Everyone is, of course, welcomed at beaches along the N.C. coast. They are free to choose where they will shop, dine, lodge or bask in the sun. That wasn’t true not too long ago.

For almost a century, from the end of Reconstruction in 1877 until the Civil Rights Act of 1964, blacks in America couldn’t just go to the beach for their summer vacation because of —particularly here in the South—that enforced racial segregation. Signs that read “White” or “Colored” were seen on storefronts, in waiting rooms, on restroom doors, above water fountains and at other places.

Flora Hatley Wadelington, in her article “Assigned Places” that appeared in the Spring 2004 issue of Tar Heel Junior Historian, wrote “North Carolina, like most southern states in the 1920s was rigidly segregated … African-Americans across the state, from cities and towns to rural areas, endured a system of segregation while building their own institutions.”

The state’s beaches were no exceptions. There were little to no oceanfront offerings for African- Americans. Although a few beach communities were developed exclusively for African-American use during the 1920s—particularly Asbury Beach on Atlantic Beach and Shell Island near Wrightsville Beach—they were all short-lived.

Blacks were no doubt disheartened by the lack of an accessible seaside resort. Where in North Carolina would they be welcome to swim, relax and enjoy the cool ocean breezes? A large parcel of earth, just north of Carolina Beach in Hanover County, provided the answer. Facing Myrtle Grove Sound, the land destined to become Seabreeze—a resort created by and for blacks—was already rich in African-American history.

It started when Alexander and Charity Freeman, a free black couple, bought 180 acres along Myrtle Grove Sound, according to Andrew W. Kahrl in his book The Land Was Ours: African American Beaches from Jim Crow to the Sunbelt South. Their son, Robert, bought more land after the Civil War. When he died in 1902, Robert Bruce Freeman left more than 5,000 acres to his 11 children, writes Kahrl.

The land was generous and provided a host of resources—such as fishing, farming and logging—from which to earn a living. Yet, by 1920, some members of the Freeman family thought more money could be made by selling or developing their waterfront holdings. Kahrl documents that two of Robert Bruce Freeman’s children, who owned clear title to 65 acres, formed the North State Realty and Investment Co. in 1922 and divided their land into small lots for sale. What became Seabreeze soon followed.

Victoria Lofton, a prominent African-American woman from Wilmington, was one of the first developers to buy a lot. In 1924, she opened a three-story, 25-room hotel that included a restaurant, dance hall, fishing pier and cement walkway to the beach.

News of the resort spread quickly and it wasn’t long before Lofton’s hotel rooms—and the streets of Seabreeze—were overflowing. As the number of blacks coming to Seabreeze grew, so did the resort community. In all, Seabreeze was home to numerous hotels, a row of beach cottages, various restaurants, 31 “juke joints” — places where people listened and danced to music — private residences and an amusement park.

The ocean breezes that blew through Seabreeze were no doubt infused with the smell of palate-pleasing dishes. Restaurants in Seabreeze served a diverse selection of food, but were renowned for their fresh, local seafood. No meal, however, could compete with Sadie Wade’s clam fritters. Made from a “secret recipe,” Wade’s fritters were hailed as the “world’s best.”

A small amusement park in Seabreeze must have echoed with sounds of laughter, as people enjoyed various rides and curiosities. Operated by a Native American known as “Snakeman,” the carnival featured a Ferris wheel, a carousel, games and of course snakes. Onsite photographers and photo booths captured the fun and created lasting souvenirs.

The heartbeat of Seabreeze was its many juke joints. Those who vacationed there remember them well.  Booker T. Wilson, who lives in Bolton, visited Seabreeze regularly as a young man. When asked what he remembered most about the place, Wilson promptly replied, “The dancing!” His favorite style of dance?  “Swing. All of it,” he said.

The music of Seabreeze traveled for miles, as live bands and jukeboxes exploded with the sounds of swing, soul and rhythm and blues. Feet—brought to life by the voices of Little Richard, James Brown, The Platters and others—pounded and shuffled across wooden dance floors. Ben Steelman, in his May 6, 2009, Wilmington Star-News article, wrote “By the 1940s—when thousands of black GIs flocked to Seabreeze from nearby bases—the area became known as a music mecca.”

In addition to an influx of African-American servicemen, white teenagers were also venturing to Seabreeze. As reported by Steelman, “White kids from nearby Carolina Beach, such as Malcolm “Chicken” Hicks, would cross over to check out Seabreeze’s night spots and the local dance steps. Local historians, such as Jenny Edwards—who wrote a master’s thesis on the history of Seabreeze for the University of North Carolina Wilmington—credit this musical cross-pollination with promoting, if not inspiring, the later crazes of shag dancing and beach music.”

