REFLECTIONS OF A LIFE, Chapter 11: Hilton Head

Chapter 11

Hilton Head

           

            Hilton Head Island was to become a cherished vacation destination, one I thought could never be surpassed except in the heat and humidity of midsummer when most outdoor activity was better left to mornings and evenings.  I guess my thoughts about midsummer were in a minority, for midsummer was the peak vacation season at HH because of the beach.  Maybe Dorothy was not as enthralled with the Island as I was, but still we had many happy memories, and two that were traumatic.

            We had driven south with the kids the summer after my February experience on South Padre Island.  We wanted to check out two vacation areas to see which most appealed to us as a family, with the possibility of purchasing a second home.  One was Lake Lure in the mountains of North Carolina about 40 miles southeast of Asheville.  The other was on the ocean, Hilton Head Island in South Carolina.  We rented model condos at both places.

            I suspect Connie and Matt already knew the vacation destination they liked best, but I wasn't so sure, being fond of both mountains and ocean.  But the decision turned out to be easy.  It was Hilton Head all the way.

            Hilton Head is a large barrier island, second only to Long Island in size.  After Padre Island, the lush foliage of Hilton Head was a feast for the senses and the beach was wide with nice homes and upscale hotels lining more than twenty miles of shoreline.  What most impressed me were the "plantations," large private developments strictly zoned to avoid the commercialization afflicting most resort areas and particularly those on the coasts.  These plantations were gated and were entered by roads winding through live oaks, palms, brilliant foliage, and laced by salt-water (harboring no mosquitoes) lagoons and canals.  I have never found another such beautifully controlled resort area in all the U. S., nor in those parts of Europe I came to know in years to come.  I was content to give up the search for other destinations that might be more satisfying, but never were.

            We stayed three days at a lovely villa (they call condos villas in Hilton Head).  We learned that many owners of such villas as well as the larger houses rented their properties part of the year.  This possibility of rental income influenced our decision a few years later to buy a villa.

            The kids liked the beach, but there were many other things to do, including dozens of golf courses, tennis courts, bicycle trails, nature walks, kayaking, all kinds of fishing, dolphin sightings, turtles, bird watching . . .

            Several years later in 1988, with royalties from several books enhancing our income, we bought a villa in Palmetto Dunes Plantation in the central part of the island, only a scant mile from the ocean with private access to the beach.  It was nicely furnished and had a balcony looking over a canal full of cranes and turtles to the tenth tee of a golf course where we could see golfers trying to hit over the water with many not succeeding.  We bought it from a doctor up north for $135,000, with 10% down, and hoped to rent it most of the year, since we could only use it ourselves for about two weeks until I retired years in the future.

            That was the rub.  Hilton Head, at about 800 miles from Cleveland, was no weekend retreat.  It required a day and a half of rather hard driving each way, although we sometimes made the fourteen-hour trip in one day coming back.  Had I been retired this would have been no problem, but working full-time including most summers and with heavy writing commitments we couldn't get down enough to make it worthwhile.  Most years we did well to rent it for fifteen weeks.  The commission for the rental agency and the wear and tear drained any profit we might have had.  But income tax deductions were tremendous those years.

            Four years later in 1992 we bit the bullet, and sold it for $118,000, a substantial loss in a real estate market gone sour.  But I still had to pay capital gains taxes because of depreciating the property to several thousand less than we sold it for. The great dream of a second home in a beautiful vacationland had gone a glimmering.  But had we held on to the property to the end of the decade it would have been worth $250,000.

            We still go back to Hilton Head, but now we rent for a week once or twice a year.  One summer we rented a larger house and took all the kids and grandkids and had a memorable time.

            The four years that we owned the villa produced two vivid memories.  The first was our son Matt's accident, and the second was Hurricane Hugo.  Both happened in the same year, 1989.

            Matt's accident. -- The second year after purchasing the villa I had a sabbatical and received a Fulbright Fellowship to Yugoslavia for four months in the spring and early summer of 1989 (we will write about this grand adventure in the next chapter).  Matt was going to Syracuse University in 1989 and he and some friends were looking for something to do for summer vacation.  His feelings about Hilton Head were similar to mine and he could think of nothing better than to work there for the summer and live in our villa.  We gave it rent free to him and three friends; they would only have to pay the utilities, and they eagerly jumped at this. 

            Since summer was the peak season they had no trouble finding jobs.  Peter, his closest friend and a journalism major found the best job, that of a reporter for the island weekly newspaper.  Matt got a job in some retail store and bicycled to work.  They all had enough free time for the beach and other activities.

            In Ljubljana, Slovenia early in June Connie called us at 2 a.m.  Matt had been hit by a car while riding his bicycle back from work, had been unconscious with a head injury for a short time, and had not been wearing a helmet.  Peter had called her with the news, and she contacted the hospital and they thought his condition was not too serious but were keeping him overnight for observation.  We called the hospital and were given the same information, but wondered if we should fly back.  My contract was until end of the month, and we had a week trip planned through central Europe just before leaving Yugoslavia for good, but of course in a serious emergency we would certainly about this.

