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Summertime at Ocean Beach
by Moon Mistress
a/k/a Lisa Beth Darling
Once upon a time, Ocean Beach Park was known as the ‘The Jewel in New London’s Crown’ now that jewel has lost some of its luster but when I was young it sparkled brighter than the sun. The place was jumping day and night throughout the summer. As kids we’d whiz down Ocean Avenue on our bicycles to the Walk-In Gate where we’d show our Resident’s Passes for free entry. In those days a bike lock was something that was nice to have but not necessary and more often than not we’d simply stick our bikes in the bike rack and walk off for the day never thinking they might be stolen and they never were.
First stop was the bathhouse where most of us rented a locker for the season at a very cheap price. This was before the coming of the waterslide from the top of which one could look straight down into the roofless bathhouse and see the people inside in all their sun-bronzed glory. We’d stow our belongings, primp and prime, we’d chatter nervously about what boy was supposed to meet us or who we hoped to see. Then it was out to the Olympic sized swimming pool. Resident’s passes were not accepted there and so our parents would buy ticket books and we’d bring three or four tickets with us so we could get into the pool without paying. The pool was always one of my favorite places as most of the kids gathered there and among those bused in from inner-cities such as Hartford and New Haven for the day we would spent hour upon hour in the chlorinated water which was a combination of fresh and salt water at the time as well as lying on the bleachers and soaking up the sun as we ogled a lifeguard or two. My favorite part of the pool was the high dive and I spent many a time in a long line waiting for my turn to come around so I could jump off and show my stuff to my friends below.
After that we were off to the creek where the current was strong and we’d float out to the sound with no effort just the current to carry us along. We’d catch all sorts of sea creatures; sidewinders, hermit crabs, jelly fish, whatever caught our eye. We’d dare each other to go down to the deep end of the creek and jump off the land surrounding it to bring up handfuls of muck from the bottom thereby proving we’d actually completed the dare. Tan and young with still firm bodies we’d lay on the soft sand again soaking up the warm rays without a thought to skin cancer or SPF factors, hell, we’d slathered coconut, tanning, baby and cooking oil on our skin in order to roast away under the hot summer sun trying to get that deep dark tan we all craved. Perhaps if we were lucky that certain boy who caught our eye was around we’d make out in the tall grass while strangers passed by. In those days we knew no shame and didn’t want to.
Around lunchtime there were four snack shacks to choose from. In two-piece bathing suits and cut off jean shorts we gobbled down greasy hamburgers, fries, pizza and clam fritters as though they were filet minion and would never leave an ounce of ugly fat on our young firm thighs. Perhaps then it was back to the pool or, better yet, to the arcade where video games were just coming into fashion. The game of choice then was good old pinball and I spent many a week’s allowance trying to gain the high score on the‘Playboy’ and ‘Xenon’ machines. Sooner or later, out of money, pool passes and pleasantly exhausted from our day in the sun we’d pedal back home only to return later in the night with our parents.
Summer nights at Ocean Beach were just as fun as the days with Polkabration in full swing under the big tent by the clock tower on the boardwalk. Our parents would dance and sing and kibitz with each other while handing us 10.00 so we could go off and explore the night never thinking for a moment that something would happen to one of us. Such a thing was practically unheard of back then. In nights before that when we were very young the beach was full of rides as good as any carnival but in our teens those rides went away. We’d race down to the rides which eventually replaced them and the old ticket shed. We’d spend an hour or more on the Flying Bobs (which blasted our music at full volume), the Tilt-a-Whirl, Paratrooper and the Round-up, getting ourselves dizzy and silly until it was time to stand in line for ice cream. While we waited, we swayed and tapped our feet to the lively polka music usually being played by Dick Pillar’s Orchestra or the Oompa Band. We’d watch the adults dance—some in fancy polka costumes—and we’d laugh at them until we were pulled in to the tent to dance, twirl and spin to the beat of the music. Our nights ended the same way our days did; at the arcade. It was at this very same arcade, years later, that I would meet the man who would become my husband of twenty-one years, that’s a story for another day.
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