It’s summer time in World War II Virginia and livin ‘is easy – and hot as fire.
Where are you going to escape the heat?
The most famous swimming pool in the U.S. Route One between Richmond and Petersburg, is the most efficient escape point for the prevention of humidity and the change of dog days west of the Chesapeake Bay and the Atlantic Ocean. It was a mecca for locals who wanted a few happy hours and a vacation spot for guests from all over the world. The teens were drawn to its vast beach, sand, water-splitting, where struggling girls gathered to watch the boys, and a nearby dance hall that filled the evening air with Big Band music. Everyone who goes into the bathroom receives a split pin, and then uses it to take out their clothes after the shower. Nowadays, brass studs are taken care of by many seniors who wear them as lapel decorations.
Tommy Crump, whose parents bought the lake and surrounding houses in charge of several years working for R.D. Moore, a former owner, remembers that hundreds of families from as far away as North Carolina returned each year. Young people driving from north to Florida soon realized it was the right place to go and come. For locals, Lake Moore is a place to be seen. It was inevitable that day and night came and day approached, which led to incredible friendships. Many grew up.
The sturdy brick-and-mortar buildings built by Moore in 1929 were the perfect experience when George and Lena Crump started the business. Quickly renovated them by adding bathrooms. As anxiety eased and visitors came to enjoy their products and recipes, they rebuilt most of the woods in spices until they were 38. By 1941, they had built a restaurant and their fine brick home on the site.
When World War II broke out and Camp Lee near Petersburg resumed operations (renamed Fort Lee in 1950), some of the detained soldiers brought their families and moved into damaged homes in Moore’s Lake. Several of their wives found work delivering food to busy restaurants three times daily to house guests, neighbors, and security personnel starting their careers at the nearest police station. To provide financial support, the elderly children of the families who lived there helped in the war by making themselves useful as buses, dishwashers, gardeners, and rescuers.
Tommy Crump, now eighty-three, was walking there. She was supervised by a nurse as she drove her bike through the scenic streets to buy a delicious meal from the restaurant’s kitchen that serves visitors to Moore’s Brick Cottages and Moore’s Lake. Growing up in the closet her parents built, she learned to swim in the lake and admire the beauty and unique look of the house. It was only natural that she did not stray, but she chose to stay and raise her own children.
In 1970, he and his wife bought toilets, closer to fuel, and restaurants. Redesigned by Sylvester, the restaurant was to become a popular destination many miles around. Along with a mouthwatering mouthwatering meal that attracted people.
Moore’s Brick Cottages has flourished to the point of building a total of 95 cars located near the 95-car garage and the prestigious Jefferson Davis Highway, thereby enhancing the quality of the work. Thanks to some of the world’s largest roads, families have found an open lane. Since they were not able to go on vacation from their homes, visitors come from Boston to Miami for a short trip to the two-lane highway. As big hotels and hotels were scattered across Interstate to serve long-distance travelers, it was not long before Moore’s Brick Cottages became meaningless. The buildings were moved and those who came in the shower had the opportunity to save people from work. Nowadays the lake is like a nearby swimming pool.
Sylvester’s, however, made some progress. It worked well for a regular local customer until December 2004 when Tommy Crump sold the property to a manufacturer. Office warehouses and retail businesses that have been evacuated on the landfill have sent the town to Chester. Tommy watched with bright eyes as all but two of the buildings were damaged and their garbage which he used as a parking lot.
“I feel responsible for saving these last two as part of history,” he says. “I’m saving mine and moving to my property along the James River. I’m hoping that someone – or another small organization – will take the other one and save it for sale.”
Without taking it here, time is running out. Soon only the monuments of eternity will pass through a place still preserved by large, sweet trees awaiting destruction in the name of progress.