It’s summer in pre-World War II Virginia and life is easy and hot.
Where do you go to escape the heat?
Moore’s Lake!
The popular swimming hole just off US Route One between Richmond and Petersburg, was the most refreshing refuge from the humidity and sweltering dog days west of the Chesapeake Bay and the Atlantic Ocean. It was a mecca for locals seeking a few hours of relief for the injured, and a major vacation destination for tourists from around the state. People were drawn to its huge sandy beach, the water slides, the high diving board where laughing girls congregated to watch the boys show off, and the adjacent dance hall that filled the night air with Big Band tunes. . Everyone who entered the bathhouse received a distinctive pin, which they later wore to retrieve their clothes after swimming. Today, brass pins are prized by many veterans who wear them as lapel pins.
Tommy Crump, whose parents bought the lake and surrounding cabins after working for several years for RD Moore, the original owner, remembers hundreds of families from as far away as North Carolina returning year after year. People driving from north to Florida soon realized that it was the ideal stopover for the night both on the way and back. For locals, Moore’s Lake was the place to be and be seen. It was inevitable that sunny afternoons and moonlit nights were responsible for countless romances. Many flourished in marriage.
The solid brick and stone cabins that Moore built in 1929 were the epitome of luxury when George and Lena Crump took over the business. They quickly modernized them further by adding bathrooms. As the Depression ebbed and tourists clamored to enjoy its comforts and jungle surroundings, they built more cabins in the fragrant woods, bringing the number to 38. By 1941, they had erected a restaurant and their own comfortable brick home on the property.
When World War II broke out and Camp Lee was reactivated in nearby Petersburg (it was renamed Fort Lee in 1950), some of the servicemen stationed there brought their families and put them up in cabins on Moore’s Lake. Several of his wives found jobs as waitresses at the busy restaurant that served three meals a day to cabin guests, local residents and defense workers on their way to work at nearby military installations. To defray expenses, the older sons of the service families who stayed there contributed to the war effort by making themselves useful as busboys, dishwashers, gardeners, and lifeguards.
Tommy Crump, now 68, was a little boy then. He was closely supervised by a babysitter as he rode his tricycle along the picturesque lanes to claim a tasty treat from the kitchen of the restaurant that catered to guests of Moore’s Brick Cottages and Moore’s Lake. Growing up in the spacious home his parents built, he learned to swim in the lake and appreciate the beauty and unique surroundings of the property. It was only natural that he never strayed, but he decided to stay and raise his own children there.
In 1970, he and his wife purchased the cabins, the adjacent gas station, and the restaurant. Renamed Sylvester’s, the restaurant was destined to become the most popular restaurant for miles around. Along with a delicious prime rib dinner that drew crowds, the menu featured succulent seafood, savory soups, croissant-wiches, stuffed potatoes and delicious house-made desserts, including a double-chocolate silken cake and warm fruit tart.
Moore’s Brick Cottages prospered until the construction of nearby Interstate 95 drew cars and trucks away from the venerable Jefferson Davis Highway, cementing the fate of the operation. With the advent of high-speed highways across the country, families discovered the appeal of the open road. No longer content to vacation a short distance from home, tourists traveled from Boston to Miami in a fraction of the time it would take to travel the outdated two-lane highway. When large motels and hotels sprung up along the interstate to serve long-distance travelers, it wasn’t long before Moore’s Brick Cottages became superfluous. Buildings fell into disrepair and those who came to swim took risks without lifeguards on duty. Today, the lake is little more than an untended neighborhood swimming hole.
Sylvester’s, however, continued to prosper. It catered to a loyal local clientele until December 2004 when Tommy Crump sold the property to a developer. The office park and retail businesses that spring up on the razed land will serve the City of Chester. Tommy watched through tearful eyes as all but two of the quaint cabins were demolished and their debris used as fill for the parking lot.
“I feel an obligation to save these last two as part of the story,” he says. “I’m keeping one for myself and moving it to my property along the James River. I’m hoping someone, or some interested organization, will take the other one and keep it for posterity.”
With no takers yet, time is running out. Soon, only the ghosts of the happy days of the past will haunt the property that is still protected by gigantic, aromatic trees waiting to be destroyed in the name of progress.