Lost Love in Wildwood

The days of my fourteenth summer, in the year 1971, were spent at the eastern end of Morning Glory Road where I worked five days a week renting umbrellas. My “office” was a bulky plywood box perched on top of the sand by two-byfours which served double duty as both a storage bin for the rental umbrellas and, thanks to a way in from the bottom, a place to hide and sneak cigarettes with my friends during off-duty hours. For twenty dollars overheated tourists could rent an umbrella and my responsibilities were to handle the rental, set the umbrellas up if asked, keep watch over them from my post at the back of the beach, and then collect them at the end of the day – usually around four o’clock.

On one hot July morning I was seated under my own shelter from the sun when a woman and three children, who looked to be about my age, approached my stand and inquired about the availability of an umbrella. While fishing one out of the stand I noticed that one of the three children was a girl and she was very pretty, with long auburn hair and green eyes, and suddenly it became a great matter of importance to ensure that their rental umbrella was properly affixed. “May I help you set this up, ma’am?” I asked. The umbrella, made of heavy green canvas, was leaning against the box while I jammed the twenty dollar bill she had handed me into my pocket. She answered, “Yes, please,” as she shifted from foot to foot in the hot sand, so I gathered the bulky umbrella upon my shoulder and followed them toward the water. I managed to engage the girl in conversation and learned that her name was Mary and that she and her family were visiting Wildwood from Wappinger’s Falls, New York. I also learned that she was sixteen years old which, in my opinion, made her much more knowledgeable than I in the affairs of the heart.

Upon reaching their chosen spot I set out to placing the bottom half of the staff deep into the sand by rocking it back and forth in a brisk manner, as if operating one end of a crosscut saw, all for the benefit of the lovely Mary. Throughout the day, while making my rounds, I hovered near their blanket like a lonely puppy, and soon her mother, who undoubtedly sensed that my interest was not in the umbrella, invited me to stop by their rental cottage at the end of my day and join them for a barbeque.

For the rest of the week I was a frequent visitor to that cottage, which was situated at the intersection of Seaview and Cresse, Avenues, a short ride from home. All that was required of me when leaving my house was to point my bike north and ride, for I could see the cottage as I progressed up the street, my feet driven by the knowledge that soon I would be reunited with the beautiful Mary! The week flew by too fast and before I knew it their vacation was over and we were exchanging addresses and promises to see one another again very soon. I returned to my post at the end of Morning Glory Road, gazing out at a beach that seemed now to be hollow

A couple of weeks later a letter arrived by mail: it was from my beautiful Mary! My GIRLFRIEND Mary! Perhaps she was writing to tell me that she would be coming back to Wildwood, or perhaps that I should come up to New York to visit her. I took the letter, went out to the garage, and climbed up into the loft, where I would be able to read my letter in private, possibly several times over, if I so desired. The letter began:

“Dear Joe, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I have to. I have a boyfriend…” “A boyfriend? How can this be! This cannot be possible. We had such a wonderful time while she was here.” The remainder of the letter, left unread, drifted to the floor as I fell back. “No! Oh, my lovely Mary! How will I go on?”