Crushed, Pressed, and Dressed: Tybee Comes Through

When people refer to me as a journalist, I always set them straight. I’m a writer, I correct. I have far too many opinions to claim objectivity.

While I deeply respect the noble souls pounding the beats of daily news and crime stats, I knew from the beginning that the “just the facts, ma’am” life wasn’t for me. Sure, I’ve paid some bills publishing in proper newspapers and magazines over the years, but honestly, I got into this game for the thrills and free snacks.

I’m reminding you of this because when it comes to impartial reporting on Orange Crush 2025, you’re not going to find it here.

First of all, as a sometimes-Tybee resident, there’s no possible way not to catch feelings about the annual spring break beach bash that turns our tiny island into a culturally-charged powder keg. What began in 1988 as a splashy soiree for African-American college students has devolved over the last three and half decades into an unpermitted nightmare of lawlessness, litter, and occasional violence, and contention has only ratcheted.

Personally, our family has been mostly unbothered and highly entertained by the amped parade of nubile young people along the shoreline every spring, a welcome respite from the usual herds of sunburnt tourists from Ohio.

But plenty don’t share the same enthusiasm for Orange Crush as they do for other events that bring plenty of trash both plastic and human to the island. The loudest critics doth protest too much about how they’re not racist but…though some pearl clutchers aren’t entirely without reason. There’s no denying bad behavior has abounded.

After the 2023 maelstrom of mayhem that stuffed more than 50,000 partiers on two-lane Highway 80 and embarrassed us on the national news, Tybee had enough of the vandals and scandals. Mayor Brian West vowed to end Orange Crush forever. The Georgia Assembly passed legislation holding event promoters financially responsible for damage done and clean-up services after unsanctioned events, citing the strain on local and state resources.

But spring breakers gonna break, and last year the city prepared for an invasion of global proportions. Rolling onto the island felt like entering a military zone, cops of every flavor swatted up against an enemy surely armed with more than gold bikinis and coolers full of Michelob.

Public parking lots were closed and businesses shuttered save a handful of restaurants doing take-out only. The miles of barricades along Butler and Tybrisa avenues seemed surreal, a movie set for Gidget Meets Armageddon. (Catch up on my anesthetized account of the situation here.)

Undeniably, it all worked to protect property and contain the chaos. But with no place to park or buy anything, the result was a lot of sad kids doing their best to have a good time who left feeling spurned and unwanted.

The detractors who hoped they wouldn’t come back just got their pearls handed to them.

This year, for the first time in over 30 years, the City of Tybee Island issued a permit for Orange Crush. Organizer and CEO Steven Smalls surprised everyone by meeting strict requirements for a one-day event on the south end of the beach, promoting it as a weekend-long music festival with multiple locations around Savannah and encouraging folks to sign up for clean-up efforts.

Under the direction of new city manager Bret Bell—who spent years caping for the City of Savannah and can handle more than a little sand in the face—the city held a press conference practically every week to field concerns, and even the mayor professed cautious optimism.

Naturally, the skeptics were ready with their rude, racist nonsense in the comments section. What’s interesting about that is most of them do not live on Tybee at all:

Much like the Ardsley Park Open Chat I wrote about a few weeks ago, the ratio of the Connect Tybee Facebook page doesn’t add up. Tybee Island has only less than 3300 actual residents and around 1500 domiciles, yet the group brims with over 20.6K members—most of whom, in my unjournalistic opinion, can stick a sandspur where the sun don’t shine.

That isn’t to say the city didn’t serve military zone vibes. The barricades appeared along Highway 80 starting a week before, and the presence of all manner of uniforms was giving major martial law at Thursday night’s checkpoint.

When the big day finally arrived, the sun shimmered off calm seas as crushers cruised onto the island via one lane. There were plenty of real journalists at work to cover the moment, all of whom did a profoundly better job than the smarmy ass who wrote this unfactual Fox News headline.

