Echoes of LBI Midsummer Dream Edition 2012

Echoes of LB I Magazine

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2012 MidSummer Dream Edition

Long Beach Island Arts and Lifestyle Magazine

Copyright: johnmar tinelliphotography.com

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Publisher’s Note

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. elcome back to another LBI summer!

The ocean and bay are our constant companions. White sand, blue water, and soft winds remind us to slow down and live in the moment.

Days filled with sunshine, surfing, kayaking, fishing, crabbing, and more await you.

Miniature golf, a daily treat of ice cream, and an extra hour or two before bedtime make a Jersey Shore vacation memorable. Consider a new adventure such as pedaling the bike route in Ship Bottom that loops under the causeway bridge. It’s a safe and fun trek off the beaten path that winds up on Shore Ave. While enjoying the outdoor fun, it’s important to remember the rules for keeping us safe.

Many people work hard make sure summer is enjoyable for everyone. We have the best police, lifeguards, volunteer firefighters and ambulance services any community could hope for. They are there when we need them and are committed to making LBI safe for all.

Take the time to say hello. You’ll be reminded how much it can mean. Just the other day on my daily stroll, I said “Good morning” to a woman passing by. She walked on, then two seconds later turned around to say hello. She told me no stranger had ever wished her a good morning and that I had surprised her. I was equally surprised that no one had offered up a smile and hello because we Islanders are usually such a friendly bunch. As the woman and I conversed, we realized that we weren’t strangers after all. My great-uncle, Dr. Ralph Van Meter, had delivered her first two children!

Long Beach Island will host its first Conch Horn Blowing Contest on September 29.

There’s an effort under way to break a Guinness World Record. In order to set a new record, we need 300 adults to simultaneously blow conch horns. Please spread the word and start practicing. Your sound need not be perfect; the numbers just have to be big! So mark your calendar and give yourself a reason to visit us in the fall. That weekend also features the Mini Sea Glass event at Things A Drift and, of course, the Chowderfest. Stop in Things A Drift for more details.

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Time now to venture out into the sunshine. Smile and say hello. It’s a contagious gesture that’s good for your health. And remember to check us out on Facebook.

Have a nice sunset!

Cheryl Kirby, Publisher

Back Row, L to R: Ottavio Lazzarato, Chelsea Stulga, Marcy Burns, Rena DiNeno, Ron Marr, Diane Roy, Robert Roy, Eileen Moon, Janice Burke, JoAnn Montrey, Gay Adelmann, Patrice Albanese, Ed Heitman, Carol Freas Front Row, L to R: Donna Bradley, Diana Showenbach, Karen Larson, Merry Simmons, Arlene Schragger Marjorie Amon photo

First In —

Marjorie Amon photo

T a n k s

& T r u n k s All bathing suits on loan from the Beach Haven Maritime Museum, LBI Historical Association, Barnegat Light Historic Museum, SurfLight Theater, School Of Vintage and Ship Bottom Antiques on the bay.

Page 80 for the rest of the story ...

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art, 8

photography, 14 living well, 24 poetry, 30 legends and lore, 36 lifestyle, 38 marine science, 64 50 and counting, 68 looking back, 77 a shore thing, 88 Echoes of LBI Magazine

Cheryl Kirby - Owner & Publisher • 609-361-1668 • 406 Long Beach Blvd • Ship Bottom All content of magazine & website remains copyright of Cheryl Kirby. No part of publication may be reproduced.

Advertisers: People collect Echoes of LBI - your ad has the potential to be seen over & over again for years to come! EchoesofLBI.com Email articles on history, nostalgia, poetry or art to: EchoesofLBI@gmail.com Magazine Designer - Pete Milnes • Chief Copy Editor - Kevin M. Rooney • Assist. Copy Editor - Joyce Hager Assit. Editor - Christine Rooney • Photographer - Marjorie Amon • Andy Kitchen Graphic Designer/Pre-Press - Vickie VanDoren • Contributing Editors - Rena DiNeno, Maggie O'Neill, Ryan Marchese, Diane Stulga, Rosmary Sprouls • Sara Caruso

Echoes of LBI

Cover photo: Jim O’Connor: See Art section for Jim’s bio and shell description

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Marjorie Amon photo. Left to right: Brianna Reigstad, Alexa Reigstad, Lauren Gleason, Samantha Walters, Rachel Simons, Chelsea Stulga, Emily Pagnotta, Carly Stephanick, Alicia Purtell, Grace Debiase, Juli Ritacco, Payton Paciotti, Julia Bogaenko, Tyler Murphy, Audrey Pagnotta, Shauna Gleason, Capri Laurence, Barbara Frace, Brittany Beltramo

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Art

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“Painting” the Old Shack ...

ow many artists does it take to ‘paint’ the old shack?” Jane Law asked this question (and included the Barnegat Light house) of many artists during one of her most popular annual art events. Although Jane’s recent death has left the island missing one of its greatest art “treasures”, her legacy lives on through the many artists whose lives she has touched. The shack itself is a mere skeleton of its former self, yet artists continue to immortalize it in their paintings.

The shack depicted in this scene looks very similar to many others done in watercolor over the years, but this building is different in one way. Instead of using paints, the shack was “shingled’ with tiny pieces of material recycled from nature. The weathered shingles were originally part of a much larger wasp nest, then cut into tiny squares with embroidery scissors and carefully glued into place. The striations in the squares resemble the real shingles as they were subjected to the wind and the surf.

Originally a traditional watercolor painter for many years, the artist has included many other elements from the natural world into her mixed media pieces. Some of her paintings incorporated various species of seaweed found on Long Beach Island and other East Coast beaches, to depict mermaids’ hair. In other pieces, she used crushed jingle shells or baby conch shells to add realistic dimension to a piece. Her art quilts and sculptural pieces also utilize other sea “junk” such as dried conch shell casings, sea sponges or even a dried Blue Bottle Portuguese Man of War jellyfish. — Cindy Andes text & Art • Page 8 • Echoes of LBI

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Art

“I tried to paint a shell. The shell won. Like all nature, you can’t reproduce it. It is. All I could do was use a bit of imagination, which paled next to the real thing.” — Shell Art and Text by Art Liebeinski

Page 10 • Echoes of LBI

Ed Luterio art

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Cover Shell Description

arp shells are a favorite of avid collectors. While they are not typically among the first shells in a collection due to their infrequency, harp shells are widely sought after because of their bright and sharply contrasting colors. The Harpa major is particularly bright, with wide raised bands (or ribs) and blotches of red, orange, and brown in a zigzag pattern. Its deep axial ribs are suggestive of the strings of a harp, giving the group it’s name. Harpa major is a marine gastropod mollusk and a predatory sea snail, feeding mostly on crabs and shrimp.

They typically live in sand, are common in the Indian and Pacific oceans, and range in size from 2 – 3 1/5 inches.

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he shinbone tibia (Tibia fusus) is a marine gastropod and a member of the Strombibae family, the true conch shell. While the tibia fusus is a very common shell, it is highly prized by collectors because of its interesting spindle shape. Due to its extremely delicate, long, needle-like siphonal canal, it is rare to find one in perfect condition. Tibia shells range in color from light tan to a medium brown, with some white and cream on the underside of the shell, and grow to a length of up to 9½ inches.

They are typically found near Australia and New Zealand and usually live in sand in deep, off shore waters.

Karen Bagnard art

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Cover Photographer - Jim O’Connor

im O’Connor has more than 20 years of sports photography, graphic design and photojournalism experience.

He is dedicated to providing a complete range of sports photographic and design services from design to printing.

At the collegiate level his clients include Division I, II and III schools as well as three Athletic Conferences. At the professional level he has been the official photographer for the New Jersey Pride (professional lacrosse) and the Offshore Performance Association (Offshore Power Boat Racing). He is a contributing photographer to US Lacrosse and Inside Lacrosse Magazines. Jim shoots NFL, NBA, NHL and NCAA sports for US PRESSWIRE. His photography is regularly featured in Sports Illustrated, ESPN the Magazine, USA Today, NFL Publications, The Sporting News, US Lacrosse, Inside Lacrosse, CBS Sports Line, Yahoo Sports, and ESPN.com to name a few.•

Art

Robert Klein art

Tom Seiz art Every summer my family would visit Barnegat Light and along with my brother and sister, we would conduct a similar search to see what mysteries we could uncover. The tidal pools would form as the tide went through it’s changes and sometimes a rock would be turned and a small crab would dart out, claws at the ready to defend it’s turf.

Other times we would see baby flounder, swimming at the bottom of the pool. Every child should get a chance to explore to see the large variety of sea life that abounds in these pools. One of my favorite stops when I visit the Barnegat Lighthouse. — Tom Seiz • Page 12 • Echoes of LBI

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Photography PhotoFourtyTwo photo

Photography

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Scott-Palmeri photo

Carol Krom photo

Richard Claffee photo

Photography

Page 18 • Echoes of LBI

Andy Kitchen photo

Robert Sakson and Carol Freas artwork.

All artwork available at Things A Drift in Ship Bottom, N.J.

Photography

Echoes of beach days gone by ...

Page 20 • Echoes of LBI

Kimberly Pepenella at the Magnolia House. Marjorie Amon photo

Photography Storm Watch - Pete Milnes photo

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tarfish, or Sea Stars, found along the Jersey Shore can grow up to about 12 inches across and are found in tide pools, bay bottoms, pilings, rocky shores or near jetties. They are related to sea urchins, sand dollars and sea cucumbers. Sea Stars have five arms and the bright orange dot near the center of the body is not any eye, but is used to pump water into the body of the Sea Star. It also uses its suction tubes to wrap around clams to pull the shells apart, then eats the inside of the clam. A Sea Star can eat about 50 young clams per week, breed in the Spring and can produce approximately 2,500,000 eggs each year. This salt water crawler can be harvested for fertilizer and poultry feed, or more commonly seen as decorations atop Christmas trees and above a coastal fanatics window or door.

Pete Milnes Jr. text & photo

Page 20 22 •• Echoes Echoes of of LBI LBI Page

Living Well

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Deliverance ...

ake a second and think about a sigh of relief, the exhalation that comes seconds after you realize life has mistakenly pushed the panic button and turned your spine into a garden hose.

Always in slow motion, the panic sets in as you mouth a silent scream, gulp for air, and stoically forego hysteria while your stomach rides the world’s tallest water slide. But then, on those charmed days, you suddenly discover that you didn’t flush your contact down the toilet, that the credit card bill is actually due next week, not last, or that the nice policeman isn’t pulling you over for speeding, he’s chasing the guy in front of you. Think about that sigh of relief, the steady breathing that unties knots.

It’s a complete reversal of fortune.

Now think about this: does the same feeling happen when you finally arrive on LBI? Albert Gomez, a Beach Haven resident and local business owner, drawls out a passionate “OH YEAH!” upon his arrivals. Albert’s lifelong passion for surfing compels him to leave LBI’s alluring shores for three months each winter to surf in Hawaii, but he’s always exhilarated to see the Island again. “When I’m crossing the Causeway after I’ve been away for a while, for the winter months, once I’m here its always good. Oh yeah,” he responded, with closed eyes and a Cheshire Cat grin. I began to wonder about that moment. Is it the same for me? When does it happen? I, too, then closed my eyes and pictured the Causeway.

Our gateway to LBI, the Causeway, isn’t the longest or most spectacular bridge I have ever crossed. The view from the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel in Virginia at sunset is auroral, simply breathtaking. And when I used to walk across the George Washington Bridge before attending Yankee games, the exhilarating buzz of looming New York City always added a spring to my step.

So totally dissimilar is the LBI Causeway: It does not take my breath away; it gives it back to me. When I approach it, I begin to de-stress, to unwind, to smile. It is the signal that I am almost home, soon to be refreshed by salt and sea, practically at ease.

This bridge is my relaxation trigger, and, more times than not, when my husband and daughter are in the car, one of us cries out — “Top of the world!” — as we summit its crown. On occasion, someone opens the sunroof and waves happy hands to clearly dramatize the exclamation.

Why does the Causeway elicit such a reaction from us?

Clearly, Albert understands. But does my elderly neighbor down the street share my joy? Do brief visitors open their sunroofs and exclaim, “Top of the World?” Is the Causeway the

landmark that unloads all burdens — for everyone — even if just temporarily? How do other residents and visitors feel when they reach that peak and descend onto an island like no other?

For many who must battle the steaming Parkway and trudge along traffic ridden Route 72, perhaps the Causeway is not the visual that inspires the first cleansing breath — the exhalation that releases the vice-like grip on the steering wheel. Perhaps it takes the rest of the first day — after unpacking the car, feeding hungry kids, and changing into beach togs — for some visitors to notice the breeze, the gulls, or a waving neighbor and, finally, to sigh.

Robert Pastore, a sales rep for an art directory, The Workbook, was sipping a cocktail at The Bayberry Inn in Ship Bottom on Memorial Day when I ran my series of questions past him. Bob visits LBI from his home in Westchester, New York at least twice each summer and usually rents a house on the south end of the Island for his family. He contends that the Causeway is his landmark, too. “Once I cross the Causeway, I feel like I live here; I don’t, but it feels like I have a house here,” he says, as he furrowed his brow a bit, but then brightened. “I even have a neighborhood. It starts south of the ACME,” he conjectured, looking more than mollified. He was on LBI and elated.

Emboldened by his answers, I scurried around the bar and met the Reillys, a couple who purchased a house in Ship Bottom just last year. “When we cross the bridge, we hold hands. We just breathe in a whole different world on the other side. And we’re just an hour from our home in Freehold,” said Tom. And I met other people who put their windows down when they reach the bridge. “That’s when you first smell the salt,” said Ronna Kane, a visitor from Moorestown, N.J. But what about the year round residents? Do they still feel it?

I asked Noreen Stelletell, a congenial octogenarian from Ship Bottom. Noreen used to visit LBI as a child. “My grandmother had a house in Tuckerton, and it was a great treat to visit Long Beach Island once in a purple moon,” she said, smiling with the almost identical daydreaming look I’d seen on every other respondent’s face. “When my husband came here to look for a place, I told the realtor, ‘Don’t let him leave without purchasing a home,’ and he bought this,” Noreen said, as she gestured around her homey cottage, a classic beach house — tight, tidy, and welcoming. “Its a nice happy place to be. We bought in 1977. I still have the ‘77 beach badges on my windowsill,” she pointed out. And the Causeway? How does Noreen feel about the Causeway? “The bridge brings me here, to Ship Bottom, where I found my piece of heaven.” — Rosemarie Sprouls • Rosemarie Sprouls photo

Page 24 • Echoes of LBI

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Living Well

Old Jameson whisky ad

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Whiskey,Whisky

here are more songs written about whiskey than just about anything else, except, of course, love. A song about both whiskey and love is called the blues. There are as many whiskey nicknames as there are whiskey songs.

Moonshine, hooch, firewater, white lightning, and poteen are just a few. The term “whisky” has its ancestral roots in the Gaelic word “uisce.” The Irish translation from Gaelic was “uisce beatha” and the Scottish from Gaelic was “uisge beatha.”

Both the original name and the subsequent translations all hint at the elixir being “lively water” or “water of life.” Eventually, the name was anglicized into whisky or whiskey. Americans and the Irish generally use the “whiskey” spelling, while the Scots, Canadians, and others usually prefer “whisky.” Either way, it is a type of distilled alcohol made from fermented grain mash.

The different varieties of whiskey are due to the different types of fermented grains used: barley, malted barley, rye, malted rye, wheat, or corn. It is aged in wooden casks that are generally of charred oak.

We can probably thank monks for the wide spread production of whiskey. Most historians believe that monks in various monasteries distilled aqua vitae (“water of life”), primarily for making medical compounds, of which the grain based whiskey was one. Got to love those monks! Beer, wine, and whiskey are all tied to their forward thinking on the use of alcohol as early medicine.

That is a simple, very condensed background. And, if you think the early Gaelic pronunciation is complicated, it is nothing compared to understanding all that goes into distilling a fine, aged whiskey. A full discussion of its history, how each brand is distilled, and why individual blends are made from select grains would fill volumes.

Page 26 • Echoes of LBI

Since I am not a whiskey drinker, I decided to do some journalistic research and see what I could find out about its consumption on LBI. I was curious to hear how whiskey fared as a drink of choice during the summer. Can it compete with blender drinks, chilled white wine, or vodka mixed with tonic and a fresh lemon? What I found out is that whiskey is quite the little beach drink on LBI. According to the in-depth reporting done by herself, our local drinkers seem to prefer whiskey from Ireland, Scotland, and the USA (specifically, the state of Tennessee). While many other countries, such as Canada, produce fine whiskey, the blends from these three regions are served most often on LBI. The merits of single malt, single barrel, age, blends, barley, corn, black label, blue label, scotch, bourbon or rye were debated by everyone at the two research sites I visited. I learned all scotch and rye blends are whiskies, but not all whiskies are scotch or rye. I also learned that the price of different brands ranges from affordable to astronomical — poteen to gold, so to speak.

Starting off, I had doubts that whiskey drinkers would be easy to find on a warm, summer Sunday. I decided to begin my investigation with the most logical choice for information: E. J. Callahan’s bar and restaurant in Surf City, our only authentic Irish establishment.

Theresa was tending bar and was happy to help me with my research. Callahan’s serves a lot of Irish coffee, and its kick comes from Jameson Irish Whiskey. They also serve a concoction called the Irish Wiggy Wacker. This is a blend of Baileys, Frangelico, Irish whiskey, and coffee. The difficult part is pronouncing it after drinking one.

Another popular request at Callahan’s is for a Manhattan or a

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Living Well

Rob Roy, a drink made with whiskey and vermouth. The Rob Squires only, and are even asked permission for others to cross Roy is similar to a Manhattan, but is made exclusively with over your inch of land when the occasion arises. He prefers to Scotch whisky. The Manhattan is traditionally made with rye drink “Gentleman Jack,” a special Jack Daniels blend first sold and often with bourbon or Canadian whisky. in 1988, which only a few bars have on hand.

Theresa pointed out an array of top brands: Tullamore Dew, Soon, the conversation included everyone at the bar. Ray and Macallan, Glenfiddich, Glenlivet, Brendan talked of Johnnie Walker Black Maker’s Mark, and the aforementioned and Maker’s Mark. Lonnie said his “go Jameson were all represented. to” whiskey was Johnnie Walker Blue, I met Dan and Debbie at the bar. but added that Double Black was a nice They had just closed on their new scotch for the money. By now, my head beach house. I welcomed them to LBI was swimming with Black, Red, Green, and we started to chat. Dan had been Gold, and the many other colors of differa bartender and knew quite a bit about ent whiskey labels, all signifying the level whiskey. I asked him about the differof age and blend. Royal Salute by Chivas ent ways whiskey is served: straight up, received a reverential nod from most of neat, etc. He said at 9 a.m. it is usually the crowd. served over ice and at 9 p.m. you can To round off the discussion, I asked forget the ice!

