 ~ 31 ~
'Mong the Lordly Oaks
UNDER THE BOARDWALK 1964 April 2, 2010 The Summer of 1964 was the time before I entered into High School. I was about to attend Glynn Academy, and life was going to be different from that day forward. I had no idea what was waiting for me, and all the people that I was about to meet. All I knew was that I was now 15 years old and could not wait until I turned 16, and got my drivers license. The summer of 1964 was the time that many lives were changed, and we really didn't understand why. Not only were we changing from kids into teenagers that had roaring things that were going crazy inside of us, but we also were fighting pimples, blackheads, hairstyles, and music. Something happened in 1964 that changed my life forever. I heard a song that I fell in love with, and that song gave me the desire to become a beach boy forever. I had loved the music of the Beach Boys, and loved the songs of surfing and fast cars. However, during the summer of 1964 I heard the Drifters sing "Under The Boardwalk". Oh when the sun beats down--
and burns the tar up on the roof-----
And your shoes get so hot --
you wish your tired feet were fire proof----
Under the boardwalk---down by the sea---yeah
On a blanket with my baby is where I'll be-- I loved that song and could not get enough of it. I sang it all the time, and there was something about the sound of the Drifters that just made me want to walk along the boardwalk, down by the sea, yeah, On a blanket with my baby is where I'll be. Maybe it was that last line that made it so powerful to me. I sure would have loved to be under that boardwalk, on a blanket with my baby. Well, if I had a baby I would have loved to be under that boardwalk. I didn't have a baby in the summer of 1964, but if I had one, that would have been my desire. I loved going to the beach, but since I was only 15, I couldn't just head over there any time I wanted to. I would ask Mom to take me to the beach on Saturdays so I could walk the sandy shores and oil down my Coppertone body. I had a womp board made out of plywood, painted red with two feet on the front. I had painted "Hang Ten" on the front of the board. My friend Arthur Cook and myself would go to the beach when Mom or Dad would take us, and we would womp for miles and miles down the beach. However, there were other times when I "HAD" to go to the beach with "the family". Yes, On Sundays, Mom and Dad would go to Jekyll, and we kids had to make the trip with them. It wasn't the same as being over there by yourself, but at least I would get to hang out at the beach. When Dad said to get ready and load up, he meant everyone was going on the trip. It was a trip for us when we went to the beach. We loaded the big beach umbrella that Dad was in charge of erecting. It had a long extension pole that snapped on to the main section. With the ocean breezes, you had to sink that long extension way down into the beach sand. That is why I had to go with the family, even though I was a teenager and didn't really want to hang out with the family. We would load up the Stationwagon, beach umbrella, extension pole, fold up WW2 shovel that came from the Famous Store and reminded Dad of those "good old days" in North Africa, cooler that was full of sandwiches, snacks, beer for Mom, Ginger Ale for Dad, and lots of ice. We would go by Glynn Ice and Coal to get a cooler full of that shaved ice, and would pack everything in it. Dad didn't drink Ginger Ale, but it was used to poor over the other stuff that was in the glass and some of that ice. Oh, I almost forget the most important thing that always had to be packed, the jigger. If you don't know what a jigger is, you didn't grow up around my house. We would arrive on Jekyll, usually about an hour after we started packing the Stationwagon. Dad was not particular about how things were packed, just that we had ice, Ginger Ale, the jigger, the big blanket that went down for he and Mom to sit on, and that big beach umbrella. The main thing I made sure was packed was that fold up, World War 2 shovel that was bought from the Famous Store, and reminded Dad of those good old days in North Africa with his B-17 crew. The shovel was my only hope of getting that umbrella pole down into the that hard sand. I tried to dig a hole with my hands one day, and couldn't write for a week. It was hard to explain to my teachers that my hand was swollen because my Dad made me dig a hole with my hands, to teach me a lesson about forgetting the shovel. Parents go to jail for stuff that my Dad did. He was what we would call today "old school". Putting the umbrella on the beach was easy with that fold up World War 2 shovel. I would dig a hole about three feet deep, put that pole down, cover it with that wet hard sand, and pack it down with the handle of that fold up World War 2 shovel. When the breezes would blow, that umbrella was anchored down, and was not going anywhere. Dad would sit under his umbrella, pour him a sipping drink, stir it with his finger, and then suck that finger with a "ah yeah" finish. Life was good at the beach for Pop and Mom. We kids were on our own, and I didn't want to hang around my sister and her friends. Yes, the Stationwagon also held me, my sister, and she always took a friend with her. Girls always do things in pairs for some reason, and I'm not going into that "pair" business. I was more interested in walking along the waters edge, wearing my cool blue with white stripe bathing suit. We "surfers" didn't refer to it as a bathing suit, but they were "baggies". Yes, I headed out along the waters edge, bronzed body, baggies, and a bushy blond hair do. That's from a Beach Boy song, so if you don't recognize the term "bushy blond hair do", you didn't listen to the Beach Boys back then. My journey was much like a shark that was feeding close to the shore line, just on the other side of that waters edge. We both were on the prowl for food. I was looking for another teenager, but of the opposite sex. I tried to act cool, sunglasses were dark, body was dark, thoughts were even darker. Yes, I enjoyed walking the waters edge, looking for that girl that I could talk to. As I walked the waters edge, I had a time to get back because it was the time that Dad would break open the cooler and distribute the sandwiches, snacks, and drinks. Walking along the beach, works up an appetite for a 16 year old boy, and I don't mean the appetite that I had when I started walking down the beach. I got hungry also, and made sure that I was back at feeding time. There was something about Mom's sandwiches that were so good while sitting on the beach at lunch time. I had a 10 once bottled coke, sandwich, potato chips, pickles, boiled eggs that were pickled in Dad's special solution, and boiled shrimp that were also picked in that same solution. It was worth coming back for at feeding time. After eating, I sat there too full to move. I reached in my back pocket of the baggies and brought out the Coppertone Oil. Filling my hand with the magic oil, I made sure that I covered my body with that sweet smelling stuff. I love the smell of Coppertone Oil. Even in the winter, I like to take out a bottle of Coppertone Dark, and just take a whiff of the oil. It takes my mind back to those days of being a teenager on the prowl along the water's edge. As I sat there all oiled up for the afternoon, Dad would reach for a cigarette. Mom and Dad always smoked right after their meal on the beach, so it was time for a smoke. They had one of the greatest inventions, and Dad had a special one. It was a Zippo lighter, and that thing would light up on the windy beach without fail. Dad's Zippo was special to him because I gave it to him for his birthday. I had his name engraved on it, along with his World War 2, B-17 Squadron. He liked that lighter, and showed it to everyone that was near when he lit up another cigarette. The Zippo lighter was an amazing thing. As long as you kept flint in the striker, and lighter fluid in the case, that thing would fire up every time. Back in 1964, you always kept a can of lighter fluid around for that Zippo. Most Zippos simply pulled apart, then the cotton filler was filled with fluid, and the case was put back together. The flint piece was pushed against the striker by a small spring, and the simply invention lit millions of cigarettes all over the world. I wish I had Dad's old Zippo, but somewhere along the way, that old Zippo was thrown away and replaced by one of those little plastic things that you just chunk in the trash can when you're through with it. The lighter was a special thing to those who smoked, and a Zippo was something that smokers learned how to handle. Smokers learned how to thump the lighter and make it open, then snap their fingers at the striker wheel, and the snap would turn the striker wheel and the flame would jump to attention. People could make those lighters do all kind of tricks, and closing one was also something that you learned how to do. You just didn't close it like one closes a case, but you flipped the case with a snap of the wrist, and the Zippo was closed. Yes, smoking was an art when you had a Zippo. I never smoked but always liked the smell of lighter fluid and the burning of the Zippo. Dad always used his Zippo, and I guess if anything would have given me the desire to smoke, it would have been the Zippo that I would have been able to carry around in my pocket. However I didn't ever smoke, so having a Zippo just didn't seem of any use. Along with all the things that we packed in that Stationwagon, I somehow got my womp board in there also. You could get about 15 people inside that Stationwagon, and probably still have room for the coolers and luggage. It also had a rack on top for things that you didn't have room for. I tried to convince Mom that if I had a surfboard it could fit on top of the rack. Dad would just look at me and say "where are you going to surf?" We always went to the