Whose island is Johns Island? 

Part Two

Second of five parts: The many battles of one resident JOHNS ISLAND--Sam Brownlee decided more than 15 years ago to move from suburban James Island to the more rural island just across the Stono River. "It was just to get away from the hustle and bustle and increase our quality of life," he says. He and his wife built a home off Bohicket Road to get away from the traffic jams, the crowds, radio towers, and litter. Today, he finds it all coming back. "We're turning into another Mount Pleasant or James Island," he says. He is not taking it quietly. Brownlee is one of several islanders who make it their business to see that this increasing suburbanization doesn't ruin the island's character, the vague but emotional thing that lured them there in the first place. They face an increasingly difficult job. From zoning fights to fire protection to beautification work, Brownlee, now retired, estimates he spends 20 hours a week at public meetings, on the road or in other civic work. "I wish I got paid for what I did," he says, only half-jokingly. Charleston Mayor Joe Riley often says, "Eternal vigilance is the price of a livable city," meaning that residents must remain involved with local government to create the changes they want and prevent the ones they don't. Brownlee will tell you that moving out of the city is no time to slack off on vigilance. He is most concerned about the rising traffic volumes on the island's main roads, almost all of which are only two lanes, including Maybank Highway, the road that's evolving into the island's main commercial street. When Brownlee moved to Johns Island, 5,900 cars drove Maybank each day. The most recent figures show traffic has risen to 13,900, an increase of 130 percent. There are only two routes over the Stono River onto the island. Just a year ago, crossing meant risking delays at narrow drawbridges. Today, two new bridges soar over the river and eventually will be able to handle four lanes of traffic. Still, both currently empty onto two lane highways. "Each day, right now, the traffic keeps backing up at River Road and Maybank Highway. It's beginning to do the same thing at River and Main Road," Brownlee says. "Some say it's ridiculous not to open up the island to development because we've got those two new bridges, but you've got to get past those stoplights before you go anywhere." The inadequacy of the island's roads hit home three years ago, when islanders fled Hurricane Floyd. It took Brownlee three hours to go from Maybank Highway to St. Johns High School, "and that was only three miles. Three hours!" He knows extending the Mark Clark Expressway from West Ashley onto Johns Island and then to James Island will further tax the island's roads, particularly Maybank and River Road. "Everybody is going to empty into that one intersection. That's the problem I see down the road." Brownlee knows that widening the island's main highways will trigger a real fight in the community, pitting those who want to ease congestion against those wanting to preserve the island's scenery. It's unclear whether Johns Island wants the equivalent of the Hamptons on Long Island, where residents are determined to keep the main highway two lanes, even though it means bumper-to-bumper traffic, especially during the summer. Johns Island resident and farmer Thomas Legare, who often joins Brownlee and other residents speaking out about the island's development, agreed traffic is a major issue. "We're barely able to get on and off of Johns Island now," Legare said. Right now, traffic jams on the island are still rare, at least during much of the day, and Brownlee says that leads to another problem: speeding. "We've already had 11 people get killed this year on the island overall," he says, adding that he has seen four wrecks near his home on Bohicket Road. "Why? Speed. That's the only thing." The traffic is directly related to the island's ongoing development, and Brownlee knows that many subdivisions are in the works and that still more commuters will soon take to the island's narrow roads. Still, Brownlee knows it's unrealistic for islanders to think that they can shut down all growth to preserve what they've got. He understands that property owners have rights to develop their property, and Brownlee likes to see developments where homes are spread apart, not on top of each other. And he likes them separated from the road by clumps of trees. He doesn't buy the argument that denser development might mean less area developed, and he notes that the few examples of denser neighborhoods on the island haven't seemed to sell as well. Those moving to Johns Island most always want land, lots of it. One such example is James Skipper, a 62-year-old truck driver who moved with his wife from North Charleston to Johns Island four years ago. Their property not only includes their home, but also a large garden, seven goats, three ducks and 35 chickens. "I think if a man owns five acres of land, he should build what he wants to build on it," Skipper says. "It's not like being in the city. If you're in the city, I could see so many restrictions because there are so many people close together." "If you were my neighbor and you wanted to put a horse over here, I wouldn't open my mouth," he adds. "That's yours." As Brownlee sees the waves of development lapping across the island, he wants to ensure that it is spread out and that it is screened from the roads by trees and brush. That way, it's less noticeable. He cares deeply about the island's scenery. He has battled radio and cell-phone towers and achieved partial success: A few are 50 to 100 feet shorter than originally proposed. "This is another eyesore for me, these communications towers," he says. "We have 21 of them, more than any other island in the county." He personally landscaped the traffic island around Butcher Oak, on Main Road near the Limehouse Bridge, with about 50 plants, "and thieves stole all but five of them." He notes that the state considers Bohicket Road a scenic highway "but no one ever looks after it." During a recent drive down it, he points upward toward a foot-long shard, a piece of truck shorn off and embedded in a live oak branch. Nothing seems to bother him more than the highway department's mowing the sides of the highways before the trash is picked up, essentially shredding the a few pieces of litter into many more. "Our own worst enemy when it comes to litter is the highway department," he says. While Brownlee's island is changing, and while the pace of change might be picking up, at least he still feels he has something to fight for. "Unfortunately, the business I'm in, working with the community, I always have to address the negative issues," he says. "The positive ones will take care of themselves," he says. "All these years I've heard retirees bitching and moaning and groaning and thought, 'To hell with that,' " he says. "Well, I'm one of them bitching now."

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