Mark about his experience with serving Obviously, whiskey drinking is serious whiskey. Mark has been bartending at business. In discussing how often someThe Ketch for 30 years and may hold the one orders whiskey, both the bartender record for the longest, continuous service Theresa and Dan said that vodka curbartender on LBI. I knew I would be getrently out sells whiskey and most other ting a pro’s perspective. Mark said shots alcohol brands, as well. Interesting. I of Jameson are big this year. Last year, thanked them for their time and expershots of Jack were the standard. He also tise and headed to my next stop. said that it’s usually the older crowd who It was a perfect day to visit the outorder the Johnnie Walker Black, Blue, Old Johnnie Walker whisky ad door bar at The Ketch, overlooking the or Green label. “The best part,” he said, bay. But would whiskey drinkers be hard to find at this ultimate smiling his Mark smile, “is when a guy I have served many summer sipping spot? I introduced myself to the bartender, years ago comes in with his son. I never pour and tell, no matter Caitlin, and explained my research efforts. She said that she is a how much the kids beg for a story about dad in his heyday. But whiskey drinker, as is her sister. Ok, maybe not so hard to find that is really a great moment when a customer from years ago after all, I think. returns to see me and brings his son.” Since this was Father’s Caitlin said The Ketch serves a blended drink called a Green Day, it was a great story upon which to end my whiskey reTea. This little mood enhancer is made with Jameson, peach search at The Ketch. schnapps, sour mix, and Sprite. She told me they serve a lot I bid farewell to Mark, Caitlin, and the crew at the bar, thankof whiskey in the form of Jack and Coke, the Jack being Jack ing them for sharing their whiskey stories with me. On the ride Daniels. Now, even I know the name Jack Daniels. What I home, I smiled as Willie Nelson asked a river of whiskey to take didn’t know was that ole Jack hails from Lynchburg, Tennessee. his mind. My in-depth, journalistic research proved that whisAnd there, my dear readers, is where the popularity of American key is, indeed, alive and well on LBI for the summer of 2012. whiskey comes into play. Jack Daniels is the best selling whisFor sure, whiskey drinkers are whiskey lovers, and no one key in the world. Score one for us! drinks it without fully embracing the fine nuances of its history, No sooner had Caitlin mentioned Jack and Coke than John in- blends, label colors, and taste. troduced himself to me. He said he could not help but overhear In the end, I still can’t decide if whiskey is a saloon shot or our conversation and just had to say hello. John, it turns out, is a gentleman’s drink. There was just not enough time in one quite the Jack Daniels expert. He feels it is nothing short of sac- afternoon to understand all that goes into the making of a fine rilege to mix it and prefers his single barrel served “neat.” His scotch, bourbon, or whiskey. I did, however, learn enough to wife, Lorraine, said he was a “Tennessee Squire.” Seeing my grasp the complexity of a scotch my nephew Dan gave me to blank look, he explained that a “Tennessee Squire” is someone taste, shortly after my afternoon of research. Dan is a scotch who owns one square inch of land in Lynchburg. You must be devotee and wanted to help me expand on my newly acquired, invited to become a member of this elite group by another mem- but very limited, knowledge of whiskey. He poured me a wee ber. Once approved, you are the proud owner of your square bit of something called Lagavulin Single Malt Scotch. Ah, yes, inch. You receive a certificate, are invited to select events for indeed! Now I get it! — Maggie O’Neill • Page 28 • Echoes of LBI

Shells Are My Game.

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Natural Nautical Design by Cheryl

ring the beauty of the ocean into your home with Natural Nautical Design by Cheryl. Decorating your mantel, curio cabinets or room with natural gifts from the sea lends a special serenity to any home. Whether it’s a small arrangement of shells or a large design for your living room or patio area, Cheryl will enhance any space to your specification. For 35 years, Cheryl Kirby of “Things A-Drift” in Ship Bottom has been arranging nautical designs as well as selling precious treasures from the sea.

Her expertise on design and knowledge of all things nautical has been sought by shore-loving homeowners both nationally and here on LBI. Things-a-Drift has the largest selection of high grade shells on the east coast, including a perfect specimen of a Queen Helmet and a 525 pound Tridacna. These rare and beautiful shells are a fitting addition for your spa or poolside area. Other popular design choices include table top corals up to thirty inches in size. Cheryl will visit your home personally, or consult with you via the internet. In fact, the wall pictured here is from a house in Florida. The home owners selected their shells from Things-a-Drift during a visit to the Island. Emailing her the dimensions and pictures of the room they were chosen for, Cheryl sent a layout of her design. Delighted with the plan, the owners had the shells shipped and the result was a beautiful, decorative display.

Create your own feng shui with gifts from the sea and professional nautical design by Cheryl.

Poetry — Submissions with a nautical theme excepted, send toEchoesOfLBI@gmail.com

BAY MOON in the bay window, a disc of pale yellow over the bay.

A dark geography stains your face. You lay down a path for eyes to follow… a column of light wrinkled with ripples.

This night I am at one with your rising lunacy. I drink a dark wine sunned by your counterpart.

I, too, rise tonight, ballon with an emptiness of white sheets and lost love.

— Frank Finale

The Shack

Buried Treasure

A place where hunters and bay men did dwell, Its historical meaning very difficult to tell.

Newly found rakes, baskets, and tongs, Testimony to the belief the Shack still belongs, A reminder that hunters gathered and stayed, While women relaxed with cards that they played.

Patriotic symbols have decorated its doors, Santas and goblins have stood on its floors.

Decades ago it was two stories tall, Harsh winters and storms impelled its fall.

During Irene, a billboard fell to the ground, Nearby, victorious, the shack was found, Though-impossible to restore it to days of old, The Shack’s remaining planks are a tale to be told.

Remember when there were nothing to do days of summer?

Clouds, like cotton candy, floating in the bluest sky, building sand castles, then watching, as the waves took them away, feeling the gentle, ocean breeze tickling skin not yet bruised by life’s adversities.

It’s not too late to hear your child’s heart beating, to feel the pulse of summer in your soul, open your eyes to the buried treasure within, do it now, before the tide washes it away, forever.

— Lynn Reebe

— Dianne Alvine

Page 30 • Echoes of LBI

Our “Fantasy Island” Each time as our car approached the beautiful causeway going to LBI, I felt my worries vanish as I’d take in a deep breath and say good-bye.

To the stressors and worries that overwhelmed me each and every day, I was here on my Island and I knew that my cares would soon go away.

When you connect each time with the island like it’s a long lost friend, Waiting for you to return and appreciate every second you have to spend, The grains of sand are as countless as the blessings I have in my heart, And as soon as I hit the beach I stop and thank God right from the start.

As I make footprints in the sand I’m so aware of the beauty that surrounds me, I take time to gaze at the jetties, the sky and the magnificent colors of the sea, LBI has been my home away from home for at least over the past forty years, And each time I had to leave it was never without both heartache and tears.

LBI has been the most magical place I’ve ever been to in my entire life, It has been my source of refuge in dealing with my life’s share of strife, It has been a wondrous adventure and of all the treasures that I’ve found, The one I’m most thankful for is that I now live here all year round.

I would fantasize when I was younger about never having to say good-bye, As I would be riding the waves on my last day of vacation and always cry, The times I had and shared here as a child with my Mom, Dad and brother, Were filled with memories, lifetime lessons and a love unlike any other.

When I met my husband and we were dating we shared our love for LBI, We made a promise to one day live here and together we would always try, To imagine a life together when we got engaged on the rocks at Barnegat Light, To be here together forever on the island for each and every single day and night.

Three girls, grandchildren, and a lifetime of LBI friends from sunrise to sunset, OUR “FANTASY ISLAND” as we know it - is a place we will truly never forget, It’s a place to grow spiritually, reflect and take time to thank God each and everyday, Thanks for LBI with our countless years of memories and time to live, laugh and play!

— Diane Stulga

Sand jumping on my toes Wind whipping at my nose I spot a seashell on the ground I get a closer look at what I found There is something moving inside It looks like it is trying to hide Then I drop it in the sand Not holding it in my hand I hope I can come back again With a friend or maybe ten —Emily Klag, Age 8

Sand Dollar Doves She cried cause the rain Kept her a prisoner princess While outside the waves And the wet sand waited.

I could take no more Of her tears, so I placed a sand dollar On the table in front of her.

I told her, “Break it.”

She didn’t move, Just stared at me.

“Do it and you’ll free the doves.”

Reluctantly, because I insisted, She pressed her thumbs On the fragile shell’s center.

It shattered into pieces.

“Now look through The small fragments, Find the doves.”

At first she refused.

“Please.”

Finally, with her finger, She spread the bits of shell And examined them.

“There are no doves ... no, wait.”

She held up a fragment of shell, With a cracking voice whispered, “It’s a dove.”

I smiled. “I know. It’s your dove.”

“But all I did was break the shell.”

“My dear, what you did, Freed that dove.”

Her tears now dry, She no longer felt Like a princess prisoner On a rainy day.

— Richard Morgan

Poetry Sea Fantasy One day when wading in the sea a smiling stranger beckoned me with smile so dazzling diamond bright it filled me with a sheer delight Dancing on each approaching wave he fixed me in his emerald gaze then lured me to a planet where the sunlight dance in sea green air.

It was a place so pure so rare and he and I the only pair.

But I was frightened mortally and so turned back despite his plea.

As I returned to my own race I kissed his shinning face.

The salty taste he left in me was token for my memories.

They say it was an illusion made from sea and morning sun But once when wading in the sea A merman’s smile captured me.

Drive-in Movies Passing on the Parkway I see a strange scene, A large white shark on a big wide screen, A time when movies were viewed in cars, Families watch films while gazing at stars, Folks watch together with their food and drink, Friends share laughs and discuss what they think, Families arrive in pajamas ready for bed, Couples exchange kisses in back of a pickup bed.

Dancing cups invite people to buy popcorn, “Hurry and get there before it’s all gone.”

My sadness revealed when emptiness is seen: fields and roads replace the big wide screen.

A gas station and fur store border the sides, Gone are the enjoyment of the movie rides.

— Lynn Reebe

— Gwyneth Bacon

Our Beach Prints We walk along the water at the beach And leave sandy prints.

There is so much of the beach behind us and it seems that it continues to stretch out before us.

Our prints are very different but we are very much the same.

Sometimes one set of prints goes off searching for shells and the other set of prints stop to wait.

Then the prints come back together and match like the mussel shells that wash up.

Those shells tell so much.

Their outside is old looking and not as attractive as might be judged by the times.

Sometimes barnacles and seaweed attach and change what was once smooth.

Oh but their inside remains that pearly blue, shimmering secret that is held together by what seems to be just a little bit of a “connection.”

There are so many of these shells on the beach that no one really pays much attention to them.

I do.

The shoreline walk brings so much pleasure.

But the greatest pleasure is not visible in the prints.

The footprints do not show that we are holding hands And that I want to stay “connected…”

— Carol Krom

Page 32 • Echoes of LBI

Poetry

Water and Sand Wedding We were in love, but different.

It took us time to see, we were Like water and sand.

Our wedding was on an island Separate from the mainland As we were distinct from other lovers.

We invited nature to our wedding For if breathing is routine, Salt air is a celebration.

We dressed to the nines, yet With bare feet, felt the warm beach Between our toes.

We were connected, to each other, To nature and a commitment, always, Be close as water and sand. — Richard Morgan

Rachel Durphy at Barnegat Light, Marjorie Amon photo Page 34 • Echoes of LBI

La Spiaggia 357 W. 8th Street. Ship Bottom Long Beach Island 609-494-4343 LaSpiaggialbi.com

LBI Dog Leashes and Collars Available at Things A Drift 406 LBI BLVD • Ship Bottom, NJ

Sara Caruso Photo

Legends & Lore

The Legend of Tattoo Turtle

A

long time ago, a tribe of messy Snapping Turtles threw garbage all over Barnegat Bay, all over the salt marshes, and even near nests of baby turtle eggs. Thus began the Great Turtle Wars, when turtles of all tribes banded together to keep Barnegat Bay clean. Eventually, the Lenni-Lenape turtles drove away those litterbug Snapping Turtles. In the final days of the war, a feisty little Lenni-Lenape turtle confronted the Chief of the Snapping Turtle tribe. “Go away, you litterbug!” he demanded. “And take your trash with you!” For his bravery, his Lenape turtle clan gave him the “Red Owl Tattoo of Courage” and, from that day on, he was known as “Tattoo Turtle,” the great protector of beautiful Barnegat Bay! One day, not too long ago, Tattoo Turtle was swimming near the beach when he found a piece of trash floating in his Bay. “That’s it!” he shouted, “I’ve had it with all this garbage and littering!” He bolted right out of the water, marched onto the beach, and ordered everyone, “Out of the water!” You can imagine how surprised the children were to see a talking turtle.

“Did that turtle just talk?” one little boy asked his mother.

“I can’t believe it, but I think so!” said his mother. “Maybe he’s not from around here.”

The little boy shrugged his shoulders and threw his arms in the air. “Well, now I’ve seen it all!” he said. “Who knew a turtle could talk?”

Soon, a large crowd gathered around Tattoo and everyone huddled close to hear the talking turtle. The crowd was clearly amazed: “He’s talking ... I know ... What should we do? I don’t know? He’s little ... He’s green!”

Finally, someone whispered, “I think he’s a little mean.”

Tattoo was mad. With one hand on his bumpy turtle shell and the other hand wagging in the air, he shouted, “From now on, no one is allowed to swim in my Bay until I’m convinced that each one of you can respect her and keep her clean! I am Tattoo Turtle, the protector of these waters. And, if you cannot throw your garbage in a trash can, then you cannot swim in my Bay!” Then, Tattoo reached inside his turtle shell and pulled out the ice cream wrapper he’d found earlier. The children all looked at one another and lowered their heads in shame, for they knew the ice cream wrapper had come from one of them. Now, they Page 36 • Echoes of LBI

understood why Tattoo Turtle would not be their friend.

From dusk till dawn, the summer dragged on. Day after day, children ran down to the Bay beach to see if anyone was swimming. And each time, they saw Tattoo Turtle swimming back and forth, like a good soldier patrolling his waters. Just days before school was to begin, two brothers ran up to the beach and dove into the Bay with their boogie boards. Tattoo chased those boogie boys right out of the water until they shouted, “Okay! Okay! Maybe we’ll play soccer instead.” But, as the brothers sadly walked away, they thought, “What can we do to change this turtle’s mind?”

Kicking the warm sand as they walked, the boys noticed a candy wrapper on the ground. “Quick!” said the big brother. “Get it before Tattoo Turtle sees it!” The little brother dove for the candy wrapper and threw it into the garbage can. “Score!” yelled the boys, Charlie Schwandt art as they suddenly saw two tiny, piercing turtle eyes rise above the water’s surface. They froze, not sure what Tattoo might do next. But Tattoo simply jumped up in the air, with his hands clasped, and wildly cheered for them.

The boys smiled at Tattoo and Tattoo smiled back. “I have a great idea!” said the big brother. “Let’s have a beach cleanup where all the kids can help clean up our beach.” Tattoo Turtle looked at them and smiled with great pride.

The following day, Tattoo watched all the children pitch in at the beach cleanup and, suddenly, he had an idea, too! “I can do something special for the children,” he thought. Tattoo then whistled and all his turtle soldiers lined up. “Soldiers! Ten-hut!”

The turtle soldiers jumped to attention. “I have a job for you!” he declared. “These children have learned their lesson. So, I need you to collect some wood.”

“Yes, Sir!” they barked, and all went right to work. Soon, the turtle soldiers had collected piles of wood. While they worked, they sang their soldiers’ working song: “Working on the Bay, on the Bay, on the Bay ... keeping her clean all night and day.”

While waiting and watching on their nice, clean beach, all the children were whispering. “Are they making a bridge?” one little girl asked.

“No,” said her dad, “I think it’s a fence.”

“But why would they make a fence?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” her father replied. “Maybe to keep you safe

from the deep end of the Bay.” “Oh!” the little girl said happily. “He must really like us.

When the new Bay beach fence was finished, Tattoo marched out of the water and stood on the bulkhead so everyone could hear him.

“Now,” Tattoo said firmly, “I have made a fenced-in section in the Bay where you will all be allowed to swim and play, but only if you promise NEVER to throw trash in our Bay again! Do you promise?”

The children happily jumped up and down and yelled, “Yes, Sir!” Tattoo almost smiled a cute turtle grin, but quickly caught himself and, in a not so grouchy voice, said, “But, if I see one piece of trash, just one, I’ll come back and take that fence away!” The children all smiled and, one by one, ran into the water, knowing that they were safe and that they would never forget the promise they made to Tattoo Turtle.

Tattoo stood smiling while he watched all of his new friends

play in their new Bay beach area, when a shy little girl asked him, “Why do you have a tattoo of an owl on your shell?” Tattoo proudly looked down and said, “Aw, this old thing. This Owl Tattoo means that I am the protector and guardian of all things in Barnegat Bay.” “Oh,” said the little girl, “so does that mean you protect me too?” Tattoo’s face turned red and, with a big smile, he said, rather matter-of-factly: “Well, Kelly Travis art you swim in these waters, too, don’t you?” The little girl giggled and quickly gave Tattoo a kiss on the top of his head before she skipped off into the clean and safe Bay beach waters.

And so, Tattoo Turtle, once again, began patrolling his waters and the children, once again, began to swim in the beautiful Barnegat Bay. And legend has it that, if you swim near a Bay beach fence today, you just might see a happy old turtle with a red owl tattoo protecting his waters and all who swim there, too.

— Annice Rainone •

36 W. 80th St., Harvey Cedars, NJ 08008 • 609-618-2420

Lifestyle

M

Inside Out Merging the Inside with the Outside

ark Reynolds can’t remember when he first heard of Frank Lloyd Wright. It could have been in conversations with contemporary architects early on in his career or in documentaries or in the books his kids would give him for various holidays. He can’t be certain because, as he says, Wright rose up for him in all those ways.

“Frank Lloyd Wright’s vision of merging the inside and the outside, of how one flows into and out of the other, the use of glass, the lines, the materials, all of it made sense to me from the minute I stumbled onto him,” says Reynolds. And that organic interaction has shaped Mark Reynolds’s approach to the “conversion rooms” that Reynolds Landscaping has been building on Long Beach Island over the last eight years.

A conversion room is a space that is reclaimed from an existing garage to create a room that serves as an extension of your outside living area. It may reclaim a significant percentage of the garage or not, according to Reynolds, but once you’re under 200 square feet, the functionality is fairly compromised.

Beyond that, he can work with anything.

