Wildwood, Stray Cats, 1978, and Olivia Newton-John

It seems that the last couple of weeks have not been as demanding as the onset of summer. I have managed to relax my pace a wee bit, actually dare I say, *SOMETIMES* "enjoying" yet another summer in Wildwood in some small fashion. After spending almost a quarter century of summer seasons in this crazy town (not including various vacation stays in summers prior), I find my times in Wildwood analogous to a merry-go-round. It's repetitive, circular, predictable overall - yet enticing enough to want to go for another spin 'round. Or so it would seem while looking back in hindsight. Perhaps a hamster wheel analogy is more fitting?

Working out in the parking lot has not offered me much in netting revenue. But, in terms of accruing experience as an observer of the human condition, it's can periodically be almost second to none. I admit, after years of working in an office environment, I do like being out in the fresh salt air and sunshine - as long as I'm not being baked in it.

The only rub is usually one of the managers I work for - someone who tends to take advantage of paying "slave wages" to his help while expecting unbridled enthusiasm and efficiency in the process. To this I state - you only reap the dividends from what you invest. I'll do a basic job of things, show up on time, be courteous, and so forth. But DO NOT expect anything above and beyond the call of duty, period.

At times, working the lot is a hectic and harried affair. Yet, there are periodic lulls that allow me to catch up on reading and perhaps some small talk. As of late, there have been a number of young girls who have frequented the lots handing out gum and offering assistance in the exchange of (hopefully) receiving a few bucks of compensation. Their story is somewhat of a tragic one. Dubbed derisively "the stray cats" by the lot owners and managers, these young girls are the recipient of an unsettled and somewhat unsavory life.

The oldest of the "strays" is a wizened nine year old named Alicia. Often sitting in a beach chair next to me, she is always desperate to earn a dollar or two for some candy treat or ice cream goodies. Though I have rewarded her for her "help", I have been told by my (ahem) "superiors" not to encourage them to "beg" by offering any charity. This tack sounds reminiscent of The Wildwoods' ban in feeding the seagulls - or Tahoe's ban in feeding the bears. Alicia often reveals to me her accounts of her unsettled life, much of it eye opening. Without having lived as much as a decade, she has lived with her 3 siblings and mother in places such as Florida, Ohio, North Carolina, Puerto Rico, all with some form of uprooting and disarray involved. One account involved living in Kissimee, Florida, finding roaches throughout her home, soiled underwear in her yard, discarded drug needles on her porch, and gunshots in her wake. Fleeing the tumult, she along with her family would usually find themselves in a shelter somewhere as a proverbial way station in the desperate hope of finding another homestead. Quite a volume of hardships for someone so young.

Yet despite these travails, Alicia seems to have a healthy attitude and robust spirit. Seemingly undaunted by her adversities, Alicia displays a seeming unshakable confidence and optimism in how matters will turn out for her. I cannot but help salute and support such a positive attitude, as it may be her only saving grace in life.

Sadly, she and her family (a somewhat negligent mother who seems more interested in getting a pedicure than feeding her children) are facing yet another imminent eviction this weekend. Despite my small offerings of charity, I am utterly helpless to do much else. Children are our collective future, something I am most mindful of. I truly hope Alicia and her brood manage to find some semblance of shelter and sanctuary in the midst of chaos - and that in the expectation of something miraculous, they turn out alright. Here's hoping.

On another note, I spent a part of my day off today taking a ritualistic bike ride around the island. This provides me with both exercise and enjoyment (at times) usually stirring sentiments of nostalgia for summers and years past. One preferred route is towards Diamond Beach in the extreme southern end of town, just outside of Wildwood Crest. Trekking along Ocean Avenue, a pastime of mine is to take in the number of hotels and motels that reside there, usually adorn in enough neon to compete with Vegas. Well, at least such was the case before Wildwood was ruthlessly overrun by "condomania" during the first half of this decade which ended up decimating numerous traditional landmarks (such as the late, great "The Captain's Table restaurant) with now empty and bland condo units. This was perhaps one of the most unique sections of The Wildwoods, now not much more than a generic strip. A victim and a hallmark of the rampant avarice and greed that typifies the worst of what at times characterizes The Wildwoods.

Ah...but for the want of nostalgia! I have scores of personal memories from my "heydays" here in the 70s & 80s that will perpetually haunt me. No matter how much I curse, rant, and rail against much of what constitutes Wildwood in the present day, I will always be grateful for the many fantastic times I experienced here in my youth. Wildwood was and is still somewhat a unique place...I grant it that.

During this bike jaunt, I reoriented my trajectory from Diamond Beach towards Sunset Lake, a pleasant lookout area featuring park benches, marinas, boats, and other scenery. Before passing this spot, I spied a small corner grocery store en route that I very vividly recall visiting once during a vacation stay in the summer of 1978. Without a doubt, I had not stepped foot into this place in 30(!) years. Not as if I had any reason to in the meantime. But...I was intrigued into seeing if much had changed in the 30 years preceding. Besides, I could use a cold drink anyhow.

Stepping inside revealed an anachronism. Though assuredly the prices were much higher than what was in effect in '78, the internal layout was essentially the same. Even the isle featuring cheap plastic summer toys of which I recalled my mother buying me a Wham-O frisbee was still there. Kinda neat. I don't make a habit of living in the past - but a periodic visitation is cool sometimes when given the chance.

One other personally notable occurrence for me in the late, great year of 1978 was my very first music purchase. I was seven years old at the time, and was constantly bombarded by music from whatever my parents had decided to listen to. Nothing grandiose really. Though undoubtedly, my present liking for a lot of soft rock and adult contemporary must stem from my mother's 8-tracks and record playing (there, I said it). After prolonged exposure to these "offerings", I recall making a visit to Woodland Avenue in Southwest Philly with my mom to a record store named "Sound Odyssey" to purchase my very own 45" of...Olivia Newton-John's "A Little More Love".

Fascinated with this song as the record would spin around endlessly on my phonograph in the basement (yeah, I realize some younger readers may think I'm dating myself here), it was this seminal immersion into music that spurred me further into collecting and acquiring pop tunes of various sorts. Something that still holds sway into this present day.

There is something to be said of the now lost art of having a tangible piece of art to accompany the experience of music, such as what graced an album cover and record sleeves. Then again, I do not miss the instances of losing a record to carelessness - such as what ensued once when I left a 45" outside on my phonograph in the hot sun, leading to one warped and unplayable disc. Oh well, it was only The Manhattan Transfer Project's "The Boy From NYC" anyway. And, it was my dad's. Sorry about that, dad.