Salt Air and Simpler Times on the Jersey Shore
Memories of family summers in the 1950s
Recalling his childhood years in the summer, Paul Leone Peters share warm memories of summertime on the Jersey Shore at The Breakers hotel in Boomer’s From Our Readers.
From the time I was about 3½ years old until the summer of my eighth year, my family spent most of every summer at The Breakers hotel in Mantoloking, New Jersey. At the time, we lived in a two-bedroom apartment on the first floor of the Thorneycroft apartment complex at 66-11 99th St. in Forest Hills, New York, just off Queens Boulevard and behind the Trylon movie theater. No one had air conditioning in those days, at least no one in our economic bracket, so getting away to the beautiful New Jersey shore was an incredible treat.
The Breakers hotel in the middle of the 20th century was hardly the height of luxury. It was located on a narrow stretch between the Atlantic Ocean and Barnegat Bay (later to be immortalized in the Frankie Valli song, “My Eyes Adored You”), with just enough land to accommodate a single row of homes on the ocean side of the road and two on the bay.
Although it fronted on a beautiful ocean beach, the plain, stucco structure seemed a bit out of place for the setting – even though the homes which surrounded it then were quite modest.
But it was imposing, proud, and perhaps most importantly, only a short drive from New York City.
The guest rooms were less than sparse, and physical amenities were basically nonexistent. Each room had a sink, with a “closet” that was one or two rusty hooks on the wall. The bathroom was down the hall, and there was a pay phone in the lobby. There were no screens on the windows (you brought your own fly swatters), and there was no maid service.
The public areas consisted of a large lobby with comfortable sofas and chairs and a porch that wrapped around the elevated main floor on the south and east sides of the building. There were no formalities; guests could walk into the lobby in their bathing attire, through the porch, and down the steps to the beach. Changing rooms – if you could call them rooms – were under the main floor at ground level, just off the parking lot, but not too many guests used them. Still, The Breakers was warm, welcoming, and happy.
Everyone ate meals together in the large dining room on the western end of the hotel, also at ground level. The meals were hearty and unpretentious; the kind you would expect from a good diner today. The entrance was a grand staircase off the large, sand parking lot that led to a covered front porch.
As I recall, we never went for less than a month at a time. Dad would stay in the apartment during the week, drive down on Friday afternoon, and leave early Monday morning – except for his two-week vacation, when he was there with us the whole time. In fact, that was standard practice for most of the families who stayed at The Breakers during the summer. Those same families came year after year, and it felt like one big family in a house with dozens of bedrooms. As Hillary Rodham Clinton described in her book, “It Takes a Village,” it seemed like all the parents were responsible for all the kids, regardless of last names. It was almost impossible to get into trouble, because there was always a pair of parental eyes on you, no matter where you went in the hotel or on the beach. Rarely was there a summer guest at The Breakers who didn’t know at least half the other people staying there at the time. The lifeguard for the summer was always a college boy from one of the families who frequented the hotel. I remember, in particular, both Alan and Freddie Fox, two of the nicest young men you could ever want to meet.
Summer fun and memorable folks on the Jersey Shore
My family was introduced to The Breakers by Ralph Daniels, one of the many brokers at Cushman and Wakefield, where my Dad was vice president, on his way to becoming president and chairman. For reasons I can’t recall, we became very close to the wonderful family that owned the hotel, the Cales. There were Claire and Arthur Cale, Mr. Cale’s elderly mother, and Claire and Arthur’s daughter, Marie. Marie was a couple of years older than me and absolutely adorable, with a sweet smile, curly blonde hair, and a gentle nature. She was my first crush, even though she thought of me as little more than a younger friend of the family, and it didn’t take long before she was the main reason I looked forward to summers.
The Cales had a lovely summer house across the road on Barnegat Bay, and, of course, they spent the entire season there. They had a beautiful wooden speedboat – Chris Craft, I think – named “The Spinster.” During our stay each summer, we would be invited on that boat several times, with Mr. Cale taking both families all around Barnegat Bay.
Instead of water skis, they had something called an aquaplane. It was a painted and varnished piece of wood looking somewhat like a small boogie board, and it was pulled behind the boat by a rope attached to its front. To ride it, you grabbed the rope, stood on the board, and let the boat pull both of you. There were no toe holds, and if you fell, it was usually because the boat pulled the board out from under you. Miraculously, I learned to ride that accident-waiting-to-happen without getting myself killed.
I also learned to swim in Barnegat Bay, mainly because the bottom of the bay near the Cale’s house was kind of gooey, and I hated to stand on it. Also, there were plenty of blue claw crabs roaming the bottom, and they wouldn’t hesitate to clamp onto your toes. At the ocean, my dad taught me to ride the waves on an inflatable raft, something he himself loved to do, even though he couldn’t swim. We also flew kites, and we would have a catch just about every day, since we always brought a baseball and two gloves.
During the hottest part of the days, when the beach was too much for them, the ladies at The Breakers would play Canasta on the gray, wraparound porch. There would always be several active tables of four there, and I frequently sat next to my Mom to watch – and, it turns out, learn. Although I can’t for the life of me remember anything about the game other than some significance of “red threes,” I did become pretty proficient for a few years – especially for a little boy. Maybe one day I’ll read the rules and see if it all comes back to me.
About once a week there would be a cookout on the beach, with corn on the cob, hot dogs, hamburgers, and roasted marshmallows. Dad even had some hardwood dowels made especially for those. Sometimes the kids would play hide-and-seek in the dunes, and every now and then we’d all dress up as pirates and do some youthful improv.
We endured a few hurricanes – most famously hurricane Carol in late August, 1954, when “the ocean met the bay,” flooding the parking lot and killing the power for a day or two – and once each season the parents drove the kids to the amusement park in Seaside Heights, just up the coast. One summer, a small private plane made an emergency landing on the beach; maybe the most exciting event of all our years at The Breakers. (Or was it hurricane Carol?)
When I turned five – in fact, precisely on that very day, Dec. 30, 1951 – my sister, Gail, was born. (My birthday present!) Because my Mom didn’t want to be far from her new infant daughter, that following summer the Cales generously built us a kind of suite (and you cannot believe how incredibly generously I’m using that word) just off the lobby, so my Mom could listen for Gail in the evenings while the adults did whatever they did after the kids were put to bed. (Charades? Cocktails and conversation? More Canasta?)
Our “suite” consisted of two tiny rooms – one for Mom and Dad and one for my bed and Gail’s crib – and the ultimate luxury of our own bathroom! I can’t imagine how they could have convinced any other guests to put up with that location after our love affair with the Breakers ended, but for us it was perfect.
And end it did, with our last visit in the summer of 1955. We had moved to a home in Manhasset that February, and Dad decided either that summers in the suburbs were just as good as on the Jersey shore – the country clubs were building pools, and we were only 20 minutes from Jones Beach – or that from now on we were going to vacation only in hotels with real closets.
We didn’t completely lose track of our extended family at The Breakers, as we maintained a relationship with the Cales and the Foxes. Meanwhile, The Breakers was soon demolished to make way for high-priced summer homes in Mantoloking, which became one of the most expensive stretches of beachfront in New Jersey. While Interlaken replaced The Breakers as our annual summer destination, it couldn’t replace the vivid and cherished experiences instilled in me – which is why, no doubt, I still love the beach, the ocean, and being surrounded by family and friends.
And, of course, I’ll never forget Marie.
Read more like these memories of the Jersey Shore from Paul Leon Peters and other contributions from Boomer readers in our
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