Long Beach, New York

It was a hot August 1966 night in Long Beach, New York. My friend rode over to my house on his shiny black Schwinn bike. It was dark enough now and our generator headlights wizzed. Damn things slowed the bikes down but it was fun to see the orange lights get whiter the faster we rode. Racing to meet my best friend on Magnolia Blvd, the three of us would then ride up to Lindell Blvd and hang out with nothing to do. I was ready to ride down to the boardwalk in the cool Atlantic wind. We thought we saw ghosts at Glinda, the Good Witch rotting, condemned mansion at Laurelton Blvd (Billie Burke’s 1939 estate). We were grinning, 14 year-old flying monkeys. This wasn’t Kansas - Manhattan’s glowing dome lit up the sky 17 miles northwest of us like the Emerald City. There were no girls in our life to be jealous over yet, just witches. We were young, dumb and healthy in America’s Finest City.

What isn’t there to say about Long Beach?
Greatest city in the world if you ask anyone who lives there. Everyone grows up the same. The boys surf drink and smoke weed. The girls do exactly the same. Dads grow up to become fireman while moms become teachers. The Beach House is the new spot if your under 21, and the inn is the spot if your actually of age. Life’s a bagel has the best bagels but too bad it’s kosher. A coffee and a BEC are the only way to cure a hangover while lifeguarding the next morning. No need for a car when u have a bike and the greatest boardwalk in the world. That pretty much sums it up. Long Beach.