Could everyone write one simple essay about something that once happened in Saltaire…that they saw or were a part of…and put it on one big website? Somebody should collect a lot of stories before we all forget. Otherwise it is like a line in “On The Beach” : The history of the war that now would never be written.” -(JO'H)

Wednesday, June 30, 2021

Dick Starkey

 

In the mid 1960s, Captain Al Skinner of the Fire Islander noted to his deckhands that every summer when the Starkeys  showed up for the first time, they were carrying  a new Starkey in their arms. Dick  and Elizabeth raised their family and inspired a couple generations of Saltaire youths (and grownups too)  with their love of history, politics, family, sports, friendship, and love.  

Always the idealist, Dick was upset when, at Bishop Loughlin, he heard that Franklin Roosevelt had died.

Starkey served as Press Secretary for Paul O’Dwyer’s  1968 campaign against Jacob Javits for the United States Senate. Talk about impossible dreams.

In 1968 Martin Luther King had been killed in the  spring, and Robert Kennedy a month or two later. Now  it was August  1968 on a very hot summer night in a park across  from Chicago’s Conrad Hilton hotel. That’s where the New York Delegates  to the Democratic convention were staying. They were supposed to be down at  the stockyards, where the convention was going on, but an  angry bunch of New York  delegates, led by Paul O’Dwyer and others, had walked out of the convention and were in this park filled with angry conventioneers and press  reporters and klieg lights. Respectable crowd, this was not the Hippies or the Yippies.  These were delegates. But they were just as angry as Hoffman and Rubin.

You could see O’Dwyer through the crowd because his white hair shone under the klieg lights like an apparition. He was angry. Standing right next him is Dick Starkey, jacket and tie, notebook in hand.  I am just walking by, and  Starkey sees me and comes up to me.  With “Hi, Jim, welcome to Chicago”  he greets with a smile.  He really thought that they were going to get something good out of that disaster. They didn’t. But Starkey never stopped believing that he could be a an advocate for hope.

Starkey  often mentioned  his work with Paul O’Dwyer. He  tells the story of when Starkey said something that he thought was “off the record” to a reporter, and it ended up in print. O’Dwyer was forgiving and told Starkey that is just another lesson to be learned.

Starkey never gave up going to Church, even though  he said that he didn't leave the Church, the Church left him. But he always kept going, for many years now  “just to hear Father Richard’s sermons.”

And back in Saltaire, he must have played in  hundreds of softball games and umpired maybe more.  Maybe he missed a call or two here and there, but he always headed the league as an honest broker.  That’s why we made him Commissioner. But if he missed one or two calls, all is forgiven. Lessons learned from a life of idealism and love. 

See you around, Commissioner.

Requiescat in pace.

 

JO’H



Tuesday, April 6, 2021

A Great Saltaire Story: Liz Baum Solves the Mystery in a Bottle in the Surf: After Thirty-Eight Years


This Saltaire Mystery had been lingering unanswered since 1982.  Liz Baum (now Schnelzer) finally discovered  the source of a Ms. in a Bottle. 

She was thirteen years old. Swimming with friends in the surf in front of the (now departed) Baum House. The girls  found a bottle  floating on the waves with a note inside it.  Who it was from would remain a mystery until now.  


Ed. Note: This  copyrighted article is reprinted  here with the permission of Ashburn Magazine, and Author Chris Wadsworth, and with thanks to Liz Baum Schnelzer.  Here is the link to the original article in Ashburn Magazine:   



Magazine



Ashburn woman solves a childhood mystery — 38 years later

Bottle with a message in water

MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE
By Chris Wadsworth

For Liz Schnelzer, it was a magical time. Summers on Fire Island, N.Y., staying at her family’s cottage in the village of Saltaire. Days were spent walking and biking up and down the long boardwalks, sailing in the sun-dappled Great South Bay or splashing in the ocean waves.

But one particular day stands out in Schnelzer’s mind. It was the summer of 1982. She was a 13-year-old, swimming with her cousins, Emily and Susanna. The girls were floating and body surfing in the cool water in front of the cottage, chatting about all the typical things teens talk about, when they spotted something glinting in the sunlight beyond where the waves were breaking.

