A Step Back to the Tranquil Halcyon Inn--An Enduring Icon of Summerville's Prosperous Golden Age

Halcyon isn’t a word you hear every day. Unless you happen to be of Greek descent or have spent time studying mythology, it’s likely unfamiliar—except, perhaps, to a few longtime residents of Summerville and the observant souls who’ve glimpsed it from their car windows while driving down South Main Street.

To those older Summervillians, Halcyon stirs a memory. It was once the name of one of the grand resort inns that graced the town during its most prosperous era—the Golden Age. And if you’ve ever traveled Highway 17-A on your way to work or errands, you’ve probably passed the once-upon-a-time inn without realizing the history that lies just beyond its tall trees, black iron gates, and white columns.

No one knows exactly when the house was built. The Colleton County records—its original county—were lost when Sherman’s troops burned Columbia in 1865. The earliest surviving reference suggests the house rose sometime between 1830 and 1840, known then as Duke’s House, after its first owner, John R. Duke. It was a classic Southern home, with a broad two-story porch stretching fifty feet across and twelve feet deep, its columns greeting visitors with quiet grandeur. On that porch sat a joggling board—a piece of Charleston tradition—added by one owner who said it “completed the porch.”

Inside, the first floor opened into a thirty-three-by-twenty-foot living room with thirteen-foot ceilings, a generous dining room, two dens, and a bedroom. Upstairs were four bedrooms and a hall, along with one curious feature—a door that led to nowhere. No stairs, no landing, just empty space. Mrs. Dion, one of its owners, liked to call it “the door for invisible inhabitants.”

A 1909 plat shows Halcyon once covered eight acres, including a pear orchard. Scattered across the grounds were outbuildings, service quarters, and a gazebo. When the Weeds owned the property, they transformed these structures into guest cottages for their resort inn. One was called Magruder’s House, named for a man who had lived there as a slave until the 1930s. Another, the Pink Cottage, had once been a stable—its barn doors still intact. The octagonal gazebo, set beside a bricked-in spring, became a beloved landmark.

Unlike the Pine Forest Inn or the Carolina Inn, Halcyon wasn’t known for celebrity guests. Its fame came instead from its hospitality. Mrs. Caroline Parameter, daughter of Mrs. Weed, was celebrated for her menus—she once ran the Tea Room at Middleton Place. To Northern visitors escaping harsh winters, Halcyon was a sanctuary of calm, a place where the air was soft and the days unhurried. Many stayed from late October through April, savoring the quiet rhythm of Summerville life.

It was the autumn of 1909. The air in Summerville carried that familiar mix of pine and cool promise. A Northern visitor named Mr. Edwin Harrow stepped down from the carriage that had brought him from the train depot. He paused at the gate of Halcyon Place, taking in the sweep of the grounds—the old oaks draped in moss, the pear trees still clinging to their last fruit, and the white columns rising like quiet sentinels against the afternoon light.

He had heard of Summerville’s inns, of course. Travelers spoke of the Pine Forest Inn with its grand halls and bustling winter crowd. But it was Halcyon Place that had been recommended to him by a friend who said, “If you want peace, go there. It’s where the world slows down.” Edwin felt that truth the moment he stepped through the black iron gates.

Mrs. Weed herself greeted him on the porch; her apron dusted with flour from the afternoon’s baking. She had a way of making guests feel as though she had been expecting them for years. “You must be Mr. Harrow,” she said, offering a smile that softened the long journey behind him. “We’ve put you in the Pink Cottage. It’s quiet there. The garden keeps good company.”

As she led him along the path, Edwin noticed the outbuildings—some old, some lovingly restored—each with its own story tucked beneath the shingles. The Pink Cottage still had its barn doors, a reminder of its former life. He ran his hand along the wood, feeling the grooves worn by decades of use.

Inside, the room was simple but welcoming: a quilt folded neatly at the foot of the bed, a pitcher of cool water on the washstand, and a small vase of pear blossoms that must have been gathered that morning. Through the open window drifted the sound of the spring near the gazebo, its gentle trickle blending with the rustle of leaves.

That evening, Edwin joined the other guests for supper. Mrs. Caroline Parameter had prepared a meal that tasted like comfort itself—roasted chicken, warm bread, and a pear tart that made him close his eyes for a moment just to savor it. Conversation was easy, unhurried, as though everyone had silently agreed to leave the outside world at the gate.

Later, as he walked back to the Pink Cottage, lantern in hand, Edwin paused to look at the main house. The windows glowed softly, and the porch seemed to breathe with the warmth of the day’s last light. He felt something settle in him then—a quietness he hadn’t known he needed.

He would stay through April, returning home with stories of moss-draped oaks, gentle evenings, and a place where time moved differently. And for the rest of his life, whenever he smelled pear blossoms or heard the soft creak of old wood, he thought of Halcyon Inn—its kindness, its calm, and the way it welcomed him as though he had always belonged there.

Today, the once-upon-a-time Halcyon Inn still rests beneath its ancient oaks, serene and dignified behind its black gates. Its name, drawn from myth and memory, feels perfectly chosen—a reminder of Summerville’s own “halcyon days,” when life moved at a gentler pace and beauty was measured in shade and stillness.

Visit Summerville

Somewhere in Time--A Stay at Summerville's Pine Forest Inn

Shrouded in a final blast of steam, the Summerville Short eased into the station—a small, elaborately decorated Victorian-style structure. Stepping onto the depot platform, I glanced at my pocket watch. The bright Lowcountry sun reflected off its glassy face. It was 2:05 p.m. 

"Right on time," I whispered.

A plume of black smoke billowed from the locomotive's smokebox and was quickly whisked away by the warm, early afternoon breeze.

Horse-drawn carriages awaited arriving passengers. I surveyed the depot area for my reserved transportation and spotted a group of coachmen. One among them held up a piece of paper with my name on it. I approached the smartly dressed gentleman and identified myself.

"Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to Summerville," he said.

His words were tainted with a quaint accent, quite different from what I was used to back in Ohio. He handed me a newspaper dated April 9, 1902. I stepped aboard the carriage. With a gentle tug on the reins by my experienced driver, the carriage eased forward.

The downtown district was crowded with people. Rumors that President Roosevelt and his entourage were in the Summerville area abounded—a bit of information I had overheard while on the train.

To the left of our advancing carriage was a fenced-in square, landscaped with rows of live oaks and a diamond-shaped walkway where children were at play.

On the opposite side of the square stood a row of wooden buildings, dominated by a nearly completed triple-arched façade bearing the designation Arcade Theater. To our right, a few gentlemen standing in front of a pharmacy hospitably tipped their hats as we passed.

Turning the corner at an intersection, I asked, "What is the name of this road?"

The coachman replied, "Main Street."

I followed with an additional question. "The tall building on the right with the bell tower—what purpose does it serve?"

"Town Hall, sir."

Leaving the town square behind, we passed a white directional sign covered with wooden pointers bearing the names of various inns and hotels located throughout Old Summerville. Then came several large homes bordered by white picket fences, each richly adorned with a profusion of magenta-colored flowers noticeably common to the area.

We entered a thick stand of tall pines intermingled with aged, moss-covered live oaks. Clusters of wisteria dangled freely from some of the branches. I inhaled a full breath of air—it was distinctly laced with the refreshing scent of pine.

Winding through the shaded canopy, it wasn't long before we came upon a broad, brick-paved drive flanked by huge white urns containing plantings of the same flowers growing throughout the town. We passed under a columned gateway surrounded by beautiful gardens—more wisteria and azaleas.

At the end of the driveway, rising four stories high into the needled branches of the tall pines, was the castellated center rotunda of the Pine Forest Inn—my accommodation for the next couple of days.

My carriage pulled up to the Inn's steps. Five horse riders sauntered past. I stepped off, paid the gentleman, and ascended the flight of stairs.

The front piazza was impressive. Wider in the middle, it extended out on each side of the rotunda the full length of the building and ended in a hexagonal shape at the corners. Patrons were scattered about the piazza on chairs, enjoying the southern exposure and their afternoon tea—likely made from tea leaves grown locally at the renowned Pinehurst Tea Plantation of Dr. Charles Shepard. I had read about it in a magazine on the train. A tour of the Pinehurst Tea Garden was scheduled for tomorrow.

Upon entering the impressive building, two smiling ladies curtsied as I passed. I acknowledged their genteel gesture with a smile and a tip of my hat.

The front entrance hall ran the full length of the rotunda. It was majestic. Arched walls set upon pillars divided the rotunda foyer from other sections. A grand staircase led to the upper floors, where thick wooden handrails wrapped around the open galleries. As I walked it, I estimated it to be forty-seven feet from front to back.

Large, oak-mantled fireplaces with marble hearths and exotic plants were placed strategically throughout the spacious lobby. Rocking chairs were scattered about. At the rear entrance, another long piazza served a huge three-sided courtyard.

I checked in at the desk. A double-chinned, spectacle-wearing hotel clerk greeted me with a smile and a Southern, “Good afternoon.” I informed him of my two-day reservation. After signing the necessary papers, he rattled off some of the amenities.

“There is an Amusement Hall with a bowling alley and billiard tables, two lawn tennis courts, croquet grounds, an 18-hole golf course, a swimming pool, and a livery with sixty horses.”

I touched the brim of my hat and nodded. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sir,” he replied, then added, “Would you like some help with your bag, sir?”

I declined the offer. He then directed my attention to a tray at the end of the counter holding crystal glasses and a matching pitcher filled with an iced, amber-colored mixture.

“Help yourself to a glass of freshly brewed Summerville sweet tea, sir.”

I poured a glass and took a sip. “Interestingly tasty,” I corroborated.

I turned and boarded the electric elevator that serviced the three upper floors—each with its own lobby and its share of the 150 suites and singles. As we slowly ascended, I engaged the elevator operator in some small talk. He willingly and gladly complied, offering a few quick tips about Summerville.

I was assigned a single on the second floor at five dollars a night.

I entered the room. Large windows bathed the interior in warm sunlight and provided an excellent view of the grounds below. Steam  radiators lined the exterior walls. A painting of Drayton Hall hung above an elaborately carved mantle.

I placed my suitcase next to the open fireplace and set the empty crystal glass on a marble-topped table beside the room’s large cherry poster bed. The comfortably appointed room also included a private bath and an electric bell connected to the general office for personal service.

I emptied my suitcase and freshened up a bit before setting out to further familiarize myself with the Inn’s appointments.

After another short ride on the elevator, I returned to the main lobby. I curiously peeked into the adjacent dining room. Paneled in Southern curly pine, the complementary woodwork was elegant. Divided into three sections by wooden arches and comfortably filled with beautiful table settings, it seated 250 people. An American flag hung from the chandeliered ceiling.

It was near 3:35 p.m., according to a nearby grandfather clock. The brunch crowd had already dispersed to other suitable areas. The dining room staff was busy making preparations for the evening meal.

Other common rooms included a large main-floor parlor; ladies’ private parlors with toilet rooms; reception rooms; a library; reading room; sun parlor with exotic plants; wine and smoking rooms; and a Rocking Chair Room. Similar to the dining room, all were paneled with Southern curly pine.

Women sitting in the sun parlor engaged in chit-chat centered around their families and social events. Some rocked baby carriages with their feet while doing needlework. They all wore fancy hats and long, lacy dresses—the ankle reveal was socially frowned upon.

Gathered in the wine and smoking room, men in suits debated the latest news and talked about their golf game.