beach in front of the Aquarama, and even at high tide in a hurricane, the waves just never got too big. Most of the time the curls were only a foot high, so Dad saw no use in me having a surfboard. "You have that stupid thing you ride on up and down the beach", he would say, referring to my home made womp board. I thought Arthur and I did a great job building those boards. They worked great, and boy did we ride the surf line. Dad also would mention the skateboard that I had bought. He would remind me that I had a perfectly good skateboard that was made out of an old roller skate, but that would not satisfy me, so I spent "good money" on a store bought Hobie Skateboard. "And where is that skateboard now?" he would ask, referring to the fact that I didn't use the skateboard anymore. Dad just saw a surfboard as another thing I would throw money away on, and it was a big thing to throw money away on. I never got the surfboard, but boy did I ever want one of them. Hobie was the big name back in the 60's named after a surfer from California I think. Something else happened during that time that also changed us into beach boys and surfers. Bruce Brown came out with a movie called "The Endless Summer". It was a movie that was far from the Hollywood type, but filled with footage of two guys that carried their long boards all around the world, following the "Endless Summer". What a life, and Dad would not let me live it. They had nine foot, six inch surfboards, made of fiberglass and a single fin on the back. Kids today would not know what to do with such a board, but that was the short boards for surfers of the 60's. I wanted to become a lifeguard also, but being only 15 I could not get to Jekyll for work. Dad promised that next summer, when I was 16 years of age, I could get a job working for the Jekyll Island Authority. Dad was in good with the director, so he had already talked to him about me getting a job. When I was 16 all those things would come about, but that was next year, and it was still 1964. The summer of 1964 was the last summer of my youth. I was about to enter Glynn Academy, fall in love on the first day with a senior, and yes you know who she is. I left the beach behind that day, shook the sand off my Coppertone body, and entered High School. As I walked upon the campus, all I could think about was the Summer of 1965 and being the Lifeguard I always wanted to be. It was 9 months away, yet I prayed that it would come quickly. The Fall would come and the leaves would turn their beautiful colors. The leaves would gently fall to the ground, in the cooling air that would blow from the ocean. As the leaves covered the ground, the coolness of the air would turn to winter and January would mean I was 16. It also meant that the year was now 1965, and summer was only 5 months away. The winter would turn to Spring and the Spring would turn to Summer. If only it would go that fast, yet it was still the first day of school, 1964. The Summer of '64 brought the Drifters into my life, and they sang the song that made me a beach boy. "Under the boardwalk---down by the sea-----yeah,
on a blanket with my baby---is where I'll be". Gosh, I could at least dream. Well, the truth is, no one looked at an over weight, acne faced boy who was only 15. However, every over weight, acne faced boy has a dream, and the Drifters sang about it in the Summer of 1964. Larry Lane, GA 67 ~ 32 ~
'Mong the Lordly Oaks
I'D LIKE TO DEDICATE THIS SONG May 24, 2010 There was a time long ago when young boys dreamed of young girls, and young girls dreamed of young boys. Those dreams usually never came true but we dreamed anyway. It was a time when boys and girls at the age of 16 didn't expect a car on that birthday, but usually enjoyed a birthday party with family and friends, and maybe a special party with dancing and records. This age had machines called record players, and we owned round disk called records. Record players were unique machines that had centers in which you could pop up a round cylinder and play the 45 rpm record. By pushing the round cylinder down and out of the way, you could play the album which was the 33 and 1/3 rpm. Albums held many songs on each side, which allowed us to listen to a lot of music without changing records. However, albums held a number of songs that might not have become very popular, but we would buy the album because it had that one special song that we couldn't live without. There were also record players in restaurants and other hang outs where young people liked to assemble. Some places had juke boxes and you could play your favorite songs for a quarter. You would find that record listed on the big board along with its special location. You would punch in B-9 and your record would then be found by some magical contraption which turned and grabbed your selection and placed it on the turn table. Someone figured it all out, but all you had to know was "In the Misty Moonlight" by Jerry Wallace was B-9. Just about everyone had a record player when we were growing up in the 60's. Some were just small record players that could be closed up like a small suitcase and hauled from room to room. My record player came from W.T. Grants, and had one small speaker in the front. No stereo for this boy, although I would have loved to hear some of my music in stereo. No, the little record player sounded great just the way it was. You would just open the top, plug it in, and put the record on. The music was something special when you were playing your own records. Albums or singles, it sounded just great when you could play the music that you loved. Some of my friends had those big nice record players. I remember going to a party during the 60's, and this girl's Mom and Dad had the greatest record player I had ever seen. We didn't have anything like that at home, even though my Dad worked at a Radio Station. This record player was huge, with speakers on both sides and all kind of knobs to adjust things that I didn't understand. I could not believe the sound that come out of that record player. I grew up with a small transistor radio, and a single, fold-up record player. I never heard music that was played with two big speakers, and all those adjustments. I stood in front of that big cabinet and gazed at all that electronic creation. The music came out and surrounded me. The base shook my body from the inside, and I was never the same. I wanted one of those big stereos, but that would be out of the question once I found out the cost of such an item. Each Saturday night I would lay on the bed and reach for my transistor radio. The dial was small and had numbers from 6 to 17. That dial was an A.M. dial which would search for any Radio Station that transmitted on a frequency between 600 kilocycles to 1600 kilocycles. So I would grab my transistor radio and turn to either New Orleans or Chicago, and just lay on the bed and listen to music from hundreds and hundreds of miles away. That little transistor radio sure didn't sound like that big stereo, but it played the music I liked all night long. The batteries would last for a good while, so I could hang it over my head and go to sleep listening to The Diamonds sing "Little Darlin". I remember listening to my radio on Saturday nights when the LSU Tigers would be playing football in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Back then they had a defense that was known as the "Chinese Bandits". I use to love listening to radio stations from all over the United States. The Motown records were hitting the waves in the late 50's and early 60's, and I listened to all those stations. Friday and Saturday nights were something special to just lie there with the windows open, looking out into the darkness as the records would play from a thousand miles away. I use to wonder who was listening to that song up in Detroit or Chicago. There I was in my bed, eleven o'clock at night in Brunswick, Georgia, listening to WWL. The most fun I use to have was when there were call in request at the local radio stations. I remember Duane Riner at WGIG, who was the disk jockey on the program "Record Room". You could call in and make a request for that special song. "I'd like you to play "Hat's Off To Larry" for Larry, Arthur, Georgie and Ronnie. Then the waiting started as we listened to song after song. Then it would happen. "Here's Hat's Off To Larry, for Larry, Arthur, Georgie and Ronnie". Smiles would come to our faces as we guys would here our names broadcast out over the air. There would be a song for "All the cool cats in the 57 Chevy at Twin Oaks". Another for "the bad boys who are down at the pier" and "Betty and Sue at the Dairy Queen". Gosh, there were many request in those days, and the music kept rolling all night long. When midnight would hit, the radio stations would sign off around here. The National Anthem would play, then total silence. The radio station was off the air until the next morning. However there was a thing called "skip" back in those days, and it was the radio signals of far away cities skipping off the atmosphere. I never understood all that stuff, but it meant that at night you could hear stations that normally would not reach Brunswick. It seemed as if I was right there in that city, as the cars drove down those brightly lit streets, radios playing and everyone listening to The Tames, Little Richard, Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, Jan and Dean, and of course, The Beach Boys. Call in shows were in every city, and whatever station in whatever city that I picked up late at night, you could hear some guy or gal ask for "My Little Runaway" by Del Shannon, "Like a Rolling Stone" by Bob Dylan, or "A Beautiful Morning" sung by The Rascals. Those Disk Jockeys would get the caller to tell who you were by saying, "who's calling?" "This is Diane." "What you want to hear, Diane?" "Would you play I Will Follow Him by Peggy March?" "Sure darling, who you want to dedicate