The Bluffs
Bay Head, New Jersey

~ The Story Of A Hotel At The Jersey Shore ~

by Francine LaVance Robertshaw

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Introduction
by Francine LaVance Robertshaw

It was the summer of 1979 when I began working at The Bluffs, an unimposing group of weathered, cedar-shingled buildings on East Avenue in Bay Head, New Jersey. The preceding winter, a sign on the blackboard in the hotel bar advertised for a front desk clerk. I had never dabbled in the hospitality business before, but it sounded interesting, so I informed the owner, Alfred E. Johnson, Jr. ("Sonny" to his family and only the closest of friends), that I was interested in the position. After careful consideration, Mr. Johnson gave me the job. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was the beginning of a career in hospitality that would continue for many years.

Mr. Johnson passed away in the spring of 1982, and his daughter, Kathleen Johnson Spies, took over managing The Bluffs, the fourth generation of the Johnson family to do so. Kathy promoted me to her assistant, and we journeyed through the next several years there together. We both still look back upon that time as the best years of our lives. As divorced, single mothers, operating the hotel while raising our children worked out beautifully. Our children loved the beach and obediently stayed right in front of the lifeguard stand where we could see them from the hotel porch. Their grandparents were most helpful in their care, and the hotel guests also kept a very watchful eye on them. On rainy days or simply when they seemed to have had enough sun, sand, and salt water, they played games, read, or watched television in the lobby with the children who were guests at the hotel. They often joined some of the older folks in the rockers on the wide porches, picking up the wisdom of their adoptive grandparents while waiting for us to take them home at the end of the day. More than anything else, we had great fun working there. The hotel was nearly always fully occupied throughout the short season, and there was rarely a dull moment. The fond memories from those years—the guests, the laughter, the camaraderie—will always be with us and with our children. Is there anything as splendid as the memories of summers past?

Many times over those years I heard people remark that someone should write a book about The Bluffs. Once employed there, hotel guests and various friends suggested that I should write the book. I finally entertained the thought in the late summer of 2003 when I visited Bay Head from my home in California and went through all my "memorabilia," or what I refer to as "The Bluffs archives." I sorted through it and began to organize everything, then, at her request, brought it to my dear friend and former hotel guest Bunny Pollock’s home in Bayville. Bunny immediately suggested a book and tried to persuade me that I had to do it! My brother, Bud LaVance, who was present, was in complete agreement with her, and between the two of them, I was almost convinced. A phone call was made to Kathy Johnson Spies in Florida. I told her I wouldn’t do it unless I had her full support, and she enthusiastically gave it to me. Once I shared the idea with my son, Jay, and a very few close friends from our days at The Bluffs, there was no turning back. I was committed. I knew that the story of The Bluffs was way overdue.

Perhaps a book was always in the back of my mind. The first summer I worked at The Bluffs, I learned to use a modestly good 35mm camera. I began photographing the guests I had known for so many years from going to The Bluffs’ beach. A few years ago, I put together an album of every picture I had ever taken at the hotel, on the beach, or in the bar since 1967. There were far too many photos to fit in the album, so I had to begin a second volume. Had I consciously planned this book then, I would have used a very good camera from the start and taken more interior and exterior shots; but, in the end, it was the people in the photographs that made The Bluffs what it was—a truly unique and charming Victorian inn on the beach in Bay Head at the Jersey Shore.

When I speak of "The Bluffs archives," I refer specifically to several boxes that I came upon one morning on the hotel porch as I was coming in to start the day. The hotel hadn’t opened yet for the season, and Kathy and I were working diligently at getting everything shipshape. This would be the first season since Mr. Johnson had passed on, and we were making some changes and many improvements that he, being very conservative when it came to change, most likely would have been resistant to approve, but the guests, as we soon learned, would love. In the process of revamping the front desk area, Kathy had removed her father’s huge oak desk to make room for a built-in one that would allow us to both work behind the desk in what had always been a very cramped space. Upon emptying the desk, Kathy saved what she felt were her father’s most important mementos. She put the remaining contents in boxes and placed them out on the porch. I inquired as to why they were there, and she stated that they were to be put in the trash. My immediate response was, "You can’t throw these things away!" She laughed her infectious laugh at me and said, "Yes I can!" Therefore, I asked if I might take the boxes home to select from them what I thought should be saved. Kathy said, "Help yourself!", and I did.

So began the long process of going through the boxes to pick and choose what to keep and what to discard. If Mr. Johnson thought these things were worth saving in his desk for all that time, I, too, felt they were worth saving. For the next several years everything was stored in my Bay Head home’s attic, then my parents’ summer home in Skowhegan, Maine, and eventually returned to the Jersey Shore. As I began to sort through everything with my brother, Bud and I discussed what might be done with it. We knew that, to us, it had great sentimental value. I had always thought some of it should be in a museum one day, and still do, but until recently, there wasn’t a local museum. We decided that, in any case, it should be carefully preserved and photographed, since much of the paper was very fragile.

