Hugh Connell, an ad man in New York I know, recently sent me three copies of The Beachcomber from August and September 1954. He sold advertising that summer, along with “Poochy” Thomas, who a year later would buy the newspaper. I was 7 at the time and spent most summers in Harvey Cedars.

Memories of ’54 and later summerscame back asI pagedthrough the yellowing, musty issues, anaroma reminiscent of the smell of a summer house after a long, cold and damp winter.