Fall 2000 Charles River Review: My Boardwalk

I lived next to the boardwalk in Atlantic City. My family owned a hotel on Kentucky Avenue, a half block from the boardwalk. Whenever I had a chance I went to the boardwalk. At 16 years old, I was young and restless; I could not stay at home because thinking of the boardwalk would excite me. Seven-and-a-half miles long, the boardwalk stretched along the shoreline, and it was the center of the tourists' activities. Merchants had their stores throughout the boardwalk. The smells of hot fudge and roasted peanuts made me hungry; my mouth watered when I saw people making salt-water taffy in their shops.

Summertime was my favorite time. I enjoyed people-watching, especially pretty girls. The boardwalk was filled with all kinds of people; some were riding bicycles; some couples were holding hands, and children laughed and skittered around. Occasionally a woman would catch her heel between the cracks of wood on the boardwalk. It was amusing to watch people going in and out of stores. Usually when I watched people, I sat on the boardwalk's railing. Watching people was like a full-time job. The more I watched, the better I became at it. Sometimes a salesman would stand in front of his store, demonstrating his products. While the salesman was making his pitch, crowds of people would surround him; they listened to every word he said. Suddenly they would follow him into the store, and the door would close behind them. It was like watching a spider spin its web to catch its prey.

Portrait artists would sketch their customers while crowds gathered around in admiration. I too would watch them for hours. I sometimes would run errands for the artists, hoping they would give me an art lesson. To my surprise, I did get several lessons. At one time one of the artists did a portrait of me in pastel and gave it to me. An old fat woman who ran the studio hated me because she felt that I was distracting her employees (which I was). She shooed me away every time I was there, but eventually she got used to having me around.

Next to the art studio was an electronics store; the loud music from the speakers on display attracted a lot of people. When the store was busy, people could only window-shop; the guard at the door would allow people to come in only if they were going to buy. He would ask each person, "Are you looking or are you buying? If you are looking, look outside. If you are buying, come on in." One day, I observed an elderly woman approaching the watch salesman (a young man in his teens) who was sitting behind the showcase in the electronics store. He quoted the woman a price on a certain watch she pointed out. The woman agreed to buy it, but just as she was about to pay, the young salesman's boss screamed at the salesman as his face turned red, "It should be $45 more." The salesman was embarrassed. It looked as if the boss were going to fire him. The old woman felt bad for fear the young man would lose his job. She agreed to the higher price. After she left, I overheard the boss congratulate the young salesman for his fine acting skills. Atlantic City's boardwalk had many stories to tell. I so much liked being there to listen.