“We swam out for it,” Schnelzer said. “I vaguely remember racing to be the first to reach the object. We were all pretty excited when we got to it and discovered it was a green glass wine bottle … and inside, there was a message.”

Liz Schnelzer (right) with her cousins at Saltaire in the 1980s.

The girls hurried back to shore, dried their hands on their beach towels, kneeled in the warm sand and carefully opened the bottle. Out came a note that read, “Hi my nam [sic] is Robert Kane. If anybody finds this bottle write to Robert Kane 141 Great River New York.” The note writer had originally written “Bobby” but crossed it out for the more formal “Robert.”

“We could tell it was a kid because of the cute crayon drawing on the back,” Schnelzer said.

The message Liz Schnelzer and her cousins found in a floating bottle.

A kid named Bobby Kane had put a note in a bottle and thrown it into the sea — and it would take Schnelzer, now a clinical social worker, wife and mother living in the Broadlands, nearly four decades to get to the bottom of a niggling mystery that never quite left her mind.

Schnelzer’s first attempt to find Bobby Kane came that day in 1982. The Trixie Belden mystery fan and her cousins ran up the wooden beach stairs and across the dunes, shouting to Schnelzer’s mother about the note they had found. The “Great River” mentioned in the note is across the Great South Bay from Fire Island. The excited girls and Schnelzer’s equally excited mom whipped out the local phone book and tried looking up all the “Kane” listings. But Bobby Kane hadn’t included a street name, and none of the Kanes in the white pages had a house number of 141.

“We were so deflated,” Schnelzer recalled. “Finding a message in a bottle must be a once-in-a-lifetime treat. And we felt responsible for letting Bobby know his message had been found.”

But in those pre-internet days, options were limited. The mysterious note was slipped into a book and, when summer came to an end, it slipped from Schnelzer’s mind.

A view of the beach at Saltaire where the message in a bottle was found.

Three years later, when Schnelzer was 16, she was cleaning her room, and the note slipped out of the book where it had been tucked away. In the moment, Schnelzer forgot that she didn’t have an address for Bobby Kane, and she sat down and wrote a two-page letter to the boy.

“Hi! I hope you get this message! Several years ago, you left a message in a bottle and threw it into the ocean,” she wrote, and went on to relay the whole story and how marvelous the whole adventure was. But quickly, Schnelzer realized she still didn’t have an address for Bobby Kane, so the letter got folded up and stuck in a desk drawer along with the original note.

Flash forward to 2020 — a year unlike any other. Schnelzer, like everyone else in Ashburn, found herself spending a lot more time at home. She decided to do a little “COVID cleaning,” as she called it, and happened to pull out a bin containing the contents of her old desk from her childhood home.

“I found the letter I wrote to Bobby in 1985 as well as Bobby’s original note,” Schnelzer said. “I thought, ‘Hmm, it would probably be a lot easier to find him now in the era of social media and the internet. But would that be creepy? Would he think it was some weird phishing scam?’”

So Schnelzer reached out to friends on Facebook and elsewhere and asked their advice. The response was nearly unanimous. “Do it,” said several people. “Not creepy at all,” others chimed in. “A person sends a message in a bottle because they want to have it found,” added another.

So with the help of some friends and resources available today online, Schnelzer tracked down a likely phone number for the one and only Bobby Kane. “I took a deep breath and dialed his number.”

Three hundred miles away, in West Islip, N.Y., Bobby Kane answered.

“Of course, I was skeptical at first,” said Kane, 45, a mortgage broker and licensed boat captain with a wife and little girl. “But I remember the whole thing. I remember the day. I remember my mom and dad and being out on the boat. I remember putting the note in the bottle and going out in the inlet and throwing it out. After two minutes, I realized — how would anybody else know that?”

Bobby Kane today.

