10/12/92
The time since Myrtle Beach and even my writing has sped by – it is over a month since I tried to put some words on paper. Since Myrtle Beach we had major surgery on Mary Lou. The big “C. It, thank God, seems to have been caught in time, but she’ll continue to have it monitored. The surgery, recovery and semi-convalescent period used much, if not all, of September, except the last weekend we spent in New York City, a guest of the Carlton House, thanks to a Christmas gift from the McSorley’s. It was a dreary, wet weekend, but we managed a walk up Fifth Avenue to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. We also witnessed the running of the Fifth Avenue Mile (From in front of the Metropolitan Museum of Art to 6lst Street, straight down Fifth Avenue). I also got a run in that took me partially on the route of a Marathon I’d run on March 19, 1972.
It was the original New York Marathon which later (1976) moved to the 5 Borough Marathon, now one of the most well known outside of Boston. The run in 1972 began outside the Tavern On The Green, now a famous restaurant – then just a pleasant bar on the edge of the Park. In 1972 the run was peopled by about 750 to 1000 runners and I broke three hours by one second: 2:59:59. I also had company, Father Jim, Father Pat and, I think, Billy. We had put Dad to rest on March 17, 1972 and Jim and Pat were in Philly for the funeral. I remember Pat’s comment about how pleasant it was to watch the run – it was three loops starting and ending at the Tavern On The Green – so each was about an hour for me. Out would come Jim and Pat and cheer me on and then retire to the Tavern On The Green to await the next “fly by.” So here I was 20 plus years later running along the same route. Better still, the night before (Sat.) June and I feasted on the ambiance and the cuisine of the now famous Tavern on the Green Restaurant, now a large glass house with beautiful chandeliers and other sumptuous decor.
The runs on Myrtle Beach were different from the Avalon runs. Maybe because of the texture of the sand – gravely, or the scenery – rows of motels and then greenery hiding motor homes, campsites, or the sluices of water intermittent along the way carrying rain water from the streets off into the ocean. Some as wide as streams, that you had to tip-toe across on rocks, others took just a small leap.
I think one of the dividends or perks of being able to take a run – or jog – was this, seeing new places at a leisurely pace – places where cars may not go – giving the scene time to be asssimilated. So, along the Atlantic in South Carolina I run, musing over the different sand, the same, but different birds, the lack of shells, more stones, and as I do, I find I left the motels and now I run between the sea and green. I see I have travelled for about 30 minutes and decide to turn back, but feel maybe I’ll go into the green and woods and find the highway north (I had run South).
In I go, and find a community of motor homes and trailers. I came to a circle, or almost a circle. In the center is a pond so the road runs around it on both sides. Around I go and head up a road in the northerly direction following a small sign that says “Cabins.” About a half mile later I see the cabins – three or four of them. Since it is still early a.m. they are just coming to life. I pass them and confront a cyclone fence, but lo! wait! there’s a path heading back towards the sea through the jungle of strange trees and vines – so off I go. As I proceed deeper into the woodland, the path shrinks to merely a foot path and then, just as I think I may be breaking out into the beach – another fence! So much for sightseeing!
It was now a question of finding my way back – and so I did, to the circle, to the beach, to the motel. The next day I went further down the beach and came to another mobile home campsite called “Pirate’s Land,” a very extensive community with streets, named after the states and a large lake in the center of it. This time I did the non-male thing, I asked for directions out to Rt. 17! Once on the right road, Pirate’s Trail, I worked my way back to 17 and home. Sightseeing on foot is still an adventure and I’d do it all over again. Later I learned that “Pirates Grove” was one of the places June and her gang had camped at several years ago.
The week before we left I was discussing a future appointment with a client to be scheduled after I returned. It turned, naturally, to where we were going – “Mrytle Beach.” “Me too!” says the client. “When?” “We leave on the 14th and arrive on the 15th.” “Me too!” says the client. Staying till the 22nd and, as you can guess, so was he. He went with his wife, his wife’s sister and her husband once a year to play golf and relax. He gave me a brochure of all of the 77 golf courses and we agreed I would join him on Tuesday (8/18) at one called Marsh Harbor for a 7 a.m. tee-off. The map showed it to be north of North Myrtle Beach and in a cove out towards the ocean. So, around 6 a.m. on that date I started north through Myrtle Beach and up towards North Myrtle Beach. It appeared on the map that I had that it was about a 20 minute drive through Myrtle Beach and then North Myrtle Beach and then about 10 more to the golf course. At 6:55 a.m. I stopped, lost somewhere in North Myrtle Beach at a gas station. I inquired first of the complex where my client was staying in North Myrtle Beach called “Ocean Creek.” Now this was 57 acre complex running from the main highway, Route 17, to the Ocean comprised of 4 towers each some 30 to 40 stories high. My gas station attendant/store keeper was not any help “Never heard of it!” So I called my client and he told me to get back to 17 and keep going north to Route 97 which went out a peninsula to the course – only a mile on that but still 10 miles up 17. They would leave and preserve our tee time or close to it.
I found Rt. 72 about 3 blocks from the station, and lo! and behold! as I turned north on it, there was “Ocean Creek.” So much for the locals observation talents- it covered a 4 to 5 block area just on Route 17.
