Senior Moments
The Oct. 9, 2025 edition of Shore Local Newsmagazine ran a story by Mari D’Albora Dattolo on the old Sunshine Park Nudist Colony, formerly in Mays Landing. Allow me to share my personal experiences with the nudist colony, and it’s not what you may think. In fact, it’s not what I thought it would be.
In 1968 I was enrolled at Atlantic Community College (ACC), before it became Atlantic Cape Community College (ACCC) when classmate asked if I would like to join the rowing team. Even though I lived in the hotbed of South Jersey high school rowing, I never considered participating in the sport. I have always enjoyed being in or on the water, so I agreed to look into it.
My visions of paddling down a bucolic river and enjoying the salt breezes were quickly dashed when the early winter months were filled with indoor training. I had never trained seriously for anything before. Workouts were so strenuous that I was periodically reminded of what I had eaten that day, and sometimes of what I had eaten the previous year. The only thing persuading me to endure the discomfort of training was the humiliation I would feel if I were to quit.
Our coach, Jim Wortman, was also the physical education instructor at the college. Not only had Wortman never coached rowing; he had also never rowed. All he knew he gleaned from books and personal contacts. He also relied heavily on rowers who were on crew in high school.
Yet Coach Wortman was resourceful, motivated and determined. He managed to procure an old, wooden, eight-oared shell along with wooden oars. All racing shells were made of wood at the time, but this one seemed heavier than a water-soaked redwood.
So where does one store a nearly 60-foot boat? February came around, and Coach gave us the good news; he had found a place for us to row and store the shell, and it was right on the Great Egg Harbor River in Mays Landing. It was the Sunshine Park Nudist Colony.
One can imagine the reaction of a bunch of 18- to 20-year-old guys on hearing we were going to be rowing out of a nudist colony. Coach Wortman knew what he was up against, and gave us a lecture on appropriate, and inappropriate behavior, laying out the severe consequences for the latter.
So early one cold February morning, we all pulled into the nudist colony for our first day on the water. It was cold and bleak, and the river had a thin coating of ice along the shoreline. I don’t know what we were thinking, but who is going to be out in the middle of February with no clothes on? Silently and crestfallen, we picked up our boat and our oars.
Cracking the ice with our bare feet, we walked the boat into the water up to our knees. My only comfort was that I wasn’t suffering alone, and I still could not bear the humiliation of quitting. This went on through the dawn hours for the rest of the winter and into the spring.
Finally, in May the weather warmed up. One morning, a few of us rode with Coach to the park. He stopped at the entrance, and the owner, Dr. York, strolled out of his house to meet us. All he was wearing was a white baseball hat and white tennis shoes. Coach greeted him warmly as he stood at the driver’s door.
We looked nervously at each other and tried to avert our eyes. Coach, sensing our unease, dragged the conversation on longer than was necessary until he mercifully bid the doctor goodbye.
As our rowing season drew to a close and more park patrons began to appear in various stages of undress, I observed one old man (who was probably younger than I am now) attempting to fly a kite at the water’s edge wearing nothing but a subtle smile. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world.
Coach Wortman would repeatedly gesture at boaters to slow down when approaching our shell, but for some reason, the closer we got to the park, curiously, a number of them experienced engine problems as they approached the park’s pier.
Almost a decade later, my former brother-in-law, Dan, and I would trailer our motorcycles to an old quarry in Estell Manor to go dirtbike riding. He told us we were picking up his friend, Doug, and his bike to join us. Doug came out of his house and told us we must make a stop to pick up his bike at his uncle’s cabin in Mays Landing.
While en route, I asked Doug where his bike was. He told us to take the next left where the sign says Sunshine Park.
My comment of, “Oh, I’ve been here before,” spun their heads around. It hadn’t changed much, and memories came flooding back. I refrained from asking Doug if his uncle liked to fly kites.
Charles Eberson has been in the newspaper business for over 25 years. He has worked as a writer, advertising executive, circulation manager and photographer. His photography can be viewed at charles-eberson.fineartamerica.com
