Back in the freezing weather of January, I shared my goals for 2022. One of the most important goals outlined was to fight for our ever-dwindling open spaces in New Jersey. That includes fighting for those who share the love of the outdoors and educate others about the resource.
Located in one of my favorite spots in New Jersey, Sunset Beach, Cape May, the Sunset Beach Sportsmen’s Club has been meeting and sharing their love of fishing and the outdoors since the mid-1940s. What started as a few friends meeting at a private home in the Philly-area has turned into a decades-old club that has officially met at Sunset Beach since the 1950s.
They function as a non-profit, providing camaraderie and community to a group of local anglers. They have a great little meeting space next to the miniature golf course at Sunset Beach. It sounds like a really wonderful group of anglers who enjoy the outdoors and telling fishing stories.
So what’s the problem? Glad you asked.
Their building is located on the grounds of a former brick plant. When the plant closed in 1982, the owners leased the land to the club. In 1999, the New Jersey Department of Environmental Protection’s Division of Fish and Wildlife purchased the land from the plant owners and added it to the adjacent Higbee Beach Wildlife Management Area.
So they own the building, but they do not own the land underneath it. It is also worth mentioning they have paid taxes to Lower Township since 1957.
OK, so sounds like typical bureaucracy so far. Annoying, but not horrible… yet.
Well, here’s where it gets complicated. And frustrating.
The NJ Department of Fish and Wildlife sent a letter in February announcing plans to terminate the club’s lease agreement. The “Notice to Quit and Demand for Delivery of Possession of Premises” notes that if not followed, the state could file for eviction action. The letter outlined a list of reasons, which include “the sale of alcohol on a Wildlife Management Area without the prior written permission or other authorization from the (state), the club’s ‘interference’ with the National Coastal Wetlands Grant and the club’s use of the property being ‘inconsistent’ with the Division of Fish and Wildlife’s mission.”
Yes, they drink the occasional beer at the end of a day fishing. Pardon me while I clutch my pearls. I really hope my Jersey sarcasm is coming through loud and clear.
Whether the state owns the land beneath the club remains in dispute, according to Chris Gillin-Schwartz, Sunset Beach Sportsmen’s Club’s attorney.
It is worth mentioning, letters have been sent on letterhead from The DEP, New Jersey Fish and Wildlife, and the United States Department of the Interior, Fish and Wildlife Service. Tremendous pressure has been put on Lower Township to not renew the liquor license the club has possessed (in good standing) since 1976. I applaud Lower Township for standing up to the state and renewing their license.
This is a club that has served the community and its membership since the 1940s. They currently have 160 members (over 50 of which are veterans) and are good stewards of the resource. I feel like there’s more going on than the state wishes to share.
Now in all fairness, I reached out to New Jersey Fish and Wildlife, New Jersey Department of Environmental Protection, and the Governor’s office. I received no response whatsoever. Not even a “no comment.” Total radio silence.
I promised my readership to fight for our great state and its wonderful resources. The Sunset Beach Sportsmen’s Club does the same. They work for their community and work to preserve the resource. I urge my readership to sign their online petition. I also urge you to reach out to the Governor’s office and let your voice be heard. Why the state is making a (literal) federal case out of a local fishing club is beyond me. I promise all of you to stay on this story and hope for a positive outcome.
A favorite son of New Jersey, as well as a USFL and NFL player may have lived a short life, but he certainly accomplished a lot. This week Sam Mills reached the pinnacle in his sport; induction into the Pro Football NFL Hall of Fame.
Born in Neptune City and raised in Long Branch, Mr. Mills began his love affair with football at an early age, like many boys. While attending Long Branch High School, he was a standout football player and wrestler. In 1976 and 1977, Mr. Mills won District Championships at Long Branch as a wrestler. His high school and NFL jerseys hang in the gym in his honor.