Beyond its mainland diversions, Seabreeze also provided African-Americans access to the Atlantic Ocean. Across from Seabreeze and the Myrtle Grove Sound lies the northern tip of Carolina Beach. Belonging to heirs of Robert Bruce Freeman, the pristine, undeveloped shore was appropriately named Freeman Beach. The oceanfront property was developed in 1951, when Freeman’s daughter Lulu and husband, Frank Hill, opened Monte Carlo by the Sea. According to Kahrl, their hotel was “a gleaming, white cement structure, replete with a dining room covered in seascape murals that doubled as a dance hall, locker rooms, showers, kitchen and takeout window, facing the Atlantic Ocean.”

Frequented by local and national recording stars, Freeman Beach became known as “Bop City.” However, getting to “Bop City” had its challenges. In the 1920s, blacks were able to wade or swim across Myrtle Grove Sound to reach Freeman Beach. But, in 1931, Snow’s Cut—an artificial canal which connected the Cape Fear River to Myrtle Grove Sound—was completed. As a result, the depth and current of Myrtle Grove Sound changed drastically, which made wading or swimming to the beach impossible. African-Americans now had to drive through segregated Carolina Beach to access Freeman Beach or hire someone with a boat to ferry them over.

Snow’s Cut proved devastating to Seabreeze, polluting Myrtle Grove Sound and increasing erosion. Land flooded and fish and other marine life died because of the inflow of contaminated freshwater. When the Carolina Beach Inlet was cut in 1952, it had a similar effect on Freeman Beach. “By the 1970s,” wrote Kahrl, “the initial one-hundred-foot wide inlet had, as a result of erosion, widened to seven hundred feet.”

Juke joints like this one were the most popular spots in Seabreeze. This video was shot in 1947.

While man-made changes worked at a steady pace to reshape the environment around Seabreeze and Freeman Beach, a swift, terrifying and natural force took form in the Atlantic Ocean. On Oct. 15, 1954, Hurricane Hazel—the only Category 4 hurricane to hit the N.C. coast—made landfall near the North Carolina-South Carolina border. In a moment of fury, Hazel cast Monte Carlo by the Sea into a watery abyss and blew Seabreeze into ruin.

When the storm departed, residents and property owners were tasked with cleaning, clearing and rebuilding. People who held land in common with other relatives found the job particularly daunting, as they were deemed ineligible for disaster relief loans. Without financial assistance, many could not afford to rebuild. Those who were able, however, worked hard to bring Seabreeze back to life. Music, food and laughter did return; but the Seabreeze that once was would be no more.

The Civil Rights Act of 1964 further contributed to the demise of Seabreeze. African-Americans could vacation and partake of recreation wherever they desired, and Seabreeze—which had been a shelter in the storm of segregation—was no longer needed. A few businesses in Seabreeze held on, but by 1975, most had closed their doors.

As the years progressed, disputes over land ownership, further destruction by hurricanes and continued changes in the land left Seabreeze neglected and deteriorated.

Nevertheless, the winds now blowing through Seabreeze appear to be moving in a positive direction. New and renewed interest in the history and preservation of Seabreeze has had several recent outcomes, including the production of Rhonda Bellamy’s documentary film A Sense of Place that chronicles the changing history in Seabreeze, Zach Hanner’s dinner show Summers at Seabreeze, which celebrated the community through song, stories and dance and the addition of Seabreeze to the Gullah Geechee Cultural Heritage Corridor. The Corridor recognizes places associated with the culture and history of African-Americans, known as Gullah Geechee, who settled in the coastal counties of South Carolina, Georgia, North Carolina and Florida.

As a heritage area, Seabreeze will no doubt garner needed support for the study and preservation of its land, history, and coastal traditions.

An article about Seabreeze was published on the website ncbeaches.com. In the last sentence the author proclaims, “Put your ear to the ground and you’ll no doubt hear that heavy bass beat still reverberating in the sand.” How appropriate. The unique history that is Seabreeze remains alive through memories and is being told, preserved—and heard.

Charlotte Ann Mason was one of number of women who were appointed lighthouse keepers in North Carolina. Unfortunately, we know little about her and the other women. In fact, what you’re about to read is about all we know about Charlotte Ann.

Historical records document the names of the female keepers, their birthplaces, service dates and salaries, but records don’t reveal their day-to-day experiences. Personal recollections of these women — if any ever existed — have been lost or lie undiscovered. As a result, their narratives remain untold because they are not entirely known.

[su_quote cite=”North Carolina Women Making History by Margaret Supplee Smith & Emily Herring Wilson “]… in addition to such well-known and legendary figures as Queen Elizabeth I and Virginia Dare, a multitude of other women influenced the making of North Carolina. These women’s stories have rarely been told, in part because their contributions tended to occur in the relative privacy of their families and communities.[/su_quote]The majority of women employed at North Carolina lighthouses were wives of head keepers. “… most of the women who were appointed to tend the lights … were acquainted with lighthouse routines, having learned their arduous duties by helping a father or husband with his work,” wrote Mary Louise and J. Candace Clifford in their book Women Who Kept the Lights: An Illustrated History of Female Lighthouse Keepers.

