks ago, and now I’ve seen them! My life will never be… wait a minute, my life is exactly the same…
While on vacation with my wife and two of our four kids (we’re not Mormons, just randy), we spent a few days in Atlanta. The day my daughter, a high school junior, traipsed off with Mom to visit Clemson University (because she wants us to never retire), my son and I rented a car and drove out, at his request, to Elberton, GA to see the Georgia Guidestones, called by some the American Stonehenge. Why they would call it that is not clear, other than the fact that it’s a monument consisting of several upright slabs of granite, but the similarities end there.

Unlike Stonehenge, the Guidestones are not ancient (erected in 1980), and only mildly mysterious. In essence, it’s a monument to New Age bullshit. My son’s interest in seeing them stems from his fascination with symbology, which I’ll get to a bit later (it pertains to the mild mystery). Whatever the reason, I was happy to spend a day with my boy, touring the backroads of rural Georgia, dining with the locals, and enjoying one of the more bizarre roadside attractions the country has to offer.
Elberton, GA, is not a large community, something on the order of about 4,800 people, and its claim to fame is that it is the “Granite Capital of the World.” More granite monuments are produced in Elberton than anywhere in the world, a fact that is proclaimed on nearly every flat (and some not so flat) surface in the city. It’s home to the Elberton Granite Association. There’s a granite museum. The high school football stadium is called the Granite Bowl. They have a Granite Fair, Granite Parade where they crown a Granite Queen (that’s gotta hurt), and a local diner offers deep-fried granite nuggets. Okay, I made up all that stuff after the part about the Granite Bowl, but you get the idea. Elberton is into granite.
Not knowing exactly where to find the Guidestones monument, Tom (my son) suggested we try the Granite Museum. We found that without much trouble, but it was only open from 2-5 p.m., and at this point, it was just past noon, so we decided to kill time by having some lunch. We could have played it safe (?) by going to the local Wendy’s (yes, even Georgia towns of 4,800 have fast food), but instead we decided to sample some local fare at the place right across the street from the museum, appropriately called the Granite City Restaurant. GCR appeared to be an old drive-in, with service windows on the parking lot from which no patron was ordering or receiving food, so we headed inside. It was indeed a former drive-in, as evidenced by the long service counter that separated the dining room from the kitchen, but no one appeared to be using that, either. Nor did there appear to be any menus or table service, although there were maybe a dozen people in the place, and they were all eating lunch. As we stood there scoping the place out, looking like the stupid out-of-towners that we were, an older woman, dining alone, said something to us around a mouthful of food that I couldn’t quite decipher. So now we looked like stupid, hard-of-hearing outsiders. “Pardon me?” So she repeated herself. What she had said was, “They’s a buffet in the back.” Ah, a buffet. So that’s where all the chow was coming from. We graciously thanked her (Californians may be deaf and dumb, but never let it be said we’re impolite) and went into the back portion of the dining room to check out the buffet…
Vegas it was not. The entire buffet was about six feet long, with a small, elderly woman at the end working the cash register. The limited offerings consisted of: fried chicken; a glowingly pink meat which I took to be ham, but didn’t look like any ham I’d ever seen before; mac and cheese; fried okra; corn-on-the-cob; steak fries; your choice of biscuits or cornbread muffins; and three or four trays contaning dishes which were completely unknown to me. Vegetables of some kind… I think. I couldn’t help but imagine a large, Southern fry-cook laboring over these stainless steel serving trays, large droplets of sweat peppering each dish like a Georgia thunderstorm, making it all even soggier and steamier. Before I could turn and run, a woman appeared from nowhere and asked, “What can can get you fellas to drink?” “Uh… Coke, I guess.” Our fate was sealed, so we grabbed plates and dug in. Sticking to the foods I could identify (but not the ham– it was so pink), we filled our plates and sat down to lunch.
It was really pretty good. The fried chicken was about as tasty as fried chicken gets, moist and tender with a nice crispy coating, and the mac & cheese was passable, although I’ve been spoiled over the years by my wife’s version. The biscuit? I wish all biscuits were that good. My son, a more courageous diner than I, also gave passing marks to the okra. Still, I kept wondering if the salt in the food was of the iodized variety, or simple fry-cook perspiration…
The nice woman who served the beverages was even kind enough to give us directions to the Guidestones without vibing us as oddball Northerners. When we left the Granite City Restaurant, we stopped to thank her for her help. She was on a break, sitting out front on an upturned five-gallon bucket, elbows on her knees, smoking a cigarette. For me, that image completed our Southern dining experience perfectly. It was on to the Guidestones…
The Georgia Guidestones can be found atop a small knoll on the east side of GA Hwy 77, nine miles north of Elberton. Why are they there? Aside from the convenience factor– if you’re building a large granite monument, where better than the Granite Capital of the World, eh?– no one really seems to know. Each side of the four large slabs is engraved with a message for mankind, each in a different language. The message, in English, is as follows:
- MAINTAIN HUMANITY UNDER 500,000,000
-
- IN PERPETUAL BALANCE WITH NATURE
- GUIDE REPRODUCTION WISELY —
-
- IMPROVING FITNESS AND DIVERSITY
- UNITE HUMANITY WITH A LIVING
-
- NEW LANGUAGE
- RULE PASSION — FAITH — TRADITION
-
- AND ALL THINGS
-
- WITH TEMPERED REASON
- PROTECT PEOPLE AND NATIONS
-
- WITH FAIR LAWS AND JUST COURTS
- LET ALL NATIONS RULE INTERNALLY
-
- RESOLVING EXTERNAL DISPUTES
-
- IN A WORLD COURT
- AVOID PETTY LAWS AND USELESS
-
- OFFICIALS
- BALANCE PERSONAL RIGHTS WITH
-
- SOCIAL DUTIES.
- PRIZE TRUTH — BEAUTY — LOVE —
-
- SEEKING HARMONY WITH THE
-
- INFINITE
- BE NOT A CANCER ON THE EARTH —
-
- LEAVE ROOM FOR NATURE —
-
- LEAVE ROOM FOR NATURE

