Down The Shore

Beach Bums: Mrs. Avis and Cheryl,Me,Susie,Carl,Paul and Dad. Mom is taking the picture.

Everybody in South Jersey goes "down the shore" in the summer. Going "down the shore" means going to the beach. When you're "down the shore" you go to the beach, but you're always "down the shore".
We weren't regular shore-goers, at least not yet. Dad had taken me to Atlantic City when I was young. I remember going into big locker rooms where you left your clothes, and walking what seemed like miles to get to the beach. Dad covered me up in sand, and I didn't like that very much.
Dad had friends that lived in Brigantine and we visited them once and a while. They had a Basset hound named Junior, and it was always fun to go visit him. Brigantine was a surprise to me. I never expected towns down the shore to look like Woodbury Heights with lawns and sidewalks. I figured seashore towns would just be surrounded by sand dunes and marshes and the bay and all, so Brigantine really amazed me.
We stayed at a cottage in Avalon once too. A cedar shingled affair surrounded by reeds outside of town. Lots of bugs.
I never saw the point of going down the shore. We had the lake, and no bugs and it was just down the street, so what was the point of driving somewhere for over an hour when I could just hop on my bike and take a swim in only a few minutes?
This summer we would trek "down the shore" like everybody else.
Aunt Sis and Uncle Dan bought a house on the border between Strathmere and Sea Isle City.

Aunt Sis and Uncle Dan's house at Whale Beach

After all the storms and hurricanes between 1960 and '62 a lot of people were anxious to sell, so homes on or near the beach were pretty reasonable. Sea Isle city wasn't too well known, so property was even cheaper.
There were inexpensive places to rent right down the street from Aunt Sis and Uncle Dan, so Mom and Dad decided to rent one for a week. Mrs. Avis and Susie and Paul were coming with us as well.
So in August of 1963 we were heading down the shore for a week to stay on the second floor of a duplex just across the street from the ocean. Whale Beach it's called, and it's not a very developed place like Atlantic City or Wildwood or Cape May. There aren't any lifeguards or boardwalk, just a lot of sand and the ocean. Behind the place we're staying in is some kind of marshy area, and it's pretty rough. Aunt Sis and Uncle Dan's place has well water and boy does that water smell bad. The place smells like a swamp from the horrible well water they have to use. At first I try and make the best of it, and I figure going swimming every day won't be so bad. Well, I'm wrong. The ocean is cold most of the time, and you have to go out a ways to get beyond the shallows to be able to swim. I'm not too fond of salt water, and what's that going around my legs? There aren't even any decent sea shells to find.
Sand and sun and the ocean and that's it. Nothing else to do and nowhere else to go. The sand seems to get into everything, and I can't get used to that smell of brine and marshland and fish. After two days of this I can't wait to leave. There isn't much to do in Sea Isle City either. It's a small shore town, a low key place, and most people head for Wildwood for excitement. Dad's going to take us there towards the end of the week, a big blast before heading home. I could use that big blast after the third day.
I go crabbing with Dad and Carl and Paul. Big mistake. Throwing crab traps into the water and waiting in the sun is about as exciting as watching grass grow. It's hot and smelly from the bait, and there is absolutely nothing else to do. What's more, I hate the way crabs smell and I can't stand the way they taste. Every summer Mrs. Avis cooks crabs and spaghetti, and a more vile thing to do to perfectly good pasta I'll never understand. To me crabs taste the way they smell, and they smell like garbage. So here I am standing out in the hot sun watching crab traps. Not the way I want to spend the last month of summer I tell you. Dad makes a big mistake and doesn't put sun lotion on. The reflection from the water burns his legs and feet, and he's in a lot of pain at the end of the day. The adults pig out on crabs that evening, and I have to go and walk on the beach in order to breathe. How can anybody eat that stuff?
Another thing I don't like about this place is it's damp at night. I have trouble sleeping because everything feels wet. The sheets and pillowcases, the mattresses and I feel wet. There isn't any air-conditioning. We don't have it at home either, but we only have regular humidity, nothing like this. I listen to the ocean to try and lull myself to sleep. I sleep but not comfortably, and I wake up feeling wet.
Day after day of sand and sun and ocean smells. I miss the lake and my friend Steve Kay and the woods and the grass. Four days of this madness and I'm ready to go home.
Friday night and our trip to the Wildwood boardwalk can't come soon enough for me.
I like the boardwalk in Wildwood. I'm not too good on most of the rides though, because my fear of heights prevent me from enjoying what most people consider the really "good" ones. I try to ride a roller coaster type thing, but my stomach can't take it, so I don't try any more. The Fun House and the Horror House are really good, and we go into a joke and magic shop to buy fake vomit and melted popsicles and fake ice cubes with flies in them. This makes up for all the boredom during the week. If we're gonna go down the shore, why can't we stay here where there's stuff to do?
We have a blast in Wildwood, and our night on the boardwalk is the highlight of the week.
Saturday we start packing up and get ready to leave in the afternoon. I can't wait to get home and away from the smell and the sand and the monotony. Woodbury Heights, here I come. Back to the lake tomorrow and swimming in fresh warm water.
Well, that's over with. A week down the shore. My parents have gotten that out of their system, once is enough for me.
But on the drive home I hear them talking about doing it again next year...