An artistic mission

She jumped inside the taxi
both relieved and tense.
Snow was falling in Long Branch
at the end of a long train ride,
and the station was bustling
with people walking,
cleaning off their cars,
or looking for their ride home.

"How long will it take to
get to Asbury Park?" she asked.
"Where?" the driver asked.
"717 Cookman Avenue,
the Parlor Gallery," she quickly answered.
"Hmm, maybe 20 minutes --
it's hard to know because of the snow,"
the driver answered.

Concerned, she looked at the
two other passengers and asked,
"Should I take a train?"

"Hmm, this is probably faster,"
one fellow passenger replied.
"The train makes a couple of
other stops before getting to
Asbury Park,
and then you have to walk."

The taxi moved slowly
out of the station.
She looked up and asked,
"Should I get my own cab?"
"That's probably not an option
at this point," the other passenger said.
"This isn't Broadway in New York."

"By the time we get there,
I'm going to have only ten minutes
to see the exhibit," she said.
"I was hoping to have more time,
but the train was delayed."

The fellow passenger encouraged her
to enjoy dinner at one of
Asbury Park's fine restaurants,
near the art gallery.
Her response after a silent pause
was simply to inquire whether
the Asbury Park train station had
an indoor seating area.


The taxi continued south
on Ocean Avenue,
preparing to drop off
the first person who,
before wishing his
fellow passengers well,
asked the woman:

"What artist could make someone want
to ride a train for almost two hours
just to see their work for ten minutes?"

"Jill Ricci."

Atlantic City rambling

It's the most fascinating town in New Jersey. And, for some, among the most boring. It rose from the sands of the Atlantic Ocean in 1854. But, few people bother with its beaches today. Parts of it are as surreal as the casinos on the strip at Las Vegas. Much of it, however, is a cold splash of water in the face.

Atlantic City, New Jersey, has contributed much to the world: inspiration for the world's most popular board game; hosting the world's most famous beauty pageant from 1921-2005; the first boardwalk in the U.S.; salt water taffy; the setting for many movies and TV shows. Decades after its heyday, it even managed to land the Democratic national convention which nominated Lyndon Johnson for president in 1964.

A rebirth was predicted after the first casino opened in Atlantic City in 1978. For more than a dozen years, it seemed to be happening. New buildings rose and major entertainers were booked, making Atlantic City among the most popular tourist destinations in the U.S. at one point.

The sun has been setting down on the city again the past 20 years, it seems. New construction has slowed, some casinos have been torn down and not replaced, and gambling revenues have fallen dramatically. The neighborhoods just a few blocks from the boardwalk never seemed to benefit much from the investments made in Atlantic City after gambling was legalized.

During a visit to one casino the first Saturday afternoon in January, there were lots of empty parking spots, many more empty than occupied stools by slot machines, and some closed restaurants and stores. Security guards ignored smokers who puffed away in non-smoking areas, and packs of teenagers walked easily through areas marked for patrons 21 and over.

Boardwalk pushcarts waited outside casino doors, offering gamblers a smoother and quicker trip past the historic Boardwalk Hall than they could expect driving on bumpy Atlantic Avenue, where traffic lights aren't synchronized. Perhaps it's symbolic of how the old and new in Atlantic City aren't quite in sync, and that the city's best days are seen in a rear view mirror, not straight ahead.

"Well now, evrything dies, baby, that's a fact
But maybe evrything that dies someday comes back"
-- Bruce Springsteen, "Atlantic City," 1982

No shore thing

During the first month after superstorm Sandy struck, much was said about about rebuilding the Jersey shore to be better than ever. Governor Christie, municipal officials and others across the region articulated how the beaches, boardwalks, attractions and businesses along the shore would be back for everyone to enjoy as always. A noble sentiment and the proper way to advance hope, certainly -- but no sure thing, realistically.

Can Seaside Heights ever be the same again? How about Point Pleasant and Keansburg? Or, Sea Bright? Long Beach Island? Can they really be rebuilt better than ever?

The mayor of Seaside Heights has mentioned the possibility of keeping the damaged roller coaster, the image of which will remain in many minds for years to come, partially submerged in the ocean as a tourist attraction. No matter how much money is invested in rebuilding boardwalk businesses to open in time for next summer, the crippled roller coaster is already being valued as a way to remember Seaside Heights' heyday -- as if its post-Sandy future may never top its past.

Could the same fate befall Point Pleasant, which in recent years has been challenged to retain its longstanding appeal to families? It's also difficult to imagine the mix of attractions in Keansburg retaining their appeal as an affordable family outing.

Its vulnerable position between the Atlantic Ocean and Navesink and Shrewsbury rivers cruelly exposed by Sandy at a time when global warming theorists are saying "we told you so," will most home and business owners in Sea Bright rebuild in a way to rekindle their best memories of years past?

Older Long Beach Island homeowners and some of their baby boomer children have been through this before. The Ash Wednesday storm of 1962 destroyed thousands of homes on the island, part of which was uninhabitable until that summer. The island rebounded, with some new homes built several feet off the ground for protection against future storms. Fifty years later, Sandy's winds and flooding brought a new round of destruction on Long Beach Island, and the cries to rebuild are being heard again.

