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This is the last installment of Mark Weir's
recollections of his early days on Davis Island. Mark is a DIFF Club member in Mocksville
If you have similar recollections or historical items about the island, send them to Frank
Tursi, 3851 Willowood Dr., Clemmons, N.C. 27012 or by e mail to ftursi@earthlink.net.
By Mark Weir
My trip to the
cabin on Davis Island in October of 1975 remains as one of the most memorable. It marked
the end of the old era and lead to the beginning of what I call the modern era. My group
consisted of Raymond Shore of Winston-Salem, Mike Shannon of Clemmons, and H.M. Daniel of
High Point. We departed Winston before dawn on Thursday to catch an afternoon boat run by
E.G. Hampton.
My dad Dallas kept the battery for the '61 Chevy at home in a special wooden box with a
latching cover. We took this crown jewel of a battery to the island only to discover that
it was dead. We got some guys in a nearby cabin to give us a jump start. Dad thought air
cleaners were a source of trouble, so it was discarded long ago. I poured some raw gas
into the carburetor and connected the jumpers. The engine started and sounded good. I let
it run for almost an hour to charge the battery. I shut it off and expected to start
it from the freshly charged battery. No go. The battery would not take a charge.
I walked to the dock to seek help from one of the attendants that I knew was an old friend
of my dad's. In that era, friendship meant a lot. Service was not necessarily equal to all
customers. However, I could not get loan of a battery by friend
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ship, charisma or money on that day.
I walked back to the cabin very slowly, wondering how to recover from this embarrassment
in front of my best friends. I had told them that Davis Island would be unlike anything
they had ever experienced. They all said they were prepared for anything. I just did
not realize how resourceful they were. When I arrived at the cabin, the car was running
with the hood down. I asked what happened. They just smiled and said, "Let's go
fishing." Finally, H.M. said that he had borrowed the battery from a
Buick parked down the road. He said, "The Buick is not being used.
We will charge up the battery and put it back! The guy will thank us for charging
his battery."
I said "Are you crazy? What if the guy comes over on the next boat?."
They all said for me not to worry, there are plenty of other batteries in other
cars. But, I was worried. My dad had never robbed parts from a running beach buggy.
I was responsible for the group. What if I allowed something to happen that would
tarnish my dad's reputation. How could I face him? I was clearly outnumbered and
besides, I did not have any other alternative. Every time a boat arrived, I expected a
group of burley guys to be combing the camp looking for their battery. I knew H.M. could
out talk most people, but I thought in a showdown he might finger me since I am the
smallest one in the crowd. Well, we used the battery and returned it on Sunday well
charged, just as H.M. had said.
The spare tire in the '61 Chevy was flat. We removed the tube and found a small hole. I
found a patch kit in the cabin and repaired it. I drove to the garage, a shack in the
center of the camp, to pump it up. Inside, I found a room full of batteries and |
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