vol2ch_13

Travels of Dursmirg Vol. 2

Chapters 13-19

VOL. 2, CHAPTERS 13-19

CHAPTER 13                AROUND THE ISLAND AND OVER THE YEARS:

The tranquility of our favorite anchoring spot in Mongin creek at Papy’s Landing was rarely disrupted and then only
on Sunday afternoons in the summer time when picnickers would venture over from Savannah to set up camp and
cook out on Bloody Point which was a quarter mile east down the island from Papy’s Landing.
I need to explain what Papy’s Landing was; this was a natural oyster shell beach that led from the creek directly up
to the high ground where a large stand of huge oak trees stood. Situated in a short bend in the tidal creek, the
current washed at an accelerated rate keeping the oyster shell landing clean of the “pluff” mud found amongst the
marsh grasses and in the flat ponds.

Papy’s Landing, at high tide on Mongin Creek. I am in our dinghy named Bingy Dinghy throwing our cast-
net amongst the almost submerged marsh grass. The photo was taken from the deck of our boat
Dursmirg at anchor. An interesting note is that where the dinghy is situated in this photo, at low tide it
would be high up the oyster shell and twenty yards from the water.
One of the prominent features of this type of oyster shell beach was the thousands of colorful fiddler crabs that
seemed to run in herds when you approached and then when you were near they would each go down their own
little round holes in the beach and disappear from sight. The fiddler crabs had colorfully decorated shells that
looked like they had been ornately hand painted with intricate patterns. They had one very large claw and if you
were patient and didn’t disturb these little creatures you would be treated to a display of their mating gestures as
they waltzed back and forth waving their big claw as high in the air as they could. We used to catch them to use for
fishing bait and the fish loved them.
Papy’s Landing never did have a dock to the best of my knowledge, but was for many
years used for launching and disembarking place for small boats by the natives. Because of the large tidal range
the boaters using the landing would carry or drag their boats up past the high tide line and usually tie them to a tree
just in case of an extra high tide.
With the very large tidal range and swift currents it was inevitable that some of the weekend visitors to Bloody point
would need assistance. Many times boats would be stranded up on the beach for many hours waiting for the tide to
return so they could get underway again. We were solicited by these weekend visitors for assistance to use our two-
way radio and also for engine repairs.
We did hear some terrible stories of these boaters stranded in one of the many twisting rivers that made a maze that
could confuse just about anyone even with a chart. The biggest problem came from engine failure and a lack of
drinking water when the summer sun could beat down unmercifully and those unfortunate enough to have to spend
the night were confronted with the marsh mosquitoes and gnats. The mosquitoes were jokingly known to the locals
as, “gallon-nippers”, because of their size and appetite for blood.
Monday mornings we had the place to ourselves until the next weekend except for when one of the locals came
down to Papy’s Landing usually by ox cart to do some fishing. The ox cart would be parked in the shade of one of
the big oak trees where the ox or cow that pulled the cart could graze. One of the wheels was merely tied with a rope
as a brake to keep the animal and cart from meandering off too far.

                   Bertha and Thomas Stafford in their ox cart on a Daufuskie road.
Thomas Stafford and his wife Bertha many times came to get crabs because Bertha had an enterprise going making
crab cakes and deviled crabs to sell at Sam Stevens’s night club over on the Cooper River on the north end of the
island.
Over time we became well acquainted with these two interesting people who were natives of the island. Thomas
walked with a limp because of his foot that was lame due to a gun shot wound he sustained when he and Bertha had
an altercation. Evidently they must have come to terms because we didn’t detect any animosity between them.
Their home was rented for $8.00 a month, which seemed reasonable even if only for the use of the land but it was
very humble as you can see in this photo from 1973.

Bertha and Thomas were invited aboard our boat and Jane let them sample some of her wine that turned out to be a
sensational hit. Bertha insisted that Jane sell her some of her “sasi-frass” wine but Jane said it wasn’t for sale and
that she had no interest in the trouble selling it would cause. Our wine was only for our personal consumption. Jane
was making a number of different types of wine at the time all from ingredients that were available in the woods on
the island, and sassafras roots made a unique wine that was one of our all-time favorites and we consumed plenty
until it was rumored that sassafras was a carcinogen and we quit that production.

     Cutting sassafras roots for making wine on the back deck of Dursmirg.
                                                       ***
We sure were not in commercial wine production but we were more than happy to provide the formulas and any
helpful hints.
Thomas and Bertha made several return trips to our boat and one day they showed up in a boat with the whole
family and that turned out to be a sizeable crowd to cater Jane’s wine to but they loved our floating home and it
might have been an inspiration to them.
                                                                          ***
Oh, by the way!
(From the British Colombia Cancer Association)
"Both benign and malignant tumors have developed in laboratory animal depending on the dose of safrole
administered." (Newall)
Safrole is a chemical carcinogen, which can induce DNA modification. (Tan)
"No one really knows just how harmful it is to human beings, but it has been estimated that one cup of strong
sassafras tea could contain as much as 200 mg [milligrams] of safrole, more than four times the minimal amount
believed hazardous to humans if consumed on a regular basis." (Tyler)
Also sassafras root bark is used as a precursor in the manufacture of (methylenedixoymethamphetamine), “MDMA”
or ecstasy.
                                                  ***
(Note) Another product that Jane and I harvested from the woods of Daufuskie Island that came from the sassafras
tree was the distinctive mitten shaped leaves which we would dry and then grind with salt in a mortar and pestle into
a fine powder that was used as a spice and thickening agent in cooking. It had an aroma that smelled better than
the best fresh air and was known as “filé”.
Botanical Name: Sassafras albidum Other Names: sassafras leaves, gumbo file'
Description: Ground sassafras leaves. Commonly used in Creole and Cajun dishes, both for its flavor and
thickening properties. Sassafras leaves do not contain safrole, the carcinogen found in the roots and bark of the
tree. Unless sold in a safrole-free form, the roots, bark and extracts made from them may not be sold as food in the
USA. Since file' is naturally safrole-free, there is no restriction on its sale and it can be found in most supermarkets
in the spice or fish section.
Basic Cooking Instructions: File' should be added to a dish near the end of cooking, as it tends to get tough and
stringy with prolonged cooking.