            We faced the most stressful situation we had ever had:  a son with a head injury of unknown severity but unconscious for a while, and we were four thousand miles away.  One of my best friends in Ljubljana told me that he had had a head injury and been unconscious just like Matt, and he recovered completely with no lasting consequences.  That soothed us a bit, but we all knew head injuries could be serious indeed.        

            Prudence suggested we wait a day or two before deciding to fly back.  Matt was expected to be released and back in the villa the next day.  So we waited to talk with him before making plans to return.  The next day he sounded quite good, although his head still hurt.  He had no memory of the accident or what happened, but he said a policeman had told him it was all his fault, that the car making the turn had the right of way.  Well, we decided to finish our stay in Yugoslavia unless we heard otherwise from Matt or Connie or Peter.

            When we got back to the U. S., we stopped first at Connie's in Connecticut, then drove back to Cleveland, and the next day drove to Hilton Head to see Matt.  He seemed okay although still had periodic headaches but the doctor thought this was nothing unusual with a concussion.  We checked with the police department about any culpability by the driver, but they maintained that Matt was entirely to blame, and that the driver had not been cited.  Whether a personal injury lawyer would have agreed with this assertion we never explored.  We were just happy to have Matt safe and sound and prayed there would be no long-range problems, and there seemed to be none.  The good Lord or Matt's guardian angel surely must have been watching out for him, and we thanked the Lord.

            Hurricane Hugo. -- That September we invited two of our friends, Bill and Beverly Lewis, to join us for a week in Hilton Head.  While they were about five years older than ourselves, we had a lot in common.  Bill and I played golf at the country club and while he had a high handicap and was erratic, I was more steady with my lower handicap.  We made a good team, and even entered a two-man, best-ball tournament.  We surprised everyone by surviving through four rounds to go to the finals.  We were beaten on the 18th hole of this final round by our much younger opponents, but were runnersup and almost champions.  On the 17th hole of that final round, we were tied, but now we faced two difficult putts that one of us had to sink to halve the hole and keep us still alive for the 18th hole.  Bill's was eight feet and mine was twenty.  He told me, "Bob, I don't think I can handle this stress.  You'll have to do it," which I managed to do, bringing us to the 18th hole all tied up.  While we eventually lost the tournament, I suspect the memories of our heroic efforts stayed with Bill the rest of his life.

            He was a retired food broker who after retirement had taught marketing at several small colleges around Cleveland.  Some years before I knew him, he had had a heart attack and a bypass operation.  The experience with death had been traumatic, and he now approached life rather gingerly.

           Instead of a serene and tranquil week at Hilton Head, danger lurked just beyond the horizon.  As we journeyed down, a tropical depression had been developing in the east Atlantic.  A day later this depression was upgraded to a minimum hurricane with winds of 75 miles an hour, but it was still a thousand miles away.  Over the next several days the hurricane, now named Hugo, gained strength and headed in the general direction of the southeast coast, not yet an immediate threat but nothing to ignore either. 

            "Maybe we shouldn't have come this week," Bill said, more than a little worried.  "Have you even been in a hurricane?"

            "No, this would be new for us, if it happens. . . I rather wish we were renting instead of owning," I told him.

            "Maybe we should head back tomorrow," Bill said.

            "We don't know that Hugo is going to strike anywhere near here.  It could come to land hundreds of miles away and not be a factor except perhaps for more rain than usual.  Why don't you wait another day?  There should be plenty of warning before it's really a threat."

            So they decided to wait.  In truth, I was getting quite concerned, as computer estimates placed Hilton Head directly in Hugo's path a few days away.  Activity on the island was becoming driven, as windows were being boarded up, some goods, such as glassware and art objects, were being hauled away, I wasn't sure to where, for was anyplace within a hundred miles or even more safe from a major hurricane with the wind and water threat? 

            Now radio and TV screamed with warnings and advice about dealing with a hurricane.  People were urged to evacuate the island early, just in case.  Certainly in the event of a mass evacuation the four-lane bridge to the mainland could hardly carry the traffic.  Plans were announced to make all lanes of the bridge one-way west, should Hugo continue on its present course that would place the area between Savannah, Georgia and Charleston, South Caroline as the most likely path, with Hilton Head midway between.  The storm was becoming a Category 4 hurricane with winds upward of 150 miles an hour. 

            It was too late to get our windows boarded up, but I put tape on them in the shape of Xs, which we'd been told might help the windows bear up under heavy winds.  I could see visions of our villa being gutted by the storm and any tidal wave, even though we were almost a mile from the shore.

            It was 8:00 at night, and after listening to the last update on the storm still bearing directly at Hilton Head and only a day away, the Lewis's announced they were leaving and would drive all night to get to Columbia and if possible to their daughter in Charlotte, North Carolina where they should be safe.  "We should have left a couple of days ago," he said, implying that I was responsible for their staying so close to the edge. 

