Maureen Cawley

It was a cold Friday evening in January, and the few saloons in Wildwood that remained opened for the winter were packed. It wasn’t New Years Eve, but revelers drank with the same sense of urgency. Last call on January 16, 1920 was final.

The Eighteenth Amendment, which prohibited the manufacture, sale or transportation of alcohol, became the law of the land.

New Jersey did not want Prohibition. The state’s governor Edward Edward’s ran on a promise to make his state “as wet as the Atlantic Ocean.” When the time came, however, he had little choice. Though New Jersey refused to ratify the amendment, federal authorities made it clear that the law would be enforced.

Herbert Hoover called Prohibition a “noble experiment,” and the movement’s goals were noble. By abolishing alcohol consumption, temperance advocates hoped to reduce crime and poverty, and to improve the nation’s quality of life. Unfortunately, thirteen years of Prohibition had the opposite effect.

An elaborate underworld developed to quench the nation’s thirst. Alcohol was smuggled into the country on ships from Canada and overseas. America’s massive coastline insured that rumrunners could unload their cargo largely undetected, and when necessary they bribed authorities to look the other way.

Wildwood’s harbors and coastline made it a bootlegger’s dream. Freighters dropped anchor beyond the three mile limit and became offshore wholesalers of illegal spirits. Some of these boats catered only to professional bootleggers, but others sold liquor by the case to fisherman and recreational boaters. Many Americans developed a love of boating during this period, and rentals of pleasure boats increased sharply.

The United States Coast Guard was left with the formidable task of policing the coast. They had 75 patrol boats and 12,000 miles of coastline to patrol. Hundreds of rumrunners in powerful skiffs sped through waterways undetected or simply outran the cumbersome government vessels. When the Coast Guard obtained high-powered motorboats to aid in their effort, they had some limited success, but the agency was ill-equipped to meet the challenge.

In June of 1924, Domenic Cappachione of Baker Avenue was arrested by Captain Charles Wright, Jr. of the Anglesea Coast Guard. According to the Wildwood Leader, Cappachione’s boat, the “Loretta,” was intercepted by Captain Wright when he attempted to purchase liquor from “a schooner 16 miles off-shore.” Wright declared he was “determined that rumrunners should not bring the stuff in through Hereford Inlet.” Apparently, he was far more dedicated to the mission than some of his fellow sailors.

A local news article from this period reported that the Coast Guard had obtained Loening amphibian planes to become the agency’s “eyes.” Officials hoped that “all fraternizing of coast guards with rumrunners (would) be reduced to a minimum through the activities of the planes.”

Ottens Harbor and Hereford Inlet both became hubs for smuggling “hooch.” Liquor was also brought right onto the beach, where it was transferred to trucks and delivered to warehouses or “speakeasies.”

Local industries became fronts for the clandestine business of alcohol sales. Coney’s Express, a trucking company, owned by local resident, K.K. Kirby, was largely a cover for his bootlegging business. Consolidated Fisheries in North Wildwood packed liquor into its fish barrels and shipped the cargo north to Atlantic City.

Residents of rural Cape May County turned to the production of moonshine or “bathtub gin.” The granddaughter of a Wildwood club owner reported that her grandfather frequently rode out “to the country” to buy liquor from farmers. The state police found dozens of stills in the rural communities of Belleplain, Woodbine and Marintown, according to Jeffrey M. Dorwart’s book, Cape May County, New Jersey.

Wildwood police conducted raids rarely. When they did, it was usually in conjunction with federal and state authorities. In February of 1923, the Leader reported that local police and state troopers conducted a raid on four area “speakeasies.” Charges of a “disorderly house” or “possession of alcohol” were brought against the offenders. Steep fines were imposed for these offenses, but they rarely had a lasting effect.

There are reports that many of Wildwood’s drinking establishments remained open in spite of Prohibition. Moore’s benefited from its proximity to the sea, and according to their website, liquor from England and Russia was practically delivered to their door. Some establishments, like Hogan’s Beverages and the Elmira Hotel, flouted the law and advertised the sale of beer in plain sight, according to one local source.

Others preferred a more discreet approach, and a ring of “speakeasies” operated around Otten’s Harbor. The proprietors of these “juice joints” became experts at hiding their illegal activities. A secret password or membership card was all a thirsty citizen needed to gain admittance. Liquor stills were imbedded in walls and fitted with rubber hoses for dispensing whiskey or gin. If a raid occurred, the precious liquid was well-hidden behind the plaster.

In 1982, Benjamin Lauriello found two of these stills while completing renovations on a building at 501 Montgomery Avenue. The copper tanks were wrapped in burlap and embedded in the wall. Local sources reported to the Atlantic City Press that Lauriello’s building had once housed a “speakeasy” called Chester Dick’s Harbor Inn.

