Hemember Row I It
By Louise Chestnut Squires ifty-five years ago a little girl of nine years
F
gazed for the first time on the Atlantic Ocean. The place was Floral Beach, South Carolina. It is now called Surfside Beach and the little girl was me. My dad, James D. Chestnut, was an employee of George J. Holliday. We lived in the small town of Aynor, SC. Since my dad was a widow- er with three children: two boys, James and Robert, and one girl, Louise (which is me), I suppose Mr. Holliday gave the job as caretaker of Floral Beach to my father because no woman in her right mind would have wanted to live in a wilderness such as Floral Beach was at that time. This beach, before Mr. Holliday bought it, was called Roaches Beach but he renamed it after his wife, Flora Holliday.
In the winter, we moved into the old hotel
located behind the huge sand dune that ran, at that time, from Lakewood Family Camp- ground down to what is now Garden City Beach (over the years the dune has been lev- eled). The hotel (which was called “The Ark”) was built years before and was left standing after the great storm of 1893. In fact, there were places chopped out in the floor of the lobby to let water run out – this was done by
fishermen, who were on the beach and saw the tidal waves coming which swept over the beach. They escaped by running to the hotel – and that was why it was called The Ark – because it was the only building left standing.
A pavilion was built about two blocks from
where the pier stands now. The bath house was on the bottom (ground floor) and up- stairs was a large open air floor with a grand
view all around. An orchestra was hired for the summer months and that is where I saw and learned to do the “Charles- ton.” “Carolina Moon” became a new popular tune.
Sometimes on Sunday my
dad, brothers and I would get in the Model T and ride down to see Dr.Ward Flagg (adjacent to what is now Brookgreen Gardens). Dr. Flagg’s parents were washed out to sea during the storm of 1893. They lived on Magnolia Beach (presently North Litchfield Beach.) The journey to Dr. Flagg’s seemed a lot farther than it does today. Highway 17 was a two rutted
road with trees overlapping overhead most of the way like a tunnel. It was not unusual for a deer to cross the road in front of you, or a fox to dart out.
My dad used to look down toward Garden
City Point and toward Myrtle Beach and down at us kids and say, “I won’t live to see it, but you will. There will be houses from the point to Myrtle Beach someday.” That was hard for me to comprehend, but I’ve lived to see it!
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