it to?" "To Bobby, my boyfriend." "Okay Diane, here's I Will Follow Him". Immediately the record would begin and we'd sit there and try to figure how in the world could they find that record so fast? I guess some of the best fun we had as kids was listening to the Big Ape on 690 A.M. They had a Disk Jockey that called himself the "Grease Man", and old greasy would say stuff that you never dreamed you'd hear on the radio. He was years ahead of his time, but he made WAPE. I guess everyone of us kids listened to Uncle Greasy every morning before school if we had a radio or a car, and certainly in the afternoons and evenings. The bad thing about WAPE was that the requirements of the FCC made WAPE cut their power at night, so the signal became hard to pick up after dark. That's when we turned to Johnny Reb Radio on WMOG or the Record Room on WGIG. That was our rock and roll, and we found it somewhere on the A.M. dial. The Eight Tracks were good, but they never took the place of the D.J. and the spinning record. It was a Friday night on St. Simons Island when my world came crashing down. I had a 8-track tape player installed in my 1965 Blue Mustang, right under the dash on the passenger's side. I didn't think about that machine getting in the way of someone sitting over there. I had three on the floor shift, little six cylinder with white interior. I had picked up my date and we started cruising the pier. That was a great place to drive around, with a liquor store at one end and a bar at the other, the Casino rocking and rolling, and the night life around the pier. My date and I parked and walked out on the pier, talked, walked, and decided that we needed to drive down to the Coast Guard Station. If you remember the old Coast Guard Station, you'll remember why we decided to drive down there. There were usually a few cars parked there, and usually there were no heads seen in the front or back seats. Since my little mustang was not made for serious parking, we decided to walk down through the sand dune paths, and stroll on the beach. My date and I arrived at a familiar spot and parked. It was hard trying to make-out across that stick shift, so we arrived listening to that 8-track playing my new tape by the Temptations. Sitting there for a minute, we got out of the car and headed down to the beach for one of those moonlight strolls. I never locked the car, so who would figure that I had anything to worry about. After a "good stroll on the beach", we made our way back to the Mustang, hand in hand. Love was in the air, and I opened the door for my date to get in. "Hey", she said with some kind of concern. Someone stole your tape player, she said. I couldn't believe it, but my tape player was gone, and so were all my tapes, all neatly packed in that tape suit case. The wires were hanging down, cut neatly with a wire cutting tool or sharp knife. The bracket was still there, but the player was gone. Those little knobs that screwed in the sides to hold the player to the bracket, were on the floor. Yep, my tape player and all my tapes were gone. The car next to me was gone, but some of the others were still there. My date asked if I was going to call the police, and I said no. My Dad would see the police report and then give me that lecture about parking in dark places for immoral reasons. We just wanted to walk on the beach, but who is going to believe that story. Her Dad would kill me for taking his daughter to the make-out place on the ocean. There was no way that I could tell the police, so I'd just have to get another tape player. I knew who usually stole tape players around there, and I'd find out from him if he got mine. Of course the bad news about that was that I'd have to buy my own tape player back. The tapes would be sold for a few dollars a piece, so I'd have to buy my own player and then buy my own tapes back. I still didn't know if that is who had it, but he usually had the Island business. I never got my tape player back, but the "tape player" king had many other models to show me from the trunk of his car. They were neatly spaced out on the carpet, each one with neatly cut wires. No speakers, but lots of assorted tapes and players. I bought a nice one, big and black with silver knobs. It had the bracket with it also, and the "king" threw in some tapes just to sweeten the sale. "Sorry to hear about you getting ripped off, man", he said, "but I'd never steal from one of my customers." Yea, right, and I'm President Johnson. Well, I was back in business with a new tape player and some new tapes. Of course I was a dead man if anyone ever saw their tape player in my Mustang. I would get killed if I told on the "king", and I'd get killed if the tape player was found out by the owner. I went over that player very carefully. There was no serial number on the machine, as the king made sure all was scratched off. There were no names and no markings that would identify it. I made sure that I scratched some identifying markings that I would recognize, just in case this one disappeared and showed up in the trunk department. The next week I was in business, riding on the Island with my date. I locked the doors the next time we walked down to the beach. I also unscrewed the door lock knobs, leaving only the threaded wire sticking up. They might get in, but they were going to have to work at it. My vent windows were wired shut, and the knobs were taken off. I knew they could still get in, but it was not going to be the same as just opening the door. Most thieves just like to work quickly, and I was going to make it hard. The 8-track remained with me all the way to the University of Georgia in 1969. There were a lot of trips to the old Coast Guard Station, and the Mustang stood her ground. I always locked the doors, and the tapes got locked in the trunk during our walks on the beach. We parked at the Coast Guard Station, Massengale Park, the Pier, and Christ Church Cemetery. I guess a lot of boys and girls got kissed at those places, and a lot of music got played. The places and music have changed over the years. Nothing stays the same, but we remember the days when the music stirred our souls and we danced in the front seats as we cruised our favorite drives. From Shoney's to the Pier, the music played on and on. One day the music died, and we moved on. Nothing stays the same, and it's sad I guess. Every once in a while I hear that song that reminds me of someone or some place, and the music lives again for those few moments. The places have surely changed over the years, but then so have we. I drove down to the pier the other day and walked out to the far end. The wind was blowing and I could almost hear the Temptations singing "My Girl". Gosh, it was 45 years ago when I stood there holding her hand, as we sang "My Girl" in that high pitch sound. Seems as if those 45 years have gone way too fast, and I was standing there all alone. I heard some talking behind me as I turned to walk back to my car. There standing only a few feet away was a young boy and young girl about 16 or 17 years of age. They were standing there looking out across the water, shoulder to shoulder and hand in hand. I wanted to tell them to cherish the moment, for the time will come and go, and 45 years later one may be standing there wondering where those 45 years have gone. Larry Lane, GA 67
May 25, 2010 sheesh, I so love this writing !! too good and forms such a real feeling...
I can smell the food cooking at the Dairy Queen on SSI after watching David Taylor, Rod Schaffer, Spencer Row, Jimmy Nash. many others play Little League and really win big !!
rory knapton ************ May 26, 2010 For the Coastal Righteous Brother this corner says, "AMEN!!!" I remember my Dad getting a small Universal Transistor Radio (Which I still have) and giving it to me on June 26, 1962. I spent many nights listening to WWLS & WWBT & days listening to the "Funky Monkey" WAPE. Boy those we the days and yes "How did those years go by so fast?" I look at that little radio on my desk now and just "Slip Away" to a simple time of life. I also remember the 8-Track that we installed in my 68 Super Bee and how "A Whole Lotta of Love" shook the rice out of every opening on the car after our wedding in 1970. Gee if I had not stopped smoking years ago I would probably be ready for a cigarette right now. Cruise Safe
George & Debby Smith Utiss ************ May 31, 2010 MONG THE LORDLY OAKS sure did spawn many, many memories of years past! Bob Dylan wrote a song, " The Times They are A Changin' ". How true! Things just aren't the way they used to be! For Instance: REMEMBER WHEN? Drinking from a garden hose wasn't dangerous. Little league baseball was for the kids.( Not the parents ). Leaving home early Saturday morning and not getting back until dark didn't worry your folks. Before we got our driver's license, hitchhiking was a safe form of transportation. The school principle could paddle your butt and wouldn't be arrested or fired. Kids would rather be outside playing with their friends than inside playing with video games. (Yeah, I know we didn't have video games back then!) Parents and teachers worked in harmony with each other, not against each other. (Sometimes to our disadvantage!) Hanging out at the ball park, Tastee Freeze, pier or the beach, wasn't wasted time; It was quality time. It was a time when we bonded with friends, pondered the future, and just enjoyed being kids! (Too bad we didn't realize it until years later!) Reflect on your past. It just may spark memories of things you haven't thought of in years! (It did for me!) Alas! George Bernard Shaw was correct. "Youth is wasted on the Young ". Many thanks to Larry for evoking such fond memories of my past with his MONG THE LORDLY OAKS . Peace to all!
David Harris '67 ************ David,
In case no one has told you, this is just one of the many chapters of Larry Lane’s Opus—‘Mong the Lordly Oaks. You can read them all in the Archives.