Mr. Mills attended college at Montclair State and made the football team as a walk-on. He played for Montclair from 1977-1980 where he is the all-time leader in career tackles, tackles in a season, and tackles in a game.
In 1981 Mr. Mills signed with the Cleveland Browns as an undrafted free agent, however, he was released at the end of the preseason. Despite several setbacks being cut by multiple teams, he persevered.
In 1983 he signed with the USFL, Philadelphia Stars, and began a three-year playing career with the team. Mr. Mills led the Stars to two USFL championships, was named to three All-USFL teams and is a member of the USFL’s All-Time Team.
In 1985, Stars’ head coach Jim Mora was hired as head coach of the NFL New Orleans Saints and Mr. Mills went with him. He started his career in New Orleans in 1986 and earned four Pro Bowl appearances with the Saints in 1987, 1988, 1991, and 1992. He was inducted into the New Orleans Saints Hall of Fame in 1998.
Mr. Mills signed with the newly-formed expansion team, Carolina Panthers, in 1995 and was the only player to start every game during the Panthers’ first three seasons. He earned a trip to his fifth Pro Bowl in 1996 at the age of 37 which, at the time, made him the oldest defender to be invited to a Pro Bowl. He retired after the following season. After his retirement, Mr. Mills was inducted into the Carolina Panthers Hall of Honor in 1998. He became a defensive coaching assistant for the Panthers the same year and was promoted to linebackers coach in 1999. His jersey number 51 was retired by the Panthers at the start of the 2005 NFL season, making it the first number the franchise ever retired.
In August 2003, Mr. Mills was diagnosed with intestinal cancer. Though he was told he had a short time left to his life, he underwent chemotherapy and radiation and continued to coach. He was an inspiration to the team during their post-season run as the team faced Dallas and won Super Bowl XXXVIII. Mr. Mills continued to coach until dying from cancer complications on April 18, 2005. He was 45.
Mr. Mills made a positive impact during his short life and his speech to the team before their Super Bowl appearance with a focus on “Keep Pounding,” is now the name of a name of a fund to sponsor cancer research programs and an official team slogan.
He will now be inducted to the NFL Pro Football Hall of Fame.
If you live in New Jersey, you know we have a language all our own. However, if you are just a visitor, you may not know how best to communicate with us. Here are a few suggestion to help navigate a typical conversation.
“How You Doin’?”
Most people in other states start conversations with “hi” or “hello.” Well, here in Jersey, we start with “how you doin’?” Now to clarify, we aren’t really asking how you are; and quite frankly, we usually don’t care.
Now this one can be tricky. This phrase has multiple meanings. What is important here is the inflection. Here’s the full list of possibilities
You good: Are you OK? You good: You are OK. You good: How have you been? You good: Stop talking. Just stop. You good: You’re welcome. You good: No need to apologize. You good: You need some money? You good: You got a problem?!
Down the Shore
In New Jersey it doesn’t matter where you live, you go “down the shore.” Once you are staying at the shore, then you “go to the beach.” And everyone has specific shore towns they prefer at certain points during their lives. In high school it is usually Seaside for the boardwalk food and the games. That was my spot. The hipster spot is usually Asbury Park. I’ve only been there once for 102.7 Beach Day in high school. Once I was dating my then-boyfriend (now husband), it was Island Beach State Park. After we were married, it was Wildwood Crest. If we could afford it, I would love a home in Cape May.
Benny and Shoobie
While we are on the the shore, there are two references to people who do not live down the shore full time and only venture to South Jersey during the summer. A “Benny” refers to Bayonne, Elizabeth, Newark and New York-area residents who head down the shore. They tend to stick with the more northern shore towns. A “Shoobie” is the same as a Benny, but refers to visitors from farther south, usually Philadelphia. The origin is believed to come from day-trippers who took the train to the shore, bringing lunch in a shoe box many decades ago. People don’t carry their lunch in a shoe box anymore, but the term lives on. Now there’s a whole battle between the full-timers and the visitors, but that’s a post for a different day.