This was certainly true of Charlotte Ann Mason. Born on March 17, 1854, in Marshallberg in eastern Carteret County, Charlotte was the daughter of Manaen Washington and Sidney Ann Harris Mason. Charlotte’s father, a mariner by trade, was appointed head keeper of Cape Lookout Lighthouse on May 21, 1869. Charlotte was 15 at the time and in school.

It’s not known how often she visited, or assisted, her father at the lighthouse, but we do know that on Aug. 21, 1872, Charlotte, then 18, was appointed second assistant keeper of Cape Lookout Lighthouse. She took the oath of office later that month.

Charlotte’s duties at the lighthouse were no different than those of her male counterparts. However, men employed by the Light-House Board wore an official keeper’s uniform when performing their tasks — women did not.

“When cleaning and polishing the lens,” said Karen Duggan, a National Park Service ranger, “She would have worn the required linen apron to prevent [her] clothing from scratching the glass.”

Male or female, uniform or no, a lighthouse keeper’s job was physically demanding. Duggan said Charlotte and the other keepers were expected to stand one watch in three. While on watch, Charlotte devoted her full attention to the light. She was also expected to keep the daily logbook; haul oil up 216 steps, sometimes more than once; clean the lens and other equipment; trim wicks and polish brass; and keep the tower, grounds and support buildings clean and “in shape.”

As compensation for her work, Charlotte received an annual salary of $425. In comparison, her father was paid $700 as head lighthouse keeper. Benjamin P. Davis, first assistant lighthouse keeper, earned $400 annually.

A lighthouse keeper’s job was indeed one of manual labor, but it also demanded a strong mental fortitude. At times, isolation and loneliness must have proved insufferable. Excursions to the mainland where Charlotte could shop, visit friends and partake in a variety of amusements, were few and far between.

“With a sailboat,” said Duggan, “it would take the better part of a day just to reach Beaufort. A trip to the mainland was not an endeavor done on the spur of the moment.”

Yet, despite the physical and mental challenges of her job, Charlotte persevered. It could be she found solace in the natural beauty around her or in the knowledge that her work guarded many a ship from danger. However, one can only assume to know her thoughts. The logbooks she was supposed to maintain are missing from the National Archives in Washington along with all the logs from the 1870s.

Without a doubt, life at the lighthouse was not always monotonous or lonely. In the summer, tourists visited the island. As a keeper, Charlotte would have escorted interested parties to the top of the tower and explained how the lighthouse operated. She likely looked forward to and enjoyed the interaction.

The year 1873 must have brought some excitement as men painted the lighthouse in its distinguishing pattern of diagonal black and white checkers. The year also saw the construction of a new keeper’s quarters. The building, which now serves as a museum, housed the head keeper and his two assistants.

After two years and nine months, Charlotte resigned her post on May 27, 1875. A year later, her father was dismissed from his job as head keeper. The circumstances behind his removal are unknown.

Although Charlotte no longer worked at the lighthouse, she remained close by. On Dec. 1, 1877, Charlotte married a fisherman named Alfred Moore. According to Arthur T. Moore, who wrote “Moores of Carteret County” for the book Our Shared Past, the two lived on Shackleford Banks. One of their sons, Capt. Leslie A. Moore, followed in his family’s footsteps and became an active keeper of the Cape Lookout Life-Saving Station. In that position, he performed and was recognized for several heroic deeds.

Charlotte and Alfred moved to Morehead City in 1900. There, Alfred worked as a boatman. He died on March 9, 1927, and Charlotte passed away two years later. It is interesting that the date on Charlotte’s death certificate reads Feb. 25, 1929, yet her headstone, which stands in Morehead City’s Bayview Cemetery, is engraved March 5, 1929. No one can explain this discrepancy. Charlotte’s obituary appeared in the March 14, 1929, edition of The Beaufort News. It gave no mention of her short, but faithful service at Cape Lookout Lighthouse.

Charlotte Ann Mason was not the only female lighthouse keeper in North Carolina. Other women, including some who were never officially appointed lighthouse keepers, toiled daily to ensure the safety of mariners. It has been said that no one in the past would ever be forgotten if those of us in the present continued to speak or write their names.

Although not a complete list, it is appropriate that we remember the women whose names have been preserved within the pages of Lighthouse Keeper Logs and the Register of Officers and Agents, Civil, Military, and Naval, in the Service of the United States. Their names and approximate dates of service are: Rebecca Piggott Hatsel, Bodie Island Lighthouse, 1872-1873; M. L. Merriam, Northwest Point Royal Shoal Lighthouse, 1881-1885; Martha McCotter Keeler, Southwest Point Royal Shoal Lighthouse, 1891-1899; Susan McCotter Keeler, Northwest and Southwest Point Royal Shoal Lighthouse, 1897-1903; Lela Upton Simmons, Brant Island Shoal Lighthouse, 1895; and Eulalia Jennett(e) Simpson, Cape Hatteras Lighthouse, 1895.

Perhaps one day the lives of these women will be illuminated as brightly as the lights they once lit and their stories will at last be fully known and frequently told.