CHAPTER 14


Gliding with the current

Jane and I many times loved to just glide along with the current in our dinghy and take in the beauties of this strange
and different wilderness.
Gliding silently, peacefully, we saw the sights of birds, fiddler crabs, alligators and shrimp jumping when some large
fish would cruise near disrupting anything smaller like sardines because might is right in nature.
Porpoises encircling a school of mullet would make a game of sport fishing many times batting one of the mullet high
in the air and then swimming around and waiting for the mullet to come down from the sky into the open mouth of the
waiting porpoise like an outfield catcher with a fly-ball. Jane and I always felt the porpoises had more fun than
people did just by their playful antics and always with their perpetual big smile and distinctive noises of jubilation.
As we glided silently along with the tidal current in our dinghy it was common to see alligators basking in the sun,
three at a time, on Bloody Point and all the conch we wanted to eat if we didn’t mind disrupting the snoozing gators.
When the tide was right, either just entering the marsh grass or leaving it, I would glide along with the cast net
casting for shrimp and usually as an added benefit get a flounder or two and several blue crabs.
When I got into water too deep I would cast toward shore and as I retrieved the net it would pull me closer to shore.
When I was too close to shore I would cast out and thus steer the dinghy along with the current. It was interesting
that I always had a fishing partner that followed me like a pet dog would his master, but staying a respectable one
hundred or so feet away. If for some reason I changed my direction my fishing partner would instantly dive beneath
the water and disappear not leaving a trace except a small ripple with the flip of its tail and the alligator would be
gone.
We found that we were using our outboard motor less and less but kept it tuned and running for those times when
our dinghy could be used as a tugboat.
We began to think of a sailing rig for the dinghy but realized that would only be useful in places with less current like
the Indian River and the Florida Keys. Here we had those incredible tidal currents that ran so fast that I used to joke
to Jane that we could water ski behind our boat when it was anchored.
We did learn to live with the currents and discovered that soon we would actually be using them to our advantage
and not fighting them like we first had done. As strong as the currents were, there was a way to get around by taking
the back current eddies formed along the banks and away from the outside of river bends.

Low tide at Bloody Point, Jane and I pulling our dinghy up the beach with our boat Dursmirg anchored at
Papy’s Landing in the background. This is Mongin Creek and Bloody Point is on the south east side of
Daufuskie Island.

Dursmirg careened on Bloody Point to do a bottom paint job. Jane and I would go the day before we
wanted to careen our boat and survey the beach for the best place that provided the correct contour to
match our boats bottom. We then staked it off so that when we returned to beach our boat at exact high
tide we could find our spot. This was a time for fast and pre-planned action. We only had a couple of
minutes to beach the boat and get out bow and stern anchors that we winched tight as bow strings
before the out going tide began to roar by. A slight delay would cause much hard work and could put the
boat in a dangerously precarious position. We witnessed some people that had their boat tip over with
the keel held high and the gunwale down so that the incoming tide sunk the boat. This is something that
cannot be reversed once the sequence has started, so the utmost in precaution is required. We did
discover that we could get the boat off early by sloshing bucket loads of water under the keel to wash it
down the beach. Jane hated that procedure because our boat was so very heavy and even with a two-
part block and tackle tightly pulling at the masthead the weight of the boat righting itself easily uprooted
trees with its force as the boat settled down washed by the incoming tidal current.

Back to the river and the dinghy;
Our dinghy was as indispensable as a cowboy’s horse in the desert and without it we could be stranded either on
the boat or on shore. From it we caught our seafood, explored and also on occasion used it as a little tugboat for
Dursmirg.
It was interesting to maneuver our dinghy using only our oars to row into such a position
that when we left the bank of the river heading for our boat the Dursmirg at anchor that we would take a lead much
like a hunter does when shooting a flying bird. Our plan would be to close in on the Dursmirg at precisely the right
time so that as we passed by the dinghy boat davit rope could be snatched. If you missed, the current would carry
you swiftly away with no other option but to head to shore and then use a back current to get you back in position
for another attempt. We soon became cunningly adept at reading the current speed before we departed from the
shoreline.

Daufuskie, the river;
Nothing goes to waste in the river. I remember Mr. Burn was called to take care of a drowning victim. .
One summer Sunday morning 3 young men in an outboard powered boat had engine trouble and they tied their
boat to an Intracoastal Waterway marker adjacent to Daufuskie Island while they were trying to determine their
engine problem. One of the young men tipped the engine up and went to the stern and as he stood on the transom,
slipped and fell into the rapidly running current. He promptly panicked and quickly sunk out of sight beneath the
swirling current.
In these warm waters of summertime, a body doesn’t stay down long. Gasses working within the body at these
temperatures soon expand to float the cadaver to the surface.
Just as the turkey vultures devour the dead and rotting flesh on dry land the crabs quickly move in to dine on any
flesh surrendered to these waters. Consuming the easy pickings first, they consume all of the soft flesh of the head
which includes the ears, nose, cheeks and eye lids quickly rendering the corpse unrecognizable.


CHAPTER 15

    Biking Daufuskie; the roads, the paths and even the beach.

Jane and I had 26-inch wheels on our Schwinn bicycles that were just barely wide enough to make the roads of
Daufuskie. If we rode on pine needles covering the sugar sand you could go or if there was a little grass but in the
loose sugar sand we had to just dismount and push.
Biking Daufuskie was very challenging and definitely developed our pedal pushing abilities to their limit. The loose
sand quickly ground up the wheel bearings and roller chains, which I found, seemed to just dissolve in that abrasive
environment.
I will never forget the first time I opened up the main crank journal bearings and to my amazement found that not
only the bearings were severely worn by the abrasive sand but that the bearing keepers had been completely
ground to oblivion not leaving a trace of their ever being there. Chains were good for about nine months use. Well,
we bought those bikes to ride them not to park them and I just kept them rolling because we were having an
experience at a place that was going to soon be gone forever.
We knew that we had arrived at a place that was right out of the “Twilight Zone” as far as the twentieth century was
concerned and that it wouldn’t last forever. If we had had an idea just how fast this old way of life and pristine slice of
paradise was going to disappear we definitely would have devoted more of our time to enjoying it then.
As it was, we did get to have an experience that cannot be duplicated in this day and time because there are no
more Daufuskie’s that exist and the island at the time was a very last hold out from century gone by. We at least
were there and did deeply appreciate what we had but do lament the fact that the crush of the expanding population
has spilled over and the next generation won’t even be able to dream of such a place as Jane and I had the good
fortune to share.