“Take the Jughandle”
In all my travels, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a jughandle anywhere else. It definitely causes confusion for out-of-state drivers. Simply put, on many roads in the great Garden State, if you want to make a left, you go right, follow the road around, and then go straight. The term refers to the look of the turn; like the handle of a jug.
“Wow. That’s crazy.”
There often comes a point during a conversation when people just start to tune you out. Maybe you’ve yammered on too long. Maybe the listener has lost interest. It is pretty rude, even for a New Jerseyan, to tell someone to just shut up. That’s kept for very specific circumstances. If you hear “wow; that’s crazy” twice during the same story, that means “wrap up it; I no longer care.”
“Want to go to the Diner?”
New Jersey is without a doubt the diner capital of the world and we are proud of it. We all have our favorites and will just about argue to the death that ours is the best. When I was in high school, my friends and I would always go to the Arlington Diner in North Arlington and the Lyndhurst Diner in Lyndhurst. Later on I would go to the Tick Tock in Clifton. Now that we live in Morris County, we go to the Roxbury Diner, the Jefferson Diner, and the Hibernia Diner.
While we are on the subject of diners, let’s talk about something unique to Jersey – Disco Fries. No one else could come up with this combination, I promise you. Diner fries with melted mozzarella and topped with brown gravy. This is usually a 3:00 a.m. request on the way home from wherever you were earlier in the evening. After my prom, we headed into New York City. On the way home we stopped at a diner and ordered Disco Fries.
North Jersey/South Jersey
Now New Jersey may be a single state, however, there is a distinct difference between the language of North Jersey and South Jersey. I am a life-long North Jersey resident, so my language includes sub (a sandwich on long Italian roll), Taylor Ham (a much beloved and delicious pork product), Mischief Night (the night before Halloween when the focus is on the tricks and not the treats) and the teams are the Giants and the Jets. In South Jersey, a sub is a hoagie, Taylor Ham is Pork Roll, Mischief Night is Goosey Night, and the team is the Eagles. We all agree on one thing, however; Central Jersey is a myth.
There’s a lot more when it comes to the culture and language of New Jersey, but this will get you started. There is one thing you will discover quickly; we have serious Jersey Pride! We may joke with each other about our state, but if you’re not from here, you will get a mouth full of Jersey attitude if you try to dish it out. Yes, we know we have a sort-of accent. No, we don’t find asking us to say words like “coffee” or “water” funny. We aren’t really amused by “what exit,” even though we will ask each other. Jersey isn’t just a place to live. It is an attitude. And you are either from here and have it or you are from somewhere else and don’t. Jersey people will always stand up for other Jersey people. Even the ones we don’t like. We are all about protecting and representing. That’s what Jersey Pride is all about.
In the past I have written about a long-time giant at St. Lucy’s Church in Newark, NJ, Monsignor Joseph Granato. He served the parishioners of St. Lucy’s for 54 years; his entire time of service. I am sad to report the Monsignor went home to the Lord a few days ago.
Born in New York, then Joseph Granato, moved with his family to Newark in his infancy. He attended Sacred Heart Cathedral Grammar School in Newark and graduated in 1943. He then attended Our Lady of Good Counsel High School, also in Newark, and graduated in 1947. When he entered the seminary, he once again stayed local, attending Seton Hall University and Immaculate Conception Seminary.
Upon Ordination Father Granato was assigned as an assistant to Rev. Gaetano Ruggiero, Pastor of St. Lucy’s Church, Newark in June of 1955. Upon Father Ruggiero’s death, Father Granato was named Administrator to St. Lucy’s in 1971 and was named Pastor in 1977. In 1979, Pope John Paul II bestowed the sacred honor of being named Monsignor. Instead of taking credit for this great honor, he gave credit to the people of St. Lucy’s.
Monsignor Granato remained Pastor of St. Lucy’s until his retirement in 2009.
