For the Lovers and the Sniffers
When asked how I come up with story topics each month, I like to talk
about how I fabricate them late at night while under the influence of way
too much bourbon or gin. C’mon, you know we southerners believe the
truth should never get in the way of a good story.
Seriously, though, ideas aren’t hard to come by. I find inspiration in
the things I read and see. A song, a photo, or a friend’s suggestion are
often enough to set my mind racing. No matter how crazy or silly the
thought, I dutifully record each one in a snazzy chartreuse leather
notebook from Bergdorf Goodman.
What’s more challenging is to turn an idea into a thousand-word story
that meets my standards for this column. You say you’re surprised to
learn that I have standards? Of course, I do. It just depends on how you
define “standards.” I search for what’s interesting, eccentric,
flamboyant, fun, and tawdry about Rehoboth. I strive to mix travel
with history and social commentary in order to provide a perspective you
certainly won’t find in travel guides or hear from the Chamber of
Commerce. Personal or prescriptive, affable or prickly, I seldom know in
advance exactly how they’re going to turn out, and that’s the fun of
it.
So I was poking around one morning in the library looking for nothing in
particular but hoping for something inspirational. Well, wouldn’t you
know, I stumbled upon a four-part series on the life of none other than
Mrs. H.B. Thompson. It was written from her memoirs and it appeared
in the late 70s in Delaware History, the only scholarly journal
devoted to the history of Delaware. I’ve written about Mrs. H.B.
Thompson in several columns over the past three years. She was the
Wilmington socialite who felt that ridding Rehoboth of its mosquitoes was
more important than giving women the right to vote. She thought it uncouth
to wear lipstick but had no problem gardening with her arms and legs
wrapped in newspaper to keep the bugs at bay. Her son Jim Thompson was
known as the Thai Silk King before his mysterious death in 1967.
She’s sort of a minor obsession of mine, and I’m pleased to share
with you three excerpts from the series. The words are Mrs. H.B. Thompson
talking about Rehoboth. The titles are my creation.
First Visit—1872
In the year 1872, my grandmother and grandfather thought it would be very
pleasant to spend the summer in Lewes. One day, the family decided to
drive over to the seashore. So two wagons with four horses were ordered,
and the whole family started to take the long drive. I have recollections
of forests of pines, shadowy ponds covered with water lilies and finally a
gorgeous white beach. It was one great expanse of sea coast. The only
inhabitant there was a man named Trednick who had a small cottage with
several rooms in it which he used to rent out to hunters who wanted to
have some sport shooting wild ducks and geese and fishing. There we have
lunch, most of which we brought with us, finally repeating the long drive
of the morning.
Author’s footnote: The drive covered eight miles from Lewes to the ocean
beach and Louis Trednick’s combination summer hotel and autumn duck
hunting camp, opened in 1870. This was at what later became Dewey Beach at
the northeast corner of Rehoboth Bay. Rehoboth was founded in 1872.
The Vulgarity of an Ocean Front Cottage—1920s
Some of my friends thought I should have built my house on the beach, but
I didn’t for several reasons: the glare of the sun; the incessant noise
of the waves; the dampness, the mists and the wind constantly blowing from
the ocean, so that it is an impossibility to enjoy sitting on the porch.
My home is thoroughly screened, and the air blows from every direction
through French doors. Enormous porches on all sides with plenty of chairs,
chaise lounge and hammock make an ideal resting place. Returning from the
beach, where you can enjoy sun as well as sea baths, and entering my
garden, a sense of peace and shadowy coolness pervades all, and the tall
pines cast their perfume in the air. The ground is covered with pine
needles and the blue fence surrounding the property is overgrown with
roses in continual bloom.
Mosquito Eradication —1930s
The sand dunes had been piled with rubbish for generations; even old
automobiles had been run down and left on the sand. It cost $600 to clean
up this rubbish alone. We cleaned Silver Lake, spraying the upper end with
kerosene. We reconstructed Lake Comegys, a small lake lying south of
Silver Lake. This was simply a marsh full of stagnant water from which
thousands of mosquitoes swarmed every spring. This was cleaned up by
hiring ten strong Negroes to come and pry out the roots of cattails which
had grown, one upon another, for years. This work took two weeks and cost
$500. The lake has remained a beautiful small body of water on which wild
geese and ducks float about. The problem of Lake Gerar, a large
fresh-water lake in the center of the village, was handled by Mr. Irenee
du Pont. His contractor cleaned out all roots, stagnant and dead leaves
and muck, cut a perfect edge and stocked it with fish. This job, including
a concrete bridge, cost $80,000, which he paid personally.
A Washington Post writer back in the 50s said of Rehoboth that those who
love it, love it madly, and those who don’t know it, sniff a little. I
keep this in mind when I write. To the lovers, I hope my stories remind
you why you love Rehoboth. To the sniffers, may they show you a side of
Rehoboth you didn’t know.
Rich Barnett, an unabashed gay, liberal, tree-hugging,
whiskey-drinking, Rehoboth cottage-owning story-teller, is working on a
book and can be reached at Greenbarn@aol.com.
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