                                                    Daufuskie Church

Now, off we went to explore this place where we could glide along the beach of hard packed Appalachian quartz
sand unique to the Sea Islands on our bicycles and when the wind was at our backs the ride was free. Jane and I
had our own private beach that stretched along the entire length of the island with the Atlantic Ocean and the island
forest on either side from the south at Bloody Point all the way up to Calibogue Sound on the north where we would
find oysters, clams and whelks.
One of the reasons that there were no people on the beach was the fact that there were no drop-in visitors to the
island because there was no bridge or ferry service to the island. Another reason was that motor vehicles on the
island were very scarce and all the gasoline had to be hand toted from someplace over the water and for that
reason frivolous driving was not done.
So, bicycles were the answer for us and many of the locals resorted to animal drawn carts.
As we rode the beach, which we liked to do almost every day at low tide when we could look for items washed out of
the sand by the continuous erosion that was taking place as the island was being made smaller and smaller, we
would find Indian arrowheads and pottery. Seashells were not abundant but we did find many a sand dollar that Jane
enjoyed sketching sea scenes on using India ink and then varnishing them.

Oh, by the way!
We were inspired to do this unique and interesting sand dollar art by some friends, Buzz and Carla who came to visit
us with their sailboat. Buzz and Carla were from Green Bay Wisconsin and had sailed south to have an adventure.
We met in the Florida Keys and told them how much we liked summers at Daufuskie. They had their interest perked
and so we marked their charts.
Sure enough they pulled in to Mongin Creek one summer day but underestimated the size of the large sandbar on
the approach to the entrance. The tide was falling when they hit the sand bar and it would be nearly ten hours
before it would return with sufficient water to float their little boat again. Buzz had a 350cc motorcycle tied on deck to
his mast, which must have made for some challenging sailing maneuvers.
We were surprised when they arrived at our boat in their dinghy and related their story. Buzz made some amusing
comments about my chart marking abilities and then pointed out their boat that already was now well heeled over
with the tidal water rapidly leaving it high and dry.
I went with Buzz to appraise the situation and put out an anchor so that when the boat did finally float that it would
swing clear of the sand bar and he would then be free to go.
We made plans to have a clam dinner that night on our boat and headed for the beach to dig clams and also do
some island exploring while the tide went through its methodical rhythm of ebb and flood.
It was a glorious summer day and we were richly rewarded for our clam digging efforts. We discovered that by
placing the washed clams in a bucket of sea water with corn grits that they would filter feed on the corn grits and
thus cleansing their systems of mud and sand and be much more appetizing when eaten whole as we planned to do.
I loved the little, “cherry stone” size the best and found that with a little Worchester sauce and melted butter that
they were addictively elegant.
Well, when we returned from our afternoon of clam digging and explorations we were really surprised that the
incoming tide had taken Buzz and Carla’s dinghy and was about to swamp their boat that had heeled over to the
point that the incoming torrents were ready to enter their poor little boat as it lay on its side. First things first; we
went to rescue the sailboat. The only solution I could come up with was to rig an anchor off the masthead and try to
pull the boat into somewhat of an upright position to keep the rushing torrents from the flood tide from drowning the
little boat. It did the job and for the moment the boat had a reprieve.
Next we went in search of the prodigal dinghy. Our friend Ben Smith had retrieved it and smugly said “finder’s
keepers”. Then Buzz came out with a precious little parable; he said, “if a cow wonders out of the barn, the cow is
still my cow”. We all had a good laugh and thanked Ben for his retrieval efforts.
A note about Buzz and Carla; They had taken off from their jobs back in Wisconsin for a two year sabbatical to go
exploring with their little sailboat. The boat was equipped with the very bare minimum of equipment and Buzz used to
joke that they had but one pot. He washed his socks, drained the engine oil and cooked the beans in the same pot!.
They had come down the Mississippi River and spent the winter in the Florida Keys where we had met them and
then went on to the Bahamas before journeying north to return to Wisconsin via the Erie Barge Canal and Great
Lakes.
It was in the Bahamas that they discovered the sand dollar art. Carla became very proficient at printing free hand
various “scrimshaw” designs on the sand dollars using India ink and a “Crow quill” pen. She made a small industry of
her artwork and helped finance their travels by selling these at the market in Nassau, Bahamas.
Well, Carla inspired Jane and I and we too made a collection of these “Sea treasures” that were first bleached white,
decorated and finally varnished. We wound up using ours as “give-a-ways” to friends.

Back to biking the island:
On the south end of this deserted beach at Bloody Point we could find a treasure trove of old artifacts because the
erosion of the beach was the most pronounced there. Many activities had taken place at that spot over the years.
Indian pottery was abundant, Civil War musket balls and old clay pipes used by the soldiers stationed there when
the Union forces shelled Fort Pulaski across the Savannah River in Georgia. Even ruminants of the plantation house
where one of the old-time island blacks told us they still remembered picking cotton where the sea had now claimed
the land.

                     Indian arrowheads found at Bloody Point (actual size)

