Bilmar Beach Resort marks full recovery a year after Hurricane Helene

Why it matters: That's no small thing for the 1960s-era Treasure Island landmark — and for a beach community that's still in recovery a year after back-to-back hurricanes.

• "I'll tell you what: This is back to normalcy," Treasure Island Mayor John Doctor said at a celebration of the Bilmar's last phase of reopening.

👋 Kathryn here. I attended the celebration at the invitation of general manager Clyde Smith, who is also an Axios Tampa Bay reader and member.

• Smith responded to my recent dispatch after a long walk on the beaches a year after Hurricane Helene, saying that he wished the story had included more success stories, like the Bilmar's.
• After hearing all Smith and his staff had been through, I understood why. It's a pretty moving story.

Flashback: As Hurricane Helene churned in the Gulf, a handful of employees sheltered at the hotel while Smith and his wife, Maria, hunkered down in their home about a mile away.

• At the same time he got the call that storm surge had breached the hotel, water began to seep into his home, first as a trickle, then a roar.
• The Smiths blew up a kayak and paddled away to safety at a neighbor's two-story home down the street. At the hotel, second-floor rooms facing into a courtyard shielded his staffers from the worst of it.

Yes, but: The next morning revealed the extent of the damage on the ground floor: The lobby and bar were destroyed. The pools were browned out.

• Furniture from the 33 first-floor rooms had been sucked out with the receding floodwater and strewn as far away as the Clock Tower a half-mile away.

Within 24 hours, a dozen employees and managers were on site, cleaning and carting away debris.

• Within a few days, they began serving drinks and sandwiches out of the resort's in-house restaurant, Sloppy Joe's on the Beach.

And thus began the Bilmar's pivot from beachside resort to post-disaster community hub.

• When Smith learned that Treasure Island firefighters, displaced from their flooded station, were sleeping on the floor at City Hall, he invited them to stay in the resort's higher-up rooms.
• As FEMA began coordinating temporary housing, the Bilmar became an evacuee village, giving refuge for an average of five months to displaced residents — including Smith and his wife. ("It was very interesting waking up at work every day," he told me.)
• When Thanksgiving rolled around, the Smiths, with help from a Tampa nonprofit, gave out 120 turkey dinners from the Sloppy Joe's patio.

Through it all, Smith and his staff worked out of a cramped hotel room and temporary front desk — even during the bumpy transition to welcoming regular guests back in February.

• Even so, Smith told me, he'd do it all again.
• "No question," he said. "And I probably would find a way to do it even more proactively."

The latest: Smith and his wife were able to move back into their home in August.

• And last week, he finally got his office back.