The Irish Riviera

When the Memorial Day weekend kicks off the ‘official’ start of summer, we all have a wide array of memories that flood through our minds… Some happy, others sad, many funny, a few, memorable and special.I spent my summers on Rockaway Beach, New York. My Aunt Sissy, Aunt Mary and Uncle Jack had bungalows there. Rockaway was the working man’s Riviera. The longest stretch of urban beach in the United States on a peninsula stretching out into the Atlantic.My first time seeing the ocean was from this stretch of sand. My first sense memories of sand between your toes and then in your shoes comes from Rockaway. The smells were wonderful: the salt air, the wooden boardwalk had a certain indefinable smell; the sun tan lotion (usually Coppertone) wafting through the air and the hot dogs grilling at the beach stand; the smell of the bars on a Sunday morning as we walked past them on our way to Mass are burned in my memory.My aunt’s bungalows were always open to anybody. Now, that might mean that you had to sleep on the porch listening to the overhead subway that rattled by, but to me, it was like staying at a resort. My Aunt Mary’s bungelow had an upstairs and a kitchen that was spotless. In all the years that I went there, I can’t recall seeing her at the beach, I just remember her in the kitchen wearing an apron. When my aunt Sissy felt that we were old enough, she’d rustle us out of bed at 7 or so, telling us to go to the beach and she would bring lunch around noon. I remember sitting on the beach at 7AM on many mornings feeling like Robinson Crusoe because there was not another soul in sight! On the beach, old biplanes would fly over head heralding the latest soft drink, radio station or local stores. Then there was the ice cream man. No – not in a truck, but a boy who carried a metal box with dry ice laden with Good Humor bars and orange drinks. “Ice cream and orange drinks heah!” We were in heaven. There was a neighborhood dog named “Pete” who spent his summers being fed by everyone on the beach. When the cops would try to get him, every kid on the beach claimed ownership and begged the police officers not to take ‘their’ dog. The cops never took Pete. After a day on the beach, it was back to either Sissy or Mary’s for dinner. Picture 20 or so people sitting around a table where endless amounts of food were served along with seeing the occasional cousin running into the outdoor shower. Jack’s clam chowder was the best and he always had about 50 gallons of it ready. The more pepper the better! After dinner, we’d usually take a trip to Playland, an old wooden amusement park that you would see in the old time black and white movies today. A rickety wooden rollercoaster called ‘The Atom Smasher‘, tunnel of love, games of chance, the smell of cotton candy was heady and the Nathan’s hot dogs were the best! It was my cousin Jimmy who took me on my first roller coaster ride and then my first ferris wheel ride. When he got to the top of the ferris wheel, he took one of his moccasins off and threw it to the crowd below. He was ‘admonished’ by the ride’s operator! I had my first slice of Sicilian pizza with my cousin Geraldine in Rockaway and I still remember my cousin Donna always taking me into the ocean far so I could tell everybody that I was ‘out past the jetties’. As we all grew up, we traveled to other places for our vacations and the Rockaways became a thing of the past. You never realize how much you miss something until it is gone. What I wouldn’t give to have that one last hot dog or orangeade on the boardwalk or squeeze around Mary or Sissy’s table for some of Jack’s clam chowder.Rockaway Beach is a part of me, it always will be.I hope that this summer brings back memories for you too. Thanks, Sissy, Aunt Mary and Uncle Jack.