I Met My True Love at the Fish Factory

Bill Jett at Randolph Macon Academy in Front Royal, VA, 1955

The Cravens had been in the Wildwoods since the early 1900’s, the Jetts didn’t arrive until 1953, when Haynie Products of Reedville, VA purchased the old Fish Factory on Route 47 (now the site of the MUA plant) and sent my grandfather, J. Frank Jett, to oversee operations. He and my grandmother Annette had a home built at 107 E. Atlanta Avenue in Wildwood Crest, which is now owned by Dr. Stone. My mother, Cheronne Craven (known to all as Ronnie), and her family lived at 104 W. 17th Avenue in North Wildwood, which I later purchased in 1987 after my mother’s parents had passed away.

The paths of the Jetts and Cravens crossed at the fish factory on a cold day in March 1955. My mother had gotten a job there as a secretary after graduating from Wildwood High School in 1954. My father, William F. Jett (Bill), had come to work there after graduating from Northumberland High School in Virginia. My mother says it was love at first sight; she went home that day after work and told her mother that she had seen the man that she would marry, even though she had to admit that she did not know his name yet. They were married on December 15, 1956 in the Methodist Church at Roberts & Pacific Avenues in Wildwood.

Bill and Ronnie Jett in 1956

Dad joined the North Wildwood Police Department in 1960 and was promoted to Sergeant in 1970. My parents bought the house at 208 E. 14th Avenue in 1967, where I spent the rest of my childhood. Mom and Dad were active at church and in the Boy Scouts. I still have people to this day tell me that they remember Mrs. Jett as their Den-Mother and Mr. Jett as their Explorer Troop leader. Dad always had a second job, working in construction for Ernie Troiano Sr. and then Bob Scully. He was also a volunteer fireman. Our family spent a number of summers at Holly Shores Campground in Erma where Mom ran the office and Dad would come work there when his police shift was finished. In the early 1970s Mom got a job at the Rio Motel, where she worked off and on for 25 years, also working for Marine National Bank and the North Wildwood Police Department until she retired in 2002.

Mom taught me what I call Life Lesson #1 in the fall of 1972. I was eight years old and had gone with her to Wildwood (“downtown” she would say) to do some shopping for Christmas. Back then Wildwood had everything you needed - Murphy’s, Woolworth’s, Lee’s, Halpern’s, the Martha Shop, Meyer’s Shoes, Allen’s Men’s Shop, Staller’s Hardware, Giddings, Tot Town, Taylor’s Photo Shop, etc. Mom and I were walking on the south side of Wildwood Avenue towards Pacific, and a man was coming towards us. As he passed by, Mom said hello and he said hello back. I didn’t know who he was, but Mom had spoken to him so I figured she knew him. I asked her, “Who was that?” She replied, “I don’t know.” So I asked her, “Then why did you say hello to him?” She said, “You have to be nice.” I remember it like it was yesterday and I have tried to live my life that way. Mom was always helping and showing kindness to others. We often made cakes and pies to take to someone who was sick or had lost a loved one. When she heard a new family was moving into the area and they hadn’t found a home yet, they were invited to stay at our house. When a young lady at our church had nowhere to go, Mom had her move in with us until she got back on her feet. When a friend went through a divorce, he was told to stay in our spare bedroom until he got things settled down in his life. Being nice and helping others was the way she lived, and she expected her children to do the same. I have tried, but will never be able to live up to the standard that she set.

Patrolman Jett outside of North Wildwood City Hall, 1962

Our lives took a tragic turn on December 11, 1974 when Dad was killed in a deer hunting accident. True to form, Mom told us that it was an accident and that we should forgive the man who did it and never hold a grudge. She later met with the man personally and has always told me that she had no hard feelings towards him - it was an accident, pure and simple.

When Dad was alive we were always camping or fishing or playing baseball or doing something outdoors. We spent long weekends at Gettysburg and Lancaster and all parts of Virginia, usually stopping on the way home to see my grandparents, who had gone back after the fish factory in New Jersey had run its course. On all our family trips to Virginia, I don’t remember Dad ever driving home via the Delaware Memorial Bridge - he loved to be outdoors, so we always took the Ferry. He loved being on the beach. We would fly kites, play baseball, and fish. Instead of having us hold the ball of kite string in our hands, Dad would hook up the kite to a fishing rod, making it easy to reel in. He wasn’t too happy chasing his brand-new rod down the beach one day after it had slipped out of my hands. If he was out on the sandbar trying for stripers and the tide was coming up, he would tell us not to wait for him, he would be home in a while. A couple hours later he would come walking up 14th Avenue, his waders full of water because the tide got too high for him to get back in. His waders would be hanging over the fence for a few days to dry out. I can still see him leaning over the picnic table in our yard, cleaning the first drum fish that I had ever seen. We always had plenty of fish in the summers and venison in the winters. We took a trip with friends to Cape Hatteras in the spring of 1975, but it wasn’t the same without Dad.

How Mom raised our family alone and kept it together can only be attributed to her hard work and the goodness and mercy of God. She is over at Loyalton in Court House now. She would love to see you. Don’t be surprised if your conversation with her is more about you and the other residents there, than about her, as she still thinks of others before herself.

I don’t believe that anyone on earth has ever had better parents than I had.

Scott Jett on his new tricycle, Christmas 1966	Scott Jett learning to walk with grandmother Annette Jett and mother Ronnie Jett, at 107 E. Atlanta Avenue, 1965