        At Bloody Point at low tide, Emily Burn, Bob Burn, John Grimsrud and wife Jane

In the fall of the year Jane and I picked persimmons there and thought the plantation owners must have planted the
persimmon trees in the previous century.
When the persimmons began to look rotten they were ready to eat, dry or make wine out of because at that point
they were sweeter than honey. A special aroma came in the fall of the rotting fruit lying on the ground that left a
lasting and lingering olfactory memory of that place and special time when we had the time to really enjoy this slice
of paradise. If for some reason you got too anxious to eat this fruit you would be in for a big surprise because of
their astringency that would pucker you up until you couldn’t pry your lips apart from eating the partially ripened fruit.
Back in the woods were several graves that evidently were from former residents. This made us think of the
generations that had come and gone here and that this island had been home to many souls, perhaps for several
thousand years. We knew when the French, Spanish and English had each claimed the island but the native Indians
only left us their pottery and arrowheads as calling cards.
There was only one road that accessed the beach and many times we would have to carry our bicycles through
deep rutted tracks filled with water while we kept a vigilant eye out for snakes. What I used to say about tramping
around the island was; we could count on two things; “red bugs and rattlesnakes’.
Red bugs are also called “chiggers” and these little devilish insects thrive in grassy areas and absolutely love
palmetto scrub. They also love to attack visitors with tight fitting clothes and deposit their eggs under the skin where
the clothes fit the tightest. After a few hours the victim will find an irresistible urge to scratch the affected area. We
found that the only effective treatment for this condition is to apply fingernail polish liberally to the affected area.
This cuts off the air supply to the eggs and they quickly die and disappear.
Because the beach access was so bad at wet times of the year that definitely helped explain the limited number of
beach users.
One afternoon as Jane and I were returning to Papy’s Landing from a visit at the Burn home we approached a
heavily rutted wet spot in the road and decided to walk through. I went first and the water was only a few inches
deep so Jane then dismounted and sunk up to her armpits in a rut. I felt so sorry for her but it was such a hilarious
sight to see especially when I had first tested the depth. As we arrived at Papy’s Landing we met the guilty party,
Shorty Smith. Shorty had felt the wheels of their truck begin to slip and gave it hell. When we told the story, Ben
Smith, Shorty’s husband, laughed so hard tears came to his eyes because he knew Shorty’s driving and saw Jane
standing there covered with mud.
There was no nighttime driving on the island because the roads were so bad and unpredictable.
While we were at Daufuskie we witnessed a first for the island and that was a collision between an ox cart and an
automobile. No one had a license tag for their car or a driver’s license either. Insurance didn’t exist there and I don’t
think the concept of liability even entered the minds of the people of this mostly peaceful place.
Another thing we didn’t worry about was theft and we would leave our boat open all day long while we were gone
with no problems.
Even in this little slice of paradise occasionally a problem would arise. I can’t help but think of a crabber named Billy
Watson and a turf war that was on-going with him and his competition. Mysteriously one night the competitor’s crab
traps, over a hundred of them, disappeared and we were told that they had gone over the state line to Georgia.
Another time the floats were all cut loose thus scuttling the traps. The crabbers all carried guns and this was just like
the wild-west to them when it came to shoot-um-ups.
As we bicycled and walked around the island we were not only learning about all of the new and wild flora and fauna
that this end of the world had to offer but we were harvesting it as well. Sassafras, persimmons, fox grapes,
scuppernong grapes and elderberries all got harvested and used. This was not only great fun but rewarding too.


CHAPTER 16

                                        The Government do-gooders;

Daufuskie Island over the years received a fair amount of national publicity for a number of reasons including
several National Geographic articles and even some national TV special interest shows about the first electric power
coming and the first phone. Then the book,The Water is Wide came out and again the spotlight focused on the
island.
Well, with the publicity came politicians to capitalize on it.
While we were there Senator Strom Thurmond came to present a boat to the islanders for them to use so that they
could have ferry service when they wanted.
A big gathering was arranged complete with speechmakers and news people to record it all.
Jane and I were there at the festivities down at the public landing and enjoyed the political posturing and back
slapping so typical of politicians. We were very impressed with one very young black student from the Daufuskie
School that prepared and delivered his own speech that was eloquent and professionally delivered. This young man
was destined to be a leader and both Jane and I thought that his speech was the best of the day.
After all was said and done Billie Burn took the dignitaries around the island in her school bus to the prominent
points of interest.
Now this recently refurbished 50-foot passenger boat named Strom Thurmond with a brand new 6-71 Detroit Diesel
engine was turned over to the islanders to run as they wanted.
Unfortunately the local resident that was to be the captain didn’t understand engines, their drive trains or even have
any concept of their maintenance.
Jane and I made one of the first trips the boat made to a nearby town of Bluffton, South Carolina and less than half
way to our destination the engine sputtered, missed and quit dead away.
The captain and his mate at least knew enough seamanship to immediately put the anchor over so that we wouldn’t
be carried off by the rapidly running current.
They bewilderedly exchanged glances and shrugged their shoulders, looked at the engine in disbelief and then
Jane and I knew that if we were going anywhere on this boat this day that we would have to step in and get the
engine running.
The problem was a classic maintenance problem that occurs when the fuel filter is not regularly drained to remove
dirt and any water. The filters on these engines are designed to restrict any fuel flow if any water enters, which it did.
Soon as it was determined that the captain didn’t have any idea what to do to make the engine come back to life I
came forward and offered to get the engine back into service.
With Jane’s assistance I changed fuel filters and bled the system. With a can of spray ether we cranked the engine
using the very minimum amount. I just maintained the engines speed slightly over an idle until the fuel returned fully
and all the air was out of the system. These two cycle Detroit Diesel engines hate high RPMs and will self destruct if
allowed to turn over too fast so we used due diligence and all went well, the anchor came up and we were underway
headed for our destination.
Jane and I shopped and took in the few sights of this little town of Bluffton and we were back at the boat waiting for
our PM departure.
Our trip home to Daufuskie convinced us that this boat would not have long to live in the hands of these
inexperienced and uncaring operators.
Before we left the boat in Bluffton I had taken the identification plate with all of the engine specifications off and
handed it over to the captain so that he could go to the parts store to procure a new fuel filters for the boat. Well, he
not only didn’t purchase any new filters but lost this very important engine specification plate.
Next we were going to take a short cut through some unmarked mud flats to save some time on our way back to the
island. Well, we promptly ran aground. This wasn’t bad enough and the next maneuver would be to persist to go
ahead into shallower and shallower water as the tide was falling. The engine was strong and new but I knew that the
raw water pick up pump would be getting full of stirred up sand as the boat was dredging its own channel.
In the end we made it but the short cut was costly in time wasted and damage to the boat.
The boat was a gift and was free, so it had no value. The attitude was that the government was rich and could afford
to give another boat whenever this one gave out. Well our sentiments proved to be correct because we learned that
shortly after we left the island that fall the boat became inoperable and eventually had to be disposed of.
Another do-gooder project that took place on the island was when some government functionary got the bright idea
to make these islanders self-sufficient in the production of their own food.
It took a long time before this effort finally lost momentum, but here is what happened. A farm tractor was sent over
with the proper equipment to till the ground for the island garden. When the tractor didn’t get used some functionary
inquired as to why the gardening project hadn’t begun. The answer was simple, nobody had any fuel for the tractor
and so that was provided.
Again nothing transpired and again some government functionary was sent to get the project under way. The
question was asked why no gardening had begun and the answer was simple they had no seeds to plant, so seeds
were sent over and again nothing transpired.
Another functionary came and discovered that there was no fertilizer and that was then sent.
As time went by more and more equipment and materials would arrive for the gardening project including tall fence
to keep the deer and other wild animals from the crops but the end result was the same; no garden was ever going
to be planted.
A government agency even sent over workers to build outdoor toilets. There didn’t seem to be any limit to the
government functionary projects that in the end only gave some jobs to a few political cronies or their nepotistic
relatives.

