Mama and her sisters knew we all needed a summer beach break. My Grandma Stell’s condition had deteriorated to the point that she needed a nursing home with skilled care. It was a rowdy female family that loaded the car for a trip to Myrtle Beach that steamy August day of 1962. One glorious week with “just the girls” would be a kick. Husbands, fathers, and sons would come on the weekend. Aunt Nina, Aunt Louise, and Mama were in a state of euphoria. They enjoyed being silly together and their opportunities to laugh together were rare. My ailing grandmother demanded increasing care and attention. This beach trip was a time to relieve stress and just enjoy being together.
The beach house was a bargain, but lacked certain amenities. There were nails to hang clothes on, but no closets. The oven door had to be propped closed with a chair to achieve a bake or broil status. In the Fifties and Sixties, the condition of a house or where it was located on the beach wasn’t the concern of most families. The most important concern was just hangin’ together.
My cousin and I were also interested in strengthening our rebellious attitudes. Judy Mae Johnson, peddler of summer fun, resurrected our cigarettes from her back yard and packed them for our use. We knew our mothers would be occupied with idle conversation, working on suntans, and meal preparation. Our plan was to go for a walk and light up when we were out of the sight range of our parents. What we didn’t know was that our Aunt Louise had pulled the wicks of our lighters to optimum level. When we turned the wheel of our lighters the flames were given a new name, “booger burners.”
We were in our fourteenth year, and hormones were taking us on a roller coaster ride. We plastered ourselves with heavy rouge, eye shadow, and mascara to play with dolls smuggled into our suitcases. When we returned from secret smoke walks we played in the backyard sandbox. A mound of sand proved to be a fine beach home for cigarettes encased in band-aid cans.
My Aunt Louise was often cast into the role of our third mother. When not living in her mother skin, she was a wonderful customer for our beauty shop. Her long ebony hair could be brushed, braided, rolled, or placed in a bun. This week the sisters decided to change their hair color. Mama chose red and the name Flamin’ Lil to go with it. Aunt Nina picked white and became Martha Washington. Aunt Louise made a blonde selection and dubbed herself Marilyn Monroe.
Judy and I used all the colors on our hair to create a rainbow effect. The entire beach house reeked with the scent of hair color. Mama also brought along my Dad’s cigars. She didn’t smoke, but thought it would be a crazy thing to try them. The smell of fish frying, cigars, and aerosol hair color overwhelmed my stomach after returning from a smoke walk. Concerned that I was contracting a virus, Mama kept me from our nightly trip to downtown Myrtle.
The last evening before the guys were to come we did visit the boardwalk. Judy, my sister Jean, and I rode a few rides. Later, we decided to walk with our mothers. As we strolled along the boardwalk, Mama, Jean, and I stopped to watch an artist sketching portraits in charcoal. She decided she wanted him to draw one of the two of us. The portrait and the memory of having it made were my mother’s last gifts to us. She would be called to her heavenly home the next year.
Ann Lewis (left) Jean Lewis (right)
Portraits by Jack Robertson-1962
Ann Lewis – age 14
Jean Lewis – age 21
The double portraits now hang together in each of our homes.-Ann Lewis Coogler
Jean Lewis Fordham