Fripp Island In The Beginning - Chapter I
When young developer Jack Kilgore brought his wife and three sons to Fripp Island in 1962 he had to build a bridge to get there. Some 35 years later, his son Glen remembers the good old days.
It is June 1998 and I am spending a weekend on Fripp Island for the occasion of my wife's 20th high school reunion. Although I did not graduate with them, her classmates are buddies I grew up with. I did a lot of exploring this island with them, riding our mini bikes on the beach. Of course, that was many years ago, and a lot has changed on Fripp Island. Today, as we check in to our villa...WHAM!...a rip-roaring thunder boomer comes tearing through. Well, at least that much hasn't changed. A summertime thunderstorm at the beach can still be awesome.
I can clearly remember what Fripp Island looked like over 35 years ago. It was 1960 and my father, Jack Kilgore, was in Beaufort on business. A small item was in the paper advertising "Fripp Island for sale" caught his eye. On an impulse he drove out to see the "Fripp Island." Of course, his drive down the south end of Hunting Island (today there is no longer a road there!) led him to the end of nowhere. He looked out across to Fripp and fell in love...almost sight unseen, as there was no bridge onto the island. To make a long story short, at age 33 with big dreams and a whole lot of courage, my father set out to purchase Fripp Island. He was able to assemble a group of investors and acquire the entire island for $550,000 (the price of most deep water lots today!)
Next came the task of relocating our family from Columbia to Beaufort. There were Mom and Dad, my two older brothers Jack and Greg, and, of course, me - I was four years old. We spent a lot of time back and forth until we finally made the move to Hunting Island in 1962. There still was not bridge over to Fripp. That would come later. From what I can see of Hunting Island today, I am sure the small green block house we rented is no longer there. But in my mind's eye I can see it clearly..and just as clearly, remember the impact of my first encounter with the beach. It was spectacular! And as we jumped out of the car to investigate further..."OUCH!" What was that? We couldn't see anything but... "OW!" It was our introduction to no-see-ums.
I spent countless hours on the beach swimming exploring, and fishing with my brothers. Every child should know the joy of discovering marsh mud. I can close my eyes and smell the mud and remember how it felt to squish our fingers and toes through it as we tried counting those funny little crabs staring up at us. Was that 2,471 or 3,471 fiddlers? Then, inevitably, "MUD FIGHT!" Every man for himself! We'd emerge from the mud flat, looking like creatures from that proverbial black lagoon, nothing visible but the whites of our eyes! Life was good.
My father's first great challenge was building a bridge to Fripp Island. The state of South Carolina had flatly refused to do so. After all, who could possible want to go to Fripp Island? Not only would they not build the bridge, the State would not cut the road down the back side of Hunting Island until a financing could be arranged for the bridge. Well, Jack had the bridge built in 1963 for $394,000 and the State reluctantly constructed the road on Hunting Island. (Understandably, it was with interest that I followed the story of partial collapse of the Fripp Island bridge in 1997. What a life line that bridge had become for the many residents and visitors to Fripp Island after all.)
Our home, located on what is now number 11 on the Ocean Point Golf Course, was completed in 1965. With four boys, a dog named Mugs, and five white ducks in tow, we traveled across the bridge from Hunting Island and spent our first night on Fripp. Since ours was the only house on the island at the time, the only visible lights at night were the ones on in our home. We quickly proclaimed this kind of darkness "BIG DARK!" Construction of the island was well under way - the golf course was coming along, several ponds were built. Night number three for the Kilgore's: "Hey Dad, are those pigs?"
"No, they're wild boars"
"Hey Mom, did you see those great big rattlesnakes they killed today. I think Mugs has been bitten!"
My brother Jack was 14, Greg was 10, I was six and my baby brother Patrick was on year old. We were four boys wildly enjoying this island adventure, while my mother was losing it and the alligators were making quick work of the ducks! Welcome to Fripp Island. I was too young to notice that these wonderful carefree days for me were the busiest craziest days for my dad. He was consumed with finishing the Ocean Point Golf Course, constructing the Lai Tai Inn, and, most importantly, selling lots. Robert A Jolley, from Greenville, SC, purchased the first oceanfront lot on Fripp Island for $2500. My father came home and announced to my mother, "I can't believe he paid me that kind of money!"
One of my fondest memories of those days is what we referred to as the "Three O' Clock Alarm." My father would call home to my mother, and as she gently hung up the phone she'd turn to us and yell "BATTLE STATIONS!" This meant that my dad had a hot prospect and needed to close a sale. While my mother headed for Gay's Fish Dock, we boys were expected to gather fire wood and load it into the Bronco along with the large black iron frying pan. Then my mother would head to the beach and begin frying fish and hushpuppies, fixing up a small bar on the tailgate of the Bronco. With the sun setting over the ocean as a backdrop and the smell of fish frying, my father would arrive with his client. As you can imagine, a lot of property was sold this way.