A Frantic City, NJ

Dear Atlantic City,

Oh, how you've changed.

I grew up visiting you during all my childhood summers. My family even spent some Thanksgivings and Easters with you.  You were my first seashore love.  I was blind to all other towns to the north and south of you.  

You've always been a city to me because before casino gambling rolled into town, you contained intimate, vibrant neighborhoods.  You were rough around the edges but pulsed with ethnic life.

We've been estranged over the years, but the most recent news of casino closings, large layoffs, and double-digit unemployment feels like a betrayal.  We were so good together before Resorts first opened its casino doors. In the sixties and early seventies, we romped gloriously and then you ruined things and went for the shinier strangers who came to town in 1978. 

Before becoming a gambling town, you truly were a resort town, albeit in a cityfied way.  My adolescent vacation memories are marked on your wide beaches, 4-mile-long boardwalk, Million Dollar Pier, Steel Pier, old-time blue jitneys, Miss America parade, Ice Capades show, Funcade pinball house, and watching taffy being made and wrapped at James' window. 


LBJ & family on the Convention Hall
balcony in Atlantic City, 1968

In August 1964, you hosted the Democratic National Convention.  I vividly remember standing outside the boardwalk Convention Hall with my grandmother, gazing up at the pillared balcony to see Lyndon Johnson and Hubert Humphrey wave to us below. 

My grandmother's excitement spilled onto my eight-year-old sensibilities, making me very aware of the moment's importance.

Jackie Kennedy stayed at the Deauville Hotel on your boardwalk during the convention. For years after, as we strolled past its Miami-esque front with a pool and cabana, my little girl brain fantasized about "how close" I had come to see her.


My grandparents Elizabeth
& Vincent Labate in front
of their AC home (circa 1975)

 My brothers and I also raced back to Convention Hall for another glimpse of infamy when the Beatles rolled into town that same month.  Our precious view was of their black limousine as it rode to an underground entrance, but our excitement pounded as though we had front-row seats inside!

My grandparents owned a small row house in a neighborhood that replicated their Italian and South Philly roots.  As my dad would say walking down the street on a Sunday morning, "you can smell the gravy being made all the way down the block."  Our neighbor played Mario Lanza records each morning as he made breakfast, often singing along in full tenor voice.

There was a house on the block with a "La Cosa Nostra" sign by their front door.  Of course, it roughly translates into "Our House" but something tells me they were not singing Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young songs there. Families spilled out onto stoops to see the neighborhood's comings and goings - it was a constant reminder that la famiglia stretched beyond the front door.

Best of all, we lived on a beach block.  How little I understood the prized value in that geography until years later when I began spending my own money on beach house rentals with friends in Sea Isle City!  The real estate axiom - location, location, location - became all too clear to my wallet.



AC house, 2014

Oh, Atlantic City, when I visited you this year I ached to feel what I felt years ago, but too much has changed.  Our Texas Avenue house still stands alongside its two adjoining partners on little Chelsea Terrace.

The front porch where my grandfather and friends would meet and play cards is now gone. So is the abundant vegetable garden he lovingly tended which served us and softened its surroundings.  

Texas Ave. view from the boardwalk, 2014

Now, there's a girlie bar at the end of the street, painted hot pink with oversized images of exotic dancers plastered on the exterior walls.  My dear seaside city, you are 160 years old!  Is this your mid-life crisis? 
 
We've clearly gone our separate ways. I watch you from afar, limping along as you struggle with your not-so-new mistress. You are trying the Las Vegas model offering more family-friendly packages at your hotels, but you and I know you are chasing windmills. 

So, like a jilted lover, I sigh thinking of what could have been. I wish you well as you try to re-invent yourself in your odd, gloomy-glitz world. 

We'll always have Steel Pier.  Ciao.

My mom, me (2 years old) & my brother, Joe, on the AC beach

Easter on the AC boardwalk (circa 1966) with some Labate and
Mina family members.  I am the one rockin' the red Easter bonnet,
pink coat, and white gloves! In fact, my sister, mom, and aunt are
also wearing dress gloves - so precious.