Epitaphs

by Israel Lewis

In the days when I was young, the Jewish population of Newark went to Bradley Beach in the summer. That little resort on the Jersey shore is made famous in literature: I first discovered Philip Roth in a New Yorker story "Beyond the Last Rope," about a boy measuring his growing up through his summers in Bradley Beach. My friend Hershy, who appears later in this ramble, tells me that Bradley Beach also appears in Portnoy's Complaint. I don't recall it being there but if Hershy says so it probably is. He doesn't read that many books.

Our family mostly went to the mountains, but we did spend an occasional summer at the beach. From time to time we've gone back for a look and over the years it became old and tacky and honky-tonk. The nice hotels, The Lorraine and the Bradley, once upon a time strictly kosher, had deteriorated. This trip brought a pleasant surprise. The old hotels have been torn down and replaced by low-rise apartments. Except for a couple of refreshment stands on the boardwalk, all the commercial frontage is gone from the waterfront. The wooden boardwalk, which every few years was destroyed by storms, has been replaced by a paved promenade. Friendly young cops patrol on bikes. There are new benches in a long line along the shoreside edge of the promenade. Endowed by benefactors, they bear plaques, like pews in a church or synagogue, honoring deceased worshippers. I copied down some of the inscriptions, thinking that I would make a poem about them, but when I sat down and looked them over I realized that the poem was already there--

Selma Sophia Schwarz Schechner
Artist, mother, wife, swimmer.
With love from Richard, Carol, Sam and Sophia

In Honor of Joseph Mirne
Whose heart belonged to Bradley Beach
His loving children, Jeanette and Norm

In Memory of Elsie Hanson
Who loved the ocean
Roy, Wendy and Ulla

Always look beyond the last rope.
The Burlington Avenue Bunch

In Memory of Hyman Stollman
Who gave his love of ocean, beach and air to his children and grandchildren.
Norma and Harold Arbit

Jack Stein
He loved his family, the beach, the sun, and Sugar Buns.

I guess it can be called a boardwalk even if there are no boards. In Europe there are such promenades on the beaches. I've been to Hove and Brighton where English families stroll with their dogs. In Scheveningen near the Hague there is a broad promenade and a huge casino and on the beach women sunbathe topless.

It was cloudy so we didn't bring bathing suits, but later in the afternoon the sun came out and it was pleasant, so we had lunch and just hung out walking along the boardwalk. I stood with Hershy leaning at the railing and watched the sea gulls and people on the beach, observing some people more than others: a pair of lovers: their nearly naked bodies, sunwarmed, folded together, holding a kiss so long that I began to think they could stay under forever without coming up for air. A couple walking along the beach; the woman had long black hair, a thin dress over her bathing suit, the dress loose and blowing about her legs. I said to Hershy, You know, I'm still horny, and I asked him and he said he hadn't thought much about it, and I said if you don't think about it then you're not because horny is a state of mind. That reminded him of a story about a couple of guys who were members of our club in high school, the Frontiers A.C., and who Hersh still pals around with. He said that when they were kids Sandy Koufax (a fictitious name) used to carry on about a certain girl that he wanted to get into her pants. Sandy is still around and so is that girl and not long ago Sid Luckman (a fictitious name) and Marshal Goldberg (a fictitious name) told her about Sandy's passion and they got her to bring a pair of her panties over to Sandy and tell him that she heard that he had had a lifelong unrequited ambition to get into her pants and if he was still interested he could put them on. These guys must believe in Peter Pan they never grew up. Most of them made a lot of money and Sandy who was the wildest one had a great fastball and might have made the big leagues if not for the war and later was a big executive but he never grew up either-- none of them did and I didn't either otherwise I wouldn't be telling this story.

All the kids hung out at Brinley Avenue beach. We didn't have cars when we were in high school and on a number of occasions I took the train down with Alan Greenspan (a fictitious name) on a Friday afternoon and we would get a room. Alan was perpetual treasurer of the Frontiers A.C. and later he was a CPA. Sandy claimed that he was very cheap, so cheap that he washed the ink off his notebook paper and reused it from term to term. Maybe he didn't wash the paper and maybe he did. His father had died; had been a candy salesman, probably didn't leave much for his family. Alan had a pretty sister with gorgeous red hair. Among the boys I knew he wasn't the only half-orphan; a lot of fathers in those days abandoned their families feet first

I was with Alan on the Brinley beach one day when some bovan Moe Berg (a fictitious name) picked a fight with me because my shadow fell on him and his girlfriend while they were laying on the beach in broad daylight going about as far as two people could without removing their lower garments. Many of the couples on the beach were similarly occupied. Alan and I were probably among only a few people that were standing, although I'm sure that many were erect. Moe was a football player and a weight lifter so I told him that I really wasn't interested in having a fight with him and my shadow falling in that direction was an accident of the angle of solar incidence for that time of day. We were never very friendly after that but that wasn't a loss as we hadn't been friendly before. I told Hershy that story while we were leaning on the railing watching sea gulls and lovers and he said that he didn't like him either because he was conceited and had a lousy attitude about football, only in it for the glory, not like Hershy who was also a star but loved the game. Moe married a very pretty girl. He was in the used machinery business. Died very young, in his mid-forties. There should be no trees near his grave. He wouldn't like the shadows.

Late in the afternoon, which is the best time, the gulls take over. There were small gulls gray on top and white underneath and large gulls as big as ducks, mostly white, but some beige speckled with black.

Beaches are a state of mind.

Copyright 1996

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