Robin Kemp of The Current arrived before them all, landing in our driveway before we’d even sipped a first cup of coffee. Robin graciously interviewed Mark before setting off for the sand, documenting his efforts to help people find parking along the streets (he heretofore will be known as Not Some Bossy Old White Guy at our house.) She returned 12 hours later with a bag of tamales and a full SD card, her work well done.

Photo Credit: Robin Kemp of the The Current captured the cuteness

Mark also did more parking duty after spotting an SUV plastered with Atlanta Journal-Constitution decals creeping our curb and offered culture and entertainment reporter Najja Parker our last sliver of cement. By then there were only a handful of spots left on the island—some homeowners charging upwards of $60 for a patch of grass in their yard—a circling situation civic newsperson Eric Curl parodied in Savannah Agenda.

The bossy old man and I sauntered down to the south end of the beach towards the afternoon, along the way encountering a fashion show of glittery pasties, sick kicks, and tasteful grills. No objectivity here—I reveled in it all: The thumping beats blasting from cars and the stage across from Hotel Tybee, the half-naked nymphs running relay races on the beach, the tipsy grins from tall-as-trees young men.

I don’t know where they get the energy

Heyhowyadoin! they responded to our greetings, ever so happy to be young and free on Tybee. Let’s not forget that Black people were still forbidden to swim on Tybee barely two generations ago; surely part of what makes Orange Crush so gratifying is seeing kids claim space where their grandparents would have been banned.

Much to Mark’s relief I did not attempt any public twerking; my dear personal exercise physiologist reminded me that the spot between the L5 and S1 joints is rather delicate in those over 50 and didn’t want to spend the rest of the day icing my back.

We did mill about the milieu, glancing up to see Bret Bell surveying the party from the Pier, looking cool as a Wet Willie’s slushie. It was still early, but we had to give him a thumbs up: It seemed like all the planning and worrying had paid off.

But then the island rippled with reports of a shooting at 11th St. and Lovell, and my heart sank. Naturally, the comments sections exploded with told ya so’s — which were quickly quashed with the news that the bullets were homegrown. I don’t know what’s worse, presuming that gun violence at Orange Crush was inevitable, or taking some kind of perverse pleasure that white people kill each other, too.

That was the only serious incident of the day that made the news, though there was plenty of press. (For haters looking to validate their assumptions, downtown Savannah did not disappoint later on with a 2am shooting in Ellis Square.)

Here’s another hot take: When it comes to Orange Crush coverage, the Savannah Morning News’ Destini Ambus is the absolute MVP: This intrepid reporter wrote no less than a dozen articles about Orange Crush, including its history on Tybee and a recap of every one of the press conferences, then spent the entire day tweeting and interviewing. I believe her perseverance in keeping the facts front and center and providing information about what to expect from the day had much to do with residents’ and attendees’ improved attitudes.

We ran into Destini and legendary SMN shutterbug Rich Burkhart in line for smashburgers at Treylor Park Beach Party (it’ll always be Tybee Island Social Club to us) just as the streetlights came on. They were exhausted and a little shaken from the DNR guys on ATVs chasing everyone off the beach at exactly 8pm as promised, but they agreed that Tybee had officially orchestrated the first sanctioned, safe, successful Orange Crush.

It still took hours for the party people to get off the island, but dozens of volunteers were already snapping up the cans and Styrofoam clamshells (can we ban those next?) Folks in their Sunday finest showed up for sunrise Easter service on the Pier to a pristine beach.

It really does seem like some kind of miracle. After all of these years of fear and loathing, Tybee Island and Orange Crush have found renewal.

The parking shutdown and tactical cosplay still seem like an overcorrection—a sheriff literally scolded Mark for riding his adult tricycle with one hand and holding his phone in the other—but perhaps the guardrails will soften now that the channels are open.

Kudos to CEO Smalls for delivering all he said he would, to the visitors who kept it respectful and adorable, to the local businesses that stayed open (and made bank!), the city staff who worked overtime, and to the law enforcement who kept it kind.

I may never be able to be impartial about Orange Crush, but I look forward to its new era. The kids are gonna keep coming, and Tybee Island has proved itself ready.

Those are just the facts.

Back it on up ~ JLL

The city manager’s view—thumbs up!