Tale of Two Cities
My trip of memory lane starts at the Ice House on Barrancas. The time is maybe 5:00 am. The strong odors of roasting hops from Spearman Brewery fill the air. We are loading up our cut down Ford and getting ready to go to Gulf Beach. To be exact, Ft. McRae. Lots of ice, lots of beer, more beer, and a little food. As we start our journey a few blocks away we pass on the right hand side an old abandoned ice house that at one time was used to store bananas. Going across the Bayou Chico bridge we see on the left a large, sandy beach. The only thing there are two large propane tanks that sometimes flare the excess gas in the early morning hours. Close by is Busby’s Tavern. Going out Barrancas we pass Grimsley’s Grocery Store as we pass Navy Boulevard. There was also a Creamette’s Store (big ice cream store) on the corner. Heading on we pass the alligator farm at the little bridge on Gulf Beach Hwy. just before the Dead Man’s Curve. Heading on toward the beach we finally cross the bridge leading on the beach. The ambiance is overwhelming. No traffic. Silence fills the air. As we turn to go onto the small paved road towards the colored area (sorry, that was it’s real name in 1960) the road ends. Now we have two choices. We could take the inland trail or the gulf side. Remember, this is a 1953 Ford with the doors removed. No cellphone, no radio, no help. If you’re stuck, you’re stuck. I am at a loss for words to describe the feelings and sensations that were felt back in those days. The blinding white sand that squeaked when you walked, the sea turtles that came onto the beach at night, the phosphorus essence that seemed mystical as you could watch the fish literally glow in the water. Sitting on the beach with a small fire (small as firewood was hard to find on the beach) with your friends listening to the surf pound was close to a religious experience. To see it gone, buried under mounds of cement and asphalt seems almost criminal to me. But I still have my memories. Thank you for allowing me to share a part of them.
via www.pnj.com
my dad wrote this on a local forum, and hopefully he doesn't mind my sharing it. It was a nice read.
