Tybee Crushed It
A word to the wise: Don’t read the comments section after a colonoscopy.
Last Friday afternoon, after what the doctor promised would be “best nap of my life,” I was still enjoying the post-anesthesia high from this middle-aged rite of passage. (In Georgia, insurance pays 100 percent of the first one after 50; have you scheduled yours?)
Anticipating my mellow mood, my dearie whisked me away to the family beach house for some rest and relaxation. Yes, of course we knew that this was the weekend of Orange Crush, which is why I was checking social media to see what the traffic to Tybee had in store for us. Instead I got caught up in the polarized polemic, and it really harshed my buzz.
If you live anywhere near Savannah and especially on the island, you probably have feelings about this annual beach party that brings thousands of young Black people out to the terminus of Highway 80. This spring break gathering originated at Savannah State University in the 1980s and became a tradition for other HBCU students looking for what every other warm-blooded American college kid wants: To drink like a fool and hook up with hotties while wearing as little clothing as possible.
These festivities have long been unsanctioned and unpermitted, and things get rowdy, no doubt. City government has struggled for decades to handle the crowds, traffic, and trash. Local businesses suffer indignities and financial loss from bad actors with bad manners. Island residents dread the influx, taping off their driveways and making plans to be elsewhere. While the “official” event supposedly moved to Jacksonville a few years ago, plenty of spring breakers never got that memo.
Personally, we’ve always enjoyed this cavalcade of culture, admiring the boobies and tushies and offering the hose to anyone who wants to rinse their sandy feet. In fact, last year was the first time in 20 years we weren’t out for Orange Crush due to another engagement.
Those who were there will remember it as a turning point.
Orange Crush 2023 brought an absolute shitshow of gridlocked roads, damaged property, and truly terrible behavior, ranging from twerking on police cars, fentanyl overdoses, and at least one violent shooting. Many attendees weren’t college students at all, and the police and fire departments were overwhelmed by the record 100,000 party seekers who descended upon the 3100-citizen island. Local businesses experienced massive instances of theft and vandalism, the main drag of Tybrisa becoming “totally lawless” according to witnesses.
It was a nightmare come true for those who had always feared something like this might happen, and what has long been an uncomfortable situation leveled up to a racially-charged tinderbox. Even those who defended the event as “just a bunch of college kids” could not deny the threats to public safety, and plans were put into motion to crush Orange Crush on Tybee for good.
Recently-elected mayor Brian West vowed to “end it,” and local state reps Ben Watson and Jesse Petrea lobbied for and passed legislation that holds the promoters of any unsanctioned event financially responsible for the costs of extra security and clean-up. When the date for this year’s Orange Crush was announced on social media, the city developed a strategy to limit traffic and parking, and dozens of restaurants and shops announced that they would be closed for the weekend.
The Savannah Morning News reported that three separate applications for permits for this year’s event had been denied. Interim City Manager Michelle Owens said in a separate article that follow-through on permitting by promoters was an issue, “even when we meet with them and explain the process in detail.”
It’s tempting to interpret these actions as outwardly biased, given that Tybee hosts a drunken parade practically every other month and there are unofficial assemblies all the time (the hard seltzer-soaked gyre of private school punks that congregate at 10th Street every Fourth of July comes to mind.)
But that’s unnecessarily — and unfairly — reductive.
While it’s naive and disingenuous to pretend that race has not influenced reactions to Orange Crush, I do not believe that every person who strung caution tape across their yards or every business owner who chose to close this weekend did so out of spite. After last year, who can blame them for protecting their properties? Without proper permitting and public engagement by organizers, how is anyone supposed to predict how to prepare?
Other people—well, like I said, don’t read the comments section.
We didn’t know what to expect driving onto the island late Friday afternoon, but it wasn’t to be greeted by a ghost town under martial law. Barricades blocked the entire length of Butler Ave. and its hundreds of on-street parking spots. The large public lots on the south end were also closed, nearby restaurants gone dark. The nose of a police SUV poked out every few blocks, the streets deserted. I went to bed on the tail end of my sedative haze, wondering if the spring break hordes had been convinced to stay home.
Action picked up the next morning, and our block saw a steady stream of cars cruising for a place to park, every curb space legal and illegal taken before I finished my second cup of tea. We let a couple folks block our driveway since we weren’t driving anywhere, though the tow truck showed up quickly for the oaf who blocked the fire hydrant.