Schnelzer sent Kane a photo of the original note, and hesitation and nervousness were replaced with excitement as the two began to share more and more details of the bottle, their childhoods and their shared love of the water. Email addresses were exchanged, connections made on social media and a burgeoning friendship was born.

The duo determined that Kane — who would have been about 7 or 8 years old at the time — probably tossed the bottle in the waters of the Fire Island Inlet. From there, it flowed west and south around the western end of Fire Island and out into the Atlantic Ocean where it hugged the coast and was found by the girls off Saltaire’s beach. The bottle’s journey would have been roughly five to 10 miles.

At one point, in the mid-1980s, Kane thought his note had been answered when he received a response from a girl living in Great Britain. It turns out his mom hadn’t wanted him to be disappointed, so his parents arranged for the daughter of a friend to write to him. Years later, they told him the truth. “They had me going for a while,” Kane said with a laugh.

Bobby Kane as a child, with his mother.

For both Schnelzer and Kane, the story coming full circle has proven meaningful. At the top of the original note, Kane’s mother had initially started writing the message. Seeing her handwriting stopped him in his tracks. “Mom passed away in 2014. It’s been a tough year with all the COVID stuff going on. When I got Liz’s call, it just seemed like it was a sign from my mom that everything is going to be OK.”

For Schnelzer, who lost her mother to Alzheimer’s last year, solving a mystery they started researching together nearly four decades ago left her with a special feeling. “I just know that my mom knows, and that it makes her happy, too.” 

Liz Schnelzer today on her sailboat.

And finally, meeting a fellow sea salt such as Kane was a fitting coda. Schnelzer and her husband, Doug, are sailors themselves with a boat on the Chesapeake Bay. They plan to sail to New York this summer and meet Kane and his family.

“Two people linked by a small slip of paper in a wine bottle set adrift in the ocean decades ago,” Schnelzer said. “Sending a message in a bottle is a quintessential act of hope. I longed for that adventurous, playful act of hope — by that little kid — to be answered.”

 

 

Sunday, January 31, 2021

Remembering the March Storm: Peter Baum and Victoria Baum Bjorklund on the 1962 Ash Wednesday Storm

PICTURES OF THE HISTORIC MARCH 1962 STORM AFTERMATH BY PETER A. BAUM.
Ed Note:
Forget about the Hurricane of 1938. Forget about Sandy. Forget about the vicious winter storms of 1927, 1929, and 1931:

The March Storm of 1962 is arguably the most significant storm to hit Fire Island in the Last 100 Years.

Reason Being: for the first fifty years of Saltaire history, it was always thought that someday a road would run the length of Fire Island. It was a dream of Robert Moses since 1922 to run a non-stop road from Coney Island to Montauk. Moses used repeated  storms over the years to bolster his argument that  a paved road on top of a built-up island  would stabilize it. Each time a big storm hit,  calls to pave the Island were renewed,  but plans never got off the drawing board due to  lack of funding, and opposition.  But proposals always kept popping up from time to time,  from storm to storm. 

The 1962 March Storm was was damaging to the whole length of the island, and once again Moses (and others) renewed their arguments. Tentative plans  for a road were quickly drawn up. In the summer of 1962,  and in the following year massive protests and  well organized political pressure in opposition  held up the road's  implementation. Robert Moses, his power in decline, saw his plan stopped. When a  National Seashore was established, it virtually guaranteed that Fire Island will never be paved end to end.


So it was the March Storm that finally brought the whole issue to a definitive resolution.


                            JO'H

Here are some pictures from the March 1962 Storm:
All pictures by Peter Baum.






All pictures by Peter Baum.


orologists called it a "Perfect Storm." It battered the East Coast for three days and five high tides from March 3-6, 1962. It reshaped the Outer Banks and altered shorelines up and down the East Coast.
This week marks the Fifty-sixth  Anniversary of the March 1962 storm. Meteorologists called it a "perfect storm." For Fire Island it was one of the most destructive storms of the Twentieth Century.

