The prospect of a second railroad into Atlantic City divided the town. Jonathan Pitney had died six years earlier, but his dream of an exclusive watering hole persisted. Many didn’t want to see the type of development that Samuel Richards was encouraging, nor did they want to rub elbows with the working class of Philadelphia. A heated debate raged for months. Most of the residents were content with their island remaining a sleepy little beach village and wanted nothing to do with Philadelphia’s blue-collar tourists. But their opinions were irrelevant to Samuel Richards. As he had done 24 years earlier, Richards went to the state legislature and obtained another railroad charter.
The Philadelphia-Atlantic City Railway Company was chartered in March 1876. The directors of the Camden-Atlantic were bitter at the loss of their monopoly and put every possible obstacle in Richards’ path. When he began construction in April 1877—simultaneously from both ends—the Camden-Atlantic directors refused to allow the construction machinery to be transported over its tracks or its cars to be used for shipment of supplies. The Baldwin Locomotive Works was forced to send its construction engine by water, around Cape May and up the seacoast; railroad ties were brought in by ships from Baltimore.
Richards permitted nothing to stand in his way. He was determined to have his train running that summer. Construction was at a fever pitch, with crews of laborers working double shifts seven days a week. Fifty-four miles of railroad were completed in just 90 days. With the exception of rail lines built during a war, there had never been a railroad constructed at such speed.
The first train of the Philadelphia-Atlantic City Railway Company arrived in the resort on July 7, 1877. Prior to Richards’ railroad, round-trip tickets on the Camden-Atlantic were $3, and one-way fares were $2. The train fares for the narrow gauge railroad were $1.50 and $1. The device, which packed Richards’ trains, was the “excursion.” Richards understood that the majority of the people visiting Atlantic City could only afford a day trip. His railroad exploited that reality and related businesses provided attractions for people of modest means who were only able to visit for the day. The development of a resort where people would stay overnight in hotels would come later.
Richards geared his new railroad to a class of customers who cared little that the cars they rode in were the dregs of the train yards. They didn’t mind that there were no windows, which meant they’d be a sooty mess by the time they reached the shore. Nor did they mind riding on seats made of wooden planks with cushions. The train may have jerked and creaked the entire trip over the iron rails, but that didn’t matter either. Excursion rates were $1 round trip, and to a majority of Richards’ customers the price was all that mattered. Richards’ new railroad was eventually sold to the Philadelphia and Reading Railroad Company in 1883 and converted to a standard gauge railroad line.
Despite its short life, the impact of the Philadelphia-Atlantic City Railway was enormous. It spurred development in a new part of the island and brought in hundreds of thousands of first-time visitors. Richards had unleashed Atlantic City’s potential as a resort for the masses. In time, new hotels went up, investment capital was attracted, and Atlantic City launched upon a growth period spanning more than 50 years. Business in every town with a railroad station was stimulated, particularly in lumber, glass, and agricultural products. New development sprang up along the train route and real estate speculation was rampant, with fortunes being made overnight.
More than a generation after its founding, Jonathan Pitney’s beach village was finally on its way to becoming a major resort.
2
The Grand Illusion
Thud! The huge net hit the floor of the pier and the crowd squealed with joy. Salt water splashed everywhere as hundreds of fish squirmed about. Presiding over it all was John Young, grinning from ear to ear, while the people crowded around him gaped in amazement. These landlubbers had never seen such creatures of the deep, and Young played his role as “The Captain” for all it was worth.
John Lake Young was the owner of Atlantic City’s largest amusement pier, “Young’s Million Dollar Pier,” and his twice-daily, deep-sea net hauls were famous, attracting thousands of wide-eyed tourists. Wearing knickers, an old sweater and cap, he was a wiry and weathered, red-faced man with sparkling blue eyes, reminiscent of a leprechaun. As he lowered the net to the floor of the pier, Young went into his routine of identifying the sea animals he had caught. It was an animated performance that mesmerized his customers. He was able to name as many as 48 species and bluffed on the ones he couldn’t. With a little luck, there might be a shark or a horseshoe crab, which always excited the crowd. They went away thrilled, likely to return on their next visit to Atlantic City.
