My earliest Shore memory was Sandy Hook, 1968. I was 5 and
delighted to be wearing a bikini like my older sister. My suit had
a red-and-white gingham top with navy-blue bottoms.
I loved it. By the end of the day, my top was filled with sand.
My uncle removed it to rinse it in the surf, but the top slipped
his grip, floating o; into the ocean. I had to go home topless—
like a boy, like my brother. I was mortified. For many summers
after that, when we came to the Shore I scanned the beach
looking for that top.
—Deborah P. Carter, managing editor
One rainy summer afternoon in Beach
Haven, my paternal grandfather—my
brother and I and our cousins called
him Pop-Pop—devised a makeshift
drawing table for me using an old
plank for the surface and a radiator
for the legs. I thought he was a genius.
Being the youngest in the group, I treasured this special place where I could
let my imagination flow. It remains my
only memory of Pop-Pop, who took this
picture. —Laura Baer, creative director
Rainy days in Wildwood Crest are my fondest Shore
memories. My parents would improvise. We spent
afternoons at mini-golf or watching classic movies in
our motel room. If my big sister and I (in white top) were
lucky, we would be treated to Dusty Road sundaes at
the ice cream parlor at the Sea Shell Motel. I’m sure my
parents felt bad that we had missed out on the sun, but
for us, there was nothing better.
—Denise Potter, assistant editor, New Jersey Bride
When I was a kid, the drive to Island
Beach State Park seemed to take forever. Yet as soon as we were released
from the car’s captivity, my cousin
Kayla and I were awed by the vast expanse of water and beach. We sifted
the sand for crabs under the watchful
eyes of our grandparents, Lorraine
(with me, left) and Charlie Brick, then
cooled ourselves with repeated dives
into the summer surf. It was always
worth the wait.
—Breanne McCarthy, associate editor
Ecstasy is hard to hold on to,
but this picture I took in 1994 of
our son, Mike, in Bradley Beach,
just before his eighth birthday,
epitomizes for me the openness
of a child’s emotions. It not only
brings back my own joy at frolicking at the same beach in the
1950s, but aligns me with the happiness (and relief) my parents
and grandparents must have felt,
seeing my happiness.
deputy editor/dining editor
When I was about 15 my
buddy and I would scout
out the prettiest girls at
Ocean Beach, or at least
the ones we felt we had a
shot at, then repeatedly
toss a football that would
“accidentally” land near
their blanket in the hope of
striking up a conversation.
It never worked!
associate art director
Coney Island was practically in their Brooklyn backyard, but in the fall of 1950, my parents and maternal grandparents splurged on a weekend in Atlantic City. My mother, Sylvia, and Grandpa Max obviously enjoyed the salt air on this chilly Boardwalk morning, although Grandma Fanny seemed less en- thused. My big sister, Joanne, found something fascinat- ing about the Boardwalk railing. As for me? I had yet to join the brood. —Ken Schlager, editor
Got a favorite Shore memory to share? Send it to firstname.lastname@example.org P H O T O
Awash in Memories
NJM sta;ers dip their toes into the sun-splashed glow of Shore summers past.