Teresa McVeigh ~ 33 ~
'Mong the Lordly Oaks
When the Albums Came In September 1, 2010 What ever happened to her? I was looking through my Senior "High Tide" and reading all those little notes that people wrote during those last few days of high school. It was May and graduation was just a few days off. Practice was about to begin at the Aquarama, and those wonderful steps down into that great dome would be an end of twelve years of preparation for the future, and a new beginning for something I had no idea where it would lead. So much was ahead and so many things were behind. What in the world would these days bring and most important, what girls would I meet this summer while working at the pools on Jekyll. All of those years were now gone and our Albums had arrived. Slowly and surely my teacher handed out the albums to each of us. She was not in a hurry and wanted to make sure that each one was properly handed out in alphabetical order. If I were doing this thing, it would be done in a much faster order, tearing open the boxes and sailing them through the air to waiting arms. NO, not my teacher. "Okay, Laura, Betty, Diane, Billy," and on and on. Larry was down the line for more reasons than one, but finally Larry Lane's name was called and my arms went up to receive the book that I had waited on all year. My first order of business was to turn to my page, "L", and look at my senior picture. I knew it was not a good picture, but I still wanted to make sure that I was listed as a senior and not in the class of '68. It was a good sign that my picture was in the class of '67, and then it was passed around to get folks to sign. As I read my album the other day, some 43 years later, I noticed that some folks had not learned to write very well. I never knew we had such terrible writing skills and how did some of us pass English? As I poured over the writings in my album I noticed there was one major theme from the boys. Seven guys made mention about "getting some" this summer, while others said it more to the point. There were a couple of notes that I had to completely scratch out of my album, and I could not make out the words under all that ink. I guess it was direct and to the point that I didn't want Mom to read it. Ronnie told me that he enjoyed coming to my house this past year, but he wanted me to know that he was coming over to see my sister and not me. Andy wrote upside down and signed it, "10th grades best fighter". Sandi wrote a note I surely must have missed and signed it, "I really do like you LOTS". Who was Sandi? She liked me lots and I didn't know it? Where was I all that year and why in the world didn't I know Sandi? Man, did I miss out on something? There were others who wrote notes that told me that they wanted to see me this summer on Jekyll. I must have failed to read these notes when I got the album back from them. I went to Jekyll that summer as a pool boy with all the other lifeguards and pool boys, and I don't remember any of those girls showing up around my pool. Hey, I'd let them swim all day in my pool, but where were they? I guess Roger wrote the most profound of all statements when he said, "As the slow train of life goes by slowly, like a safety pin without a job; do not become discouraged until your soul cries out with enthusiasm". Well, you got to dwell on that one for sure. Marsha signed everything "Sigma Gamma Alpha", and she got in there a lot. I liked her, but she never knew it. I was too scared to ever ask her out, but I sure wanted to. Some talked about being so good to be in class with me, yet I don't remember it being such good fun as they seemed to indicate. Maybe it was a lot of fun, but after 43 years I just do not remember what the class was all about. Another Ronnie wrote that it was fun to be with me in Developmental Reading. I was a senior and was taking Developmental Reading with someone who was a Junior. What does that say about my skills as a Senior about to graduate? There were many notes that were fun to read again, and some really had some cute sayings that made me laugh again. Some of the girls signed it, "love you", and I wonder if they really meant it? I guess they really didn't mean that they truly loved me, it was just a way of saying "sincerely" and signing your name. I still like the "love you" way of signing as it made me feel good to think that she really did love me. There was one that I found that I had to read two or three times. I guess all of us had someone that you were dating or had dated and they wrote something very personal. Her page was one of those big blank pages that she wanted to make sure no one signed on that page. She wrote a page of all the things we did, the fun we had and then she said, "and I think you know how I feel about you". Boy did that page take me back 43 years! Is it wrong to go back and remember all the fun and especially someone that meant something special to you? I was heading out to the beach that summer and she knew it. It was mentioned in that note as if to say I know something is about to change. She was right and high school love seems to fade when you're a pool boy. However, I read that note again and wondered where she was and what she was doing? I don't think it was wrong to drift back 43 years and wonder about those things. I didn't dwell on things of the past, but I did think about her. I guess she is doing fine somewhere and probably has beautiful grandchildren that she has pictures framed all over the house. The album sure brings back a lot of fun and thoughts about that day when we were handed the book of our senior year. The classes below us were all excited also. The class of '68 was about to become the new senior class, and the class of '69 was getting their very first High Tide. We were all excited about the book that we had in our hand, and not much teaching was going on during the next few days. Some teachers would give us fifteen minutes to sign books and then we had to "get down to business". Some teachers just gave up and let us have the whole period to sign books and look at pictures. We laughed and giggled, pointed to pictures, and signed some crazy things in books. I'm not sure what I wrote in any of the books, but I sure hope I didn't say some of the stupid things that are written in mine. The inside cover of my album says, "Larry Lane, Mrs. Leavy, 106 Science, 1967". I sure didn't want to loose my album so I made sure that if it was lost, someone would know where to return it. Some of the classmates that signed my album were strangers to me. I don't ever remember talking with them. The album just got passed around and folks wrote generic statements like, "great knowing you this year, have fun this summer, raise @#$%%". That seemed to be the generic group of words and I probably wrote the same junk in the albums I signed. The year finally ended and the practice began at the Aquarama for the 1967 graduation. We practiced going in and sitting down. We practiced getting our diploma and we practiced singing a song or two. I do not remember much about all that we did, as my thoughts were of getting on the beach and living my summer life as a pool boy. The pay was $50 a week and the benefits were even greater. The beach lifeguards probably made more, but it wasn't bad sitting around the pool. All the girls that went to the beach always came back to the pool, and I made sure they showered that sand off before getting in my pool. I had the Carriage Inn pool and it was unique. My pool was shaped like the State of Georgia and I wanted to make sure those girls were always welcome in a sparkling clean pool. Yes, the year of 1967 was about to become the summer of '67, and I was about to enter the Aquarama for graduation and, yes, the graduation dance. It was going to be a great party and we were going to dance the night away. I do not remember who played at our graduation, but I do remember dancing and dancing until the party was over. I didn't drink alcoholic beverages, but I didn't need them to have fun that night. I remember who I went to the dance with and she was the one who had that whole page in my album. She said she was going to come to the pool and keep me company. She may have, but I probably acted like a, well, I probably didn't act very nice. There is probably a lot of stuff I would take back if I could, but we all know we can't go back and undo those actions of being 18 years old. I thought I was something, but when looking back I see that I sure could have done things a lot different. I opened the album and read all the notes. Some who had signed my album are now gone. Some have gone through some deep valleys, and some have faced war. Most all got married, I guess, and most of us have children and even grandchildren. I've enjoyed the day reading and remembering that day when the albums came and we all passed them around. I've thought about where some had gone and where they now live. Names had changed and some I would not recognize. The one thing that we all had that day 43 years ago was this book. We got something in our hand that was a reminder of all the years together. Some of us started back in kindergarten together and others started in the first grade. I've got my first grade class picture, and there are some who made it with me all twelve years. We had dreams and expectations. Some of those dreams may have come true and some fell short of what we had hoped. Still, I enjoyed going through the album and reading all the notes. Thanks to each of you. I wonder if we passed them around today, what would we write different? Well, we know it's impossible to go back, but then, I wonder sometimes. Do you ever think about that page in your book where someone wrote something special? I enjoyed looking at the pictures of the last dance at the Aquarama. I could not go, but I was there in memory. I remember walking into that room for the last dance in 1967 and looking at my date all dressed up to celebrate my graduation. She had one more year to go. We stayed to the very last dance, and walked out to get into my 1959 Rambler Station wagon with push-button controls. By the way, the front seats let all the way back. Yes, it was a long time ago, but the High Tide and the Last Dance brought it all back. We were young and life was fun. Larry Lane, GA 67
September 1, 2010 I don't know about you guys, but I think this might just be Larry's best effort so far. The Albums brought a lot of excitement for most of us. I picked out a couple and thought I'd share them with you. These classmates aren't reconnected yet or otherwise will not get this message so we're okay on that. "Well, here we are, Class of '67. What is there to do? Where to go? I hope your future will be better than the hours in Jennings' class. Best of everything, Michael Latham" "Billy, we've been together for three years now but really don't know each other. Oh, well, we'll probably meet again some day. It's a small world. Best of luck always. Ed Brodhead" Do you have any you'd like to share with us?
Billy Brewer '67 ************ What would you write if your picture was left out of the album in your senior year?
Bill Parker ************ Bill,
I was just thinking about how awful that was for all of you. You had to have been so disappointed.
Nancy Fowler Rivers ************ Bill Parker ... I have a page of 14 pictures that was left out of the '67 High Tide, your pic was one of them ... would gladly make a copy for you ...
Lynn Marr-Loughrie (Lynn, Steve Holcomb has the missing pages stored for safe-keeping in our Class of '67 Email Archive web site. I'll attach them to this message now. BB) Link to Missing 1967 High Tide Senior Photo Pages (Bottom 2) ************ I was just as PO'd as you guys were about this. I know it was just a human error but this was probably the first time in High Tide's history that this had happened and it just made my Senior year feel a little less special. To anyone on the staff: please don't think I am not proud of you for a job well done. I showed my annual to several friends from Valdosta and they were positively flabbergasted over the quality. Kudos to you for a magnificent book.
Danny Barker September 16, 2010
It's a Beautiful Morning... Hi BB,
I think it was the Rascals who sang, "It's a Beautiful Morning", but then it could be some other group. However, they were right this morning as I walked along the beach. Just thought I'd share this one with you.
