Circus Drive-In Clown Not a Sign of the Times

17 Wednesday Sep 2014

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Circus

BY BOB SMITH

There’s a clown on Rt. 35, just south of Belmar. He leers over the top of the Circus Drive-In sign with its Broadway-lit letters and neon-highlighted arrow pointing to the parking lot. But this is a sad day for the clown because, as the announcement board reads, “SUNDAY SEPT 7 LAST DAY OF THE SEASON.”

The Circus Drive-In opened in 1954 and, although the building appears to be well-maintained, its style is dated. Its circular roof has wide red and white stripes that hang over the facade so the whole place resembles a big-top tent. Cutout clowns, along with female performers that appear to be acrobats, stand hand in hand on the roof.circus 3

A metal awning with the tent motif stretches out from the right side of the main building, providing covered parking for maybe a dozen cars. A sign on top proudly proclaims “WEATHER-PROOFED CURB SERVICE,” meaning they bring the food to you right there in your car so you can eat without ever having to set foot in the Circus itself. You can even buy souvenir t-shirts bearing an image of the iconic sign and the restaurant’s slogan, “I’M WITH THE CLOWN” (which your spouse may or may not appreciate).circus 2

The menu, as you might expect from the décor, is heavily laced with cheese-laden appetizers, steaks, ribs, chicken, burgers, dogs, battered fish platters, and five varieties of French Fries. Oh sure they have salads, but eating green is clearly not what the clown is about. If you’re with the clown, you’re gonna eat grease.

I pulled in last Friday afternoon, just two days before lights out, but I couldn’t bring myself to order any food. It’s not that I wasn’t hungry, and I’m not averse to the occasional artery-busting plateful of mouth-watering, deep-fried everything. But, senseless as it seems, because the Circus opened the same year I was born, I felt somehow responsible for it, as if I had conceived of its garish style and approved its throwback menu selections.

I was embarrassed to be there.

1954 was the height of the post-war baby boom, and most people in the U.S. were feeling optimistic about the future. Good jobs were plentiful. Gasoline cost about a quarter a gallon, and you could buy a brand new Ford for less than $2,000. Cigarettes, not considered harmful at all, were still promoted in magazines and on billboards with ads featuring images of doctors and babies – even Santa Claus.

The Circus Drive-In must have been a pretty cool place to idle in your shiny metal machine, unfiltered Camel dangling from your mouth, waiting for your double cheeseburger, shake, and fries. The Clown’s gleeful smile must have felt exactly right for the times.

But look what’s happened since: assassinations, suicide bombings, terrorists beheading journalists, war after war after bloody “police action,” natural disasters, exotic diseases, overflowing jails – the list of modern ills is as expansive as the country’s 1950’s dreams. The Clown’s smile today feels forced; almost cynical. The Circus Drive-In’s season may have just closed on September 7, but the season of our optimism from which it sprang ended, sadly, many years ago.
circus 4

A Festa, Zeppoles, and a Trip Back to Lodi

15 Monday Sep 2014

Posted by in Confessional, Men, Words

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unnamed-2 By FRANK TERRANELLA

My father was born, lived and died in the same house. But that’s a rarity. The odds are that if you’re over 50, you have lived in several different places in your life. I’ve lived in nine.

It’s always interesting to return to the place where you grew up. For some of us, it’s depressing. Inner city neighborhoods that once were great places to live, now are not so much. For others, it’s just a strange experience because so many years have gone by that most of the people we used to know are gone. I moved out of my hometown of Lodi, New Jersey in 1975, the year I got my first job. If that looks like I couldn’t wait to get out, you’re right. But just about every year since, I have returned to the town of my birth to partake in a cultural landmark — an annual Italian street fair called the Festa de San Giuseppe.

unnamedMost people in the New York who have been to an Italian feast have been to San Gennaro in Little Italy. That’s the king of Italian feasts. It has great food and even greater crowds. In fact, the crowds can be compared to a subway car at rush hour. It’s not a fun experience and no one would do it if the food wasn’t so great. By contrast, the smaller feasts like San Giuseppe in Lodi are comfortable and the food is every bit as good.

2014-08-31 18.34.16For the uninitiated, these Italian feasts are basically church fundraisers. Non-Italian churches have carnivals and bazaars every summer; Italian parishes have feasts. In addition to the best pizza and sausage and peppers sandwiches around, Italian feasts always feature a statute of the church’s patron saint on which feastgoers tape paper money. It used to be just dollar bills, but these days you often see 20s and even 50s. Watch for the guy who attaches a $100 bill. He probably is either a fan of The Godfather, or he is the real thing.

