Narragansett, Rhode Island Summer of '65

When I think about my childhood summers in Narragansett, Rhode Island, the images of time spent in this magical place are still vivid. But the Narragansett of my childhood had a completely different face than today's version. Long before Pier Village with its million dollar views there was another, less elegant Narragansett. A row of shabby storefronts lined Beach Street, anchored on one end by the forbidden Beachcomber with an assortment of seasonal business in between.

As kids, we ate grinders from the sub shop, played games in the arcade, and marveled at the surfboards in the surf shop. That's the town I remember and the one that has remained with me all these years.

My Narragansett roots go deep. In the late 1940s, my grandparents, Carl and Olive Heden, who had been living in the Norwood section of Warwick, bought some property on Boston Neck Road just north of Bonnet Shores. Carl had suffered a severe heart attack and was told that he needed to retire and rest! But the word rest was not in his vocabulary, and he was ready for a new adventure.

With no business experience and even less money, they built a little restaurant at the front of the property and in 1950 Heden's Snack Bar opened for business. Carl was the cook and Olive the waitress, and between the two of them they developed a thriving business that was popular with locals and summer people alike. The menu was simple - hamburgers, hot dogs, and my grandfather's specialty, Western sandwiches. The cabinets were legendary and the coffee was always fresh. The counter seats were usually full as Carl alternated between his cooking duties and telling stories.

A few years later, my grandparents added a six-unit motel, which they eventually expanded to include living quarters. They developed a nice clientele of repeat visitors who became almost like family over the years. In 1955, they sold their house in Norwood and moved to Narragansett fulltime.

I lived with my parents in Massachusetts, but as I got older, I began spending more and more time with my grandparents. In fact, my earliest memories are of sitting at the snack bar eating ice cream. I never tired of my grandfather's stories and I can still hear his voice as he roared with laughter. Even then, the only place I wanted to be was Narragansett.

In 1965, Carl had another massive heart attack, but this time he didn't survive. At 68, he had outlived his doctors' predictions despite the fact that he never slowed down. In fact, the day before he died, he was up repairing the roof! Although they had closed the snack bar a few years before, Olive was determined to keep the motel open by herself. I had just turned 16, and that summer, I insisted on moving in with her to help. Together, we managed to get through this difficult period, and in the process, I found my home.

That summer was one of my most memorable and one that included many firsts. My first real date was to the Newport Folk Festival where I watched as Bob Dylan plugged in, driving the folkies crazy! I experienced my first motorcycle ride, smoked my first joint, and made my first attempt at surfing. I learned to dance to the music of Motown on the Beach Street sidewalk in front of the arcade and had my first kiss on the wall across the street.

Although I was not a townie, the locals accepted me, since my grandparents were residents and everybody knew and loved my grandfather. This was a great honor and these friendships were very important to me.

Each day, I hurried through my chores and rushed down to the Pier where I hooked up with my crew. My summer uniform was a bathing suit, cut-offs, and a pair of rubber flip-flops. All I needed was a couple of dollars, a comb, and a pair of shades and I was ready for anything!

In those days, acquiring a tan was the ultimate goal, and by summer's end my hair was bleached almost white by the sun and my skin tanned to a golden brown. This was a look that I cultivated, and to this day, whenever I put on a bathing suit and cut-offs, I am transported back in time and get that same feeling of freedom.

Weeknights at the Pier were fairly uneventful. We sat on the wall, checking each other out, flirting and dancing to the music that blared constantly from the arcade across the street. Law enforcement's main problem was loitering, but as quickly as the not-so-friendly officer dispersed our little band, we quickly reconnoitered, laughing at his insistence that we move along!

The drinking age was 21, but that didn't stop us from trying to sneak into the Comber or peering into the dark, cavernous bar inside the rather ominous-looking Surf Hotel. With its black painted walls and dark, moody music, this bar seemed the very antithesis of summer. The thrill was actually getting inside, but we were rarely allowed to stay for long before being asked, not so politely, to leave by a bouncer who left no question in our minds that he was quite capable of doing his job!

Weekends were an entirely different scene. On Friday, the town swelled with summer people. Even then, New York and Connecticut license plates seemed to outnumber those from Rhode Island and these people were a constant source of speculation. Plus, they knew how to party!

The weekend always kicked off with a teen dance at the old Carlton Hotel. These dances drew people from all over the state and often featured live bands. The once-elegant hotel was nearly ready for the wrecking ball, but these dances allowed a new generation to glimpse inside what had once been this high society address.

With its marble staircases and crystal chandeliers, this hotel managed to hold on to a modicum of elegance despite the obvious disrepair. The dances allowed us a chance to meet the summer folks and to show off the new dance steps that we had perfected on the sidewalk! We were the epitome of cool!

After the dances, it was time to cruise! My friend Peggy had a white 1960 Corvair station wagon - certainly not a cool ride, but it served its purpose. With the windows down and the radio (AM) blasting, we would drive up Ocean Road to the town beach where we would check out the action, then turn around, and do it again.

This parade of vehicles usually went on for an hour or so before people either hooked up or got low on gas and had to go home! We were 16 after all! Once in a while we heard about a party, but normally we were home by our midnight curfews, our guardians none the wiser!

There was always a party on Saturday night. Invited or not, word spread and people descended like sea gulls. Townies mixed and mingled with the summer folks, making dates and false promises to one another. I probably "fell in love" ten times that summer! Usually these romances led nowhere and never even resulted in a phone call, but it was the anticipation that kept my adrenalin pumping! I was (and still am) a hopeless romantic.

Beach parties were the most fun and some of these were quite elaborate. The Dunes Club parties were legendary, and although as non-members we were strictly forbidden, once the sun went down there was no stopping us from strolling down the beach and slipping into the crowd. We were indistinguishable from the members, and I remember creating my own persona, including a strange non-descript accent with which I attempted to impress these much more sophisticated young people. How ridiculous I must have sounded!

Because my grandmother held a membership at Bonnet Shores, I was able to attend their dances legitimately and always tried to include my friends in the mix. But there was always one formal dance each summer where a date was a necessity, and for that, I sought out my pal Rick who worked the trays at Bonnet. He was not a dancer, but enjoyed socializing and our friendship was one of the few that transcended that summer.

Formal meant wearing a dress, and for the party in 1965, I bought a loud, pink and brown floral print polyester A-line creation that was, at the time, the ultimate of hip. The dance was held in the darkened snack bar of the beach club and the crowd spilled out onto the deck, dancing under the stars. We were so young and had no way of knowing the direction of our lives. All we knew was that magical moment when life was full of possibilities.

Looking back, I recognize the summer of 1965 as being the end of a way of life that, after the turmoil and upheaval of the late 1960s, could never be reclaimed. Many of my Narragansett pals were unable to avoid the draft and were sent to Vietnam where they grew up quickly and forever lost their innocence.

Those of us who went to college lost our innocence in a different way, finding fault with the government and protesting the war, an act that often alienated us from those who served as well as from our parents. Narragansett changed as well, transformed into a seaside resort after the urban renewal wrecking ball claimed the entire town in the early 1970s. All that was left was the wall.

My grandparents' motel still stands, although it has been renovated into efficiency apartments. I drive by and barely recognize this place that was such an important part of my childhood. But even now, all these years later, when I visit my parents, who are now year-round residents, the first place I head is the wall. There is something about this place that brings me back to center and rejuvenates my land-locked soul.

Sitting on the wall, watching the ocean, and absorbing the air around me, I am transported back in time and can almost hear the music from the arcade. And, once again, I am home.