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THE RIVER AND I
JUNE 1906 TO SEPT. 1907
by Jay Willard Sterner
ED - Edwin Leuffer Nevin Glass, b. July 4th, 1890. Father
a West-Pointer killed in that last 1890 Indian Uprising.
When this Diary starts he has a brother Beaumont 5 or 6
years older than I who was my violin teacher; and a sister
Virginia, perhaps three years older than I. The family,
for reasons unknown, often spent the winter in Washington.
They lived at 308 Fifth Ave.
* * *
Harry Cooper - Lived over his father's store at the N.E.
corner of 6th and F Street. About 4 years older than I.
Was going to New York Law School in winter - had summer
job as a mail-carrier. Younger brother Clarence (Pete)
a year younger than I.
* * *
"Glubbie" - Thomas Gillespie Ross, son of Milan Ross the
Asbury Park Real-Estate man. My age and classmate. Young-
er brother Mitchel (Mike) 2 years younger than we. Both
dead - Glubby in Hawaii, Mike in Paris.
* * *
Miss Cook - Elizabeth Christine Cook, English teacher, age
27 at this time. Lived in Northampton, Mass., daughter
of Captain Cook who commanded the Brooklyn at the Battle
of Santiago. Before her death she got her M.A. and her
Lit.D. at Columbia and, at the end, was Professor of
English at Barnard. Her B.A. was from Smith.
[Same teacher? -Todd]
* * *
Barnard - B. Bradford Bush, my age and a classmate. Sister
Selma two years older and attending Smith. Father gener-
ally mysteriously absent in California whence they hailed,
Barnard died of T.B. in the 20's at Phoenix, Arizona.
* * *
Dorothy Dean - 2 years younger. Father dead - he was a
reporter on the old Boston Traveller, known as Daisy Dean.
She lived with her mother, two younger sisters Marjory
and Lillian and a kid brother Harry. Spent summer of 1907
in Ocean Grove. Mrs. Dean's brother was Oliver Schadt,
father of the current fish-market Schadts here in Asbury.
The Schadts were from Allentown, Pa. and were crossed
with the Sterners somewhere not too far back.
* * *
BEAN - Nothin' but a hound dog, a nondescript mongrel be-
longing to no one but who considered himself the joint
property of Harry Cooper and me. And we more or less ac-
knowledged this in a shame-faced sort of way.
* * *
Of course there will appear many other characters
but these I here mention are the most important.
Stranger, pause and look -
From the dust of ages
Lift this battered book,
Torn the tattered pages.
Read me; do not let me die!
Edna St. V. Millay
THE RIVER AND I
The title for this, the third volume, suggested it-
self naturally. But the River you will here read about
is gone - cribbed, cabined, and confined by `developers'
till somewhere during the process it died. Gone too is
the boy who scattered the first person singular so lav-
ishly over these pages. Only the memory of both remains
very clearly in my mind.
In the years that have passed since 1906, I have
accumulated many other memories, gorgeous pictures of
other spots that are much more obviously beautiful than
my River ever was. I remember climbing up through the
opening forest of the Cote d'Or Mountains and seeing the
first beams of the morning sun tinting the summit of
Mount Blanc, glowing there over a hundred miles away like
a pink, tenuous cloud. I remember another sunrise on
the blue Carribean, coming in to our anchorage at Cap Ha-
tien, a slow-heaving, glassy sea which waveringly reflect-
ed the purple mountains that reared, remote and jagged,
against the crimson sky. I grew to love the deep, deep
blue of the mid-Atlantic rollers, their surfaces wind-
crinkled by the warm, strong trade wind. And I loved the
Pampa in the still heat of the noon-day, the cool of early
dawn with the east just beginning to lighten, the black
rush of the pampero with the lightening flashing and the
choking clouds of dust, or the quiet empty lonliness of
its vastness under the moon. But behind it all, back of
my love for this great globe they have loaned us for a
brief while, was my love for my River.
The River was the first part of our world that I
grew to know intimately, the first that really became a
part of me. I loved its quaking, grassy sedges and the
heavy stench of the blue mud. I can still see its surface
THE RIVER AND I
flashing bright and blue in the summer sun, steel gray in
the equinoxial storms, or frozen still and white in zero
weather. I knew and loved it in every mood, even in its
nastiest when it had me powerless in its grip the night
I first looked straight into the empty eyes of death. I
have had to face that vacant-skulled menace many times
since then - on the Pampa, in France, here at home - but
thanks perhaps to what the River taught me, I have ever
since been able to face him down - with fear, annoyance,
even rage, but never panic.
