Many Pinellas beach residents, businesses resent islands reopening after Helene - MASHAHER

PASS-A-GRILLE — Driving through Pinellas beach towns battered by Hurricane Helene feels like something out of an apocalypse movie. There’s a burned-up shell of a Tesla in an otherwise vacant parking lot. A block over, crumpled garage doors and toppled-over fences. In front of most homes, residents have stacked ever-growing piles of flood-ruined furniture high on the curb.

Sand dunes as tall as streetlights lined both sides of the roads on Tuesday afternoon, blocking the sightline to sparkling water and an empty shoreline. One truth of the beach remained the same: Finding somewhere to park was a challenge.

At 4 p.m. Tuesday, Pinellas County’s barrier islands and beaches reopened to the general public for the first time following the hurricane. It was a controversial decision that has upset many residents, from influencers to elected officials.

“It’s just a nightmare, not to mention a safety issue,” said Maggie LeBlanc, owner of the Coconut Inn. “We’ve already got people that managed to get in that are picking through the garbage… We’ve had some looting. I feel like it’s unnecessary.”

With most restaurants and businesses still cleaning up, tourists have few places to go.

“Every building, every house has been affected,” said Jennifer McMahon, assistant city manager of St. Pete Beach. “Just come here if you have to.”

McMahon stopped by the Brass Monkey to drop off extra food from the Red Cross. Not that the restaurant was open — nothing on Gulf Way was. But it did have power and a working refrigerator.

She pulled out her phone to show pictures of St. Pete Beach, where she said the sand was littered with dead sea turtles.

“The amount of debris is unsafe. You’re not going to want to walk without shoes,” she said, zooming in. “You wanna lay out on that?”

Rick Falkenstein, owner of the Hurricane Seafood Restaurant, stood outside of his business on the empty street. The only sounds came from a helicopter buzzing in the distance.

Days before, Falkenstein watched on his security cameras as Gulf Way turned into a “raging river.”

“I was shocked when they said it would reopen,” he said. “There’s no sense bringing people out here now. Where can they go?”

Falkenstein said the Keystone Motel, which his grandfather opened next door in 1945, has been calling customers to push back reservations. They consider themselves lucky to have only gotten a few inches of flooding.

Before that, he said, “we’ve never had any water in the rooms except for flip flops.”

Around the corner at the shops of Eighth Avenue, Isabelle Donnelly waved over a mountain of wet T-shirts, lamps and posters.

“The dumpster was full the first day,” she said, hoping the city would come remove the garbage soon.

Donnelly said people should only visit if they plan to help.

“We’re all covered in sewer water and trash,” she said. “We don’t need more trash.”

Her cousin, Amy Loughery, who owns Bamboozle, Etc., said most business owners weren’t pleased about the reopening. Loughery appreciates that the city listened to concerns and blocked off the commercial district.

“Your stuff is saturated with smelly crap, but then you push it out to the curb and then it stinks up the street,” Loughery said. “It looks horrible, but it’ll look better in two weeks.”

Across the street, country music spilled out of Shadrack’s. The TVs were still out, and only half of the building had air conditioning. But the bar was packed with locals from nearby homes and businesses.

“This is the only alive place on the island,” said Sophie Newman, sitting at the bar in front of her laptop.

A week ago, Newman was still a server at the Seahorse Restaurant. Since Helene destroyed their building, she’s been spending her time helping neighbors fill out FEMA applications.

“It’s not as bad as people think it would be,” she said. “But people get overwhelmed.”

Newman sipped from a $2 can of Busch Light — a Shadrack’s speciality.

“We’re on a hurricane budget, you know,” she said.

Around her, patrons half-joked, half-warned each other about flesh-eating bacteria. Conversations stopped as the bar counted down, New Year’s Eve-style, to 5 p.m.

“I’m glad they reopened the beach. I’m a little different from most people,” said owner Scott Sugden. “I believe most of the people who are coming out want to be helpful.”

Sugden said when he drove over Tuesday, around the time when the beaches reopened, there was only one car next to him on the bridge.

“[The sand] moved a couple of blocks. We’re going to move it right back,” he said. “It’s still Pass-a-Grille. One of the best beaches in the world.”

Further north, an eye-watering smell blanketed the 22nd Avenue beach access point. Imagine red tide mixed with roasting trash and the hottest day at a zoo’s ape enclosure.

Maybe 10 people roamed the sand in a daze, spread far away from each other. No one laid out or swam.

Past coconuts and trash and gobs of seaweed, Irene Likokas stooped to pick through the shells. Many had critters still inside. She tossed the survivors she could find back into the water.

Likokas lives in South Pasadena with her husband, where the hurricane caused some damage to their vehicles. She feels lucky, especially after the drive over.

“The devastation is tremendous,” she said. “People’s houses are on their sidewalks now.”

She wants to be positive. Perhaps the restoration efforts could help the local economy, with people buying new furniture and cars.

“We’re from Brooklyn,” she said. “Even with a hurricane, it’s better here.”

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