The Rocking Chair Room fascinated me the most. I could never resist the invitation of a rocking chair. I would venture to say there were about a hundred chairs—thirty, by my estimation, presently occupied. It was the right occasion for some self-indulgence. The seconds quietly ticked away with each back-and-forth motion. The seconds ticked into minutes. I pulled out my pocket watch. It was 4:45 p.m.

My restful thoughts turned to dinner. I contemplated the pleasure of indulging in the highly acclaimed, blue-ribbon cuisine the Inn was famous for. The first-class chefs were advertised as preparing their culinary delights with ingredients gathered from local gardens, along with meat and seafood delivered fresh by train from Charleston and New York markets.

After dinner, perhaps I would share a glass of wine with Florence Nightingale Graham in the wine room, shoot some billiards with Dr. Shepard, or discuss literature with Edna St. Vincent Millay in the library. Tomorrow, attend a fox hunt on Ingleside with Teddy Roosevelt.

After all, this was the illustrious Pine Forest Inn of Summerville—where the imagination had no boundaries.

Visit Summerville SC | AT THE HEART OF IT ALL

The Fate of Six Famous Summerville Inns Lost in Time--Imagine if They Would Have Survived

Since the early 1900's tourists have flocked to the Town of Summerville to enjoy the beauty of its spring blossoms, particularly its azaleas, which are in full bloom presently. The Town will soon be packed with people from all over the Southeast and beyond to enjoy the Flowertown Festival April 5-7. The downtown district and its local businesses will be happily ringing their registers, if they still have that antiquated device, otherwise joyously swiping credit cards. S. Main Street will be a sea of people from the Square on down to Azalea Park. Many of the visitors looking for places to stay. However, I wonder, what would Summerville be like if the Wisteria Inn, Holly Inn, Vose Inn, Squirrel Inn, Carolina Inn, and Pine Forest Inn survived to today? You would have to agree, quite different. The following is their story and their fate.

There is not any significant information about the Wisteria Inn other than it was at the intersection of W. Carolina Ave and S. Main Street, and it burned down.

Wisteria Inn

The Holly Inn was next to the golf course at The Summerville Club on Holly Inn Rd. It was eventually demolished.

Holly Inn

Vose Inn is not a commonly recognizable name in the history of Summerville. The obvious reason for its present anonymity is it no longer exists. It was so severely damaged by the Earthquake of 1886, it was deserted to the elements to rot into oblivion before the Golden Age of the Inns began. It was at its best by 1860 before the Civil War. It was situated behind what is now Ambler Hall on W. Carolina Ave.

Vose Inn

Helen and Raven Lewis had the Squirrel Inn built, but Helen is seldom mentioned with her sister Raven as part-owner of the inn. In fact, the two sisters were inseparable. Lifelong companions, Helen having never married left her entire estate upon her death to Raven.

Squirrel Inn opened around 1912. It became known for its hospitable atmosphere and distinctive cuisine. In 1941, Jeanne and Eugene Sutter bought the inn. Under their ownership, it received a nomination in 1957 for being one of the top forty rural inns in the nation. It continued to be a noted inn with fine cuisine until 1966. The building was renovated for condominiums in 1979.

Famous author and diplomat Paul Hyde Bonner wintered as a guest at Summerville's Squirrel Inn. He wrote the best-selling novel called The Life of Llewellyn Jones while a town resident. It was released for publication on January 1, 1960.

The main character of Bonner's story is F. Townsend Britton, a career diplomat of fifty-odd years who carefully charts his disappearance from an authoritative, rich wife to become the widowed, retired, middle-western Liewellyn Jones, a good enough impersonation that fools everyone except Terry, a girl he meets in Cincinnati. To escape further entanglements, Jones retreats to a town in South Carolina where there is an establishment called Redbird Inn.

The South Carolina town in Bonner's story was inspired by Summerville, and the Redbird Inn was a reflection of the well-known Squirrel Inn he wintered at as a guest.

Squirrel Inn

One the the more famous of the inns was the Carolina Inn. In 1810, Moore's Tavern stood on the property. It would become the Brown's Hotel around 1855 under the ownership of Isaac T. Brown--also called the Summerville House. Brown added a ten-pin alley and a billiard room. The hotel was surrounded by wide piazzas.

The Brown's Hotel suffered damage from the 1886 earthquake. It closed around 1890, but unlike the Vose Inn, reopened in 1895. It became known as the Dorchester Inn featuring full, wrap-around porches and numerous shuttered windows. In 1912, T.R. Moore owned the Dorchester Inn and after enlarging the structure, extensively remodeling the interior, and updating the building, it opened its doors as the Carolina Inn featuring 67 rooms and a swimming pool.

With white wood-rail fencing, beautifully landscaped walking gardens, and an acquired reputation for excellent accommodations and cuisine, it would become preferred by many travelers for its discreet elegance and atmosphere. Unlike the structured offerings of the Pine Forest Inn, there were no activities

One of the favorite pastimes of the guests was competing in bridge tournaments and competitions. Somewhat similar to tourism today, other diversions included historical tours, garden tours, maybe a silent movie at the Arcade Theatre, or shopping and sightseeing excursions into Charleston on the South Carolina Railroad out of Summerville.

The Carolina Inn was demolished. 

Carolina Inn

The grandest of Summerville's inns was the Pine Forest Inn. It sat on 60 acres and opened its doors in 1891. The internationally renowned hotel had four floors, elevators, and 150 rooms. The Inn had its own power plant, telegraph office and long distance telephone service. It also housed three water supplies--an artesian well for mineral water, spring water and a charcoal purifying cistern. The weekly rate in the 1934-35 season was $49 for a single room with private bath and $168 for a double, which included meals.

In addition to the enormous rooms the Pine Forest Inn had a glassed in rocking chair porch with 150 rockers and a dining room that was larger than the 1,600 square foot dining room inside the White House.