Larry Lane
C and D Honor Roll '67 
Jekyll September Sunrise ~ 9/16/2010 What a great sunrise picture, Larry! Thanks for sharing with those of us who are still sleeping at this time of day.
Janice Newbern Downie ************ Billy B,
Just wanted to share another pic I shot on the beach. It's just a closeup of that beautiful sunrise. The beach is so great at the sunrise hour as very few are on the beach. I sat down and wrote another chapter of Mong the Lordly Oaks while sitting and waiting for the sun to attempt breaking through the large cloud bank along the horizon. Now I've got to figure out what all that scribbling means.
Larry Lane ************ It truly means you are inspired. And that early morning writing is some of the best. So proud of your literary bent. If I can ever help in any way, let me know.
Sudy Vance Leavy 
Jekyll September Sunrise Close-up ~ 9/16/2010 That picture is just beautiful, perfect. Donna Brantley Sosby
~ 34 ~
'Mong the Lordly Oaks
The Last Day of Summer September 16, 2010
The week was finally here and there was an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach like I had just eaten that egg salad sandwich from the Jekyll Pharmacy and it was not what I really wanted. I ate over there every day when I worked as a lifeguard at the Aquarama. I didn't have to work that job too often, but every once in a while the lifeguards would call in sick and the boss would call down to the Carriage Inn and tell them to send me to the indoor pool. No one wanted to work the Aquarama because you never got a tan. You spent most of your time yelling at stupid little boys who dove off the side of the high dive instead of the end of the diving board. When you looked at the high dive from the pool level, it didn't seem high at all. As you climbed the ladder, you began noticing that this sucker is about as high as the Empire State Building. That was the highest building in the world when I was a lifeguard in the 60's. King Kong climbed that building all the way to the top and you saw what happened to him. When a little boy climbs that ladder, he finally gets to the top and stands on that diving board. He then looks down and realizes that there is no way in the world that he is going to be able to jump off that thing without doing something in his pants. There is no way to climb back down because there are one hundred other little boys and girls hanging on every rung of the ladder yelling at the top of their lungs, "hurry up, you little dip". There he stands with trembling knees, looking down at the water and almost frozen in time. As the shouts grow louder and louder, the little boy starts to notice that now everyone in the pool is looking up at him. Little drips of water are running down his leg and he hopes that everyone knows it's the water from the pool and not something else. Then the lifeguard blows the whistle which gets the attention of everyone, and he shouts, "hurry up, you little dip, there are people waiting". Gosh, I guess the entire motel association on Jekyll now knows that he is afraid of diving. His Mom and Dad are back at the room, embarrassed to go down to the beach, because everyone knows it's their kid who is afraid off diving of the high dive. So what does he do? He does what all little boys do when they have to dive off the high dive. He jumps straight down, eyes closed, about one foot from the side. Now he really gets the attention of the lifeguards as they blow their whistles and get down off their chairs yelling, "you stupid little #%^&*, you could have killed yourself. You are supposed to jump off the end of the board, not toward the side of the pool." He'll never climb that ladder again, and now he is crying because everyone in the pool is laughing at him. You see, I hated working the Aquarama. You can't get a tan and you rarely see any girls who had reached the age of being noticed by lifeguards because any girl that can get the attention of a lifeguard is going to the beach to tan that which gets noticed. No, I didn't like those days when I got called and was told that I needed to fill in at the Aquarama that day. The last week of the summer had arrived and school was about to start. I was going to be a Senior this year and you'd think that I'd be excited about starting school. I was never excited about school starting because I loved the summer. Summer was a part of my life and I lived for those days of walking on the beach and the smell of the ocean surf. When high tide came in, there was a power and a rush about the waves crashing down. Those waves would churn up the little shells that would crunch under your feet when you walked in the edge of the surf. I loved walking along the edge of the water and just feeling the softness of the foam and salt water around your feet. There was one area that the high tide would leave on the beach which I truly loved. The current of the high tide would ripple the beach and leave those wonderful ripples in the sand after the tide would go out. Walking along the rippled beach, you'd find some wonderful little conch shells and sand dollars. I would always sail the sand dollars back to the ocean, giving them another day of life. I didn't want them to be collected by someone who would put them all in a bucket and take them home, only to find that they were a living animal and would die and smell to high heaven. Those dead and stinking things would then be dumped in the trash can, and all that life from the sea would be gone. I didn't save most, but I saved as many as I could. Every once in a while I would find a small, baby conch shell that didn't have any crab or conch in it. I'd save it and take it home for my collection of shells that I kept in a jar. I found that those little shells worked wonders on a date. Yep, while walking on the beach at night, hand in hand with a date from Cordele or Tifton, or Atlanta, I'd reach in my pocket and hand the little shell to my date. "Hey, I found this today on the beach and thought of you. I wanted you to keep it and remember this night." Yep, it worked every time. The little shell was just one of many things that would begin the romance. I also found that the tune that John Wayne whistled in some movie also did wonders. I can't remember the movie, something about the point of no return, but he was a pilot who was crossing the ocean in that big plane. I remember him whistling a tune which I still can whistle today. Yep, another good ice breaker that worked every time. It's not that we lifeguards had all these tricks up our sleeves, but it always helped to get the mood started with something romantic. Walking along the beach at night you find yourself strolling hand in hand at the waters edge. When you walk along that wet sand your feet just naturally begin to make drawings with your big toes. One foot swings out and the big toe does a wide arch in the sand. Then the next foot does the same and you wind up leaving those wide swirls in the sand as you walk along the beach. When two people are walking along together they put those marks in the sand with the two inside feet crossing each other. Those drawings on the beach are what we use to call "love letters in the sand". I guess I hated the last week of summer the most of all weeks. It was like life coming to an end and all the fun and all the dates and all the stars at night were finally ending. During the summer you walked on the beach and you went out every night. Sometimes you would have a date, but if you didn't you still went somewhere. If I didn't have a date on Jekyll, I'd still go over for a party or dance somewhere. When I wasn't there I'd drive to Saint Simons and head down to the pier. There were always beautiful girls walking along the pier and it was just fun sitting out on the pier with friends that you knew from school and just talk. Most of my friends knew that I was a lifeguard or pool-boy, depending on what job I was working at the time, and that was always a topic of conversation. Being a lifeguard or pool-boy was cool and I never felt cool unless I was a lifeguard or pool-boy. When school started back I just didn't feel cool. When I read all the little notes in my yearbook, no one ever wrote, "Hey, Larry, you're really cool." No girl ever wrote in my yearbook, "Larry, you're hot, call me immediately". Nope, but I got a lot of "you're a nice boy" stuff. Well, that didn't really boost my image, but I am glad that I was a nice boy. I mean, don't get me wrong, that's better than getting one of those "you're about the worse life on earth". I'm glad I was nice because girls do like nice boys, or at least some like nice boys. There were always girls that liked the hot rod guy with the duck tail haircut, but I was more of the beach scene, and after all, when the Drifters sing "Under the Boardwalk", I wanted to be that guy walking with my baby. Yes, the last week of the summer had arrived and I felt sick in my stomach. It was August of 1966 and school was going to begin shortly. I do not remember when we started back that year, but I remember working right up to the last week before school started. The Carriage Inn told me that I could stay on and work the pool until the last day. We worked seven days a week and got paid $50 a week. I remember that last week and it was only days away when I would hang up those "Hang Ten" Baggies and put on those long pants. It's been a whole summer since I wore clothes, and now I had to get a haircut and put on a shirt and long pants and socks. This was the worse week of my life, but it happened in August of 64 and August of 65, and now August of 66. It never got any better. That last week was torture because all you could think about was the summer ending. I didn't feel like going out and I didn't feel like talking with those around the pool. I just sat and watched the old people bob around in the pool. They would walk down to the beach and then walk back, shower off the sand and waddle down the steps. All the beautiful girls were gone. School was getting close and vacations were over. Those who had teenage girls were back home and getting ready to get their kids in school. Those girls that I gave the shells to and said they would write never did. Of course I said I would write also, but that never happened either. I sat by the pool and covered my body with Coppertone Dark Tan. I loved the smell of Coppertone, and the sun seemed to reflect off the well oiled body. My dark shaggy hair hung in my eyes and the gold chain with the Saint Christopher hung around my neck. I would sit and reflect on the summer that had passed me by, and thought about those girls that I had dated. They were now gone and all that was left was someone named Fanny who was floating in the pool and hanging over the side and asking me questions about stuff I didn't care about. Life was