Once in a Lifetime

Prior to 1965, most privately owned beach cottages were not built for rental purposes but were maintained for family enjoyment at all times. The full-time availability provided busy families with an opportunity to enjoy their beach cottages on week-ends.

Throughout the years a special relationship has existed between me and these families. Also from this situation have come some once-in-a-lifetime experiences.

A Veterinarian?

A prominent family came down to their beach cottage one Friday afternoon, arriving in time for the husband to do some surf fishing before dark. When he went back to the cottage, he left his fishing rod, baited with fresh shrimp, at the front steps.

About nine o'clock that night, they heard the family dog yelping, as if it was in pain. The husband went out to investigate; he found that the dog had been tempted by the shrimp on the master's fish hook and had tried to eat the bait.

The dog's owner brought the dog down to the pavilion about ten o'clock and inquired where he could find a veterinarian. I informed him there was no veterinarian in Brunswick County and only one in Wilmington. I doubted the veterinarian would come to his office at night; neither could I guarantee that his office was open on Saturday.

Another problem existed at that time; the nearest telephone to the beach was at Winnabow Post Office; this was twenty miles away or about half-way to Wilmington.

The dog's owner was saddened when he learned of all the difficulties that confronted him to have the fish hook removed from his dog's lip. He insisted on bringing the god in so that I could see the situation.
He did bring the dog into the pavilion in his arms. It was a beautiful black cocker spaniel about one year old.
The fish hook was a number four, with a long shank; it was in the left side of his upper lip. It had penetrated the flesh as deep as the shank would permit. Before I had completed checking the location, the owner became very emotional. He pleaded with me to remove the hook.
I told him I was not a veterinarian, and the only tools available for me to use were pliers and tweezers in my fishing tackle box. At this point, two husky young men volunteered to hold the dog if I would remove the fish hook.

We took the dog out, back of the pavilion, where there was a small table under a light. We rolled the dog up in a burlap sack with his head out; one of the men held the body and the other held the head.

After I had removed the fish hook, the men took the dog out to the parking lot where it was released. One of the men looked at the dog's wonder and made a positive statement, "Mister, you have got a job to clean and deodorize that dog."

Being A Paramedic

The window unites used in beach cottages, prior to Hurricane Hazel, were different from those used today. The heavy weight units were not considered practical for use on the beach; the spring or tension type window unites were not available. As a result, in most cases the window frames were built on the job by the contractor, and a plain-style sash was used. The upper sash was placed in a permanent position; the bottom sash could be raised, and held up by some sort of a catch, or propped up with a stick.
These window units caused the cottage owner problems during rainy weather. The bottom sash would swell, making it hard to raise or lower.
Mr. Fred Reebals from Raleigh owned a beach cottage, just west of Jordan Boulevard on the ocean front. He and his wife had one child, a little red-headed boy.

Mr. Reebals owned and operated an insurance agency in Raleigh; this prevented his staying at the cottage during the week, but they spent most week-ends here. Mrs. Reebals and the little boy down here most of the time during summer months.

In August 1950, Mrs. Reebals invited a friend and her little boy to come and spend a week at the beach. No doubt many people are aware that August is referred to as "dog days." A two or three-week period on continuous cloudy and showery weather is not unusual.
The week Mrs. Reebals' friend was here, it rained several showers each day and night. The rain and dampness caused the windows to swell, and made them hard to raise or lower. There was no air conditioning available in those days; as a result it was necessary to raise the windows for fresh air.

About 10:30 one night that week when her friend was visiting, a quick shower came, and it was necessary to put the windows down. Mrs. Reebals almost failed to put one window down, it was so tight. She pulled and exerted much weight; finally the window came down with such force, the end of her right index finger as jammed between the window sash and the window stool, so that the ball of her finger was mashed off. She and her friend had to force the window up to recover the severed flesh. After recovering the ball of Mrs. Reebal's finger, they took it to the spigot, washed it and the injured finger, then put the loose part back in place/ She applied a little pressure one the end of the injured finger and maintained the pressure until she arrived at the pavilion.

