J. J. White

Chellie Elizabeth Westbrook Johnson sat comfortably in the backseat of her new Lincoln Town car.  Sitting next to her was her great-granddaughter, Meghan Johnson, an attractive twenty-two year old recent college graduate. Like Chellie, Meghan graduated from Vassar, as had her mother and grandmother.  After graduation she returned to Florida to work in the family business in the same tradition that all the descendants of the Westbrook clan had followed since Edward Westbrook first founded the company in 1898. 

Driving the Lincoln, and paying more attention to the radio stations than the highway, was Sean Johnson, Meghan's twin.  Sean drove his two passengers northward on historic A1A through much of Deerwood Beach.  Chellie stared out the window at the endless line of tall condominiums that stretched along the Atlantic coast, her mood souring as each condominium seemed to grow higher than the next one the further north they drove.  What upset her most were her vivid memories of traversing this road as a child and seeing nothing but small beach houses, sand dunes, and the Atlantic Ocean.  Now she couldn't even see the ocean.  She wondered if the people in the other cars even knew that there was an ocean just a few hundred yards away.

Yesterday was Chellie's 100^th birthday, and yet she celebrated her centennial birthday no different than the previous 99.  She and her immediate family met for cake and ice cream at her estate, and she opened as many presents as she could before tiring.  The immediate family consisted of 42 descendants, a blessing, and a curse when one lives to be a hundred.

She could no longer walk.  She was wheeled everywhere by employees, friends or sometimes, when she was fortunate, her favorite great-granddaughter Meghan.  Meghan reminded her of herself when she was twenty-two and so full of hope and life.  She often showed friends side-by-side pictures of Meghan and her, and except for the obvious age of her photograph, they could have been sisters.  Chellie knew she wasn't a burden to Meghan.  Meghan genuinely adored her great-grandmother and had no trouble wheeling around the eighty-pound centenarian.

“We're coming close to it Sean,” Chellie said.  “Slow down now, son.”

The long line of 15 and 20 story condominiums suddenly disappeared as the trio of Johnsons looked to their right and saw the dilapidated, termite ridden Westbrook beach house, surrounded by dirt, sand dunes, palmettos, and towering condominiums on each side of its property boundaries.  The ramshackle building and unkempt property looked so out of place and concealed by the larger condominiums that it would be very easy to drive by it and not know it was there.

“That's fine Sean,” Chellie said.  “Now let's speed up and get to the meeting.  Stop playing with the radio and pay attention to the road.  I don't want to be late for this one; all though I'm sure a few of the commissioners hope I am.”

The “meeting” was the Deerwood Beach city commission meeting, downtown.  The agenda:  To discuss and vote on whether condemnation measures should proceed on the beach house owned by Mrs. Chellie Johnson.

Edward Westbrook bought three acres of beach property from Samuel Jacobs in 1900 for one thousand dollars, an expensive sum in those days for property that had little practical use.  When Chellie arrived in 1906, Edward decided to use the property to build a small beach house that he, his wife Elizabeth, and his three children could use for weekends at the beach.

Chellie watched the Deerwood Beach area grow wildly over the years, its huge condominiums replacing small houses and motels.  Each year her family was offered ever increasing amounts of money to sell the property and each year the oldest member of the Westbrook family refused.

Chellie had fond memories of her brothers, sisters, and all her cousins spending weekends at the sparse house.  She watched over the years as her children, her children's children and finally her children's children's children grew up using the structure for picnics, sleepovers, and games.  She had no intention of selling the property.  There were many generations of the Westbrooks to come that would enjoy the beach just as she had.  Her property was the only land without a condominium atop it and the only property with a view of the ocean from the road and as long as she was alive it would stay that way.  But that was a problem.  She knew there wasn't much time left.

Meghan wheeled Chellie into the commission meeting room with Sean at her side.  A loud applause greeted them as they entered.  Every seat in the room was filled, and the overflow of people lined the curved walls behind the seats.  It looked to Meghan like every resident in Deerwood Beach was there to support Chellie in her David & Goliath battle against the city commission.  Chellie wiped her eyes with a handkerchief as Meghan wheeled her chair to the microphone.