            Dorothy and I were rather relieved to have them go, since Bill had been getting increasingly agitated and talking about how he shouldn't have to deal with so much stress, that it wasn't good for his heart.  "Are you going to wait it out, Bob?" he asked as they were leaving.

            "We're not sure.  We'll wait until tomorrow to decide."

            "Well, don't wait too long, so you can't get off the island."

            We didn't sleep much that last night wondering what to do and what further action we might take to preserve our property.  We moved everything back from the windows and draped them with plastic. The next morning we were still undecided as we listened to the 6 a.m. communiques.  The storm had been upgraded to a Category 5 hurricane, the most dangerous of all, and Charleston was being evacuated.  The sun was still shining outside, though the wind was picking up and there were scudding clouds.  The local radio station said the surf was up some but warned not to be deceived by the still benign weather.

            The latest computer models predicted that the greatest probability was for the eye to come to shore between Charleston and Hilton Head by early afternoon.  If it came to shore near Charleston, we would be spared major damage since the winds would be counterclockwise around the eye, thus hitting us from the land side and sparing us the killer surf.  If it hit us squarely or came in near Savannah, we could expect severe damage.

            At 7:00 a.m. the local radio station announced that all electricity would be turned off at 8:00, and advised everyone to leave except public safety workers and those in essential occupations.  The radio station planned to keep operating, "to sacrifice ourselves to the storm, if needed."

            We had packed our bags and filled up with gas the day before and now with the electricity soon to be turned off decided to leave, wondering what we would be coming back to.  We also didn't know whether we should plan to drive back to Cleveland, or stop some place like Columbia or Charlotte where we could more easily return to Hilton Head if we needed to.

            Traffic was only moderately heavy as we left the Island and crossed the bridge to the mainland.  "I wonder whether most people are going to ride out the hurricane.  Maybe we're being too chicken," I told Dorothy.

            "Maybe they've already left."

            "No, I don't think so.  Maybe some are going to make the decision later this morning.  They might want to hear a later weather advisory."

            Well, as we got farther away from the Island, traffic became heavier, and the two-lane highway to Interstate 95 became clogged.  Weather had worsened, with fast-moving clouds and rain squalls.  "Maybe we didn't leave as early as most people," Dorothy observed.

            "I wonder if the Lewis's made it to Charlotte last night."

            "I would think they'd have driven all night to get to their daughter's place there.  They probably won't have any fond memories of Hilton Head though."

            "Maybe they'll think of this as a grand adventure,"

I said.  "As we might."

            "But only if our villa isn't destroyed," Dorothy reminded me.

            Traffic on I-95 north to I-26, the crossroad from Charleston to Columbia, was not bad.  But this was to change along with the weather.  By the time we reached I-26 about 90 miles farther north, our car was buffeted with sporadic strong wind gusts and squalls.  When we took the cloverleaf to I-26, we had great difficulty wedging into bumper-to-bumper traffic heading west toward Columbia from Charleston. 

            Traffic was some of the worst I have ever encountered.  It was not just heavy, but drivers were acting panicked.  Traffic would speed up, then come to a screeching halt, then restart wildly.  It required my closest attention not to pile into cars suddenly braking ahead, while we steeled ourselves to being smashed from behind.  The berm was spotted with cars either in fender benders or mechanical problems.  "I'm damn glad we started today with a full tank," I told Dorothy after one particularly long wait for traffic to start moving.  Now the rain and wind commenced in earnest.

            At last we got to Columbia and were able to turn north to Charlotte on I-77.  With the turn, traffic thinned greatly, and the worst was over.  We heard on the car radio that Hugo had come on shore at Charleston, that it was inflicting major damage, and that the Isle of Palms, one of the built-up barrier islands near it, was devastated.  Dorothy and I breathed sighs of relief.  All along this trying journey the situation back at Hilton Head tormented us.  Now the island should be spared substantial damage.

            The rest of the trip was without incident.  We actually decided to drive all the way back to Cleveland and got there about 9 p.m.  We were eager to turn on the TV and learn more about Hugo.  The pictures over the next few days of the destruction at Charleston and, worse, at Isle of Palms, made us shudder to realize what might have been.  Reports were that Hilton Head had had very little damage, only a few palm trees (with their shallow roots) pushed over.  "I think we had more adventure and trauma fleeing than if we'd stayed in our villa," I told Dorothy later that night. 

            "But what if Hugo had hit Hilton Head square?  Then it would have been as bad or worse than Charleston," she reminded me. 

            We learned later that the Lewis's had stayed in Charlotte, but Hugo, one of the worst hurricanes to hit this part of the country in years, had become air bourne and skipped after mutilating Charleston, only to touch back down near Charlotte with heavy wind and water damage.  Their daughter's home was damaged in the shrieking remnants of Hugo and their stress level had to be dangerously high.  I told Bill later that if he could handle that stress, he was pretty well recovered from his bypass operation and enured to trauma.  "I guess it exceeds anything I could possibly encounter on the golf course," he told me wryly.