The River taught me more than that. Rightly or
wrongly it taught me that whetever is in Nature, is
beautiful and right - even wanton cruelty. I shot so
many harmless little creatures; in these pages you will
find a record of horrible, senseless slaughter. I am a-
shamed of it. And yet - where would these creatures be
now if I hadn't raised my gun and fired? Would they be
more alive today than they are in these pages? Here, at
least, they live again if only dimly, briefly, and will
continue to live while anyone reads these lines. Am I
trying to rationalize the inexcuseable? Probably. But
the gun I carried was mostly camouflage, truly just an
excuse for something else. I lived in a world, I still
do, that accepts hunting as right and manly but smiles
pityingly at any weakness for dark pines against the sun-
set, the smell of the dawn-wind heavy with the dank
stench of swamps, the blue, cold fire of Phosphor-
escent life in the black water under the quiet night sky.
But the River is gone now. In Argentine Interlude
I spoke of the destroyer's first appearance when they
started filling in the sedges east of the F Street bridge,
chopped down our old wind-twisted cedars, and created a
`restricted' residential district there. Later, other
forward looking people bulk-headed the west shore and
THE RIVER AND I
and then, with tons of sand and ravaged oysterbeds pump-
ed from the river bottom, buried the quivering sedges,
filled in the mud holes where the heron and I had hunted,
slashed streets through the wooded hills, and parcelled
out the land into small lots upon which mean little
houses were erected by little people who had never known
the real River. Some kindred spirit has recently come up
with the perfect, brilliant phrase for this type of ac-
tivity - Bull-dozer Blight.
Well, the boy who wrote these things is gone too -
lost perhaps somewhere at sea coming back to our work-a-
day world from the land of the lonely pampa, or blasted
out of sight in the rain-soaked mud of Northern France.
All that remains now is this very hum-drum individual
you call your father.
You three are now on the threshold of your own od-
dysies. I hope you too will be able to cram your memor-
ies with pictures as varied and beautiful as mine. You
too will be blessed - or cursed - with eyes that will see
these things, with senses that will respond to them.
Perhaps I am wrong - I almost hope I am.
THE RIVER AND I
Thursday, June 7th, 1906.
Here I am trying to have another turn at keeping
a diary again. I suppose I shall have given it up a week
from now, but I hope not.
This morning, as I was translating in Die Journa-
listen' about Bolz being rescued from the fire, our fire
bell began to ring. It rang last night when I was trans-
lating the same passage but that time it was only because
Willie Robinson, Jr. was lost again. It really was a fire
this morning at the Melrose Inn, but I don't think much
damage was done.
This evening, when I got home from making blue-
prints over at school, I learned that Ed Glass had just
come back from Washington and so I posted up there.
At supper I learned that Papa had found a place
with some Mr. White for Bob and so he has gone and won't
be biting anyone else - not on our property, anyway.
Friday, June 8th.
Went down to Ed's this afternoon. We took Ralph
Shinn's boat and rowed down to the Inlet past the jetties
which the last storm has pitched and twisted into heaps
all over, with the water swirling between them about a
mile a minute. The oarlocks were no good so we had to
paddle. We were almost upset two or three times in the
surf but finally got back in against the current and were
just setting out for home when two men asked us to row
them over to Avon shore. The boat isn't very big and
the four of us loaded it to the gunwales - at least to
within three inches - but we first went pretty high up
stream and then headed diagonally across. We got into
the slack water behind a mass of wreckage in the middle
but when we came out on the other side, the current caught
the bow the minute it appeared and heeled us over so
quickly that we took in a couple inches of water. On the
second attempt we both paddled on the side away from the
current and managed to get across without shipping much
more. When we landed them safely they offered us a quar-
ter and I was going to refuse but Ed took it for cart-
Saturday, June 9th.
Began the day by sweeping the cellar, cleaning the
chicken house, and sifting all the week's ashes for what
good coal they might contain. What was left of the morn-
ing I spent fixing up the old battleship model for a tar-
get and took two ranging shots with longs.
Ed bought two boxes of shorts and I one so this af-
ternoon we started across the river in Ralph's boat with
old Bean-dog and my Savage rifle. We soon landed on the
N.W.W. side and, hiding our oars, tramped through the
brush in the sweltering heat but didn't get a shot. Then
we re-embarked and amused ourselves shooting at crabs,
having to allow for the distorting effect of water.