Young was the resort’s answer to P.T. Barnum. He had his finger on the pulse of his times. The Captain knew his customers and gave them what they wanted. The people who came to town on the cut-rate excursions had simple tastes. They wanted a high time at a bargain price—something to tell the folks about when they got home.
Samuel Richards’ second train to Atlantic City ignited a war for the visitors’ dollars and local businessmen learned quickly that working-class tourists had money to spend, too. What they lacked in sophistication they made up for in numbers. Shortly after Richards’ narrow gauge railroad, a third train, the West Jersey and Atlantic Railroad, was organized purposely to transport “the medium and poorer classes.” The fare was “the astonishing sum of $.50 each—less than hack fare from Market Street, Philadelphia, to the Park.”
Travel to Atlantic City, especially on the weekends, increased dramatically. Competition among the railroads for the excursion ticket buyer guaranteed a large volume of working-class patrons, most of whom came only for the day. While there were families and single people who came to town for week-long vacations, the weekends were vital to a profitable season. Success, and oftentimes survival, of many resort businesses hinged on 12 to 13 weekends, with Sunday being the day everyone anticipated. The six-day workweek of most visitors forced them to squeeze every bit of pleasure they could into their one day off. The result was that “the crowds in the city were so large at times, especially over Sunday, as to nearly exhaust the supply of meat, milk, bread, and provisions in stock.”
In the early years following the second railroad, weekend tourists were entertained in excursion houses. These large open-air structures were built at the end of the railroad tracks entering the city. They were more than a reception point. Excursion houses generally included an entertainment pavilion with vaudeville acts, a dining hall, which sold food and provided space for visitors who brought their own, and an amusement park for the children. The West Jersey Railroad excursion house was known for its affordable all-you-can-eat meals, including fish, chicken, roast meats, vegetables, pies, pudding, ice cream, tea, and coffee. It also provided free music and dancing in its ballroom, a bar, a bowling alley, and a poolroom. Bathing suits and lockers were available, too, at a daily rental of 25 cents. Most excursion houses admitted customers at 5 or 10 cents apiece, aiming at high-turnover, low-cost entertainment. At the end of each season, most excursion houses offered their lowest priced outings for what were known as “Colored Excursion Days.” It was all made possible by affordable train fare.
After the narrow gauge railroad there was no turning back. Within a few short years Atlantic City was a boomtown. Pitney’s sleepy little beach village had awakened. Each summer found dozens of new hotels and boardinghouses, appearing like mushrooms, popping up from nothing at sites that had been beach sand the year before. Year after year, late winter through spring, Atlantic City was a beehive of activity swarming with construction workers sleeping on cots, living in tents, eating in temporary cafeterias and working seven days per week. Workers signed on for the season, knowing they would work every day until the weather became too nasty. For nearly three decades, from the latter part of the 19th century into the second decade of the 20th century, a “Tent City” rose up from the sand every spring, pitched at a different l
ocation, following the growth of the resort. The residents of Tent City were mostly itinerant laborers and tradesmen, sometimes with their families, usually not. These crews of workers were brought to town by Philadelphia contractors and established businesses looking to get in on the action at the shore. They worked at a fever pitch from sunrise to sunset and made the city hum.
The air was filled with the sounds of shovels, hammers, saws, and masonry tools. A walk down any street would bring sounds of men working: from bricklayers shouting at their helpers, “brick, block, mud” as they worked to complete a foundation, to carpenters calling down from a roof for more shingles and nails. Going from one job site to another were women and young children hawking sandwiches and beverages. At the end of each day, make-shift beer gardens were packed with thirsty workers. There was never enough beer, nor women, to go around, and late evening brawls were common. During peak building periods the local police had their hands full. Except for the most serious crimes, arrest and jail weren’t the answer. Local authorities relied upon employers to keep their laborers under control. For them it was back to Tent City, where the offender could sleep it off and return to work the next day.
