Post and Courier25%
The last tree carving done by a quirky Beaufort resident is cut down. His legacy will live on. 2%
By Tony Kukulich6%
7/30/2026, 10:00:00 PM
Topics: Topical
BS Summary: This article contains 5 faulty reasoning types, including Horn Effect, Confirmation Bias, and Halo Effect, with Framing Effect as the most egregious example at 4.7% saturation with 40 hits. Analysis detected 118 faulty-reasoning hits from 847 analyzed words, generating a BS Score of 7% and a BS Rank of 2% (22,580 of 22,840 articles). This article is better (less manipulative) than 98.90% of the article peer group.
BEAUFORT — Sometime in the 1950s, an enigmatic drifter blew into Beaufort.
In the years that followed, the man known to most only as Driftwood, would leave an impression on the town’s psyche.
Driftwood’s legacy extended beyond the metaphysical.
He left a nearly indelible physical mark on the town, carving faces in palm trees that lined the city streets.
The carvings were done in a Polynesian style that offered a rare clue into Driftwood’s past, which he intentionally cloaked in mystery.
“We all knew Driftwood.
He was always about town, pulling coins out of kids’ ears and telling lies for drinks at local bars,” said Gibbes McDowell, a lifelong resident of Beaufort who knew Driftwood.
Around 6 a.m. on July 28, the tree bearing the last surviving example of Driftwood’s work was cut down, a preemptive strike taken before an accident, age, disease or some other destructive force obliterated the folk art Driftwood left behind.
“Because the palm has reached the point where its long-term survival can no longer be assured, the city is taking proactive steps to save the artwork before it is lost to age or storms,” wrote City Manager Scot Marshall in his weekly update.
By the time morning rush hour got underway on July 28, the palm with the carving was gone.
A stump cut down to the grass was all that remained of the tree that stood on Boundary Street near where it intersects with Charles Street.
While the tree was gone, a section of the trunk with the carved face had been removed, wrapped in blanket and delivered to the McDowell home.
Over years, McDowell uncovered some of the mysteries of Driftwood’s life and wrote the book, “Driftwood Unmasked: The Man and the Legend.”
As he learned, the truth wasn’t all lollipops and rainbows.
“There was a lot pain behind the sparkle of his blue eyes,” McDowell said.
H.P.
Knox Corry
The coroner didn’t conduct an autopsy, McDowell said.
“They said he was just worn out.
No wife, no kids, no relatives.
They just stuck him in the ground,” he said with more than a hint of bitterness.
That could have easily been the end of Driftwood’s story, but fate intervened.
A book was discovered in a store where Driftwood sometimes did odd jobs.
Written inside was the name H.P Knox Corry.
The book made its way to McDowell, who suspected that he might have stumbled upon the first solid clue to Driftwood’s real name.
The inscription lined up with hints of Driftwood’s name heard over the years.
He’d sometimes been referred to as Corry, but, according to McDowell, people had assumed it was spelled Cory.
Some digging at the library uncovered the name Hugh Patrick Knox Corry.
McDowell had found his man.
Corry had been born in Belfast in 1909.
He emigrated to the U.S. and became a citizen, though it’s unknown what motivated the move.
At the onset of World War II, he lost two brothers fighting the Nazis, and Driftwood, at 34 years of age, joined the U.S.
Navy.
Sailing to the South Pacific aboard the U.S.S.
Bailey, his ship saw extensive combat throughout the entirety of the war, which took its toll on Corry.
“He could have been the poster boy for PTSD, back when they called it shell shock,” McDowell said.
After the war, Corry was adrift.
He worked for a railroad line, and that job brought him to Beaufort.
“He hopped the train, and here he was.
He walked to the end of the world, which would have been Harbor Island,” McDowell said.
McDowell grew up in Beaufort and knew Driftwood, though even then he had an inkling that there was more going on behind the footloose, free spirit.
Driftwood, he said, had a habit of grabbing people by the forearm and pulling them nose to nose with him when shaking their hand.
“You’re looking in those tortured blue eyes, and you can sort of tell that whatever this guy is selling, you don’t want any of it,” McDowell said.
The legacy
It’s hard to read the expression on the face Driftwood carved.
It seems to change depending on the angle from which it’s viewed.
The Polynesian influence is undeniable, an influence McDowell surmised Corry absorbed during his time in the South Pacific.
The carving currently sits on the porch of the McDowell home waiting for a preservation effort to start.
Fleetwood McDowell, Gibbes McDowell’s wife, said she thought the carving would be happier on the porch than in the air conditioning.
“The tree doesn’t know it’s not a tree anymore.
It’s still getting used to not having a root system,” she said, adding half jokingly that she thought the carving moved six inches on its own during its first night in its temporary home.
“After the whole war experience, he just closed the door on one life and walked through the door of another.
He left it all behind,” he said.
Reach Tony Kukulich at 843-709-8929.
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