Tourism Back Then
I grew up in eastern North Carolina during the early thirties and forties. We lived close to Highway 17, the main road from New York to Miami and I grew accustomed to what we called Yankee Tourists. Back then there were no motels, not too many service stations, mostly blacksmith shops that repaired automobiles and buggies and usually something called a Tourist Home or Tourist Court that served as temporary accommodations.
There was a Tourist Court with twelve cabins several miles down the road from my house. Each cabin was rather plain, neat, and almost bare except for a bed and a chest of drawers. A community bath house with a hot shower, commode and sink was located in the middle of the court. There was no hot water after the first couple of showers. Ice, canned goods, food, beer, wine and cold sandwiches were sold at the general store at an inflated price, as the lady that owned the store said all tourists had money and could afford it.
The roads, mostly packed clay and sand, were full of chuck holes and ruts; tires would come off the rim in a heartbeat, particularly if one hit a chuckhole wrong. The roads were almost impassible after a heavy rainstorm and sometimes the cars of the day would drown out in a deep mud hole.
And we think sometimes we have it rough.
Our beaches were only accessible over sandy roads and hand-operated ferries or by private boats that carried us over to the islands. A few hardy, adventurous souls would take the trip down Highway 17, hoping to make it to wherever they were going without incident, but that never happened. Since we lived near the main road, strange cars would often pull into the yard around dusk, and the weary passengers would get out, asking where they could find lodging for the night.
Many times, I had to bunk in with my brothers so that a couple could have my bed. If there were children, they would join us in our room. Momma was always kind and never charged, often saying that one day they might repay the favor. She always made sure that when they left the next morning, they had a fine breakfast and plenty of fresh milk cooled by the last remaining chunk of ice in the icebox. Her country eggs, sausage, ham and biscuits were the best and I can still taste them today. Over the years, many of these new friends would stop in to visit with us.
But things began to change in the late fifties when something called motels sprang up along the improved highways. Modern service stations that could handle any emergency were being built every few miles, but most of all, tires lasted longer and didn’t come off.
We still hadn’t arrived in the new tourist age but we were making progress. New roads and bridges to the islands were planned. New towns were being laid out on Holden, Long beach, Ocean Isle and Sunset Beach, all with the new crop of vacationers in mind.
Today, we call them vacationers and guests and our support industries will go to any length to make their vacations memorable.
It’s true that things have vastly improved in accommodations but one thing remains constant, something we call "Old fashioned Southern Hospitality." When you visit our area, either for a day or several weeks, we would like for you to come back because we love to share our good times with all.
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