We came to the Boardwalk every summer when I was a kid in the late sixties. My sister and brother, teenagers at the time, were 7-10 years older than I. We stayed in little places a block off the beach with names like The Poppy Court and The Blue Bell, slept on pull-out beds, and ate peanut and jelly sandwiches for lunch.
I remember standing up in the bathroom of one of these motels, balancing on the edge of the bathtub, looking out the window at the flags atop the Giant Dipper. I loved the beach and the town but mostly I loved the Boardwalk. The Funhouse and the Walking Charlies and the gas powered cars and the WIld Mouse were still in operation back then.
I remember watching my brother and sister riding the Wild Mouse (I was too young back then) and I especially remember as they came, screaming, around that curve that came out over the Boardwalk. I can still remember the smell of the Boardwalk, the grease on the tracks and the electricity and the fog and the cotton candy.
I visit the boardwalk at least two or three times every summer and when I do all my worries melt away and I’m a ten year old boy again watching my brother and sister whip, screaming their heads off, on that curve on the old Wild Mouse.
