The Ride To AC

The Ride to Atlantic City

Since I was just a kid, I’ve been enjoying AC. My Pop Pop was a member of the Lion’s Club, which held its convention in my favorite shore town. The whole family would squeeze in the vista cruiser, luggage piled high on the roof rack, sturdied with jute twine my Dad got at Two Guys Department Store.

Down the Pike we would ramble, my family called the Black Horse Pike merely the “Pike”, as if it was the only one. Even though , only a few miles down the road was the White Horse Pike, which would take you to AC as well, but because in the 60’s and 70’s the world was a lot smaller, it was out of site, out of mind.

I remember hearing a story about two Indian Chiefs. Apparently they both fell for the same Squaw. So they both battled to the death, with White Horse and Black Horse gone, 42 braves vied futilely for the hand of said young princess. Her constant harassment drove her to throw herself from the top of Cherry Hill. Well, something like that.

Anyway…my family took the Pike to Atlantic City. Even though we were Jersey native’s that day we were “Shoobies”. A term we locals used for the great summer migration of Philadelphia folk that would jam their Cadillacs and Monte Carlos with half their worldly possessions for a long weekend. It wasn’t out of the ordinary to see a BBQ grill on top of a station wagon sitting in traffic a block from my house…on the Pike.

This was the convention; so many bags were needed to carry my Nanny’s make up and clothes. She was a simple, modest lady most of the time. But when my Nanny went out, she always looked like Royalty. She wore hats with veils that just fit her look and personality when they were on her head. I remember thinking how different she looked, the same lady that schlepped around in a house dress and slippers making crab cake and the best Mac and Cheese the world has ever tasted.

My Pop Pop loved his beer. Keeping a case of Pabst in the ice box, as he referred to the refrigerator and a case of Piel’s next to it. Guess he liked a cold beer, but once in a while liked it room temperature. I’m thinking it was his upbringing and the fact when he first tasted the quaff it was probably long before the Frig. So we would stop off before we left at Tony’s, a guy that lived on Whitman Drive. He had a small, less than legal, beer distributorship out of his garage. My Nanny used to call it hot beer. Illegal is what she meant.

Pop Pop would buy a few cases and then always get me something extra. You see, Tony also worked for a big printing agency. He had corvette books that I still have on my shelf today. He would once in a while get an entire run off of Topp’s Baseball cards; it was cool because they weren’t cut yet. The cards were on a 3x4’ sheet which hung on the wall in my room for years…well, until Farrah’s famous nipple poster came out…after that it was all her.

So onward we traveled, my sister Dawn and me facing the traffic behind us in the infamous back seat. We had to share the two seater with the beer of course. We didn’t mind, most of the time we would put them under us making them booster seats so we could see the drivers behind us better.

I showed my naïve baby sister the international honk sign for truckers. She would smile from ear to ear and with a bent elbow pump her fist up and down and the trucker’s would honk and wave. It absolutely delighted her. Of course being her big brother and almost 4 years her senior, I saw a tremendous opportunity to have some unsupervised fun.

I told my sister that it was customary to wave with your thumb on your nose while riding backwards in a car. She bought it. We would stop at a light and I would say to my gullible little sister, “Go head, wave!” She threw her hand up to her face and wiggled her little fingers like she was playing a trumpet.

The expression on the faces of the unsuspecting drivers was priceless. Within one second they went from, “Awww How Cute” to “Little Brat”. I was having the time of my life. I was the puppet master and the show was awesome. But, of course being me, I needed to take it to the next level. Push that envelope, why not? So I took Dawny’s hand in mine and curled back all of her fingers. All of them that is, but the middle one.

“Wave” I encouraged. Of course she was eager to comply. As cars got close enough to us, folks would wave to her and I. Cept this time they were greeted by the “bird”. Now let’s just take a second to remind everyone this was the 60/70s the bird carried a lot more weight back then.

Twice cars sped up and passed us, as they reached the front window they would point to the back of the wagon and shout something incoherent, thankfully. At one point my Grandfather pulled over thinking that maybe our load had somehow shifted or we lost something as we hit the last pothole.

There I sat, holding in my laughter. We looked so innocent and my Pop Pop and Dad so confused. Ah this was glorious, the rush of thinking I was caught, followed immediately but the satisfaction of  knowing I wasn’t was my first taste of comedy gold…I loved it!

Although I would soon learn that that was about to end as we once again took to the Pike. Finally able to laugh without drawing suspicion, tears began to run down my face. I was in a state of euphoria I had never felt before in my slight 7 years.

As I held my face in my hands and wiped away the salty water from my cheeks I was interrupted by the sound of a police siren practically in my lap. I looked up and through the blur I saw my baby sister with both hands plastered against the rear window, two birds for the price of one. The State Trooper was shaking his head as we pulled to the shoulder for the second time in 5 minutes.

As the officer exited his cruiser and popped on his Yogi Bear hat, I could do nothing but swallow and utter “Uh-Oh”. The Statey walked up to the driver’s window. I couldn’t hear the conversation, but to this day I swear I felt my family’s eyes burning through the back of my head. I was in for it. I knew it, and was ready for my punishment.  

I heard the common call, “JIMMY!! What do you have your sister doing back there?” I answered the way any 7 year old would, “Nothing”. Dawn unbuckled herself and spun around kneeling on the case of beer. She gave a toothy smile and proceeded to throw both birds in the air again accompanied by a sweet “Hello”

“Jimmy Graham!!!” My elders all chimed in unison. I shrunk in my seat trying to somehow hide in the crack between the seat and seatback. I heard as the back window began to crank down and I saw the policeman and my parents standing next to him. In my little head I was thinking, “This is it! I’m going to jail!!”

The officer bent down to get closer to me, more than likely to say “That wasn’t a good idea Pal”. Before uttering a word he saw what we were sitting on. He asked, “Are you two sitting on cases of beer?”

I quickly broke down and through my wails I blurted, “It’s my job to watch the beer we get at Tony’s garage because my Nanny said it’s hot!!” The Trooper turned to my Pops and I watched a very little seen smile stretch across his thin lips. “Its…he…I…we…ummm…”  The Trooper shook his head and retorted simply, “Figures Shoobies!…Get out of here!”

The rest of the ride was silent, and I’m really not sure how he did it. But my Pop Pop drove the rest of The Pike all the while staring at me in the rearview mirror.