As I have said in the past, the Monsignor bordered on rock star status at St. Lucy’s. He was a kind man who kept his flock always in the forefront of his mind. But he was far more than a simple parish priest. He was a civic leader and advocate for the First Ward his entire life. He fought back when the First Ward was labeled a “slum” and attempted, sadly to no avail, to prevent the bulldozing of almost the entire original First Ward and replace it with low-income housing, displacing tens of thousands of Italian immigrants. This project of the city resulted in Italian immigrants leaving Newark and turning the area into a level of urban blight, the likes had never been seen before. Suddenly going to St. Lucy’s was a dangerous gamble. Still, Monsignor Granato persevered.
In 1994, the housing projects were imploded. Monsignor Granato led the charge to acquire the land across from St. Lucy’s in order to develop an Italianate Plaza. Additionally, he supported the construction of Villa Victoria Senior Citizens Residence and the subsidized low-rise family housing across from the rectory.
Monsignor Granato championed the continued century old devotion of the Italian immigrant population to St. Gerard, Patron of Motherhood, with the declaration of St. Gerard’s Chapel a National Shrine in 1977.
Thank you Monsignor Granato for your unwavering dedication to St. Lucy’s, her parishioners, the First Ward, and the tens of thousands of Italian immigrants, and their families, your have counseled over the decades. God has certainly gained a loyal servant.
One such great child of Italian immigrants was John Basilone from Raritan, New Jersey. One of 10 children, Basilone was born in Buffalo, New York in 1916. He grew up in Raritan. At age 15 he dropped out of school to work locally for a short time before joining the military.
He first enlisted in the Army in July 1934 and completed his three-year enlistment with service in the Philippines. Basilone was initially assigned to the 16th Infantry at Fort Jay, New York, before being discharged for a day, reenlisting, and being assigned to the 31st Infantry.
After his discharge from the Army, he again worked locally for a short period of time; this time as a truck driver. He wanted to return to Manilla and serve once again, so he reenlisted; this time as a Marine.
He went to recruit training at Parris Island, followed by training at Marine Corps Base Quantico and New River. The Marines sent him to Guantánamo Bay for his next assignment and then to Guadalcanal in the Solomon Islands as a member of “D” Company, 1st Battalion, 7th Marines, 1st Marine Division.
In 1943, he returned to the United States to help with the War Bond effort. He was highlighted in Life and Movietone News. His hometown of Raritan had a parade in his honor. He helped raise money for the War effort.
While he appreciated all the accolades, he really wanted to be back fighting for his country. He requested a return to active duty multiple times. He was offered a commission, which he turned down, and was later offered an assignment as an instructor, but refused this as well. When he requested again to return to the war, the request was approved. He left for Camp Pendleton, California, for training on December 27. On July 3, 1944, he reenlisted in the Marine Corps.
After his request to return to the fleet was approved, Basilone was assigned to “C” Company, 1st Battalion, 27th Marine Regiment, 5th Marine Division. On February 19, 1945, the first day of the invasion of Iwo Jima, he was serving as a machine gun section leader on Red Beach II. With his unit pinned down, Basilone made his way around the side of the Japanese positions until he was directly on top of the blockhouse. He then attacked with grenades and demolitions, single-handedly destroying the entire strong point and its defending garrison. He continued to fight alongside service members until the very end. It is believed he was killed by a burst of small arms fire.
His actions helped Marines penetrate the Japanese defense and get off the landing beach during the critical early stages of the invasion. Basilone was posthumously awarded the Marine Corps’ second-highest decoration for valor, the Navy Cross, for extraordinary heroism during the battle of Iwo Jima.
He was the only enlisted Marine to receive both the Navy Cross and the Medal of Honor in World War II. Two United States Navy destroyers bear his name.
He was buried at Arlington National Cemetery, in Arlington, Virginia. He left behind his wife, Lena Mae Riggi, who was a sergeant in the Marine Corps Women’s Reserve during World War II. They met while he was stationed at Camp Pendleton.