Upon their arrival, the bloody cloths were evident that Mrs. Reebals had lost a considerable amount of blood. They wanted information regarding the nearest hospital. Brunswick hospital had not been built; Dosher Hospital at Southport was the nearest.
I volunteered to go with them to Southport. The doctor on call for the emergency room had gone home for the night; however, he returned to the hospital in a short time after he was notified.

The doctor asked Mrs. Reebals a few questions regarding her injury, then instructed her to go into the treatment room. He and I were surprised when she requested him to let me go with her. He hesitated and replied, "I do not mind, if you think it will reduce the pain."
I did go with her, observed as the doctor gently removed the cloths, cleaned the injured finger and explained the options.
The finger had stopped bleeding by the time he finished cleaning it. The doctor's first remark was, "I could not have done a better job putting the piece back in place." He suggested leaving it alone for twenty-four hours, then come back for him to check it again. He explained to her that the finger would require a skin graft if the piece did not grow back.

When she went back to the doctor the following day, the finger looked good; she returned three days later and the doctor dressed it for the last time. The finger did completely heal.

Hurricane Hazel destroyed the Reebals' cottage in 1954, and they did not build back.
I did not see or hear from the Reebals family after the hurricane. In 1979, twenty-five years after I had seen or heard from them, a lady rang our door bell. I went to the door, and a lady asked, "Do you know who I am?"

I replied, "I am not sure I do."

She held up the index finger and showed me the scar around the ball of her finger. I exclaimed, "It is Mrs. Fred Reebals!" You have guessed it, we enjoyed discussing the experience.

Beach Rodeo

The big pavilion I lost in Hurricane Hazel was built in the spring of 1952. The upstairs area was under construction during the month of March.
It was during this time of construction I went to my house for lunch one day, and my wife asked me if we saw those cows running down the strand going west. I told her we did not. Then she told me there were four of the cows and that they were red with white faces.
I asked several people during the week if they had seen any cows; all stated they had seen none, not even a track. One fellow indicated he believed my wife had a strong imagination; I told him my wife could identify a cow when she saw one.

Thompson McRakan, who was superintendent of maintenance at the Baptist Assembly located at Fort Caswell, came to see me the following Sunday.

He informed me that ten of his cows had escaped from a pasture at Fort Caswell two weeks prior to his talking to me. Six had already been recaptured on Long Beach, but four could not be found.

I informed him my wife had seen four cows running down the strand one morning that weeks and they were traveling in a westward direction. I suggested he should go check around the western end of this beach.

He was gone a couple of hours and came back by; he had found tracks and said he would return Monday,

When Mr. McRakan came back Monday, he was equipped with two pickup trucks, a car, four men, two dogs; one of the dogs was a bull dog which would catch the cows if they could be found.

Two of the cows were caught Monday in the west end of this beach. The remaining two escaped, came back to the east end and hid in the bushes.

The cows could not be found Tuesday morning in the bushes at the east end. Mr. McRakan requested Joe Hewett to take his big hound dog and help find the cows. Joe's dog was a mixture of blood hound and black-and-tan; his name was "Tojo."

I was at the pavilion working with my construction crew. About eleven o'clock at pickup truck sped to the end of Old Ferry Road; a husky young man got out and rushed to the edge of low water. This attracted the attention of my workers; one exclaimed, "Look at that cow coming down the strand." The cow was two hundred yards east of the pavilion, in water six or eight inches deep, and was traveling west; this route would bring her in front of the pavilion where the young man was waiting.

The cow was a Hereford with horns about eight inches long, and she was around eight hundred pounds. She was running at such a fast pace that she was making a spray of ocean water in front of her.

The young man had hoped to detain the cow until the other men arrived with the dogs, or to persuade her to turn back. He was not successful in either. Instead, the cow charged at him with full force, and he was lucky to escape. The other three men and the dogs arrived about this time, but they were too late.