See what I mean about it being a monument to New Age bullshit? The sentiment is nice and all, but isn’t it about a thousand years too late? “Maintain humanity under 500,000,000″?! “Avoid petty laws and officials”?! “Guide reproduction wisely”?! Didn’t those horses leave the barn several centuries ago? The whole thing sounds like a bad Joan Baez song (as if there were any other kind).
The message is reproduced on the remaining seven sides in Spanish, Chinese, Russian, Hindi, Hebrew, Arabic and Swahili. God help you if you’re Swedish or Vietnamese, you’re on your own.




No one seems to know exactly who is responsible for its erection, which is why it’s mildly mysterious. My son, as I have noted, has an acute interest in symbology, and he possesses a breadth of knowledge that rivals Da Vinci Code author Dan Brown’s. Want to know something about the Freemasons? Rosicrucians? Illuminati? Opus Dei? Ask my boy! Ever wonder why the pyramid with the all-seeing eye is on the back of our dollar bill and what it means? Tom knows. He’ll also tell you the ancient origins of any number of iconic cultural symbols, and explain how most of them are really nothing more than likenesses of human reproductive organs. Or something like that. He knows this stuff in such excruciating detail that sometimes when he talks about it, my eyes sort of glaze over and I start thinking about this week’s upcoming Dodgers pitching rotation, or inventive ways to make my wife’s cat disappear without arousing her suspicion. The young man knows his stuff. The reason the Guidestones piqued his interest is because their origins are an enigma, and assumed by some to be the work of a secret society. The author of the message is unknown, listed only as “R.C. Christian,” which, as explained on an informational slab set in the lawn nearby, is a pseudyonym…

…or “pseudonyn,” when you’re having your monuments engraved in Georgia… Tom explained that there’s some speculation that the “R.C.” is a reference to the Rosicrucians, a secret order of mystics dating back to the early 1400′s that had a profound influence on the development of Freemasonry. Whatever. Given where they stuck their message to the world, they’re likely to remain a secret.
The infomational slab contains a lot of other fascinating factoids about the monument, like dimensions, total weight, total cubic feet of granite (951!) and other minutiae. There’s also some explanation of how everything was situated in relation to the path of the sun and the stars and other celestial considerations or some such crap. I was at least thankful that the word “Gaia” didn’t appear anywhere.
You might have noticed from my photos that the Georgia Guidestones have been pretty thoroughly vandalized by the locals. While I might not think much of its New Age-ness (people start talking about living in harmony with nature, it makes me want to fire up a chainsaw…), my son and I were both disappointed to find that some disgusting liquid had been thrown on it in several places, and some kids (I hope they were just kids), saw fit to deface it with contrary graffiti.



That’s Tom pointing to a rudimentary sketch of, yes, the sandaled foot of Jesus crushing a pyramid. My favorite (and it’s a little tough to read) was this literary gem:

That’s right, it reads, “OLIVIA WUZ HEAR”
Reprehensible to be sure, but what can one really expect? A secret society building a New Age message to the world in the middle of rural Georgia? Hard to imagine the locals are terribly receptive to the cause. It might have played better in some place out west like Sedona or Santa Cruz. Put it there, and you couldn’t have gotten near the thing without walking across a sea of yoga mats.
So it didn’t change our lives, or set us to pondering how efficiently we could wipe out about 6.25 billion people, but it was interesting nonetheless. As I said, an opportunity to spend an afternoon alone with my only son was a rare and precious thing, and I’ll take that any time I can get it. Next time maybe we’ll cruise down to Sedona and do a little yoga on the red rocks. Eat some bulgar wheat. Hell, they probably have it on the buffet!