Thoughts, Memories & Ravings of Big Daddy Graham
Happy Birthday, Big Daddy
Happy birthday, Big Daddy
Happy birthday to you!
You look like a monkey
And you act like one, too
May 29, my birthday.
Is “Happy Birthday” the greatest song ever written, or what? The very first time I remember hearing that song was my fifth birthday. Cake, candles, singing, presents. What a fantastic day. As I got into my teens, this song even took on a more special meaning because it’s on Memorial Day weekend. And that’s when we always celebrated it.
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IN PRINT
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IN-PERSON
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And starting with the summer that began the end of my junior year, my birthday was always celebrated down the shore with my gang of high school buddies. That first one was held right on the beach at 45th Street in Sea Isle City. Some of the chicks who hung with us even brought a cake down to the beach. (The girl carrying the cake didn’t have a beach tag, but the tag checker let her slide.)
Then there was the jam that rocked Club Fifty One. Club Fifty One was this really cool, modern house that was located at 51st and Landis. (How they ever rented to us is a mystery still unsolved to this day.)
Many a wild party was thrown there. How outrageous?
We checked in on Memorial Day weekend and spent Friday night running around town, tacking up posters announcing my birthday party and that all were invited. The ads even included our address. Can you imagine? And it worked. Complete strangers showed up, and this was our first SIC party of the summer. There must have been 100 people there and the party flowed out of the house onto the front lawn. The previous summer we got thrown out of our rental in Wildwood, so for this summer we decided to give SIC a try.
So, this was risky, to say the least. About two hours into the party, the police showed up and told us to keep it down. “Keep it down?” We would have been locked up Wildwood. Right then and there, our lifelong love affair with Sea Isle began. I would bet you that at least 20 of those 100 partygoers that night eventually became homeowners. First, however, were many summers of rentals to go.
Then there was the summer we rented this tiny two-bedroom, one-story house on Central Avenue. Again, we’re throwing yet another big birthday party for me on Memorial Day weekend. There must be 37 people jammed into this tiny house when the police showed up. Then they ask us, “Who is on the lease?” And all 37 of us put our eyes down and muttered, “On the lease? Geez, I don’t know. Lefty, are you on the lease?”
So not one of the 37 jamming to the latest funky tunes have any idea who is on the lease. So how do the police react? They kick every last soul out of the house. It was as if 37 people have been walking on the street, saw an empty house, and decided to throw a big gig. And here we are now, wandering the streets of Sea Isle looking for another empty house to throw a 37-person party in.
Then there was this summer when for some strange reason our rental did not begin until June 1. So, we had to think out of the box. And what did these 37 people do? We rented one room – yes, one room – at the Sea Isle Inn. How we got the room, I’ll never ever know. And we sang the loudest “Happy Birthday” ever recorded on the planet. I mean every single word, every single syllable was screamed at the top of everyone’s lungs. I’m telling you, they heard us in Avalon.
Mayor Lenny Desiderio laughs about it to this day. Yet, he did not kick us out, and three more people became homeowners eventually. So maybe there is a method to the madness to which we are all treated by the police and even the mayor: that we all fall in love with the town and eventually want to acquire real estate there. Hmm. Just sayin’.
So, the next winter we start our search for our summer rental much too late and all the good properties are gone. (Maybe that wasn’t a coincidence on the town’s part). We end up in Strathmere in this bizarre triplex with three bathrooms and – get this – three kitchens, one on every floor. The fact that Strathmere has no police and if there’s any loud party the state police must be called in to break it up is also a very nice selling point in Strathmere’s favor.
And wouldn’t you know it? The state police are called in the very first weekend. My birthday fell on a Sunday and my birthday party was held late in the afternoon because everyone is going home that evening. That is, everybody but me, who was staying down for the entire summer. A real plus for an unemployed college dropout. When everyone leaves, I end up at the Deauville Inn, where I tie another one on. (It’s my birthday, after all.) Then I walked back to our Strathmere abode, where I end up standing on our makeshift coffee table and air guitaring to Led Zeppelin at volume 11.
The next thing I know, I am seeing these strange white lights hovering above me on the ceiling. Geez, how drunk am I? It turns out these white lights are being shined from the flashlights of state troopers in my living room. It turns out that Led Zeppelin at volume 11 can be heard in Ocean City and hence the state police were called, expecting to discover a wild party instead of one doofus all by himself. One of these officers appeared to be 15 years old and he was more scared of me than I was of him. What a night. Happy birthday.
I now have quiet, fun, get-togethers at home with my wife Debbie, daughters Keely and Ava, and grandkids Jameson and Lucy, and sons-in-law Matt and Bill.
I am waiting for a group of young maniacs to rent the house right next to me any minute.