I was familiar with The Bluffs from many years of going to my favorite Bay Head beach, right in front of the hotel, and once I turned twenty-one, from being a patron of the renowned Bluffs Bar. "Renowned" may be a stretch. The bar was not famous (or infamous) in the way that, say, Au Bar in Palm Beach was, or the bar at "21" in New York, but anyone who was ever lucky enough to find it will not argue that it deserves to be called renowned. Those who are familiar with the Bay Head beaches may remember that they were always very private until the latter part of the twentieth century, when the Bay Head Improvement Association (B.H.I.A.), following a lawsuit, reluctantly began selling beach badges to the general public. The only drawback for non-residents was, and still is, no concessions, no food or beverages of any kind allowed on the beach, very limited parking, and no "facilities." But for those who knew of the existence of The Bluffs, they knew that the hotel bar had restrooms, and during the summer, opened at noon every day and permitted swimsuits up until about seven in the evening—even wet, sandy ones. (Only the men had to wear shirts. I never did understand that rule!) This made life a little more comfortable for those in the know. Lunch was also available, but only pre-made tuna salad, roast beef, or ham and cheese sandwiches. These not-so-gourmet delights could be enhanced with the addition of the ever-present hard boiled eggs and a bag of potato chips. After a long walk on the beach or a good swim, it somehow all tasted very good. The choice of cocktails, especially Bloody Marys, and ice cold bottled beer made up for what the menu lacked. The Bluffs was famous for its Bloodies. (Not to worry. The original, EXACT recipe is included in Appendix J.)

It should be noted that although most of us truly believed in the strict enforcement of the B.H.I.A. rules and appreciated the privacy and cleanliness of the beaches, there were times when the rules were broken by a clever few. Various containers, secured in large beach bags, were discreetly consumed, and the contents of these vessels often contained liquids of dubious origins.

As previously stated, one had to be lucky to find the place. That is because The Bluffs was not distinguished by a sign. A long time ago, there had been one, but it was stolen once too often, so Mr. Johnson gave up on signs by the early 1950s. The address was 575 East Avenue at Chadwick Street, but the number appeared only on the steps of the entrance to the hotel lobby, far away from the street and not visible behind the lush privets. It could be recognized by the gravel parking lots bordered by split-rail fences on both sides of East Avenue and by the perfectly groomed privet hedges. It simply looked like just another group of sizable summer cottages that dominate East Avenue to this day. Only when the parking lots were full did they give away that these structures must be something more than private residences. On summer weekends, the parking lots were always full because, aside from the hotel guests, locals long ago discovered that this was the most convenient beach. The Bluffs Bar was also definitely a big draw, much to the dismay of some of the neighbors. By about 1970, parking on the east side of this narrow, one-way lane was banned. Parking on East Avenue was suddenly at a premium.

The Bluffs and Bay Head are dear to my heart. I first visited Bay Head in the summer of 1956 when my family rented a house, number 516 on Club Drive. I quickly discovered that many of my school friends from Short Hills summered there also. As a ten year old, I was permitted to ride my bike to the beach with my older siblings, and I loved riding down East Avenue past The Bluffs. I knew it was a hotel, but never ventured inside (not knowing at that age that it would have been permissible to just go have a look). How I wish I had! Ten years later, my parents rented a quaint, little cottage at 537 West Lake Avenue, and when Bud and our cousin, Nancy Klebaur, would go off for cocktails at The Bluffs, I stayed behind, satisfied to read on the porch because I was too young to legally join them in this type of activity. By the following summer, I was "legal" and experienced The Bluffs for the first time. I met the man I eventually married that summer at The Bluffs, and raised our son, Jay, in our house at 678 Lake Avenue until he was fourteen.

Jay and my two brothers, Bud and Jeff, are still in the area, so I will always have a great excuse to return. They love nothing more than calling me from cell phones when they are on the Bay Head beach with old friends to rub it in while I’m in Palm Desert and the temperature is hovering around 115 degrees. ("But it’s a dry heat!") I get even when I ring them up while it’s snowing back east and it’s 85 degrees in the California desert! Bud called recently when he was on the beach at Osborne Avenue at the north end of Bay Head. He said it was a beautiful day, and he "had just walked down to The Bluffs and back," mentioning familiar names of those he met along the way; we just continued our conversation as if nothing had ever changed—as if The Bluffs were still there.

To us, and to so many others, it still is…and will always be…The Bluffs’ beach.

—Francine LaVance Robertshaw
Palm Desert, California
Spring 2006