The amenities included bowling alleys, shuffle board, billiards, a swimming pool, 18 hole golf course that sat on 130 acres, hunting, fishing, tennis, croquet and a 50 horse stable. It also offered a casino.

The Inn was later demolished by Mr. Salisbury for fear of fire.

Pine Forest Inn

Visit Summerville

Summerville Keeps on Rising Like a Phoenix from the Ashes in the Face of Adversity

Summerville, from the time of its conception, has been a place to where Lowcountry residents came to heal and renew. Charleston planters, who perspired in the heat and humidity of their river plantations, marooned themselves there to prevail upon its "remarkably dry and balmy atmosphere." Charlestonians, laboring against the voracious mosquitos and yellow fever of their peninsula estates, traversed the 25 miles to avail upon its "foliage of trees and luxuriant undergrowth" that "shut in any poisonous exhalations that might otherwise arise." Unequivocally, Summerville has been appraised as a "charming, rural, picturesque town with a health-promoting atmosphere."

However, Summerville's journey from "Let The Pines Be Sacred" to "The Birthplace of Sweet Tea" has had its ups and downs. In the beginning, the inviting sandy plateau was dotted with Mosquito houses with roving cattle cutting paths through the many pine trees. Then, the railroad came to town and made Summerville one of its stops and held out the promise of greater things to come, but the pineland village grew slowly in population and accommodations.

Then, in 1860, the inhabitants came under the influence of a "new sprit." The sluggish apathy of the previous years seemed to disappear. An "enthusiasm for progress" pervaded the sleepy community. A new administration was taking charge. The new mayor, Reverend Limehouse, purchased land on the Great Thoroughfare and had a new town hall built with a jail behind it and adjacent was the town market. The Brown's Hotel was open for business with a new ten-pin alley and billiard room along with $.50 tickets to Charleston and back, including carriage ride. The Vose Inn and Mr. Cooper's Paradise were other attractors.

However, a political hurricane was brewing in the social atmosphere and its black, ominous clouds spilled over the Town in a fury. It was now 1861. In the distance, shells rained down on Fort Sumter and the American Civil war was under way. Southern State troops were ordered to rendezvous on the South Carolina Railroad at Camp Woodward in Summerville. It would be a chaotic time with the arrival of the emotionally charged troops.

About the gathering combatants, Major Thomas W. Woodward wrote in his memoirs, "And—folly of follies—you were to be allowed to choose whether you would go as a Regiment or disband and go home, although you had already agreed to offer your services to the Confederacy." He further lamented, "some companies preserved their discipline, others were really but roving mobs of jolly, rollicking soldiers."

Eventually, the uniforms changed from grey to blue. There was a threat the Federals who captured Charleston were going to burn the town. In May of 1865, the Black Union Provisional Brigade moved from their position at Bacon's Bridge to occupy Summerville. With many houses and buildings turned into hospitals, it became the temporary residents for the sickly and wounded.

While recovering from the Civil War, the final years of the 19th century saw two more devastating local events. Summerville was rattled by an earthquake in 1886 and a downtown fire ravaged most of the buildings around the Town's square. As with all fires, the clouds of thick smoke dispersed and sunny, blue skies appeared overhead. The sacred tree's that soothed the first marooners came to the rescue.

The International Congress of Physicians in Paris declared Summerville one of the world's two best places for treating lung disorders. The town rose from the ashes and the pleasant aroma of azalea and wisteria wafted through the tall trees and winding streets. Grand inns and hotels were constructed to accommodate the influx of visitors. It was the "Golden Age of the Inns" and prosperity reigned supreme. But alas, the dubious crown of financial security was soon to be knocked off.

An Economic shakeup called the Great Depression began to change the landscape. The wrecking ball took out two of the Town's premier accommodations, the Pine Forest and Carolina Inn. The Summerville Short no longer stopped and the grand old railroad station disappeared from Hutchinson Square. The Summerville Show stopped the movie projectors from turning. Hurricane Hugo paid an unwelcoming visit and showed no respect for the cherished pines. The downtown area lost its allure.

Then, a call went out. :The show must go on," said the Flowertown Players, and Summerville had a Dream. Every Third Thursday the community would gather together and the shops were going local. The Town's popular magazine made a sweet discovery and the "Birthplace of Sweet Tea" took its honored place among the town's mottos, and now from Botany Bay to Boone Hall, it is "at the heart of it all." Restaurants and cafes are on nearly every corner and in-between inviting patrons to linger a little longer. It seems there is no stopping the Town from rising like a Phoenix from the ashes in the face of adversity, and a little help from providence.

Could there be another civil war, it is in the realm of possibility. Could another earthquake happen, it is a viable danger. Could there be another economic crisis, there is always that prospect. Could there be another Hurricane Hugo, blink your eyes and the weather does change. As heralded in this article, each of these insidious calamities have confronted the Town through its 177 years, and each time without reservation, it has prevailed. The only way Summerville could ever fail is if it would lose touch with its sense of itself. Who it was, who it is, who it needs to be, and who it must be in the ever changing South Carolina Lowcountry.

Visit Summerville        Coastal Coffee Roasters

Summerville Dream     La Rustica - on Magnolia

Flowertown Players      Laura Summerville

Azalea Magazine          Five Loaves Cafe

More Summerville stories.

Three Presidents Who Visited Summerville and Their Stories

Forty-six presidents have governed the United States. Only one was born in South Carolina and that was Andrew Jackson, although North Carolina disputes the claim. It seems Jackson was born on the border of the two states in the Waxsaw region, an area just south of Charlotte. Jackson himself claimed to be a native of South Carolina. Of the 46, three found their way to Summerville.