The Ash Wednesday Storm of 1962 occurred on March 6–8, 1962 along the mid-Atlantic coast of the United States. It was considered by the U.S. Geological Survey to be one of the most destructive storms ever to affect the Mid-Atlantic States. One of the ten worst storms in the United States in the 20th century, it lingered through five high tides over a three day period, killing 40 people, injuring over 1,000 and causing hundreds of millions in property damage in six states.
--Wikipedia


I  remember going out there to assess the damage on March 10, 1962. (I remember the date because I brought along a transistor radio to listen to the very first ever broadcast of a New York Mets spring training game-- you could look it up).
Wreckage was all over the beach. West of Saltaire, the flotsam and jetsam from all points
east washed up above the dune line and made it look like you could walk from Kismet to the lighthouse stepping only on debris without putting a foot in the sand.

We got the below story and pictures from Victoria Baum Bjorklund. The great photos were taken by her dad, the late Peter A. Baum. Thanks, counselor Bjorklund, for your priceless contributions.
Don’t forget this storm. It was a big one.
--JO’H

Victoria Bjorklund writes:

My father, Peter Ackerman Baum (1922-1995), was a trustee of the Village of Saltaire for a number of years in the 1960s. He elected to take leadership of the "public safety" areas. For example, in that capacity, he hired Saltaire's first full time policeman, Officer Joe Kelly. He also had all the old fire hoses unrolled one Saturday so that he could inspect them. He was horrified to see that mice had chewed holes in most of the hoses, so he started a fundraising campaign to modernize the fire protection equipment. Remember that in those days, the Village's fire equipment consisted of hose carts that village volunteers would grab from the sheds and pull to the site of the fire. Similarly, he believed that storm preparedness and aftermath were part of his trustee responsibilities.

Anyhow, my family always sweated every big nor'easter for fear that our cottage, Sea Spray, at 309 Pacific Walk would wash away. After Hank and I married in1972, we were dispatched with my Mother to empty the house of memorabilia before big storms. We would carry precious things and store them at either or both of the Lathams' attic or our cousins' Hub Bub. But in the 1960s it was harder to get over to Saltaire in the off-season so we just took our chances in the storms. This storm was different. It battered the beach day after day for days through a series of high tides. My parents were very worried about whether our house would still be there, and if it was, if it had been so undercut that it would be subject to condemnation. Or did it once again squeak by?
So we bundled up and trekked over to check. The damage was extensive as these
Pictures show. West Walk, Broadway, and Pacific walk stairways all washed away. But miraculously, our house was still standing on its little posts. While we no longer had any dunes, much less the big dunes that used to block our ocean view, we did still have our little house.

Best regards, Victoria

Victoria Bjorklund writes:

My father, Peter Ackerman Baum (1922-1995), was a trustee of the Village of Saltaire for a number of years in the 1960s. He elected to take leadership of the "public safety" areas. For example, in that capacity, he hired Saltaire's first full time policeman, Officer Joe Kelly. He also had all the old fire hoses unrolled one Saturday so that he could inspect them. He was horrified to see that mice had chewed holes in most of the hoses,so he started a fundraising campaign to modernize the fire protection equipment. Remember that in those days, the Village's fire equipment consisted of hose carts that village volunteers would grab from
the sheds and pull to the site of the fire. Similarly, he believed that storm preparedness and aftermath were part of his trustee responsibilities.


Anyhow, my family always sweated every big nor'easter for fear that our cottage, Sea Spray, at 309 Pacific Walk would wash away. After Hank and I married in1972, we were dispatched with my Mother to empty the house of memorabilia before big storms. We would carry precious things and store them at either or both of the Lathams' attic or our cousins' Hub Bub. But in the 1960s t was harder to get over to Saltaire in the off-season so we just took our chances in the storms.


This storm was different. It battered the beach day after day through a series of




high tides. My parents were very worried about whether our house would still be there, and if it was, whether it had been so undercut that it would be subject to condemnation. Or did it once again squeak by?

So we bundled up and trekked over to check. The damage was extensive as these pictures show. The West Walk, Broadway, and Pacific walk stairways were all washed away. But miraculously, our house was still standing on its little posts. While we no longer had any dunes, much less he big dunes that used to block our ocean view, we did still have our little house.

