Jersey Shore Comeback

Thanksgiving weekend is always a welcome holiday break in the Kern household. First, we have the distinct pleasure of hosting the holiday dinner with my parents, siblings and kids present. Secondly, due to how the holiday falls on the calendar, I'm typically able to take off multiple days before and after the holiday. Thankfully, this year was no different.

As a family, we attempt to do our part with charitable giving throughout the year, and given the recent events surrounding Hurricane Sandy and the devastation we witnessed in New Jersey, we decided to make a monetary donation online to the Red Cross and sent Lauren back to Rider University with five large trash bags full of warm clothing. Throughout the year, we routinely bundle clothes and household items and leave them on the front porch for the Purple Heart and Vietnam Vets associations. However, we never really see the people these donations ultimately help. Our items magically disappear when we get home from work and for our efforts we’re left with a paper receipt we use to complete our annual tax returns. Our life continues on uninterrupted.

So when my childhood friend, Brian, posted on Facebook of a community effort to assist the residents of LBI adversely impacted by Sandy, I immediately wanted to help. Admittedly, this was very foreign territory for me.

We arrived in Manahawkin with the sun shining brightly, although the outside temperature had dipped 20 degrees lower than the previous day. Strangers, families, couples and groups of friends gathered outside the local surf shop awaiting our assignment. People munched on free coffee and doughnuts. The vibe was positive and upbeat.

Joanne, a local organizer, informed our group we would be assisting an older couple whose home was located on the Beach Haven West section of the island known as East Point. She was very specific with her instructions that the homeowners were very apprehensive about what to do with their furniture and household contents. While they needed our immediate help, we also needed to tread carefully and do our best to assist them with their intentions concerning their personal effects. We plugged the street address into our smartphones, hopped in our cars and proceeded onto the island, many of us not knowing what exactly to expect.

As we crossed the inlet bridge and began to observe firsthand the level of destruction, the chatter in our car quickly became hushed and quiet. The images we’ve all seen online were now real. While four weeks has passed since Sandy arrived, the streets were still lined with items we all have in our own homes: furniture, appliances, mattresses, lamps. Since this area of the island consisted mostly of single-story homes, in most cases the piles of debris were nearly six to seven feet tall, hiding a large portion of the houses as we drove by. We made a left turn and arrived at Ray and Carol’s shore bungalow.

Carol welcomed us on the front steps. Her helplessness was apparent as she tried in vain to greet us, remember our names and cordially welcome us to her beach house. Inside the home, our team leader Brian told her we were all at her disposal to assist her and her husband in any way we could. When she addressed our group of nearly a dozen strangers, her voice cracked and her eyes started to tear with emotion. Looking around I noticed a few remaining pictures had remained affixed to the family room walls. After her brief instructions, we got started.

Suddenly strangers in bucket brigade fashion trampled into the home and proceeded to move the furniture out onto the front stone lawn. Dressers, beds, nightstands and bookshelves were placed next to the curb like you'd routinely put out the trash. One dresser I helped carry out had (what I imagined) were her grandson’s baseball cards sitting on the top, which I secretly placed in the first drawer so they wouldn't get lost.

Carol was clearly frustrated having to discard a brand new family room sectional sofa she was still making payments on. I imagined she and her husband, her kids and grandkids enjoying ice cream, relaxing on the sofa on a hot summer night, getting ready to watch a favorite movie after a wonderful beach day together. My family has often enjoyed these very same moments at my parent’s beach house in Ocean City.

Others worked in the outside yard, which backed up to the small channel inlet that separated houses within the subdivision. As we raked up debris and sea grasses, we came upon the remains of a summer garden with a few green peppers and Jersey tomatoes still attached to withered brown vines. I imagined the adults gathering here nightly, sitting in comfortable beach chairs, sipping cocktails, watching their neighbors come and go on small boats while the sun set in the nearby bay.

Others worked in the garage removing bikes, golf clubs, beach chairs and other beach staples. Again, I imagined all the times me, my dad, brother and brother-in-law have enjoyed a round of golf down the Shore. Or the times we’ve ridden our bikes with the kids on the OC bike path or played childhood games in the partitioned closure at the end of my parent’s street.

When we finished, the inside of the house appeared exposed for all to see. A brown, partially water-soaked and bowed sub-floor was all that was left. The front yard looked like an unwelcomed and unwanted yard sale. The home's contents were placed at the curb for all to see.

Brian informed Carol he believed we were finished. She spoke with her husband Ray now at her side. The words came even harder this time. She expressed her heartfelt gratitude to everyone, not knowing how to properly thank us for our time and assistance. A few women wiped stray tears from their eyes as they formed a makeshift line to hug and wish Carol well. The guys gave Ray a bro hug and offered good luck and well wishes. A lump formed in my throat.

Later, we headed to the southern tip of the island to Holgate. It was here we witnessed more destruction. The lower part of homes, garages and carport areas were ripped apart, exposing hanging wires, beams and insulation swaying in the cold ocean breeze. We climbed over huge sand dunes to witness the beach erosion and exposed jetties. My photographer's instinct compelled me to photograph this utter destruction, but admittedly, it was difficult to take these photographs.

Finished for the day, we gathered with the other volunteers, event organizers and sponsors at the Mud City Crab Shack for a barbecue for the participants. I said my goodbyes to Brian, Christie and Alan, cued up some Springsteen on my iPod, headed west on Route 72 and watched the island slowing disappearing in my rearview mirror until next summer.

One month later, I'm still amazed and extremely thankful my family, friends and loved ones were spared from this horrible event. I’m hopeful Carol and Ray and others I met on the island can someday rebuild their lives once again.

