Sun, sand and a job to remember

Growing up in the 1950s was different compared to today. As a 16-year-old high school senior, I wanted a summer job. What could possibly be better than getting paid to work at the beach?

I took the Suffolk County lifeguard test, passed and was assigned to the Town of Babylon beach in Amity Harbor. After a week of raking eelgrass, I yearned for a different task. I was lucky that the Long Island State Park Commission needed pool attendants at the West Bathhouse at Jones Beach in Wantagh. So I took a leap of faith and spent the next 20 summers at one beach or another.

One day, while patrolling the upper deck at the bathhouse, I came across an older man on the balcony inappropriately attired in a bathing suit. That was not allowed on the balcony, and I informed the man of the rules and regulations. He asked for my badge number and spoke to my manager. Later, I learned the man was Robert Moses, president of the Long Island State Park Commission. Shortly thereafter, I received a transfer to his bathhouse office and a merit raise.

Summer employees looked forward to Labor Day parties at the West Bathhouse, marking the end of our summer employment. While they emptied their lockers to bring me the contents, I fitted a ubiquitous crab can with a plastic liner. I added equal parts of rum, vodka, gin, tequila and, to make it tastier, I added Coca-Cola and a packet of whiskey sour mix. It tasted just like iced tea. Who knew that one day it would become world famous, later “invented” by someone else.

A promotion took me to the public relations office in the Jones Beach administration building by the water tower, where I worked until joining the Marines in 1961. Boot camp was followed by an assignment to Camp Pendleton in Southern California, which had the best surfing on the West Coast.

Fast-forward to 1964, when my active duty was winding down. I took a trip around the world in June, ending up at the Brooklyn Navy Yard, where I was released from active duty. The next day I returned to my old job at the public relations office at the central mall. I was assigned to work at the World's Fair and welcome politicians to the fair and show them our beaches. After returning to Washington, the politicians voted to make Fire Island a national park.

Finally, at age 24, imagine a job at a “country club” on the ocean with nonstop parties seven days a week. In 1965, at the Gilgo Pavilion at Gilgo State Park, my job as supervisor was to arrange meals, lifeguards, parking lot attendants, clean-up crews and the like for local corporations -- making sure everything went without a hitch. We were open seven days a week, and I had to make sure everyone was happy.

The disappearing beach was another issue. The sand had to be replenished daily, and it involved my arranging dump trucks and bulldozers every week. Eventually, the tides won out, the building closed in 1965, and my dream job was over. About a decade later, the Gilgo Pavilion finally succumbed to those ocean tides, was dismantled, and my ideal job became just a memory.

Reader Bill Ober now lives in Cary, North Carolina.