ending and I couldn't get it back. I hated the week of summer's last breath and I could feel the last breath coming across the beach and over the sand dunes. I sat motionless as the ocean breeze whispered that this was it. Man, I felt awful. This place was all I ever wanted in life and now I had to leave. The days ended one at a time and I walked on the beach each evening. The next day arrived and I drove on to the Island and parked in my little spot off the pavement and on a little piece of grass that was all mine. I walked across the yard and put my towel down on one of the chairs. They had to be picked up and cleaned from the night before. They were scattered around, bottles and cans, glasses and motel towels littered the area. It was my normal routine and I loved the morning when it was quiet and time to clean my pool. I vacuumed and swept, arranged and picked up, and within the hour my pool was ready for the guest to come down and enjoy. I took pride in the Carriage Inn Pool, and day after day that week passed by. It finally arrived and I had to say goodbye to the folks that I had worked with all summer. Some had been there for every summer I worked, and it was a final goodbye. That was the last summer I ever worked on Jekyll. I didn't know it at the time as I figured I'd just have to endure another nine months of torture and then I'd be back on the beach. You never know what life has for you, and I didn't know that when I walked away from the pool that afternoon at 7:00 p.m., I'd never be back. I walked through the lobby and got hugs from those on the desk. I shook hands with the maintenance staff and walked out into the parking lot. Down at the end was my 1961 awful green and rust Opel. She had done me well and I was proud to crank her up one more time. I knew that next week Dad would sell the car because I didn't need one during the school year. I took one last breath of the ocean breeze and headed out of the parking lot. As I left the Island and saw the bridge in my rear view mirror, I knew that tomorrow I was going to change. I was going to be a Senior and walk across those Lordly Oak paths of Glynn Academy. I would wake up in the morning and want to head to the Island, but the noise of the cars and buses, the laughter and voices would fill the air. The school year was starting and I was now a part of it. I walked out the house that morning and looked over at Opel. She sat very quietly as if she knew I was not taking her to the Island. She knew she was going to be sold and I could feel as if she was hurting. She would give anything to head to the Island that morning, but I couldn't take her. I walked across the park and didn't look back. She would be gone soon but, boy, what stories she could tell. Remember when we drove down on to the beach and parked on the southern point. We sat on the hood of Opel and looked at the dark sky filled with millions of stars. Yep, she could tell some stories, but it's time to move on. Oh, by the way, I still have that Saint Christopher I wore back then. I got it out the other day and looked at it. Boy, did it bring back some memories of those ocean breezes. I got to thinking about all this when I drove over to Jekyll the other day and took some pictures of the Aquarama. I decided to drive down to where the old Carriage Inn use to be, and I could almost hear Opel laughing. Both are gone now and life must go on with or without us. It was sad to see progress, but that's what happens to those of us who grow older. We watch the next generation come along who never walked around that pool and yelled, "hey, you little dip, don't ever dive off the side again or I'll kick you out of here". Wonder what ever happened to that little dip? He probably grew up and became Governor. Larry Lane, GA 67
Another beautifully written saga in the life of our dear classmate. Thanks for the memories!
Kathie Ray Akins ************ Well, I never set a foot inside the pool at the Aquarama or the area that covered it. Got once to the front door just to speak to Louis Fain. There was condensation on the inside the glass door. But this installment by Larry Lane got my remembering going. Sure can relate to walking on the beaches. Yeah, "The High and the Mighty". Nice tune to whistle. I was even given a Saint Christopher's metal by a girl the last part of '65. I cut it up into the shape of a cross and attached it to the zipper of a bible. Just checked. It is missing from the short zipper chain. Where can it be? And there was that girl from Cleveland, TN who left me her picture when I was lifeguarding on Jekyll near the end of the summer. It must have been the last one of her bundle of self portraits she hauled to that island and handed out. Whatever happened to her? Even a "relative" of a cousin of mine knew her reputation. Small world, as James Bond would have said. But we lost track of one another most probably because neither bothered to actually write.
Jim Hicks '60 ************ I can see Larry Lane now, walking down the beach with a babe from Tifton, Cordele or Atlanta, turning to face her and then blowing this song in her face. BB "The High and the Mighty" Whistling Song ~ Victor Young, performing www.youtube.com/watch?v=nkunqvDT4kY Remember: Links subject to move, be removed, change or expire without notice. ************ September 19, 2010 John Wayne was supposed to sing it but he couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket so they had him whistle it.
Danny Barker - - - - - - - - - - - - Danny, I love little tidbits of information like this. "The High and the Mighty" is one of my favorite John Wayne movies. Thanks.
Lynette Miller Rivers - - - - - - - - - Well, I got that info from a Reader’s Digest record set from back in the mid sixties, so no telling how accurate it is, but it’s a good yarn anyway. Glad you enjoyed it. My brain is full of useless information.
Danny Barker
~ 35 ~
'Mong the Lordly Oaks
The Letter You Never Write May 28, 2011
One of the great things about growing up and attending Glynn Academy was some of the outside fun we had. Our High School was only a short distance from the wonderful marshes of Glynn and those beautiful tidal creeks that flowed into the ocean. The Atlantic crashed down on those warm, sandy beaches and we walked barefooted along the shallow pools of salt water. There was, and I think still is, nothing that compares to being barefooted and walking along the edge of the warm water while you hold someones hand. Oh I know that you'll find many things that seem far more greater or far more exciting, but there is something about that walk on the beach that causes one to enjoy life to it's fullest. How gentle those waves lap across the feet and the calming effect of just hearing the wind and water speak a certain silence that only you can understand.
There are many facets of talking and many ways of saying something, many accents and many tones of voices, but only the ocean can speak without speaking. That sound that you hear when you put a large conch shell to your ear is that soft whisper that comes from the ocean. That breeze that blows into your ear while you just sit and watch the waves crash down. I guess that sound of the wave hitting the shore is the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. The waves speak volumes about their travel and their miles and miles of rolling across the sea. I often wondered where they came from and how far that wave had traveled. Did that motion begin on the other side of the ocean and roll all the way to our shore? Gosh, how many times I've sat silently upon the beach at night and listened to those waves crashing down and saying hello from the other side of the world.
Glynn Academy is only a few miles from those beaches and I guess I've traveled across those causeways thousands of times. There were times when I'd get Mom's car and head to Saint Simons, stopping at the Back River bridge and pay my toll. The bridge tender was on the passenger side, but since no one had air conditioning, the window was usually down. The bridge tender would come out of his little building and lean into the window to get your quarter, then off we'd go to the Coast Guard Station. I went to the Coast Guard Station the other day to watch over my grandson playing on the beach. It was a warm day and my daughter had brought him to play on the beach. That place sure has changed since those day in 1967 when it was a dirt parking lot and some great sand-dunes. Not saying I knew anything about those sand-dunes except I remember going down that path that led to the beach. That was a great parking place on Friday night also. The thing I liked about making out at the Coast Guard Station was that everyone was there for the same reason. You didn't have fights and problems when you went there. Boys just wanted to make out and fool around and girls just wanted to make out!
Going to the beach was also important when we were in school. That ocean breeze would blow through those big oaks on campus and you could almost hear those waves crashing down. I loved the spring when we could go to the beach on the weekends and begin those tans. There were sure a lot of pretty girls at Glynn Academy and I'd see a lot of them at the Coast Guard Station during the spring time. I couldn't go over there during the summer because I worked at the Carriage Inn on Jekyll Island. Being a lifeguard at the pool was important and you also got paid. But those Glynn girls were at the Coast Guard Station and Massingale Park, and I sure wanted to check them out on the beach. Since I was so scared of asking them out, I'd sit and listen to the Big Ape on my transistor radio. The dial was a simple plastic dial and you'd just turn it till you head that rock and roll and old Greaseman yelling about being a lawman or something else. You knew when you had 690 A.M. on your dial and music was something special to all of us.
Since I would not see the Glynn Girls much on Jekyll, I'd need to spend as much spring time walking the surf line at the Guard Station. I wasn't sure if any of the girls would talk with me, being "a little" over weight and having acne. I felt better when the good looking guys were not around and I had a better chance on getting noticed. I was too scared to go up to a group of girls, but if I walked by and one of them spoke, I might be able to stop and maybe get a conversation out of my mouth. Girls look so good on the beach and I wasn't sure if I could get any conversation started. It's true, I was so scared of those girls, yet I wanted to ask everyone of them out on a date. If just one of them would say hello or call my name or yell out "hey Larry, you want to go out Friday night?" Now that would work for me. Well, if one of them would just yell out "hey Larry, need some more Clearasil", I'd take that also.