In December of 1901, Charleston opened the South Carolina Interstate and West Indian Exposition to promote the industry and resources of the state. President Theodore Roosevelt accepted proprietor FW Wagener's invitation to attend the Expo's "President's Day" celebration in April 1902. April 9, the president viewed Charleston's historic sites from the harbor aboard the USS Algonquin and visited the exhibits. At Lowndes Grove Plantation, he was treated to a special Charleston lunch which included tea grown at Summerville's Pinehurst Tea Farm. After his day in Charleston, the president was escorted by train to Summerville, where he stayed at another one of FW Wagener's enterprises, the Pine Forest Inn. Roosevelt toured the Pinehurst Tea Farm. He was also an avid outdoorsman. Perhaps, he joined one of the fox hunts on Ingleside.

Rutledge House

William Howard Taft and his wife were guests of Mayor R. Goodwyn Rhett at his home, the John Rutledge House, in January of 1909. As legend has it, Rhett's butler was asked to "dress up" the pale crab soup they usually served. The butler, William Deas, added lump crab meat and orange-colored crab eggs to give color and improve the flavor. It became the famous Charleston delicacy known as She Crab Soup. Some contend that Taft enjoyed it so much he had the soup added to the White House's menu. On this occasion, Mrs. Nellie Taft, with diplomatic grace, summed up her assessment of Southerners fondly referring to them as being "strange" for their irritating ritual of "always taking a half hour to get ready for everything." Once again, Wagener hosted a dinner at Summerville's Pine Forest Inn for the president.

The third president to visit Summerville is a story less told, if at all. Unlike Roosevelt and Taft, he did not come to be a dinner guest at the Pine Forest Inn, by this time shuffled into the dust of history. He did come on a date indelibly branded into the psyche of Lowcountry residents equal to that of the War Between the States and The Great Earthquake of 1886 centered near Middleton Place.

President Bush and Berlin G. Meyers

The time was September of 1989, and George H. W. Bush was the president. Catastrophic Hurricane Hugo was the event. On this occasion, Bush landed at Doty Park in Summerville to personally meet with Mayor Berlin G. Meyers. Together they surveyed the destruction from a helicopter. On ground, Bush rode about 15 miles in a motorcade through the heavily damaged forests. The report was the president patted the mayor on his shoulder and said, "Why am I here? I'm here to give a little encouragement to a courageous man."

Who will be the next president to visit the Flowertown in the Pines? Maybe, it will be one who may have a hankering for a refreshing glass of sweet tea in the Birthplace of Sweet Tea, or a need for a fantastic cup of in-house roasted coffee at the local community hot spot, Coastal Coffee Roasters, or any one of the many amenities that make Summerville a desirable place to visit and hang out. Only time will tell.

More Summerville stories

Remember The Town Hall Bell And The Stories It Tells

The master of the macabre, Edgar Allan Poe, wrote in his onomatopoeic poem, The Bells, these beguiling words:

What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!

How it swells!

How it dwells

On the Future! how it tells

Of the rapture that impels

To the swinging and the ringing

Of the bells, bells, bells,

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,

Bells, bells, bells—

To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

As Poe so elegantly conveys, there is meaning in the ringing of a bell. Their presence are always bound to a story. The following collection of gathered consonants and vowels is one such story of a southern town and its esteemed bell.

In 1888, a sweeping declaration was made about this quiet, summer village just outside of Charleston that would decidedly put it on the world map, and its town planners judiciously accommodated the acknowledgment. By 1891, the pine-forested community's era of the Golden Age of the Inns was in full swing. The crown jewel of accommodations, the Pine Forest Inn, was completed and its doors swung open to welcome the influx of anticipated arriving travelers. With the ensuing growth, time, if not necessity, called for a new town hall to be built. A corner plot was chosen where the streets of West Richardson and S. Main Street intersected. The cost to build it was set at $6,250.

The planned four story building would wisely face the town's main square, an idyllic vantage point. The first floor would house a high-end grocery store called the "Tea Pot". The second floor would contain the municipal offices. On the third floor, a multi-purpose room/auditorium space would be available for special town events such as dances, plays, parties and operas. The fourth story would shelter the structures most spellbinding and controversial feature, a bell, and it would prove to be not just any ordinary bell.

In Charleston, Summerville's need for a bell came to the attention of Doctor Anthony Toomer Porter, head of The Arsenal, also known at one time as the Porter Military Academy. The bell Doctor Porter would present to Summerville hung in The Arsenal's chapel tower, Holy Communion Church Institute, where it had a long history ringing out reveille, taps, mess call, and the summons to lessons and to prayers for those attending the academy. Interestingly, like the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia, it had a crack in it. It made the short journey to Summerville in 1893.

With the installing of the historical bell, the new Town Hall was complete. It would ring out the time to the town for the opening and closing of business hours, mark worker's noon time rest period and signal knock-off time for laborers. It rang in the new years. It also served as a fire alarm, indicating by a predetermined sequence of rings, which part of town was on fire, to direct the volunteer firefighters to the correct location.

During World War II, civilians were stationed in the Town Hall bell tower as lookouts. Their task was to watch the skies for enemy aircraft and when spotted, sound the alarm. Silhouettes of enemy aircraft were pinned on the interior walls to assist the lookouts in making proper identifications. One night, the town had a scare when out of the darkened skies a plane buzzed the tower. Combined with several other suspicious incidents that night, officials were convinced the town was under attack, but fortunately, it was all a false alarm. It turned out an impulsive local boy on a training flight just couldn't resist the urge to be playful. Maybe, he heard one of the town's unattached pretty girls was on duty that night.

Children were forbidden to go up into the Town Hall belfry for obvious safety reasons, not to leave unmentioned the easy temptation presented to an impetuous youth to playfully ring the bell. Although, stories tell of savvy youngsters secretly trudging their way up through the humid darkness of the steep, creaky belfry stairs. Being the tallest building on Hutchinson Square, the view the belfry offered was often the prize. Imagine the thrill one would experience at seeing from above President Roosevelt and his entourage ride by on Main Street as they made their way to the Pine Forest Inn.

