Essay 4

Asbury Park

By: Stephen Mesa

I park my car on the corner of Second Avenue about a block away from the beach and the boardwalk because now they have numbers on all the spots closer to the waterfront so you have to pay the meter in order to park there. It never used to be like this. I used to park here for free and I’m sure not going to pay to park here now so I park a little further, past Kingsley Street where the numbers stop and the parking is free and always available. This is my usual spot. Right in front a cozy little yellow house with white shutters. It would be perfect for a small family of four, except its abandoned and boarded up. I often wonder what happened to the tenants who lived here and fantasize about one day buying it for cheap, since it is condemned and fixing it up so I could raise my family a block away from the beach. But the yard of this house is full of big chunks of cement from the remains of a demolished building I assume and it wouldn’t be very forgiving for kids to play upon. Many of the houses in this area are in the same condition. The majority of them big old Victorian houses that look like they were probably gorgeous in their prime but now they are run down dilapidated and now abandoned or condemned and boarded up. Every couple houses though you come across one that was restored. They tend to all look the same. Big, beautiful, Victorian style architecture with pastel colored beams and shutters, plenty of flowers adorning the yard and a rainbow flag flying waving in front off the porch. They moved all moved here a couple years ago and started pumping money into the community, saying they’re gonna bring back the “glory days” of Asbury Park.
During these “glory days” they speak of it was thriving shore town. A merry go round on Kingsley Street, was one of the earliest attractions the city had to offer. It was called the Palace Amusement Complex and many wealthy Families from New York used to come spend their summer weekends in accompanying high rise hotels. Now, as I walk across Kingsley, there is no traffic to heed, and the light at the intersection just blinks yellow, instead of turning red and green like most lights do, since the street now doesn’t get nearly as many cars passing through as it used to and the amusement park and many of the accompanying hotels have long since been torn down,
I walk on the grass past the back of the Stone Pony. “Bruce Springsteen used to play here” they say. This is where he got is his big break, that’s the Stone Pony’s claim to fame. Now when you walk by, through the ever empty parking lot, all you can hear is dissonance blaring through the walls from the local punk rock bands playing inside. There’s always some sort of battle of the bands going on here, or a Motor head cover band playing inside while there’s five Harleys parked out front. The summer stage is still up, though it’s November. They have their “summer concert series” outside here in the back parking lot and they make sure that everybody is aware of it by putting signs, posters and billboards all over the city advertising it since it is one of the few things still going on in the city.
I cross Ocean Avenue, the board walk is my horizon. On the other side is the ocean. I can hear the waves crashing already from where I stand and as I draw nearer the board walk I hear the sound of a lone percussionist drumming cadences in hopes to draw some generosity from the hearts and pockets of the passers by. He is surprisingly talented for a kid with a Mohawk I think to myself as a man sits next to him on a bench shouting inaudible nonsense along with his music for some reason. The man has on tan, grease stained overalls. He has long grey stringy hair and a tired face with the expression of a sad pug and skin that resembled a used baseball glove. I would’ve dropped a dollar in the kid’s bucket if I wasn’t so intimidated by the obvious case of substance abuse induced dementia sitting next to him.
After examining the pair for a moment I turn my attention to the ocean in front of me. The sea is a cold color grey, mirroring the sky above. The storm had only passed this morning. I was hoping it would bring more significant sized swells than this. Disappointed by the conditions of the waves off the usual jetty I surf near, I decide to take a walk up and down the boardwalk and check some other spots in search of maybe a more appealing break.
To my right is what remains of the Casino that used to be one of the main attractions the city had to offer during its hay day. I could imagine it during the roaring 20’s as I’ve only seen it in pictures. Women with feathers in their short curly hair and pearls around their necks, long frilly dresses showing a little bit of leg at the bottom sitting next to their men with their pin stripped suits and matching hats, smoking cigars and gambling away their wealth. If only they knew what was to come next.
The great depression wasn’t kind to Asbury Park and the Casino was shut down along with many of the cities other attractions. Years later that they put a Skate park in the building, this was my first impression of it and why I first started coming to this place. But I only got to enjoy it for maybe a year before they shut it down and boarded up the building entirely, though they left some ride able remains of ramps inside and kids would break in through windows or pry off boards to get in and skate them.
Now a walkway through the old Casino building has been opened up, allowing the boardwalk to continue on into the neighboring town, a private community known as Ocean Grove, which had long since been blocked off to pedestrian traffic and the residents of Asbury. This opening of the walkway in 2005 was meant to kick-off the revitalization of the cities boardwalk and it was around that same time that many commercial plots along the boardwalk, that had long since been vacant, opened up as new restaurants, shops and attractions. It was right around this time that they installed the parking meters as well.
Adjacent to the casino, a new, high scale, Italian restaurant with maroon settings on the tables outside appears void of customers and a miserable young blonde hostess gives me an awkward smile as I pass by. The ice cream shop next door to it is closed for the off season but the next place I pass shows plenty of signs of life. It is The Empress Hotel, complete with a bar and lounge in the lobby and rainbow lights flashing along the side of it to draw attention.
As I continue up the boardwalk I begin to take notice to how very few people there are to keep me company, and there are even less people on the beach, probably because the weather is so inclement. I near the small water park just recently completed this year but already closed for the winter and a couple walks their dog past me. The one man wearing macro made jean shorts and the other has a receding hair line and a mustache. My opaque sunglasses disguise the fact that I am analyzing them. There are still several unoccupied retail spaces along the middle of the boardwalk and just on the other side of Ocean Avenue is the foundation for what were to be luxury condominiums that were never finished.
At the north end of the board walk, what used to be a Stewart’s and a Howard Johnson’s is now the Saltwater Beach Café. At least they left the uniquely shaped peaky roof, and orange spiral stair case that circles the building, making it a land mark of Asbury Park. Next to it are other famous structures that have endured through the times with the city such as the Wonder Bar. Painted on the building is the recognizable, grinning, cartoon character of Tillie, or as some call him “The Face of Asbury Park.”
Across a big open yard of grass stands the Berkley, One of The Cities oldest and most distinguished hotels. I remember first coming here as a youth to watch my favorite bands play in an annual concert series called the Warped Tour, in the parking lot of this hotel, before the concerts were relocated to a different venue that was not so Asbury Park. The Berkley was all the bands stayed the night. I still consult the flag perched atop the establishment to judge winds direction while surfing.
I am at the north end of the board walk now. Only one building separates me and this city from the wealthy private beach community of Loch Arbor on the other side. It is the Convention Hall, a staple structure and probably the cities most famous building. It’s a magnificent looking old brick, palatial looking monument really, a relic still standing testament to the rich cultural history of Asbury Park. In it is The Paramount Theatre where they used to hold plays and musicals. This weekend there is going to be roller derby apparently. As I am staring at the majestic building I hear a man playing blues guitar from inside. I watch his leathery looking fingers work the fret board as he sits on a bucket and pours his soul into the guitar. I am interrupted from my admiration by a homeless woman asking for change. She explains to me her name is Terry and she didn’t used to be homeless until her boyfriend pushed her in front of a train. Now she has a bad back and needs to get her fix, as she makes a smoking gesture with her hands. I give her a dollar and after another five minutes of rambling and her wishing blessing from God upon me we go our own ways. I turn around and walk through the open gates of the Convention Center but not before I look up at the side of the building to a sign that caught my attention. I chuckle to myself quietly as I read the words “Greetings from Asbury Park!”