The men made a quick decision to rush down the beach to an area now identified as 150 Ocean Boulevard, West. There they would have time to set a barricade composed of men and dogs; this was done successfully before the cow arrived.

When the cow did arrive at this location and surveyed the situation, she had no intention of being captured. After a brief rendezvous with the men and the dogs, the cow went to sea.

The roundup crew came back to the pavilion at a quarter to twelve o'clock with a pair of binoculars. They knew the pavilion was the highest point on the ocean front at that time; this would provide observation farther at sea. I asked them what they were looking for, they informed me that the cow had gone to sea. In a few minutes the man with the binoculars had located the cow, approximately one quarter of a mile at sea. At lunch time, my work force joined me using binoculars to observe the cow. By one o'clock she was no longer visible. The roundup crew could not determine whether the cow had drowned or gone farther from shore. Nevertheless, they decided to spend the afternoon watching and waiting.
It was around three o'clock before the cow was visible again. The men watched patiently before determining where she would come back to the beach, then rushed back down to man their battle station.

When the cow got back to the beach, still in water approximately eighteen inches deep, the bulldog was given the command to "go catch." The dog did just what his master had trained him to do, but it almost cost his life.
The dog caught the cow by the ear, and he could have held her if she had come up on the beach; instead, she turned back into deeper water, carrying the dog. The bulldog was helpless in water three feet deep.

The cow was finally subdued and loaded into the truck. The men, wet and tired, did not hesitate to admit the capture was difficult - big battle won!

Being a Fireman

Prior to the mid 1950's, most owners of beach cottages did their own minor repairs each spring. Investment and tax shelters were quite different then; therefore, it was necessary to economize. Secondly, repair men and builders were not as plentiful as they are today.

In May 1953, Mr. And Mrs. Charles W. Lewis of Raleigh, spent a week at the beach for the purpose of checking and repairing their cottages for the summer season. Late one afternoon that week, they decided to ride down to the west end. On their way going, Mr. Lewis noticed what appeared to be smoke coming out of a louver in the gable of the cottage. The smoke had increased when they came back to the cottage.
Mr. Lewis came to my home on Hillside Drive, reported what he had seen, and wondered if we could do anything to save the cottage. He stated he had a small fire extinguisher in his kitchen. I informed him I had a large acid-and-soda type down at the pavilion.

We made a quick decision to try; he would go get his extinguisher and go to the cottage and wait for me.

I rushed in my home, grabbed a flashlight, went by the pavilion, and got my extinguisher. At the intersection of Ocean Boulevard and Old Ferry Road, I met two local workers leaving the beach. They were on their way to Old Ferry. I informed them of the emergency and requested their help.

Mr. Lewis was at the cottage when we arrived. He had determined there was no water available. The smoke was increasing at a fast rate as we rushed up the steps to the front porch; looking through the windows on the porch, we saw the fire around the trapdoor to the attic.
We made a quick decision to kick out a window, go in, and attempt to extinguish the fire. As I entered the hall, where the entrance to the attic was located, I could see the fire burning around the trap door, which was ready to fall out.

I glanced in a bedroom and saw two blankets. I told the two volunteers to take the blankets, go wet them in the ocean and return as quick as possible. When they returned, they had two wet blankets and a bucket of water. I have no idea where they found the bucket.
Before the volunteers returned, Mr. Lewis and I had moved a small table near the attic entrance. Our equipment was limited; the table would provide a place for me to stand and direct the retardant into the attic; this would be more effective.

Just as I got up on the table, the trap door which had been burning fell out on the floor. I used the small extinguisher immediately to extinguish the fire around the entrance to the attic; this would allow me to stay on the table. The hose and nozzle on the large fire extinguisher were short; therefore, I needed to be near the attic entrance.

After I placed the big extinguisher on my shoulder and was ready to release the retardant, I glanced into the attic which was like an inferno. It was a miracle we were able to contain the fire. No doubt, with out the extinguishers this cottage would have been burned and also the cottage next door.