Now, visualize the chaos a person could unleash on the town with an unauthorized ringing of the bell. There was a $200 fine for anyone foolish enough to do it. A popular story tells of a physician named Louis Miles ignoring the law and ringing the bell to announce the birth of his daughter to a confused crowd that gathered below. He happily paid the fine not once, but twice for the same reason.

Time passed and the wooden building began to succumb to its age. School commencements were held in the old Town Hall. At such an event one evening, in the middle of the ceremony, an announcement was made for the attendees to leave the building in an orderly and quiet manner. Later, it was reported some of the town's officials in attendance had felt an ominous swaying. The upper floors were declared unsafe for public gatherings, in part, due to the weight of the bell in the fourth floor tower. Shortly after, the entire building was condemned and in time, the bell was removed.

The bell was stored for a time at the Street Department Maintenance Building. When Watts School, Gaud School, and Porter Military Academy merged to form Porter-Gaud on the Ashley River in 1964, the public relations person for the school contracted to obtain the bell for the new school. A group called the Sons of the Bell was formed of the alumni to raise money for a special bell tower to be built to house the old bell. Ironically, the bell would be on its way back to the place where it unleashed its first tintinnabulations and to this day hangs in the school's WATCH Tower.

Void of its most cherished part, the rickety wooden Town Hall was torn down in 1963. Plans were drawn for the replacement. This one would be built with a more time tested material, bricks. For a while, its location was uncertain. Several sites were considered, but ultimately, the decision was made to keep it at the head of Town Square. The new Town Hall was dedicated on November 14, 1969. Unfortunately, it was missing a feature that was manifestly a Summerville tradition, the bell.

Due to the town's continued growth, an annex was built next to the new Town Hall with a much bigger auditorium to relieve overcrowding at council meetings along with a room with a TV monitor for overflow crowds, and a bell tower. In 2008, though not to the scale of the original, the traditional bell was restored to the Town and was hoisted to the top of the annex. It has become a nostalgic reminder of days gone by when the opening and closing of business hours was sounded by the town hall bell.

When next in town, listen for the toll of the new bell and then, remember the old town hall bell and the stories it tells.

Visit Summerville

Source material: Summerville Sesquicentennial, Porch Rocker Collections, and other.

More Summerville stories

Summerville--One Of The Three Best On Earth

Summerville around 1880

Factually printed in an 1893 booklet by the Pine Forest Inn, Summerville was proclaimed "one of the two best resorts on the earth" for the cure of throat and lung disorder by the Tuberculosis Congress at Paris. These fateful words were a part of a statement made by Dr. R. C. M. Page.

Just ponder the implication. Out of all the towns and cities in 19th century United States and the civilized world, Summerville, a quaint town 25 miles outside of one of the most beautiful cities in the United States with just a population of 3,000, awarded such an admirable accolade.

Who was Summerville’s competing counterparts? Actually, there were two other notable resort towns in the world known for their health benefits, Arcachon, France and Bournemouth, England. Rivals in one sense, yet so similar in another. Threads of the same color pattern were eerily woven throughout the tapestry of their histories leading to a common destiny.

Dr. Robert Harvey, medical corps of the British army in India, made a comparison of Summerville, Arcachon, and Bournemouth and wrote in a letter "after thorough examination of the climate and porous soil of Summerville, which states that it is superior to both Acachon and Bornemouth, the celebrated French and English resorts, because it is dryer and has more equable temperature."--quote taken from Pine Forest Inn season 1892-93.

In the beginning of the 19th century, Arcachon was just a sleepy little fishing village located on the south side of the tranquil Arcachon Bay in south-west France--a long-time oyster-harvesting area. As the years serenely unfolded, its idyllic location and soothing sea air quietly changed the character of the village. It began to procure a reputation as a place where sick people went to heal. The sea air was deemed to be a beneficial part of the recovery process. Ironically, it was fittingly referred to as the Ville d'été--summer village.

In 1860, improved transport train links to Bordeaux and Paris helped in the development of the land above the beach. Arcachon was topographically endowed with another natural asset. It was framed by lush pine forests--pineland air was believed to be beneficial in the curing of tuberculosis, as observed by Doctor Pereira. A group of business men, and in particular the Pereire brothers, and the owners of the railway line between Bordeaux and La Teste came up with the idea of extending the rail line to Arcachon and developing it as a winter resort for tuberculosis sufferers. This area above the beach was called Ville d'hiver--winter village.

In the beginning, the commercial project wasn't a huge success, but the Pereire brothers continued to develop the summer tourism and the thermal tourism of the famous les Abatilles spring. The town started to attract rich merchants from Bordeaux and the rest of France. By the end of the 19th century, those who were irresistibly lured to this part of town above the beach built magnificent villas both to extend the summer season and as an alternative to seeking cures in the high mountains of Switzerland for tuberculosis.

Napoleon III visited Arcachon and put his seal of approval upon it and there was no looking back. French writer Alexandre Dumas lived in Arcachon for a while and French painter Toulouse-Lautrec owned a house on the sea-front. Arcachon's fame spread while directly north in England a similar story was simultaneously unfolding.

In the beginning of the 19th century, an Englishman by the name of Lewis Tregonwell coveted a piece of deserted scrubland located on the south coast of England he had come to love through the years. As an officer in the army during the Napoleonic wars, he spent much of his time searching this scrubland along the coast for French invaders and smugglers. The only settlement of the area was by cows, gypsies, and a few fishermen living in rickety timber-framed cottages. Tregonwell had an idea for this land of the grand kind.

Tregonwell's house, Bourne Cliff, now is part of the Royal Exeter Hotel

In 1812, after retiring from the army and purchasing an eight-and-a-half acre parcel of land from Lord Tapps-Gervis, Tregonwell and his wife became the first official residents after completing the construction of their new home christened Bourne Cliff. Later, it would become known as the Exeter House. Between 1816 and 1820, he added a number of smaller homes on the grounds for his staff; one of these, called Portman Lodge. The first eight years saw several high society figures come to Bourne Cliff by invitation from Tregonwell including the Prince Regent and George lV.

