Destin: Not All Fun & Games
Posted on June 30, 2014 by bob in EdNote
If you mentioned the name “Destin” to me as a child, I’d throw a fit. Not a big fit; those weren’t allowed. More a a quiet fit my parents rarely paid attention to. Why couldn’t we go to Panama City, Pensacola, or Miami (the only other Florida destinations I knew)? Why wasn’t there a more viable option than desolated Destin, an uninspired beach with only endless white sand and sea to entertain us? No Goofy Golf, just a sparse few motels. Not even an arcade. To my eyes, Destin was a Florida wasteland.
Once, after Mom and Dad announced we were going to Destin I decided to run away. Declaring my eminent departure a better option than their planned destination, I packed a shirt, pair of shorts, and my brother’s rabbit foot into a red bandanna, and tied the small round bundle to a long stick. (In the ‘50s you had to mimic a hobo if you were at all serious about running away.)
Humphing out the door, I walked all the way to the Gorman’s house, three doors down. It was as far as I was allowed to go by myself. No one came after me, so I sat on the curb for what seemed like hours. More likely, it was a long 20 minutes. Once I thought I saw my mother’s face peer around a hedge, but blinked and her kind, concerned face was gone. Defeated, I turned around and headed back home.
Destin was, and still is, a premiere deep-sea fishing destination. That was the attraction that drew us there. My dad loved to fish, and he’d fish in every river, lake and pond around Montgomery. But deep sea fishing was his favorite.
Arriving in our red Rambler, we’d drop my father off at the Destin dock. While he held visions of snapper, trigger fish, and the pull of a blue marlin, I envisioned a miserable day in the hot summer sun, pounded by large ocean waves, my feet burning in the glaring white sand.
A little museum adjoined the dock, providing air conditioning and limited amusement. For a quarter, there was a machine that would press a copper penny into a flat, elongated souvenir disc. Mom surely thought the 26 cents was cheap entertainment, since I would ponder the former coin for hours, knowing I had quite a prize.
I’ll never forget Dad’s ear-to-ear grin, cigar-in-mouth, when we met him, hours later, at the dock. He’d be holding a newly purchased metal trash can with iced-down grouper, snapper and redfish. As we traveled on to some other beachside destination for the remainder of our vacation, our minds and mouths were set for good eating.
Dad often talked about buying beach property around Destin, but my brother and I always pooh-poohed the idea, knowing no one would ever find Destin’s isolation desirable. Apparently someone did. I think about those “miserable” Destin days every summer, as we peruse the long list of condos and houses, looking to trade hundreds of dollars for a day and night in the Destin sun. Had I only known…
Have a happy and safe July 4th!
Sandra Polizos, Editor
