I arrived in North Carolina in 1971, having lived in England, Ireland, Switzerland and Canada. In all those years (33) I never encountered such crass commercialism as I was subjected to in south Myrtle Beach last week. This was my 41st year at Myrtle Beach and will be the last. In addition to other travesties, a sea of parking meters at $1.50 an hour but worst of all, loud helicopters. Every 60 seconds over the beach. I couldn't even hear the waves.
I pity the poor residents who have to put up with it. I don't.
The writer lives in Matthews, N.C.