Saturday also happened to be every stoner’s favorite holiday 4/20, and though Tybee decriminalized weed a few years ago, the ubiquitous police presence — including local officers, personnel from Georgia State Patrol, and weirdly, DNR game wardens on ATVs — seemed to tamp down that celebration. The weekend yielded several drug arrests, including a dramatic chase on the north end on Friday night, but no reports of gun violence or assault. Residents lauded the city for keeping the peace, and someone likened the dead-quiet island interior to a “hurricane evacuation.”
For sure, Tybee accomplished what it set out to do, which was to contain chaos and deter dangerous behavior. Public works employees and law enforcement worked hard all weekend, and the warnings of tight security and limited housing and food options clearly discouraged many from coming at all. Plenty still showed up to party, but the numbers seemed in the hundreds, not thousands, and almost everyone appeared to be college-aged.
Without exception, the scantily-clad young people we chatted with on the street and beach were polite, respectful, and adorable. A few expressed sadness at the heavy-handed safety measures, and that the city allowed practically no parking at all just seemed mean.
One young gent sighed with frustration after looking for a spot for over an hour, and his take on the situation broke my heart:
“Y’all must really hate us.”
That’s the message these visitors got. The safety measures definitely worked, but perhaps at the price of reinforcing stereotypes on all sides — and denying Tybee’s famous beach hospitality to what ended up being a really lovely crowd with money to spend on a good time.
As lifelong Tybee girl Jenny Hines lamented, “Did we finally get all the nice college kids they promised us and we ruined it?”
In spite of the circling helicopters and “closed” signs, the Orange Crushers that came seemed to enjoy themselves, strutting their stuff on the Strand and dancing under the shuttered pier. The diligent employees at Rock House and the walk-up window at The Wind Rose did brisk business making sure folks got soused and fed.
In spite of outside media outlets’ dramatic coverage of an isolated incident, SMN’s dauntless local photojournalist Richard Burkhart captured a ton of joy, documenting the booty shaking and tequila swilling as well as partygoers filling up garbage bags at the end of the day.
We had a blast walking around and appreciating the spectacle, and it made me sad to think of an April on Tybee without Orange Crush. Again, the preparation and expense were understandable and necessary as a response to last year’s madness. But surely there is another way, one that can both protect the island and welcome these young people who just want to celebrate being free and sexy and alive.
It bears noting that in the early 1960s Tybee Island was the site of the NAACP civil rights “wade-ins,” when Black people weren’t allowed to swim at public beaches. That it’s now the scene of one of the most well known African American parties in the Southeast echoes a certain historic poetry.
As a public beach open to all, however, it also requires respecting the rules.
Early Sunday morning I ran into local entrepreneur and activist Roshida Edwards, who had come to help with clean-up only to find an already pristine beach thanks to Ocean Rescue lifeguards and several groups of volunteers. As the owner of Vintage Special Event Center, Roshida has plenty of ideas on how to turn Orange Crush into a well-planned machine that keeps attendees in check and makes money for Tybee businesses.
As an example, she cites how Savannah “trained” St. Patrick’s Day from what was previously a disorganized drunken disaster into orderly drunken mayhem. Couldn’t the same could be done for Tybee and spring break?
“There is plenty of opportunity for everybody to come to the table and figure out a plan that works,” she reflected as we looked out onto the empty stretch of litter-free sand.
“People just have to want to.”
Perhaps that willingness will emerge from promoters, local government, island residents, and local business owners in light Orange Crush 2024.
In the meantime, I’m staying out of the comments, eating plenty of fiber, and doing my best to follow the guidance of Tybee Island MLK Human Rights Organization:
“Let us always remember that our one job is human decency, and that we should never let the poor behavior of others excuse our own.”
Don’t forget the sunscreen, friends ~ JLL
There absolutely could not have been a better person to write about this than u. I knew it. Thanks for such a great break down (pun intended)🌸 I will keep hope alive for Tybee’s future bc it’s all we’ve got & I want everyone to be welcomed & safe🧡
Nice piece Jessica.
I wish I was saving money for a weekend at the beach. Unfortunately, I'm saving up for my 2nd colonoscopy.