Best regards, Victoria



j













All pictures except otherwise noted by Peter A. Baum.
Copyright 2012 Baum Family.

Saturday, November 28, 2020

The Other Saltaire







Saltaire Oyster Bar & Kitchen is a restaurant located in the Century Old Historic Grain Warehouse nestled along the banks of the Byram River in Port Chester, NY. Along with its exquisite marble oyster bar, hosting the widest selection of pristine oysters in the tri-state area, Saltaire’s dining menu features the freshest seasonal catch from local, regional and international waters. Its innovative beverage program celebrates artisan wines, local brewers, and craft distillers. We invite you to come to mingle with friends and family in a lively atmosphere that offers a minimalist approach to seriously good food and drink, made with exceptional quality ingredients that follow the seasons and accentuate superb flavors.



Friday, November 27, 2020

Rob Wright-A Life in Retrospective

https://youtu.be/FWx0tHKQk6E

Or go to YouTube and go through the 'Remembering Bob' Videos until you see him in front of the cage behind home plate.

Monday, September 7, 2020

Saltaire Memories: Labor Day

Tom Lyon was a smart city kid. He seemed to know about everything. In Saltaire, he would sit down in front of the Saltaire Sweet Shope or on the dock and read a whole stack of daily newspapers. Sometimes he would fight with his sister Laurie about who would get the sports sections first and who would get the news sections.

Tom would come up with critiques of and pithy quotes from that morning's observations by Arthur Krock, or John Drebinger’s report of what happened last night with the Yankees. When we were kids, Tom must have picked out a thousand newspaper articles for us to read and talk about.

And the Yankees ... Tom could tell you what the Sporting News was saying about the latest Yankees streak, or how many home runs Babe Ruth hit at the Stadium in 1927.

At any rate, it was Labor Day, September 7, 1964. The annual awards ceremony was over, and people were starting to roll their wagons packed and ready to go down Broadway to the dock. In those days, the season pretty much ended at Labor Day.

Tom is sitting there in front of the Sweet Shoppe, and he says "you should read this story.”

It was an essay about Labor Day from that morning’s Times. I read it, and I figure I have read it again almost every Labor Day since. No great shakes, that essay. Tom wasn’t sentimental that way. His sentimentality had more of a Holden Caulfield edge to it.

But I read it because I think of Tom sitting there reading that paper, that day at the end of that summer.
There would be more summers for Tom. But not many. Nor for Laurie. I still think of Tom sitting there.

Then I think of the millions of stories over that vast expanse of time that Tom never got to read, that he never got to talk about, laugh about
, make sarcastic remarks about. I still think of Tom...

---JO'H




So for what it's worth: here is the article Tom told me to read:

_______________________________________
TOPICS

End of Summer

It's gone it now, the whole thing. That's all there is, there isn't any more. It seemed just a moment ago when, on a Memorial Day Beach the summer stretched ahead to a rockets a flight beyond infinity. Obviously this was not so. The seashell held to the ear that day sang a gay lyric based on sunshine, sparkling water -- and all the time in the world. Hold that shell today and it weeps with sadness and is dour with foreboding. Good-bye to the beach, which to all intents and purposes today is turned back to the gulls. Farewell to the clams and the driftwood fires, to the castles and the fishermen and the legend of the singing sand. This holds that to walk over it when the tide is right will compress it in such a way as to sound like a song. The tide was right that day the summer started, the result having a lilt like something composed by Meredith Wilson for 76 trombones. Today the tide is all wrong. Today is Labor Day and the end of summer. Good-bye.


Lake and Mountain

Farewell to the lake and to the mountain just behind it. Under a late May sky the water was deep blue and the mountain a brilliant green, and the scene cried for a painter to record it. Today there is something bleak about the sky, and an occasional dab of red and brown disfigures the green, like careless spatterwork. No artist would care to touch it today, now at the end of summer. Good-bye. Farewell to the trout at the bottom of the stream and that bass the bottom of the lake and to the loon that makes its home near where stream and lake join together. Back in May the call the old fellow made could be recorded as a cheerful salute to the season, although this could stretch the imagination somewhat. Today, there can be no question about the call. It is rude, sardonic, and it spells out its message -- you're going back where you came from, and good riddance.