It never happened and I walked the beach looking at those beautiful girls all bunched together with baby oil all over them. I had my Hang Ten Baggies on, gold necklace, and tanned lifeguard body, but my feet would not let me walk over there and speak. Guess you have to have confidence and I was lacking that for sure. I thought that maybe if I ran into some girls from the class of 68 or 69, I'd have more confidence since I was older, but that didn't work either. I'd see them on the beach and smile, but my tongue just froze up and I couldn't get a "hello" out. Life was a bummer when you just were scared of girls like that.
All through high school, my summer was great because I worked at the Carriage Inn on Jekyll. I'd also work the Aquarama Pool when they became short of lifeguards. I loved working as a lifeguard because all the girls would smile when I walked around the pool. They would say hello and I would smile and speak. I had confidence around the pool and everyone knew it. I strutted around like a rooster with tons of hens. There were some girls over in the lounge chairs all oiled up, and some other girls in another set of chairs. I'd walk over and ask if they needed anything or if they wanted any towels, like I had towels or could get them anything. I didn't have any towels but I'd walk around like I was someone. In my element, I enjoyed life, but get me away from that pool and I was scared of them pretty things.
It was like that at school also. I didn't have confidence around the campus and so I spent most of my time with a bunch of guys who were walking around spending time with a bunch of guys. It was the term "lifeguard" that gave me the confidence. I had some life saving, Red Cross patches sewed on my Baggies and one of them said "Lifeguard". See, when I was in my element I felt good about myself.
I walked down the path the other day to the beach from that new paved parking lot at the Coast Guard Station. I parked about a hundred yards from the path and then made my way down the path of mats that had been laid out over the sand so we could walk easier. I walked past those wonderful sand dunes and saw the beautiful beach. I'm not 17 years old anymore so I had to stop and get my breath. Not because of the beautiful girls but because I was out of breath just walking down the rubber matted pathway. I passed the post that has the baggies for the dog poop that you're suppose to scoop up when you walk your dog along the beach. When the Coast Guard Station was a sand road and sand parking lot, most everyone was just local people and dogs wouldn't dare poop on the beach. Guess all these retired New York dogs are different and just crap all over the beach for everyone to step in. Dogs from the South have different standards and seek out privacy in the sand dunes where Friday night High School kids will find the pile by mistake.
All of this came to mind the other day when I went to the Island and walked for a few hours. As I returned home with my lobster red belly, I realized how hurtful a sunburn was. Then it all came back to me. The first day of summer life began in a painful way. It was the spring of 67 when I was heading to the beach for my summer job. I had everything planned out and the ocean waves had been calling me all year. Graduation was just over and I had the my job as the lifeguard. I became a lifeguard in the summer of 1965 and continued that same job in 1966. Now came the summer of 1967 and I was ready to continue this great job that had brought so many love affairs into my life. My confidence had soared because of the job and now I was 18 years old. This was going to be my best year of all because I was now going to be a college boy, I mean college man. All was fine as I arrived for my job at the Carriage Inn on Jekyll. When I arrive that first morning, there was a note at the front desk for me to go to the Wanderer Motel and see the boss. Life was about to change.
I went immediately to the office and checked in with the big man who broke the news, we're going to move you to the Stables. What? The Stables was a smelly barn filled with horses that stood around and made big piles of stuff that stunk to high heaven. I wore Hang Ten Baggies and sandals, not blue jeans, a Stetson and pointed toed boots. If you need Roy Rogers I'm sure someone would love to be that, but I'm Surfer Joe. Nope, I was going to be Roy Rogers or Gene Autry, and my heart was about to come up out of my mouth. I felt sick and could not imagine me with some stinking horse. I needed the job so off I went to the Stables.
I met the cowboys who worked with the horses and our job was to offer horse rides for the tourist. Yep, this was sick stuff and I was the one that was about to throw up. I stayed at the Stables all day and finally the day ended. I smelled like a horse and I could not believe that my life had changed from a lifeguard to some cowboy. I headed right to the office at the Wanderer and asked to see the big boss man. He was willing to see me and he knew what I wanted. I asked him very nicely if there was any chance that I could get back to the pool and let someone else do this job. Well, he said, I didn't think you'd like it but I had to find someone. He told me to come prepared to work at the Stables tomorrow but bring my bathing suit just in case he could find someone else to take my place. I recommended Billy Newberry for the job. I figured he might like horses instead of women, but the big boss man said he would check with the others to see if he could find any volunteers. If not, the cowboy life was mine for the summer.
I went home and cried to my Momma and Daddy. They said the same thing that the big boss man said, better take your blue jeans. I needed the job but this was not what I had dreamed about. All night I was sick. My 1959 Rambler Stationwagon was sitting outside just grinning from headlight to headlight. The next morning came and I dressed in blue jeans and tennis shoes. I didn't own a pair of boots and didn't plan on getting any. I threw the baggies in the back seat and headed to Jekyll. I went to the Wanderer to see the boss but was told he was out. Yep, hiding from me and he knew I wanted to have some words with him, but life was about to change again. I went to the Stables and saw Roy and Gene unloading the horses and I headed over to begin my wonderful summer job with horses and pointed toed boots. That's when one of those cowboys told me to go back to the Carriage Inn, as someone had volunteered to take that job and folks were being shifted around. All I knew was I was back at the Carriage Inn and me and Mr. Thorpe were a team once again.
A lot of folks didn't know Mr. Thorpe like I did and they didn't understand his gentle side. If you didn't know Sally's Dad, you might be afraid of him. He was not a big man but he had a rough side to him that even the biggest of the lifeguards didn't like to cross him. He'd set you straight real quick and he rode me rough my first year at the motel. He had me cleaning the pool, weeding the flowerbeds, cleaning the restrooms in the lobby, and when Mrs. Howard was around, I better be busy doing something or Mr. Thorpe would have me scrubbing the pool with a toothbrush. However, as I showed him I was not afraid of work, he began to treat me with respect. He was glad to have me back as he didn't have to train some new guy that didn't know his way around the pool. My fears had come full circle and now I was happy again.
The bad part of the first week was overcoming the sunburn and blisters. I hated those little water blisters that formed under the skin and broke apart when you scratched your itching skin. No one had anything called Sun Screen, because if you wanted to be screened from the Sun, why are you out in the Sun in the first place. We were there to get a tan and you had to start with getting out and getting burned. We couldn't start out by getting 20 minutes today and 30 minutes tomorrow. My job started at 7 a.m. and I got off at 7 p.m. You'd try to stay in the shade some of the day until you got dark, but the Sun was hot and you were going to get burned.
Of course we all know what happens when those little water blisters dry up and you skin begins to turn loose. Boy, that first few weeks of shedding and flaking sure made you look like a mess. When you looked in the mirror, it looked like some kind of skin disease, but it was all part of becoming tanned for the summer. The girls didn't mind your spotted look, as long as you were the lifeguard, you looked good. The summer of 1967 started off with a scare but turned out all right. However, it was just beginning and boy did I have some high hopes of finding some doll very quickly. It didn't take long as the first week of June brought a beauty from Tifton who fell in love with me the first day. There was no doubt that she was in love when I set my lifeguard bag down by my chair and began to backwash the pool. Mr. Thorpe had taught me how to backwash and vacuum and clean the strainers, check the chlorine and make all the needed adjustments. As I began that first day of checking the water, she was standing on the balcony of her parents room. It was 7 a.m. and I held the chlorine kit up to the sky to see the reading. I could see her watching but I pretended not to see her. It was working because she went in through the curtain and shut the sliding door behind her. I knew she was coming to the pool so I went on add chlorine and open up the water faucet under the diving board and get the pool up to level that Mr. Thorpe had showed me. It didn't take long and out the door and on to the walk came the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Of course they all fit that bill when I was falling in love.
This beautiful gal walked over to the pool and set her towel down on the chairs around the pool. I continued to do my work around the pool and acted like I didn't see her. She was the only one beside me that was around the pool but I still acted cool. Then the ice was broken when I walked by straightening the chairs and looked down through my dark sunglasses and said "good morning". I used my deep voice on this occasion as it usually had a sexy sound and made me sound much older. She responded with a beautiful smile and she spoke but with even more of a question than a good morning. She said "good morning" and added "are you the lifeguard?" I answered and thus began the conversation that lasted all day. She moved her towel over where my bag was and asked if it was allowed to sit next to the lifeguard. She brought me a sandwich that her Mom had made for lunch and even a coke to go along with it. Her Mom and Dad enjoyed the beach and she introduced them to me when they came and washed the sand off in my pool. I normally would have asked them to shower first but what the heck, go ahead and jump right in.
