Telling someone that I grew up in Myrtle Beach usually illicits comments tinged with a bit of jealousy. Who wouldn’t want to grow up at the beach? For me, this wasn’t just any beach. As a kid, it was both the perfect playground and the ideal place to learn. As an adult, it is the place where that coil in my chest totally unwinds and I can relax and be a kid again.  

The Grand Strand was and is “home,” no matter where else I may live.

My sisters and I were fortunate enough to have grown up within a half a block of the ocean in the area now called “The Avenues.” At night, we slept with the windows open, listening to the waves. Traffic now drowns out those soothing sounds, but I am convinced that being so close to the beach made all the difference in the world in my entire outlook on life.  

Our home started in the ’40s as not much more than a cabin on a wooded lot, built by my grandparents. The cabin grew and eventually a real house was built. There are pictures of my mother and her cousins playing on the same stretch of beach that my sisters and I would later play on with our cousins, the offspring of those girls smiling and splashing in photographs with my mom.

Each summer brought new people to meet. For that matter, there were new people each week. They were from other cities, other states and sometimes other countries. I could travel the world just by sitting on the beach and talking to the people on the neighboring blanket. I think my love for travel came from that. I wanted to see where they were from and eventually collected pen pals from across the globe.

It didn’t matter what time of year, the beach was always there for me as my place to go and think and see. Sometimes it was as simple as just walking down, sitting in the sand and watching the surf and the beachcombers. Other times it was a full-on, all-day expedition, complete with cooler and cabana. Still others, it was all about “the walk.”

“The walk” depended entirely on the mood. It always started with heading directly to the edge of the surf and then deciding—north? Or south?

Turning to the right, or south, meant it was going to be a day of sensory overload. This walk offered some of the best people watching in the world. Hotel after hotel brought an endless row of beach umbrellas, squealing kids running in and out of the surf, sand castle architects of various skill levels and an obstacle course of people who had pulled their chairs into the water’s edge.

The goal was to at the very least make it to the Pavilion and all of the diversions that area offered. I could detour onto the 14th Avenue Pier to see how the fishing was coming along, or, depending on how sandy I was, I’d swing through the Gay Dolphin and explore the many levels and coves.

Walking into the cool air at the Pavilion Arcade area was always a must. I would stroll around to see who was winning what at skee ball, make faces in the fun mirrors or even go to the upper deck to rest. As I got older, I would sometimes find myself sitting on a stool at Peach’s Corner, watching people cruising the Boulevard while I chatted with classmates who were working there.

If my walk took me to the left, or north, then it would be a more relaxed, contemplative walk toward the quiet, residential areas.  

Thirtieth Avenue North marked the end of hotels and crowds. Sometimes I could walk for blocks and see nothing but the beach and the rooflines of the homes tucked behind the dunes. Once in a while I would find a friend sitting in a lone chair and I would stop and visit.

The north walk meant trying to make it to the Ocean Forest Hotel. It stuck out like a big brick-colored wedding cake in the curve of the beach. A fairy tale castle to reach for. After it was torn down in 1974, I would simply walk that direction until I ran into hotels again, then I turned back.

Walks weren’t restricted to daytime. Evening outings meant being able to watch the moon rise and the lights of the Pavilion rides set the sky aglow. I remember one night when a host of my cousins and I went to the Pavilion via the beach.  Our trip back left us wet and sandy from being tackled and splashing each other, and included more laughter than you could imagine.

Since those days, Myrtle Beach and the Grand Strand have grown immensely. There are more hotels, more houses, more roads, more tourists. The Pavilion and Ocean Forest are gone, but the beach is still the same.
It is still waiting for me at the end of the street where I grew up. I can still walk to the water’s edge and decide—north? Or south? Or simply bury my feet in the sand and watch the world go by.
 
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Janet McDonald is owner of J-Mac Productions, which produces videos for both commercial ventures and broadcast. She has written several travel books, including Historic Walking Guides: Bruges, Day Trips from Atlanta and updates for Insider’s Guide to Myrtle Beach and the Grand Strand, Insider’s Guide to Atlanta and Off the Beaten Path: Georgia. She recently completed The Fox Theatre for regional history publisher Arcadia, for which she has also written The Varsity and co-written The Myrtle Beach Pavilion and Aiken.