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Originally published in 1939
Some of this information may no longer be current and in that case is presented for historical interest only.
Edited by GET NJ, COPYRIGHT 2003
ATLANTIC CITY (15 alt., 66,198 pop.) is many things to many people. To an estimated 16,250,000 persons annually it is the ideal vacation place; a carnival city as characteristic of this country's culture as Brighton or the Riviera are of Europe's. To some it represents the concentrated Babbitry of America on parade. To those of the city's 66,198 inhabitants who profit from the pleasure of the 16,250,000 it is simply a year-round business.
Atlantic City has developed neither as a super-resort of New Jersey nor as another Coney Island, but as a glittering monument to the national talent for wholesale amusement. As the pitchman who sells kitchen gadgets on the boardwalk says at the end of his spiel: "I don't coax anybody. If you want it, come up and get it!" And from all corners of the country the millions come -- by bus, train, automobile, plane and yacht -- throughout the year. Each season brings its characteristic crowd: honeymooners, teachers, elderly retired couples, vacationing white collar workers, ministers, businessmen and their families. Uncoaxed, they come and get it. Of the whole American population, only trailer-travelers who wish to bring their trailers into the city limits are prohibited by city ordinance. The hotels and rooming houses have no desire to see "The World's Health and Pleasure Resort" re-established' on a freewheeling basis.
Except for the fact that the city fronts the Atlantic Ocean, Atlantic City's geography is unimportant to the visiting host. Yet it plays a vital part in their pleasure. The Philadelphians and Camdenites who come mostly for a day or a week-end's bathing seldom learn that the peculiar coast curve shields the section from devastating northeastern storms. Nor do the New Yorkers, who are more likely to spend a week or a fortnight, often realize that the Gulf Stream comes near enough Atlantic City to temper its winter climate. Finally, few of the visitors from all over the land notice that their mecca is actually an island: for the immense marshes crisscrossed by highways and railways, over which every visitor gets his first skyline glimpse of Atlantic City, hide deep channels that completely cut off this densely populated strip of beach from the mainland.
These natural considerations are subordinated to one of the most fascinating man-made shows playing to capacity audiences anywhere in the world. Here Madame Polaska reads your life like an open book; here Ruth Snyder and Judd Gray sit for eternity in horror-stricken suspense on an electric chair that fails to function; here an assortment of the World's Foremost Astrologers reveal the future at so much a glimpse; here hundreds sit and play Bingo; here the bright lights of Broadway burn through a sea haze; here Somebodies tumble over other Somebodies and over Nobodies as well.
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