I remember an old café where old fishing boat captains used to hang out. I was a kid. I lived up the road from the joint, in a cinder-block house. I frequently walked to this greasy spoon to listen to the old men jaw.
Destin was different back then. We didn’t have 4.5 million visitors. Highway 98 wasn’t America’s largest automotive parking lot. We were small. We were unknown. We had old men.
They were vile old men. Unshaven. Unwashed. Unsanctified. Undomesticated. Unfriendly. Un-everything. They smoked Luckys and survived on bad habits. Their skin looked like chewed-up boot leather and their teeth had gone to be with Jesus long ago.
They were commercial fishermen. The real deal. A dying breed. These men did not like where the world was going, so they were always ticked off. Their favorite thing to say, “Hell, I don’t know anymore… I. Just. Don’t. Know.”
This phrase was their theme song. They said it often. But then, they were roughnecks. They did not use politically correct language. They did not listen to Michael Jackson. They smelled like sweat. They always wore trousers—even in 280-degree weather. Their pants were stained with fish guts, Clorox, and non-synthetic motor oil.
Whenever they stood, they swore loudly as their joints crackled. Whenever they stooped, they winced in pain. They had scars all over their sun-browned forearms. Sometimes they were missing fingers. Dogs and children followed these men around.
Their stories were a joy. Namely, because they spoke of olden times. Of the way Destin used to be before it was overrun with G-strings, T-shirt shops, and zip lines.
The men spoke of old time street dances, community fish fries, dinner on the grounds, all-day singings, unsinkable Fords, and the price of gasoline.
I remember hearing them discuss the first fishing rodeo. The fishing rodeo was held here in ‘48, to attract visitors during the slow season. Harry Truman was president. Gas was 26 cents a gallon. Back then, the first rodeo grand prizes were windshield wipers, a toaster, and beer.
Today, the over $100,000 in cash prizes are awarded. Today, an estimated 50,000 anglers from 30 states and 7 countries participate in the Rodeo. What is the fishing rodeo like today? It’s like Woodstock, only with more nudity.
The old men spoke of digging the East Pass, in ‘29, to allow water to escape the Choctawhatchee Bay after hard rains. About how a whole town once came together and altered the Floridian landscape with nothing more than buckets and shovels and front-end loaders.
Today, the Pass is known by locals as “Crap Island.” Here’s why:
Each year, some 50 gazillion tourists driving fancy boats, which all cost more than tactical government helicopters, drop anchor in East Pass. Sometimes there are—literally—thousands of boats there at once, all crammed together, butt cheek to elbow.
That’s a lot of people in one place. And here’s the thing. There are no bathrooms.
Today, the waters of Destin Pass have the highest concentration of human urine and fecal matter, second only to New Jersey.
Those old men saw it coming. I can still see them, sitting around that old café table. I can still hear their grizzled voices.
I can still hear them talking about community Christmas parties, back during the Great Depression, when Santa would give shoes and clothes to local children whose daddies were fishermen.
I still hear the old men speaking of my old homeplace. A town that, long ago, before 4.5 million discovered it, used to be called a village. That was actually what we called ourselves. It was printed on our welcome-to-town sign. “The World’s Luckiest Fishing Village.”
Our little harbor was filled with old boats. Our churches were full of old women who all taught piano. Our homes were made of blocks. Our mothers and fathers worked hard for a living. Our cafés were full of old timers who were openly frightened by the prospect of change. I for one don’t blame them. Not one bit.
I just don’t know anymore. I just don’t know.
9 comments
stephen e acree - July 23, 2023 9:57 am
and survived on bad habits……always wore trousers—even in 280-degree weather.
Yes, I knew those men. Much of Fla can be described in this way. What was “ours” once is now a playground for the hoards that come down those interstates each year. Of course the native Americans from 600 yrs ago would say it was worse for them. I miss the Fla of my youth. It was OUR private playground and you didnt have to share it with so many back then. Great story, Sean. All too true and now just a sad memory.
Melika - July 23, 2023 12:01 pm
Sadly, this is happening everywhere. I grew up in a small town in Montana and when I go back it no longer is like going home. All the surrounding farm land is now shopping malls and subdivisions. I’m a visitor and all I have left are my memories of when life was slower paced and neighbors really helped one another. Hang on to your memories, Sean, and keep sharing the good old days with us!
Goodbye Destin – fisherynation.com - July 23, 2023 1:40 pm
[…] off. Their favorite thing to say, “Hell, I don’t know anymore… I. Just. Don’t. Know.” >click to read< […]
Tim - July 23, 2023 2:09 pm
…
Nations Change,
Destin-nations Change,
Dental Hygiene Change,
General Hygiene Change,
Molecules Rearrange.
Recipe for change includes a
Dollop of Time a
Spice of Life a
Pinch of Salt of the Earth.
then
Apply some heat,
Apply some pressure,
Allow some time (Sum-Times).
result
Destin has changed
Molecules rearranged.
Trajectories realigned
The future is out there somewhere.
Make it what you want it to be for you,
just be sure to clean up after yourselves
and brush your teeth once. in a while.
pattymack43 - July 23, 2023 5:05 pm
It is good to remember “the good old days”! There really was a human “wholesomeness”, really worth remembering, to times gone by. And, I, for one, miss it!! However, don’t forget that in another 80 years, other people will be longing for the 2020s, as “the good old days”! But, don’t let that change or stop your writing, today. Your public loves your daily message. Blessings!
Jim Thompson - July 23, 2023 6:58 pm
Yep, the Texas I grew up in is gone forever. Too many damnyankees and califrickingfornians…always said the border patrol kept the wrong folks out of Texas.
Dee Thompson - July 24, 2023 3:31 am
My dad had a customer in Destin in the 1970’s and we took a family vacation there and loved it. Nobody had discovered it yet. We loved it. We went back several times and the last time it was starting to get crowded. Such a shame…
John hutchinson - July 25, 2023 9:24 pm
Yep – I grew up in Orange Beach on Terry Cove. we cut our own firewood and had a hand pump in the yard. The Callaway’s, Walkers and a few other families were the only residents – all fishermen. Those days are long gone..
Rick Scott - August 2, 2023 12:14 am
Sean, Sean, Sean…. Another cheap shot at New Jersey. In reality New Jersey has some of the cleanest beaches in the US. According to a July 2023 report by Environment America the worst beaches are in Texas where 2022 tests showed 90% have unacceptable levels of fecal matter. The worst region was the Gulf Coast (84%), followed by the West Coast (70%) and the Great Lakes (63%). New Jersey? Only 14%! Oh, Florida is 70%. So maybe a little homework is advised
Otherwise I love reading your daily columns. A positive light to counteract the dark news of the day