Inspired by a popular Regency notion that the turpentine scent of pines had health-restoring powers good for lung ailments, and in particular tuberculosis, prompted Tregonwell and Tapps to plant hundreds of the stately conifers featuring a tree-lined walk to the beach that would become known as the Invalid's Walk. The cherished trees grew and so did his dream.

In 1820, Tregonwell bought up more land from Tapps-Gervis for building a number of cottages and stylish villas set along newly-laid streets for leasing to holiday-makers wishing to engage in the increasingly fashionable pastime of ‘sea bathing’, an activity with perceived health benefits. These holiday retreats of course would establish the core function of the developing health resort. By 1832, the year of his passing, Tregonwell’s dream was securely in place.

Highcliff Castle

It was at this time a distinguished diplomat, Lord Stuart de Rothesay, began the construction of a castle called Highcliff. Built mainly between 1831 and 1836, the Gothic Revival style castle incorporated medieval stonework and stained glass from around the world.

In 1835, after the death of Sir George Ivison Tapps, his son Sir George William Tapps-Gervis inherited his father's estate. Bournemouth started to grow at a faster rate as George William started developing the seaside village into a resort similar to those that had already grown up along the south coast such as Weymouth and Brighton.

In 1841, the town was visited by the physician and writer Augustus Granville. Granville was the author of The Spas of England, which described health resorts around the country. As a result of his visit, Dr. Granville included a chapter on Bournemouth in the second edition of his book. The publication of the book, as well as the growth of visitors to the seaside haven seeking the medicinal use of the seawater and the fresh air of the pines, helped establish the town as an early tourist destination.

With the arrival of the railway in 1870, there was a massive influx of seaside and summer visits to the town, especially by visitors from the Midlands and London. Bournemouth became a recognized town in that year. The Winter Gardens were finished in 1875 and the cast iron Bournemouth Pier was finished in 1880 when the town had a population of 17,000 people. By the late 1900's, when railway connections were at their most developed to Bournemouth, the town's population had risen to 60,000.

Bournemouth was now poised to be thrust into the world spotlight along with its seaside rival in Arcachon, France, and a second rival across the pond in the United States in South Carolina, Summerville.

It was 1891. Tuberculosis has been a scourge of the age. The International Congress of Physicians, also called the Tuberculosis Congress, assembled in Paris, France. The physicians then attending measured these three resort locations in their deliberations comparing climate, temperatures, and the presence of pine forests. The result of their findings was a ringing endorsement of Summerville.

Adding to the weight of this historical recommendation was a letter by Dr. Robert Harvey. Written after making a thorough examination of the climate and porous soil of Summerville, he stated it to be superior to both Arcachon and Bournemouth because it was dryer and had a more equable temperature. Also, unlike Arcachon, where its pineland forest borders the resort, and Bournemouth's resort is scattered around its one time hand-planted pine forest, Summerville's pineland is an inseparable part of the town, thickly scattered throughout its interweaving and winding roads.

Once an insignificant fishing village and a deserted seaside scrubland, Arcachon and Bournemouth had progressed into popular and attractive seaside destinations crowned with magnificent estates, lavish villas and opulent castles bordering on the Disneyesque. Rail lines connected them to the rest of their homelands and the people seeking what they had to offer. By the end of the nineteenth century, they had fulfilled their destiny for which they were conceived, to be world class health resorts.

In comparison, Summerville was once an uninhabited plateau near the Ashley River discovered by a wondering planter and soon after became a marooning refuge to escape the oppressive heat and yellow fever carrying mosquitoes of Charleston’s coastal lowlands.

Arcachon sand dune--one of the highest in the world

Unlike Arcachon and Bournemouth, it was not on the sandy shores of a vast ocean. It did not have villas or castles. If judged by those amenities, Summerville was quite humble. It did benefit from the introduction of the railroad. It did have beautiful summer homes built by rich planters, the Pine Forest Inn, and vast plantations close by. And if you wanted to enjoy the beach, neighboring Charleston was endowed with many barrier islands fringed with sandy beaches.

Still, those were not the things that elevated Summerville to its pinnacle of greatness. Simply put, it was the town’s majestic, revitalizing pine trees--cherished and fiercely protected by law. Not many places can say they were regarded the best on earth. Summerville is one of those places.

Summerville's Rich History--From Pine Trees To Sweet Tea

Unlike "New Summerville," which was laid out by the South Carolina Railroad like a checkerboard with straight, broad thoroughfares, "Old Summerville" was characterized by winding streets. When it came to laying out the roads, it's apparent the old town planners did not incorporate the idea "the shortest distance between two points is a straight line." For that matter, as to what a straight line meant, they had no clue. Summerville history implies the early road architects were of the four-legged variety, bovine to be more exact.

New Summerville plot map 1850

New Summerville plot map 1897

Richly graced with thick groves of tall pines and old oaks, the trees cooling touch and healing scent enticed early Ashley River planters to the sandy hilltop in the pines where they could escape the oppressive heat and voracious mosquitoes of their lowland plantations. During these marooning excursions, they brought their livestock with them. On arrival, the beasts were turned loose to wander in and around the tall pines and old oaks. Overtime, these creatures of habit carved out the thoroughfares that became the first named streets of the newly founded summer village.

From those very same trees, they constructed their simple homes. Beginning with Captain James Stewart, 14 families eventually marooned themselves every summer for nearly five months in structures scattered around the main cattle path called the Great Thoroughfare--W. Carolina Avenue today. Called "mosquito houses," these structures were built eight feet off the ground on stilts to protect against insects and to catch breezes. A wide center hall ran the full length with two rooms on each side for cross ventilation. Each room had a fireplace. If there was a second floor, it was identical to the first. The stables and carriage house were located away from the main home for obvious reasons--besides trampling out the roads, the livestock produced an odorous by-product unlike the pleasant pine scent.

