Pandemic Pivots

Explore how six islanders adjusted to the COVID-19 pandemic and emerged stronger, wiser, and even more grateful for their coastal community.

By Kinsey Gidick. Photos by Minette Hand.

LAST MARCH THE WORLD STOPPED. WHO CAN FORGET THE EARLY DAYS OF THE PANDEMIC WHEN SCHOOLS SUDDENLY SHUTTERED, SOCIAL DISTANCING WAS ANNOUNCED, AND WE ALL THOUGHT IT WOULD LAST A FEW WEEKS AT MOST? NOW, OVER A YEAR SINCE THE GLOBAL COVID-19 CRISIS UPENDED LIFE AS WE KNOW IT, SIX ISLANDERS LOOK BACK AT THE YEAR, THEIR STRUGGLES, SURPRISES, AND SUCCESS, AND SHARE HOW THEIR COASTAL COMMUNITY GOT THEM THROUGH IT ALL.

A FROSÉ-A-DAY PANDEMIC

It was as much a surprise to Jess Patterson as it was to everyone else when lockdown elicited a sudden, overwhelming need for frosé. Essentially a wine slurpee, Patterson had developed a healthy following for his frozen concoctions at the Co-Op on Sullivan’s Island, but quarantine orders sent it into hyperdrive. “It obviously went explosive with the pandemic,” says Patterson.

He does mean explosive. Sometime in between realizing that no one was going to be going much further than their front yard for a very long time and the epiphany that a libation might be just the antidote to get them through, people far beyond Sullivan’s discovered the Co-Op’s frosé. Overnight, Patterson, a former Wall Street day trader-turned-corner store-operator, found himself elding round the clock phone orders.

“Mount Pleasant found out about us. And then downtown and then Summerville,” says Patterson. Pretty soon he had to add delivery drivers to meet the demand. Even with the island closed to traffic, once Lowcountry residents discovered that a receipt for take-out could get them on island and closer to another bottle of flavored frose, well, that only fueled the fever. “We figured out online ordering overnight,” says Patterson. “I just stayed up. I got so sh*tfaced one night and figured it out.” He says that’s why some of the language for the online menu looks a little wonky. “If you look at the description of the sandwiches, you can tell I’m just completely wasted because I’m making fun of the people that buy the sandwiches or I’m saying it’s not even a really good sandwich.”

What can he say? Like most of us, Patterson was in survival mode, something, it turns out, he and his family are all too familiar with.

Two years ago, Patterson and his wife gave birth to a baby girl. Three weeks later, his wife found out she had B-Cell lymphoma. She spent a year in the hospital and Patterson looked a er their daughter at home alone. “I’ve been in finance, so, you know, money is the only thing that matters to me. But once your wife has cancer, money means nothing,” says Patterson. that’s why the reaction to the Co-Op’s frosé has been so astounding. “I owe everything to the Town and my staff,” says Patterson who opened a second location on Isle of Palms and has a third in the works for downtown. Having weathered the worst of a global pandemic by providing people a little respite from their stress, boredom and lockdown fatigue, his outlook on life has changed. “I was 15 years on Wall Street, rude customers complaining about a sandwich are nothing compared to what I had to deal with in nance,” he says. “If they’re complaining about a sandwich, they can f*!k off. There are real problems out there.”

RUNNING A WORKOUT STUDIO ON ZOOM

Here’s a thing you can’t do with social distancing: pack a hot workout space with sweaty bodies. It just ain’t gonna work as Sarah Frick, a former Sullivan’s Island resident and owner of e Works based in downtown Charleston, a so-called “sweat studio” that offers classes in yoga, HIIT, flow, and stretch, discovered last March. “I sent a text out to my girls,” says Frick of the message she relayed to her sta , “and I just said, ‘I’m going to somehow try to gure out a way that you guys can still teach. I can still pay you, but we can’t do it in the studio right now.’”

Like a lot of small business owners that meant moving to a virtual space and fast. Given e Works’ social media following, Instagram seemed like a natural choice, but Frick and her team quickly realized that the site’s regulations on things like music were causing major hiccups in digital workouts.

