The mating call, in actuality, was little more than a rather primal wide-open-mouthed yell from the male, answered with a lacerating scream from the female. It was the most readily available type of communication and it suited everyone just fine. It was Spring Break 1982, and I was perched in a little guard shack at the entrance to a resort on Panama City Beach, Fla. The endless parade of hot rods, bikes, trucks, and vans streamed by with speakers blasting 1980s arena rock while college students in various stages of sunburned skin and alcohol-fueled shenanigans enjoyed their yearly pilgrimage to “The World’s Most Beautiful Beaches.” Working security during the day and as a private detective in the evenings, I perceived laid-back, carefree vacationers whose itineraries were punctuated with exuberant partying.
The lodging back then was modest and consisted mainly of family-owned motels with a few large condominiums rising above the surf, along with some mainstays like Holiday Inn, Ramada Inn, and others. If a group of college kids rented a room, hotels would not allow them to check out until the housekeeping staff verified that the rooms had been left in good condition. I know of one instance where some kids got adjoining rooms and then proceeded to knock the wall out that separated the rooms and otherwise tear the place up. The police were called and the offenders were held in the local jail until their parents arrived to make restitution. For the most part, however, the congregants celebrated a break from their studies in high spirits and good form before returning to their schools, leaving little more in their wake than fond memories and perhaps a spare pack of Alka Seltzer.
Forty years and two careers later, I spent the spring of 2022 residing in Memphis, Tenn., where I saw a bedraggled, shell-shocked populace whose lives were punctuated by gunshots and savage violence. Life there, in some ways, was not unlike some third-world deployments I had been on while on active duty. Having sold my weapons and promised to “study war no more” prior to arriving in Memphis, I deeply resented the necessity of arming up again and heading back to the firing range to hone that particular skill set. When the time came to make a fresh start in life, I happily returned to Florida’s Emerald Coast and never looked back.
The interesting thing about life here in the Panhandle is that the culture, in some respects, seems almost frozen in time. Oh, there’s been some degradation as Panama City and Panama City Beach have grown to accommodate contingents from other parts of the country, but for the most part, there’s a shared sense of courtesy and decency that has all but evaporated elsewhere. It would never occur to locals to block a major road or highway and detain motorists against their will. Shoplifting and robbery, while not extinct, are comparatively rare here. As a rule, most people wouldn’t dream of cutting in line or otherwise acting more like a zoo exhibit and less like a civilized person.
But Spring Break? That’s become a different matter altogether. In 2015, there was a shooting here that injured seven people and a video of a gang rape in broad daylight on the beach. Local leadership back then responded by beefing up police presence, making alcohol on the beach illegal during the month of March, and imposing tighter restrictions on group gatherings. By 2020, former Bay County Sheriff Tommy Ford allowed as how, “It has transformed in the March and April time frame in a very positive way. I think the future is bright for Bay County in general and for the beach.”
Former Sheriff Ford’s enthusiasm was short-lived, however, as delegations of grunting moronic hoodlums, vandals, and gang members have descended on Panama City Beach in recent years, temporarily turning the place into the wretched hell holes that spawned them. This year, in the span of six weeks, beach vacationers and residents were treated to multiple shootings and large illegal crowd gatherings that cultivated a new level of fear and disgust from taxpayers, residents, and law-abiding visitors who simply wanted some time to relax and enjoy the beach with their families.
My wife and I contemplated going to one of our favorite beachside restaurants when news broke about a shooting spree at Pier Park (a popular tourist landmark and shopping area). It occurred to me that since I had stopped conceal carrying when I left Memphis (a.k.a. Mogadishu on the Mississippi), I had no desire to strap up again.
Meanwhile, Panama City Beach Police Chief J. R. Talamantez released a statement that read in part: “To our community, here’s where I stand: Panama City Beach can no longer be a Spring Break town. That time is over. Every year we try to manage it, and every year it brings more risks and challenges. I’m not willing to risk the safety of our city to hold onto something that no longer works.”
While in Memphis, I maintained that nothing short of a National Guard presence in the city would restore the level of order necessary to begin meaningful reforms. Unhappily, Spring Break in Panama City Beach has deteriorated to much the same level. Some businesses have thrived on the revenue from Spring Break, but the carnage and bands of marauding hooligans have wrecked the tradition to the point that many loyal tourists are saying they will never be back. Under the circumstances, I can’t blame them.
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In Memphis, when a new catfish shack on the other side of town opened, I had to ask myself if a slab of fried fish was worth dying for. The answer then, as now, is no. Local leaders need to defuse the danger here, or they will face the same situations that Memphis, Atlanta, Montgomery, Detroit, Chicago, etc., face, where those who can leave do so, taking their tax revenue with them as the city descends into the abyss.
Happily, Bay County is still, at its core, a place where courtesy is the rule rather than the exception. These folks won’t smile meekly and make excuses or blame the weapon rather than the miscreant holding it. Places like this are becoming fewer and more difficult to preserve, but if any part of the country can restore and maintain a culture of law-abiding respect, we can do it here.
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