LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
CAMPTalk: No Satisfaction |
by Bill Sievert |
The Rolling Stones playing Dewey Beach? That's got to be a joke, I thought, when I first heard the rumor. Only a few years ago, the biggest musical acts that promoters could lure to venues in slower lower Delaware were faded pop stars from the 1950s and '60s: groups like The Tokens (The Lion Sleeps Tonight) and Mitch Ryder (Sock It to Me, Baby). Their shows, set on the deck of the Rusty Rudder, provided a lot of classic rock 'n roll fun for minimal cover charges. But, as with so many things in the greater Rehoboth area of late, the ante is getting higher. This summer, the Bottle & Cork has attempted in all seriousness, its management swears, to book the most expensive oldies act in the world, the Stones, to play a concert in September from a barge docked on the Bay behind Ruddertown. At first, the Cork's offer was laughable, $150,000 "plus free t-shirts." But the club kept upping the performance fee, finally to $1.2 million, plus $40,000 in security. Ticket prices would be in the $300 to $500 range. That's an extraordinary amount of money even for a concert at a city venue, and we're talking about Dewey Beach after Labor Day. It says a lot about the changing nature of metropolitan Rehoboth that promoters are confident a large enough group of people would cough up the big bucks to get a glimpse of the geriatric Glimmer Twins (Jagger and Richards) staggering around a beached barge. Every year, almost everything about the Delaware shore becomes dramatically more expensive. In the past decade, I've seen a rack of lamb at a favorite bistro rise in price from $17 to $28 to nearly $40, and the size of the rack has been shrinking like a head under a voodoo spell. To be fair, I must admit that I'm old enough to remember nickel Cokes (in my early childhood), but what amazes me about Rehoboth's current economy is the frantic pace of inflation. Take the real estate market, for example. I first learned of the possibility of the Stones concert from a Rehoboth realtor's newsletter. I suppose that the agent, who would love to sell John and me a house to replace the one we sold a couple years ago, figures that anyone who can afford resort-area property today would think nothing of dropping half-a-grand on the opportunity to hear Jagger "get no satisfaction" one more time. But we've already experienced two of the Stones' "retirement" tours for much less money. And, even with the amount we would save by not buying tickets, we can no longer afford to replace our old Rehoboth home. Prices simply have gone through the roof in the last 18 months. The cost of newly constructed housing, even townhouses, is particularly frightening. Just a stone's throw east of one of the area's poorest neighborhoods, South Rehoboth, rises a big new development of townhouses (about $400,000 for a four-bedroom unit) and detached homes (you can get a four-boudoir model for a mere $679,000). This is not beachfront property, or even fourth-ocean-block. To get to the surf, buyers still must wait their way into Rehoboth Avenue traffic, pass the storage lot of propane gas tanks, cross over the drawbridge and then start looking for a place to park. But there appears to be no shortage of buyers. Perhaps, as is the case with a few of my more affluent friends, groups of frightened investors are grabbing up such properties because they see resort real estate as the only way to protect whatever savings they haven't already lost to a bombing stock market and collapsing 401-Ks. It's a theory that also could apply to those lamb chops: better to eat up now than to lose out on the opportunity later. Of course, I will be shocked to see these new real estate investments grow. Are we really approaching a time when a townhouse on the outskirts of Rehoboth will cost three-quarters of a million and up? How things change (except, perhaps, for the Stones repertoire). When John and I first began looking at property in the Rehoboth area in the mid-1980s, a realtor refused to take us to a value-priced property we had seen advertised. "Oh, no, I can't show you that one," he said. "That's in a colored area." Although we said that we'd still like to see the house, he quickly steered his car (and us) away. Less than two decades later, white investors are tossing millions into West Rehoboth's backyard. As the area skyrockets in value, I can't help but worry about what will become of all the African-Americans who have made the neighborhood (long neglected by local governments) their home for generations? At least those folks who own their own houses in West Rehoboth might finally get a chance to make some bucks selling out to eager white buyers. But they might be better advised to take a cue from what's happening in Florida, where black investors are banding together to hang on to at least some of the properties threatened by developers who have made incursions into their traditional seaside areas. One good example is American Beach, the struggle over which is part of the plot in John Sayles' excellent new film Sunshine State. But where are low-income residents supposed to go when their neighborhoods are consumed by new developments for the upper-crusty set? Farther and farther away from the beach, it seems. And that can only lead to even less racial and economic diversity in an already unusually white town. Ironically, so little diversity makes the Rehoboth area less appealing to some black people who can afford its high-priced real estate market. My old college roommate is one such man. A well-paid, nationally known journalist who makes his year-round home in racially mixed Takoma Park, Maryland, he has enjoyed several vacations at the beach with his wife and kids. A while back, he asked me where his family might purchase a summer house in the Rehoboth area. "Well, anywhere you like," I said. "How about my old neighborhood, the Yacht and Country Club Development, or King's Creek?" "Are there other black families there?" "Not that I've ever noticed," I had to admit. "It's not that we mind being around a lot of white folks," he said with a laugh. "It's just that, if we're going to spend much time there, we'd like the kids to be exposed to some other black people." "Well, just like us gay folks, you're everywhere," I tried to defend Delmarva's shores. "Maybe Lewes would be a good place to look." Then I remembered how many of that town's black families have been displaced by pricey new houses snatched up by white people. "Why don't you talk to a couple realtors?" My friend said that he would, and he did. But he didn't come away from his discussions with much enthusiasm. "I think we'll just put an addition on our house in Takoma," he said, "and use the difference for taking the kids on some world travels. Broaden their horizons, you know." I haven't heard from my old roomie since he set out for broader horizons. But, back in our post-graduate days in Washington, we were both big fans of the Rolling Stones, and we would sing along loudly whenever Brown Sugar or Jumpin' Jack Flash came on the radio. So, if the band ever does sign a contract to play Rehoboth Bay, I'll probably give him a call and try to arrange a reunion for the show. Given current market conditions, what better place than the nation's summer capital to join Mick Jagger in belting out, "You Can't Always Get What You Want" and, of course, "I Can't Get No Satisfaction." Bill Sievert, a transplanted Delawarean, resides in Florida. He may be reached at allforthecause@aol.com. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 12, No. 11, August 9, 2002. |