“Well Mrs. Johnson,” the chairman said.  “It looks like your whole family is here today.”

After the laughter died down, Chellie spoke quietly into the microphone.  “Oh no, Mr. Chairman.  Only half of them could make it.”

The crowd laughed, much louder this time.  Chellie steadied her hands on the wheelchair, closed her eyes for a moment, and winced slightly.  Meghan leaned down and covered the microphone.

“Are you okay, Nana?”

“Oh yes dear.  Just a small spell.  I'm fine.”

Meghan didn't believe her, but she straightened the microphone in front of Chellie.

“Mrs. Johnson,” the chairman said looking from side to side at the other six commissioners as if to show they were all in agreement.  “We are here today to vote on whether or not to proceed with condemnation of your beach property.  Above me, on the screen, is a recent photo of the property in question.  As you can see, the beach house has deteriorated to a point where it is not only is an eyesore to the community but it has also become a health hazard.  But, before we take the drastic measure of condemnation, we would like to offer you two options.  One would be for you to sell the property to the city at a fair price so that we can build a park on it for use by all the residents of the city.  The other option would be for you to accept the much higher monetary offer from private interests, who wish to build on the property.  Now to be fair, we will allow you some time to present your arguments against the condemnation.  Go ahead Mrs. Johnson.”

Chellie sipped some water and then handed the glass to Sean.

“Mr. Chairman, commissioners, thank you for hearing what I have to say.  I have lived in Florida for 100 years, as of yesterday, and in those 100 years I have never seen beach property remain in the hands of the people that originally purchased it, for very long, anyway.  So you'll forgive me if I don't believe you when you say my property will always be used for a park.  As far as selling it to a private corporation to be used for a new condo, I can assure you and all the residents of Deerwood Beach that I will never let that happen.”  The crowd applauded loudly for several seconds.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please,” the chairman, said.  “No more outbursts or I'll have to ask you to leave.”  He looked back down to Chellie.  “You may continue Mrs. Johnson.”

“Thank you Mr. Chairman.  I agree with the commission that the beach house is in disrepair at the moment, but my great-grandchild Meghan, here next to me, has already begun negotiations with contractors to remedy that situation.”

Meghan stared at Chellie with a quizzical look on her face as if it was the first time she had heard anything about that, which in fact it was.

“You may start your condemnation proceedings any time you want to sir, but you must know that I will use every legal method available to prevent you or the federal government from stealing the property my father purchased over a century ago.  Also, I am prepared to spend more money than the property is worth to fight you.  And… my children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren will keep proceedings in court long after I have died.  If you and the commissioners are prepared to bankrupt this city in order to steal property from a little old crippled lady then I and my family are ready for battle.”

At this, the crowd again erupted in applause.

“Quiet!  Quiet!  Please?” the chairman yelled.  He leaned over to the commissioner to the left of him, and then to each commissioner in turn, until it looked like they had come to some decision.

“All right Mrs. Johnson, we'll vote now.  All in favor of proceeding with condemnation say aye.”

Two commissioners said aye.

“Opposed?”

The other four yelled nay.

“The nays have it.  Good luck with your renovations Mrs. Johnson and I and the other commissioners hope you'll start very soon.”

Chellie moved close to the microphone.

“Thank you, Mr. Chairman.”

Chellie looked up to Meghan and gestured for her to lean over. 

“Meghan, I need to leave quickly dear.  Hurry, so we'll beat the crowd.”

“Are you feeling okay, Nana?”

“Let's just go dear.  Tell Sean, please?”

Meghan wheeled her out to the handicapped parking and Sean lifted her up easily and placed her in the back of the Lincoln.

As they drove away Meghan looked her great-grandmother over carefully.

“Nana, why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well?  I could have gone to the meeting for you.”

“I didn't want you to worry dear.  Now Sean, we need to stop by the beach house immediately.”

“No, Nana!” Meghan yelled.  “Sean, let's go on right to the hospital.  Nana's sick.”

“No, dear,” Chellie said, patting Meghan's arm.  “We have to go to the house but Sean first needs to stop at a hardware store and pick up a shovel.”

“Wait a minute, Nana,” Sean said.  “I'm not going to bury you at the beach house.  You'll have to hire someone else to do that.”