Fortunately, some seaside towns were lucky to escape the worst effects of Sandy. Wildwood was unscathed, and all businesses in Long Branch's relatively new Pier Village, including its boardwalk restaurants, reopened within three weeks. Asbury Park will take more time to recover, but is expected to be back to normal well before next summer.

Today's children and the next generation will enjoy the replenished beaches, new boardwalks and contemporary attractions of a rebuilt Jersey shore. Some may appreciate stories about how things were before Sandy, but with each passing year find them less interesting.

People with a lifetime of wonderful Jersey shore memories will be grateful for all the efforts to rebuild the places they cherish. Like old family photographs destroyed by Sandy, however, it's no sure thing the Jersey shore they grew up with can ever be replaced.

What do you think?

Patti Smith

Asbury Park boardwalk. August 5, 1978. A damp afternoon was turning to evening. Inside a candy store, a few young people shadowed a woman wearing a brown jacket, hat and boots. The woman was Patti Smith, in town for a concert just a few doors away.

"Wow, I can tell I'm back in Jersey," Patti said to the fans around her, almost giggling. "The salt water taffy gives me pimples."

A few hours later, wearing the same brown jacket, hat and boots, Patti strolled on to the Asbury Park Convention Hall stage to the applause of a crowd already ignited by a stirring opening set by The Ramones. And, she squirted lighter fluid on them, figuratively, with a set that included "Because the Night," co-written by Bruce Springsteen and heard on many radio stations that year.

Less than a year later, shortly after the release of her fourth album, Wave, Patti Smith ended the first of her two sets at the Capitol Theatre in Passaic by saying, "I'm going backstage, eating a roast beef sandwich, and I'll be back."

She returned for her second set and, after a few minutes, told the crowd, "Oh, sh*t, I forgot my roast beef sandwich!" At the end of the concert, she waved goodbye. It proved to be a long goodbye -- she waited nine years before releasing her next album and some more before touring again.

Fast forward to December 15, 1995. Opening for Bob Dylan at The Electric Factory in Philadelphia, Patti Smith walked on stage as her band began to play and started singing and dancing barefoot. The crowd applauded her set, and cheered when she came back later in the evening to join Dylan on a duet of "Dark Eyes," which she ended by planting a kiss on her hero's cheek.

Patti Smith returned to concert touring this year, scheduling dozens of dates in the U.S. and Europe, where the popularity of this New Jersey-born Rock and Roll Hall of Fame inductee seems highest these days. On Friday night, she came back to her home state for a performance at the State Theatre in New Brunswick. Anyone who thought being 65 years old and on stage with her daughter would mellow the godmother of punk were proved wrong. Patti is still "outside of society...where I want to be," per the lyrics of one of her most popular and controversial songs.

She was in fine voice, despite her claim that the humidity was having an adverse effect on her singing. She danced on stage and even ventured into the crowd a couple times to dance with her fans. She spat out lyrics -- literally, at times -- with the same passion she showed at shows 30-40 years ago, and pleaded with fans to "Vote! Vote! Vote!" at the conclusion of "People Have the Power."

At one point during the New Brunswick concert, the predominantly 50+ crowd got particularly boisterous, yelling at Patti and at each other. She paused to listen, and asked, "Is there something controversial going on?" After the cacophony died down for a moment, she looked up at a heckler and yelled, "If you got a problem, come on down so I can give you a hundred dollars to get the f*ck out of here!"

She played some guitar, and ended the show by purposely breaking strings in a way that would've impressed Pete Townsend. She talked about the effect the pending arrival of Sandy was having on her body, and told stories about attending a scary movie in a New Jersey theater, hanging outside CBGB in New York, and a concert at Lincoln Center's Avery Fisher Hall that she'll always remember for many wrong reasons.

"This has been some night," Patti said before walking off the State Theatre stage at the end of her two-hour set on Friday night. "I'll never forget this show."

Nor will I and many others.

The barber king

The second time I walked into his shop, he was sitting down, reading the New York Post, drinking coffee, smoking a cigarette.

"Hello, Charley," he said, with an Italian accent. It's an accent that has stayed with him for 50 years since he left Italy and settled in the West End section of Long Branch, New Jersey, where he opened his barber shop in 1964. He's kind of semi-retired these days, working only five mornings a week. He cuts hair by appointment, something I didn't realize the first time I walked off the street and into his shop.

"There's one ahead of you," he told me that first time, although there was no one waiting. A few minutes later, a gentleman even older than the barber walked in slowly, sat in the chair, and spoke softly while his hair was cut. When it was my turn and he began using his scissors on my graying scalp, I acknowledged the Yankees memorabilia in his shop and asked if he had been to the new Yankee Stadium yet.

"I'm a Mets fan," he replied. "I went to their new stadium once. My daughter drove me there. We got there so early, we didn't know what to do. So, we waited and then went inside. It's a nice park. But, the Mets lost."

The second time he cut my hair, we talked about the Jets, Mets and Ryder Cup.