The resort quickly became a blue-collar town. Thousands of building tradesmen and laborers came to Atlantic City looking for work and many remained to make it their home. For nearly two generations after the second railroad, the resort was a place where strong hands could always find work. While things slowed down with the coming of fall, a laborer’s wages, along with odd jobs in the off-season, were usually enough to see a family through to spring. Between the years 1875 and 1900, the resort’s year-round population increased from less than 2,000 to nearly 30,000. Pitney’s beach village had become a city. By the turn of the 20th century, there were several neighborhoods taking shape. First- and second-generation Irish, Italians, and Jews, most by way of Philadelphia, came to town and brought their citified ways.
The Irish were part of the work gangs that built the original railroads and laid out the city’s streets. They formed construction companies and established taverns and boardinghouses. Italian craftsmen followed the Irish and worked with them in building hotels, boardinghouses, and homes. The Italians started local firms involving all the building trades and opened restaurants, food markets, and bakeries. Jewish merchants arrived at the turn of the century establishing retail businesses and playing a vital role in commercial development. Many were involved in banking, finance, the law, and accounting. Within a single generation after Samuel Richards’ second rail line, Absecon Island was transformed from a quiet beach village that shut down at the end of each summer to a bustling city based solely upon tourism.
Nationally, tourism and the hotel and recreation industry were in their infancy. There were only a handful of vacation spots and they were reserved for the wealthy. Outside of cities, the hotels that existed were generally large guesthouses and no one viewed the working class as potential patrons. But Atlantic City did and tourism became the only game in town. Scores of Philadelphia and New York businessmen saw the opportunity to profit from the hotel and recreation business and came to town in a frenzy. They brought the capital—in amounts Pitney and Richards could have only dreamt of—needed to build a city. In no time there was a fourth railroad providing direct rail service to New York City.
The speed in constructing new rail lines was matched only by the swiftness in constructing new hotels. The seven-story, 166-room, and 80-bath Garden Hotel, constructed in the 1880s, was erected in 72 working days. The five-story Hotel Rudolph, with a dance floor to accommodate 500, was constructed in 100 days. The 10-story landmark Chalfonte Hotel was erected in six months, breaking ground on December 9, 1903, and opening for guests on July 2, 1904, the 50th anniversary of the coming of the train. Year after year, construction on dozens of small hotels and boardinghouses began in the early spring and was completed in time for the summer season.
Boardinghouses lodged the bulk of Atlantic City’s visitors; by 1900, there were approximately 400 of them. Though lacking the glamour of most hotels, boardinghouses made it possible for blue-collar workers and their families to have an extended stay at the seashore. The accommodations were simple to the point of monotony but they were clean and comfortable, which was more than what most of the visitors had come from. It was common for strangers to double-up in a single room, and there were no private baths nor room service. Regardless, patron loyalty was strong and many guests returned to the same boardinghouse summer after summer. During the peak season, one could usually find a room in the large first-class hotels, but the low-end, smaller hotels and boardinghouses were always crammed to capacity.
Boardinghouse owners and their patrons were a critical cornerstone of the resort’s tourist economy. The visitor who came to town by an excursion couldn’t afford a stay in any of the larger hotels. If blue-collar workers and their families were to vacation for an entire week they needed a place within their means. Despite today’s notions of Atlantic City as a vacation spot for the wealthy, the resort could never have survived by catering to the upper class. It was the lower-middle and lower classes that were the lifeblood of Atlantic City. They comprised the great mass of visitors to the resort and the rates of most rooms were structured for them. That wasn’t true of the large hotels along the ocean, which charged rates ranging from $3 to $5 per day. Generally, the larger the hotel, the more expensive the rates and the more limited the clientele.