CHAPTER 17

                                                   People we met:

Daufuskie Island was a place where we met a strange variety of people. This wasn’t a much visited place back in the
1970s but the locals made for a mixture that you will soon see were like none other we have ever encountered;



               Papy’s Landing at high tide. I am cast netting from our dinghy for mullet.

Without leaving Papy’s landing people like “Crazy Willy” would appear running through the woods and along the
roads. This young black man in his mid-twenties made a practice of running wherever he went and he almost always
was heading someplace.
Everyone referred to this young man as “Crazy Willy” and when you encountered him it became apparent why; this
guy had a far off and distant look in his eyes and rarely spoke. When he would get your attention he would lead you
around and point out the snakes he had spotted. Most of the time I never did see his snakes but I obliged him just
the same. “Crazy Willy” had some kind of detachment that made me think he might do any unexpected thing but
everyone assured us that he was harmless.
Some years after we met “Crazy Willy” he was run over and killed by a car on Hilton Head Island and his sister was
the driver.

Another black man that appeared at Papy’s Landing often was a local man named Willis who was a crab fisherman
and hunter. He did most of his hunting to get meat to bait his crab traps. Anything that had four legs was a fair target
for him and he never went without bait.

Johnny Hamilton told us that he had a good garden and he got his crops to grow by “whooping” the okra and corn.

Frank Burn was the owner of the land at Papy’s Landing and he was a half brother to A. Lance Burn. Their father
was Papy Burn, the former lighthouse keeper.
Frank had a good heart and really liked Ben and Shorty Smith who he let live on his property, first in his little shack
at the landing and later Ben and Shorty brought over to the island a large mobile home and set it up on Franks land
just east of the landing.
Frank didn’t live on the island but he was a shrimp fisherman with his own 65-foot trawler that he mostly kept in
Charleston where his home was.
One summer he brought his shrimp boat down to Daufuskie and his main project was going to be to build a
permanent dock at his property in the front yard of where Ben and Shorty Smith had their mobile home.
I offered to help and my offer was accepted. I had never built a dock before and this would be a good learning
experience for me.
Frank had just the boat for the project but putting pilings in with the right equipment and know-how was still
challenging and hard work.
With the current running, positioning the boat was as close to impossible as could be imagined. With two anchors
out and powerful winches to adjust the lines you would think this would be a simple procedure, but it wasn’t. The
pilings we were to set were about thirty feet long pressure treated “CCA” timbers. (The CCA stands for; “chromated
copper arsenate”.) These pilings were rated at 25 pounds of impregnated preservative per cubic foot and
immensely heavy. Again the trawler was the perfect boat for this project because of all of the booms and winches for
handling heavy equipment plus the high-pressure water pumps that we would be employing to “jet” down the pilings.
I think that this was Frank’s first dock project but he had obviously seen this kind of work done before because he
knew what the procedure was and also what the end result needed to be.
When we finally managed to get the first piling set using a jet of water to sink the piling into the sand bottom where it
needed to be, the project then began to go along more smoothly. We then had a stationary anchor to keep the boat
from moving.
A description of this procedure would be too much for any story without putting the reader to sleep so all I will say is
that the running current, rocking boat and shifting load even tested the patience of even tempered Frank Burn.
By the end of a weeks worth of work the finishing touches were put on the dock project and I was now a “dock
builder”. Jane and I later built our own 580-foot dock in Saint Augustine, Florida by ourselves.


1974 June 23 (Daufuskie Island)
A letter Jane wrote to her parents;
Dear Mom Dad and Joel;
We made it back to Daufuskie Island. We arrived here last Wednesday. Bob and Beverly our friends from
Saint Augustine traveled with us from Saint Augustine. They left her yesterday and went back. They hated
to leave as this is such a nice island. We really filled them up on seafood before they left. We have some
other friends here now on their sailboat from Green Bay, Wisconsin. They think that they will leave
tomorrow. They have been cruising for two years and are heading back to earn more money to buy a larger
boat and return.
I suppose John will be home by the time you get this letter. Tell him to write to let us know when he is
coming and about the camera so we can send him some money. Also a belated birthday to him.
This morning Bing is helping Frank Burn (our friend’s brother from Charleston, SC) put in some pilings to
build a dock so he can tie up his 65 foot shrimp boat when he comes here. We are hoping to buy some land
next to his and build a marine railway to haul out boats. Then we could haul ours whenever it needed it and
let friends use it too for a small fee to defray the cost of construction. This is just in the planning stage and
all depends on being able to get suitable water frontage. Also land prices are skyrocketing here.
Dad, I suppose you are having a real big birthday celebration this year. I hope you have a real nice party. I
wish I could send you a bottle of my homemade wine to celebrate with. I’ve got some really good stuff.
We have a few projects to do on our boat this summer.
We are building all new (wooden mahogany) hatch covers and rebuilding our fuel tanks. Each project will
take a month as we don’t use any power tools.
Mom, do you know of anyone who would have an extra meat-food grinder like you have. I’d like to buy one
but haven’t found any. I’m going to check also with Mrs. Burn as she has a lot of mail-order catalogs and I
might find one that I can afford.
We got a letter from the Evening Telegram Newspaper. They want to do a story on our travels and some
pictures. I suppose we will do it, but it will take some time to get the story together.
How is your garden doing? The gardens here on Daufuskie are doing real good this year. Everyone has too
much so we have had a lot of tomatoes, cucumbers, green peppers, banana peppers and squash. Bing likes
the hot banana peppers so I slice them and put them in his scrambled eggs. Gets him off with a hot start in
the morning.
We have our bicycles ashore this year for transportation on the island. It saves on gas for our dinghy. Last
year we went everywhere by dinghy but we made out okay with our bikes. All the roads are shaded by big
pines or live oak trees so we always ride in the shade. We keep our bikes only one block from were we
anchor the Dursmirg.
I hope you are enjoying your summer. Say hello to all of our friends and relatives for us. Everyone is welcome
to come and visit us anytime. Bing and I are both well and happy. I hope it’s the same with all of you too!
Love Jane and Bing
PS Thank you for Douglas’s picture. He sure is cute. Looks a little like Mike. How are Judy, Dick and the
Boys? Tell her to write sometime. Jim and Penny too! The Daufuskie address will be good for a few months.
We like it here.