"I got sick Sunday, with the Jets losing so bad, the Mets losing, and the US not winning the Ryder Cup," he moaned. "It made me sick to my stomach, really. And then the Giants lost."

Midway through my haircut, the barber noticed someone approaching his shop. He looked at me, paused briefly, and asked, "Did you make an appointment?"

"I did," I replied. "I called you yesterday morning."

The man the barber had spotted outside seconds earlier walked into the shop, said hello, then sat down to wait his turn. After my haircut was done, with no other customer visible, he got up.

"Not yet, Charlie," the barber told the other man. "There's one ahead of you."

As I walked out, I realized the barber may have double-booked 10:30 appointments for a "Charley" and was probably waiting for the next appointment to arrive. He likely had just enough time to finish his coffee and cigarette and, perhaps, scan a few pages of the newspaper or chat with Charlie.

The barber has not, after all, stayed in business for over 47 years by rushing through haircuts. He is his own boss, king of his castle, one with a red and white and blue striped poll that rolls only when he turns it on.

A moving experience

No one said it would be easy to move from a four-bedroom house that's been home to me and my wife and our two sons for 18 years to a two-bedroom condo. The decisions about what to bring to our new home, what to sell or give away, what to store, and what to discard were hard enough, as were the organization and physical labor involved in preparing for the move. It was the emotions of the process, however, that proved most difficult.

For my wife, it was hard to hear an interior decorator (a "stager," in real estate terms) explain why it was a good idea to repaint our main foyer, dining room, spare bedroom/office, and replace all our upstairs carpeting. We could understand the importance of "depersonalizing" the house, but it was still difficult to take down our wedding picture and other items that made the house our home.

That was the point: once the house went on the market, with new interior colors and carpeting and less furniture, it did not really feel like our home any longer. It seemed like it already belonged to someone else; we just needed our realtor to help find these people. Fortunately, the new owners were identified within a week after the house went on the market.

Before putting up the house for sale and again after entering into a contract with the buyers, however, my wife and I wound up reliving our past 18 years -- as well as our youth and even parts of the lives of our parents and grandparents -- through the pictures, videos, music, books, magazines, cards, school projects, artwork, toys, sports equipment, instruments, computers, clothing, souvenirs and other mementos, and various household items that were in our attic, basement, closets, shelves, garage, yard and other parts of the house built for us when our children were just seven and three years old.

Some of what we came across as we cleared out the house for our move made my wife and I smile or laugh. Other things made us sad, even cry, not because they evoked bad feelings, but because we realized they were a special part of our past but could not, for practical reasons, be part of a future in smaller living quarters. Some of these items are now in a public storage space, where they may be forgotten until we come across them again and pass them on to our sons or, gasp, try to make the difficult decision of finally just throwing them away.

Some neighbors, friends and family members have expressed admiration, even envy, for the move my wife and I made this summer. Yes, it's been a dream for the past 3-4 years to eventually simplify our life and live year-round at the Jersey shore. This year, for a variety of reasons, the timing was right. We were fortunate our house sold quickly, and had the energy and health -- and the help of our two strong sons -- to undertake the move.

My advice to those who are thinking of simplifying their lives in a smaller home: don't wait. Do it as soon as the timing is right, and not a year too late. Oh, and start getting rid of those old things now.

Adirondack vacations

For over 20 years beginning in 1987, my wife and I and our children enjoyed vacationing at Moffitt Beach, near Speculator, New York, in the Adirondack Mountains. We created wonderful memories during our annual 1-2 week stays on Sacandaga Lake, and often were joined by my grandparents, parents, uncles, aunts, brothers, sisters and cousins while there. My grandparents actually started the family tradition of vacationing at Moffitt Beach before I was born.

It's been four years since we were last at Moffitt Beach, but summer days still sometimes find me thinking back to the pleasant times spent in such a rustic and beautiful part of the eastern United States. Following is a poem I wrote on July 10, 1998, during one of our family vacations there.

On a Moffitt's Day

On a beautiful Moffitt's evening the full orange moon
was caressed with the soft edges of adoring clouds.
Lightning drills were confined
to the inside of a white cloud in the distance.
And silence fell early and swiftly
as boats and cars turned in for the night.

With the aroma of a Cohiba and citronella candles,
the scene drew my family out and kept the mosquitos away,
But only for so long.
Nature always stakes its territory,
forcing us inside to old Tom Waits songs
and the view of flickering campfires in the darkening night.

In my sleep and in cities hundreds of miles away,
leather shoes and basketballs pound the pavement
and immigrants drink from America and the World Cup.
I think of the beach, the clear lake, the mountains,
all in view with a cafe con leche in the morning.
I dream of walks around the sites and rides on jet skis.

On a beautiful Moffitt's morning the clouds and sun
have their daily joust for supremacy,
the clouds with speed and mass on their side,
and the sun with patience and light to boast.
The sun will win today, for the clouds have already done so
too many other days this week, and we're on vacation.

A fisherman checks his nets and launches his boat
with the hope of catching dinner for family and friends.
He, too, will win today, for there are plenty of fish
and they are hungry, just like the campers
and other vacationers in Moffitt's with appetites
for the simple and good things in life.

--Charley Bruns, 7/10/98