Naturally, Frick pivoted to Zoom. Suddenly, with a sturdy tech option, she had a virtual space to meet clients where they were —in their living rooms. “We would have like a hundred people on. It was crazy,” says Frick. “We were getting all these messages from people in Brazil and over in Europe that are like, ‘We found you through a friend and they’ve been talking about it forever. And now we get to try this class.’” But while the feedback was upli ing, the spirit of her tness program— one that’s earned e Works a legion of loyal clients—just wasn’t the same. “If we’re all in the room together, then the energy shifts and, you know, it’s not kind of that same vibe. So that was really hard,” she says. “And at the same time, I was building my second studio in Mount Pleasant. Nothing like opening a brand new business in a pandemic.” That’s why she reopened in July. Taking every conceivable precaution and being understanding of clients who didn’t feel comfortable returning just yet, Frick has kept The Works operating providing wellness during one of the worst health crises in human history.

“We always speak about the room as a microcosm of the rest of the world that we’re living in,” says Frick. “You’re brushing shoulders with people that might look different than you, that talk di erent than you, that have a di erent sexual preference than you, that have more money, di erent religious views, political views, all in this room and collectively doing this work together for the betterment not only of ourselves, but ultimately for the world. And if we can do it here, in these tight spaces where it’s hot and sweaty and the music’s loud and lights up and we’re moving, my belief is we can do it anywhere.”

FINDING HOPE IN ONLINE SALES

“We had to close and I was freaking out.” at’s how Ashley Martin, owner and designer of Goldbug boutique remembers the arrival of the pandemic. Weeks before the virus spread, Martin, who makes her own jewelry and sells clothes and accessories at her Goldbug boutique on Sullivan’s Island’s Middle Street, had placed a large order for spring inventory. Suddenly she found her storefront filled with boxes of clothes and shuttered.

“Thank God I’d hired a web designer the year before to get the jewelry online,” says Martin. She quickly realized she’d need to expand her online offerings from just her original necklaces and earrings to the abundance of clothing items she’d recently purchased. “I put out an Instagram call for a model that day. I got a girl to come in and she tried on all the clothes. And I took pictures on my phone and put them up on the website,” says Martin. “It was not very professional, but people were so supportive, it was amazing.”

Martin says that she went from thinking her business might be over to realizing that through the help of her loyal clientele, both on the island and o , she could make it through. And seven weeks later, with plenty of new hygiene protocols and signs that enforced masks, she was able to reopen.

Martin says the hardest part was having to be publicly vulnerable. At one point in the rst few weeks of lockdown she realized she needed to be honest with her shop’s fans and share her concerns. It was a humbling moment for a strong independent entrepreneur, but it made all the di erence, she says. “People stepped up,” she says. “I was able to live and pay some of those bills. And I mean, it was kind of overwhelming how amazing it was.”

HOW TWO RESTAURATEURS WEATHERED THE STORM

During the course of the pandemic, restaurateurs Ben and Kate Towill managed to keep their Wentworth Street restaurant, Basic Kitchen, afloat; opened Mount Pleasant’s Post House Inn in August; prepared for a Sullivan’s Island eatery; and welcomed a new baby, Iris—an unimaginable feat when you consider how hard the restaurant industry was hit last year. “Overall I think the last year for us comes down to a fantastic team that stayed on throughout the whole pandemic,” says Towill, a new Isle of Palms resident, of his success in the face of adversity.

Since the onset of the coronavirus pandemic, 17 percent of U.S. restaurants have shut down, according to media reports. In Charleston alone, as of July 2020, 75 restaurants had shuttered. And the Towills weren’t entirely untouched by closures either. His New York City restaurant Fat Radish was a victim of the pandemic domino effect of an economic crisis. However, here in Charleston, with the help of committed sta and PPP funding, the small business owners have managed to see it all through.

As you might imagine, opening a restaurant, let alone an inn in the midst of a health scare, was a challenge to say the least. Fortunately, the Towills and their team bene ted from the fact that the Post House Inn has ample outdoor seating. “It was kind of an amazing experience for us,” says Towill. “It felt like, how are we going to get through this?” But a focus on the locals in the Old Village paid o and people showed up at a time when they needed them the most. “We got that open and started kind of thinking, ‘Wow, we're going to get through this.’”

The Towills are hoping for an equally generous welcome from islanders this summer when they open their new fish camp on Sullivan’s. “We're trying to breathe life back into a restaurant that's been there since 1988,” says Towill, of taking over the space formerly occupied by Sullivan’s Restaurant for over 30 years. With construction underway, the casual, cozy space will serve fried fish and burgers, beer, and cocktails—basically everything you’d want after a long day at the beach.

As they settle into their new role as IOPers, Towill says they're eager to give locals a spot that feels just as much theirs as it does a tourist destination. And working on a new project also feels like a fresh start a er a long, hard year. “Maybe I'm being super positive, but I'm excited to see what this industry does coming out the other side.”

