My Cape Cod Vacations, Circa 1965: Part One

I love Cape Cod and have since I was a kid, though the reasons why have changed over the years.

When I was a kid, my family and I would would often vacation on the Cape. It was one of our top three vacation spots. In my hazy memory, it's tough to recall how often we would go or how long we would stay, but it seems like it was fairly frequent. We lived about an hour and a half away and most of our trips were weekend events.

All seven of us would squeeze into the Rambler station wagon and take off with the vinyl rooftop carrier clinging to the top of the car for dear life. I got to ride in the "way back" with the remaining luggage. At the time I think I wanted that spot. But looking back, I suspect I was told I wanted it. This being the days before seat belts, it meant that I was as much of a potential projectile as the suitcases. I think this was all part of the plan.

Once on the Cape, we would head to the beautiful Sands Motor Lodge. We would wait with excitement while Dad checked us in at the motel office. I hoped it was a room that was near the ice and soda machines. (Dad would disagree. He claimed it was noisy with people traipsing back and forth at all hours. I felt it was a small price to pay for the convenience of ice cold soda).

When Dad got back to the car, the seven of us would unload into one motel room. This was made easy because: 1) The car was parked right outside of the motel room, and 2) I spent most of my time checking out the accommodations instead of helping. The fact that I had taken the initiative to find out what was in the soda machine while the others unpacked seemed to be unappreciated.

As everyone claimed their spots, my oldest sister, Karen, would puff away on an air mattress. I would fill the complimentary ice bucket from the ice machine.

The Beautiful Sands Motor Lodge (that's not us)

After unpacking and suiting up, we were off again. First stop (I hoped): The Penny Candy Store. Back then the candy really was a penny. The candy was displayed behind an old fashioned glass case like something you might have seen in an old general store. You would have to ask the woman behind the counter for one of this and one of that and she would keep a tally in her head as she dropped the pieces into a bag. It was a little slower than today's "grab and stuff" method, but it built up the anticipation.

When we reached our limit, each of us would leave with our little striped brown bag filled with the day's catch: licorice strips, some kind of candy dots that you had to bite off of paper strips (barely worth the effort), Mary Janes, refreshing colored sugar water in little wax bottles, "Squirrels" (God knows why they called it that. Don't ask, just eat.), and all the other usual standards like Atomic Fire Balls, Jaw Breakers and something that was supposed to resemble a mini ice cream cone.

From there it was a short ride to the beach.

The beach was usually crowded, but dragging our monstrous plaid beach bag behind us, we always managed to stake out a spot. Even though we had a beach umbrella, out would come the Sea 'n' Ski suntan lotion. We would all get lathered up, like it or not. Dad, being bald, would have lotion globbed on his head and nose. I don't remember it helping much, but I guess the effort made him feel better.

For me, the beach was a letdown after the candy store. I had what I wanted, why go any further? The choice between eating candy at the motel versus potentially drowning at the beach seemed like a no-brainer to me. Still, I went along with the rest of the family (as if I had a choice).  If it meant biting into sand covered licorice strips, I was willing to pay the price. Just pass me the occasional Wash'n Dry to clean the sand off of my sticky fingers before I reached in the candy bag again.

Sometimes I might venture into the water with a float. I don't think the beach had any rules back then as to when you could or couldn't use floats. If you wanted to risk your life and drift away, that was your problem. The lifeguards were only there to drag the bodies out of the way after they washed up on shore.

The floats we had back in those days were built to last. They were heavy rubberized canvas, not the cheap vinyl type that's foisted on naive tourists today. Those things could support a whole family. If it wasn't for the bright colors, you would swear they were army surplus. The biggest problem with those floats was that after a day in the water, your armpits would be raw from rubbing against the canvas while paddling.

One time, as I was bobbing with the waves, I looked up to find I had drifted so far down the beach I couldn't see the rest of the family. Paddling like my life depended on it, which it probably did, I finally made it to shore. Dragging my float behind me, I searched the crowds for what seemed like hours until I finally found everyone. Naturally, no one even knew I had been missing. I suspected it was just as well. Had they realized I was gone, they might have packed up and left. "Nice try", I thought to myself, "but you missed your chance." I settled back down on the beach blanket with my only true friend- the candy bag.

As the day went on and I got more bored, we would slowly gather up to head back to the motel. Dad would bring me and my brother to the public bathrooms before we left. They were pay toilets back in those days. I would often be the one to scoot under the stall door and open it for my brother and Dad. I felt this more than compensated for the investment Dad had made in my rapidly decreasing candy stash.

Finally, back at the car, armpits stinging form my near death experience and wiped down with another Wash'n Dry, we would head back to the motel to shower and regroup before heading out on another adventure. While the others showered, I would wash down all that candy with a bottle of  grape soda- ice cold... just the way I like it.

Hopefully we would be heading back to the penny candy store soon. I was beginning to run low.