And maybe everything dies, baby, that's a factBut maybe everything that dies someday comes back
Bruce Springsteen “Atlantic City”

We Got Married

My parents informed me I would not be able to play varsity soccer my senior year of high school. I was crushed. Instead, I was told I needed to get a part-time job to help me save money for college. I had been accepted and planned on attending the University of Delaware in the fall of 1979, and besides there were two siblings after me with higher-education endeavors they needed to save for.

After weeks of filling out countless job applications at the Moorestown and Echelon malls, along with other retail establishments in and around Marlton, two places called me back: Just Ice Cream and Roy Rogers. I had a decision to make. Just Ice Cream was a mom-and-pop ice cream business trying to compete with Carvel, located in the Route 70 shopping center. Roy Rogers was a very popular restaurant chain at the timem with a new location opening up on the busy Marlton Circle.

Within months of turning 17, and without giving it too much thought, I chose Roy's. I certainly did not know it then, but that single seemingly unimportant decision to appease my parents would set in motion a chain of events that would define the rest of my life. The summer of my senior year of high school, after working at Roy's for almost a year, I would meet and eventually fall in love with the daytime hostess. Her name was Marie Mazzochetti.

At the end of summer, I left for college. Three months later, Marie moved to Myrtle Beach, SC, with her best friend, Margie. For the next 6 months, we kept Hallmark and AT&T in business, sending each other greeting cards and weekly letters, as well as calling each other after midnight when the long-distance phone rates were the cheapest.

In late 1980, Marie moved back to New Jersey, I transferred from the University of Delaware to the Rutgers-Camden campus, and we made plans to get married in the fall of 1982. Needless to say, my parents were not pleased their first-born child at the age of 20 was making these life-altering decisions with no college degree to fall back on. A few months before our Oct. 1982 wedding, my mother-in-law graciously took me in. Looking back now, without that arrangement in place I’m not sure we could have made it.

We were two kids in love. It seemed there was nothing that could stop us. What we lacked in financial resources and worldly experiences, we made up for in trust and an undying belief that together we could make this work. Marie worked as a full-time waitress at the Donut Hutch. I worked a part-time job at Jefferson Ward while taking extra classes to complete my bachelor’s degree in accounting during the fall of 1983. When we had a little extra money at the end of the work week, we splurged for a sit-down dinner at Pinto’s instead of the usual Friday night takeout pizza. Occasionally we ate at the Pufferbelly restaurant, enjoying their all-you-can-eat shrimp menu on Tuesday nights. None of these places are still around.

Back then, we lived week to week. We had no savings. We made sure we had enough gas in our cars, which always seemed to be needing maintenance. We attempted to schedule as many hours of work as we could, occasionally making some extra money working overtime shifts. We lived a simple life. It didn’t seem to matter to us that we did without certain material items. We simply enjoyed being with each other and found joy in whatever activities we participated in together. We didn’t have things, so we didn’t feel the pressure to maintain a certain lifestyle. It wouldn’t always be like that.

Somehow, 30 years quickly passed before our eyes. When I look back at those years now, I can recall distinct moments when Marie sacrificed her time for other things to put my hobbies, passions and dreams above her very own interests and pursuits.

When we had no money, she bought me my first real camera (Minolta Maxxum 5000) as a surprise anniversary gift. When we bought our first home in our mid-20s, she bought me a pair of wireless headphones so I could listen to my favorite CDs while I cut the lawn each weekend. When I decided in my early 30s that I wanted to gather with my high school friends, she decided to host an annual summer crabfest party allowing me that opportunity. When I decided on a whim I wanted to play roller hockey in my late 30s, she made sure I had a big pasta meal waiting for me before my Thursday and Sunday night contests. When I had visions of being the next Cameron Crowe in my early 40s, she created my own website—“Rock Online”—so I could pursue my passion for writing about music. When I started my part-time tax business (20 years ago), she purchased and learned the tax software so I could spend my time attracting new clients. When I wrote my screenplay and started to blog for two online news publications in my mid-40s, she once again fully supported me. When I considered taking surfing lessons, she encouraged me. And now, at the age of 50, she is helping me and my friend Joe start up our photography business.

This woman has been my friend, partner and lover for more than 30 years now. That period of time now accounts for more than half of my lifetime. As you can imagine, she has seen me at my most incredible best and most incredible worst. When I was/am happy, she shared in my happiness. When I was/am disappointed, she encouraged me not to give up. I cannot imagine my life without her by my side. The journey we’ve taken together these past 30 years would have been empty if I hadn't shared them with Marie.

Recently we had dinner with a close friend. As we sat there enjoying a leisurely two-hour meal, I was able to witness Marie being Marie. So often, married couples are caught up in the moment—rushing and doing, running and scheduling. On this particular night, I watched silently from the sidelines as she conversed with my friend. I saw her. She was funny and playful, smart and wise, caring and considerate as they discussed a wide range of topics over the course of the evening.

That night inside I was beaming with pride. She’s my girl. I was fortunate that at the end of the night this woman would be coming home with me. In the span of a brief few hours, I was once again reminded how special she is. I was reminded why I fell in love with this woman and why I would risk it all and do it all over again if this was the payoff.

Thirty years ago today, a couple of kids pledged themselves to each other in a small church on a cool, crisp fall Saturday morning in front of friends and family members. Our unknown future together lay ahead. Twenty years ago, our daughter was born, completing our family unit. If only those two things happened to me in these past 50 years, I would stand before you as the luckiest human being on the planet. Thankfully, our unknown future together still lies ahead. Here’s to the next 30 years. I’m not sure what these years will bring us, but together we can get through anything.

“And the thing is, after all these years, I still look back in wonder.”
Kevin Arnold – "The Wonder Years"