Well, I lived a little further south, so you'll understand my limitations. As the son of a serious socialite, I enjoyed a lot of activity warming barstools about the township. Our haunts were the Lower Bank Inn (through two owners, including Will's late daughter Marguerite who was a classmate and dear friend), The Rustic Inn (New Gretna), The Green Bank Tavern (yes, Green Bank, where an older kid pulled a penknife on me!), The Bungalow Inn (near Lake Egg Harbor), and the Sweetwater Casino (where I shook the hand of the man who designed the first PT-boat). My favorite tale involves the Lower Bank Inn, where the men would drink beer and shoot American Darts. They play was for losing team buys the next round and winning team would call the rules for the next game, which could be tough to remember after a few beers. I'd have my birch beer and watch until my dad laughably suggested they include me as a shooter. Naturally they'd laugh and go along with the joke, me lobbing a few turkey feathers around an inning or two and one off the wall for proof. Amazingly my shots would start hitting 3s and corks with the men oohing and aahing until we'd have easily won the game and free drinks. When I was about 6 years old, my dad, a NAFEC fed and no dummy, erected a board in our Wading River home and explained that if I ever wanted to be good, I had to play EVERY DAY, no matter what. Now dad has been in the Chattanooga Nat'l Cemetery for ten years, I've made my trade in the field of science, and SoCal is where I live. But I'd trade my $30K Road King straight up for a chance to have one more game with Dad and the boys back there in Lower Bank, laughing and back-slapping, holed up from the summer swamp heat and bugs under their humming air conditioner, glasses tinkling, jukebox howling, and the constant thud of steel and turkey feathers on a paper Widdy dart board...
John-
