Hoist Up The Jon B Sail

One final perfect sunset. We breathe in the ocean air and fill our lungs and souls with memories of saltwater and that paradise. It was more than your ordinary beach house. Over the years it had taken on a life of its own. The seagulls screech one last goodbye and we pack ourselves into our vehicles and drive away. As we glance in the rear view mirror, it all comes flashing back.

Four friends driving down Highway 98 in search of a structure strong enough to house their two families including five kids. They wanted a place with an enviable location convenient for the countless walks back and forth from the beach. They were searching for a place that would welcome friends and relatives for many years. The couples had visited this beach many times with friends and already knew it was the desired destination. They knew the ideal beach. Now they simply needed to discover the house.

The year was 1973 and the music charts were topped with Tie A Yellow Ribbon Round The Ole Oak Tree, Bad,Bad Leroy Brown, Killing Me Softly With His Song, Let's Get It On and My Love.  A gallon of gas cost 40 cents. Secretariat won the Triple Crown and Billie Jean King defeated Bobby Riggs in the tennis battle of the sexes. The United States withdrew troops from Vietnam and the World Trade Center in New York became the tallest building in the world. The same year Jonathon Livingston Seagull (originally published in 1970) topped the Publishers' Weekly list of bestselling novels in the United States. So these four are cruising down the road with the ocean calling them and their futures on the horizon.

A turn down 36th Street proved to be predestined. The fab four found their beach house and collectively named it The Jon B after the Beach Boys recording of Sloop Jon B and as a reference to Jonathon Livingston Seagull.

Their investment proved to be an integral part of childhood and adult memories for generations to come.

“The shape of my life is, of course, determined by many things; my background and childhood, my mind and its education, my conscience and its pressures, my heart and its desires.” -Anne Morrow Lindbergh, A Gift From the Sea

It became a resting place. It was a haven for celebrations, vacations and holidays. It was a safe harbor for broken hearts and tested souls. The house embraced us when we returned. It girded us when we received devastating news. It swayed and bent and grew with us.

Cold beers, wine and a Bloody Mary or two. Fish fresh from the day's catch cleaned while swimsuits hung out to dry. Sandcastles were built. Seashells were collected. Suntans were secured. Margaritas were poured. Feet scorched on the hot pavement when you were in too much of a hurry to reach the white sands. Early morning walks on the shore. Bait in the refrigerator. Bait in the freezer. Bait everywhere.

Fireworks. Champagne. Birthday cakes. Long days sitting and talking. Listening. Sharing. Children chasing crabs. Crashing waves. Palm trees and the ocean breeze. Soft drinks. Beach-side picnics and bonfires. Evening walks on the nearby pier. Too many majestic breathtaking sunsets to count. Hamburgers and hot dogs. Ice cream. Low country boils. Board games. T-shirts. Bourbon. Coolers. Sandbars. Shrimp. Steamed crab claws. Key lime pie. Oysters. Sandpipers. Flip flops. Sandals. Beach balls,umbrellas, towels, chairs and floats. Football in the sand. Tossing frisbees. Kites. Fishing tournaments. Photo contests. Bare feet. Happy hours. Happy days.

Casting a line in hopes of connecting with grouper, pompano, king or spanish mackerel or anything worthy of a fish story. Yelling fish on! with an enormous amount of satisfaction. Watching porpoise jump in the distance. Cooling off in the emerald waters. Posing for photos with the catch of the day.

Learning patience when you hold vigil for a crab to surface or stand for hours anticipating that tug on your fishing line.

“The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. To dig for treasures shows not only impatience and greed, but lack of faith. Patience, patience, patience, is what the sea teaches. Patience and faith. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach—waiting for a gift from the sea.” -Anne Morrow Lindbergh, A Gift From The Sea


The Wonder Bar. Killer Seafood. Half Shells. The Fish House. Mexico Beach Grocery. Lookout Lounge. Toucans. The Shell Shack. Gulf Foods and Gifts. Beach Pizza. Two Crabs. Listening to the Beach Boys, Neil Diamond , Otis Redding, The Tams, Jimmy Buffett and Luke Bryan. Day trips to Apalachicola, St. George Island, Cape San Blas, Port St. Joe and Panama City were often part of the weekends. Snorkeling. Swimming. Scalloping. Fishing. Shopping. Indian Pass Raw Bar. Dockside Marina and Restaurant. Karaoke.  Marquardt's Marina. Launching a boat at Presnell's Bayside Marina. Sunset cruises.

Joe Mamas Pizza. The Owl Cafe. The Gibson Inn. Sunset Coastal Grill. Drinks and dinner at Watermark. Margaritaville. Regardless of how far away we ventured, we were always eager to return. Upon our return the house was still standing awaiting our entry. Every time we survived a sunburn, lost fish, "may day" on sea or flooding pontoon boat, this house was there to greet us.

It was a refuge from the noise and chaos of the world. It was a place for contemplation and meditation and a place to simply be.

“You will begin to touch heaven, Jonathan, in the moment that you touch perfect speed. And that isn't flying a thousand miles an hour, or a million, or flying at the speed of light. Because any number is a limit, and perfection doesn't have limits. Perfect speed, my son, is being there.” -Richard Bach,  Jonathon Livingston Seagull


Hurricane Opal knocked us around in 1995. Glass was blown out by waves. Sand and water was blown in. The storm collapsed other beach houses but not this one. The house would not be defeated. The electricity remained on. Hoist up the Jon B sail.

The walls stand bare now. Posters of past fishing tournaments came down. Comfy couches and fish of all colors have been removed. A piece of driftwood had adorned the window. Stained glass once hung here. A lone fishing rod and reel had leaned against the door beckoning for you to take it. Not to be forgotten as you exited toward the sea, it had been strategically placed. Shelves with shells of all sizes collected through the years comes down from above the fireplace. Fish nets and poles and tackle are now gone. Maps, sketches and photographs are boxed. Goggles,visors,caps and flippers are bundled. Seashell mobiles, lighthouses and sandpiper carvings all packed. Over forty years of sandy treasures and remembrances tucked away.

That one glance in the rear view mirror brought it all back.

You can still hear children laughing. Adults laughing. Generations of the original two families have come here. It was a beach home not a house. Generations of other families have been invited here too. And they will all  remember those days forever with gratitude that they were once a part of  the Jon B.

*So hoist up the Jon B's sail
See how the main sail sets
Call for the Captain ashore
Let me go home, let me go home
I want to go home, let me go home...




* (Partial lyrics from The Beach Boys 1966 recording of Sloop Jon B. The Beach Boys' version was influenced by The Kingston Trio's 1958 adaptation. Other renditions include The Weavers' 1950 The Wreck of the Jon B.  American writer, editor and poet Carl Sandburg included the first 3 verses and chorus of The Jon B Sails in his collection of folksongs, American Songbag. The original Jon B Sails is a Bahamian folk song transcribed in 1916 by Richard Le Gallienne.)