Panama City Beach Police Chief: ‘We Can No Longer Be a Spring Break Town.’

The mating call, in actuality, was little more than a rather primal wide-open-mouthed yell from the male, answered with a lacerating scream from the female. It was the most readily available type of communication and it suited everyone just fine. It was Spring Break 1982, and I was perched in a little guard shack at the entrance to a resort on Panama City Beach, Fla. The endless parade of hot rods, bikes, trucks, and vans streamed by with speakers blasting 1980s arena rock while college students in various stages of sunburned skin and alcohol-fueled shenanigans enjoyed their yearly pilgrimage to “The World’s Most Beautiful Beaches.” Working security during the day and as a private detective in the evenings, I perceived laid-back, carefree vacationers whose itineraries

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