National Geographic : 1960 Jan
National Geographic, January, 1960 back on its heritage. The famous old trade mark of Nipper with an ear cocked to His Master's Voice still stands in the tower of one of the buildings where it has served as a landmark for nearly 60 years. Much of RCA's future will derive from its neatly landscaped David Sarnoff Research Center in Princeton, where such things as the electron microscope, an atomic battery about the size of a matchbox, and a solar battery to harness the sun are being perfected. Human Tides Flood the Jersey Shore Sooner or later most Jerseymen-be they north or south, factory workers or farmers or researchers-go to the Jersey shore. There they become part of a throng from all over the land. What the visitor seeks he can find at some 60 resort towns along the New Jersey coast. If he wants bustling boardwalk life, tense with noise and excitement, he goes to Atlantic City, Asbury Park, Long Branch, Point Pleasant, Wildwood, or a dozen smaller re sorts. If he wants comparative quiet, perhaps even a bit of Cape Cod or Newport atmos phere, that's available in a score of locations -Cape May, Avalon, Stone Harbor, Long Beach Island, Bay Head, Sea Girt, Deal, Spring Lake, Ocean Grove, to mention a few. Nearly a quarter of all Jersey shore visitors find their way to Atlantic City (pages 42-43). I prefer a quieter spot in summer, any of half a dozen Cape May County resorts. In winter, quite the other way, I like Atlantic City very much. That's because Atlantic City knows how to entertain. Nothing is too big, nothing is too small, for the city of amusement. All fall and winter, when other resorts hibernate, Atlantic City stays alive, catering to every species of conventioneer-doctor, lawyer, labor leader, industrialist, policeman, legionnaire. Atlantic City impresses me by its ability to take the crush of a crowd, then recuperate and leave no outward sign that anything un- usual has happened. Last fall I sat with 300,000 others in specially erected boardwalk bleachers to watch the Miss America Pageant parade. We dropped papers, tossed away programs, shelled peanuts, let gum wrappers fall. Late that night, as I walked to my hotel, the crowd had vanished, leaving behind only its debris. Crews of workers moved silently through the night, putting the Boardwalk to rights. By morning nothing remained to indi cate that even an early-morning bather, much less a huge crowd, had passed that way. Miss America symbolizes Atlantic City's devotion to promotion. As Miss Ada Taylor of the Claridge Hotel once put it to me: "We live on ocean, emotion, and constant promotion!" After seeing earlier pageants via TV, I didn't know if I could enjoy this continuing bit of seashore folklore (it has been going on since 1921). But I did. Three preliminary nights dragged, true, but as the finals moved to a close in the tremen dous auditorium on Saturday night, the emo tional atmosphere heightened (page 44). A blase New York newspaperwoman leaned over toward me as stately Miss Mississippi walked alone down the runway, the newly crowned Miss America of 1959. "By gosh," said the writer, almost in amaze ment at herself, "she really is a queen!" Beauty of Many Sorts Crowns Jersey Miss America is beauty to be remembered year in and year out. But the man who takes the trouble to discover New Jersey finds in spiration in many other things as well. He finds it in the big oyster fleet which sails at dawn each day in season from Bivalve into Delaware Bay. His imagination is quick ened by tramping across the Salem County marshes, where trappers each year bag tens of thousands of muskrats. He thrills to the sight of herons and egrets coming home against the setting sun to roost in the holly trees at Stone Harbor's sanctuary. Certainly Diving Horse Scores a Bull's-eye From a 40-foot Tower in Atlantic City Down into 12 feet of water plunge Marion Hackney and her mount Lorgah, a Texas cow pony. They learned the stunt from Lorena Carver, who first made the leap in 1912 at the age of 11. Now retired after a quarter century of diving and 23 broken bones, Miss Carver brought diving horses to the resort's steel pier in 1930. "In the old days," she recalls, "I simply grabbed a handful of mane. If it pulled out, I beat the horse to the water." This photomontage shows Miss Hackney clutching a safety harness. A clown teeters on the rim of the 22-foot-wide tank. KODACHROMEBY NATIONALGEOGRAPHICPHOTOGRAPHERSVOLKMARWENTZELANDJOHN E. FLETCHER© N.G .S .