We got seven (this is Ed's official report; we really hit
only one) and gave them (it) to a man we met.
Then we let out for the spring opposite Money Hill.
Just as we were about to land, we heard a clap of thunder.
Looking up, we could see a big, white, fleecy cloud roll-
ing up out of the west but by the time our bow touched
shore it had reached the sun and suddenly the cloud and
everything else grew black. We ran the boat up on the
gravelly beach as quickly as we could, turned it bottom-
up over a log, and had barely time to cut a couple of
branches and crawl under when the rain came crashing down.
It hid everything out on the river from view. Although
it quickly got rather damp, we enjoyed it immensely ex-
cept that Bean seemed worried and kept whining, and it was
all the better when hail began to rattle down. Some of
the stones were as large as dimes and were flattened like
jujubees. We ate all we could get hold of and amused
ourselves by banging away without result at a lot of fish-
hawks circling overhead.
About this time the water began to run in under the
boat and before long it was decidedly uncomfortable. As
soon as it slacked off a bit, we rolled out and dug a
ditch along the higher side to carry away the water and
cut more branches so that, when in a minute or two it
came down harder than ever, we were quite prepared. Bean
seemed really frightened by now and hid his head under
my coat and trembled.
Finally it cleared a little and we started off for
something to shoot at. We didn't find anything and the
rain kept drizzling down but Ed decided he wanted a fish-
hawk so we waited at the foot of a tree in the top of
which was a nest. Eventually the proprietor of the nest
appeared and, after circling around screaming at us for
about half an hour in the rain, he settled on a branch
and Ed shot him through the body on the left side. The
bullet went through him like paper and he came whirling
down with a crash. I shot him through the neck after-
wards so that he wouldn't suffer and he died at once.
By now the rain had stopped so we started for home.
Soon, however, it began to cloud up in the west again
and the thunder started rumbling, but we rowed as hard
as we could. The sky grew blacker and blacker and the
lightning was bright and forked. By the time we landed
at Seventh Ave. it was so dark we could hardly see. I
had my rifle and an oar, Ed the hawk and the other one
as we set out on a run for home. Going through the
woods back of VanNortwick's (I never spelled or saw this
written before) Ed ran into the bushes and hid the corpse
while I waited, and then we ran on together.
Just as we turned into my yard the big drops began
to fall and the wind started howling like a banshee. I
put on dry clothes and lent Ed a pair of shoes and socks
and he stayed for supper. The storm was something fierce
and lots of trees were blown down. After supper I saw
Harry Cooper who is going to law school, sitting on the
Girard House porch where the Coopers have their meals and
he said the fine for shooting fish-hawks and sea gulls
Sunday, June 10th.
`Brite and fair'. The Childrens' Day excercises
were held in the church this morning. Miss Godfrey, the
business teacher from High School, honored us with her
presence. The orchestra didn't play and the secretary-
ship didn't keep Harry and me very long. This is the
last Sunday for the rest of the summer that we'll have
Sunday School in the afternoon - 9:45 in the morning af-
ter this so that we'll have the rest of the day for the
beach and what-not.
After dinner Ed and I went to pick up the fish-hawk
but, Lo & Behold, when we reached the spot we couldn't
get to it. During the storm two huge oaks had fallen,
one on top of the other, right on the precise spot where
Ed had hidden it. We worked in vain to rescue it but had
to give up finally. Some day the body will be discovered
and the finder will no doubt explain how this hawk had
taken refuge from the storm and had been pinned down when
the tree fell.
Papa says he can give me a place this summer work-
ing in the Lumber Office at $3.00 a week. So that is all
Monday, June 11th.
Nothing doing. Stayed over this afternoon and was-
ted a lot of time writing up my Physics note-book.
In the natural order of events this chronicle will
cease and desist in a day or two. I hope not for I am
looking forward to raeading it some rainy afternoon forty
or fifty years from now.
Tuesday, June 12th.
Stayed over again this afternoon and put in the
time playing with electric motors etc. Our Junior Finals
begin tomorrow - Physics first, from the beginning of the
second half. Outcome doubtful.
Have been making geometric figures out of cardboard
for Miss Briggs that I was told to get in before Easter.
Gillespie Ross - ditto.
Wednesday, June 13th.
Had Physics exam. Cinch. Hope I passed.