Basilone made America proud, especially at a time when the country needed heroes. He stood up to be counted in the new homeland of his family. He made not just his country proud, but New Jersey proud, as well as those of us who count ourselves among the 1.5 million New Jerseyans of Italian descent proud. We owe him a debt of gratitude that can never be repaid.
“Newark, Belleville; Frankie Valli walks on water. As he should. Frankie Valli has been around so long he’s attached to everything and everybody. And they are very proud.” ~Steve Schirripa, Talking Sopranos podcast.
Belleville has been home to plenty of talent over the decades. Connie Francis, Joe Pesci, and of course Francesco Stephen Castelluccio, known to the world as Frankie Valli.
As Schirripa says, he’s attached to everything and everybody. We all have a Frankie Valli story. For me, I have two. Castelluccio grew up in Stephen Crane Village on the border of Belleville and Newark. My Uncle worked as a maintenance man at Stephen Crane Village. He took the bus from our house in Belleville early every morning and came home every afternoon. As kids we were allowed to walk down to the end of the block and wait for him; but no further than the manhole cover!
His first single “My Mother’s Eyes” was a favorite song my Uncle Chubby would sing with his own band, Chubby O’Dell and the Blue Mountain Boys. To this day whenever I hear that song, I think of my Uncle Chubby and smile.
The music of The Four Season was part of the soundtrack of the youth of not just North Jersey, but America. Songs like “Can’t Take my Eyes off of You” and “Big Girls Don’t Cry” are engrained in our memories. Castelluccio’s original inspiration was another Jersey boy, Francis Albert Sinatra.
A new generation was introduced to Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons in 2005 when Jersey Boys opened on Broadway and was an instant hit. Bob Gaudio, an original Four Seasons member, sought to make a musical from the discography of the band. He hired book writers Rick Elice and Marshall Brickman, and director Des McAnuff. Brickman suggested creating a show about the band’s history, instead of repurposing their songs. Sharing the group’s “rags to riches” story. Everyone fell in love with their music all over again.
Castelluccio still tours and recently recorded a new album, A Touch of Jazz, which is his iconic voice singing his favorite tunes from the Great American Songbook.
So Castelluccio started singing in the early 50s and all these decades later, he is still growing strong. God willing, he still has a lot of music left in him.
Many of us have passed by Rotunda Pool in Newark on our way to St. Lucy’s Church or coming out of Branch Brook Park and have not given it a second thought. It is, however, an important location in the community and New Jersey Italian heritage.
Rotunda Pool is named after Private Joseph Ralph Rotunda Jr., the first soldier from Newark’s Italian-American community to die in World War II. The dedication of this pool stands a testament to his sacrifice, as well as the sacrifices of the countless Italian immigrants and Americans of Italian decent that fought on behalf of their new homeland. The official renaming from Clifton Pool to Rotunda Pool took place in 1966.
By the early twentieth-century, approximately 21,000 Italian immigrants made Newark the fifth largest Italian-American community in the country.
Private Rotunda was killed by a land mine while serving with Cannon Company, 168th Infantry, in Tunisia, Northern Africa, as part of the first invasion forces. He had only been overseas for three months. A letter to the family from Secretary of War Henry L. Stimson, dated June 9, 1943, informed the family that their son was posthumously awarded the Purple Heart.
On June 16, 1943, the Newark Evening News reported on an announcement from the War Department which listed the death of Private Joseph R. Rotunda, Jr. as one of four soldiers from New Jersey to lose their lives in combat. In total 229 U.S. soldiers were reported killed in action in North Africa and 630 more wounded, 11 of whom were from New Jersey.
In February 1944, after seeking permission from Joseph Rotunda, Sr., officials from the Veterans of Foreign Wars (VFW) designated the Pvt. Joseph R. Rotunda Jr. Post (No. 848) in honor of the “first soldier from the First Ward to be killed in action in this war.” This post became the ninth V.F.W. unit in Newark.