There are two primary versions of conversion rooms. The first serves as an exterior kitchen, often with all the amenities

Page 38 • Echoes of LBI

— dishwasher, full-size refrigerator, sink. The second functions as a glamorous cocktail area — double wine cooler, extensive entertainment system, game area.

During the first conversation with a potential client, the contractor needs to make clear that conversion rooms are not inexpensive spaces, Reynolds explains. From there, Reynolds moves on to the nitty-gritty: Who are you? Are you a bar-b-quer? Do you entertain large gatherings, intimate clusters? Why are we building this space for you? Reynolds says that music is his favorite feature in this kind of space. “But I’m building this for the client, and so it’s about what the client’s number one is,” he emphasizes. And number two and number three.

One of the primary aspects that attract people to this kind of project is the way it enhances the functionality of life on the Island. No need to traipse upstairs to the kitchen for anything — whether it’s formal entertainment or a grandson coming up from the pool looking for a sandwich. If the weather shifts, no need to stop the party because of a little rain. When the game starts, just step right in, turn on the TV, and settle in. There’s no doubt that a garage conversion room enables you to maximize the use of your beach house.

Photo Copyright - JeffreyTotaro.com

Most of the garages on LBI are in the flood plain.

Sometimes, it may only be by an inch, but that inch means that the homeowner and the contractor must work within state regulations that very strictly control what can and cannot be done, what materials can and cannot be used.

“Essentially,” says Reynolds, “the space that falls in the flood plain has to be able to withstand any water that is taken on as a result of where it sits. Once you’re in a flood elevation, if even by one inch, you’re in what’s called a non-conditioned area — no heating or cooling allowed.”

And all of that requires real knowledge and serious creativity, and applying both.

According to Reynolds, most people don’t know the rules: “Essentially, in a flood plain, and this is a simplification, if you can use a material outside, you can use it inside.” So, you can’t use oak; it will rot. But you can use, for example, mahogany and cedar.

Not only does Reynolds have the knowledge and the experience for a conversion project, he also has a few other key ingredients: the desire to design a space that will provide his clients exactly what suits their needs and the ability to think outside the box to make it happen in the best possible way under the circumstances. When others say, “No way, that can’t be done,” Mark Reynolds invariably finds a way.

Reynolds identifies the existing utilities as the biggest challenge in transforming part of a garage into a dynamic, fun, functional conversion room — it is, remember, a garage, with all the ducts and pumps and valves that must remain accessible, no matter what kind of compellingly great space you can envision.

“People often ask me,” says Reynolds, “‘How did you think to do that?’ And I say, ‘Well, I wanted to put it six inches higher, but I couldn’t, or I wanted to put it over in that corner, but I couldn’t.’ I must work with what’s there. About sixty percent of my decisions are a result of negative math. I’m controlled by the environment and must find a way to work with it and give the client something they will be ecstatic to live with. I want to give them their vision, and more.”

In-house, Reynolds provides the equivalent of the services of seven contractors. “We will think about your electronics, your landscaping, everything. And I will offer you what fits your home and your life. The truth is it’s likely that the people who have this kind of space on LBI, fully in compliance, have it because we crossed paths. I’m looking at their spaces through a very different lens.”

And that lens envisions building something that is not just perfect for you, but something that is in harmony with humanity and its environment. Then, once he has it, Reynolds goes and does just that.

As Frank Lloyd Wright once said: “No house should ever be on a hill or on anything. It should be of the hill, belonging to it. Hill and house should live together, each the happier for the other.” — Annaliese Jakimides • Left: Jordan Residence, Haven Beach.

Photo Copyright - JeffreyTotaro.com Top right: Matheson Residence, Haven Beach.

Middle & Bottom: Benitez Residence, Loveladies.

Reynolds’ custom design living space.

Tanek Hood photos (this page)

Lifestyle Purple lilacs symbolize the first emotions of love.

I

The Sweet Scent of Lilacs

won’t have lilacs for Mother’s Day this year. The wind and weight of the snow toppled the entire bush. It lay lifeless in a mound of snow out back until early spring when my husband unceremoniously dragged it into the woods behind our house.

For the past 15 years, I relied on seeing the beautiful spray of delicate lavender blossoms reaching up over one side of the back deck as if to say, “Here we are, come close.” Embracing me with their fragrance, I was instantly soothed. Then, I would gather a few of my favorite vases and retrieve the clippers from under the kitchen sink. Snip here, snip there, spreading the love throughout the house.

Every May, my daughters and husband ask what I want to do on Mother’s Day, and it’s always the same. I like to sit on my deck close to the lilacs, with my bare feet up and the sun on my face. With me will be the Sunday crossword puzzle, the latest book I’m reading, and a cool drink.

I will think about how lucky I am to be Kristin and Melissa’s mother. I will think about my mother, especially her generous heart. She worked so hard to take care of our home and family of six, clipping coupons and keeping our house in meticulous order. Mom never completely relaxed the way I do on Mother’s Day because of her constant worry about my brother Jimmy, who is disabled.

Page 40 • Echoes of LBI

I will remember Mom and I reading Word Power together in Reader’s Digest each month and thank her for sharing her love of words with me. I will remember her wisdom with phrases like “Don’t be in such a hurry to grow up,” when I would anticipate my birthday, or “Be careful what you ask for; you just may get it,” when I hoped for a date or a new job. I will thank her for pestering me to write thank you notes immediately after receiving a gift — something I pester my daughters to do now.

I will remember the aromas emanating from her kitchen, making our house feel warm and inviting: chicken soup, marinara sauce, and pizzelles. I will think of her love of flowers and gardening. She said she felt close to God when she was on her knees with her hands in the soil, planting and weeding around her Island home.

I will thank her for writing touching letters to Kristin and Melissa, now safely tucked away in a keepsake box adorned with butterflies. And every time I see a butterfly, I will know Mom is near me and think of the gold butterfly necklace she always wore. With my eyes lifted skyward, I will see the last smile she gave me before heading into surgery — that knowing smile, the one that said, “I’ve done all I can do for you, Joyce.”

I long for the sweet scent of my lilacs. If only we had one more season together ... — Joyce Hager •

Things That Drift

Amanda The Mermaid ....

Cheryl Kirby photo

Lifestyle

Put the throttle to the Pedal!

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alters Bicycles has been providing superior selection and stellar customer service to Ship Bottom for 53 years. So, it should come as no surprise that they are at the forefront of an exciting new development in transportation: the new and improved electric bicycle by Pedego.

“There’s nothing like a bike ride up to the beach to check the waves, or along the bay to check out the sunset ... but with a little twist of the hand throttle, our new PeJade Avery photo dego electric can make it fun and help when you need an little more ‘gas’ in your energy tank,” said Walter, owner of the bike store. Pedego’s electric bicycles come in a variety of styles to suit any taste or need. Their Cruiser models mirror the beloved beach cruiser style that has become a local favorite. The Commuter models fuse a sleek road frame with the attention to detail and classic retro look of a Cruiser. Each electrical charge will take you up to twenty miles, with a top speed of about 20 mph. Pedego even has a specifically designed model for use by police departments, the Interceptor. All of the models come in a variety of color combinations and are fully functioning pedal bikes, as well.

Whether you are looking for a more stylish workout or just trading in your worn-out scooter, Pedego and Walters Bicycles has the eco-friendly answer for you. Walters Bicycles is located at 418 Long Beach Blvd., Ship Bottom. — Lauren Marchese •

Don’t walk your dog in the heat of the day; if it is to hot for your feet, it is to hot for your pet!

Page 42 • Echoes of LBI

surf city marina “Our Newest Edition”

The Yamaha Waverunner

LBI locations For Sales, Repairs, Slip Rentals Surf City Marina • 325 S 1st St, Surf City • 609-494-2200 Surf City Marina Boat Sales • 337 W 8th St, Ship Bottom • 609-361-5200 Bombardier Dealer • Sea-Doo personal Watercraft • Showroom in Ship Bottom

Lifestyle “How about today?”

LIFF screens the moving documentary “Kings Park: Stories from an American Mental Institution”

S

unday, June 3 was an ideal beach day — clear, dry, comfortably cool. Yet, with the sun at its zenith, droves of LBI visitors chose to sit in the dark, to spend hours on metal folding chairs in a gymnasium whose windows had been covered in black plastic. Black drapes encircled the room and directed attendees to forget about sunshine and surf: Focus on the large white screen and be mesmerized! The Ship Bottom School was one of four venues for the fourth annual Lighthouse International Film Festival (LIFF), and over the weekend the school hosted six full-length films and nineteen shorts. On Sunday afternoon, the feature film was Kings Park: Stories from an American Mental Institution, produced by Lucy Winer and Karen Eaton and directed by Lucy Winer. Sound disturbing? It was. Lucy Winer was seventeen when she was committed to Kings Park State Hospital in 1967. The film entails more than the story of Lucy’s time as a patient in the now defunct institution on Long Island, New York, however. It is a powerfully pictorial argument about issues plaguing Congress, the criminal justice system, homeless shelters, and so many families nationwide today: What do we do to assist our citizens with mental illness?

Lucy began this film project as a search for closure. While she had been told by many friends to “leave the past in the past,” Lucy knew better. As she explained to the LIFF audience, “The past is not in the past, not until you can deal with it.” Thankfully, Lucy dealt not only with her own restorative odyssey, but dispensed to the mental health community a ponderous depiction of past and present issues that desperately need addressing. The multitude of perspectives that Lucy’s film shares also intends to make the general public a beneficiary of this arduous journey of healing. As Lucy commented: “The goal of Kings Park is to educate, agitate, and cause us to dig deep. More than a call to create increased services and better systems, Kings Park challenges everyone to face their own unacknowledged fears and limiting beliefs about mental illness and mental health.”

Ten years ago, Lucy revisited Kings Park State Hospital on a whim. Driving past the Kings Park Exit on the Long Island Expressway, she turned and remarked to her partner and co-producPage 44 • Echoes of LBI

er, Karen Eaton, as she had so many times before, that someday she was going to go back and visit the hospital. But that day was different. Instead of nodding as she usually did, her partner, Karen, challenged her, “How about today?” Lucy, who was just about to turn 50, hesitantly said, “Ok.” So, after a good half hour of searching, they found the entrance to the hospital and drove down the long boulevard, which was just as Lucy remembered it. But just as they began to approach Lucy’s old building, Building 21, a security car pulled up complete with siren and flashing lights, and a guard yelled at them to get off the property.

They were trespassing. The institution was closed.

“I hadn’t even noticed that there weren’t any people around or that the place was all boarded up.” Lucy was overwhelmed with so much emotion — to her everything looked exactly the same.

She explained to the guard that she had been a patient there, that she just wanted to look around. “He was understanding, but he still said we had to leave,” Lucy remembers. “But right on the spot, I asked him how I could gain access and get permission to come back, and that’s how all this began — with my partner asking me, ‘How about today?’”

The film is structured in three parts. In Part One, Going Back, Lucy gains access to her medical records and shares her frustration at “the innate pomposity of the doctors’ language.”

Reading aloud from one report, she becomes visibly disgusted.

“The patient is loquacious and manipulative.” Not she “seems,” not she “appears to be,” just she “is.” End of discussion! Her records also include the ironic entries: “Lucy has a flat affect” and “Lucy is acting to confuse the psychiatrist.” Worse yet, it becomes clear to Lucy that the bulk of her records were perpetually rubber stamped by doctors she had never met. “This is par for the course in a hospital where patients were never seen by doctors,” she said with exasperation. Lucy’s revelations confront her audience with the troubling outcomes of overcrowded institutions. In its heyday, Kings Park housed over 9000 patients.

After months of navigating the proper channels, Lucy is granted access and revisits Kings Park State Hospital — its interiors and her own haunting memories: In 1967, at 17 years of age,

Echoes gives back.

MOVIES AND FILM FESTIVALS

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AND A WHOLE LOT MORE! The Long Beach Island Foundation of the Arts and Sciences (LBIF) is Long Beach Island’s premier location for arts, cultural, and educational activities for the entire family. The LBIF is a 501(c)(3) not-for-profit organization that has served the community since 1948. From free art exhibitions with works by internationally celebrated artists to yoga, tennis, and family theatre, there’s something for everyone at the LBIF. Visit the LBIF’s main gallery, a 4,000 square foot exhibit space hosting artwork in all media or attend one of the LBIF’s many highly anticipated events hosted each summer. Interested in receiving a brochure on all of the LBIF’s programs and activities? Learning more is easy. Stop by to take a look around, we’re free to visit. Register for a class, visit our website, or give us a call.

Lifestyle Lucy Winer was placed in the female violent ward, on the third floor of Building 21, after her third suicide attempt.

The film is not, however, all doom and gloom; the audience chuckles when Lucy offers some candid moments from patient life at Kings Park. Reading, again, from her records: “It says here I was friendly, neat, and tidy.” Lucy looks up and explains to her companions, “From the first day I was there, I realized these people can kill you — offer to help them.” During her first day on the violent ward, where women lay across the wide expanse of floor, too drugged to move, Lucy remembers beginning to cry. “A young patient approached me, and, without making eye contact, she said, ‘Do not cry. They’ll hurt you.’

And I got it. So I didn’t cry for 20 years ... 25 years.”

In Part Two, The Story of the Hospital, Winer weaves the timeline of Kings Park with the personal histories of past patients and their family members, retired staff, doctors, and administrators, using dozens of archival photographs. Kings Park opened in 1885 and closed its doors in 1996. Winer’s research is both thorough and emotionally charged. The audience learns how a patient was processed in 1967, when Lucy describes how they made her change from street clothes into a patient’s uniform. “When you let go of your clothes, it’s punitive. You’re getting stripped of your identity. I had no access to a phone, nothing to write with.

Some primitive part of me said just let go or you will die.” She further reveals: “In the violent ward, the bathrooms had tin mirrors. The stalls had no doors, and we were only allowed to shower once a week.”

In another scene, Lucy visits the last remaining state psychiatric hospital on Long Island, Pilgrim State Hospital, and its museum Curator, Al Cibelli. Cibelli shows her a white canvas straitjacket with metal buckles hanging from a coat rack. Lucy also meets with two ex-patients who are permitted access to Kings Park for the film. Every interview is beautifully candid, openly emotional. They give to the camera and the audience an unexpurgated truth about themselves and their history with Kings Park. Lucy’s attempt to de-stigmatize mental illness is enlightening, painful, frightening, frustrating, creative, and healing, but not just for Lucy. Kings Park connects the audience with everyone Lucy interviews in the film. Retired psychiatrists, aides, ex-patients, and attorneys are all challenged by a miasma of memories, some contradictory: A retired aide named King Pedlar nostalgically refers to Kings Park as “a paradise for all of us, where the hospital grounds were conducive to romance.” Lucy does not interpret or cut the contradictions.

They remain, a testament to great documentary work, depicting the tension between her fear of and others’ love for the place.

Part Three, Now, directs the audience to the current issues surrounding mental healthcare. When Kings Park closed its doors in 1996, it released many of its long-term patients onto the streets. Lucy makes her goal clear in Part Three when she brings her camera into a local jail. “What’s happening now?” she asks. “This question needed to be answered and couldn’t be until we were able to get into the local jail. Getting permission Page 46 • Echoes of LBI

to go inside Building 21 was very difficult, but getting into the local jail was even harder.” Scenes in the jail demonstrate to viewers that, “We now rely on the criminal justice system for services and treatment of people with mental illness.”

Similar to Parts One and Two, Part Three’s disparate scenes balance the positive and negative, as Lucy examines current treatment options. Jailing people with mental illness is one option, supporting community mental health organizations is another, and Lucy explores both. Part Three also challenges viewers to stop branding, vilifying, and condemning mental illness. Lucy recognizes that the stigma of mental illness still exists. She notes the progress and also the mountain ahead: “When people ask me, have things gotten better? Yeah, things have gotten better — this film couldn’t have been made when I was a patient at Kings Park.” Lucy pauses before she continues, “Have things gotten worse? Yeah, they’ve gotten worse. You know we didn’t use to put people in jail for having a mental illness, but that’s because we put them in Kings Park. So have things gotten better?” Again, she pauses before she answers her own question. “I think our attitudes toward mental illness have evolved quite a bit and we have treatments and services that if we would use them, if we would pay for them, can make a huge difference in people’s lives. This is where we are now.”

And what about the future? Lucy recognizes the formidable tasks ahead: “Forty years from now, we will look back on this time and will be as shocked at how barbaric we are now as we are now about practices from 40 or 50 years ago.” But she is undaunted by the endeavor. “I’m on a mission to share this film with people who can make a difference with mental health care.

We are doing some very exciting screenings. In July, the National Conference of Mental Health Commissioners in Washington will kick off their event by showing Kings Park. The focus of the conference is our reliance on the criminal justice system.”

At the conclusion of the Question and Answer period, Lucy asked the Ship Bottom audience for their ideas on who should see this. I pass on this request to our readers here. If you have suggestions, go to this website: http://kingsparkmovie.com/ As for coming out of a dark room in mid-day, after watching such a powerful film? The sun came out for Lucy when she made the movie and the “enlightening” began for her audience before any of us left the building. — Rosemarie Sprouls •

W YNDECREST HOME 233 SECOND STREET BEACH HAVEN 609.492.7030 INTERIOR DESIGN HOME FURNISHINGS

Lifestyle

Almost Gone

Whereupon We Explore the Marshes and Almost Meet Davey Jones ...

L

iving in Harvey Cedars in with blankets and pillows, it was time the 1940s and 1950s, the for reading or dreaming, lulled by lapmost important thing for ping water and warm sun. kids to have was a boat. Our boats My brother was able to take the were not the spiffy and sleek ones next step in boating by acquiring a of the boating crowd of today. My small Montgomery Ward motor. We boat was a clumsy 14-foot wooden were all impressed, but unfortunately lumbering craft, but I felt empowthe motor’s best act was sputter and ered because I was able to cut the die. He never did get a complete water and explore every creek and ride with it. Jimmy and Kenny Plasmarsh, as well as Barnegat Bay. ket had much more luck with their My brother, Buzzy, had a smaller small Evinrude and raced recklessly version of my boat, which was around the creek, much to our chagrin built by our father and grandfather. and envy. They were generous, We worked endlessly on them to however, and constantly offered us prevent them from sinking. Every Jean Casper Holmes art, 1924- 2002, a summer Island girl. rides. But we were always careful to year, we would stuff cotton in the be busy at other things, ever since our seams, caulk like mad, and then cover the bottom with gallons of first scary and bumpy ride with them. the ever- present rusty colored bottom paint. All this did not stop We went to small grassy islands with hunting shacks and the leaking, but it ensured that our treasured transports did not end sandy spits, great for swimming and clamming. up on the bottom of the creek.

Our boats were as important to us as our bikes were at home.

We had heavy oars with thick black leather wrapped around One of the scariest experiences I had in a boat was the “dreadthem to keep them from slipping out of the oarlocks. None of us ful duck boat incident.” The whole thing started innocently knew how to row, so our grandfather sat in the boat and demenough when Bob Stanch, our across the creek neighbor, asked onstrated and, within fifteen minutes, we were fully in charge me to go with him to Otto’s Marina for a Coke. It was a dark (once we figured out how not to go in circles with oars going in night with no moon as we paddled under the bridge and across opposite directions). the Bay towards Otto’s. Suddenly, out of the murk, we heard a I used my boat for crabbing. I had a difficult time convincing roar and a white speedboat was upon us in a flash. I have never my friend, Gay Van Meter, to come with me because she conbeen quick to react to danger, so I sat as the boat cleaved our stantly mentioned my close relationship with moss bunker bait duck boat. We were very low in the water, so the boat went fish. Her nose would wrinkle every time she saw me after I had right over us. Neither of us had any running lights, so neither of spent the day crabbing. But I was successful in convincing her us was visible to the other. I screamed and, in a clever life-savto come on my marsh explorations. We called it “going to Seating move, threw my paddle at the speedboat driver. The speedtle” (don’t ask me why, since neither of us had ever been there). boat hit me, grazing my hip and leg, but luckily leaving my head We took my boat up all the winding tributaries to the Bay and on my shoulders. We jumped into the Bay and swam to shore. gathered marsh flowers, sea lavender, sea pinks, salt wart, marsh We had closely avoided joining Davey Jones and remained in mallows, bayberry, and the black-eyed Susans, flowers that grew good enough shape to be able to climb onto land. The driver of along the highways. (If we found flora unfamiliar to us, we the other boat scrambled to the dock. He was ashen and shaking consulted the botany books in the library.) and stuttered apologies profusely. I was dazed, but accepted the Since we were always bare-footed, walking in the marshes driver’s offer of a car ride home. My parents were aghast when was a trial, as the sharp grass quills would poke the soft bottoms they saw their dripping, limping daughter return home in that of our feet. We would push the marsh grass over with the sides condition after going out on a lark for a soda. I later learned that of our feet and then walk on the soft, bent-over blades, which our speedboat driver was an ensign in the U.S. Navy. was mostly pain free.

So, our boats played an important part in our lives, giving us We established a thriving business selling flower arrangemany hours of fun, exploration, and life experiences ... and, in ments in the front yard of the Van Meter home on Bay Avenue. my case, a harrowing experience and a nearly tragic end.

The cost of our flowers was three cents for small bouquets and Later, as we grew older, we sold our boats from our front yard five cents for the larger ones. We were captains of our own fate (a $25 bargain!), pocketed the money, and wished the new ownand made our spending money for that summer. ers the same great experiences we had for years in the marshes We also used our boats for picnics and, when we filled them and creeks of Long Beach Island. — Melinda Kurkian Gaffney • Page 48 • Echoes of LBI

Lifestyle

Me, Toots and the Tillerman D

ay-sailors love two things besides good weather; they love complaining about vessel maintenance and they love telling stories about their adventures (or, more likely, misadventures). Out on the open water, an environment so varying and uncertain, boaters are subject to changing tides, currents, wind speed, wave height, water depth, and visibility.

Other concerns for old salts and new crew alike are the proximity of larger, wake-making boats, the possibility of mechanical failure, and the likelihood of another visit from the ultimate sailing instructor — human error. (“Sorry, Officer, I didn’t mean to lose power here, in the shipping lane, honest!”). Hence, the salty genre of the daysail narrative.

I’ve never been an especially good sailor, which isn’t to say that I return to port with a stomach either full of Dramamine or completely empty. I don’t suffer from seasickness, per se. It is, rather, a sea-sleepiness. The gentle rocking motion makes me want to close my eyes… and forget… about whatever…. I have been known to conk out with my head resting on a winch. Even as a young child, my personal idea of adventure was to curl up for a snooze over the hatch. The risk of rolling off and waking up in the water made napping exciting.

A sure-fire antidote for this slothful dozing on deck, whom I brought along on as many sailing trips as possible, was a certain high-energy, acrobatic friend of my childhood, Toots. During my youth, Toots played a major role in keeping me awake while on the water. She would sit with her legs off the bow, making up songs, and, when tired of this, she would hang upside down into the cabin from the outer hatch like a monkey.

Toots was there in the spring of 1995 when Primrose, my parents’ 18 ft. 1974 Herreshoff Catboat, nearly bit the bottom.

We were making the nine-hour trip from high upriver on the Mullica, out into Great Bay, and then up the Intercoastal to Harvey Cedars. It would be our second attempt that week. The first try had ended with our turning around an hour into the trip and heading back. The wind had dropped to nothing, and we weren’t interested in motoring for the entire distance.

The next day, conditions were drastically different; we had a steady wind, creating more rudder action, but less reliance on the motor. Our voyage began well. We raised the gaff-rigged sail just after the Lower Bank Bridge, and made smooth passage into saltier water. Vast sweeps of wispy cordgrass ushered us downriver, narrowing in, then pulling back into deceptively arbitrary necks, bays, and coves. Eventually, we slipped beneath

the Parkway, through the labyrinthine salt marsh, and out onto Great Bay. The wind picked up, driving us swiftly through the chop, as we skirted the ocean around the Mystic Islands and arced into the Intercoastal. Soon, we were flying, the wind pushing us faster and faster and helping to keep me awake. Toots and I stood on the foredeck, feeling the hull beat down against the whitecaps, and, when the occasional pitch of spray reached our faces, we cheered. I remember my father saying, “We’re making great time, girls. Your mother will be shocked!” Then, of course, it started to rain.

“Hold on,” my father warned, when the time came for another tack. We ducked our heads and waited, expecting the boom to whoosh over and fill with wind on the opposite side. But instead of this, there was a sudden, ominous crunch. My father may have cursed, but I’m not sure, because a second later he was shouting, “Get below, now!” Toots and I clambered down the stairs and sat wonderingly in the cabin, watching rain and foam slide across the portholes and listening to everything rattle. We didn’t know what had happened.

Then, there was a loud “Wham!” — the noise was more frightening than the shudder that went through the boat. Toots and I clung to the tabletop.

“What’s going on?” I shouted to my dad.

“Stay Down!” he answered. In the following minutes, a variety of thuds, grunts, and scrapes reached our ears, and then my dad popped his head below and said, “Grab your stuff, we’re going.”

At first, I thought that he meant we were sinking, so I opened my mouth to apologize to Toots, but then he elaborated: “I’ve got to find the people who own this dock.”

We climbed on deck and realized that my father had secured the boat to the end of an unfamiliar pier. It was pelting rain, and now the bay was in uproar, slopping and seething in a way that made us grateful to be ashore, even if by accident. There was no one home at the house nearest the pier, so we hurried onto the boulevard to shelter, spending the next hour wrapped in damp towels in an upstairs type of billiard hall, drinking Shirley Temples. These were the days before cell phones, so we had to wait until my mother arrived home from shopping more than an hour later; we were stranded.

“What happened?” we asked, above our straws.

“Oh darn,” my father grimaced, forgetting to answer. “I just realized that the boat hook would have fit right in there. Darn!

I should have tried that.” He then told us that the tiller had snapped under the strain of the barn-door rudder and that the boat had gone crashing into the pier.

My father found the owners of the pier the next day, and they were very friendly and sympathetic, offering to let us keep Primrose there until a change in the weather. Even more amazing was the condition of Primrose after the crash. She was in no way damaged, not a single ding or scratch.

From then on, my father has felt “supreme confidence in her seaworthiness” and has always stowed an extra tiller.

— Bridget A. Sprouls text • Pete Milnes photo

Lifestyle

Drifting Imagination W

“Deep Sea Angler Fish” Pete Milnes driftwood Page 50 • Echoes of LBI

hen I was a young kid, I used to look at clouds and try to identify shapes and faces and animals in them. Later on, in my middle years, I would do the same with potato chips. Of course, these childish, immature habits disappear as we mature. Right?

Now that I am in my late 60s, I find enjoyment in much more intelligent pursuits. I look for shapes and faces and animals in pieces of driftwood!

When I walk the beaches of LBI, I don’t always have as my goal finding any particular thing. On some days, moon snails and whelks are scattered all over the beach.

The next time, I might find driftwood, but few shells.

I have plenty of large intricately weathered and shaped pieces of driftwood, but my favorites are the ones pictured on this page that resemble something else. None of the pieces here have been shaped or altered, just cleaned up in a few cases and Tung-oiled in others. The trick to finding

Opposite Left: “Alligator” Opposite bottom: Snail Above: “Sand Castle” Right: “Scream” All driftwood found by Frank Grasso

these treasures? Walk slowly, look closely at everything, and flip over what you see. For example, the back side of the piece resembling Edvard Munch’s expressionist masterpiece, The Scream, looks like junk. If you’re going to find treasures in the sand, you have to investigate!

This brings me to the best part of beachcombing — your imagination. In your view, you may have found a piece of sea glass that looks like a heart, or a broken whelk’s shell that looks like a flower, or a piece of driftwood that looks like a dinosaur’s head. No matter that no one seems to agree with you. No one else has to see the same thing you do. You only have to make one person happy when you beachcomb. Yourself.

So, I hope I’ve inspired some other mature adults to find a way to relive their childlike fascination with the simplicity and beauty of nature and its ability to stimulate our imagination. Remember, you’re not looking for shells and rocks and wood, you’re looking for hearts and sand castles and flowers. — Frank Grasso •

Lifestyle

Inside Scoo

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hen you get the urge for a treat on a hot, summer night, what’s the first thing that comes to mind? For me — and for many others — it’s ice cream! During the summer, long lines can be seen at ice cream parlors all over the Island. Ice cream and America just seem to go together. In fact, in 1984, President Ronald Reagan recognized the popularity of ice cream and proclaimed July as National Ice Cream Month and the third Sunday of that month as National Ice Cream Day. In years past, drug stores used to employ “soda jerks” who would pull (jerk) handles on a soda fountain in order to dispense soda to patrons. These same soda jerks were also responsible for serving ice cream to the customers, as well. Now, with soda fountains relegated to the realm of collectibles, the young folks serving ice cream are referred to as “scoopers.” Scoopers on LBI, as with most beach towns, are typically high school or college students, and they are a well-liked lot, indeed. In fact, many local ice creameries have tip jars for a “scooper’s college fund.”

Big Dipper in Surf City, which has been serving ice cream since the 1970s, is one of the ice creameries that is trying hard to help its scoopers succeed in college, and it’s not difficult to figure out why. Its owner, John Gofus, worked there during the summers when he was a college student. Since his father was a pharmacist and there was a soda fountain in his store, being around ice cream was nothing new for John. So, in 2003, after graduating college, John seized the opportunity to purchase the ice creamery where he had worked during college. And what a job he’s done with it! When John took ownership of the ice cream parlor, he wanted to dress up the walls and give patrons something to look at while they waited to place their orders, so

Page 52 • Echoes of LBI

he decided to feature a little ice cream history. He put up shelves and started collecting and displaying nostalgic items having to do with ice cream — ice cream makers, signs, toys, serving dishes, and scoops, to mention just a few.

Before the ice cream season got into full swing this year, I had an opportunity to get the scoop on the history and technology behind ice cream scoops from John Gofus.

In the early days of serving ice cream, before the invention of the first ice cream scoop, ice cream was “spooned” out of its container. But, like so many other items, advances in technology have brought us from spoons to ice cream scoops (originally called ice cream “dishers” or “dippers” back in the day).

There are three distinct features that separate the various types of ice cream scoops. One is the shape of the scoop. Some are conical, some are round, and some, believe it or not, are flat for making ice cream sandwiches. The second feature is the release mechanism that gets the ice cream out of the scoop. Ice cream can be released from a scoop by way of a spring, a gear, a turn-key, or a non-mechanical, heat sensitive handle (the scoop most commonly used today). The third and final distinguishing characteristic is the serving size, which is indicated by a number stamped on the scoop. The smaller the number on the scoop, the larger the portion size and the fewer servings you can scoop per container. Conversely, the larger the number on the scoop, the smaller the portion size and the more servings you can scoop per container (I’ll have a #1 scoop, please!!).

In 1887, William Clewell of Reading, Pennsylvania became the first person to receive a patent for a scoop or disher design. This early disher was made of tin and had a key mechanism at the top, which was connected to two pieces of tin inside the cone shaped scoop that released the ice cream with the turn of the key. In the 1930s, an aluminum, non-mechanical scoop was invented by Sherman Kelly of Toledo, Ohio. It could easily be used by right or left handed individuals, and allows for the ice cream to be “balled” rather than compressed in the scoop. The handle is filled with a type of anti-freeze and so the transfer of warmth from the scooper’s hand to the scoop by way of the handle causes the ice cream to be released. This is the scoop that most ice cream parlors use today.

Many antique scoops can still be purchased for less than $40, with some specifically shaped or rare scoops selling for much more. John isn’t sure exactly how many scoops he has, but he has several boxes of scoops and other ice cream related memorabilia that he has not displayed yet. Most of John’s scoops have been purchased at yard sales, flea markets, or on eBay for what he feels were reasonable prices. He did tell me, though, that the most he has paid for any one scoop was around $260. (Thank you, John, for giving all those potential collectors out there the inside “scoop.”)

At the end of our conversation, John mentioned an ice cream making class he took. This class offered much more than just learning how to make ice cream by adding ingredients to a machine, though. It was a class on the entire process, starting with milking the cows, then moving on to separating the cream from the milk, churning and flavoring the cream, and then serving it. Sort of gives you a whole new appreciation for that treat you crave when you head out on that summer evening trek to your favorite ice cream parlor, doesn’t it? — Vickie VanDoren •

The Container Garden and Artifacts < Ă&#x161;JR@M KJOODIB ?@NDBI NCJK

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414 North Bay Ave Beach Haven, NJ 609-661-1586 or 609-492-4002

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N

Decoy

ice spear fishing is mainly done orth American ice fishfor sport or as a hobby, and fish ermen, as well as spear decoys are primarily sought after fishermen from around as collector items. The states of the world, have used fish Minnesota, Michigan, and North decoys for centuries as lures.

Dakota are among several that Eskimos and other Native still maintain ice spear fishing Americans of the Great Lakes seasons, and the sport is very region first carved fish decoys much alive and well. from bone, wood, and antlers In 1989, the exhibit Beneath and would use them to ice fish An American Folk Art the Ice: The Art of Spearfishfrom the icehouses they would ing Decoy opened in New York construct from deer and other City at the Museum of American animal skins. Fish decoys can Folk Art and sparked a surprising amount of be simple woodcarvings or elaborately deconew interest for this utilitarian folk art among rated works of art; however, their purpose is collectors and sportsmen.

Fish decoys have the same. Ice fisherman attach fish decoys suddenly become a focus of American folk art to a “jigging stick” with fishing line, “jig” enthusiasts.

Today, many fish decoy carvers the stick up and down and from side to side create whimsical or intricately decorated dein the water, and then spear the predator fish coys that are highly sought after by collectors. that has been attracted by the fish decoys Alfred Stevens, Jr., a resident of Tuckerthrough a hole cut into the frozen waters of rivers, lakes, and bays. ton, New Jersey, is a fish decoy enthusiast and creator who is trying to do his part to make sure this American Ice spear fishing and the use of fish decoys went through a folk art lives on. Though only a recent fish decoy aficionado, period of resurgence from the late 1920s through the 1930s. It Stevens is doing all he can to promote this art form and has is perhaps no surprise that this period of popularity coincided designed a number of unique and beautiful fish decoys. His fish with the Great Depression. As families struggled to survive in decoy creations can be enjoyed and purchased at Things A Drift, hard economic times, ice fishing with fish decoys provided an located at 406 Long Beach Boulevard in Ship Bottom. inexpensive way to help put much needed food on many Ameri— Christine E. Rooney, Alfred Stevens • can tables during the long cold winters. Nowadays, though, Page 54 • Echoes of LBI

Creation

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the

Echoes of LBI

ART of the

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MEGA CAT

La Spiaggia

Woodies

Lifestyle

Sittin’ the Wood S

ittin’ the Wood is a full length documentary about lifeguarding, featuring the 2011 Ship Bottom Beach Patrol (SBBP) on Long Beach Island, N.J. The film offers a glimpse into the daily lives of the well trained folks who keep beach goers safe during the summer days at the shore. The film covers the SBBP from the beginning of their season for time trial tryouts in April, Page 58 • Echoes of LBI

and covers all the beach action through Labor Day. Sittin’ the Wood includes lifeguard training programs and workouts, guard competitions, beach safety tips, daily events and lifeguard procedures, community service, a bit of Ship Bottom history, memories from retired guards, and some lifeguard socializing and more. Summer 2011 also featured earth tremors galavanting

“oh give me a house by the shining sea, by the waves and the sand and the sky...”

Left to Right: Steve LaMarco, Tom Smith, Laura Klink, Rick Zanes, Kimberly Muldoon, Greg Swift, Keith Stokes, Calla Aniski, Dan Masters, Sam Candio, Nora Covert, Ryan Connolly, Jonny Skolnick

seals and Hurricane Irene.

Sittin’ the Wood was produced by Jarvis Video Productions, a local independent production company, and sponsors and donations are needed to complete the editing process and to manufacture dvd duplications of the final product.

Email: jarvisvideo@aol.com Web: www.sittinthewood.com •

Maggie M. O’Neill Real Estate Sales Mary Allen Realty, Inc. Ship Bottom, NJ 609-494-0700 Lunasea32@gmail.com

Lifestyle

FIRE&ICE Quest for the Rarest F

Sea Glass Colors

or many beach goers, the chance of finding a rare treasure in the surf to take home is one of its main attractions.

While some scan the sand with metal detectors for a shiny coin or lost ring, others scrutinize the undertow for a glint of red or blue. The latter folks are the sea glass hunters — people who bring true meaning to the familiar saying, One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. While sea glass enthusiasts are very happy to find pieces along the shore of any color, many of the true aficionados focus their attention on finding shards of glass borne by the waves that are of the two most prized colors: red and blue.

Since red glass, generally speaking, was a rare thing in days gone by, red sea glass is a truly extraordinary discovery on the beach.

And that’s not the only surprising fact about red glass. Since the days of alchemy and beyond, the manufacture of red glass has involved the use of gold in the smelting process. And in this instance, a little bit of gold goes a long way. In fact, there is typically less than .001 percent of gold by weight in every ten pounds of red glass manufactured.

On the other hand, the need for expensive gold, no matter the quantity, certainly helped make red glass a rarity. Some red glass, like that used to make lanterns or taillights, also used cadmium in the mixture in order to give it an orange/red tint. This process enhanced the ability of glass to reflect light and, thus, to better serve as a signal on ships or trains. In fact, if you ever find a piece of red/orange sea glass from a lantern, just hold it under a black light and you will see

Pieces of red glass lenses which contain Cadium, giving them an orange tint and a glow under a UV light.

that it glows a bright orange on its edges. (The latter day discovery that cadmium is a highly toxic substance has, of course, brought an end to its use in glassmaking.) As you might suspect, red glass was rarely used in making bottles — one of the most common sources of sea glass. One of the exceptions to this general rule that occasionally provides joy to a sea glass hunter, though, is the Schlitz Royal Ruby Beer bottle manufactured by The Anchor Hocking Company. Manufactured between 1950 and 1953, the Schlitz Royal Ruby Beer bottle would definitely be one of the leading suspects if you’re ever lucky enough to find an example of the elusive red shard.

Another source of red sea glass is decorative dishware, like the “Cape Cod” style of Avon fine china. But it’s highly unlikely you’ll be finding a piece of this type of sea glass anytime soon.

The chances of finding this type of red sea glass are even slimmer than those of finding a shard from a red bottle, as fine china is an unlikely product to be intentionally pitched into the ocean, the way so much of the sea glass we find on the beach began its voyage in the briny deep.

Believe it or not, though, perhaps the most sought after color of all sea glass is not red. That honor has apparently been reserved for the color blue. While blue sea glass is actually slightly more common than red, it is considered to be even more mysterious. Made with cobalt, copper, and a touch of iron, most experts will tell you that blue is the most loved of all the sea glass colors. Cobalt blue, popularized by Milk of Magnesia, Vicks, and Noxzema products, is perhaps the most common shade of blue used in old bottles. Deeper blues were often used for bottles containing poisons and medicines, as this helped to protect the tincture inside from light. Rarer forms for blue sea The Schiltz Royal Ruby Beer bottle made by Anchor Hocking Glass Company is a true prize for sea glass hunters and bottle collectors.

glass into the ocean in hopes of “discovering” them on the beach years later. (Wow! Does anyone else out there think this might be an example of taking the concept of “self-help” just a little too far?) Sharp and often bought originally from a store in the form of decorative glass balls stuffed into plastic nets, these shards can actually be harmful to walkers and our environment. Moreover, many of these sea glass “seeders” use acid to wear down the edges of the glass chunks to create a silky finish, without regard for the fact that the acid can irritate skin and be harmful to marine life. So, if you encounter a piece of “seeded” sea glass on your beachcombing excursions, it’s best to discard these “uncooked” counterfeits in a safe and secure manner. This will ensure a better beach for all, and perhaps the gesture will create a little bit of good karma that will return to you some day when you discover a real red or blue treasure in the sand. — Sara Caruso •

Examples of blue sea glass: Clockwise from back row: Turquiose bottle neck; Bromo-Seltzer bottle; Japanese perfume; Teal lens; Candy dish lid.

glass are also out there to be found, but you will have to be very lucky, indeed, to find one of these hues: aqua, often from Atlas and Ball canning jars; turquoise, from decorative dishware and seltzer bottles; and, teals, from telegraph insulators.

The glass that so many sea glass hunters crave — red and blue — was rarely made after the late 1800s, except for a brief resurgence during the Depression Era. Due to the cost of materials involved in the manufacturing process and worker safety concerns, however, these types of glass became more and more scarce as the Depression wore on. The production of red glass became too expensive due to its use of gold, and the health and safety concerns stemming from the toxicity of cadmium and cobalt rendered the manufacture of blue glass untenable. In any event, by the 1960s, plastics began their march to popularity in manufacturing, while the use of glass in making bottles and other consumer products began its corresponding decline — a depressing development for the future of sea glass hunting, to be sure.

Speaking of threats to the future of sea glass hunting, beachcombers should be aware of the rather odd phenomena of sea glass “seeding” — a practice of certain sea glass collectors whereby they intentionally introduce broken pieces of new

The origins of blue sea glass are often found in medicines, poisins, chemical, ink, beer bottles and insulators.

Imperfect

Lifestyle

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any of us walk the beach for hours, searching for the perfect shell. It is such a joy to find an unbroken whelk or scallop shell hidden in the sand, or watch as it washes up out of the water. Perfect shells are hard to find. As with most things in life, the law of supply and demand designates what we value and what we leave behind.

The rare, perfect shell is a beach walker’s prize.

Each time I venture out, I hope to bring home at least one gift from the sea, but that is easier said than done. After all, if perfect shells were easy to find, they would not be quite so special.

One sunrise, I had walked for a little over two hours and still had not found a treasure for the day.

There were many shells on the beach that morning, but none that were exceptional. Or were they?

My mind started to reflect on exactly what it is that causes us to deem one shell better than another.

How unfair to overlook the common, broken shells because they don’t meet specific standards, I think.

Heck, if I were a shell, I would be the imperfect one left behind on the beach. I’m not perfect and I don’t know anyone who is. But the people I love, at least as far as I am concerned, are the best friends and family anyone could hope for. I would be missing out on a lot of laughter, love, and support if I only looked for perfect people. So maybe I should stop looking for only perfect shells.

Once I decided to consider all shells as special, a world of treasures was suddenly at my feet. My new eyes saw the sand covered with extraordinary finds, riches in every shape and size. Now I spend countless hours looking at imperfect shells and finding the one thing that makes it unique, some small marking that hints at its individual story. I never again have to leave the beach without an ocean gift. And the amazing part is, the imperfect shells are more interesting than the ones without flaws. Their flaws give them character, no matter how common or how broken. Now, I walk the beach and see exquisiteness and splendor in each shell. They speak to the beauty in us all, no matter how imperfect we may be. Once again, my walk on the beach is much more than a treasure hunt. It’s another lesson on life, whispered to me by the wise and wonderful sea. — Maggie O’Neill •

Page 62 • Echoes of LBI

Shell

ON TV ONLINE ON SMARTPHONES

LBI TV airs 10 times every day all summer long on LBI cable channel 22, and all year long online. Check out this video series featuring the people, places, activities, and events that make the LBI lifestyle so special. For TV air times, or to watch anytime online, go to LBITV.com. For ad info, call 609-294-2111.

LBI TV 2012 features Presented by the Southern Ocean County Chamber of Commerce

t Discover Barnegat Light t *tâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Happening in Harvey Cedars t &YQMPre Surf City

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Marine Science

Sea W

hen we stroll along the surf, we should always remain conscious of our responsibility to act as guardians of the ocean and its marine life.

The ocean has a habit of offering up an incredibly wide range of flotsam and jetsam, and this “bounty of the sea” often includes items harmful to our Shore environment.

So, when we encounter an object that is nothing more than a hazard to our beach environment and its inhabitants, it is our job as beachcombers either to remove it or to inform the proper authorities.

Sea glass has always been the coveted beach find. Three years ago, however, when I first started searching for sea glass, I found a plethora of “sea plastic.” It seemed that whenever I would venture out for a stroll along the beach, I would find brightly colored pieces of ... plastic ... and lots of it! My inability to find “well cooked” shards of sea glass became a joke among my more serious sea-glass-hunting

Summer of Fun! Barnegat Bay

2012

Plastic

friends. They would find amazing pieces of glass, marbles, and even old pieces of pottery and other interesting beach finds. I found plastic.

Recently, two friends and I went to a fa-

vorite spot to look for glass. We all found some great pieces of fabulously colored sea glass. I found my first marble, but I also found my traditional bounty of sea plastic.

This time, though, my sea plastic wasn’t just the typical catch of lighters, barrettes, and water bottles. This time, I found “good” plastic! Among the items found that day was a dial from an old rotary phone and a disc with a plastic screw through the middle. The disc was covered with mud, and, once cleaned off, it was obvious that it was a tag that had become separated from some sea animal. I called the phone

number on the tag and discovered that it was from a horseshoe crab, tagged by the U.S. Department of the Interior’s Fish and Wildlife Service. They sent me a certificate by mail, as well as information about horseshoe crabs, including the location where this particular crab was tagged. As a bonus, they even included a lovely pewter horseshoe pin.

Years from now, I suppose, people will comb the beach for plastic relics that the ocean will render up for us to find, and “experts” will conjure up anthropological explanations of their original use. But, for now and in the future, we need to remain vigilant for pieces of sea plastic that are simply dangerous trash, not treasure. So, I would like to ask that you join me in this commitment. When you set out to comb the beach for treasures, please take two bags with you: one for trash and one for the sea glass or sea plastic you choose to keep. You may get a real head start on future sea plastic collectors, but more importantly, you will definitely be doing your part to protect our beautiful Shore.

— Vickie VanDoren text & photos •

LBI locations For Sales, Repairs, Slip Rentals Surf City Marina • 325 S 1st St, Surf City • 609-494-2200 Surf City Marina Boat Sales • 337 W 8th St, Ship Bottom • 609-361-5200 Bombardier Dealer • Sea-Doo personal Watercraft • Showroom in Ship Bottom

Marine Science

Horse Play T

There Must be a Ranch in the Sea ...

Because There’s Horses!

he world’s fascination with seahorses extends as far back as Greek mythology. According to the Greeks, the great god of the sea, Poseidon, traveled in a chariot pulled by water horses. Writings by the great poet, Homer, described these beasts as very similar to the terrestrial horses with which we are familiar. As time continued and other creative minds added to the lore, however, the creatures that ferried Poseidon became more fish-like. Enhanced by a scaly tail, much like a mermaid’s, the animal referred to by the Greeks as “hippocampus” took on a much more mythological appearance. It is from these mythological pets of Poseidon where the seahorse gets Page 66 • Echoes of LBI

Carol Freas art

its genus name, Hippocampus.

Hippocampus The people of ancient Greece believed a hippocampus to be the fully matured form of the seahorse. Nowadays, of course, no one would think twice about the idea of this delicate, beautiful creature growing into a steed that simultaneously gallops and swims. Instead, we tend to think of seahorses much more like chameleons of the sea, having the ability to change colors and adapt to their surroundings.

The fragile body of a seahorse is relatively straight, ending in a curved tail that lacks a caudal fin, the tail fin that many fish use for propulsion. The head, which is slightly angled downward, ward, possesses eyes that can act independently of each

Marine Science other and ends in a tubular snout.

Seahorses can range in size from the tiny Pontoh’s pygmy seahorse, which measures only one centimeter in length, to the seemingly giant Kuda seahorse, which can grow to over a foot in length. But perhaps the most distinct feature of most seahorses is their ability to make environmental adaptations. In my years as an aquarium hobbyist, I have owned several species of seahorses and, in that experience, the “great seahorse” (Kellogg’s seahorse) has displayed more radical changes in color and pattern than any other species. In one instance, for example, when I introduced a bright yellow individual into a group of smoky colored seahorses, the individual first acquired dark spots and, then, over a period of a week, became indistinguishable from the rest of the specimens — a pretty neat trick, indeed.

In addition to their ability to match the look of other seahorses, some species of seahorses have the ability to transform their bodies to look like the environment in which they live. One such species, Bargibanti’s seahorse (Hippocampus bargibanti), another pygmy species, is found exclusively with colonies of the gorgonian Muricella (sea whips or sea fans), a plantlike animal belonging to the same subclass as soft corals. The Bargibanti seahorse’s pale, gray body is striated and contains bright pink globules, mimicking the gorgonian and fitting right into the backdrop it provides.

Clearly, disguise is crucial to seahorses, as most species are small and have no means of defense, save for going unnoticed. Camouflage, therefore, has been essential to the animal’s survival.

Another unique characteristic of the seahorse is its reproductive system.

Seahorses are monogamous, choosing an exclusive mate for life. More interestingly, however, seahorses provide the only instance in nature where the male carries the unborn offspring. The male is outfitted with a pouch on what we would think of as his chest. This is where his mate deposits her eggs, which are then internally fertilized by the male. The eggs will then remain in the male’s pouch until they are ready to hatch as tiny genetic variations of their parents.

Seahorses are nothing like the racing steeds of Greek mythology. They use tiny pectoral fins located on both sides of their heads to steer and a dorsal fin to propel them forward, but do not possess the muscle or body structure to constantly swim through the water. Since seahorses are relatively poor swimmers, however, they have developed a prehensile tail to help with stability.

The tail acts as an anchor, allowing the seahorse to grasp onto

sea grass, patches of macro algae or some other stationary object in order to remain at rest while feeding. From this stationary position, the seahorse can suck up tiny crustaceans floating by in the current or attached to fauna. While these little creatures are beautiful and mysterious, they are clearly much less dynamic than their mythological counterparts.

Like so many other animals in today’s world, seahorses face great adversity in many forms. Due to their sluggishness and presence in shallow waters, seahorses often wind up as a fishing boat’s “bycatch” (a creature accidentally caught in a fishing net). The most devastating reason for the decline of seahorses, however, is their use in traditional Chinese medicine. Dried seahorses are highly valued due to the belief that they can be successfully used to address medical challenges such as asthma, arteriosclerosis, thyroid disorders, skin ailments, incontinence, broken bones, and childbirth. Along with the hundreds of thousands caught and sold for traditional medicinal purposes, moreover, large numbers of seahorses are extracted from their habitats every year in order to be added to home aquariums, mainly in North America. Unfortunately, though, aquarium enthusiasts who purchase seahorses because of their unique appearances do not typically know how to feed and care for these fragile creatures. As a result, most seahorses purchased for aquariums die quickly, far short of their one to five year expected lifespan (depending upon the particular species).

Seahorse enthusiasts are very concerned about the issue of the long-term survivability of this wondrous breed. Fortunately, though, there have been some positive developments recently in terms of protecting the species. On July 1, 2004, the government of the Australian state of New South Wales (NSW) enacted a measure that grants significant protection to seahorses. Now, pursuant to the Fisheries Management Act, all species of seahorses are considered “protected species” in NSW waters. Nevertheless, while this law has allowed some progress to be made in limiting the trade of seahorses, there is still much that can be done to aid in the survival of such a magnificent and incomparable creature.

Hopefully, other jurisdictions will follow the lead provided by NSW and ensure the future for Poseidon’s favorites.

— Ryan Marchese •

50 & Counting

“Farbulous” Memories

W

hen you are 94 years old and still have fond memories of summers spent with your family and friends in Beach Haven that stretch back to the 1950s, you are truly blessed. That’s how I felt when I recently had the opportunity to chat with Elaine Farb and share her memories of summering with her family here on Long Beach Island. Today, she still has two framed pictures on her bedroom bureau of those special times spent in Beach Haven, but she has kept thousands more in her heart and soul for all these many years.

The Farb family (father Benjamin, mother Elaine, and children Steven, Beth, and Susan) typically rented a garden-style apartment from the Shapiro family for six weeks every summer, from mid June through the end of July, starting back in 1954. As Elaine fondly recalls, their friends Vernon and Eve Malerman, along with their two children, Arnold and Cheryl, and David and Lillian Salerman, with their children, Drew and Alby, would always vacation with them, as well. Elaine went on to explain that, during those weeks, it was the moms who stayed at the beach with the children, Monday through Friday, while the dads toiled back in the workaday world on the mainland. After a long week at work, the dads joined them every Friday night through Sunday, when they all spent countless hours together making memories that would last a lifetime. She remembers that every Friday they would all go out for dinner, then top it all off with custard or ice cream for dessert. Another frequent weekend highlight she recalls vividly were the boat rides on t he B ay w ith t he F arbs’de ntist, D r. D avid H illerson.

One of the fondest memories Elaine shared with me was the one of her son Steven learning to swim in the Bay in Beach Haven. He and Arnold Malerman would go to the Swimming Bay area (an area roped off for swimming) for swimming lessons in the mornings. She smiles when she recalls how her husband, Benjamin, would bolster what he learned during the week by giving little Steve additional swimming lessons in the Bay, just in case! Elaine remembers the Island being, in her words, such a “safe haven” that she and Arnold’s mom, Eve, would allow the boys to go down to the Bay for their lessons alone, never giving it a second thought.

Reflecting the special times that the Farb family had for so

Page 68 • Echoes of LBI

many years on LBI, Steve still returns to the Island every year in the spring, along with his wife Joan. He particularly enjoys a new tradition he has begun here on the island of his boyhood summers, riding his bike up and down LBI’s 18 miles of coastal beauty, along with other members of the Central Bucks Bicycling Club. They stay at Spray Beach Motor Inn and, of course, always have breakfast at Uncle Will’s Pancake House. Oh, the power of memories and tradition!

Many of Elaine’s memories of Long Beach Island are shared by all of us who were lucky enough to spend time here in the years when she brought her children to the Shore for the summer: going to Kapler’s Pharmacy for something to soothe the bug bites, lunches on the beach or at Holiday Snack Bar in Beach Haven, kites that barely got off the ground, crabbing with the little ones, Morrison’s for dinner, the miracle of the local “5 & 10” store on a rainy day with kids, and that end-of-the-day walk to the ice cream parlor.

As she told me of these simple, but unforgettable, memories, I smiled and thought to myself about how we create enduring family traditions so often without having the slightest idea of how important they will become over time. Elaine’s reminiscences also prompted me to look back over the years of my family’s own traditions and to appreciate how some of the good things in life never change — thank goodness!

Towards the end of our chat, Elaine shared a final favorite tradition that evokes a time gone by for many of us who share a long history with the Island. Elaine remembered so fondly the annual BBQs the Farbs, Malermans, and Salermans would have on the beach at the end of every vacation. Having obtained a permit to make a fire on the beach (as I said, a memory from days of old), it was a time all three families got together and shared the bonds of family, friendship, food, and memories — indeed, memories that have lasted a very long and happy lifetime. To be surrounded by the beauty of the ocean, sand, moonlit skies filled with stars, and her family and friends was a treasure that Elaine will never forget. It is a memory that Elaine still keeps in her heart and soul at the age of 94, and it is one of so many truly “Farbulous” memories that I was so fortunate to share with Elaine. Thank you, Elaine! — Diane Stulga •

Find your home on Long Beach Island!

“In the immediate nearness of the gold” — Robert Louis Stevenson, Treasure Island

Zack Shore Properties Patrice “Pat” Albanese, Broker Associate, ABR, SRES Prudential Zack Shore Properties • 1000 Long Beach Blvd. • Ship Bottom, NJ 08008 (o) 609-494-7272 (c) 609-226-6113 • patalbanese@aol.com

50 & Counting

Life in Beach Arlington Nora, Danial, Doris’ mother Martha Johnson and Isaac

I

am and always have been a firm believer in the phrase, Timing is Everything. I certainly felt this way on the day after this past Memorial Day when I had the pleasure of meeting Ike Johnson. I shared with him a lifetime of his memories while growing up in Ship Bottom-Beach Arlington (now, and since 1947, simply “Ship Bottom”) here on LBI. Ike is a man who has served his country proudly, as did so many other members of his family.

Isaac Jennings Johnson was born to Daniel Benjamin Johnson Sr. and Martha Leona Bolton at 256 W. 8th Street in Beach Arlington, on May 11, 1929. When his dad’s mother passed away, Ike’s dad was left with a relative to be raised in West Creek, N.J. He only became connected to LBI when he got older. His dad worked for the railroad, on the line running between Barnegat City and Beach Arlington. He was in charge of the train tracks.

Ike’s mom was from the Bolton and Allen families of Manahawkin, and her father was Rev. Isaac Jennings Bolton. As a child, Ike lived on 17th and 18th Streets in Beach Arlington.

Ike recalls that as a child it seemed that all the families in the area seemed to live on 17th Street. He attended the Beach Haven Elementary School and Barnegat High School. He remembers being sent out with his sister Nora by his mom to the cranberry bogs on LBI to collect cranberries for the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays. Ike warmly smiles as he remembers that every 4th of July there was a big carnival in Beach Page 70 • Echoes of LBI

John, at age six, in front of the wreck of the Fortuna.

Arlington to celebrate Independence Day. Ike also remembers that as early as the age of eight he would be sent down by his mom to the so-called “pound fishing” boats at The Surf City Fishery to get some Bonita fish for dinner.

“Pound fishing” is a method that utilizes huge nets secured to the beach and stretching out as far as 1 mile into the ocean. During the winter, it was the frostfish (a barracuda-like fish) known as Whiting that he would bring home from the beach.

From the time he was eight or nine years old, Ike spent almost every day on the beach. He would get up early and stay on the beach until around noon. Then, he would go home for lunch and head down to the Bay Pavilion on 24th Street. He also spent a lot of time on the Bay in his rowboat, clamming and crabbing.

He and a friend would go out together, with one rowing and the other bailing! They sold the clams and crabs for a penny a piece to a local restaurant, Wida’s, or to the neighbors. If they caught over 800, they sold them to Mr. Homen, near the old wooden bridge. He was a wholesaler and paid a lot more for the soft shell crabs they caught!

At approximately 14 years old, Ike got his working papers.

Prior to that, he worked as a telegram and special letter delivery boy. Once he received his working papers, he got a job as a bus boy at Wida’s. After the Great Storm of 1944, Ike recalls walking the streets and seeing all the oceanfront damage. He recalls in particular a clothing store called Herbert’s that stood where

the 7-Eleven is now located, just off the traffic circle. There was Ike and Dolly lost their only son, John, at the age of seven due a foot of sand in the store from the storm, and Ike and his friend to a heart condition. Ike has a lot of nieces and nephews who Walt offered to dig it out. The two of them were paid in shoes, he and his wife have helped care for over the years. One of his clothing, and some cash. Boy, how the times have changed!! nieces, Brooke Gordon, had asked Ike to fill in for her dad (he When Ike was approximately 16 to 17 years old, he worked was unable to attend) this year at a special Father’s Day ceras was a milkman and an iceman. He used to make deliveries emony held at her school. From the twinkle in his eye and the for The Beach Haven Crest Ice House, which was located where beaming smile on his face, I knew his calendar had been marked the Post Office stands today. During those years, every Friday and circled for this special day. and Saturday there were huge bonfire gatherings on the beach.

When Ike left the Marine Corps, he made a career for himEveryone would get together and roast hot dogs and marshmalself in the floor and wall covering business. In fact, he worked lows. They would play guitars and sing and some boys would in countless homes all over LBI during those years — quite fish. (No permits were needed). He remembers when they possibly including the one you’ll sleep in tonight! When first would all get together and swim around the SS Fortuna, as the retired at the age of 62, Ike rode his bike everywhere on LBI. ship wrecked vessel created pools around it at low tide on the He used to spend at least two hours on the beach every single 16th Street beach. day. He has rescued many a seagull snagged in a fishing line At 18 years old, Ike joined the Merchant Marines, working for and has thrown countless horseshoe crabs back into the ocean the Atlantic Refinery Company for three years. Then, the Kowhen they have lost their way. He smiles as he claims that the rean War broke out and he enlisted in the United States Marine Marine Corps had taken him almost around the world, but is Corps. He spent a year quick to add, “There’s in Korea serving his no place like home.” country.

The way Ike looks at Ike met his wife, Doit, once you get that lores (Dolly) Juszczak, sand in your shoes, in Beach Arlington. She you can never leave. was from Cedar Run, He still visits the New Jersey, and worked beach often. at Millside Farms as a From the time I soda girl and ice cream spent with Ike Johnserver. Ike’s brother, son, it is clear to me Dan, and his wife, Beathat he is a man who trice, ran the operation, has been blessed with and Dolly also used to a life well lived right baby sit for Dan and in the very place of his Beatrice at their home in birth, Arlington Beach.

Cedar Run. See what I And Ike is a man of mean? Timing Is surprises! At the end Everything! Ike and of our conversation, Brooke Gordon Dolores were married on Ike walked over to a Sept. 19, 1953, and moved into a house located at 256 W. 14th bookcase and picked up a Jimmy Buffett book, A Salty Piece Street. (The same house number, 256, as the house Ike was born of Land, that he reads now and then. Need I say more? He in on a different block!) may have a long lifetime of memories, but is still very much Ike recalls vividly World War II, especially when the National engaged in the now. And, as for Ike’s connection to Buffett, Guard came to LBI to guard the bridges. The National Guard it turns out that it goes back a way. He remembers that while stayed in the Gurtcheff home on 19th Street. There was a U.S. he spent time in the shipyards in Mobile, Alabama, during his Army tent encampment set up on the beach where the CVS is time in the Corps, Jimmy Buffett’s parents and Jimmy were located today in Ship Bottom. The Coast Guard used horses also working there on the base. Although he never actually to patrol the beach during the day and a canine detachment at met the Buffetts, he’s been a Jimmy Buffett fan for a very night. No one was allowed on the beach at night! long time, and, from my chat with him, I’m sure Ike would It is plain to see that Ike Johnson is a man who is proud of his agree that it’s those “changes in latitudes” and “changes in atfamily. His 89-year old brother Dan served in the U.S. Navy in titudes” that make us what we are today. In any event, I hope World War II. His sister Nora, who married a Coast Guardsman, I’m reading a Jimmy Buffett book when I’m 83 years young!

Ralph Widman, is 85 years old. He also has an 87-year-old sisThank you, Ike, for serving and protecting our country and for ter, Doris, who is married to Ronald King, son of A. Paul King spending a lifetime loving and caring for our wonderful LBI. of Beach Haven (for whom a park is named in Manhawkin).

— Diane Stulga •

50 & Counting

Sea Chest was located on the boardwalk Raising the Flag in front of the Govoner and crowd of onlookers During the Memorial Day Service when Veteran’s Park in Beach Haven was Dedicated in 1945.

Neville Gee (Bill’s Older Brother) on the beach circa 1929- Beach Haven Boardwalk Behind him.

Heart Warming Memories of Beach Haven

A

s I began my interview of Phyllis Parker Gee at her home in Manahawkin, I immediately began to sense the warmth and passion she feels for her native LBI. Her life is one that has given her countless, heartwarming memories of Long Beach Island. Her life has been truly an LBI life, and her story is one well worth telling.

Phyllis was born on April 17, 1935, on Centre Street in Beach Haven, in the house her father built, as were her brother Lester and her sister Betty. They were delivered by Dr. Fred Bunnell, who came to their home from his office in Barnegat, New Jersey. Leslie Reeves Parker was Phyllis’s dad. He was born in Parkertown, New Jersey, and was descended from the seven Parker brothers who founded it. Her mom was Martha Elizabeth Mathis, a descendent of the great John Mathis family of Little Egg Harbor. They were married on April 29, 1918.

Phyllis’s dad, Les, loved Long Beach Island. At the age of 14, he helped his father build the stately Lord cottage, which still stands at the corner of Atlantic and Chatsworth Avenues in Beach Haven today. At 18 years of age, he became the Dock Master for the Beach Haven Yacht Club on Engleside Avenue.

It was here where he helped passengers load and unload their boats and where many of them then boarded a horse-drawn train over to the Engleside Hotel.

At first, Phyllis’s mom and dad used to rent a house in Beach Haven Terrace from Verley Gale. Later, they moved to Beach Haven and rented from Lester Cowperthrite on Engleside Avenue.

Her dad then became employed by Cranmer Lumber Co., where he worked in their mill for 24 years. He proudly remembered making frames for the Small Estate greenhouses in Harvey Cedars. He left Cranmer’s in the 1940s and went to work building ships for World War II at Ventnor Boat Works just outside Atlantic City, carpooling to work every day with other locals, including Page 72 • Echoes of LBI

Joe Sprague, Ned Carlton, George Parker (his brother-in-law), and Fred Shinn. Les Parker eventually became a foreman and received a commendation from the War Department.

After the war ended, Les started his own construction/contracting business with his son, Lester. Phyllis’s brother had served in the U.S. Navy on an LST on both fronts of World War II. Together, father and son built and repaired many homes on LBI. They built Wes and Kay’s Market, Rommel’s Liquor store, and Beach Haven’s Mayor Peter Buterick’s first home, as well as many others.

Les and his son Lester were both members of the Beach Haven Fire Company and were Charter Members of the Beach Haven First Aid Squad. They spent many years as first responders and made countless trips to Lakewood and Atlantic City Hospitals. Les also spent many evenings walking the beach, wearing a black armband, during “blackout raids” during the war. Les was a community-minded man, serving on the Beach Haven Borough Council for several years and also as Mayor. It was Les who envisioned the idea of converting a vacant Engleside Hotel lot into a Veteran’s Park, a dream that was realized when it was dedicated on Memorial Day of 1945. (I feel it so fitting to add: “Les is More” when it comes to Les Parker.) He was a very hard-working man and enjoyed his huge “Victory Garden” — a home garden intended to increase domestic food production during the war — where he spent countless hours during the war years and after. Les passed away in 1978 at the age of 83, and Martha passed away in 1982 at the age of 84. They spent most of their lives on LBI and left behind a multitude of memories and history to their family and friends.

Phyllis’ eyes were sparkling and her pride was evident as she shared the journey of her parents’ lives on LBI. She then began to reflect on her own life here on LBI. She attended the Beach Haven Elementary School, which celebrated its 100th anniver-

Harry Willits Sr., Burt Stratton and Tunis Bohn at Beach Haven Ice Plant.

The Gee House after the ‘44 Storm.

sary in May 2012. She remembers walking to school along the abandoned railroad tracks. Her 7th grade teacher was Jessie Conklin, who was also the owner of The Magnolia Guest House on Centre Street in Beach Haven. Her 8th grade teacher was Sue Salmons. Phyllis vividly remembers doing her assignments using so-called “straight pens” and inkwells!! She also remembers that the boys liked to put girls’ braids in the inkwells and that, if you were bad, you had to stand in the cloakroom with all of the coats hanging around you, until you were allowed back into the classroom!! Phyllis graduated from Barnegat High School in 1953.

Phyllis vividly remembers the day of the Great Hurricane of 1944. She was in school and there was an early dismissal. Her sister, who had her driver’s license, picked her up. The storm warnings were ominous. Her dad was at work in Ventnor and he was told, in his words, to “batten down the hatches” and go home!! He and his fellow commuters just barely made it home safe and sound before the storm hit!! (That old wooden bridge over to the Island had to be one scary ride that day!) Fortunately, the only storm damage to the Parker house was the brick chimney, which broke apart and fell into the neighbor’s driveway. Ever resourceful, though, Phyllis’ dad gathered up the bricks and made a barbeque pit, which her mom used for several days after the storm to cook and boil water. The Beach Haven Crest Ice House, run by Chris Steelman, was right across the street, so they were able to get ice. Luckily, the storm passed through rapidly. Phyllis remembers that they simply brought out the candles and played cards until the power was restored. Some things never change!!

Phyllis also remembers that, later that night, after the worst of the storm had passed, a neighbor knocked on their door. She informed Phyllis’ family that everything on the Beach Haven Boardwalk, which ran a distance of 16 blocks — yes, we used to have a boardwalk on LBI!! — was completely gone and that the streets were filled with beach sand. Phyllis remembers that on the day after the storm Bay Avenue looked like a snowstorm

had hit, only with sand drifts instead of snow. Items had been washed out into the street from Peterson’s 5&10. Downing’s Arcade, at the top of Centre Street, was gone and so was the Ewer’s Sea Chest on Pearl Street. Phyllis’ dad and a crew of men went to Holgate to help people who had lost so much. Phyllis recalls that you could walk over cars that had been washed into the Bay. Several houses had been washed off their foundations and into many of the main streets all along the Island. Phyllis knows she will never forget that experience!!

Growing up as a child on LBI, Phyllis remembers playing in the sand dunes (there weren’t beachfront homes back then) and empty lots filled with reed grass. She and her friends made forts on the lots and wove all sorts of things, especially hats, out of the dried reeds. Later, her dad and her brother bought two lots for $600.00 each, where her brother eventually built his home.

Phyllis remembers there were many parades in those days and recalls being asked by Jack Lamping, who was the LBI Board of Trade Director, to ride on a float representing Barnegat Light. Mr. Lamping was very involved with history of all kinds, especially local history, and he corresponded with local servicemen and their families during the war. His wife helped to run the local USO for the servicemen stationed at the ball field on Ocean Street.

Phyllis fondly recalls so many things about growing up on Long Beach Island. She remembers how closely-knit the young folks of LBI were back in the late 1940s and early 1950s, resulting in countless life-long friendships and romances. She recalls with a smile how many of the local kids learned to drive on the empty streets of the Island in the winter. When Phyllis began at Barnegat High School in 1949, she and her friends got to meet the kids from the Barnegat Light School and the mainland kids.

The classes were small in those days, numbering between 35 or 40 kids, but they still remain close and hold reunions to this day. Phyllis even warmly recalls traveling over that old wooden bridge every day to the mainland during those four years of high school. Plus, there was always the opportunity to meet new

50 & Counting

Left to Right: Peggy, circa 1929, on the beach - her parents Walter and Martha Phyllis Parker Gee graduation, Inn destroyed by the ‘44 storm, Parker’s Hardware

summer friends who vacationed on the Island, as well as new homeowners. Kapler’s Pharmacy in Beach Haven was named Paxton’s back then, and it was the place to hang out!

Sodas were five to 10 cents and ice cream was 25 cents!!

Phyllis affectionately recalls how important movie theaters were to the teen set on LBI in the days of her youth. They were open all year long! Harry Colmer opened the first movie theater on LBI on 3rd Street in Beach Haven in 1922, The Colonial Theatre, and six years later, in 1928, he opened The Colony Theater in Brant Beach. Besides serving as a social gathering place, the movie theaters were a great starting place for youngsters to get a job. All of Phyllis’s family worked at these theaters at some point in their teens. Phyllis worked as an usher, a ticket taker, and sometimes as a cashier over a period of thirteen years! She reminisced about the 25, 50 and 75 cent admission prices, and recalled some of the classics she and her friends watched together, including Rear Window, From Here To Eternity, and all of the Doris Day movies. She also remembers the long lines for ticket sales that sometimes reached all the way down to the Holiday Snack Bar and often required the Police to step in and control them. According to Phyllis, the Colmer theaters are among the most special memories of her generation here on LBI. A few years after high school, Phyllis went to work for the many businesses her family had established. They ran buses out of Beach Haven to Philadelphia and New York. They also had a small luncheonette, which included a Western Union office.

Phyllis fondly recalls going into Philadelphia and New York to shop and to see shows, just as Islanders still do now. Phyllis remembers how much fun it was to dress up, and to wear hats, high heels, and gloves. For Phyllis, life seemed a little simpler in those days, with less to worry about. Many Islanders didn’t even lock their doors back then!!

Phyllis married William (Bill) Gee in 1962. They met taking a First Aid course, and Bill was a good friend of her brother Les. Bill’s father and mother and their five children lived in Cranford, New Jersey, but vacationed here on LBI. After his father died when Bill was just nine, his mother eventually moved to Beach Haven year round. Following the war and after finishing his education, Bill practiced law in Ohio for a time. But Bill Page 74 • Echoes of LBI

could not stay away from LBI for long, and, in the late 1950s, Bill moved back here and established a law practice in Toms River and on LBI. Bill was a member of the Beach Haven First Aid Squad for many years and was thrilled to be made an honorary member of the Beach Haven Volunteer Fire Company in his retirement years. Phyllis sang with the Methodist Church Choir for many years, and she also served over the years as Vice-President of The Ladies Auxiliary for The Beach Haven First Aid Squad, as a Dispatcher for the Beach Haven First Aid Squad, and as a member of the Beach Haven Ladies Auxiliary of the Beach Haven Fire Company (and now holds Honorary Member status).

Bill and Phyllis have three children, Bill, Martha, and Rebecca. After their three children began school, Phyllis began working at the Beach Haven Library with Marden Dahlstedt, the head Librarian. Marden, an author of three books, taught Phyllis so much that, after she passed away, Phyllis was able to continue to work there for many years and, eventually, to serve as the Principal Library Assistant at The Ocean County Library branch in Surf City. Phyllis finally retired from her library career in 2000, after 13 years of service.

Phyllis’s three children still remain close by. Bill went to Elizabethtown College and then graduated from the Police Academy.

He now works as an Ocean County Fire Marshall. He joined the Beach Haven First Aid Squad at the age of 15, and served for years as chief of the Beach Haven Fire Company. Martha graduated from Glassboro College and has spent the last 10 years as a teacher in Pleasantville, New Jersey, and was a member of the Beach Haven First Aid Squad while attending college. Rebecca carried on the family tradition of volunteerism by serving as one of the first two women (along with Kelly Sparks) to join the Beach Haven Volunteer Fire Company as full members. She attended Ocean County College and currently works in marketing and promotions. She has written two children’s books, one for Uncle Will’s Pancake House in Beach Haven and one entitled The LBI Kid’s Book. It is apparent to me that all three children have followed in their parents’ exemplary footsteps. Each one of their lives centers around helping and teaching others every day. As anyone can clearly see, this wonderful family shares a lifetime of caring for LBI, and it was my pleasure to share in recalling so many of Phyllis’ remarkable memories. Thank you, Phyllis!

—Diane Stulga •

Family owned for more than 53 years, Walters Bikes is LBI’s only full service bike shop.

Check out our huge selection of mountain and road bikes, hybrids, cruisers, townies, and BMX bikes. All in stock.

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W riting With A Piece Of History

Looking Back

W

hat does a devoted father do when the kids are grown and out of the house? With no more basketball games to attend, Bob DeMartino found himself looking for a new project.

For more than 20 years, he was a successful sales manager in the sports apparel and sports promotion industries. He brokered deals with athletes and celebrities and attended many sports collectors’ conventions. But after years of constant travel, Bob was glad to avoid the airport.

Instead, he and his wife drove to Maine for a vacation and attended a clam festival. While there, Bob met a guy who made several one-of-a-kind pens from the wood of a lobster trap and from a moose antler. Bob bought a pen and decided this might be just the project he had been looking for — making pens from old artifacts and items that other people may consider junk. Having been a history major at Seton Hall University, Bob maintained a keen interest in all things historical.

When he returned home, Bob purchased props from a Star Trek movie set through an online auction. He contracted with artisan woodworkers to make unique pens using material from those props.

He toyed with prototypes and launched Historic Pen Company in 2007. Then, he put the venture on the back burner until he and his wife decided to downsize and move to Manahawkin two years ago.

That’s when Bob re-energized his business interest.

Last summer, on a drive to the Island, he spotted the famous Shack and hatched another idea. He contacted the Township of Stafford, where the Shack “stands,” and negotiated to reclaim the wood that had fallen from the Shack. Bob’s artisans then made

pens using the reclaimed wood. He also had more pens made, using discarded wood from the old Fisherman’s Cottage in Beach Haven. Each pen is handcrafted with such precision that an artisan makes only about three per day.

Bob sees unlimited potential in combining his passion for local history with art. He recently signed an agreement with the City of Wildwood for wood reclaimed from the boardwalk during its structural maintenance. Historic Pen Company will create another line of pens and additional product art from this wood.

The pens are a great novelty item sold exclusively at Things A Drift in Ship Bottom. Stop by the store or visit www.HistoricPenCompany.com if you’d like a piece of LBI history to hold in your hand. — Joyce Hager •

Looking Back

S op Everything!

I

A Look at the History of Sea Glass Stoppers

t is the dream of all sea glass hunters, from novice to expert, used for bottles containing medicines and other chemicals. These to find a certain special treasure on their search missions stoppers were usually flat or block shaped, making it easier for a along the Jersey Shore and beyond. It is a treasure that is chemist or apothecary to grab it. Glass bottle stoppers could also both beautiful to the eye of the sea glass collector and evocabe functional. For example, a product from the late 1800s, known tive of a bygone era to the history buff. The treasure to which I as Wyeth Eye Wash, featured a small cup as the top half of its refer, of course, is the glass bottle stopper. glass stopper. As such, it was one of the first medicinal products Once upon a time, a typical bottle stopper was nothing more to feature an easy way for its customers to measure the correct than a piece of wood or cork stuffed into the opening of a dosage without the need for a separate measuring device. bottleneck. Advancements in glass molding that followed the Another common use of glass bottle stoppers in the apothecary Industrial Revolution, however, allowed for the use of glass world was for poisons, as this avoided the dangers of deadly to provide a much more durable sealing method for liquids fluids escaping upon the eventual breakdown and dissolution of stored in bottles. While this technology, like primitive cork stoppers. In fact, the phrase often all technological advances, was destined to be uttered at bars — What’s your poison? — comes superseded by yet other advances in technology from the era in which the local pharmacy and thereby relegated to the dustbin of obsolesserved as the main supplier of poisons, which cence, the glass bottle stopper has taken on a were typically manufactured by the leading somewhat legendary status in its retirement and drug companies of the day, such as Owl Drug is generally viewed as one of the highlights of Company. Quite amazingly, though, drug any beachcomber’s collection. companies did not do much in those days to Today, we are all familiar with those pesky distinguish the bottles containing poisons from childproof caps on our medicines containers. those containing commonplace medications.

They have certainly enhanced safety, but have Yikes! Accidental poisonings, of course, were slightly complicated what used to be a very rampant. Consequently, manufacturers began simple task. Without a doubt, it was a lot easier making poison bottles with spikes or ribs runThis Wyeth Eye Wash stopper to open medicines back in the late 1800s, where ning down the sides, or even in odd shapes doubled as an eye cup a glass stopper or a cork was the only thing like triangles or skulls, so that the consumer to hold medicine. keeping medicine or, for that matter, “snake could recognize the difference. This manuoil” in its bottle. And there certainly was a lot of “snake oil” cirfacturing practice, moreover, was soon extended to include the culating around under the guise of “cure-alls” that were supposed glass bottle stoppers that accompanied them. So, if you are to “cure whatever ails you.” Indeed, before the passage of the ever lucky enough to find a “ribbed” or “spiked” glass bottle Food and Drug Act of 1906 began the process of regulating the stopper on the beach, you will know that you have finally manufacture and sale of drugs and other medicines, anyone could “picked your poison,” so to speak. make a medicine as long as they had a ladle and a bathtub. Most Like so many other consumer products, time eventually of the so-called “cure-alls” were made with alcohol ... and lots of rendered the glass bottle stopper obsolete. By the mid-1900s, it. In fact, about 90 percent of these strange elixirs were essenmetal screw on lids had more or less completely replaced the tially no different from what you’d get at the bar on a Saturday glass stopper. Zinc and aluminum caps were cheaper to produce night. Even more alarming, though, was the mystery of what the en masse in order to meet ever-increasing consumer demand and remaining 10 percent of cure-alls contained. Not so surprisingly, provided a better seal, to boot. Eventually, plastics were added the strange truth is that they could have contained anything from to the mix, and the glass stopper soon slipped away and became the chicken broth from last night’s supper to formaldehyde and a relic of the past. As time has led us further and further away everything in between. Drinking a “cure-all,” thus, meant taking from the days of glass bottle stoppers, finding one along the your life into your own hands, literally.

Shore has become more and more of a rarity with every passing As with bottles, bottle stoppers came in many different forms year. Every now and then, though, a lucky collector or a casual and sizes. The most common bottle stopper found on our beaches beach walker finds one, perhaps lodged in a rock, just waiting to is the apothecary or condiment stopper. This “T” shaped stopper become someone’s newest treasure. And who knows, perhaps was formed in a press with a taper in the stem to fit inside a cork that next someone could be you. But, just like the lotto, you that would seal in condiments such as Worcestershire sauce. Due have to play to win. So, get out there on the beach and explore. to the acidic nature of some condiments, however, these old corks You never know what’s in the jetsam rolling around the surf. rarely survive to date. Finding a bottle stopper on the beach, with There may be a glass bottle stopper or some other relic of times an intact cork, is incredibly rare. Thicker stemmed stoppers were gone by just waiting for you! — Sara Caruso •

Page 78 • Echoes of LBI

Sea Glass Stoppers

Condiment & Medicine Stoppers Circa late 1800s-early 1900s

Large Decater Stopper Circa 1900s

Chemical Stopper Circa late 1800s

Unknown Dragon Stopper Circa early 1800s

Smelling Salt Stopper Circa late 1800s

Ceramic Lightning Beer Stopper Circa 1800s - Today

Perfume Stopper Circa mid-1900s

Small Poisin Stopper Circa early 1900s

Lamploughâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; Pyretic Saline Syrup Circa 1884

All stoppersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; owned and photographed by Sara caruso

Looking Back

Page 80 • Echoes of LBI

Let ’s Swim!

A

s the sun began its decline over Barnegat Bay, my head was filled with memories. I am one of the nineteen volunteers game enough to squeeze into these small size, old, frayed and moth eaten suits. Try to picture each of us in our historic swimwear frolicking on an LBI beach, taking the waters for health, or posing at the lighthouse.

Even if you weren’t into watching Burt Parks on the Atlantic City Convention Hall stage sing, “there she is, Miss America,” everyone recognizes the tune. Now adding to those lyrics I happily hum, “and here we are, your ideal.”

Posing and laughing together for Marge Amon, the photographer for Echoes magazine, we imagine spending a day at the shore in 1915. Covered in knee length linen dresses, puffy caps, stockings and lace up booties, ladies dared not expose their tender skin to sun or male eyes. This beat what Aunt Myrtle wore in 1850 – long bloomer and a full dress, weighted at the hem to keep it from billowing up in the water. Women could only partake of the healing waters at certain hours or be completely hidden in a bathing machine (a small shed rolled in the water). Prior to this Victorian era, men mostly swam nude or in their skivvies but now they too, needed to be covered well. Try wool, guys. The first Jantzen suit weighed nine pounds when wet!

Soon the Enlightenment of the 1920s liberated women of the heavy cumbersome costume to an androgynous athletic style allowing movement. Still made of itchy wool, men and women donned one or two piece shorts and tank top in navy or black with colored stripes. Women now rolled their stockings below the knee– rather risque. You could even rent attire at bath houses here on LBI. The tank suit might still be wet from the previous customer, but it had been rinsed clean. If you were lean and muscular, the “speed suit” with cut outs on the side would enhance your image.

Sun bathing became popular in the 1930s and suits were designed for

beauty of form and function, an earlier Bauhaus influence: little decoration, boy legs, belted with a deep V back of Lastex (a synthetic rubber yarn). For comfort and a trim appearance, men had a “Sunaka” athletic support sewn in theirs. Laws still required that men have their chest covered.

During World War II, men minimized to small briefs still made of itchy wool. (Girls now days refer to them as a banana hammock). I remember my mother wearing a cotton two piece with Marjorie Amon Photos prim shorts to cover her navel.

Soon wartime fabrics became available for dressier designs.

Celanese nylon and rayon allowed a zippered hour glass shape. You would also see families in matching Hawaiian prints; Mom’s suit with a modesty panel front.

By the 1950s, automobile design influenced swimwear. Jutting angles and curves would create a slim Merry Widow waist and pointy breasts. These constructed suits were made of elastic patterned fabrics with under wire and boning. Ouch! Dad sported a cabana set: boxer trunks and matching shirt. His attire today has gone back to a similar swim trunk with much longer legs in many colors and patterns, advertised as board shorts.

Then came the 1960s. Free up everything, break traditions, showcase the body. Wear a bikini!

Seen in France since 1946, this mini suit has opened mens eyes ever since and given fathers much angst. Again using new fabrics of spandex and lycra, molding the body for a softer natural image, these suits today are much briefer than 50 years ago.

Our laughter continues as we finish the photo shoot. Tomorrow I’ll return the clothing to local shops and museums who generously shared them.

We hope this photo opens conversations with your family about the old days. What do you remember wearing to the beach? Wool, cotton or spandex? Well covered or minimal, whatever the year, LBI beach memories are the best.— Carol Freas text, Marjorie Amon photos •

Top: our men: Ottavia Lazzarato, Ron Marr, Ed Heitman, Robert Roy. Opposite page: Ottavio Lazzarato and Carol Freas.

Left: Karen Larson, Right: Diane Roy and Robert Roy.

Some of last yearâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s participants demonstrating conch blowing. Cal, Frank, Jon, Denis, Rena, Fred, Walter, Frank, Vickie, Paul and Diane.

Volunteers needed for Conch event!

Looking Back

Name ChaNge

C

aptain Stephen Willets of Tuckerton was alerted that there might be a ship in trouble near the shore. Although Willets and his crew could see nothing on that foggy night in 1817, they rowed along the outer sand bar for several hours searching for the endangered ship. Finally, a dark shape appeared — the hull of a ship, overturned on the sand bar. As one of Willets’ men climbed aboard the beached schooner, he heard a noise under his feet — a tapping sound from inside the steel hull.

Willets’ men wielded an ax to chop a hole in the ship’s bottom. After much struggling, they freed a young woman who had been trapped inside. She spoke no English and no one knows what became of her nor have any records been found about this fateful event. However, the place of the shipwreck and rescue became known as “Ship Bottom.”

The quiet hamlet of Ship Bottom was deserted until the establishment of U.S. Life Saving Station #20 in 1872. Captain Wesley Truex, keeper of the Ship Bottom Station, established the first permanent dwelling in 1898.

A community rapidly grew around the unit and shared the station’s name.

Page 84 • Echoes of LBI

was the Name of the game for ship Bottom

When the Manahawkin and Long Beach Railroad was established in 1886, the trestle ended in Ship Bottom. Several small developments formed around the Life Saving Station and the railroad stop. One of these developments was known as Beach Arlington. When it came time to name the train station, the developers ensured that the rail stop was designated with their name.

On Jan. 10, 1910, another ship from Italy named the Fortuna ran aground on the 16th Street beach during a thick fog. The captain and crew were rescued, but the ship capsized. The wrecked Fortuna lay on its side on the Beach Arlington beach during most of 1910 until it was cut up for salvage. For more information about the dramatic story and history of the Fortuna, pick up the book Fortuna by Carole Bradshaw.

Eventually the towns of Bonnie Beach, Bonnet Beach, Edgewater Beach, Beach Arlington and Ship Bottom merged to form the borough on May 25, 1925. The town was known as Ship Bottom-Beach Arlington until 1947 when the name was changed to Ship Bottom.

— Joyce Hager text — Postcards from Ike Johnson collection •

The many names of ship Bottom.

Looking Back

e (Nephew), Bill Rice,

Left to Right: Dave Ric

Bobby Lichte

SNUG-N-COZY

A

s I arrived at Bill and Linda Rice’s house in Ship Bottom, I could feel the warmth and devotion they share the minute I entered. Their home, which was purchased in 1984, has an unmistakably “snug-n-cozy” feel about it. In fact, “SNUG-N-COZY” is the name of their house, and it “SHORE FITS.” Bill and I sat in the living room to begin our chat. He is originally from Burlington, New Jersey, but has been coming to LBI since 1940. He remembers driving over the old rickety bridge with his family and the many summers they spent in a house they rented on 21st Street. Now, lo and behold, he owns his own home on 18th Street, just three blocks from where he vacationed as a boy. Bill then mentioned that his mom passed away when he was just 16 years old. As his eyes filled with tears, he remembered that, years after her passing, he found out her favorite place on LBI — the area where they rented — was once known as Beach Arlington. As he got older, he discovered that Beach Arlington had been combined with other beaches to form the Borough of Ship Bottom-Beach Arlington in 1925 (later shortened to simply Ship Bottom in 1947). Bill is a firm believer in fate and feels he was drawn to his house on 18th Street — in old Arlington Beach — for a reason.

As we continued our chat, Bill went on to say that he had joined the Air Force when he was just 20 years old. He was a fighter pilot, serving in Europe and Asia during the 1950s. It did not take long to see that he has had a life-long passion for rescuing and helping people, which explains why he’s been a volunteer lifeguard for the Ship Bottom Beach Patrol for the past sixteen years.

Several times during our conversation, Bill took time out to Page 86 • Echoes of LBI

retrieve numerous Christmas cards, wedding invitations, birth announcements, and letters he had received throughout these past 16 years from people he has watched over on the beach.

Similarly, the “Walls of Fame” in his home are filled with countless pictures of him with fellow Beach Patrol members, as well as a multitude of beachgoers and their families. Some pictures even include lifeguards who have since grown up, married fellow guards, and had children of their own. His collection of memories also includes a plaque from the Ship Bottom Beach Patrol for his years of service, which he has proudly hung amidst all the photos and other memorabilia.

Bill Rice is very modest man, especially when it comes to talking about his rescues throughout the years. With a little prompting, though, he did share one letter with me from the father of two girls he helped rescue several years ago. The father has written to him every year since that summer rescue. He is eternally grateful to Bill, as are his girls. Bill also explained to me that the focus of a good lifeguard is prevention and that the goal is to anticipate and avoid situations that will ultimately require a rescue effort. The pride Bill feels in regard to the Ship Bottom B each P atrol a nd a ll i ts m embers i s t ruly i nspirational.

Bill turned 82 on January 2nd of this year, and, without doubt, Bill’s work with the Beach Patrol has been a highlight of his long and interesting life. He feels the time he’s spent as a member of the Beach Patrol team has been one of the most rewarding experiences of his life, physically, mentally, and spiritually, and that he has definitely gotten more out of it than he has given.

(Did I mention Bill’s modesty?) Although he and his wife do not have children, Bill is proud to say he has many nieces and

nephews who visit often and who have helped establish years of summer fun traditions here on LBI. He also feels very close to so many young people he has met as fellow lifeguards, and he is known for frequently boasting, “I have over 60 children and they are all lifeguards!”

But Bill Rice does have other passions. Back in the 1980s and 1990s, Bill was a recruiter for the University of Notre Dame football team. By his beaming smile and his huge collection of Notre Dame books, memorabilia, and VHS game day tapes scattered around his home (not to mention the Notre Dame sweater and socks he was wearing!), I could tell this was a subject very close to his heart. As always, the aspect of scouting that he remembers most fondly is the way it allowed him to help guide the young athletes (and their families) he encountered wisely into the future.

When recalling the good times throughout his years here on LBI, Bill remembered when a large group of friends used to get together once a week in the summer at The Bayberry Inn in Ship Bottom. It was here that they would laugh and sing their favorite songs. Bill is quick to laugh and share the fact that his favorite song to sing was “Jingle Bells.” At that point, I chimed in and added, “Here on LBI, it’s like Christmas everyday or, at least, Christmas in July.” He laughed and said he couldn’t agree more.

One of Bill’s favorite memories involves a time when some of his fellow lifeguards were members of a band called Wild and Innocent. He and some of the other guards would get together and watch them play at various gigs here on the

Island. Of course, he then proceeded to show me a photo of himself and three guards wearing tee shirts that say, Wild and Innocent. Priceless!! Reflecting back on his (slightly) younger years, Bill then mentioning Father Joe, an Army Chaplain he met through lifeguarding. Bill remembers that he used to hold worship services right on the beach, but most fondly recalls how Father Joe taught him to kayak out in the ocean when Bill was at the tender age of 72! Something to keep in mind, you Baby Boomers of today: you’re never too old to learn something new!

As our conversation drew to a close, Bill was so appreciative for this opportunity to reflect on his life. He has seen countless LBI sunrises and sunsets and has given years of service on the beach to the people he loves and cares for very much. He’s so thankful for his life’s experiences and is keenly aware that he has found his little piece of heaven right here on LBI. Ever the Notre Dame supporter, Bill closed out our interview by saying, with a smirk on his face and a sparkle in his eye, “It’s truly heavenly watching Notre Dame win and it’s truly gotta be like hell watching them lose.” Now, there’s an Irish fan, if ever there was one!

Here’s to many more endless summers on the beach and in your wonderful cottage, Bill. Thank you, for keeping us safe.

Your passion and commitment to our Ship Bottom beaches is as endless as the ocean’s tides and as incalculable as the number of footprints you’ve made along your way in the sand, as well as in so many hearts. May you and Linda stay forever “SNUG-N-COZY.” — Diane Stulga •

Art Show of Historic Beach Haven Sale to Raise Funds to Restore the 1880 Fisherman’s Cottage LBI Historic Association Museum Beach & Engleside Ave, Beach Haven Aug 21 to Labor Day, then weekends thru Sept.

A Shore Thing

Whiskey Shack The

H

er mother had always told her, “Never do anything risky on your birthday. There are 364 other days in a year to take risks. Birthdays are your day to celebrate. Don’t take a chance of ruining it.” Kate clutched the keys in her hand, shook her head to drown out her mother’s voice, and took a deep breath. It was her 39th birthday, and she had just leased The Whiskey Shack.

The Whiskey Shack was a small, turn of the century bar, located on the North end of the island. She stood before it, feeling a bit queasy. What the hell have I done, was just one of many thoughts she had at that moment. Bill, the recent, but now ex, proprietor of the bar, stood behind her, politely waiting to give her a quick overview of its operation. He cleared his throat, hoping the sound would remind her of his presence. It didn’t. She just stood there, steps away from the door.

He gently took the keys from her hand and opened the door.

“After you,” he smiled, gesturing for her to enter. The interior air kissed her face. Old, yes; small, very; charming, well, to her it was. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and inhaled.

The smell of the sea was present in the pine walls and wood beams. The plaster ceiling was yellowed from years of cigarette smoke. Only 15 stools fit around the curved, dark, polished bar.

One wall held a field stone fireplace, its mantle decorated with shark jaws, shells, and other seafaring artifacts. Damp, ocean Page 88 • Echoes of LBI

air seeped into the room from the chimney, giving it a smell that was a mixture of age, whiskey, and ocean. The lights were old, nautical wall lamps. Six small tables easily filled the space, each holding a half-melted candle. The day was overcast. Rain prevented the windows from catching sunlight and scattering it throughout the room. Kate took it all in and smiled.

After the loss of her mother and father, both within 2 years, and feeling disillusioned at work, Kate had been ready for something different, something that didn’t remind her of the painful past. Escaping to the island for a week some months ago, in an effort to clear her head, she had stopped in at The Whiskey Shack, searching for lunch and a beer. Bill was behind the bar that day.

“What’s it like in the off season?” Kate had asked.

Bill smiled, cleaning glasses as he answered, “The famous question.”

Kate grimaced, “Guess you get tired of that banality.”

He shrugged, “Nah, it’s a fair question, but hard for me to answer.

The real question is, what’s it like for you in the off season?”

Kate looked at him, not sure what he meant. “It’s different for everyone, and I can only answer based on my personal experience. For me, it’s normal, just the way it is and always has been.

I grew up here, so I ebb and flow with the seasons. For you, that

question has a different answer.”

Fair enough, Kate thought. Bill explained, “I lease the bar.

There is an apartment upstairs we rent out from time to time.

I’ve run the business since I was 34, and it’s pretty obvious that’s a long time,” he said, gesturing to his white hair. “My sons worked here every summer till they graduated college. It’s a family business. But they are grown now and I want to retire.”

Bill stopped his busy work and looked at her. “It’s a great place, The Whiskey Shack. It’s got a regular following, local folks who know what you have and are not looking for anything more. July and August get a small amount of seasonal people, summer regulars who come in to feel like a local for a bit. Your lunch of shrimp and beer is about as fancy as it gets. I’ve spent most of my life behind this bar, and my customers are like family. I don’t plan to move away, I just want to do less. Time for me sit on the other side of the bar. But finding the right person to lease it is tricky.”

Kate nodded, as if she understood. “I’m sure it’s hard to find someone who can make ends meet with a small place and who likes a secluded location.”

Bill looked at her and began fussing with the bar glasses. He was quiet for a few minutes, then met her eyes and continued, “Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that. You see, The Whiskey Shack is, um, an unusual situation.” He hesitated and then went on. “It can only be leased, not sold, unless a very specific condition is met.”

Intrigued, Kate prompted, “And that is?”

“Only a person with the last name of a whiskey can purchase the business. Anyone else can only lease it. They can lease it long term, but they can’t own it. My last name is Dawson, so I lease.”

Kate sat, saying nothing, just looking at Bill. Finally, she laughed. “You’re kidding, right? Is that some local, practical joke you pull on tourists? Good one!” She laughed again, sipping her beer.

He cocked an eyebrow, turned away, and continued with his busy work.

Kate realized he wasn’t kidding and felt embarrassed at her rude laugh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend. I really thought you were kidding.”

He sighed, “Nope. It sounds crazy, I know. But it’s just the way it is.”

“Why?” Kate asked.

“The bar was built in 1887 by a man named Jameson Walker.”

Kate narrowed her eyes. “Jameson, like the whiskey?” she replied.

“Exactly like the whiskey,” Bill said. “He was a local fisherman who had started a family and wanted to spend more time at home. He couldn’t do that and make a living at fishing, so he opened this bar and named it The Whiskey Shack. He worked it for 26 years, till he died. At that time his son took over.” He stopped, looking at Kate in silence.

Her eyes darted to the bottles lined up behind the bar and widened when she spotted it. She turned back to him, awe and laughter mixed together in her voice. “Oh my god, his son was John, wasn’t he? Johnnie Walker!” She shook her head,

“Jameson must have really liked whiskey.”

Bill grinned, “Oh, he liked whiskey, all right. Anyway, before Jameson passed on, he made it a condition in the will that The Whiskey Shack can only be owned by someone whose name is a brand of whiskey. Johnnie Walker ran the bar for years after his father, but never married and had no kids, no small shots of whiskey to inherit The Shack. After he died, many different people leased it. No one stayed more than a year or two.”

“Ok, I’ll bite. Why didn’t The Shack get anyone who would stay longer than a year or two, other than you?”

At first she thought he wasn’t going to answer, but he did.

“Kate, you seem like a nice lady. If I tell you why, you’ll probably just smile, finish your lunch, and leave, thinking that I’m crazy. And that’ll be OK. But the truth of the matter is, the reason no one would stay, at least until I leased the business, was because of Jameson. You see, he hangs around the bar, and most people can’t deal with that, especially with someone who’s been dead for 97 years.” Bill heaved a sigh, shook his head, and looked at Kate. “So, there you have it. That’s why it will be pretty tricky to find someone to lease the business. I may be working till I’m 90!”

Kate hadn’t gotten up and left. In fact, on her next birthday, she became the new owner of The Whiskey Shack. Well, not owner, since her name was Burke, not Dewar or Daniels.

She easily slipped into life at the beach. The small apartment above the bar was all she needed for this time in her life. She was healing.

Over time, Kate came to love the small community and even cherish the quiet off-season months. The Whiskey Shack customers became her friends. Bill often came in and sat on the other side of the bar. She served him shrimp and beer, and he served up stories of The Whiskey Shack from years ago. Time passed, and Kate was, if not exactly happy, at least content. She even got used to Jameson’s ghost. He was a fact of life at The Shack.

Kate would look over at the end stool and see his faint outline.

“Good afternoon, Jameson. The usual?” she would ask. It never ceased to amaze her how she so readily accepted his presence. He always nodded his ghostly head in agreement. Kate would pour him a shot of Jameson and go about her business. It always amused her to serve him. Somehow, by the end of the day, the glass was empty. Didn’t know spirits could drink, she would laugh to herself.

Then, one day, things took a bit of a turn.

“Mornin’ Kate,” said a hearty voice walking through the door.

“Afternoon, Tucker,” Kate smiled back.

He grinned, “Well, guess it is that. Mornin’ Jameson.”

Tucker was a regular and was at The Shack just about every other day, or every day, depending on the weather; whether or not he could sneak out on his wife, that is.

Tucker took a seat next to Jameson. Kate served him his usual, a shot of whiskey and a beer, and continued working.

She could never hear Jameson’s side of conversations with the locals, but she often had the feeling he was talking about her.

She figured he must have liked her, or he would have made life a lot more difficult. I think he even smiles at me from time to

A Shore Thing time. Either that, or it’s a trick of the light. It hard to tell with a ghost, she mused.

“Ask her yourself, man,” Tucker said to the apparition. He then turned to Kate. “Ole Jameson here wants to know why, after two years with us, you’re still single. He doesn’t think it’s right.”

Kate looked at the two men, well, one man and a ghost, and laughed, “Tucker, you tell him that I’m single because I have not yet found the man who can turn my head. But if he knows any flesh and blood, good looking, single men, just send them my way! I am more than ready to have my heart pound.”

Tucker looked at the seemingly empty stool next to him and turned back to her, laughing. “He said he’d be happy to make your little heart pound.”

“God,” Kate exclaimed, “you men are all alike, dead or alive. Thanks, Jameson, but the flesh and blood part is a deal breaker,” she laughed.

It was a busy afternoon.

Kate served lunches, chatted with friends, and enjoyed catching up with people she hadn’t seen for awhile. Spring seemed to energize the island after the long winter. Kate herself was feeling particularly good, almost giddy.

“You’re in a good mood today,” Bill said, having joined the late afternoon crowd.

“I am, for sure,” Kate grinned. “Must be the full moon, coupled with the spring equinox. Balance, harmony, and wild abandon,” she laughed.

Tucker called to her once again, “Kate, Jameson said something is in the air today and it’s making you glow.”

With that, the door opened, and a man walked in. Kate, head turned towards Tucker, was still grinning when the stranger sat down at the bar. She turned to greet him and, as their eyes met, she suddenly couldn’t breathe. Every fiber of her body began to vibrate, and her heart started to pound.

“Hi,” he smiled. “Do you have Sam Adams on tap?” His eyes were on her and she couldn’t speak. Finally, she got a grip and, with supreme effort, made her voice sound casual.

“Coming right up.” Her hands shook a bit as she placed the draft in front of him.

“Ah, great. Thanks,” he said.

Kate quickly scooted to the other end of the bar, looking for a distraction, all the while keeping one ear on the talk between the new guy and Bill.

“What brings you to The Whiskey Shack,” Bill asked him.

“I just got into town. I rented a place around the corner for a year to do some work. Thought I would venture out, look Page 90 • Echoes of LBI

around, and take a break from unpacking. Great place,” he said, his eyes traveling to Kate as he said it.

Oh boy, she thought. He is here for a year. Thank you, she silently prayed. Tucker just looked at her and grinned. Jameson, shimmering faintly, gave her thumbs up.

“I’m Bill. Welcome to the island,” he said, extending his hand. “You’ll like The Shack. It’s an island icon. And our Kate here runs a great bar.”

Bill looked over at her and smiled. “Kate, come meet our new neighbor.”

Kate took a deep breath and walked down to their side of the bar. “Hi,” was all she trusted herself to say.

“Hi Kate, I’m James,” he said, taking her hand and shaking it. He did not take his eyes off hers and held her hand a bit longer than he needed to.

Bill noticed the connection between them and raised an eyebrow. “So, James, is it? Is James short for anything?”

James looked perplexed.

“No, just James. Why do you ask?”

Bill shrugged, “Just wondering. The original owner was named Jameson. He’s pretty infamous around here.”

James laughed, “That’s much more exotic than my name. I’m just plain James.”

He and Kate started to talk, and it was all she could do to pull away and wait on the other customers. He was a writer, here to finish his book. For at least a year, Kate thought. Eventually, as the night wore on, the regulars drifted out, one by one, except for the long-departed Jameson, at the other end of the bar.

By the end of the night, after dinner and a few more Sam Adams, James said he had to go. “Kate, I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed this. I never expected to stay this long. I never expected…” As his voice trailed off, his expression finished the sentence in a way words never could.

Kate knew this man was going to change her life. She didn’t know how she knew, she just knew. “James, I am very happy you chose the island to live and work. I hope I will see you again.”

He took her hand. “Oh, you can count on that. Good night, Kate.”

As he reached the door, she asked him: “By the way, just out of curiosity, what’s your last name?”

He looked at her and said, “Well, that’s one of the reasons I stopped in when I saw the bar. My last name is Beam, and my close friends call me Jim.” At the end of the bar, Jameson Walker raised his glass of whiskey and smiled. — Maggie O’Neill •

A Shore Thing

The Merry Causeway Shack

W

ooden gunning shacks were commonplace in the early 1900s, both as a place to relax after a day of duck hunting and as a refuge from the elements when the weather turned ugly during a day of crabbing or fishing in the wetlands. Why, then, in 2012, are we so consumed with spending thousands of dollars on returning one very popular such shack on Route 72 to its original form?

I can only answer that question by suggesting that throughout history people have always been enamored with unusual monuments and landmarks. The famous shack that greets visitors on their journey to Long Beach Island (a.k.a. “the Shack”) seems to have that precise effect. When travelers who make their annual jaunt to the Island catch a glimpse of the Shack emerging in the foreground, they are struck with the realization that their long journey is almost over. Earlier travelers, whose journeys were longer and more arduous without the Garden State Parkway, DVDs, or iPods, were even more ecstatic when they saw the Shack appearing on their right, I suppose.

Aside from bringing joy and relief in the form of a welcoming landmark, the Shack also served as a local hangout for partygoers in the 1970s. Renters made good use of the abode when they held boisterous weekend parties on the Shack’s deck. Today, however, the crumbling dwelling is minus a deck and pretty much all of the roof. Alas, it seems

Page 92 • Echoes of LBI

that perhaps it has seen its last party.

So, what’s to be done? We can’t bring back the days of beer and parties, but we certainly can still enjoy the nostalgia and laugh at some of the pranks that the locals continue to play. One well-known October prank was one in which a fan of the Shack placed a standup cardboard vampire in a window so passers-by would see it from the road and, hopefully, mistake it for an apparition or a ghost. One December joke was the placement of a life-size Santa Claus on the Shack’s roof. On a more patriotic note, just the other day, as I was heading toward Ship Bottom, I noticed two American flags on the Shack: one small one dangling from what remains of the roof and another one attached to the front of the building. It seems the Shack has become very much an institution here on LBI. There’s been talk of building a replica of the Shack and placing it in a Long Beach Island museum. Will this new replica create the same allure as the original structure? My feeling is that only one shack should be honored, and that’s the original one. With its weathered, decrepit appearance, it emits a sort of ethereal quality that only time and constant use can produce. While only a few boards of the original remain, after all, they are the boards that have endured years of history and they are the only ones that can truly tell the Pete Milnes photo story of the Shack. — Lynn Reebe •

A Shore Thing

The Walkie-Talkies

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n 1976, three women began walking the beach each morning at 8:30 a.m. for two hours. They have been friends for 36 years, ever since they built homes in Harvey Cedars.

They walk from the center of Harvey Cedars north to Loveladies or south to North Beach.

They walk and talk. These hours usually present them with calm beauty, but, at other times, they encounter chal-

lenges of wind, high tide, flies, and eroded beaches.

Over time, other women have joined the group and we officially became the â&#x20AC;&#x153;walkie-talkies.â&#x20AC;? In the 36 years of â&#x20AC;&#x153;walkie-talkiedom,â&#x20AC;? eleven women have walked the walk and talked the talk. Through the years, we have seen graduations, career changes, relocations, widowhood, economic adjustments, and, sadly, death. Our children have grown up, had families of their own, and many of the women have become grandmothers. What started out when Gerald Ford was president has continued through the course of six presidential administrations. And itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s still going strong.

If you ask the walkie-talkies about these morning walks, they will say how grateful they are for these friendships and for the beauty of Long Beach Island. The memories we make each day before heading home at 10:00 a.m. â&#x20AC;&#x201D; just as the lifeguards stations are being manned, the surfers are being called in, and the chairs and umbrellas are being set up â&#x20AC;&#x201D; are memories that will last forever, just like the memories we will make as we walk into the future.

T. S. Eliot once wrote: â&#x20AC;&#x153;Let us go then, you and I, when the evening is spread out against the sky.â&#x20AC;? At 8:30 A.M. each morning, these women find something special â&#x20AC;&#x201D; to them,

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A Shore Thing

T

he year is perhaps 1885 and a young well-to-do man is riding his pennyfarthing through the streets of London. Such contraptions, largely the domain of young, athletic men, required a great deal of skill to ride. Consisting of a small rear wheel and a larger front wheel, where the pedals were attached, good balance and confidence were crucial to their use.

As was often the case during a ride, the young man hit a bump and his penny-farthing lurched forward, with the rear wheel, the farthing, leaving the road. Normally, such an occurrence would result in the rider falling forward over the handlebars and landing with his feet on the ground.

On this particular ride, however, the young man found himself up only on the larger wheel, the penny, pedaling along, well balanced, without the benefit of the rear wheel being in contact with the road.

A gas lamp, or perhaps a light bulb — the early 1860s saw significant developments in this invention — went off above the young man’s head. He removed the rear wheel altogether and learned to ride on just the single wheel. And so the unicycle was born. Or so goes one theory, anyway.

Fast-forward 114 years. It is 1999, and the unicycle has gone through many changes, including a variety of wheel sizes and a number of circus-oriented, tall models known as “giraffes.” The place is Long Beach Island, N.J., and an energetic young girl of 12 has taken up riding the unicycle. And the idea strikes her to ride the length of the Island, a full 18 miles.

As it happens, the year before, 1998, The Coker Tire Company introduced the world’s first 36” unicycle with an inflatable tire.

Prior to this, all larger wheel sizes — larger diameters being better for long distance riding — had hard rubber tires, which made for a rough, uncomfortable ride. The softer Coker tire launched widespread unicycle touring.

So this young girl, claiming to be 13 — as perhaps this seemed a much more mature age for someone organizing such a venture — partnered with her best friend, also a unicycle rider.

(Her parents may have had something to do with its success, too!) She decided to start contacting unicyclists around the New Jersey area. And being environmentally minded, she also decided to use the opportunity to raise money for The Alliance for a Living Ocean, a local environmental organization that works to protect the waterways around LBI. So was born the Annual LBI Unithon, which just celebrated its 14th year. It is New Jersey’s oldest continuously running unicycle event and very likely the state’s only regular unicycle event. In its first year, it took place in August and hosted just

LBI

Unithon

Page 94 • Echoes of LBI

four intrepid riders. It now takes place the first Saturday in June.

At its peak it had 41 riders, but now 15 to 20 riders participate in a typical year.

The LBI Unithon begins around 10 a.m. in Holgate and ends at times ranging from noon to 4 or 5 p.m., depending on the skill and stamina of the rider, at Barnegat Lighthouse. Like most annual events, its participants include regulars who can be counted on every year, those who ride occasionally, and, of course, the excited newcomers who every year bring fresh enthusiasm. And while the Unithon is certainly about unicycling and fundraising, it is about more than that.

The LBI Unithon is about a group of people who share an uncommon common interest and who spend the better part of one day together teaching and learning new skills, rekindling friendships, and sparking new ones. After the ride, the young founder’s family — the young founder now being in her twenties and living a fine life elsewhere — hosts all the riders at their cottage on the Island for a feast and some time to relax and chat.

And if you’re wondering about these people’s names, they are not important. The Unithon, like a quilting bee or Comic-Con or any other gathering, is not about the names. It is about how people make excuses to spend time together. It is about what enriches our lives most. Each other. — Rosemarie Sprouls •

A Shore Thing

“The Hermit Crabs” — Tappy, Magpie, Verde, Spike and Babe. Photo by their proud parent, Sara Caruso.

Things That Drift Andy Kitchen photo

Things That Drift Pete Milnes Photo

T

wenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor.

Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover. â&#x20AC;&#x201D; Mark Twain

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