Doctor helped the children collect piles of lumber that washed up
onto Shell Island, then a vast wonderland of the thousands of shells it
was named for, and built a large lean-to that entertained them for days.
There were the fishing contests, the shrimping and crabbing devices
they conjured up (with Papa’s help) used at low tide in the Causeway,
shell painting, literally “cranking” out the ice cream, flashlights on the
beach (searching for night crawlers), surfing, riding scooters and sailing.
And, of course, there were the infamous Keeley Kite Races — 18 -20
kites in a row along the beach; the first one to keep it maxed out the
longest won. Occasional sabotage was expected and tolerated by the
older kids, but Doctor saw to it that the younger ones got a leg up: He
tickled the older ones until they could barely hold on to the string.
The Keeleys initially spent their summers at the Young apart-ments,
but as the family grew, they found themselves in various places
closer to Johnnie Mercer’s pier. Each of the children was allowed to
bring one cardboard tomato box filled with only the necessities. “We
needed a U-haul to get down here!” Bob says. Their boat of a station
wagon was stacked to the roof with cardboard boxes, each one labeled
with one of 15 names.
Every year, upon arrival, Bob would visit
Mr. Newell at Wrightsville’s iconic Newell’s
(where Wings is now) to furnish the annual
kite race. And, each year, he and Doctor
would try to persuade Mr. Newell to sell
the quaint cottage Newell and his wife
owned on the sound side of Atlanta Street.
“When are you going to move out and sell
that house to Polly and Dan?” Bob would
ask Mr. Newell. Finally, in 1974, Mr.
Newell’s answer was, “I’m ready.”
Left: Keeleys and cousins at WB. Right: Aunt Nina and Uncle
Bob at WB. Bottom: Uncle Bob counting fish.
“It was a dream come true,” says Bob.
The white, green-shuttered cottage at 7 West Atlanta Street, with
its giant, yellow kitchen table, faded shag carpet and sweeping porch
that sheltered generations became the meeting spot for the Keeleys
— the place where they made some of their fondest memories.
Doctor’s boat, the Polly B., became Uncle Bob’s nemesis. Uncle
Bob, who owned the Blue King, would rally the troops for the daily
6 a.m. fishing trip (that remains a ritual to this day). Doctor and
his crew would badger Uncle Bob and his crew over the radio, often
boasting about a catch they hadn’t yet caught.
When both boats returned, Uncle Bob and Doctor and their crews
would line up their fish on the chopping block on the pier to see
who caught the biggest one. The fish seemed endless back then. If
the catch dwindled, superstition prevailed. Aunt Nina and Grandma
became the lucky charms that brought in the fish. They would tease
Uncle Bob and Doctor that if the boys wanted to eat fish while they
42
WBM september 2010
were at the beach, they’d have to let the girls tag along to
show them how it’s done.
With the new house, came new
projects. “The grown-ups could make
anything seem like fun,” David, Keeley
number 11, says. Die-hard tinkerers,
Uncle Bob and Doctor could spend an
entire day working on a washing machine,
taking it apart just to see if they could
put it back together again. They worked
on fishing rods, bicycles and the infamous
Doctor and his crew would badger Uncle Bob and his crew over the radio,
often boasting about a catch they hadn’t yet caught.