So next time you ride past Rotunda pool, maybe take a moment and bow your head or tip your cap to the memory of Private Rotunda.
When I thought about who I should highlight first this year during Italian Heritage Month, I wanted to go with a local hero. Yes, she is a favorite daughter of New Jersey, but she is also a favorite daughter of my hometown, Belleville.
Concetta Rosa Maria Franconero, known professionally as Connie Francis, was born into an Italian-American family in the Ironbound neighborhood of Newark. She attended Arts High in Newark for two years before attending Belleville High School, where she graduated as salutatorian from BHS Class of 1955. The high school auditorium is now named in her honor. Additionally, “Connie Francis Way” can be found at the corner of Greylock Parkway and Forest Street in Belleville, near the house in which she grew up.
Students sitting in that auditorium today may not know the importance of Concetta Franconero to our “Beautiful Village,” but those of us of a certain age certainly do. Early in her career, Arthur Godfrey made two recommendations to her. First that she drop the use of her accordion in her act. Second, that she change her name from Concetta Franconero changed her name to Connie Francis “for the sake of easier pronunciation.” So she officially became Connie Francis to the world.
Her life has been full of triumph and tragedy. She’s had many top songs we all know and love. I am particularly fond of Where the Boys Are and her rendition of Mama. She also acted in several movies during her young career. In the late 1960s, Francis went to Vietnam to sing for the troops. Through the years, she has performed charity work for organizations such as UNICEF, the USO and CARE.
Deep sadness struck her life several times, unfortunately. The first time was in Westbury, New York, following a performance at the Westbury Music Fair. Francis was the victim of a brutal rape and robbery after an intruder broke into her hotel room and held her at knifepoint. She nearly suffocated under the weight of a heavy mattress the culprit had thrown upon her. Her attacker was never caught.
In 1977, Francis underwent nasal surgery and completely lost her voice. She went through three more operations to regain her singing voice, but it took four more years to regain that lovely voice of hers.
In 1981, further tragedy struck Francis when her brother, George Franconero, Jr., with whom she was very close, was murdered by Mafia hitmen. Franconero, who had twice given law enforcement officials information concerning alleged organized-crime activities, was fatally shot outside his home in North Caldwell.
In the 1980s, Ronald Reagan appointed her as head of his task force on violent crime. She has also been the spokeswoman for Mental Health America’s trauma campaign. She worked hard to turn her personal tragedy into a story of triumph and inspiration for others.
In 1984, Francis published her autobiography, Who’s Sorry Now?, which became a New York Times bestseller.
Francis continued to perform and record and prove what Belleville and Jersey tough means. That’s why I felt she deserved to be the first person I honored during this year’s Italian Heritage Month.
When anyone meets me for the first time, two things are obvious. I am a born-and-bred Jersey Girl and I am a Gen-Xer. I still love the music and movies of the 80s. Nowadays when I drive, there are very few radio stations I listen to; most of which are satellite and focus on music of the 60s, 70s, and 80s. My favorite movies included a small group of actors that came to be known as the Brat Pack. Everyone had their favorite. For me, it was Andrew McCarthy.
I saw a lot of myself in the characters he portrayed. In St. Elmo’s Fire, he played a wannabe writer who gets his first byline. I grew up wanting to do two things as an adult: be a writer and a photographer. While I never became a full-time accomplished writer, I do have a few bylines to my name and have a few blogs where I get to scrawl and scribble, even if no one really reads them.
So why am I telling you all this? Stick with me.
Whether it was because I was a teenager or not, the 80s were an awesome time in history (and yes, I used “awesome” on purpose). And the Brat Pack movies had a lot to do with it.
There were times watching McCarthy it almost felt like he wasn’t acting. As if those roles really fit his style. I now know in some instances that was true. Enter his book brat: an 80s story.
