Myrtle Beach was always a gold-rush territory. Big ideas and risky ventures have ever-permeated the atmosphere. It started back with the turpentine industry and commercial agriculture before the turn of the century; hence the original name of the biggest business in town, Myrtle Beach Farms, now called Burroughs and Chapin.
Myrtle Beach Farms used to be the breadbasket of Conway and much of Horry County. Not that I know about farming—other than all the farmers I know are compulsive gamblers. They bet it all each year on the if-come of seeds they put in the ground, and then pray for rain (but not too much), and spend all summer sweating the wheel of fortune, watching it turn with the weather, waiting to see if the crop is a bust or a jackpot.
Myrtle Beach always had that feeling about it: that here the seeds of big ideas—in and of themselves—are golden, without a tangible sprout of value beyond the imagination. If you can dream it in Myrtle Beach, and dream it big enough, there’s probably a gold-rush-minded banker around here who’ll listen to you.