Can a historic Black beach in Georgetown County be revitalized?

MCKENZIE BEACH — The abandoned and overgrown lot here is an anomaly, an undeveloped enclave nestled among the homes, shops and businesses along this densely populated stretch of U.S. Highway 17.

It once bustled with activity. This was where many African American vacationers came during the Jim Crow era to access the ocean. Today, the Georgetown County parcel wedged between the highway and the marsh only features the ruins of a motel and a house. Bugs dart through the humid air or scurry across the shaded earth.

At the edge of the property, where the low land gives way to pluff mud and Spartina grass, one finds the entrance to a narrow road extending 800 feet to the tiniest of islands with barely enough room for a forlorn tree. Sea birds perch on the roadway’s hot rocks, keeping an eye on the creeks where small schools of fish occasionally run when the water is up.

The view is stunning.

To the left is the southern end of Litchfield Beach; to the right, the northern end of Pawleys Island. Between them is the Atlantic Ocean. Blue crabs scurry in the tidal marsh. The marsh grass shimmers green and yellow and silver depending on how the sun and clouds decide to interact.

The motel provided accommodations not only to regular guests but also to traveling Black musicians who, hindered by racial segregation laws, were unable to stay anywhere else nearby. A number of families bought 16 small houses that once were scattered on the property and provided the place its identity for two decades.

This was one of a limited number of places by the water in South Carolina where African Americans could come to socialize, hear music, dance, eat, fish and swim. Charlie’s Place, located on “the Hill” in Myrtle Beach, drew popular bands and lots of dancing — until the Ku Klux Klan intervened in 1950. Atlantic Beach nearby was the Grand Strand’s “Black beach.”

In the Charleston area, African Americans had perhaps five options: Seaside at Edisto Beach, Frasier Beach on Johns Island, Peter Miller’s Pavilion along Wallace Creek near Red Top, Riverside Beach Park at Remley’s Point in Mount Pleasant and Mosquito Beach in the Sol Legare community.

These days, McKenzie Beach, admired by developers and civic leaders for its promising location, is protected by a gate that keeps the public out, but not the ghosts. They are here in abundance, laying claim to this place, hovering over the empty lots where modest cabins once stood, where the dance hall once provided a stage for musicians such as Duke Ellington, Count Basie and Little Richard.

The ghosts of Frank and Elizabeth McKenzie are here. Miss Liz, as she was known, inherited the property from her parents, and the couple managed it for two decades — until Mother Nature intervened.

Hurricane Hazel crushed McKenzie Beach in 1954, blowing down the footbridge that spanned a tidal creek, sweeping away the buildings, redistributing the sands of the inlet and flooding the low-lying land, some of which remained underwater for years.

Sixty-eight years later, a few of the lot owners wonder what might become of McKenzie Beach. Henrie Monteith Treadwell, 76, hopes it can become a place that honors its African American history, brings live music to the marsh once again, and hosts various public service events such as health fairs.

Owners of these individual parcels now live out of state. Still, they hope to convene here one day soon for a picnic and a planning session.

The ghosts are waiting patiently, ready to remind Treadwell and the other property owners what’s at stake: Will this place be consumed by the overgrowth, its history forgotten, its rewards squandered? Or can it be redeemed?

Hurricane Hazel

Treadwell was a young child when her family came to McKenzie Beach. In the late 1940s, her mother, Rebecca Monteith, bought a small lot — 45 feet by 55 feet — on a 6-acre spit of land piled up by the ocean just off the southern tip of Litchfield Beach. She soon had a three-room bungalow built, one of several beach cabins. This was the section of ocean-facing property that was used by African Americans, whose only access was the footbridge — which they paid 10 cents to cross.

In the evenings, a young Treadwell would remain in her bungalow while the grownups went to the restaurant pavilion nearby to socialize, eat and drink, and dance to live music.

The mainland portion of the property, about 4 acres, included a motel, restaurant, bait shop and several private homes, according to a 2016 account written by Gladys Manigault Watkins, one of the property owners. The rest of McKenzie Beach consisted of about 18 acres of marshland.

Treadwell was 8 when Hurricane Hazel wrought its destruction. In the first years after the storm, the family stayed at the motel before buying a second cottage, this one on the mainland near the start of the road that stretched through the marsh. But McKenzie Beach wasn’t the same. After a few years, Treadwell’s family stopped going.

