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This is a rambling commentary that I hope some find interesting. It does not even scratch the surface of what life was like growing up in this unique area. I left so much out. Maybe some day I'll do it justice.
On January 31st, 1979 in the little town of Shamokin, PA a boy was born. His dad joined the Navy and the family moved to Norfolk, VA in 1980. Eventually Pops decided to move back and Ma decided to stay behind. The boy was me and my first memories were of living in an old Ocean View house owned by an even older Indian woman.
"I’m not an Indian!" she used to say if it came up. "I’m Chesapeake! Powhatan’s thought they slaughtered us all, but nuh-uh."
I liked the place, we could fall asleep to the crash of the ocean every night. I caught my first fish there with a tiny fishing pole. It was a flounder a little over a foot long. I was so proud.
Our landlady (the Chesapeake tribe woman) cooked it for us. Not that it was some sort of delicacy or anything. We ate fish a LOT. The surf teemed with the finned beasts and our landlady spent a good chunk of her day wading into the waves with a net. Once in a while she’d do a weird dance and throw food into the ocean. I once asked her why she did that.
"Got to. Every year I have to give a meal to the sea. Not seafood mind you, but landfood. Cow meat, that sort of thing. It helps to make it nice and official with a party and a dance, but just a simple bit of food and a 'thank you' will suffice. If I don’t do it, the sea will rise up and destroy us. It’s part of the bargain. I told you the story about the ancient pact right?"
We moved after a while. Mom got a job elsewhere in Norfolk and the commute was far too long (roads were not so convenient as they are nowadays. All the good ones were congested toll roads). Her new job was with the government. Getting a government job was a lot easier in those days. She just walked from one Naval Base building to another filling out applications and interviewing on the spot.
Anyways, our new home was an apartment complex facing an area where homes or buildings had once stood. Now it was just a vast vacant lot occupied by dozens, if not hundreds, of homeless people. They appeared to be mostly ex-military who had constructed a kind of shanty-town using tin and wood from the hardware store. They’d spend their days smoking, drinking, and playing war games (the tabletop variety, not real) on homemade tables in the sun.
My mom treated their presence with a shrug. I once asked a local beat cop (who was sitting on the hood of his patrol car smoking a cig) how come they were allowed there. He replied "well it ain't like the city's usin' that spot for nothin' else now is it?"
We still visited our old landlady. One day she told us she was moving in with some friends on a reservation. It wasn't her tribe, but she didn't seem to mind.
"When I was a little girl," she said. "This whole neighborhood was natives like me. My parents said when they were children, this whole section of city was natives. Not so anymore. Times change."
She was getting too old to live alone, but was scared because there was no one left to keep up humankind’s end of the ancient pact with the sea. I told her I would. My mom chuckled at it, but the old woman took it quite seriously. She insisted that I must have Indian blood in me and showed me the ropes.
I digress. We eventually moved to Virginia Beach in pursuit of the ever-elusive “better job”…
I remember the day well because of a newspaper article: “Suffolk Gets Water” or some such. It was in the Ledger-Star newspaper (which has since been gobbled up by the Virginia Pilot newspaper). The bottom line was that, until that day, a good chunk of Suffolk had been getting their baths the old-fashioned way. They would boil water and carry buckets of it to a tub in the basement and fill it up. An entire family would share a tub’s water, in order of dirtiness (cleanest first, etc…). I understand they were rather pleased with running water.
Virginia Beach at that time was mostly farms and trailer parks to my young eyes. We lived in a trailer (who didn’t?) and got our milk from a milkman who left glass bottles of milk in plastic cartons on our doorstep.
Mom complained about the quarter-per-hour parking meters at the beach. Not that we actually paid a quarter. The meters were only for direct beach access. We would park a street away from the beach and not have to pay any money. Not that that stopped Mom from raging.
“They’re just trying to rake us over the coals aren’t they? Meyera Open-Sore and her grand ambitions! Don’t they know folks have families?” My Mom would say.
(“Meyera Open-Sore” was what folks called Meyera Oberndorf, Virginia Beach’s first mayor. She was in office since Virginia Beach’s first real mayoral elections in 1979. She was finally defeated in 2008.)
