A Long Walk on the Beach

On Sunday I took a long, long walk. I started at Oak Street Beach where our "gang" has hung out, between the south wall and the first lifeguard chair, for well over 30 years. It looks as though politics has prevailed and perhaps our Oak Street Beachstro restaurant might not open this season. I'm hoping I'm wrong. And that's not the only thing that's changed.



Members of the group - our only connection is the beach - for years we didn't know each others last names or occupations - have come and gone as they moved away, switched beaches or stopped coming for fear of skin cancer or ruining a face-lift, but our core group of 6 endured until a few summers ago. That's when Millie, dolled up for the ambulance ride, called 911 and later succumbed to heart failure at the ripe old age of 93 - she never told us her age and wouldn't own up to even having Medicare for many years. She would bring her home made Mandel bread to our annual Labor Day picnics. I still have her recipe. I'm sure her ashes that were scattered on our beach spot have washed over to Michigan a long time ago.




I continued up the beach toward Division Street and was stopped by some Muenster H.S. seniors who had spent the night on the beach after their prom. They wanted a group photo. As I shot the photo I thought of my own kids who had spent a lot of time on this beach - sometimes with me, sometimes without my knowledge.




As I passed the last lifeguard stand, I thought of Tom, whose group moved to the north end of the beach several years ago. He had a stroke and was unable to come to the beach last year. Let's hope we see him this summer - we miss his jokes. I went down into the Division street underpass and crossed under Lake Shore Drive to the building where Tom lives and gave him a silent salute.



Heading up Elm Street, I passed the synagogue where Sol said his last prayers before being mowed down, walking home, and killed by an SUV last year during the high holidays. This brought to mind Nancy, who died in 2008 at 61. She and Sol always had the best tans in our group. They were both also the self appointed experts at many things - Nancy on fashion and celebrities and Sol on finance and medicine. We often tuned them both out.



After a stop at Ashkenaz, for some Jewish deli goodies, I headed back to Oak Street - the shopping street - not the beach. An elderly woman with a magically exotic past lives there and we hadn't seen her walking around, in her signature inverted white sailor hat, in months. I checked with her doorman - and gratefully - he let me know she was still alive and kicking. Gerry is a strikingly handsome woman who was a classy leader in her beach group when I was in my 30s and bringing my kids to the beach from the suburbs. Her group is all gone now, so she sits with us once in a while and regales us with her stories, including 8 engagements and dancing with Papa Doc. I kept walking.






Now for the hardest part. I walked past the John Hancock building where, until a few days before Easter, our friend Mary lived. Sunday was the day she died, in hospice, in St. Louis, after major battles with cancer that she fought and stubbornly stared in the face - even traveling to far away places in between bouts of chemo - until it finally won. She lived life to the fullest and we are saddened that we were did not have the chance for a proper good bye.





By now, she is at that beach in the sky, thumbing through Nancy's fashion and food magazines, tuning out Sol and trying to ignore Millie's nosy questions. Good luck with that!





Yesterday was the first real beach day - so Marcia and I sat in the sun and reminisced and silently mourned another empty beach chair.