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It's a place to pass through, though there is an antiquing scene, according to the interwebs.
Honestly, other than the old Howard Johnson's motor lodge and restaurant off State Route 63, I know very little about the place.
But we'll come back to that.
Today Walterboro is in the news for the wrong reason. A story of bullying and death has emerged from a place called Forest Hills Elementary School. RaNiya Wright, a 10-year-old fifth grader, died after a fight with another classmate.
Read that again. It's baffling, isn't it?
A fifth-grader is dead. Due to a fight. What isn't baffling is the apparent cause: bullying. Yet nothing in these sentences makes any sense. Families are shattered. Another student (and who knows who else) has to deal with this for the rest of their life and lives.
And a 10-year-old is dead. Over bullying. Why? Because she didn't fit in?
There's literally no excuse. There now needs to be answers. Schools are supposed to be safe. We put our kids there believing we're going to safely get them back at the end of the day. We believe "it's not going to happen here," despite Sandy Hook, Parkland, Columbine...
We know they're going to learn, and there are even things we don't want them to learn. So is the social mixing bowl of school.
No child deserves to die. Especially at school. No child deserves to be bullied. It sounds like a culture needs to be changed.
(April 19, 2019: Please note there has been an update to this story. See the bottom of the post for more)
*****
It was 1983, and my grandmother was dying. In New Port Richey, FL, we scurried to figure out how to best depart. My sister, father and I grabbed brunch with my paternal grandparents at Innisbrook, near Tarpon Springs, and my mom packed us up at our hotel.
We were on the road by the early afternoon, and only able to get as far as -- you guessed it -- Walterboro, SC.
We were Howard Johnson's aficionados, thanks in part to me. My dad, with his raging arthritis, needed a comfortable bed, and the Holiday Inns of the day didn't quite cut it. On a whim, in Ocala, Florida, in 1980, he asked me to pick where to stay. I said, "I don't think we've ever stayed at a Howard Johnson's" (maybe we did, but I don't remember).
We did. He loved it. Along with having a place to eat dinner and breakfast, the scene was a win-win-win.
Flash forward to '83. We dressed the next morning and climbed in the car to go to the on-site restaurant. I got out of the car to check the door...
The parking lot looked too quiet for 5:00 a.m...
But most HoJo's were open 24/7, right?
I pulled the door...
(You can probably guess)
Locked. I glanced at a sign; they opened at 6:00 a.m.
As the co-pilot and "all-knowing one" of all things roads and roadside culture, I immediately felt guilty for not knowing this.
It probably took one second for me to turn around, but it felt like an eternity. I knew what was coming.
I looked and shook my head, likely saying the words "It's not open."
The response was immediate and volcanic.
"GO*DA*MIT!"
I got back in the car.
The ol' man, bless his weary heart, needed coffee and his HoJo's Big Breakfast (TM). Now, in the wilds of the lowland of South Carolina, we needed a plan B for the 17-hour drive back to Mahopac.
We eventually found a truck stop, thanks to those trusty roadside signs, and likely my I-95 book (yes. I really had one, and still do).
"Everybody OK with that?"
Who were we at that point to argue?
I think I had questionable pancakes.
I'd actually kill for those now.
Incidentally, my grandmother lasted roughly a week. I recall her telling my mother, "Tell Robbie I said goodbye. I mean, hello," when my mom visited her in the hospital. She died on March 7, 1983.
I wish this was my only thought on Walterboro, SC.
Sadly, today, it's not.
(UPDATE, April 19, 2019): It looks like RaNiya died of natural causes.
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