Photos courtesy of Basic Projects

THE PITFALLS AND PRIVILEGES OF OPENING A NEW HOTEL IN A PANDEMIC

Photos courtesy of Wild Dunes Resort

There’s an art to asking a hotel guest to put on a mask, says John D’Angelo, Resort Manager at Wild Dunes Resort. “Masks are absolutely required here. We have the culture now where we just ask in a very friendly way. We all have our lines and our verbiage down pat, like, ‘I'm so sorry. Do you need a mask?’ ose kinds of questions where you're not saying, ‘Hey, you know, you need to wear a mask. It's like if you forget a mask or do you need one? I'm happy to give you one. You know, the verbiage is really important, creating a really positive environment here. And most guests are more than happy to comply, especially when you approach it that way with kindness and care.”

A hospitality expert, D’Angelo has learned more than just wise ways of diplomatically enforcing safety protocols during this unorthodox year. He’s established site-wide practices to ensure Wild Dunes guests enjoy all the comfort of a rst class resort stay that manages to feel like a real escape from the realities of the pandemic.

And it’s something even more people can enjoy at Wild Dunes now that its new Sweetgrass Inn is open. e Hyatt Destination began operations in March and D’Angelo says the site’s commitment to health and safety compliance really made the opening one of the easiest he’s been a part of. Sta follow a rigorous COVID-safety regime with daily temperature checks. Cleanliness remains paramount, and social distancing is required. But at the same time, says D’Angelo, there’s a feeling of freedom guests can enjoy and it’s already apparent that visitors and locals alike are ready to embrace it. “I'm very optimistic about leisure demand, and that leisure demand is pent up. People need to get out. ey're hungry to get out. Our leisure pace is really strong,” he says.

For those in the Lowcountry looking to indulge a staycation or just want a break from the everyday, Sweetgrass offers panoramic oceanfront views, enormous meetings space, and a roo op bar that D’Angelo says gives viewers some of the most incredible sunsets he’s ever seen. “Every night it’s a new piece of artwork you could put on your wall.” While a return to travel the way it looked pre-COVID is still a long way off, D’Angelo isn’t worried about the Sweetgrass Inn or Wild Dunes Resort. “We feel if we're positive, happy here, our guests will benefit from that a thousand times and it just makes it all worthwhile when you see the results.”

TAKING THE WORK OF THE SPIRIT VIRTUAL

Photo by Jessica Willis

“How in the world do we continue to do church?” at was the question plaguing Reverend Chris Warner, the rector of Sullivan’s Island’s Church of the Holy Cross, last March. Overnight his busy Anglican church on Sullivan’s was forced to rethink its entire approach to worship.

Keeping their parishioners safe was their first priority, so Warner and his sta got a crash course in technology. “We initially went to try to do it live,” he says. But the internet can be nicky on the islands and a er too many lapses in the church’s livestream, Holy Cross realized that option just wasn’t going to work. So instead, the sta manufactured a green screen overnight, recording services on ursday, then posting them for members to view on Sunday.

While it wasn’t the ideal situation—“I'm not sure that the whole online worship is what God had in mind,” Warner kids—it worked enough to keep members engaged and their spirits li ed through a tough time. And, as it turned out, it opened the door to new opportunities as well. “Our director of family ministries, Bethany, did miracles,” says Warner. Using the green screen, she put together a weekly children’s service starring a puppet named Sammy that became a big hit with the church’s youngest members.

A focus on small groups also helped Warner and his team not lose pastoral contact with their ock. And so, by the time state guidance allowed for a return to limited capacity services, they were ready to welcome people back. “As Anglicans, we have communion every week. So that was something we had to gure out as well,” he says. To avoid unnecessary exposure to germs, the bread was consecrated in advance of the service and Holy Cross asked guests to sign up for communion ahead of attendance. “And then when they came to church and they checked in, they could download from a QR code onto their phones.”

Did it feel a bit weird? Sure, big screens instead of bulletins and sitting pews apart weren’t ideal, but Warner says the joy in seeing members return to worship together was worth the digital drawbacks. “One of the things that I've been very pleased with is that we do have a number of healthcare professionals in our congregation. As they’ve been vaccinated and come back to church, almost every one of them has told me how appreciative they are of the safety measures we've taken, and that they have felt safe coming back. at to me is high praise,” says Warner.

Easter was celebrated outside for the second year in a row to ensure the safety of everyone, but Warner says this year came with a renewed sense of hope.

“We got to celebrate with joy the resurrection of the Lord. And His resurrection is a sign that death is not the last word. And COVID’s not the last word either.”