This afternoon Harry Cooper and I went in swimming
at the R.R. Bridge. The water was pretty good but we
didn't stay in long - I wanted to get busy on my Geometry.
Thursday, June 14th.
Geometry fierce; Latin fierce. Rather dubious
about Latin tomorrow.
German cinch; Latin fierce. Tomorrow I start work
at the office.
Saturday, June 16th.
This morning I started in over at Lewis's. The
work was easy enough onlly there was nothing at all to do.
A little excitement at noon when I got home. A man
was run over by an automobile at Sixteenth Ave. and was
The afternoon was the same as the morning but rainy
all the latter half. When I was coming home and the
trolley was half-way across the bridge, a shower came
tearing across the river. It looked like a white blank-
et of fog and it obliterated everything in its path. By
the time the car reached 6th Ave. it struck us and I got
soaked running the half block from F Street.
For the day's work I was paid 83›. Technically it
should have been 83 2/3 cents but actually all the work
I did wasn't worth ten.
Sunday, June 17th.
Loafed all day except when I went to Sunday School
at 9:45. Later read `Yankee in King Arthur's Court',
part of `Treasure Island' also.
But today only a break between two storms. LAst
week was pretty tough but tomorrow at 3:45 the forerun-
ner of the real gale will swoop down upon me and will last
till 5:30 in the shape of the Physics tests as devised by
the Board of Regents. Then there will be a brief lull of
a few hours but the next morning it will overwhelm me with
a roar. The first awful blow will last till 12:00 during
which three hours I shall be wrestling with Geometry.
Then, from 1:30 to 3:30, I shall revel in Ancyent Historie.
After a fifteen minute breather it will leap upon me with
redoubled force - German till 5:30. So it will keep up
without respite through six Latin exams - not to mention
the others - all the rest of the week.
Monday, June 18th.
Here I am resting after the Physics exam. However,
it wasn't much to rest over for it was a cinch. I'm ra-
ther afraid of our own school Physics exam though for
Miss Coffin remarked to me today that I `thought I was so
smart, you nearly flunked'. She is so childish. I sup-
pose she'll mark me down as low as she possibly can, so I
may as well be prepared for it. Miss Briggs says that
none of us got below 85 (I suppose that means I got 86)
and Miss Nichols says I got second best in the Latin
class - first would, of course, be Constance Wilbur.
P.S. - 11:00 P.M. - I am just back from the Class
Night Hurrah (noun). It was all right. Florence Wilbur
wrote the Class Poem and it was all the merry. Gil-
lespie and I went down town after some ice for the punch
and got a pail-full at Winkler's (ice, not punch). Then
we went down and treated the Board of Education. I came
home with Harry Ogden who is staying with his uncle, Dr.
Treat at 603 across the street from our house. He showed
me the room where he and Stew Appleby are going to live
this summer. He was more enthusiastic over than I was
impressed by their quarters. He's cultivating the smok-
ing habit and smokes `Lucky Strike' tobacco he informed
me. How interesting!
We came home in the car with Effie Brown. So end-
eth this eventful day and I know not what the morrow will
bring forth as I have a fever blister on my tongue and
another in the corner of my mouth but I hope the billious
attack will hold off till Saturday.
Thursday, June 21st.
At last the Regents Exams are about over. There
have been so many things going on I haven't been able to
get at this. Last night I was over at the Graduating
Exercises selling the Beacon. All the afternoon I was a-
cross the river in a canoe I hired from Buhler's. Ed and
the two Jones kids, Kim and Tom, are building a log cabin
over back of the spring a good way up the hill and deep
in the woods. After visiting them, I went up the creek.
I didn't get home till seven and then had to dress in a
hurry to get over to the Graduation at eight.
Today we had Cicero and Latin Prose and Grammar
(elementary) - all much harder than anything we've had
yet, Caesar yesterday being easy. After the exams Edgar
Baumgartner, Glubby, and I amused ourselves with a battery
in the Laboratory.
Tomorrow English and advanced Latin Prose.
Friday, June 22nd.
The exams came out all right, I think, although I
didn't quite finish my English. After it was all over
had a shocking good time in the Laboratory with Glubby
Ross and Barnard Bush. Barnard was in the middle while
we held hands and were taking three batteries with only
two and a fraction ohms resistance and our hands were
all trembling. Barnard told Gillespie to shut it off and,
after waiting a suitable time, Glubby started to do so,
but his hands were shaking so that he knocked the switch
over to one ohm. Barnard began yelling at the top of his
lungs - `Cut it off! Cut it off!' but neither of us
could for several seconds till Glubby, who was nearest,
managed to give the switch a knock and break the connect-
ion. At least it distracted us from those exams.