One day on the job and already the first date was set. It sure was good to have a date that first night and in fact she was my date for the entire week. We promised to write all summer and even when the school year began in September. I'd always write and so would she. Well, when she left and headed back to Tifton, I kept working at the pool. Her letter arrived within a few days but I was already in love with someone else. I never wrote her like I said I would, but then did she really think I would? I guess young love really thinks you will write and we probably mean what we say at the time, but love seems to change a lot when you're 18 years of age. I promised to write the next one also, and the next one and so on through the entire summer. I wonder where they are today. I got a lot of letters that summer but never wrote the first one back. When I stop and think about it today, I am sad that I never wrote the girl from Atlanta. She wrote me three letters and I never wrote her back. I remember meeting her Daddy and learning from the Carriage Inn Staff that he was part of the family that owned Coca Cola. His little sweety wrote me three letters but I was in love with someone else. I was just wondering what would have happened if I had written her back? Yep, probably would not have had to sell coke bottles to buy gas for the old 59 Rambler with the push button transmission. Yes, I should have written her back.
Larry Lane, GA67
~ 36 ~
'Mong the Lordly Oaks
Cokes Can Cause a Problem December 20, 2011
I guess there is nothing like a fall day when the warm days are filled with sunshine and you sit and watch the beautiful leaves fall, gently drifting down to the ground. The colors are not brilliant along the coast of Georgia like they are in the mountains, but it still feels like fall with that slight coolness in the breezes that blow the leaves around the base of the trees that line those old streets of Brunswick.
I was born in the old hospital of Brunswick, Georgia, down on the south end of the town, along the old section of Norwich Street. I went home and grew up to go to the same schools as my Great Grandparents, Grandmother, Great Uncles and Aunts, Mother and the rest of my family. Teachers knew them and thus I was marked from the day I entered. Mom was smart and my teachers would always remind me of how smart my Mother and Uncle were, long before I arrived. How sad she had to endure that her son was slow at even remembering his phone number, mainly because it was four numbers in a row.
The fact that I was not a good student played a major part in struggling in such subjects as reading, writing, and other subjects that required words. However, by the grace of God I was able to get to High School and enter into Glynn Academy and find my way through Homerooms, Study Halls, and even Physical Education classes. I was good at running in the sandy fields out behind the Prep building and even able to go to the bathroom and get out before getting beat up by the crowd that was on their second cigarette.
I was not sure how they smoked those things so fast but that bathroom next to the Annex Building was so thick, it was hard hitting where you were aiming. Being in the tenth grade meant you had to endure the Senior hazing while attempting to go, suffering the attacks from the rear. Ever tried going to the bathroom while people came up behind you and gave you a hard punch in the back shoulder? It was kind of hard concentrating while expecting the unexpected.
I guess some people don't have a problem going to the bathroom while carrying on a conversation with someone who is blowing smoke in you ear, but I found it difficult to get everything done in that few moments I had between classes. I don't mind telling you, but holding books in one hand, well I won't go to the other hand, but you're also trying to get something done as Ricky Rocket takes a big drag and blows smoke rings out of his nose right down your collar. Harry the Hood then snaps your rear end with his towel, and all this while you're trying to hold your breath. I never smoked but I figured I must have inhaled about 10,000 cigarettes while going through my tenth grade year.
It was one of those wonderful fall days that smelled like fall around Glynn Academy. Only a person who went to Glynn in those days would recognize the smell of a Friday football day when the winds blew out of the Northeast. That smell of Hercules poured over the campus and the cool air meant we had a football game that Friday night. It was one of those days that I had stopped over at Nicks for my early morning Coke and peanuts. I liked the big Coke, not the little 6 ounce bottle. Small bottles were for betting, seeing who had the city, whether a Brunswick bottle, another city or who had one closer or farther away from Brunswick. I just wasn’t a small coke guy, and I guess that is why I always had a weight problem. Those Cokes and candy bars had a way of adding pounds but then when you had acne, what did a your weight matter.
I had loaded up on Coke that morning and had the football game on my mind. It was a Friday morning and the cool Hercules air meant we were heading to Lanier Field in just a few hours, although those few hours were going to be torture. Not sure why teachers didn’t feel that excitement and take our class to the field and let us sit on the student side and warm up yelling and yelling. It was 1964 and I was in the tenth grade, going through the pain of wanting a date but knowing that I’d be sitting with the other guys who didn’t have dates either. We always sat in front of the Cheerleaders for obvious reasons and having to sit through classes all day was plain torture.
It was one of those Fridays that I had filled up on Coke, ran when the bell rang and headed to my Homeroom class for roll call. My Homeroom was in the old Library which was the big room upstairs in the G.A. building. I decided to do something stupid, which was not unusual for me, but Dad had told me not to take my transistor radio to school. I wanted to take it and listen to the Big Ape between classes, and besides, it fit in my pants pocket so no one would notice. It was that Friday Coke and Radio that got me in a jam one day and causing me to having to face the wrath of a teacher.
It started at Nicks and everyone enjoyed the Cokes, peanuts, jokes and listening to my transistor on 690 a.m. The Grease Man was cutting it loose and the music of the Beach Boys, Beatles, Temptations and Four Tops were roaring that morning. The bell rang and we all headed across the street to make Homeroom before the late bell. Those Cokes were already expanding and I sure didn’t want to take a chance of being late for Mr. Clarks math class, so I by-passed the bathroom and headed to class. It sure was hard going through whatever we did as those Cokes began to cause pains and my knees pressed closer together. By the time the bell rang, I was rocking back and forth and my knees were pressed so hard together that it became hard to walk. I did manage to get up and I was so glad that our class was in the Annex and the bathroom was right around the corner. That’s when I ran into Smoke-Ring Sam and his buddies who were finishing off that pack of Winston, having a ball as they inhaled that smoke deep into every pocket of their lungs.
The smoke was as thick as a fog that filled the air that came across the marshes on a cool fall day. As I opened the door my eyes had to focus through the deep smoke haze that clouded the air. I knew where I was heading but was just hoping that no one was standing in my way. I made my way to the point of origin and was just hoping to get in and get out without having to endure that tenth grade degrading by those big Seniors who enjoyed pushing you while attempting to get rid of all that Coke. “Hey Larry,” one of the smoke ring gang said, “let me see that transistor you got in your pocket.” I explained that I was in a hurry to get to class and I’d let them hold it later. That was not what they wanted to hear so while attempting to do what I had come to do, Smoke Ring Sam grabbed the back of my collar and pulled me backwards while I was holding books in one hand and attempting to do something else. “I just want to listen to the radio while you’re,” well you know and I was still trying to make second period while holding my breath, go to the bathroom and getting pulled back and forth. How did Smoke Ring think I could get that transistor out of my pocket while all this was going on anyway. Smoke just didn’t want to take no for the answer and I just wanted to get some relief and get out so I could breath normally. The longer I stood there, the more smoke I inhaled and the more smoke soaked into my clothes, and the clocked ticked and ticked. I still needed to go to the bathroom and my books were slipping, my other hand was doing all it could, and the choking was about to start. The transistor was tight in my pants and all of a sudden I heard the bell go off like a stick of dynamite. Smoke Ring and his friends ran out the door, heading for wherever those guys go, and I was left juggling my books, and still needing to get rid of two large Cokes. Finally, I was able to stand still and the door opened. “Didn’t you hear that bell?” came the voice and my books finally fell to the wet floor, and in a defeated and trembling voice, I replied and tried to go as fast as I could. It ain’t easy going with the door wide open and someone standing there letting you know that you’re late.
As I walked out of those doors, I was being escorted to Mr. Lee’s office and it was just the beginning of second period. I began telling this teacher what I had gone through and he stopped and said, “you think you can be on time for now on?” Now I’m dumb but the answer to that question was obvious. We turned and walked back toward the Science Building where I had Mrs. Grace for Biology. This teacher walked me to Mrs. Grace’s classroom, letting me explain this story of smoke, Coke, and the attempt to juggle a couple of things all at one time. Life can be hard for a tenth grader in a big school, but just remember to leave your transistor radio at home and you’ll get through your bathroom stop in plenty of time.
Larry Lane, GA '67
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