On New Year’s Eve weekend, I visited Mr. John’s Beach Store on Center Street on Folly Beach. I have been visiting Mr. John’s Beach Store since I was a child staying at my grandparents’ home on East Arctic Avenue in the summer. Yet this visit was different. It was a farewell visit.
Mr. John’s Beach Store has been a fixture on Folly Beach since 1951. The affectionately coined “mayor of Folly Beach,” Paul Chrysostom, took over the family business started by his parents, John and Rachel Chrysostom. They were esteemed, respected and beloved members of the community; John was a bookkeeper, accountant and Greek professor, and his wife, Rachel, a pharmacist.
For many of us who recall the old days on Folly, Mr. John’s was the last stronghold of memories that can never be replaced. Mr. John’s, which recently was sold, was the heart and soul of Center Street.
I recently read an article on the WCSC-TV website that quoted Folly Beach Mayor Tim Goodwin as saying: “When people come to me and say, ‘I want Folly Beach to be like it was,’ I look at them and say, ‘What do you remember Folly Beach being?’”
Given that Mayor Goodwin moved to Folly Beach in 1998, I would like to respectfully answer his question.
Folly Beach was a vibrant, magical, exciting, warm and lovable place. It was naturally community oriented. The sleepy beach. Some even called it the poor man’s beach.
But rest assured, there was nothing poor or wanting about Folly.
It was overflowing with riches, treasures that could never be measured materially. I don’t even remember the word tourist; everyone was welcomed and seen the same.
When I was growing up in the 1960s and ’70s, visiting Folly was like entering a portal into an enchanted world.
A horse that belonged to a neighbor was stabled in our backyard.
My grandfather gave the Bruggemann family next door our backyard garage to stable their horse, Nosy.
The family’s daughter, Nancy, in turn, gave me rides on Nosy on the beach. It was a young girl’s dream.
The boy next door was my first crush. It was a time of innocence and sweetness that can never be duplicated.
Cars could drive on the beach, horses pranced along the streets, and neighbors never locked their doors for the simple reason that our neighbors were not considered neighbors. They were family.
Folly wasn’t “funky.” It wasn’t branded. It wasn’t marketed. It was what it was.
The Sanitary Restaurant on Center Street had a lunch counter that sold soft-serve ice cream sundaes and the best sandwiches and comfort food.
The Pavilion had wooden benches, hotdogs and hamburgers, and the amusement rides twirled with the echo of children’s laughter in the air.
We used to walk an eternity over the big sand dunes to get to the beach.
Many times, we would swim in the gullies by the old groins even if folks were there crabbing.
My grandfather George Manos would go out in the wee hours of the morning with his big net and bring in buckets of fish for my grandmother Virginia to clean and cook.
The front porch was an open door that called to passersby: “Come on up. The table is full.”
Generosity and hospitality flowed like the ocean. And at night, we would be lulled to sleep by the sound of her waves.
Goodbye, Mr. John’s Beach Store.
You will always be in my heart. This is what Folly was like — in all her beauty, simplicity and wonder. A reminder that the greatest gifts of life are priceless.
Jackie Morfesis is a Charleston writer, speaker and community advocate.