1831 plat of Old Summerville

Other notable cow paths of original Summerville connected to the Great Thoroughfare were Railroad Street; now Sumter Avenue, Pine Street; now Charleston Street, Centre Street; now Linwood Lane, Morgan Street; now Clifton Street, Gadsden Street, and the present Cuthbert Lane once referred to simply as "Street." A plat, drawn-up in 1831, showed the layout of the early streets and homes.

In 1831, there were 15 homes built by planter families in "Old Summerville." Around this time, "New Summerville" was established by the South Carolina Canal and Railroad Company. Now connected to Charleston and points west by the railroad, wealthy Charlestonians came to town and built homes in "New Summerville" to escape the yellow fever epidemics. The character of the settlement changed around 1935. Certain families began to stay year round. In 1838, there were 29 homes in "Old Summerville." The two Summervilles became an official town in 1847. The cherished pines were declared sacred and a law prohibiting the cutting of certain-sized trees without permission was passed.

Local trains between Summerville and Charleston continued to make Summerville attractive to those who had to stay close to their businesses and plantations. Concerts, balls, card parties, promenades, and rides in the country characterized social life in the village. A building boom in the 1850's helped account for these signs of prosperity. By the eve of the American Civil War, there were five hotels and boarding houses, three churches, two public buildings, nine stores, 372 dwellings and servants' houses, and 1088 inhabitants. After the American Civil War, the local trains made it convenient for Northerners to stay in town.

At the end of the 19th century, Summerville was declared one of the two best places in the world for the treatment and recovery of lung disorders launching the dawning of "The Golden Age of the Inns". Despite the longtime commitment to preserve and protect the sacred pine trees, the planners of Summerville deemed it necessary to sacrifice some of them to embrace its burgeoning fame as a health spot to the world and the illustrious Pine Forest Inn (1893 booklet) was built. While visitors flowed into town, other inns were established.

As a now famous story relates, one such individual who came to town to avail upon the purported healing aspects of the pine tree's turpentine scent on the advice of his physician was found sitting on the porch swing of a W. Richardson Street residence by its matriarch and became the first guest to stay at the newly established White Gables Inn. Other notable names included Carolina Inn, Halcyon Inn, Wisteria Inn, Holly Inn, The Postern, Squirrel Inn and Pine View Inn. Summerville flourished into the 1900's, but in time, it would lose its magical charm due to the Depression of the 1930's. Its icons one by one mercilessly succumbed to the wrecking ball and the tantalizing scent of its biggest asset faded into the changed landscape.

In 1991, 40% of the buildings in the downtown district were vacant. With a mission to revitalize the downtown area, DREAM was formed in 1992. Then, in 2010, inspired by an article in the Azalea Magazine, Summerville experienced an identity renaissance when it branded itself the "Birthplace of Sweet Tea." The "Sweet Tea Festival" was inaugurated and the Summerville Trolley Tours were established benefiting local businesses and captivating residents and visitors alike. Nexton exploded unto the scene and Summerville's first craft brewery on November 26, 2014 broke ground in the remaining space of the Coastal Coffee Roasters building with the laying of its cement floor. In 2014, a plan for a boutique hotel was proposed. In 2015, a conditional final approval for the project was given by the Board of Architectural Review, but one of Summerville's cherished pine trees overshadowed the proceedings and became a flashpoint for preservationists and opponents in what would become the Dorchester Hotel controversy.

Of the pine trees still around, longtime residents nurture fond memories and tell stories of playing below their broad branches. Located near the corner of W. Richardson and Central Ave, the proposed site of the hotel, stands one of those cherished pines. Considered the oldest tree in Summerville with a circumference of 13 feet and believed to predate 1847, the old pine was scheduled for an appointment with the axeman to make way for the highly contested Dorchester Hotel project.

Ragged from old age and brutal weather, the trees glory days were waning. The cutting down of the tree would have been a solemn day. It was a sad day when the Pine Forest Inn came crashing down. We could dignify the old tree the way the Hopelands Gardens in Aiken honored one of its prominent cedars when a portion of it came down. They carved benches out of the cherished wood and placed them on site for visitors to use. Inevitably, each pine in its time will succumb to the natural powers to be.

Truth be told, the tree was not the only concern raised by the hotel's opponents, but alas, it is no longer of any concern. The Dorchester Hotel Project itself has been axed. However, imagine where Summerville's history would be today if people in the late 1800's would have opposed the construction of the Pine Forest Inn because they wanted to preserve an old pine tree or the increase in traffic it may have caused or believed it did not reflect the flavor of the historic district, which by the way, could be legitimate concerns. From Hutchinson Square (Master Plan) to Middleton, you can smell the ongoing scent of change.

The cows no longer wander around the tall pines, the "mosquito houses" have disappeared into the shadows of the old trees, the trains of the old railroad no longer stop, and the great inns have gone quietly into the night. People no longer come to escape the oppressive heat and voracious mosquitoes of the coastal lowlands or for the cooling touch and healing scent of its sacred pines. Today, people come for its charm, its southern hospitality, its sense of community, and its rich history. A history as colorful as the town's famous azaleas and refreshed with the lifting of every flavorful glass of sweet tea. Wouldn't it had been nice if the Town had a place for them to stay? A place that is as much an integral part of its identity similar to the way the Pine Forest Inn (1909 booklet) was in the heyday of the "Golden Age of the Inns." Maybe, a hundreds years from now people will look back on this era and call it Summerville's "Golden Age of Sweet Tea."

Things to see and do in Summerville.
Shop Summerville.
Dinning in Summerville.
Theater in Summerville.
Historic Sites in Summerville--Colonial Dorchester State Park, Middleton Place.
Summerville's B.I.R.D.S. Project.