Now it would be strange enough if the feast just featured a currency-covered statue. But an important part of just about every Italian feast is the procession of the statue through the streets. That’s for the people who are too sick (or too lazy) to come to the feast. On at least one day during the run, the feast comes to them, accompanies by a band playing music from the old country. The marchers carry the statue right to the doors of willing donors. This procession of the statue through the streets of town is among my oldest memories. It’s quite amazing to a small child for a band to come to your house once a year carrying a statue like the ones you’ve only seen in church. It’s like God opened a traveling branch office — equal parts fascinating and terrifying.

unnamed-1Anyway, the Festa de San Giuseppe was a part of my life for all the 22 years I lived in Lodi. And it has continued to be a part of my life for the almost 40 years since. As my hometown has changed to the point of being unrecognizable in many ways, one thing has remained constant — the feast still happens every Labor Day weekend. And it still looks very similar to the way it looked 50 years ago. I have dragged my wife and children to the Feast for years. Why? Because it provides a sense of continuity to my heritage and to the place of my birth. And that’s important in our transient society. The unchanging ritual is comforting. Labor Day’s ritual used to be to watch Jerry Lewis on the MDA Telethon and go to the Feast. Jerry is gone now, but the Feast carries on. And I hope it does for the rest of my life. The zeppole are out of this world!unnamed-3

My Memory Lane: OTHS, Asbury, the Circuit, a Broke-down Palace. And a Tattered “Y”

09 Tuesday Sep 2014

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Ocean Township High School

Ocean Township High School.

BY JULIE SEYLER

I graduated high school in 1973. We went to football games on Saturday afternoons, and spent many a Friday and Saturday night at the Rec Center.

Kingsley Avenue with the remnants of the Casino in the background

Kingsley Avenue with the remnants of the Casino in the background.

In the summer, we cruised The Circuit, a continuous loop down Kingsley Avenue, past the Palace with its ferris wheel, carousel, and bumper cars.

Bumper car painting from the old Palace Amusement Park.

Bumper car painting from the old Palace Amusement Park.

We curved around, and traveled north, up Ocean Avenue leaving the Casino with its different carousel behind, and up to Convention Hall, where we seemed to play pinball games all night long.

Convention Hall. Asbury Park, NJ

Convention Hall. Asbury Park.

I worked at the Donut Shop and my friends worked at The Casino Coffee Shop.

Where the Casino Coffee Shop used to be.

Where the Casino Coffee Shop used to be.

We all seemed to have service industry jobs. I do believe, we believed, we were the luckiest people in the world. I moved onto college and law school – D.C. and Manhattan – but my mother continued to live at 615 Blanchard Parkway in Allenhurst, so I always went back “home.”

In 2010, my mother moved to Manhattan, and there went the anchor. But life is funny, or as Bob would write, everything happens for a reason. Years ago, I met Steve, and last year he decided to buy a house in Elberon, in Ocean Township, and I’m falling in love with where I grew up all over again.

I drive by the high school, and I see my girlfriend driving us into the side entrance every morning junior and senior year from the day she got her license as we listened to the 8-track tape deck blast music. I see the cheerleaders on Saturday afternoons screaming “Spartans Spartans, give me an S.” I see us being so impressed with how big the high school was after the petiteness of Dow Avenue.

Home of the Spartans.

Home of the Spartans.

I drive down Main Street, and look up, and there is the old YMCA building, and there I am, nine years old, jumping into the 1930s pool learning how to swim.ymca1 The Y is now an adult day care center, tattered and battered, and the pool is gone. But the smell of chlorine lingers, and so does some of the art deco fretwork that decorated the top lintels of the building.

Looking up at the YMCA.

Looking up at the YMCA.

I mourn the Palace, the Casino, the Mayfair and St James and Lyric theaters. Of course, there’s still The Wonder Bar and The Stone Pony, and the ghost of Mrs. Jay’s Beer Garden flits by. The pinball games we once played are enshrined, but working, in a Pinball Museum on the Boardwalk. I am thrilled the tent homes still go up every summer in Ocean Grove.

Tent homes. Ocean Grove, NJ

Tent homes. Ocean Grove.