Marilyn Hemingway remembers coming to this place as a child starting in the 1970s. The structures were missing or damaged, but the natural world carried on — along with her family’s interest in the property. The creeks were full of blue crabs, which she and others netted. Crabs were the treat to be eaten after the regular meal, she said.

The fish were easy to catch here, too. Those who still occasionally frequented McKenzie Beach on day trips had little trouble stocking their coolers.

During its heyday, before the hurricane, Miss Liz and daughter Dottie Jane would cook up a storm while Frank McKenzie and son Donald would attend to the needs of the property and its guests.

Black families congregated by the ocean here every summer to escape the worst of the heat and their daily concerns.

Since she inherited the 25-by-50-foot lot from her mother in 1971, Treadwell has paid the property taxes. When, years ago, the county stopped sending the bill because it didn’t consider the property usable, she determined to reactivate the tax and continue to pay the modest sum.

Now and again, Treadwell, who lives in Atlanta, gets offers to purchase the lot. Once, at the Georgetown tax office, someone told her to be careful because efforts were afoot to take control of the whole of McKenzie Beach.

“What I fear is something will happen and we won’t know, and we’ll have to get very serious with attorneys,” she said. “If they are speaking about doing something to renew that area, why haven’t they called me?”

Public access

About six years ago, Georgetown County Councilman Bob Anderson attempted to consolidate ownership of the property so the county could create a public access beach. He knew it could be a complicated endeavor, but he was hopeful that a good outcome could be achieved.

“We could certainly use more public beach property here in Georgetown County,” he said.

Perhaps McKenzie Beach could include a building with restrooms and food vendors, a parking area, an information kiosk, showers.

But he faced two big challenges: government bureaucracy and the interests of private owners.

With help from an architect, Anderson designed a new bridge that would take pedestrians, golf carts and emergency vehicles over to the southern end of Litchfield Beach.

“I took my pitch and met with several departments and (state) agencies, and the (Army) Corps of Engineers, and the Navy and Coast Guard,” he said. “This was done quietly because I didn’t want to stir up folks one way or another until I went through the gauntlet of agencies.”

His presentations were not successful.

“Everyone was looking for some reason not to do it,” Anderson said.

Among those Anderson consulted was Amy Armstrong, executive director of the South Carolina Environmental Law Project.

“I told him it would be a big problem because building a bridge now is just not something that would be permitted,” she said. It would cross a navigable creek with shifting terrain. It would impact the saltwater marsh, perhaps requiring a portion of it to be filled in. “From an environmental standpoint, it raises all kinds of red flags.”

And then there’s the matter of ownership, which is just as complicated, she said.

Undivided interest

In the late 1930s, Fred and Elizabeth McKenzie partnered with Lillian Pyatt, who owned an adjacent property. They combined the Magnolia Beach Club and the McKenzies’ resort, creating an important destination for local African American vacationers, as well as those traveling from state to state and relying on the essential “Green Book,” a guidebook published annually for Black travelers that listed hotels, boarding houses, taverns, restaurants, gas stations and other businesses around the country that would serve them. 

In the wake of Hurricane Hazel, the McKenzies struggled to keep their resort operation going. They couldn’t keep up with loan payments, according to correspondence between Watkins and Treadwell.

Watkins’ father, civil rights leader and funeral home director Walter Manigault, along with prominent civil rights activist Modjeska Monteith Simkins, assumed responsibility for the loan. After the death of Fred McKenzie in 1978, they shared ownership of the property 50-50.

Eventually, Simkins sold her half to her attorney, Alex Sanders, who in turn sold his interest in the property to three White investors who formed McKenzie Beach LLC. The Manigault family, meanwhile, formed McKenzie Beach Heirs LLC, a small company to manage its half of the property.

Today, the two companies have an undivided 50-50 controlling interest in the 28 acres overall. Much of it is marsh and undevelopable. Individual families still own their various parcels.

One of the McKenzie Beach LLC partners, commercial real estate agent Keith Hinson, declined comment to The Post and Courier.

“It is his and his partners’ policy not to discuss land ownership matters with the media,” office manager Sandy Duke wrote in an email.

