The Cape May Stories

By John Dwyer

Cape May, NJ, in the 1970s was bustling with social and economic changes. These personal, nonfiction stories, set mostly in that decade, illustrate those times and the social changes that seethed behind the traditional facade of Cape May.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Dwyer
• Release date: Apr 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215211687

John Dwyer

John Dwyer gained a PhD in history from the University of British Columbia. He was a faculty member of the University of British Columbia, Simon Fraser University and York University, Ontario, and won the Seymour Schulich Award for Teaching Excellence in 2001. He has served on the editorial board of the Adam Smith Review and is the author of a number of books including Virtuous Discourse: Sensibility and Community in Late Eighteenth-Century Scotland. He is currently Professor Emeritus at York University, Ontario.

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Introduction

These stories are set in late 20th century, Cape May City, NJ, mostly from the summers of 1976 and 1978. The dates appearing beneath each excerpt are the years they occurred. This collection relates nonfiction experiences garnered over these years when the Jersey shore, along with most of American society underwent some of the most dramatic changes in history.

This is memoir, imperfect and biased, in the current flash form. Part I contains the prose versions of the stories. Part II, is a theatrical treatment of much of the same events. Between the two, the prose may be more accurate, although the stage efforts often awakened me to scenes of such poignancy that they reminded me of whole conversations overlooked otherwise. Certain characters are deleted or names changed in the play due to casting size considerations. Many names in the stories have been altered. Most of these people I have not seen in decades, although some remain lifelong friends.

The stories tell what happened as best as I can recall and to that extent are true. They begin in my early teens and proceed chronologically into my mid-20s. I am the Jack or JD character, and Rob in the play. For some unknown reason I often write of myself in third person. Perhaps it allows a certain distance for me.

People come and go, businesses open and close, laws change, trends sweep through, but the seasonal rituals that lure tourists to the ocean and shore remain. Unfortunately, some of those I knew are already departed, and so the small incidents I relate about them are a tribute.

The Canyon

(1965)

We’re going out to the Baltimore Canyon tonight. It’ll take about six hours to get there from Cape May—about eighty miles off shore. You wanna’ go? Lou asked.

Jack thought about it. Only thirteen, he could not remember ever being so far out in the ocean. It could be a real adventure.

What’s the Canyon? he asked.

It’s the deep water fishing grounds where the marlin run. You should see them jump.

If it takes six hours to get there, how long do you stay? When do you come back?

The next day. My dad and his friend Frank will take Frank’s boat out.

Jack agreed and told his parents he was going to the shore with Lou’s father and would be back in a day or so. Gino took his son and Jack from Philly in his red Buick Electra 225, via the AC Expressway to the Garden State Parkway, down to Cape Island Marina at the foot of the soaring concrete bridge that adjoined the town of Cape May. Pleasure craft, mostly cabin cruisers and a few sailboats, were lined up in long rows, tied to pilings with hawsers, lit at intervals by electric lights on high poles in the summer night.

They arrived about eleven o’clock and went to Gene’s boat, the Gen-Mar, a white, thirty foot Concord, waiting for Frank to signal from a few slips away that he was almost ready to leave. Frank’s boat was a black, thirty eight foot Pacemaker Sportfisher with a high tuna tower. It looked like a real fishing vessel. Lou and Jack went over to help with the preparations. They carried some boxes into the lower cabin, ducked their heads in the doorway, and saw the open cans of beer and the whiskey bottle. Both grown men chain-smoked Pall Mall’s and growled their conversations. There was a lot of, put that over there or just leave that here type of orders from the elders. The boys were essentially the crew and the men the officers. Also along for this cruise was Lou’s younger brother Tom. He was several years out of their age bracket though and spent most of his time hanging with his father.

Gino particularly fit the role of swashbuckler/ mariner, with his slick black hair, Clark Gable mustache and bulging arm muscles built by years of construction labor on a short, stocky frame. Frank was equally crusty, taller and balding.