Went over to the Neptune High Graduation. Rotten!
Saturday, June 23rd.
I have had the most gorgeous time today. This mor-
ning I sent off my Beacons to all our exchanges, swept
the cellar etc. and cut the grass.
This afternoon I went down to Ed's after reading a
little in `Innocents Abroad'. We went up to Ed's room in
the attic of the Fourth Ave. house and I examined his
collection of half-dime novels while he was shooting a
31 ca. Model 1843 Colt that had belonged to his grand-
father. It is a beautifully balanced muzzle-loading re-
volver. We were both instructing Ralph Shinn in the HORR-
RORS OF WAR!!
Finally Ed suggested that we go across the river
and so I went for my rifle while he brought Ralph's boat
down to Mount's where I was to meet him.
When we were half way across the river the fun began.
A shower came up out of the west and it rained quite
hard for five minutes. It's surprising how much rain can
fall sometimes without getting you very wet - this was
that kind. Presently we discerned on the starboard bow
a man waving frantically for assistance. The wind was
blowing quite hard and the waves were almost high enough
to come aboard. In the boat with him was a most beauti-
ful damsel with a kid, the latter weeping bitter, bitter
tears. It developed that they had lost an oar and the
wind had already carried them some distance from it, but
the elderly idiot didn't have sense enough to scull after
it, so he yelled. After rescuing the oar, I was for abs-
conding with it as rightful salvage and then watching his
reactions at a safe distance, but Ed dissuaded me from
this fell intent so, after handing over the oar, we pro-
ceeded on our way.
We reached the spring without further adventure
and, after hauling up the boat and overturning it, we
started for the hut. On our way we fell in with two
hawks, or they may have been owls our glimpse of them was
so fleeting, and I let fly at them through the trees but
must have missed. Then Ed took the rifle and went career-
ing after them but not a shot did he get. He gave up fi-
nally and we went on to the hut which is in a tiny clear-
ing in the dense woods.
It is a crude affair, made of logs half way up,
laid criss-cross log cabin wise when I guess they got tir-
ed of cutting down trees, for the rest is made of plain
strips like cloth props. The roof is a few boards laid
on any way with a piece of sail-cloth covering about half
and the rest is roofed with branches. There is a little
lizard who permeates this weird structure whom Ed calls
Clarence; said he thought of that name himself and likes
it. He further stated that these lizards throw off their
tails whenever they are scared and that on each stump two
more then grow etc. etc. ad infinitum. Ed often gets off
on these fantasies.
It was now about 4 P.M. and we started off down the
Colt's Neck road which is about 100 yards west of the hut,
and crosses the White Bridge further on. When I asked Ed
how he knew this was the Colt's Neck road, he said he was
sure it was because a man in a buggy stopped him the other
day and asked - `Is this Colt's Neck Road?' to which
Ed had replied - `Yes'.
By and by we came to a fish-hawk's nest, in fact
the scene of the former tragedy, and just as we were a-
bout to turn back, we heard one scream so we made for the
tree. Well, we hid there for about half an hour and then,
all of a sudden, there was a crash of thunder and the
rain came down in torrents. We tried to find shelter un-
der the bushes but this rain was very keen and soon fer-
reted us out. Then we resolved to "beat it" to the hut
and, after much debate pro and con, did so. We arrived
finally, I drenched clear through my outer shell but still
dry inside, in a manner of speaking. Ed had left his
coat in the hut and was really soaked.
But in his dry coat were matches and we soon had a
fire going. We built a miniature chimney of dry twigs
and filled the inside with paper and chips. It was soon
roaring so that we had to strip back part of the sail to
let out the smoke. After we got fairly dry we waited and
waited for the rain to stop but it did nothing of the
sort; it drizzled right along with mean and pig-headed
persistence. Somewhere around seven Ed suggested that we
start and I finally consented to leave our now warm and
comfortable quarters. Taking a big board to sit on in
the boat and keep dry, we started.
