Preservation Mississippi: MiMo No Mo? The Sun-n-Sand in Downtown Jackson Needs Our Help

The iconic sign is a Jackson landmark
in itself

When R.E. “Dumas” Milner opened the Sun-n-Sand in downtown Jackson in October 1960 the age of the shiny new “motor hotel” was in full swing. In spite of major renovations at Milner’s King Edward on West Capitol Street, Milner sensed the transition in the popular mind from the formality of grand hotels like the King Edward to places more in keeping with the age of the automobile. Thus, the Sun-n-Sand was born. The name is a curiosity, best explained by the presence of another Sun-n-Sand in Biloxi on the Mississippi Coast. Never mind the absence of sand on Lamar Street, the hotel would be filled with a jaunty Polynesian tiki torch ambiance in keeping with the contemporary rage for all things suggesting the South Pacific.

Milner’s space-age motel came replete with meeting rooms with exotic names like the Polynesian, Bali Hai and the Kon Tiki. Its lobby and public areas were decked out in turquoise, pink and an almost lurid shade of orange. The rooms also featured turquoise draperies and shag carpet in colors ranging from rust brown to lime green. It was nothing if not colorful.

Perhaps best known as a second home to the members of the state legislature, the Sun-n-Sand’s siren call was cheap rooms and its proximity to the new capitol building, only a block away. The members of the House made their homes there while the House was in session. It became something of a club for them, even if more than a few legislators had to get their sustenance from the crackers and bologna thoughtfully placed in a corner of the lobby each night. These were the days before lobbyists had infiltrated politics to the extent that such simple fare would do. Not that the bright little coffee shop with its turquoise vinyl banquettes didn’t do a brisk business. It remained popular until the hotel closed in October 2001.

No “sandbox” for the politicos would be really successful without the presence of libations. The hotel didn’t have a bar until the legislature repealed the liquor laws in 1965. “Ye Olde Sandbox” was ready for them with a river of whiskey and umbrella drinks for all. Not that liquor wasn’t there before in abundance…the proverbial (and literally) smoke filled rooms were well-provided with liquor on the down low all along. The legislators hosted barbecue parties outside by the heated pool and nobody really minded the thin walls or the almost wondrously tacky decor. It was a sort of fraternity house for them and they were reluctant to leave when the place finally closed its doors.

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Another Vanishing Civil Rights Landmark

On my recent trip to the Delta, I decided to take the county road north of Greenwood, instead of Highway 49. I wanted to check on the old Bryant Grocery Store in the Money community to see if it was still hanging on. The answer, I guess, is both yes and no.

Passing this building on the highway without knowing its story, you probably wouldn’t give it a moment’s thought–a typical brick two-story commercial building common to the early 20th century and usually forming the heart of rural communities. In this case, the building is so far gone down the road of collapse that you might experience a glimmer of melancholy at the decline of our agricultural communities. But this seemingly insignificant and decaying building is at the center of one of the most important stories in our state’s recent history: it was the site of the beginning of the Emmett Till saga, a murder of a young black teenager that brought the world’s attention to the violent racism that was all too common in Mississippi and in the South generally.

PIM