Si Kehoe was a surveyor that came often to Papy’s Landing and we got to know this gentleman who we could tell
loved the island. Si told us that every day when the tide was high he could look out of his kitchen window over on the
other side of the Savannah River and see our boat the Dursmirg with its painted on shark’s mouth and its boom
hoisted high up in the air anchored at Papy’s Landing. That combination was unmistakable.
I always hosted our boom up as far as it would go when we were anchored out to give us more headroom for
entering the companionway. We also slung a rain catcher under the boom to collect rainwater for drinking. In six
years of living at anchor we never went to the dock for water.
Si Kehoe was the man to talk to about island history, the people, owners, land for sale and prices.
Si came to the island often with a crew to do survey work and always took the time to engage in friendly
conversation.
We could tell that Si had a real love for the island and I understand that he and his sister Mary had purchased the
lighthouse building from Papy Burn back in 1966 and they did come to visit every chance that they had and even
later lived there.

We had other neighbors up Mongin Creek but hardly got to know them because they were quiet and reserved
people. Mr. Boyd was known as Captain Boyd because he operated a small shrimp trawler that quietly passed our
boat and he would kindly wave a greeting in passing and that’s all. He and his wife lived in a little house at the end of
a long dock where they kept their little boat tied. They were some relative to the Burn family but never got sociable
with them though I never heard any stories of friction between them. We tried our best not to get involved in, “small
town politics”.
One night Jane and I stopped over at their dock home to socialize with them and use their phone and found that
they were very down to earth, friendly, easy going and quiet. We invited them to visit us but that never happened
and we understand that they lived in an isolated place because they wanted isolation and we find that type of
behavior to be admirable.
Most of the other people we met on the island were met over at the Burn home on the New River.

                                     The Burn home on the New River

                                             Billie and A. Lance Burn
Several black women would stop by to visit at the Burn home from time to time and they were always dressed in their
very best, “Sunday go to meeting clothes”. The island being a quiet out of the way place with really no social events,
visiting was a very important happening in these people’s lives.
Jane and I felt fortunate to be present and actually have an opportunity to “sit a spell” and reminisce with these
people that were literally walking history books.
                                                    ***
A. Lance and Billie Burn’s children;
Of the three Burn children, June was the oldest and spent her first 4 years of her life living on Daufuskie Island.
At this time in the family’s life things were not prospering and they would follow the money and head to south Florida
for work and to make ends meet because their little island fish camp and restaurant just didn’t do it.
Billie said that her daughter June at the age of four years old told her that money wasn’t important, but Billie knew
better and they headed south to Florida not to move back to the island until their youngest child Gene was in grade
school.
By the time we came to know Daufuskie Island in the early 1970s all of the Burn children were living off the island
though Bob was the first to move back a year later.
June, the oldest child, was married to a very nice and easygoing guy by the name of Mandy Palpal-Latoc who was a
retired military man from the Philippines. They along with their five teenage sons lived in a very nice home on
Wilmington Island that had formerly belonged to June’s uncle and aunt, Ben and Shorty Smith who had then moved
out to Daufuskie Island.
When we first met the group, Mandy and his five kids all would come by our boat to visit when they were out
shrimping near Daufuskie Island. We were impressed with all of them who were polite well-groomed gentlemen with a
good-natured sparkle of mischief in their eyes that added to their warm and friendly personalities. They made a
good group.
A. Lance and Billie’s second child Bob who was known as Lancy, lived his younger years in south Florida and from
there went off to his military service and then followed up with a job with Air-America that took him to Vietnam for
several years.
Bob found his home on Daufuskie Island and it suited him and his lifestyle perfectly.
Bob was in his own element on a boat, harvesting seafood, tramping the woods or exploring the wonders of nature
that seemed to be at his fingertips everywhere around the Sea Islands.
The most impressive attribute that Bob had in my estimation was that he didn’t ever have to impress anybody and
never felt any compunction to do so…Bob was impressive all by himself…definitely a one of a kind individual.
The youngest of the Burn children was Gene who was still in grade school when his parents moved back to the
island.
Back in those days he was the only white student on that isolated island so a schoolhouse and teacher were
provided just for him. He went on to high school in Savannah and came home to the island on weekends.
The island was Gene’s parent’s paradise but his prison as he was alone in his school.
Gene was still attending college when we first met him but he would love to come out to go fishing on weekends and
was very successful. Several times he came by our boat with a load of shrimp that was just too large for him to sort
by himself and I would help him. Gene always was generous when it came to rewarding me for my assistance.

“Aunt Sarah”, Sarah Hudson Grant was a little bit of a woman, her skin was as black as coal but her smile and
friendly disposition were gigantic and engaging.
This spry little lady had a history dating back to the previous century and her parents to the slavery days.
Aunt Sarah was nearly one hundred years old, independently living by herself and walked all over the island. She
had been a mid-wife and undertaker and still cooked crab cakes in her own kitchen over a wood stove to sell down
at the public landing.

Frances Jones came by to visit often and was of a different mindset than Aunt Sarah. Frances had a forceful mind
set and spoke with an accent mingled with the coastal Gullah, African, and down south southern that made her
speech almost unintelligible to Jane and I though after some time we were able to pick up most of her words. What
amazed us the most was that she had been the island schoolteacher for thirty-eight years, starting when she was
only fifteen years old. We felt a good deal of sympathy for her students that went away from her classroom with
Frances’s speech characteristics.
Frances walked with a crutch and a limp due to a lame foot and she lived all alone having never married. She had
been born and spent her entire life living and teaching on Daufuskie Island.
We were told that she was the local Voodoo lady. The local blacks still held on to that part of their heritage from their
days in those long ago times back in Africa. The Gullah and Geechee culture and language originated in the West
African countries of Angola and Sierra Leone The customs were practiced in their daily life and also could be
witnessed when they had a funeral ceremony.

Julia Johnson, another schoolteacher from the Daufuskie School came to the island and was an outsider. She was
college educated and had presentable speech. She had African features that were handsome and she was tall and
proud without being pushy. Jane and I were fascinated with her many stories of her childhood and growing up on a
farm with her two sisters that all went through college because of her fathers dream of their success. She came up
in hard times but she always had her family behind her.
One thing I found interesting was the fact that she touted her American Indian heritage.
Jim Muller was a frequent visitor aboard the Dursmirg over the years and often brought along Leigh Durrence who
he later married

Jim Muller and Leigh Durrence visiting aboard Dursmirg in the summer of 1975. The Dursmirg was
anchored in Mongin Creek on the south side of Daufuskie Island.
Leigh was a student at Georgia Southern with a major in art at the time so she was doing a pen and ink
composite of our boat that was later put on permanent display at the university.
Jim was a student at Armstrong College in Savannah where he majored in marine biology.
These two wonderful people have been life long friends and we feel like they are our own kids and are
closer than family to us.