“Sean, you idiot!” Meghan yelled.

“No dear boy.  I just want you to dig something up for me there.  I plan to be buried next to Walter just as he wanted.  Now let's go find a shovel, dear.”

They stopped at a hardware store to buy the shovel and drove back the four miles to the barrier island of Deerwood Beach and the Westbrook beach house.  Sean stopped the car in front of a bent gate with a “No Trespassing” sign on it, and unlocked the padlock that held the two parts of the gate together.  While he was opening the gate he gazed up at the majestic condominiums that surrounded their semi-naked lot with its old worn beach house.  He drove the car up to the front of the house and lifted Chellie out of the back seat.  As he was carrying her up the creaky staircase, Chellie smiled and said, “Oh look, Sean.  Someone left a rocking chair on the porch.”  An old white rocking chair lay on its side near where the front door used to be.  Meghan stood the chair up, cleaned off the seat with some Kleenex, and Sean placed Chellie in the chair.  She didn't have enough strength to rock the chair, so Meghan sat on an old coke crate next to her and pushed the chair in a slow rhythmic motion.

Sean looked through the holes where the windows used to be in the house and saw old mattresses, cigarette packages, and empty beer cans littering all four rooms.  The wood slats that framed the building had lost all their color years ago and were separating from the joists all around the outside of the structure.  None of them spoke aloud what they were thinking, but they all knew the beach house had seen better days.

Chellie was about to speak but then jerked slightly and grabbed her chest.

“Oh my God, Nana,” Meghan said.  “We should go right now to a hospital.  You're pale as a ghost.”

“Oh no, no, dear.  It will be fine just let me stay…please?”

Meghan frowned, but said nothing.

“Meghan, dear.  Be honest with me.  Do you think I did the right thing today?”

Meghan looked at Sean and they both shrugged.

“To be honest Nana, no I don't think you did.  I believe we should sell the property to the city and let them build their park.  I just don't see any reason to keep the land and the old house.  Bums use it for sleeping and teenagers use it for a place to meet and drink beer.  I just don't think it's worth the fight, that's all.  I love you Nana, but the family doesn't understand why you want to keep it.”

“Well, that's why I brought you two here today.  I'm hoping you'll understand.  Sean … could you fetch your new shovel and start digging next to that foundation post there, please?”

Chellie pointed to one of the four large six-by-six wooden posts the building sat on.  Sean took the shovel out of the trunk and walked over to the post.

“Right here, Nana?” Sean asked pointing next to the post.

“Yes dear, right there.  Dig down about three to four feet, won't you?”

“What's there Nana?” Meghan asked.

“You'll see dear.  Just wait.  It's something that will help me explain to you why this house is so dear to me.”

Sean dug next to the post for about 10 minutes, when suddenly the shovel clanged loudly.

“Something's here all right,” Sean said, as he dug around the object with his fingers, eventually freeing it.  It was a small, five-by-five inch copper box that had oxidized to a bright green on certain parts of it.  Once Sean cleared all of the dirt off it, some of the original copper color shone through.  He handed it to Meghan, who removed the lid of the box and placed it in Chellie's lap.  Inside was a well-preserved piece of folded paper.  Chellie unfolded the paper and handed it to Meghan.  Meghan read the writing aloud.

“To whom it may concern.  I, Edward (The Black Pirate) Westbrook, and my first mate, Chellie (The Pillaging Maiden) Westbrook, do hereby declare that on this date, in the year of our Lord, 1912, we shall now, and forever more, fight any and all man or beast that may attempt to destroy or drive us from the infamous Westbrook beach house, (Pirate Lair.) We avow this and sign it with our blood.”  The paper had two red thumbprints impressed on it, one large and one small.

Chellie grabbed Meghan's arm and pulled her down to her.  She whispered close to her ear.  “Do you see now, dear, why I want to save the house?  Do you see dear?  He loved it so.”

“Yes… I see Nana.  I see.”

And with that, Chellie closed her eyes, smiled, slumped to her left, and rested her head against the slats of the white chair.  Meghan leaned over, brushed away a tear from her Nana's cheek, and kissed her.