According to one source, the “inn” was also a brothel. Customers were “entertained” in a private room upstairs, and liquor was delivered to them an on a dumb waiter that had also been installed in the building.

The tanks from Chester Dick’s are currently on display at the Wildwood Historical Museum on Pacific Avenue. The surface of one tank is marked with holes. While no one is sure how the tank was punctured, museum curator, Robert Scully, Jr., believes the holes are possibly the result of a law enforcement effort to locate the stills during a raid.

Some citizens did remain “dry” during Prohibition, but for others the “forbidden fruit” proved too enticing. The black market was so established that breaking the law became routine. A subculture of gangsters gained power and notoriety across the country. Wildwood, though it had no Al Capone, saw a steep increase in violent criminal activity.

Gun battles erupted at sea between Coast Guard patrols and rumrunners in clear view of beachgoers. The city’s chief of police, Oakford M. Cobb, was shot and wounded by a gunman. The Wildwood Leader reported that Charles Pantalone, alias “Bobby Dillon” and Cosmos Cappachione were indicted for hijacking in September of 1930.

Criminal activity did not scare tourists away from the town. In fact, the opposite was true. Smuggled booze brought adult visitors to the town in search of entertainment, and bootleggers like K.K. Kirby became popular public figures. In fact, Kirby was elected to Wildwood’s city council in April of 1932.

In 1931, a presidential commission reported what most citizens already knew – the “noble experiment” had failed. The Great Depression brought additional pressure on the government to legalize the liquor industry and provide jobs to the thousands who were out of work. Prohibition had sparked the “Roaring Twenties,” an era of lawlessness and rebellion. Congress passed the Twenty-First Amendment on February 20, 1933, and Prohibition was repealed.

In Cape May County, 72 percent of voters approved the repeal of Prohibition. New regulatory laws were passed. Liquor licenses were issued to establishments that had operated illegally for more than a decade. Bootleggers invested their fortunes in new businesses in The Wildwoods.

The era of Prohibition seemed to disappear as quickly as it came but Wildwood’s reputation as an exciting, tourist destination was established - the island was as wet as the Atlantic.

(Originally publlished in Wildwood Properties)

The enemy ship cruised silently off the coast, but residents of Holly Beach were ready. More than once they had watched Menhaden steamers troll beyond the shoreline. The ships dipped their nets into the water, and pirated away with thousands of tiny menhaden, or pogy, fish. This time, however, the islanders had a plan.
It was 1885, the year that Holly Beach incorporated into a town. The island was still a wild place, where wild cattle and hogs roamed freely in the woods. There were fewer than 500 residents, but like the Scandinavian fisherman who populated the shores of Anglesea, Holly Beach residents depended on fishing for survival. Islanders had little tolerance for the trespassers who fished pogy from local waters. The law might not have been on their side, but it didn’t dissuade these early pioneers from taking the matter into their own hands.

When the steamer Samuel Allen set out to sea that summer morning, hoping to harvest ugly bait fish from the waters offshore from Holly Beach, they had no idea just how seriously “Holly Beachers” took their fish.

According to an article that appeared in the Cape May County Gazette on July 25, 1885, the ship “came within gunshot of shore, (and) the fisherman were received with a volley of rifle balls from Holly Beachers.” The ships inhabitants scrambled for cover, and soon took off for distant waters.

When questioned about the incident, the local assailants promised, “A cannon has been procured for the next time the steamers trespass.”

The steamers did return, and though they were never warmly welcomed, they were also never met with cannon fire. Instead, they became part of the booming and diverse fishing industry.

The waters around Five Mile Beach had always been fertile fishing ground. The Lenni Lenapi tribes fished here frequently. They feasted on striped bass while vacationing along its shores in the summer, and they used the menhaden fish as fertilizer to grow corn.

Early settlers to Cape May County learned from the Native Americans and fished these waters, too. Mainland residents established oyster beds in the island’s marshes. As early as 1632, whalers from present-day Town Bank landed their catches on the shores of Five Mile Beach, and by 1848, a Life Saving Station was established and manned in Anglesea to rescue fisherman in distress.

By the 1870’s, fishing shacks were erected along the coast in Anglesea. Their occupants - many from Sweden, Norway and Denmark – were the island’s first settlers, and the area soon became a major fishing hub. Commercial vessels from the Hereford Fish Company operated from Mace’s Boat Landing in the vicinity of Moore’s Inlet. During the week of July 25, 1894, 140,000 pounds of fish were packed and shipped from the harbor in Anglesea.

Sport fishing charters and party boats were also available from the inlet. One local captain, Joshua Shivers, advertised his expertise in Philadelphia, promising to help recreational fishermen plan a successful outing from Mace’s Landing.

