Ferry Tales Do Come True
The Cape May-Lewes Ferry’s birth 50 years ago ended a long and difficult labor
By Pam George
From the July 2014 Issue
Passes for the Cape May-Lewes Ferry’s inaugural voyage on June 30, 1964, were prized possessions, many of them surely destined for scrapbooks. Indeed, “Souvenir Memento” was printed above the day’s departure and arrival times, and the numbered tickets had a drawing of a ferry cruising by a lighthouse in the left corner and a blue-tinged photograph of the real vessel on the right.
But on that momentous day, holders of those free passes had to navigate bumpy roads to reach the ferry. The planned access route, the Theodore C. Freeman Highway, had yet to be built, and there was no terminal. Officials gathered at 11 a.m. at the site of the future building for a dedication ceremony. It was quick. At 11:45 a.m., the first vessel left Lewes for Cape May, where officials repeated their addresses at 2 p.m.
To Pee or Not to Pee?
That is the summer question
By Lauren Wolf
From the June 2014 issue
I don’t really remember the first time I peed in the ocean.
But it must’ve been when I was a little girl, during one of my family’s numerous summer vacations to the Jersey shore. We rented the same property in Wildwood Crest year in and year out: a modest three-bedroom apartment just blocks from the beach.
What I do remember is a yearning to never leave the water, for my dad to throw me into a salty green wave one more time while shouting, “Uh-oh, Spaghetti-o!” My guess is that I first did it during one of those marathon splash sessions. If you spend enough time in the ocean that your fingers get wrinkly, your lips turn blue, and you have sand in unspeakable places, trudging back across the white-hot pavement to a rental house isn’t really an attractive bathroom option. I’m sure my parents weren’t in favor of escorting their dripping, pruney child to and fro throughout the afternoon and gave their consent.
Not Out of the Woods
The razing of a ‘Tent City’ encampment highlights the plight of the homeless and the frustration of those who help them
Quite a crowd had gathered on the morning of April 5 — protesters, state police troopers, members of the media, curious onlookers who just happened to be driving along Route 1 at the time, even workers at the hotel under construction nearby. What they witnessed was the destruction of a “city” — albeit a makeshift one — in the woods adjacent to one of the state’s major highways, in one of southern Delaware’s most affluent areas.
But there were a few notable absentees during the final minutes of what the media and coastal Delaware community had dubbed “Tent City.” Those who called the area home were not there. Having packed up the day before, they were instead at a private home about 10 miles away, far from the prying eyes, the chants of demonstrators and the sad sight of witnessing their home’s demise.
They were licking their wounds, consoling one another over their loss. For most of them, the closure of Tent City was the latest in a string of tough luck, hard times and unfortunate incidents that had dead-ended in homelessness.
In a sense, that dead-end journey had also made them invisible: The campers were part of a societal problem that most coastal residents and visitors simply do not see. But the numbers don’t lie — two Rehoboth-area overnight shelters run jointly by Epworth United Methodist Church and the much smaller Faith United Methodist Church housed and fed nearly 100 homeless people during the harsh winter of 2013-14.