I see so much of my life through the lens of Ocean Township, and it just highlights in technicolor how fast it has all gone by. Everyone I grew up with has their slew of memories of Ocean Township and Asbury Park. It seems we love to take our trip down memory lane because there is/was something so comforting in our familiarity with each other, and the world we inhabited for that short time between the day we entered elementary school and graduated high school.

I started third grade at Wanamassa School 50 years ago. It was 1963.

I started third grade at Wanamassa School 50 years ago. It was 1963.

Riveted by the Hands

05 Friday Sep 2014

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The Shadow of the Dancer.

The Shadow of the Dancer.

By JULIE SEYLER

When Steve and I were in Bali last year we had a chance to see a portion of the Ramayana, a classic of Indian folklore, performed under the stars outside a Hindu temple in Ubud.

Ubud.

Ubud.

We were mesmerized by the movement of the dancers. That we were in Bali sitting under the stars no doubt contributed to the enchantment, but watching the dancers control every aspect of their body, from eyebrow to pinky toe was riveting.

When I heard that there was going to be a festival celebrating the dance of South India I really wanted to go, but this time I knew it would not be a Steve thing. We were going to be sitting on the floor, in a cramped hot theatre with no air conditioning.

But I did ask my 20-year old nephew, and he was game. The performance was only an hour and we were utterly rapt because, again, each movement captivated.
drive east indian dance august 12, 2014 hands

The eyes traveled separate from the eyebrows, the index finger stood out distinct from the thumb, and the toes acted independent of the foot.

Henna tattooed hands

Henna tattooed hands

drive east indian dance august 12, 2014-hennaed hands

And thus were we introduced to the classical dance form of Bharatanatyam.drive east indian dance august 12, 2014

I knew there was a story being told, but I never quite got the plot. It really didn’t matter because it was about watching each of the two dancers on the stage command their bodies. My eyes are peeled for future performances.

Expression

feet

Businesses Younger than 50 Should Not Have Bragging Rights

04 Thursday Sep 2014

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Not old enough.

Not old enough.

BY FRANK TERRANELLA

On the corner of Farewell and Marlborough streets in Newport, Rhode Island stands the White Horse Tavern. I mention it not because I want to offer a review of the restaurant’s fine cuisine. I mention it because the White Horse Tavern was established in 1673. That makes it just about the oldest existing business in the United States.

Last week I was at another fine eatery – Lenny’s. Lenny’s is a chain of Manhattan sandwich shops. And again, I have no desire to offer an opinion about their food. I mention Lenny’s because they prominently display a sign in their stores that proclaims “Since 1989” as if that is something that should impress us. I am not impressed.

Now I know that it is unusual for a business in the United States to last 100 years, never mind the 341 years the White Horse Tavern has been serving ale in Newport. But am I really expected to admire a business that is younger than my youngest child?

Frankly, I am not impressed by any business that is younger than I am. I think this is quite natural. When you’re 25, anything that’s been around for 50 years seems pretty old and established. When you’re in your 50s and beyond, your perspective changes quite a bit.

Old enough to pass muster.

Old enough to pass muster.

Businesses have a natural lifespan that is usually equivalent to the working life of their founder. Some businesses manage to pass the baton to the next generation or two, but businesses still being run after the death of the founder are in the minority. I think that businesses should avoid touting their date of establishment at least while their original customers are still alive and patronizing the business.

Nagle's. Ocean Grove, NJ. From pharmacy to restaurant, but still kicking

Nagle’s. Ocean Grove, NJ. From pharmacy to restaurant, but still kicking

Once a business has been around for 100 years, it has earned the right to brag. But let’s stop this nonsense of celebrating the longevity of businesses that are less than 50 years old. If the business isn’t old enough to have had John Lennon as a customer, it has no right to promote its establishment date.

Strangely, while some businesses advertise how old they are, people mostly don’t. You don’t see John Grisham bragging on his book jackets that he has been writing “Since 1989.” You don’t see Phil Collins placing a logo on his albums bragging “Established 1981.” Perhaps there is a difference between corporations and people. (Alert the Supreme Court!)

For those of us over 50, any business bragging they were established during the Reagan Administration will get a big yawn. Most of us have articles of clothing that old. No, what we need is a restaurant like Barbetta on West 46th Street in Manhattan that proudly advertises at the top of its web page: “Since 1906.” Now, that’s impressive.