After several noisy days in New York city, I exited that city without regrets and took a Trailways bus south to New Jersey. Atlantic City’s tough reputation and gambling casinos were not for me. My destination was Wildwood – a coastal city with extensive beaches, a boardwalk, music, night clubs and tanned Jersey girls.
Purely by chance, I secured a job at the Ritz Hotel on East Oak Avenue, Wildwood. Its location was fifty yards from the boardwalk and about thirty-five yards from the Bus Depot. Talk about being lucky! What made this car parking job so advantageous was that I was provided accommodation in the attic of the Ritz (no AC), with one meal per day. Luxury for an Irish kid. The Ritz positioned next door to a nightclub also made tips quite bountiful for a young student with a cute Irish accent, or so I was told. Being familiar with both stick shifts as well as automatic gears, made me a valuable asset on many occasions. I worked six nights a week, while my days were free to sunbathe and socialize. Tuesdays I rested or went crabbing on the inland waterways with my new American girlfriend Maureen Hines. The summer of ‘69 was beautiful, filled with sunny days in my new home of Wildwood, N.J.
In July 1969, the buildup on television to the Apollo X1 Moon landing was relentless. American broadcast journalist Walter Cronkite, the most trusted man on television, became the voice of the space program. With my nose glued to the outside glass of the Ritz Hotel, I watched the entire Moon landing – live. It made a profound impression on me; however, I could not imagine in my wildest dreams how I could play any kind of role in the American space program – fortunately I was wrong!
In August, my girlfriend Maureen invited me to go to a rock concert in upstate New York with some of her friends.
“The Who are playing, Jimmy Hendrix, Crosby Stills & Nash – can you come with us?”
I checked with my bosses Dick & Peggy Fritz, who reminded me that August was their busiest month at the hotel. They needed me to park the cars, while they took care of the guests at the hotel.
“You’ll be sorry”, Maureen scolded me when I had to refuse the invitation to go to Woodstock. And I was.