This fellow New Jerseyan shares his rise – and fall – and rise again in the fickle world of entertainment in his recently published book. Of course as soon as I heard about its release, I needed to read it. Trust me when I tell you, it did not disappoint. I read it over the course of two evenings. The last time I read something so quick was a book from another important figure from my youth; fellow Jersey Girl, Judy Blume, and the book was Summer Sisters.
I quickly switched back to 16 again, watching those movies, listening to that music, and doing things, well, let’s just say I am thankful social media wasn’t around.
As I read, and he mentions places in Jersey in the first few chapters, I found myself wondering if the arcade on 22 he went to was at Bowcraft (a home-grown amusement park), how everyone in Jersey MUST be good at skee-ball and if his brother ever played golf at Hendrick’s Field, the public course in Belleville behind my house. He talked about hanging out in Washington Square Park, which made me remember my first job in the City and walking over to the park and eating my lunch there while I watched the street performers. He talked about going with a friend to the second-hand clothing shops, which made me think of my regular visits to the Unique Boutique. Like him, I went to the Raccoon Lodge. The biggest difference, however, is that he was 17. I wasn’t allowed into the City on my own until after I graduated from college. But I remember feeling just as wide-eyed as he describes his experiences of familiar places to me.
He spoke of the awkwardness of his high school years. While he was always self-conscious about looking too feminine, I was often self-conscious about looking too masculine. By the time I hit high school, my mother started to give up on getting me to “dress like a girl,” and I fell into the habit of oversized sweatshirts and jeans. I stuck to my denim jacket (complete with a music note of safety pins on the back), an Army Class A jacket I picked up at a second-hand store in Bloomfield, and my father’s camel-hair coat. Add to that my voice was kind of deep for a girl my age, which was quite obvious when I would shout over the marching band as drum major. Sophomore year I felt compelled to chop my long hair off, which completed that perfectly boyish look, even if that really wasn’t the goal. When a teacher from the high school first met my brother, he said to a colleague once he thought I was out of earshot “I’m trying to figure out if he’s more feminine or she’s more masculine.” And so it was and so it has been for most of my adult life. Many years later at a full-time job, I learned some of my colleagues referred to me as “Man Benschoten” instead of my proper last name. I never seemed to be able to outrun that “boy thing.” Sometimes it still bothers me, sometimes I shrug and don’t care in full Gen-X fashion.
Like him, I enjoyed my time alone. For him, he smoked pot. For me, it was riding my bike over to the high school, climbing to the top of the stadium, sitting in the corner and reading. Smoking pot never even crossed my mind. As far as I knew, none of my friends did and my mother could have worked for the CIA. She found out everything. It wasn’t worth the risk.
“Like the first light of dawn, there is a transitory magic in it, a singular quality, something so fresh it seems it must be occurring for the first time.”
Like McCarthy, I found solace in the arts program. For him it was (obviously) drama and it started him down a successful path that led him to NYU. Me? Well, I never got out of the chorus/background dancers, with the exception of one actual line in the production of “It’s Christmas Charlie Brown” (“watch it lady, you almost made me drop my packages!”). I was in concert band, jazz band, chorus, orchestra, drama club, and marching band. I wasn’t “officially” on stage and light crew, but I helped out backstage with the plays before I summoned up the courage to actually try out. For me, that’s as far as my artistic journey went. I didn’t have “it.”
His announcement to major in acting when he went to college went over about as well as my announcement to major in journalism. I was pushed at every opportunity to become an attorney. When I came home with my declaration form for the Communication Department, well, I’ll just say it didn’t go over well and leave it at that. Like McCarthy, I stuck to my guns and kept with it. And I discovered I did have an aptitude for certain parts of the process. For me, it was print production and typography, along with writing.
