What the Oldest Live Oaks Have Seen

Jekyll Island is a small sea island located off the Georgia coast not far from the Florida state line. In the winter it is a sleepy place, the windswept beaches largely deserted except for a few hardy souls often accompanied by happy dogs. The parking lots of the five surviving beach front motels are pretty empty at this time of the year. The island has approximately 1,000 permanent residents who live in about 900 private homes and a couple of unobtrusive condominium developments. Most of the homes look to be three bedroom brick ranch style homes, the quintessence of 1960s suburbia.

In the shallow sheltered waters off the South end of the island, Atlantic dolphin search for their dinner. In the center of the island, the golf courses are all open and in use, but to call them busy would be an exaggeration. The sunlight softly filters through the Spanish moss, mature Southern pines, and the twisted branches of ancient and noble live oaks. On the lawn in front of the Clubhouse, a few bored patrons play at croquet on an immaculately trimmed lawn. In a collection of small out buildings behind the Clubhouse that once housed servants and equipment to pamper the wealthy club members, the wives and daughters of the current patrons shop for expensive geegaws.

The clubhouse, a beautifully restored, modestly sized Victorian hotel has a history. In 1886 the island was purchased for the private use of the wealthiest Americans. By 1888 the clubhouse was complete. A few especially wealthy members built their own personal 15 to 25 room “cottages.” None of these cottages were equipped with kitchens. It was expected that all members would take their meals together in the clubhouse dining room. I find it interesting that the wealthy choose the river side of the island for their clubhouse and cottages rather than on the beach where we would expect to see such a building. At one time the club members controlled 1/6 of the wealth of the entire world.

In 1910 a private rail car pulled up to an infrequently used platform in New York City. Under the cover of darkness, a powerful senator, an Assistant Secretary of the Treasury, and the nations most powerful bankers and financiers, escaped the city without attracting the attention of the newspapers. They were headed for Jekyll Island to discuss the creation of a new central bank to control the nation’s banks, money supply, and interest rates. A few years later, President Woodrow Wilson, signed the act born on Jekyll Island, establishing the Federal Reserve System and an American financial empire built upon a currency backed by debt.

I too have a history with this island. In January of 1975, we first went to Jekyll on our honeymoon. It was the only place near South Carolina that looked half way interesting where we could actually afford to stay. Since then we have returned on every tenth anniversary. On our 20th anniversary, we stayed at the clubhouse and ate at the same dining room that once served the world’s wealthiest families. Some where along the line, we started meeting my parents at Jekyll for a few days around Christmas. It is now firmly rooted as one of our most pleasant family traditions.

But everything beautiful, delightful, and dear to us is destined to change and pass away. Jekyll Island is owned by the state of Georgia and managed by the Jekyll Island Authority, one of those quasigovernmental corporations that are expected to earn a profit, but as Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, and the U.S. Post Office has proven such entities are seldom successful. Back during the real estate boom, in 2006, the Authority planned to knock down three of the older motels and replace them with a large ambitious condo and hotel development, forever changing the character of the island. So far the three motels slated for destruction have been demolished but due to the collapse of the commercial real estate market, only one small luxury hotel has actually been constructed. It is scheduled to open in a few days. One small strip mall has serviced the basic needs of the island for 38 years. It is slated for destruction in 2010 even though the developers have dropped out of the project, due to a lack of available financing. The merchants have been told they will be provided with trailers until the new mall is complete, but they have not been promised space in the new mall. After 38 years the pharmacy containing one of my wife’s favorite selections of souvenirs, gifts, and trinkets is closing its doors forever. The pharmacist is 65 years old and can’t continue his business under these conditions. He hoped that one day he could sell his business at retirement, but now it is worthless. The effected merchants believe that this is part of a scheme to replace them with businesses favored by the developers and their political allies. This sounds about right to me.

But something does need to be done. Even before the stock market crashed, the number of visitors to the island has been declining. One of the restaurant owners told me that the number of visitors was down about 15% in 2008. This year, he expects the decline to be about 30%. He proudly noted that his numbers were much better. His restaurant is one of the few routinely patronized by the full time residents. The island’s only gas station is gone. At least 4 restaurants have been demolished. Most of the survivors have changed hands and names many times over the years. Obviously the Authority has to do something to bring in more and wealthier visitors if they are to remain a self sustaining corporation.

On the South end of the island, the sea is gradually eroding the land. The roots of the Southern pines nearest the ocean have been exposed and bleached white by the sun. As the trees slowly die and fall onto the beach, I find there is both sorrow in my heart for loss and an appreciation of what is becoming the abstract twisted beauty of nature’s driftwood sculptures. My parents are very old. Every year it is a little harder for them to make the trip from Vero Beach to Jekyll. I don’t know how many years are left before our family tradition joins the pines in the sea of forgetfulness. I hope to return to Jekyll in five years for our 40th anniversary, but no man knows how many years he is given to labor and strive under the sun.

Ecclesiastes Chapter 3

[1] To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
[2] A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
[3] A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
[4] A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
[5] A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
[6] A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
[7] A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
[8] A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
[9] What profit hath he that worketh in that wherein he laboureth?
[10] I have seen the travail, which God hath given to the sons of men to be exercised in it.
[11] He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end.