The Winding Road

Farewell to the dirt roads which lead to picturesque hamlets and pretty, cared-for farms. Back at the end of May, the spirit was adventurous and it took no more than a touch of the wheel to leave the superhighway world and find a better one. A whole new country opened. Roads were found which followed the natural course of roads -- beside the natural course of streams -- the best of them not even on the wavering thin blue lines on the road maps. On Memorial Day it seemed right to plan an entire summer away from the highways, but good-bye to that. Farewell to lanes going through buttercup meadows, and the brooks lined with weeping willows, the lanes on which twice a day the herds of cows have the right of way. Good-bye to the road stand with box-top counter, where sweet corn is still warm from the sun and practically given away by a proprietor or honestly glad and to see you. Farewell to the country store. Of recent years these have sprung up everywhere, vending atmosphere along with antiques, but they are imitative, not real. The real ones are on the back roads which, starting in late May, went everywhere. Tonight, going home, they will lead but to the superhighway at the end of summer. Good-bye.

Farewell to It All.

Goodbye to the weekend, which never is quite long enough, of course, but is the next best thing to the official vacation. Farewell to tennis and golf and the rocking chair on the hotel porch and the hammock beneath the tree. In late May it was possible to itemize all the worthwhile books which would be read in that hammock, but today the fact must be faced that "War and Peace" has suffered its usual postponement until another summer. Farewell to the little carnival, set out for a week in the town's dusty lot -- about the only relic left of the great circus tradition. Farewell to watermelon, held in the hand and not on plates, and grilled chicken drumsticks, served minus forks, and peanut butter sandwiches seasoned with just the right pinch of fine white sand. Farewell to the summer. Late last May it seemed likely that even the office time clock would cooperate, by slowing its hands or stopping them altogether. That was just an illusion, so recognized now. Instead of stopping on the sunny hours, the hands of all clocks everywhere moved forward like lightning, to reach today. Good-bye.


New York Times
Septemer 7, 1964

BIG LABOR DAY ISSUE



Click on images to enlarge
1920's
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1954

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1964:




-----------------------
Eugene Piper 1959


---------------------------




1920's medals were awarded by Yacht Club


------------------------------------------------------------------------




LABOR DAY, 1946-1949 IN SALTAIRE: KODACHROME IMAGES BY THE LATE RICHARD GREER

















Pictures by Richard Greer
Pictures courtesy Sid Greer

(JO'H Ed. Note) : The promise of Saltaire from its very inception, to nurture “Healthy Happy Saltaire Youngsters” http://saltaire38.blogspot.com/search?q=Bungaliers was as much evidence in the post- World War II era as it is today. Kids here, kids there, kids everywhere.
Saltaire was never a resort where you went to get away from the kids—it was a place you went to live with the kids. And you never got to know just the kids: you got to know whole families. Bill Stillgebauer told us that his parents were close friends with the Greers, and Bill became friends with the Greers' kids, and grandkids and nieces and nephews. The Greers were cousins of the Glascocks who became good friends of the Stillgebauers, and so on. Growing up Saltaire, you knew people in the context of their families.
1950’s Mayor John Ludlow once said:
There is a word in our own language that I think has not been given due importance. The word is "sociability," which I'll take the liberty of terming "vocal, hospitable, friendliness." Sociability is friendliness of by word as well as by deed: it is when you enjoy having people in for supper equally as having supper at their house; when during a walk around the block you meet and have a friendly greeting from eight or ten people.Such is the type of life that we have at Saltaire. We are a small incorporated village of one hundred and ten cottages, a part of the Town of Islip,
---Mayor John Ludlow, 1954.

http://saltaire38.blogspot.com/search?q=polio

We are proud to introduce Richard Greer’s Labor Day pictures from 1946, 1947 and 1948 that show that sociability in context of a Village tradition carried on each year from the earliest years of the Village: the annual Labor Day races at the ball field and on the bay. Parents went down to the field to watch the kids run. And they got to do some running themselves—or at least jumping in potato sacks. The next day was on to the bay for the swimming races in the boat basin.