The beach in those days was not what you know as “The Beach” today. It was a smattering of hotels (not all fancy ones, think MOTEL quality), a haunted house, a wax museum, and a couple awesome arcades. Forest was still visible. There was no boardwalk. Several roads simply ended at the beach (so you could drive right onto it with your 4-wheel-drive pickup truck). Bunches of hippies (courtesy of the Edgar Cayce’s Association of Research and Enlightenment, I presume), and of course, a sizeable number of bars.
We would go to the beach at least once a year, and each time I would offer a small sacrifice to the sea. Normally it was candy, such as a starburst or smarties, but sometimes it was a whole hotdog. My mom just laughed.
But back on topic… In those times, if you were “local” you owned a farm and lived in a trailer. No doubt you had a pickup truck. Gun racks in the window were common. If you were “military” you praised Jesus that you were stationed here and used your pitiful E-2 paycheck to buy an acre near the beach and plop a trailer on it. Absolutely everyone loved Hampton Roads (though folks still mostly called it “Tidewater” then…long story short: “Tidewater” changed its name to “Hampton Roads.” I think someone somewhere thought it would us more attractive to industry?).
In those days, there were still a significant number of real Virginians in Hampton Roads. You know a real Virginian by the accent. It’s like a kind of southern accent, but sophisticated. Almost as if you combined a British accent and a Southern accent. To give you an idea how rare it is nowadays, the last time I heard one was at a Chesapeake Exxon in 1999. I spun around when I heard the blonde lady speak and said “Hey! You’re real Virginian!” and she gave a little bow.
My mom sent me to a Christian school in Virginia Beach. Tuition was negotiable. Some parents mowed the lawn and pulled weeds out of the flower gardens to pay their kid’s way. My mom just had to show up to church and pay a regular tithe and the pastor was happy.
In the early 90’s when the US moved in on Iraq our school didn’t learn anything for 2 days. They organized us with cardboard signs which read “Honk if you support our troops!” and such, and had us walk up and down the roads. Someone drove by with a big dead buck tied down on the hood of his pickup. He honked and waved his straw hat. Good times.
We moved nearer and nearer to the beach and I started riding my bike to the beach after school and on the weekends. I started noticing fires springing up on the beach at dusk and started perusing them. Many were just tourists getting their drink on, but I discovered a clique of about 2 dozen people camping on the beach, tents and all. One had an American flag flying on his tent. Everyone called him “the Colonel.” He was old and had been in the Vietnam War since “the beginning.”
He dissed the Iraq War. “Not a real war! Now Vietnam? THAT was a war…” said the Colonel.
I started making sure to locate them when they appeared. It was random at best. They were ex-military (most with pensions) who for whatever reason had just taken to living off the land (and their pensions) and camped out wherever they saw fit. They were not organized at all and went their own way. It just so happened that many times they ended up clumped together (everyone loves company sometimes). The first night I spent with them was fantastic.
It was a full moon on the beach and someone had just hiked back from the North Carolina border with fireworks. The surf was alive with fish and the fellas had netted far too many to eat. An absurd number of dolphins were swimming close to shore and we started wading out in the night to toss fish to them.
I was invited to dinner when a few of the guys came out of the woods nearby dragging a dead deer. They rapidly skinned and filleted it.
“Watch out for bullets. I popped it too many times. Don’t think I found ‘em all,” said one of the mighty hunters.
It was then that it occurred to me that almost everyone there was armed. I asked one of the hunters if I could play with his rifle. It looked like a machine gun. It was his “best gift ever from my Uncle Sam.” After a brief tutorial (and my very first shot of whiskey) I practiced shooting at sea gulls.
Just so we have this all in perspective, let me be totally clear: within a stone’s throw of hotels, on Virginia Beach proper, 2 dozen armed men were cooking fish and a dead deer over several campfires and openly getting drunk whilst a 14 year old boy was taking shots of whiskey and firing a machine gun (on semi-auto mode though) at birds. OK. Just making sure you’re still with me.
At one point the Colonel sent me off to fetch some water. I drunkenly stumbled by a tent and saw many plastic jugs full of water and grabbed one. Before I’d gotten very far a gaunt man had grabbed my wrist. “Watcha doin boy?”
I explained myself and he took the jug away. “This is water, but nothing you’d be wanting to drink.” He told me he was brewing LSD and these were gallon jugs full of them.
“Oh right, a drop of this and you’ll get all crazy right?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nah. This is concentrated. Each of these gallons will get diluted in more water. Each gallon makes 10 gallons. Out of one of those 10 gallons, THEN that’s when you’d get a drop for trippin. If you took a drop from one of these…” He shook his head.
I shrugged and wandered off. I later learned he made it himself from chemicals and equipment he bought at Grand Junction, “A Most Unusual Store.”
I found water for the Colonel and all was well. Everyone called him “The Colonel” though none had ever served with him. He was frequently saluted and whenever he talked to someone they almost undoubtedly (even when they were sloppy drunk) responded with “Yessir!” and “Nossir!”
At some point he decided that everyone was drunk enough for fireworks and ordered the “mortars launched!” Someone responded “Right away Colonel!” and the fireworks started getting set off. It was spectacular.
Someone passed me a cigarette and I told them I didn’t smoke. They told me it wasn’t a cig. It took me a while but I eventually smoked. I learned that it was wacky-tobacky and that the dozen or so full garbage bags strewn about the campsite were full of marijuana plants, sun-dried on the beach itself. Evidently this was how many of the nomads supplemented their income, by growing and selling weed to the current military.
Several people broke out instruments and I danced with several others. I heard the best version of “Take Me Home Country Roads” that I have ever heard in my life. It was grand. I collapsed on the ground and listened to war stories all night, both figurative and literal. The Colonel’s come to mind foremost:
“Tried working after I retired from the service. Just for something to do, ya know? Not too many skills that transferred to civilian life though, so I ended up working at this fast-food joint.”
****
The fast-food shift supervisor came over to the Colonel and sighed after inspecting his station.
“Lawrence,” he said. “You see that box you just filled? That one gets 1 wing, 1 breast, and 1 leg. Everything in that tray gets that. I mean, I’ve told you this before. You’ll never make Baja Chicken employee of the month if you can’t even get your chicken station right.”
****
“And?” I asked eagerly.
“I punched him in the face and quit, not necessarily in that order. I wasn’t cut out for that s*** anyways. Pawned my useless crap, and gathered my important stuff up and just started walking. Ended up here in Virginia Beach. This place had some good memories for me. Made a lot more good memories since I got here. Won’t last forever though. Times change. Not that I can’t roll with the punches though. Someday this place will be like San Diego. Then I’ll pack up and head south. Probably to the panhandle of Florida. Maybe retire to Mexico (he pronounced it meck-key-co).”
“Oh yeah!” I interrupted, and stood. I took my paper plate with venison (I was too drunk/high to eat much anyways) and wandered to the ocean and tossed the meat in. When I came back they asked why I did that.
I said “Cuz if I don’t the ocean will destroy us all” and they got on Gus’s back because they thought some of his acid had splashed on me.
Fast-forward through many years. The 7 Cities were growing but still lackluster at best. Even the lowliest of enlistees could afford pretty nice digs and most “locals” still lived in trailers or older ranch homes. I was older and was looking at a house with my girlfriend (who was actually only my g/f when her husband was at sea). It was…oh…2000, I believe?
There was a 3-story home for sale within a half-mile of the oceanfront. It was selling for 75,000.
“I can get this, even on my bakers salary,” I said. “And this has to go up in value. I mean, how can it not, right?”
My girlfriend just shrugged.
“Oh whatever,” I said. “I don’t think I’m ready for that responsibility yet, even if it is an OK deal. When I’m ready I’ll find another deal I’m sure.”
How wise I was then. How stupid.
We didn’t know it then, but the hungry eyes of business and industry had suddenly fallen upon the 7 Cities. Insanely low cost of living? Check. Insanely low taxes? Check. You could buy land on the largest stretch of leisure beach on the planet with a minimum wage income??? Check.
Within years the 7 Cities underwent insane changes. All the shanty towns were destroyed. The last trailer park in Virginia Beach finally went bye-bye. Yoder Dairy’s farmlands went under the bulldozer in the name of progress. Pembroke Mall became somewhere people actually wanted to go again. Real estate prices sky-rocketed. Suddenly, the “locals” were the new bourgeoisie. Half the people I graduated HS with became relatively wealthy overnight. Many of their parents had bought them a plot of land and a trailer upon their graduation. Suddenly those plots were worth a half-million dollars.
My HS buddy Joe had bought a 6 bedroom apt building near downtown Norfolk for 90k on his marine salary. He sold it for 750k.
Suddenly the military wasn’t a boon; suddenly they were a hindrance. Your average military family couldn’t afford the new prices that educated newcomers (those following business and industry into the area) could, and ended up coagulating in various areas, rising crime, and lowering property values. A “Locals vs. Military” attitude bloomed then.
Some military members like to complain how they’re being taken advantage of with regards to housing. It’s not that. It’s just that they’re not the target group. If they can’t afford housing, no one cares. “Go live somewhere else” is the mindset. In short, the area has outgrown military wages.
Times have changed. My old school is now an “academy” and the tuition to send my son there is 8,000 a year (incidentally, I do not send my son there). They no longer have flexible methods of payments like the old days. And nomadic bands of hippies and ex-military camping out on the beach? They would call the S.W.A.T. team nowadays. As for ocean surf teeming with fish? Fuhgeddaboutit. You’re lucky to catch A SINGLE “legal” fish at all. So depressing. AND when you go to the ocean front (they call it the boardwalk now) there are these little bands of people who give you citations if you swear. My God...what would the Colonel say? They have fireworks on cue, every Friday and Saturday as well. I suppose it’s magical to tourists on their vacation. To me it’s like watching entertaining on a TV. You’re not experiencing it.
June, 2009: I took my son to the beach and we brought some McDonalds with us. I made sure to get some extra food. After we ate I took a burger and some fries to the ocean and cast them in. “As per the ancient pact, here is your meal. Thank you for being so kind to us.”
I felt a tap on my arm. It was an angry looking cop. “WTF. You know kids swim in this ocean, right?” (he literally said “WTF”, not “what the ****”) He gave me a ticket and sent me on my way.
In a way, it's kind of sad how fast Virginia Beach and Hampton Roads grew uncontrollably in the 80s and 90s. But now that it's a major metropolitan region, I want it to continue to grow.
Nice story even though I dont agree with some of it.....Like the boardwalk statement...sorry a boardwalk of some type has been at Va Bch since 1888.......And no one drove their vehicles onto the beach in the 1980's unless you wanted to go to jail...In fact it was in the 80's when Va Bch outlawed 4X4 trucks from even driving on Atlantic Ave during the summer months....
In 1980 when you moved here I had already been out of high school for 3 years and had been living in Va Bch for over 15 years.....there was just as much change in the 60's, 70's and 80's around Hampton Roads as there was in the 90's and beyond...you were just not around to see it.....
In a way, it's kind of sad how fast Virginia Beach and Hampton Roads grew uncontrollably in the 80s and 90s. But now that it's a major metropolitan region, I want it to continue to grow.
But yeah, thanks for the write-up.
Thanks! Yes, I definitely want it to continue evolving. I think the two main reasonable complaints about this area are:
1.) It lacks an overarching culture and identity
2.) Lack of unity leads to squabbling and in-fighting
I think both will be solved with time. This is still a very young area. Many hail from cities that have existed for a couple centuries, not a few decades. Eventually it'll all be one city with several boroughs (I can only hope) and that will solve many problems.
P.S.---and thank you as well honeybabie and emeraldgirl. I really should write a book. The indian woman and the colonel would each easily get their own chapters.
Nice story even though I dont agree with some of it.....
That's OK. It occurred to me as I reread it that someone who grew up on the opposite end of the spectrum, say in a posh house, etc, might tell a very different tale growing up. To me, all of Va Beach was trailers and a smattering of ranch homes. To them, they might not even know Va Beach had trailers. It's all perspective.
Quote:
Originally Posted by rtandc
Like the boardwalk statement...sorry a boardwalk of some type has been at Va Bch since 1888.......And no one drove their vehicles onto the beach in the 1980's unless you wanted to go to jail...In fact it was in the 80's when Va Bch outlawed 4X4 trucks from even driving on Atlantic Ave during the summer months....
I think the boardwalk statement is splitting hairs. I don't dispute what you say, but the boardwalk that was there resembled nothing like the miles-long concrete road that is there now.
As for the 4X4 comment, we'll have to just agree that we had different experiences. People routinely drove their 4X4's on there after dark. During the day was a little different. People still did, but not so frequently (you just couldn't drive really, what with the people scattered about).
And police were not nearly as strict as they seem to be today. In the scene mentioned in my write-up, I left out quite a bit, like how a beat cop came down with a flash light to "make sure no one was going to kill themself trying to swim drunk" and jokingly asked if I was of age to be drinking.
I'm sorry Emrak, but that boardwalk, in its current form of concrete, from 5th street to 40th street has been there since I can remember!! I grew up here and graduated high school in 1980 (first graduating class of Green Run High). I was a fixture at the beach throughout the 70's and I can assure it was there as a big concrete thing!!
Perhaps you were thinking of going to the North End of Virginia Beach? the streets there do end at the Dunes. Or maybe Croatan?
Oh, and as for driving on the beach. NO WAY JOSE!! That is why we used to take the 4 - wheeel drive trucks, jacked up to the sky, to the Outer Banks!! So we COULD drive on the beach : )
Other than that, nice story. You get an A in creative writing for the day!!
That's OK. It occurred to me as I reread it that someone who grew up on the opposite end of the spectrum, say in a posh house, etc, might tell a very different tale growing up. To me, all of Va Beach was trailers and a smattering of ranch homes. To them, they might not even know Va Beach had trailers. It's all perspective.
I think the boardwalk statement is splitting hairs. I don't dispute what you say, but the boardwalk that was there resembled nothing like the miles-long concrete road that is there now.
As for the 4X4 comment, we'll have to just agree that we had different experiences. People routinely drove their 4X4's on there after dark. During the day was a little different. People still did, but not so frequently (you just couldn't drive really, what with the people scattered about).
And police were not nearly as strict as they seem to be today. In the scene mentioned in my write-up, I left out quite a bit, like how a beat cop came down with a flash light to "make sure no one was going to kill themself trying to swim drunk" and jokingly asked if I was of age to be drinking.
Yes the boardwalk is slightly different today then it was in the early 80's as it has been built up as part of the hurricane protection act.
Sure everyone looks back in time and remembers how things were when they were growing up and for everyone it was different...If someone was to ask me I would say the cops in Va Bch were much worst back in the 80's then they are today....Back in the early 80's I lived on 24th street at the beach and hung out on the strip every waking moment back then....I used to have to crawl home just about every night from the bars...LOL....IMO The cops used to be real bad back then......I think the attitude of the cops and the city in general changed alot after the riots of 1989 and are much more professional today due to the cameras etc....
As far as how the strip looked back then....well it dont look that much different to me today...sure a little more touristy today with the fancy lights and signs but the outlay has not changed that much.....Sure hotels have been torn down and other built in their places but many of the bars are still there today (even though many have changed names)....Sure the 31st street area has changed as that was an amusement park back then...heck I am sure most of the old times like myself still remember things like the steel pier and the really old timers remembering having to get to the beach by Va Bch Blvd because there was no such thing as the interstate.....
But heck by 1980 there was already well over 250K people living in Va Bch so it was well on its way to looking how it does today
By 1980, VB had 260K, it's now 2010 and that number is approaching 450K. That's a lot of growth.
With the Craney Island expansion (54,000+ jobs) and things such as offshore wind, modeling and simulation, etc. I think Viginia Beach is about to notice another massive growth period that wil probably start around 2015. I honestly believe by 2030, Virginia Beach will have 600,000-700,000 inhabitants
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I really should write a book. The indian woman and the colonel would each easily get their own chapters.
I don't dispute what you say, but the boardwalk that was there resembled nothing like the miles-long concrete road that is there now.