Why did we not call the fire department? There were no telephone in this area at the time and only the fire department in Brunswick County was in Southport, twenty-seven miles from our fire.

Evidence revealed the following day that spontaneous combustion was the case of the fire. The cottage owners, a prominent family from High Point, had been to the beach the previous week-end repairing and painting. When they finished, the remaining paint and brushes were stored in the attic.

The most serious damage was confined to the roof area. Two or three rafter had to be replaced on the west side, also a section of sheathing on the west side. All the roofing shingles had to be replaced.

Recovering the Unseen

My Wife and I have always attended church when possible. One Sunday morning during the month of May in the late 1950's, we went to church and returned to our home a few minutes past twelve o'clock. When we drove into our driveway, a young man about twenty years old was sitting on our doorsteps. There was no car visible around the area.

I asked the young man if he was waiting to see me. He informed me that his car was stuck at the east end of Ocean Boulevard and asked me to go pull it out. I told him it would be necessary for me to eat lunch before going.

At that time, I owned and maintained a three quarter ton "4x4" truck. Over the years I owned four of them; each had a winch with a power ratio twenty to one. Before there were any paved roads on the beach, this vehicle was necessary for my business operation - to remove garbage and do repairs around my apartments and cottages. There was never any desire on my part to solicit wrecker business.

After I finished with lunch, the young man and I went to the east end of Ocean Boulevard. As we approached the end of the road, I could not see any vehicle, so I pulled up to the end of the road and stopped.

I was frustrated and asked the young man where the car was located. He pointed his finger towards the inlet and stated it was around the curve.

There was no reason to be concerned about the tide until I learned that his vehicle was not at the end of Ocean Boulevard but was down at the inlet. At this point, I observed the tide was high and informed the young man I would not drive my truck through the salt water but would help him that afternoon. I told him to meet me at the end of the road at five o'clock when the tide would be low and we could drive on the beach.

The road extended several hundred feet farther toward the inlet at that time. There were also several acres of beach with sea oats growing between the end of the road and the inlet. Dredges had not disturbed the natural channel between the Intracoastal Waterway and the ocean; as a result, there were areas with considerable mud. Some of the mud was firm; in others areas it was more like the texture of pipe clay; this material kept the channel in those areas stabilized. At low tide there was a deep hole at the end of Holden Beach. The hole was about 200 feet from the Intracoastal Waterway. It was 8 or 10 feet deep on low tide (this depth estimated straight down). The hole was 3 or 4 feet from the edge of low water mark.

The young man was waiting at the end of Ocean Boulevard when I arrived at five o'clock. As we traveled around the end of the island, there was no kind of vehicle visible. Finally, I asked the young man if this was a joke or if his car was really stuck. He pointed his finger at twenty-five or thirty spectators, standing down at the edge of the water; this was the location of the deep hole. He instructed me to drive down there. I drove there but did not see any vehicle. This was confusing. At this point, I was ready to go home and forget the ordeal.
In a positive and demanding question I asked, "Young man, where is the vehicle?" This time he pointed his finger at the water where the deep hole was located and said, "It's down there."

That prompted me to ask the question: "Did you drive it in there?"
His reply was that he did not see the deep hole. I responded with this statement, "Young man, if you did not see this big area of water, you must have been looking at the moon."

I was convinced there was some kind of vehicle down in the water; how to get it out remained a problem. Not many people had driving equipment then, but the young man informed me he had a fellow standing by who would go down and attack the cable, if I would pull it out.
I informed the young man, I would not be responsible for any damage to his vehicle or assume any liability for the diver.

The second time the diver went down he attached the cable. When the vehicle emerged, it was recognized as a red jeep, which I estimated to be three or four years old. Later that afternoon, I was told this jeep was driven recklessly on the strand early that morning. No doubt the owner's driving ability was impaired at that time or he could have seen Lockwood's Folly Inlet.