This is a print of the pen and ink drawing that Leigh Durrence did on her visit to Dursmirg that is on
display at Georgia Southern. It is a cockpit composite view depicting many of the strange and
interesting pieces of marine hardware found aboard Dursmirg.

CHAPTER 18

        THREE THINGS THAT DIVIDED DAUFUSKIE ISLAND, 1976

(1)
Small town politics became the first and foremost divisive divider of the islands 85 inhabitants.
The spur that drove this divide was a best selling book by Pat Conroy an idealistic do-gooder school teacher that
spent one year teaching on Daufuskie and leaving in his wake an unsettled hotbed of hate and animosity that laid
the foundation for further discontent.
The situation was now made to order for militant outsiders like a black California professor named “Professor Blake”
to take a now sore spot of contention in black-white relations and whip it into a frenzied lynch-mob mentality.
The thing we found so interesting was until this proverbial “can of worms” was opened the little community was a
tranquil place to live.
The short coming of the island education system was a noble cause to take up and I for one am completely in favor
of making education of all Americans the most rewarding cause that could be championed; everyone and the nation
as a whole come out on the top as winners. The benefits of a world-class education for all citizens are better than
money in the bank because the results are self-perpetuating for building a better world for all.
I still believe that pulling up the bottom segment of society will lift in its wake society as a whole and the net result will
then be winners at all levels. So we also championed Pat Conroy’s cause of better education but only wish that he
hadn’t placed the blame so squarely upon our good friends the Burns family and cast his negative innuendoes upon
the only people that were there for all of the islanders all of the time with their outstretched helping hands only to
help.

(2)
This next problem wasn’t unique only to this little island but some of the twists and turns that took place made a rare
combination especially when the size of the group involved was concerned.
Religion and overly zealous convictions that become whipped into a narrow-minded self-righteousness only breeds
discontent and bigoted hatred of all others.
This wasn’t just a “down south” Christian thing here on Daufuskie.
The fact that Voodoo from Africa, whose roots go back in time perhaps out dating many other beliefs, had a solid
footing here and the black curses and hexes that formed the foundation of this religion still struck panicked fear in
the eyes of many of the islands black population.
The grits and gravy southern Baptists and the black population that took up with the Baptist preaching’s still went
their separate ways to pray.
A multitude of religious cults always manages to draw screaming, chanting crowds at rural southern locations for tent
revival meetings that are led by itinerant over zealous
Bible thumping preachers.
Daufuskie was just too small and isolated to draw those over zealous preachers with their collection plates but the
island wasn’t destined to escape the “Hell and Brimstone” evangelists that could now slip through the airways across
the many miles of rivers and marshes that isolated Daufuskie from the outside world and enter the islander’s homes
day after day and night after night through those long isolated winters on radio waves and TV signals.
We witnessed the mind shackling effects overwhelm several of our island friends that then altered their lives to an
extent that then drove them even deeper into isolation than just their physical location had.
Lance and Billie Burn became thoroughly taken up with the TV evangelists Jim and Tammy Baker. To say that they
were merely thrilled would be a gross understatement. This was all we ever heard about after their spiritual awaking.
As born again Christians Lance and Billie became big contributors to the Baker ministry. They bought into a
condominium complex being developed by the TV evangelists, made a pilgrimage to Israel and were flying gleefully
high with evangelical exuberance when the organization of Jimmy and Tammy Fay Baker was exposed as being a
financially fraudulent money grab.
When Jimmy Baker was sentenced to prison, Lance Burn slipped into some kind of withdrawal that was a kind of
dementia.
Jane and I even sent special medicines from Mexico that were held out as possible remedies for his condition that
couldn’t be purchased in the US at that time. The medicines did help some, but Lance had given up the will to carry
on with life.
We knew that he had had several horrendous mentally traumatic occurrences in his life time, abandoned by his
father to an orphanage as a child, his WWII battle scars, his negative portrayal in the book The Water is Wide, the
author, a person that the Burns had befriended and gone out of their way to help and now this terrible psychological
let down by the TV evangelists was just the proverbial, “last straw”.
So he slipped away to be buried in the island cemetery thus taking up a permanent place for eternity on the island
that had been beginning and end for him.
I won’t go into detail here about the many other islanders and their families that went down similar paths as Lance
Burn did, involved with various religious sects all exuberantly self righteous and scorning all others.
In an age of enlightenment, education and global communication it is still hard for me to believe that spiritual
harmony was an impossibility even amongst this small and isolated group of souls that by one twist of fate or
another were here thrust together.
Even in later years as the island developed, prospered economically and became linked closer to the outside world
with regular ferry service, those undercurrents of sanctimonious religious self righteousness still lingered to
divisively divide.
An often heard quote on the island was, “we just love them to death…but?” This always made me wondered what
their definition of love really was.

(3)
The third major problem dividing the island was a power primarily coming from the outside world of who should
control the island. This was economic in nature and just the thought of receiving an astronomical amount of money
for properties previously unnoticed by the owners gave instant dreams of unearned wealth that cast the glint of
dollar signs into the eyes of the prospective benefactors.
At the same time that wild eyed dreams of huge amounts of wealth from property values was dancing through the
minds of the islands property owners outwardly sprang up a loud cry to protect and preserve the islands serenity.
If I recall properly, the islands residents owned less than 10% of the islands real estate but their loud vocal
screaming seemed overwhelming compared to the 2 or 3 individuals that controlled the other 90%.
In the end, big money and huge landholders would prevail as time irreversibly moves on to open a new page of
island history.
Jane and I felt very privileged indeed to have had the once in a life time privilege to visit this enchantingly unique
bastion of life and times of days gone by before the tidal wave of time washed away forever this jewel of a time
capsule.
At this time of social divide our dear friend Ben Smith put forward a big push to bring the islanders together with a
utopian idea that was both meritorious in its ideals and admirable in its intents. In an effort to do good for all, Ben
spearheaded a movement to start a co-op store. It would stock and sell many of the things the islanders of that time
were going on long and many times perilous journeys across the treacherous waters often times in open boats in
fog and gales and with motors that quit at the worst possible times.
There could be no question that Ben gave this project his all.
The store opened because Ben was nearly 100% of the driving force behind it from inception to reality.
Like nearly all social experiments over time, from Thomas Moore’s “Utopia” to the expansive Soviet Socialists
Republic that Will Rogers jokingly maintained was 2/3 explanation and 1/3 practice, Ben’s great concept was
doomed from the beginning.
This co-op store that wound up being primarily a purveyor of beer and cigarettes sold on credit with an open till
quickly drowned in its own red ink, floundered and died.