We reached the boat alright and quickly pushed
off. Ed rowed while I sat in the stern and leaned my back
against the board to keep off the rain and also to catch
the brisk westerly wind which was helping us along. When
we were off Money Hill, Ed motioned for me to turn around
and I saw a white wall of rain and spray approaching us,
not awfully rapidly but swiftly. Ed was getting a
little tired so we quickly changed places and I could now
watch the squall coming across the water, blotting out
everything as it came. When it struck us, we heeled away
over and, as for the rain, I never felt anything like it
- for I could see nothing the way it was whipping against
my face. The waves came right over the gunwales if we
turned anything but our stern to it and we took in about
three inches of water altogether. It was great fun rid-
ing over the waves. We almost upset a dozen times and,
if we had, my rifle would probably have been lost for the
water is about eight feet deep there. So we just held her
Straight and drove before it till we were just beginning
to see the shore through the surface spray, when the
squall passed and we could see it disappearing across
The rain was quite warm and was all right while it
lasted but when it stopped we began to feel cold. We
didn't get in to Seventh Ave. till eight o'clock and I
straightaway took a hot bath. After supper I cleaned my
rifle and then went to bed.
Sunday, June 24th.
Tomorrow I begin work for good over at Lewis's.
Bean visited Sunday School this morning as usual but
Harry wasn't there at first and he grew uneasy. In the
middle of prayer he strolled into the main church
and began to roll around on the floor, scratching his back
on the red rung, grunting loudly in canine extacy.
Monday, June 25th.
My job seems to be quite a cinch if it were not for
the loafing making the time pass so slowly. Everyone seems
busy but I. I have to make extensions of lumber lists
and run errands etc. but I dont do four hours real work
in this day.
This morning an Italian was run over at the Spring-
wood Ave. crossing and was killed.
Same as yesterday, loafing included but nobody kill-
ed at R.R. crossing. Got a letter from Miss Cook. Have
been writing up this darned book.
A plague on this monster anyway. Now that I've st
started it, it is never appeased. I dont mind writing
about something that really is interesting, but I do hate
to pad it up like this. However, I have no choice for
if I dont keep writing it up every night the blamed thing
will just lapse as it always has heretofor.
Nothing whatever happened today. This evening I've
been copying "The Avenging of Isis" which, by the way, I
had across the river Saturday and it got soaked.
Sunday, July 1st.
Alas! We are going to have a rainy Fourth. I know
this is so for this morning, while I was swimming with
my new bathing suit, which I bought yesterday ($3.00), I
met Ed and we are going across the river. It seems un-
reasonable to deprive so many people of the chance for a
clear holiday just because Ed and I want to have a little
fun, but I cant miss the opportunity to enjoy myself just
because it always rains whenever we journey westward out
During my swim at the Inlet this morning, I got all
sunburned and my shoulders are as red as beets.
Monday, July 2nd.
And as raw as fresh beef.
I am forever being interrupted by someone coming
up stairs. Doubtless, before I have finished this page,
I shall be interrupted again. I dont dare let anyone
read this any more. There was a time when I wrote my
diary in plain open sight and everyone knew it. Donald
each evening would bring the book out after I had written
up the day and read it aloud before the assembled family;
when Donald forgot, Mamma didn't. That time I kept the
diary just eight days. I dont let them catch me now, I
hope. If anyone is reading this, I hope you are thro-
oughly ashamed of such sneakiness.
I didn't go swimming this afternoon for I have a
bad stomach ache and my arms are still sunburned.
I wasn't interrupted.
Wednesday, July 4th.
Sure enough it rained and so hard that even we
couldn't go across. It may be just as well for I had an
invitation from Annie Crowther to go sailing with a bunch
of others today but the rain spoiled that, too, so there
was no conflict with Ed. Anyway, he said he had a stomach
ache and couldn't go, rain or no rain.
In the afternoon Papa, Donald and I went swimming
down at the Inlet but the water was icy and we didn't en-
joy it very much although Papa had bought a bathing suit
for the occasion. After we got home we shot at a mark in
the back yard with my rifle until the rifle got so hot
that we couldn't hit a thing. I wanted to let it cool
and give it a swab or two but Papa flew into a rage and
said I didn't wam to shoot it.
In the evening we went down to the Belmar Club
House at the corner of 11th and Ocean and watched the
fire-works. They were all right, I guess, but it gets
(Note: I am attempting to add to this as days go by. Please keep checking back. -Todd (7/22/2015)
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First put up on web: January 09, 1998.
Previous update: January 12, 1998.
Last update: May 10, 2001.
Todd L. Sherman (firstname.lastname@example.org)
© Copyright 1998-2001 by Todd L. Sherman. All Rights Reserved.