Quiet Season? Forget About It!

Who remembers when the post-Labor Day season was euphemistically referred to by local chieftains as “The Quiet Season?” A friend who worked for a daily newspaper would routinely be assigned to the Wildwood bus station, when it was on Wildwood Avenue close to the Boardwalk, on Labor Day. There he always seemed to find heart-rending shots of lovers departing maybe forever. Perhaps they kissed farewell after a summer of lolling about in a state of reckless abandon to return to the hustle and bustle of “the real world,” as opposed to the surreal world of summertime beach life.
Those were times in a quieter Cape May County. Labor Day meant it was time to roll up the sidewalks, get rid of all the unsold merchandise as fast as possible, and clear out of town. “Last guy over the bridge turn out the lights,” seemed to be the silent marching orders. It was in reality the quiet season.
I don’t believe the term “shoulder season” had been invented. Those who knew the weather after Labor Day was some of the year’s best kept the secret quiet. They took their vacations in October. Those who did enjoyed warmer ocean temperatures, deserted beaches and no problems whatever in finding a place to park. They were the golden days, and we all knew it.
How and when the accounting came I’ll never know, but someone with a fat mortgage bill to pay on a motel or two probably scratched their head and verbalized, “Why not stay open a little longer?” It made sense, as long as there was a market.
Thinking back to some of those younger days of post-Labor Day, who remembers polka weekends in Wildwood? They were some really neat times. Polka bands came from such exotic places as Reading and Allentown. There was actually a Mass in Polish before the merriment began, and it seemed to attract a good-sized crowd, at least in the old Wildwood Convention Hall.
For those who enjoyed Oktoberfest, Wildwood also hosted one under a big tent in the municipal parking lot on Schellenger Avenue. German brass bands would strike up a tune, His Honor the mayor, Fred Wagner at the time, would ceremoniously tap the first keg, and the good times brewed all weekend.
Then, in no particular order, came a series of other events to fill in the weekends from the solitude of prior years. There was Harley Owners Weekend, and the state Firemen’s Convention, Irish Fall Festival, Seafarer’s Weekend, Fall Family Weekend, Wings ‘n’ Water Festival (now it’s called Fall Migration Festival), Audubon Weekend and Indian Summer Weekend, and, not to be forgotten the Old Tyme Harvest Festival, Wildwoods Hydrofest.
All these events brought varying numbers of followers, some, like the Irish festival, and Harley weekend, attract tens of thousands, others just plain thousands. Overall, their impact helps fill the coffers and provides paychecks for folks who, otherwise, would have been out on the beach strolling aimlessly, or simply drinking in the early autumn sun.
Sitting in my office I can shut my eyes and tell what weekend it is, especially for Harley Weekend. The happiness starts early, Wednesday or Thursday. There is an almost unending va-room, va-room, past the window. Bikes of all shapes, sizes and ages, just like their riders, converge upon the Five Mile Beach. It’s a site to behold.
The season stretches into October with Victorian Week, mixed with Columbus Day Weekend, and then before we’re aware, it’s Halloween. From then to Thanksgiving it’s possible to sneak in some quiet time before Christmas parades start that weekend.
The Quiet Season is getting squeezed. Part of the reason is condominiums. Ownership brings with it the ease of slipping out of the city on Friday and heading “down the shore” in an hour or two. Another reason may be partly economic, partly the busy mindset. People want to do things; they don’t want to just sit. They want parades and festivals, places to see speed boats and buy “stuff.” This is a generation that can’t sit still for a minute. Everyone has to be doing something every waking minute, so the joy of the Quiet Season is being swept under the carpet.
All that’s needed is a September with eight weekends with enough gusto to make a person want to get up and polka all night long. One and a two and a …