Jack had worn a tee shirt, windbreaker, tan khakis and sneakers. He dressed for comfort and added warmth, thinking it could get cool on the water. Lou was similarly clad, though more stylish.

There was only enough room aboard for economical movement, with a fishing chair bolted to the main rear deck, a wooden ladder leading to the upper cockpit, and a metal ladder going from there to the tuna tower that rose about twenty feet above sea level. Just walking the few inches of narrow lip alongside the cabin and holding on over the water, was a daring balancing act for a landsman like Jack. He was limber and willing though. Once the boat was underway, he knew he would have to negotiate the vessel adroitly and not embarrass himself by freezing up, getting sick or falling overboard—after all, he could hardly swim. Lou was used to working on boats and scrambled about easily, already skilled with nautical tasks, besides being a good swimmer.

They waited on the bow to raise the anchor and untie the lines. Jack felt more comfortable on the wide foredeck. Frank switched the engines to life. Their muffled roar sounded. Lou and Jack pulled up the anchor and cast off the lines. The boat started forward into the marina. Oily waters swirled. They were the only boat leaving, trailing by the bridge, past the red and white Coast Guard cutter docked in its base, out of the choppy basin mouth and into the Atlantic. Jack felt exhilarated by the light breeze and prospect ahead.

The plan was to sail steadily through the night, and reach the Canyon by daylight. Once there, they would put out lines and troll until they caught something. Lou and Jack went to the enclosed cockpit where Gino and Frank stood, talking and steering. Lou took the wheel and throttle and soon let Jack have the feel too. Jack was surprised at how easily the boat handled. They showed him the radio, sailing charts and fish-finding radar. Someone mentioned the gun they used to shoot sharks. It was a bolt action Remington 700, .30-06.

If we hook a shark and pull it up close to the rail we can blow it away, Lou said to Jack. Just put the barrel next to its head and fire. You don’t want them thrashing around on deck. We’ve done it before.

Hmm, sharks, Jack thought.

Soon they approached the commercial shipping lanes and saw the lights of several big freighters. It was incumbent upon the smaller boats to avoid the larger because the former were practically invisible. Jack had visions of a great black bow crashing into them, the exploding gasoline from the engines, the cold water, but nothing went awry. Once they cleared the shipping lanes, the men announced that they were going below to get a few hours sleep. They would leave Lou and Jack on watch while the boat went along on automatic pilot. Dangers were not absent however.

Keep an eye out for any floating hatches, Gino said. If one of them puts a hole in us we’ll go down in five minutes. That was barely enough time to call the Coast Guard. These hatches were sizable debris from cargo ships that floated on the surface and could pierce fiber glass hulls like theirs with just glancing impact. Lou and Jack went up to the tuna tower.

So will we be able to see these hatches? Jack asked, pointing into the inky blackness.

Maybe. They’re just something to look out for, Lou replied. Don’t worry about it.

If we start to sink, what do we do?

Put a life preserver on and look for something floating. We have a raft. The Coast Guard will pick us up eventually.

Oh. Jack pushed those possibilities out of his mind.

They sat in the narrow cushioned bench seat, looking at the calm sea and sky. Stars and some clouds sailed up there. Jack felt satisfied and said, You know, I’d like to do this kind of stuff my whole life. Not just stay safe at home. I want to go all over the world.

Yeah. I love being on the water.

They sat up there for hours, talking, until the night sky overhead turned foggy gray.

Gino came back on deck and said, You guys can get some sleep if you want. We still have about fifty miles to go. It’ll be dawn in a few hours. They went below, but Jack got little rest, being alert to all the sensations around him: the growl of the engines pushing them through the ocean, the chill air, the slightly uncomfortable dimensions of the bedding and low ceilings. It was like camping out. He enjoyed it.

Day came imperceptibly, as the misty sky grew brighter. They were all moving about. Frank made some Nescafe and they drank it with powdered milk. By six am, Gino, Frank Tom and Lou put out the fishing lines and they began to troll. Frank turned the radio on and they could hear other boats chattering. There were only a few around. The sun did not