I love the Mississippi Gulf Coast. From the 1950s and 1960s, I remember the pool under the oak trees at the Alamo Plaza Motel or staying with family friends just a few blocks off the beach in Biloxi. In those days, the coast sported antebellum homes and fishing piers fingered out into the gulf. The coast was a jewel of the old south. I was there on the day that blacks first “dared” to use the “white” beach around the lighthouse in Biloxi. I recall the police, and the traffic and the tension, but no violence. In those days, the coast was “dry.” Nevertheless, you could buy beer at certain businesses. The salesman would take a six pack quietly out of a cooler “in the back” and pack it separately in a plain paper bag.
I started my military career and my marriage on the coast. In 1969, I was stationed at Keesler AFB. Camille had taken the stately old homes, the fishing piers and much of the coast highway. Before checking into the base at Keesler I spent Christmas at home and met a pretty red head who I would eventually marry. In the months ahead I would spend the weekends at home in Louisiana, courting, and the weekdays at computer school on the base on the coast. I got to know personally the bus drivers who ran the route between the coast and Lafayette. In May 1970, I spent my honeymoon at the Swam Motel in Biloxi before ending my training at Keesler.
Rosemary and I, and then two kids, returned to the coast in the late 1970s. I was then finishing my navy career with a tour at the SeaBee base in Gulfport. Rosemary worked in the medical field. We lived on the base and met some of the best friends we would ever know. I made my “profession of faith” at the First Baptist Church of Gulfport. Rosemary remembers seeing me reading a bible after the service at a park. She says it’s the first time she can recall me opening one. We bought the first house we ever owned in North Biloxi and ended my Navy career and headed off to law school from here.
We are spending a couple of days on the coast just remembering. It’s difficult because Katrina has wiped away nearly every landmark. From the beach for a couple of blocks inland, nearly every building is less than five years old or as they say here, “Post Katrina.” The motel I stayed at as a kid is gone. The motel I honeymooned at is gone. I can’t find the park where Rose and I and the kids had picnic lunches under the trees. Driving in I never noticed the turn off to the Navy Base where I worked for years. It’s all gone.
This is now a gambling mecca. There are huge casinos and shopping areas, but they are mainly away from the beach. There are homes and businesses popping up along the coast highway, but they are not “too close” to the water and most are perched as high as possible above the sand. It’s like a small child fearful of the water, intrigued by its beauty, but fearful of its power, and not ready to get too close.
I am sure something about this story will “preach.” There are lessons about the fragility of life, the power of God’s creation, sometimes sweet and sometimes painful memories. But for now I can’t construct any of them. Draw your own lessons and conclusions. I will just sit quietly and watch the gulf and relax and remember.
Be blessed.
Nick
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