We both had our own departmental champions. For him it was Terry Hayden. For me, it was Dr. Don McKenna and Professor Pete Rosenblum. That dynamic duo were my supporters at every turn. They told me about this thing called “prepress.” Where I get to be involved in the actual process of preparing work to go to press. I was in love. Like McCarthy, I was eager to learn all I could. Also, like McCarthy, some teachers were less than thrilled with my feeble classroom attempts. We both struggled with speech class. My prim and proper professor attempted to remove the Jersey from my accent and teach me a proper mid-Atlantic speech pattern (think Katharine Hepburn). Shocker – it didn’t work. I passed, but I think only because I just kept showing up to class. I didn’t care. I dove head first into learning all I could about prepress and writing.
Throughout the book, he has the ability to weave stories of experiences of his past and how those experiences affected his career as he continued to learn and hone his craft. I took special attention to how he handled anxiety while shooting his first feature movie, Class, and how as a director he quietly says “aaaand… action” instead of yelling “ACTION!” like we all see in the movies.
He told his mother he was a pessimist. I call myself a realist. I think they are two sides of the same coin. Just about the same time he was becoming interested in the technical aspects of filmmaking, I was becoming more and more interested in the technical aspects of photography and press work. As a girl, however, opportunities at the time were limited. At one job, I did become friendly with a stripper (not THAT kind) and would let me watch him work during my lunch and would occasionally let me make bluelines. Every so often I was told I was told I had aptitude. And just like McCarthy was told “you became a pro on this one, Andy,” I would fly high.
One page 130, he finally gets to my favorite of all the Brat Pack movies; St. Elmo’s Fire and devotes a solid twenty-something pages to it. His character, Kevin, felt like it had followed me around my entire life. Cynical, sarcastic, in the background of the group, the oversized clothes, the camel-hair coat. His behind-the-scenes account of the “Respect bongo” scene, my favorite of the entire movie, was just wonderful.
He talks about his use – and abuse – of alcohol. The year he went into rehab was the year I graduated from college. He faced his demon head on and won. Instead of thinking of it as the end of his career, he continued to push forward. He found his way to… writing.
I also give him a lot of credit for how he handled the end of his father’s life. Gracious is hardly enough to describe how he faced the situation.
Overall, I really enjoyed his writing style and his ability to construct some beautifully written sentences. Over time he came to accept his role as a member of the Brat Pack. He now understands that for many of us fellow Gen-Xers, those movies hold a special place for us. For that, I am thankful.
I hope it is a little easier bein’ you now, Mr. McCarthy.
Being allowed to walk home from school by yourself if a big step when you are a kid. For me it was around fourth grade. After crossing Passaic Ave. from School 7, I would regularly stop at what was known as Rosebud’s Sweet Shop for penny candy and Swedish Fish (the big ones, separated by wax paper). Then I would suck on that wonderful red licorice as I crossed Joralemon Street, walked behind Michael’s Roscommon, down May Street, and eventually, home to Irving Street.
This week, I learned Rosebud’s (now Rosebud’s Luncheonette) will close permanently.
My heart sank as I heard the news. It joins other businesses that are gone, such as Plaza Chemist, where I had my first job, Channel Lumber, and the Towne Deli at the Corner of Franklin and Joralemon. All were within walking distance from my home. All were on the “approved” list I could go to and walk around as I continuously tried to push my boundaries as we all do growing up.
When I was in high school, I passed up the Swedish Fish for a Taylor ham, egg, and cheese (TEC, SPK), on a Saturday morning before heading to the high school for marching band practice, a football game, or a band competition. Sometimes if I hadn’t already picked up a copy of the week’s Belleville Times or Belleville Post, I would get the paper there as well.
In the good weather, you could always catch a few of the men sitting outside as they drank their coffee and smoked. It was an official neighborhood hangout.
When the boardwalk at Seaside went ablaze year ago, I remember then Gov. Christie saying “the Jersey Shore of my youth is gone.” Every time I hear about another place from the town I love closing, I feel another piece of my youth leaving. And I weep for its loss.
Thank you Rosebud’s for serving your community for generations. You will be missed by many.