Rooms in the low-end smaller hotels could be rented for only $1.50 to $2, and that included food. Weekly rates of $8 to $12 were common. While there are no records of the rates charged by boardinghouses, it’s known their rooms were less than the cheapest hotels. As for a precise number of boardinghouses in the resort during its heyday, one can only speculate. There was no obligation for an owner to call his lodging a “boardinghouse” or “hotel.” Many small guesthouses of four to six rooms included “hotel” in their name. To make things more confusing, many establishments used the term “cottage.”
One historian has estimated that boardinghouses accounted for about 60 percent of all businesses renting rooms to tourists. With annual real wages of $1,000 or less for positions such as office clerks, government workers, postal employees, ministers, teachers, and factory workers, boardinghouse rates brought a week at the shore within the means of most visitors. Even the lower classes could afford a week at the shore if they planned ahead and saved for their vacation. Thousands of families did just that, setting aside small sums throughout the year for a week-long fling at the shore. With Atlantic City the only vacation spot to which there was direct rail service in the Northeast, hoteliers who treated their guests well could count on repeat business. And the railroads and resort merchants worked together to keep their working-class patrons coming.
One of the gimmicks used to lure visitors was to continue touting the resort as a health spa, with Pitney’s original promotional efforts evolving into pamphlets distributed by the railroads. Exaggerated claims of the health benefits of Absecon Island’s environment were an important part of selling Atlantic City to both Philadelphia and the nation. After Pitney died, the railroads hired other “distinguished men of medicine” who continued the tradition. These doctors were paid to make written endorsements and to prescribe a stay at the beach as the cure for every ailment. The railroads supplied the doctors with complimentary passes, which were passed on to those patients who had yet to visit the resort. Handouts published at the expense of the railroad distributed this medical advice to the general public and invariably described the resort’s air as “hostile to physical debility.”
There were no limits to the hype. “Next to being an inhabitant of Atlantic City, it must be one’s highest privilege to find rest, health and pleasure at the City by the Sea.” A favorite subject of the railroads’ doctors was ozone, “the stimulating, vitalizing principal of the atmosphere,” which was in large supply only at the seashore, especially Atlantic City. According to the railroads’ pamphlets
, “Ozone has a tonic, healing, purifying power, that increases as the air is taken into the lungs. It strengthens the respiratory organs, and in stimulating them, helps the whole system.” But that wasn’t all. By breathing Atlantic City’s air, “It follows naturally that the blood is cleansed and revived, tone is given to the stomach, the liver is excited to healthful action and the whole body feels the benefit. Perfect health is the inevitable result.”
In addition to the pamphlets cranked out by the railroads, there were a series of travelers’ handbooks published from 1887 to 1908 by Alfred M. Heston, a self-appointed cheerleader for the resort. Heston was well-educated and had worked for several newspapers prior to making Atlantic City his home. An owlish, scrawny little man, Heston’s appearance was marked by pince-nez eyeglasses and a closely groomed mustache. Somewhat eccentric, he was drawn to the study of ancient civilizations and progressive Republican politics. Heston was the editor of a local newspaper, the Atlantic City Review, and served as city comptroller from 1895 to 1912. His annual handbooks described a life of enchantment waiting for all who came to Atlantic City. They were filled with sketches of charming scenes of vacationers, hotel listings, recommended merchants and restaurants, activities for the family, and romantic little tales all intended to present Atlantic City to the world through rose-colored glasses. According to Heston, “The endless panorama of life upon the water, the strand, and the Boardwalk, constantly in motion and ever changing” made Atlantic City the “queen of watering places.”
Heston used his contacts in the publishing world to have his handbooks reviewed and publicized in major newspapers of the day while the railroad subsidized and circulated them. A traveler waiting for a train in Boston, Pittsburgh, Chicago, or in nearly any of the thousands of railroad stations throughout the United States could always find a free copy of the Heston handbook.
Boardwalk Empire: The Birth, High Times, and Corruption of Atlantic City Page 4