My conclusion to the above three divisive elements was that the islanders were comprised of individuals that in no
way would ever be a cohesive community.

Chapter 19

                                          ENDNOTE/POSTSCRIPT/EPILOGUE

Free to go with the seasons like the ebb and flow of the tide or the annual migrations of the birds, Jane and I would
spend the next few of our youthful years indulging in a once in a life time experience with an unprecedented freedom
to be at the right places and in the right seasons.
The elements essential for this fulfillment were health, wealth, love and the time to enjoy them all. If these things
come for free they will have no value and cannot be appreciated.
Jane and I, in our early thirties, were physically fit, slim and trim and mentally driven and stimulated.
Our net worth was adequate but not exorbitant and we definitely needed to watch our expenditures. Living within our
means was no problem with no monthly payments, bills or financial liabilities. By 1972 when Jane and I had set sail,
we had been totally debt free and financially solvent for four years.
The very best of food was free for the taking from the sea and “Mother Nature” provided us with the wind to carry us
together with our floating home, Dursmirg, to our next adventuresome destination.
We shared the most priceless commodity that is not for sale at any price no matter how much someone is willing to
pay; something that needs to be earned over time and can never be restored once broken and that priceless thing
is also the basic building block of friendship and love…trust.
We have found that with true and unconditional trust there cannot be a master, only equals.
The next essential is time.
Time is a magical, mystical, miraculous and nebulous thing continuously in motion like a drop of quicksilver cupped
in the palm of your hand. In a split second, if your attention is momentarily diverted, it may slip away never to be
retrieved.
I have found that youth only comes to you one time and looking back over the years that truism has stabbed me into
stark reality each time I look in the mirror and see what time and age can do. The only trip back is in your memory
and if you are fortunate enough to have spent those youthful years wisely, those memories can be priceless with no
regrets.
One person’s paradise is another’s prison and attitude opens the door to happiness.
It is said that beauty in only in the eye of the beholder; but if the beholder cannot grasp and appreciate the moment
for what it is worth it is akin to a kind of blindness.
Some are colorblind and no explaining will ever be able to explain those differences. Some are blind to life and its
pleasures and again explanation will never open the senses of those poor unfortunate souls.
As George Bernard Shaw once said; “an art gallery is a dull place for a blind person”.
So, you see you can have all of the requisites for happiness and that is not enough if it is not appreciated.
                                                       ***
Next, volume 3 takes us down to the Florida Keys/ Swinging in a summer’s breeze!


Recommended reading;

THE WATER IS WIDE by Pat Conroy; my comment: This is a very entertaining and factual book, colorfully
descriptive and immensely insightful though it was definitely slanted to make the author, who also happened to be
the main character, look like a savior, his students to look persecuted by their circumstances, and the local white
population as the persecutors. After becoming acquainted with the island and its people and reading the book, my
impression was that the book was a very good read but the author only came to “steal the thunder and run away”.
That was then; I just reread this same book 30 years later and I came away with the feeling that even though Pat
Conroy didn’t stick around to right the wrongs he so adeptly pointed out in his book, he at least focused the spotlight
at a problem in this world that desperately needed attention and correction. I too have had his youthful zeal and do-
gooder inspirations only to have those dreams crushed by the “cast in stone” establishment, therefore I share his
dreams.
WIND FROM THE CAROLINAS by Robert Wilder; my comment: this book is one of the few books that I love to
reread because it has made the history of America and this historical area come alive and take the reader magically
to the “Sea Islands” in years gone by.
THE FAVORITE UNCLE REMUS by Joel Chandler Harris; my comment: To feel the pulse of the old down south and
pick up its “vibes”, this wonderfully narrated colorful collection of stories puts the reader in personal contact with the
local language and a way of thinking in this special time and place. My very favorite stories are; “The Wonderful Tar-
Baby”, “The Briar Patch” and “Brer Rabbit Gets a Licking”.
TUXEDO PARK by Jennet Conant; my comment: this book is not expressly about the Sea Islands but is about some
of the most powerful and influential people the world has ever known and what they brought to this part of the world
as they commandeered the islands as their private sanctuaries when it was a real paradise. (Read pages 95-99for a
description of Hilton Head Island)
LIGHTHOUSE, NEW MOON RISING, BELOVED INVADER by Eugenia Price; my comment: It seems hard to make a
blanket statement about one particular author but Eugenia Price wrote such books as; Maria about Saint Augustine,
Florida and others relating to the various Sea Islands. Both my wife Jane and I have read every book of Eugenia
Price’s and each and every one turned out to be a real gem. Her later books tended to have a religious slant that
drags the reader away from actualities.
STIRRIN’ THE POTS ON DAUFUSKIE by Billie Burn; my comments: This is Daufuskie Island, before development
came in the 1970s, its food, its people, its history and its customs in a well illustrated book that can be thumbed
through over and over again. My wife Jane also happens to be one of the contributors. Pages 162 and 163 give a
short account of our travels and also Jane’s famous “Honey Whole Wheat Bread” recipe. I must add here what will
make this bread the ultimate sensation; while still hot from the oven and just cool enough to slice, smear generously
with real butter and then douse with honey. That is guaranteed to make the self-indulgent person into a glutton!
MIDNIGHT IN THE GARDEN OF GOOD AND EVIL by John Berendt; my comments: This is an extremely insightful
look into a unique place that has no equals. Savannah, Georgia. It cannot be compared to any other place and it is
unique, this book takes the reader into the city behind the scenes and introduces them intimately to many of the
eccentrics that make the place what it is.
The book is a gripper and will definitely be long remembered by the reader…try it.
AN ISLAND NAMED DAUFUSKIE by Billie Burn; my comments; This 800 plus page illustrated compendium nearly
falls into the category of a reference book and beautifully records the area history.
PRAYING FOR SHEETROCK by Melissa Fay Green, my comments: This book takes the reader into one of the Deep
South’s most scandalous places. You will meet the movers and shakers that stooped to anything and flaunted the
law to all as they snatched up their spoils just like the pirates of old. Read chapter 6, “Saint Catherine’s Island” for
more of my comments on this fascinating and intriguing book.