Then to watch the kids as they gore themselves, hands behind their backs, with blueberry pie, a tradition that goes back at least to the 1920’s in Saltaire, http://saltaire38.blogspot.com/2008/08/labor-day-in-saltaire.html

Finally, of course, came the great Labor Day awards ceremony at the Yacht Club. The Village turned out for what was Saltaire's version of the Academy Awards. The season's awards for sailing, swimming and track were awarded in a packed Yacht Club, topped off by the big awards: the Sailing trophies and "The Cup," a trophy given each year for the best kid in each particular class.

Greer's images capture a Village in an era of confidence: a Village that in the previous ten years had fought off the utter destruction of the Hurricane of 1938 http://saltairian.com/pages/history/1938/ocean-met-bay.html
http://saltaire38.blogspot.com/search?q=beleagured
http://saltaire38.blogspot.com/search?q=Joseph+Lynch
and then had seen its parents go off and fight and win the Big War.
http://saltaire38.blogspot.com/search?q=nancy+latham

48 -star American flags delineated the running course for the races at the field; red white and blue streamers hung on the Broadway fence.
And kids everywhere, and parents everywhere too: this was, after all, the earliest bloom of the Baby Boom. So thanks, Sid Greer, for saving your dad Richard's Kodachromes from that heady time: This was All American Saltaire at mid Century.
ALL PICTURES BY RICHARD GREER

CLICK ANY PICTURE TO ENLARGE
THE LABOR DAY TRACK MEET, 1947



















Not many people remember, but there used to be a cinder track around the ball field, as seen on left. By the 1950's it was covered up, except for the northern end of the field between the right field foul line and the the fire house. The fire house was farther back than it is today. It was torture to walk on that part of the old track in bare feet: there were big, chunky cinders.
































Note: fire alarm gong on Broadway. In the early days, there were similar alarms in strategic locations throughout the village. They were manually operated: just hit 'em with a big hammer to summon help. There was no electricity or telephone service until the 1930's. See an earlier fire alarm here: http://saltaire38.blogspot.com/search?q=Fire+Alarms

Note here the clear view across tennis courts to houses on Marine Walk.























































Note in this picture: there used to be basketball backboards along the right field line, a double sided one shownher incenter filed, and another deep in center field.
The house in the background is on Pacific walk.







THE SWIMMING RACES AT THE BAY




The track meet was one day, the swimming meet the next.












These swimming pictures were taken in two different years, 1946 and 1948 .

Look closely: the old grey headed man in the scow on the right is the famous old bayman/hermit , Captain Baldwin. Kind of creepy to see him there. To follow his legend, click here: http://saltaire38.blogspot.com/search?q=Baldwin


















































THE PIE EATING CONTESTS:








There is a Saltaire promotional brochure from the 1920's that shows a line of kids along Bay Prom participating in a pie eating contest. http://saltaire38.blogspot.com/2008/08/labor-day-in-saltaire.html These 1948 by images by Robert Greer show the tradition was strong. See, for instance Hank Stillgebauer's images from 1957: http://saltaire38.blogspot.com/search?q=messiness The pie eating contests continued at lest through teh early 1960's. Why the stopped this this tradition is anyone's guess, but there is no reason why it cannot be reintroduced in 2010.









































THE CUP:

This was it. The ultimate; the Oscar; the top award for top kid in each goup. Real hardware that looked great on the mantle.

















THE REASON THEY DID ALL THIS:

We have lots more Greer photos from that era: beach scenes; sailing scenes, scenes with lots of people old timers may recall, and a series of pictures of a baseball game between Saltaire aind Pont of Woods at Point of Woods in 1950.

Trouble is, we have not received YOUR pictures yet.

send them to: