My husband Dave spent practically every summer of his early life at the Jersey Shore. His Grandma and Grandpa Waugh had a small summer cottage in Lavallette, just north of Seaside Heights. In June, the five of them; Dave, his sister Ginny, his parents and dog, Blondie, would pile into the car and make the journey east from Des Moines, IA where his dad would drop them off for the summer at 16 E Shore Way in the beach side community of Ocean Beach.
Compared to the McMansion beach homes we rent down at Nags Head, it was a modest (tiny) square home with two bedrooms, a living/dining area, galley kitchen and bath. It had a small heater, but no air-conditioning. It sat on a sandy lane in a row of identical summer homes in a variety of pastel beachy colors. Life for the summer dwellers revolved around the beach and surf, the house was merely shelter from the sun, a place to eat, clean up and sleep.
Dave’s dad was an only child so naturally Dave and Ginny were doted on for the summer. Their days were spent on the beach playing in the sand or fishing with Grandpa. Grandma, whom I had the pleasure of knowing, was the sweetest of woman. Every Friday night she would make Chef Boyardee pizzas (the mix from the box) for the kids and serve them with ice cold Coca Colas. Years later she told me that she had never even tasted either of them, they were for the grand kids.
After his Grandpa passed on, Grandma moved in with Dave and his family. By then they had moved back to New Jersey and eventually, since his mom went back to work, it was only Dave and Grandma making the annual trip back to the shore house. It was there he worked his summer jobs ranging from life-guarding to pumping gas.
Not long after we began dating in the spring of 1974, Dave and I and another couple (whose names I can’t even remember) went down to the shore for the weekend. Dave had kept a key to his grandma’s house and I guess you could say we were there “under the radar”. As it turned out, the water had been turned off so we didn’t spend as much time as we had planned since the closed bathroom was TeePee Subs down on the corner!
Through the years, I would go spend a weekend when my work schedule allowed and Dave and I were “on”. I remember the warmth of the sun, the expanse of pristine beach and quiet evenings on the glider on the screened porch with the sounds of the surf mixing with the “Carol Burnett Show” from the TV inside. It is a sweet memory.
The last time I saw the beach house was ten years ago. Dave, Ginny, her husband George and I were together in New Jersey following their mother’s memorial service. After leaving her ashes at the family plot in Elizabeth, we decided to drive down to Toms River to spend the night. We made a pilgrimage to Ocean Beach and walked down E Shore Way, noting that air conditioning had been added and many of the homes had been knocked down and larger structures put in their place and then walked further and up over the dunes to survey the beautiful beach as the setting sun played across the water. The memories flooded back for me, I can only imagine what it was like for Dave and Ginny with the ghosts of so much of their childhoods running through the shallows, bobbing in the waves, building castles in the sand or casting their lines into the surf.
These past few days these memories have become even more precious to me. I suppose it’s because if this place no longer exists, my memories become less grounded. The pictures of the area in the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy are those of total devastation. The Jersey Shore has been physically altered by nature such a way that it will never be the same. That doesn’t mean it can never be a place for families to go and build memories again, it just won’t be the same. So many of the older homes are gone for good, it is unlikely that they will be rebuilt in the simple, post-war style. Perhaps an era has been washed away to make way for the next.
I hope it’s a good one.