Further south, Holly Beach founder, Phillip Baker, improved Holly Beach by arranging for a harbor to be carved out near Burk Ave (and what is now Park Blvd.). Tourism brochures boasted “a splendid inland waterway, three thousand feet long and a thousand feet wide” in Holly Beach Harbor. 44,560 pounds of fish were shipped from Holly Beach in October of 1895.

Early fishing methods were not very efficient by today’s standards. Two men would typically row out to sea sixteen miles from the beach in a sixteen-foot dory. After twelve to fourteen hours of fishing with hooks and line, they could expect to bring in one half to three barrels of fish. From there, the fish were iced and transported by wagon to the freight station. Fisherman organized in 1899, and formed the Hook and Line Fisherman’s Association, but this type of fishing was short-lived. The dories were soon replaced by gas-powered boats; ships grew in size and fishing methods improved. Trawl nets and “purse-seines” were eventually the preferred method of procuring fish commercially.In 1906, North Wildwood real estate developer Henry H. Ottens turned his attention to expanding the Holly Beach Harbor. Ottens brought a marine railway to the harbor, and an onsite ice house to simplify the shipping process.

By the 1920’s, Anglesea boats preferred pulling into Ottens’ harbor, at least in part, because deeper water was found there. The area quickly became the hub of Wildwood’s commercial fishing industry. Records from the first six months of 1928, indicate that 100,000 barrels of fish, each weighing 200 pounds were packed and shipped from Wildwood to New York and Philadelphia.

Early settlers to the island brought with them a keen sense of adventure and ambition. Unwilling to allow the major commercial fishing companies to make all the profits, several began to undertake the private enterprise of Pound Fishing.

These fisherman set traps, or pounds, for fish by staking huge semi-permanent nets in the sea. The fish would be forced into the nets and impounded there until the seaman harvested their catch. This method was dangerous, but it allowed entrepreneurial individuals to compete with bigger companies. Pound fishermen reaped huge benefits for their effort. The beach at Burk Avenue was a popular spot for pound fishing because the fish could be brought quickly to the freight station, which once operated from Davis Avenue near the current location of Wildwood’s City Hall.

Wildwood was well-known as a major commercial fishing center for much of its early history. Menhaden fishermen continued to sink their nets into the Atlantic near Wildwood’s shore. Menhaden fishing accounted for more than 30% of landings in Cape May County in 1957, according to New Jersey Department of Agriculture statistics. The Menhaden Plant on Rio Grande Avenue just off-shore from Wildwood provided work for nearly 200 county residents for several decades.

Fishing for menhaden continued to be controversial. No one who drove by the processing plant was indifferent to the smell, and opponents claimed the steamers polluted the water and removed valuable baitfish from the local population. Critics also claimed the steamers attracted sharks to the bathing beaches. Advocates of the menhaden plant fought the claim, but the menhaden population eventually dwindled and the plant closed in the 1980’s. Ironically, the foul-smelling fish plant was replaced by a wastewater treatment plant.

Visitors to Ottens’ Harbor today would see only a few commercial vessels. Declining fish populations, government regulation and the boom of real estate development on Wildwood’s coast have drastically changed the landscape.
Ottens’ Harbor Ice House has been replaced by luxury condominiums, and most commercial fishermen now dock in other ports in Cape May, Lower Township, or Atlantic City.

A few hardy seamen still pull in at Ottens’ Harbor, and as the weathered boats enter the harbor, past fleets of jet skis and personal watercraft, the lucky residents of Montgomery Avenue can still catch a glimpse of the island the way it used to be.

Tourism has slowly replaced commercial fishing in Wildwood, but that is not to say that all of Wildwood’s fishermen are gone. Thousands of sportsmen and women visit every year to troll the waters beyond Wildwood’s coast. Some use a “hook and line” from shore. Others charter boats, or set sail on party boats. Children dip crab pots into the bay at Grassy Sound.

Wildwood began as a fishing village, and its history is bound to the sea. Even those of us who have never dropped anchor or baited a hook are moved by its familiar images: fishing shacks along the coast, boats sailing out on the horizon, and hearty adventurers returning home to share their catch. Wildwood has always been passionate about fishing. It’s why the first visitors settled on its shores, and it’s why others keep coming back.

(Originally publlished in Wildwood Properties)

Wildwood’s real estate boom can be disorienting. Have you driven down a street in recent months and found yourself looking for buildings that are no longer there?

Believe it or not, lightning-fast demolition is not a new phenomenon on the island. Eighty five years ago, Wildwood’s residents awoke to find one of their most treasured landmarks had disappeared. City Commissioner Oliver Bright had led a clandestine crew of laborers to do a job that many citizens opposed. The men worked under cover of darkness and in the morning, wood pilings and scraps were laid out along Atlantic Avenue, and the boardwalk was gone.