Then I watched the odometer to see as I got closer to 10 miles, around 9.8. There was a sign that really hit me in the eye – “Welcome to North Carolina.” I was driving out of the state to play golf.
The course was partially in South Carolina, mostly in North Carolina. The state markers were in place in several places on the course – you could even hit a ball off the tee and later brag “I hit one from one state into another.”
When I met my buddy/client, the first thing I said was “Hey, don’t you think it might have helped to have told me the course was in North Carolina?” Never occurred to them.
The course was under a great deal of water. There had been some 8 to 10 days of heavy rainfall, so it made some playing difficult. In fact, my client, in frustration, quit after wiffing so many and just walked the last three holes with us.
An innovation in Myrtle Beach I had never seen before was something called a “Lazy River.” Many of the hotels, motels, etc. on their neon signs advertised ‘‘A Lazy River’’. It was a channel that snaked in front or around the motel. The water was 3 to 3-1/2 feet deep and the channel was about 3 feet across. You were propelled by air jetted from the bottom of the channel in one direction. The hotel provided large inner tubes. So, in you would go with your body slung across the tube, arms akimbo on either side helping to propel you around the course. They were in constant use. Ours was between two pools right on the ocean side of the motel. It was in use from 10 a.m. to 10 p.m., it even had lights in the water. It was great fun after a hard day of reading, a dip in the ocean, running, napping, etc. to loll up the Lazy River with June and sometimes with some of the little people. Part of the fun was catching the tube ahead or behind and pushing or spinning it – you could not pass. The little people found fun in submerging and popping up in front or behind you to disrupt your ride. So now I know what the words in the song mean by “up the Lazy River with you!.”
Mike Golden and I had a tee off time around 8 a.m. at a course called “Eagle’s Nest” in North Myrtle Beach on Thursday, August 20th. We arrived on time and were paired up with two natives. They were Douglas Flowers and Irvin Whittier – just call me “Whit.” Whit was about my age, Douglas about Mike’s. Both from Aiken, South Carolina – pronounced “Aching.” Whit was prepping for a Pro-Am tournament the next day. He played well most of the time, but I noticed he quickly lost the “Whit” when he chanced to whiff one – by chortling “Dang you- Irvin!” Doug couldn’t remember why “Flowers” was a name in the news – she was allegedly the mistress of candidate Clinton, i.e., Jennifer Flowers. The game was fun. I did better than on Tuesday and even parred a few holes. There was reported to be a real “eagle’s nest” somewhere around the 8th hole, but we didn’t stop to confirm it.
The finale to Myrtle Beach was a dinner and entertainment at a place called “Dixie Stampede,” located between Myrtle Beach and North Myrtle Beach. We had reservations for Friday at 6 p.m. but were advised that the doors opened at 4 and it would be a good idea to be there at that time. We had made reservations for a ticket for Grandmom, Grandpop, Mary Lou, Sean and David on the Sunday before and this was the only open evening so we took their advice and arrived at 4 p.m. and stood in line, while a shower threatened.
The building looks like a stadium. The parking lot would match the Spectrum. The complex, program, entertainment is one of Dolly Parton’s Enterprises. We finally entered and as we headed for the Family Non-Alcoholic Saloon for entertainment prior to the show and dinner, we had to first be stopped to have our pictures taken. No memory was going to be overlooked.
The Saloon was in Western motif and the waitresses were dressed in western attire. The bar ran the entire length of the room which was some 60 to 70 feet with a mirror on the wall the entire way. The stage took up one end of the room and the entertainers entered from the floor of the saloon. There was a piano and microphone. The piano player played honky tonk and then the MC came out and started the vaudeville type acts. The waitresses soon became a chorus and then each had solo acts. In between there was a country couple with old homespun humor. Then one of the waitresses who was singing started to wander down from the stage and work her way through the crowd – singing to the gentlemen or children face to face. She rubbed the head of the gentleman next to our table and turned to us. I had on a white Panama hat with a bright band which I tipped to her. She proceeded to sit down upon my lap. The twins were aghast! It was reported that they asked grandmom if it was o.k.! She stayed a moment, rose – I tipped my hat farewell and she went off singing. The twins got another memory of their Pop-pop. I’m sure both will talk about it in the days to come.
Next was the main event. We were herded to one reserved section which was in the choir loft surrounding this huge horseshoe of a corral. At the upper end, we were sitting on the bottom of the shoe on what was the “north” side. At the top, across the stage, were two entrances, one on each side, out of which rode horsemen on beautiful animals. They were dressed in Confederate or Union uniforms. Between the entrances was a Georgian front porch where gentlemen and ladies dressed in period costumes stood and watched.
The MC led the crowd in stomping and shouting contests to see who was the best. They announced a revival of the Civil War –with the North against the South – in a series of horsemanship contests, plus even some stunts being assisted by audience participation, right down on the dirt of the corral area.
Meanwhile, the food comes, all to be eaten with the hands – 1 /2 of a roasted chicken, rib of beef, soup in a tureen, corn on the cob & roll – and for desert, an apple tart.