Sanders said Simkins and Manigault arranged for repossession of McKenzie Beach after it was threatened by foreclosure, and they ended up with an undivided interest in the property. Simkins offered to transfer her ownership to Sanders for free. He refused.

“I thought that would be highly awkward,” he said. Eventually, he offered $25,000 for it, but she refused, saying she preferred help with a mortgage and a promise to provide occasional financial assistance. He agreed.

When Simkins died in 1992, her interest in McKenzie Beach went to her niece, Henrie Monteith Treadwell. Sanders, who had a financial stake in all this, paid Treadwell $90,000 — the current appraised value. Now he officially owned half of the property. But he didn’t really want it.

“We kept hoping we could sell the whole thing to somebody,” Sanders said.

Finally, he received an offer for his share.

Under pressure

McKenzie Beach and its history are subject to powerful economic forces. Available marshfront property in Georgetown County is scarce. The location is desirable, the development potential high.

It’s not an unusual state of affairs.

Land near the ocean belonging to Black people once was considered isolated and undesirable. But since the 1950s, when suburbanization took hold, property on the Sea Islands and near the marshes of the Lowcountry gained value, prompting developers to construct subdivisions, resorts, hotels, large private homes and more.

This has pressured Black landowners. Some choose to sell when real estate values go up. Others opt to fend off would-be buyers.

African American beach communities in the Hamptons on Long Island, N.Y., outside Annapolis, Md., near Jacksonville, Fla., and along the South Carolina coast are striving to retain control of their properties and preserve their history and culture.

Last year, California Gov. Gavin Newsome authorized Los Angeles County to return waterfront property to descendants of Charles and Willa Bruce. The couple in 1912 paid $1,225 for the property. On it, they created a haven for African Americans who otherwise had few opportunities to access the Pacific Ocean in southern California.

After years of harassment and violent attacks from White neighbors and members of the Ku Klux Klan, the city of Manhattan Beach in 1924 seized Bruce’s Beach through the use of eminent domain, paying the couple about $14,000, according to a report by CNN. Today, the two lots are reportedly worth as much as $75 million.

The ownership scenario of McKenzie Beach is reminiscent of, though not exactly analogous to, the many pockets of heirs’ property located throughout the Lowcountry and beyond. When multiple individuals and entities have a stake in the land, not all agree on what to do with it. In the case of heirs’ property, owners often are vulnerable to real estate investors, some of whom can be predatory, because the property has no clear deed associated with it. One heir can sell his interest, undermining others in the family.

With McKenzie Beach, ownership interests are clear and show up in Georgetown County’s tax and deed records. But getting everyone on the same page could be a challenge.

Possibilities

One option is to do nothing about the current ownership configuration but forge an agreement among all the parties that defines a particular course of action.

Either of the companies could agree to sell its interest to the other, which would make it easier to proceed with some kind of development plan, according to state Sen. Tom Davis, a real estate attorney in Beaufort. Or either company could bring what’s called a partition action, asking a court to divide the property into two equal parts, he said. But that would still leave the small parcels owned by the families to contend with.

Armstrong said another option is for the two companies to sell their shares to a conservation group, agreeing to place certain protective easements on portions of the property. That would limit or restrict commercial development. (The individual parcel owners would be largely unaffected should this happen.)

Another possibility, she said, is to arrange for a state conservation acquisition. The state, in turn, could assign the Georgetown-based Gullah Geechee Chamber of Commerce, or the Beaufort-based Gullah Geechee Cultural Heritage Corridor, or some other nonprofit to manage the site. This scenario would enable property owners to profit from a sale while protecting McKenzie Beach and ensuring that it promotes African American history.

“I think it would be wonderful to see some sort of land marker recognizing the historical nature of the place,” Armstrong said. “It’s a pretty special property.”

Treadwell is determined to hinder any effort to strip McKenzie from the African Americans who continue to hold a stake in it. But the convoluted ownership situation, and the environmental concerns, certainly make it difficult to find a way forward.

“I’m not going to sell,” she said. “I think it’s a social injustice that we’ve been left here, beleaguered. … Communities of color get wiped out and no one comes to put it back together again.”

The ghosts of McKenzie Beach understand this too well. But they will not leave this place. It still belongs to them.