LOST ERA

Shortly after World War II, as the onceopulent island lay nearly deserted, no one knew if Jekyll would survive

By Tony Rehagen

MODERN JEKYLL ISLAND has always been synonymous with breathtaking beauty and indulgent relaxation. Whether through the Gilded Age opulence of the private Club Era or the more accessible family atmosphere of the State Era, the island has earned its reputation as a naturally stunning destination for those seeking to escape the workaday world on the mainland.

But there was a brief period, after World War II drained the vivacity out of the Club Era but before the state of Georgia breathed life back into the island, when Jekyll was a largely forgotten land. Abandoned by its wealthy patrons and not yet known among regular vacationers, Jekyll was a place overrun by wildlife and vegetation, where few but prison work crews ventured.

It was, in other words, 9-year-old John Dykes's paradise.

"It was 200 percent different than it is today," says Dykes. "We would just run around the island. We had a wonderful time."

Dykes first came to the island in the summer of 1954, months before the causeway bridge was completed. The state had gained control of the island in 1947 through a condemnation decree, paying a mere $675,000 for it (or about $7.8 million in 2020 dollars), a bargain that has been compared to the purchase of Manhattan from the Native Americans. At the time, Jekyll had been largely closed to visitors while being prepared for public use. Dykes's father, James Marion Dykes, a businessman and a member of the Georgia legislature from Cochran, had leased Sans Souci, the Crane Cottage, the Mistletoe Cottage, and the Jekyll Island Club's

Clubhouse from the state in hopes of opening them up for the tourists that were sure to come.

When young Dykes arrived that summer, his accommodations were far from luxe. He and his family were bunking in an old mansion with wardens of the convict camp that had been placed on Jekyll to do the manual labor of fixing the place up.

The prisoners rebuilt roads where palmetto roots had blocked passage, installed drainage ditches, picked up trash and debris, and dug foundations for houses and motels.

Meanwhile, Dykes and his younger brother had their run of the island.

They walked and biked everywhere. They went to the vacant beach to swim and cook clams from Clam Creek. They baited hooks with shrimp and fished croaker and sheepshead off the lone pier. They'd tag along with the game warden to watch turtles lay their eggs at night. And they explored the empty buildings that had been pillaged in search of their treasures.

The motherlode was the Jekyll Island Club, which had fallen on hard times since the breakout of World War II. The rich patrons had stopped coming, the local labor was drafted into military service, and the difficulty of operating during wartime forced its closing in 1942, effectively ending the Club Era. The owners had always intended to reopen, but the grand place was left waiting, frozen in time, for more than a decade. The doors remained unlocked.

Dykes and his younger brother rode the pull elevator up and down, stopping on each floor to roam the darkened halls. They dueled with fireplace-poker swords. In the basement, they found a room locked with chains but managed to squeeze through the double doors and find stacks of dinnerware and piles of silverware. Dykes still has a table knife with the Jekyll Island Club seal.

One day, Dykes and his brother found a ladder that led into the Clubhouse turret. There they found a naval flag and a club banner that had once flown high above the grounds; two more souvenirs to cherish.