Men who returned to Ocean City after the war. (Special to the Sentinel)
ANOTHER VIEW: By Anna “Nana” Ward and Erik Panichi
Author’s note: While under “stay at home orders” I found myself going through some old family items. I came across the following story that my great-grandmother wrote about her time at the Jersey Shore during the onset of World War II. This story should be shared.
The shore was and always will be a place to create memories, share moments and to work together. I have edited and revised it to read slightly more modern, and it was a treat to work on something with an ancestor that lived from 1897 to 1978.
Congress had just passed the “Draft Law for Eighteen Year Olds.” Uncle Frank and Aunt Minerva, Dad, and I rented an extremely large house in Ocean City. Our children Mary, David, Newton, and Nancy as well as Uncle Frank and Aunt Minerva’s Eddie, John and Frank Jr. made a total of 11.
Because we knew time was short for these boys, we allowed them to invite other boys and their dates down for the weekend. We had as many as 55. Most of them were high school seniors or freshmen and sophomores in college.
One would think this was a giant undertaking, but actually it was not. The children set up their own “Kitchen Police.” The boys washed the dishes and the girls were responsible for the other rooms. It was easy to wash the dishes because the kitchen contained two large porcelain tubs. They washed the dishes in one and rinsed them in the other. Many of the boys who were not on kitchen duty remained to clear the table and join in the laughter and camaraderie.
One of the requirements for each guest was to bring his ration books. Butter was scarce, but we needed sugar and meat coupons. The bread and milkman made deliveries each day. The weekly bill for each was normally $12. When one considers milk was 12 cents a quart, and bread 7 cents a loaf, he can readily estimate the volume consumed.
Breakfast over the weekend, when the house was full, consisted of cereal, toast, juice (no butter, only jelly) and mostly milk.
Friday and Saturday nights were spent walking the boards or attending a dance. Our house was near 51st Street so they had to travel some distance to the center of Ocean City activity (14th Street). Every Friday and Saturday and also for church on Sunday morning, the trolley never made any other stops, as it became fully loaded in front of our house!
The nights were dark and dreary; a marine walked the lonely beach in the back of our house. If there was a half moon, and especially if a full moon, one could see the guard, sometimes he walked with a German Shepherd.
It was against the law to talk to the guard. Usually about 10 p.m. we would place a thermos of hot coffee and a sandwich on the bulkhead, which separated the back of our house from the beach. I can’t remember how we conveyed the message to come-and-get-it for even the change of the guard knew. No one spoke to these guards even as they approached and took our offerings.
During the day, a “Navy-K-Type” blimp and sometimes a larger one passed overhead. We always waved to the men in the gondola and they returned the greeting. They would fly so low that we could actually see their faces, for we were either in the water or on the beach.
No visible lights were allowed especially looking toward the sea. When these children returned on the last trolley from the boards around midnight, they would often raid the kitchen for a snack and enjoy each other’s company. It usually was 4 a.m. by the time they turned in. Fortunately, the house was large and separated some distance from the nearest neighbor. No one ever complained.
It was good to hear the laughter of youth. Their fun was simple and wholesome. For there was no running around town in cars. Gasoline was rationed and we parents used the cars to travel back and forth to Philadelphia. So, every “C” ration and gallon of gas was too precious to waste.
Cooking entailed many, many pots. Upon one occasion, I bought a 22–pound ham. I wondered how I would cook it. None of the roast pans were large enough. But where there is a will there is also a way. Under the burners of the gas range there was a white porcelain drip pan with an inch lip all around the sides. I placed the ham on it and used the porcelain dishpan, upside down, as cover. It roasted well, but was short-lived for the Sunday dinner saw its demise!
We were fortunate that Dad and Uncle Frank went out to the pier to fish (59th Street Pier). We had baked fish, fried fish and fish salad. There was no need for ration stamps – thank heavens!
It was a happy summer for the teenagers, but for three of them their last, with the “Call to Arms” they paid the supreme sacrifice. I think it was the finest thing we had ever done.
In the intervening years, I have heard our children often laugh and say how grateful they were, and we remembered the lonely guard who patrolled the dark beach.