As expected, the three-day party had gotten way out of hand, and ironically both of us had sought quiet respite by the ocean for that final night. Although I can’t remember what we talked about, we lingered on that sand for hours, drinking beer, smoking cigarettes, and staring out at the surf that lends a raucous soundtrack to every minute of every day down there.
Ten years later, in the wake of the most ferocious storm in state history, Governor Christie said it best: that Shore of our youth, with the memories of so many lazy days and long, wild New Jersey nights, is now gone.
The boardwalk has been annihilated, the amusement-park rides lay in cold, watery ruin, and the dancing carnival lights have been extinguished.
It didn't stop there, of course. The destruction isn’t limited to that lovely stretch of coastline, and even those of us who have sat on mile-long gas lines only to return to homes that lack heat, electricity, water, or phones are lucky when compared with those whose houses were destroyed by the thousands of trees felled by Sandy’s wrath.
Bad though it may be, the shock is wearing off. It’s time to remember that all is not lost and that the comments from individuals hinting that although the Shore will be rebuilt, it "will never be the same," simply have no place here.
We must remember, always remember, that we are from New Jersey. Yes, we may be bloodied and bruised, but then again, we’re used to that. We live in the shadow of the most spectacular city on earth, and we are the eternal pariahs because of it. While New York has always sparkled and gleamed, we grew up in that dark jungleland across the river filled with the outcasts and broken heroes.
Our rough-and-tumble cities, lying under highways and lit by flickering street lights, are ridiculed, our accents are (inaccurately) mocked, and the ever-unfunny "What exit?" joke is constantly uttered by the lips of the idiotic, but still we endure, because all those years of abuse have infused in us a distinctive fighting spirit that lets us face down any challenge, great or small, all the while saying with bared teeth, "Go ahead. Try it."
Yeah, we know that the Shore was never the cleanest, or nicest, or most refined set of beaches in the country, but then we’ve never been the cleanest, nicest, or most refined set of people.
We’ve had that chip on our shoulder since the start, and our darlings, from Jim Braddock and Frank Sinatra to Bruce Willis and The Boss, have always been the underdogs, the mavericks, the ones who were never supposed to win but did anyway — and did it with style.
There are few states as mangled, but as tenacious and gritty, as New Jersey, and few places whose citizens will never stop the fight even when it seems the bleeding just won’t stop.
Make no mistake: we will need to muster every bit of that grit, every drop of resolve, to recover from this, but we must remember who we are and where we come from. Although our homes may be buried under sand and trees and water, we will get up off the pavement once again, as we always have, in spite of the world’s best efforts to lay us low.
Long ago, while facing a different sort of calamity, Winston Churchill famously said, "If you’re going through hell, keep going." Seventy years later, and it doesn’t matter whether that hell is standing alone against the perpetual darkness of fascism, or rebuilding your shattered life in the wake of a natural disaster, we must keep going.
There is no question that we will rebuild, or that New Jersey, like Great Britain, will prove that the most desperate moments in our hardscrabble lives often lead to our finest hours and greatest triumphs.
We will be back. We will be better. And you can count on it.
No comments:
Post a Comment