It wasn’t the first time a boardwalk in Wildwood had been disassembled. Initially, boardwalks were little more than wooden walkways that allowed pedestrians to pass over sandy terrain. According to a paper written by Robert J. Scully, Sr., curator of the Wildwood Historical Society, boardwalks connected Anglesea’s hotel and cottages as early as 1884, and by 1893 Holly Beach had boardwalks around its dance halls and pavilions.

Each of Wildwood’s early communities had their own promenades. Wildwood Crest’s boardwalk ran along what is now Seaview Avenue. North Wildwood’s walk was located “two hundred feet east” of where it is today. In 1898, Mayor Latimer Baker recommended that Wildwood erect a boardwalk “on the easterly margin of Atlantic Avenue.”

According to George Boyer’s book, “The Middle of the Island,” a debate ensued in council about the proposed location. Some councilmen and business owners preferred to have the structure built further east, but since no one at the time knew Wildwood’s beach would continue to grow, Baker’s proposed location prevailed.

Over time, these walks were modified and reconstructed, and by the early years of the twentieth century, a boardwalk stretched from North Wildwood into the Crest.

As the boardwalk expanded, it became an entertainment center. Amusement rides, eateries and bandstands soon appeared. Blaker’s Pavilion was an early landmark, and in 1906 its proprietor, Gilbert Blaker had applied for permission to operate 20 rolling chairs. These wicker chairs with wheels became a popular amusement for visitors who were pushed along the boardwalk for a small fee.

Blaker would soon be at the center of the controversy which led to Oliver Bright’s midnight escapade. Wildwood’s beach was growing every year and the boardwalk was in disrepair. The city authorized the construction of a new structure, which would run closer to the ocean, but Blaker challenged the move in court. The city ignored an injunction to halt demolition of the walk, and several people were found in contempt of court and fined. The boardwalk project was stalled.

In their book “Wildwood by the Sea,” Robert Scully, Sr. and coauthors David and Diane Francis describe how this series of “complicated legal actions brought construction of a new boardwalk to a stand-still.” Apparently Oliver Bright had grown impatient with the gridlock.

Bright, a Philadelphia native, began his career as a carriage and wagon painter, who specialized in gold leaf and scroll work. He later opened a successful livery and express business, which provided dry goods to local businesses. He then expanded his interest into real estate development, and he built the Chalfont Hotel on Pacific Avenue.

By all accounts, Bright was a colorful figure. He entered the island’s political scene as a councilman in Holly Beach, and he later became commissioner of the city’s second ward when that borough consolidated with Wildwood. In an obituary, he is remembered by an admirer as one of Wildwood’s “loyal and most colorful boosters,” and a “pioneer” with a “keen interest in community affairs.” He was also known for his “aggressiveness in boosting the community he was chosen to represent.”

It was perhaps that aggressiveness that led to his slick maneuver on the boardwalk project in 1919. According to Oliver Bright’s grandson, Robert Bright, the director of the Wildwood Historical Society, there may have been another motivation.

“He was in real estate,” Bright explained, “I’m sure he wanted that property to sell. He could have bought it when it went up on tax sale.” Bright said that very little was discussed about the boardwalk incident within his family, although he remembers it was his uncle who told him the story. “I think they wanted to keep it quiet,” he explained.

Few written records of the incident exist, but according to Bright, the other city leaders had gone to Washington DC to visit the local senator. “The way it was told to me, was that the politicians left on one train and the workers came in on another,” Bright explained

According to a paper by Robert Scully, Sr., Wildwood Historical Society’s curator, “Oliver Bright and a group of hired hands, including Bright’s son, Robert, Sr. who was 11 years old at the time, tore up the boardwalk with only the pilings left as a silent reminder of where the walk had been.”

“The police couldn’t even stop him,” Bright explained, “Because they were under his jurisdiction.” The midnight caper was not popular with many boardwalk business owners, and angry protests ensued. When the dust settled, Bright was removed from office in a recall election.

Blaker eventually submitted to the city in the legal proceedings, and in August of 1921, the new boardwalk was completed where it stands today.

According to Robert Bright, his ancestors, who were among Wildwood’s earliest pioneers, were not always popular or scrupulous. He proudly offered as an example the speech given at a city council meeting by Commissioner Percy Jackson. It was included in the meeting’s minutes:

I’m tired of women. I’m tired of sin.


I’m tired of whiskey. I’m tired of gin.


I’m tired of the days. I’m tired of the nights.


But mostly I’m tired of those g–d— Brights.

Oliver Bright may not have been popular with everyone, but he certainly left an impression on the City of Wildwood. And one way or another, he got things done.

(Originally publlished in Wildwood Properties)