LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth |
CAMPTalk |
by Bill Sievert |
Memories are Made of This...
Do you ever wonder why your memories of a particular weekend at the beach are so different from those of your friends? Well, now a study by researchers at the University of California at Irvine has come up with a possible explanation. The power of suggestion allows many of us to have vivid recollections about things that never occurred. Take, for example, the white paneled van that so many witnesses to the sniper attacks in the Washington area last fall reported seeing at the scenes. As it turned out, no such vehicle was involved. But after news media quoted one person as having seen it, dozens of "eyewitnesses" at later shootings also envisioned the van. The California researchers decided to put the suggestibility theory to a test, asking folks who had been to Disneyland if they enjoyed hugging Bugs Bunny during their visit. More than a third of the interviewees agreed that the rabbit hug was indeed a magic moment, despite the fact that Bugs is not a Disney character and never appears at its theme parks. The researchers theorize that simple suggestion is the reason some of us believe we have seen flying saucers and others of us confess to crimes we didn't commit. We apparently have easily manipulated minds. Sometimes this is a bad thing, such as when political officeholders, in an attempt to advance misguided agendas, try to implant falsehoods in our brains. Recent surveys indicate that a large percentage of Americans are certain Iraq was instrumental in the terrorist attacks of September 11, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. But, if it helps mount public support for war, the White House is quite content to let the misinformation spread without rebuttal. In other situations, false memories can improve upon the real thing. Often our fake recollections are superior to the truth. If you had taken a photograph of that "hot guy" you boasted about going out with one sultry night last summer, you might now be shocked by your poor judgment (or by how much you had to drink that evening). Without a doubt, we can all be quite selective about what we choose to remember. That's why some of us return from a rainy weekend at the beach claiming to have had a great time while others frown at the drippy experience. Some of us fondly reminisce about a Saturday spent dancing the night away at the Renegade; others only recall not having hooked up with anyone. I say, more power to those of us who prefer to press Pollyanna-like images into our memory books. For the most part, the older memories get, the better they become. A couple years after college graduation, many of us still wake up nights worrying that we overslept an important exam or that we are about to flunk chemistry. A few years later, we're telling younger people that "college is the best time of your life." As one who has seen the Rehoboth Beach area inflate into an overly stretched balloon of urban-like sprawl (and astonishingly pricey real estate) during the last two decades, I remember the good old days most fondly. The passing of the Renegade, a victim of the "new" Rehoboth economy, calls to mind those wonderful years when the gay community could choose between two large dance clubs (the Strand and Renegade), both of which flourished in peaceful coexistence. (Or, could my memory be sketchy about the "coexistence" part?) Today, as I look at all the photos of mature faces and receding hairlines that fill this publication's CAMPshots pages, I have a recollection of a time when clubs like the Boathouse and Renegade were filled primarily with young people. Of course, that was before the cost of lodging and real-estate turned Rehoboth into South Hampton. I don't believe this is a false memory, as even longtime Renegade manager Wayne Hodge pointed out in last month's issue, "The 20-year-olds don't have the money to come and stay at the beach like they used to." (It's nice to have verification of at least one of my memories.) Yes, my reminiscences about Rehoboth seem to focus mostly on a bygone era (the 1980s and 90s) when the community had room (and affordable rooms) for people of all ages and economic means. Now the Renegade has given way to yet another set of very expensive town homes, just as the beautiful horse farm and the golf course across the highway have disappeared to high-priced developments. I recall that, as recently as the mid-1980s, one could buy a townhouse near the Sports Complex for $75,000 or a detached cottage four blocks from the beach for under $150,000. There was plenty of farmland along Route One between Lewes and Rehoboth, and the drive between the two towns made for a pleasant outing, rather than a daily nightmare of a memory. For the price of a couple beers, we could spend countless evenings on the breezy deck of the Rusty Rudder enjoying performances by classic rock performers like Donovan, John Sebastian of the Lovin' Spoonful, and Mitch Ryder. And I clearly evoke many splendid meals at the Blue Moon and Back Porch, back when an entre would set us back about $10 a person. Well, maybe it was $15. But that's the great thing we're discovering about memories. They're whatever we want them to be. And, for those of you who have just moved to the beach, perhaps having invested the better part of half-a-million on your vacation housing, and now sit in traffic waiting to pay $40 for a petite portion of lamb at a local bistro, welcome. For you, these will undoubtedly become the good old days, quite fondly to be remembered. Former Rehoboth resident Bill Sievert, who now lives in Florida where he is the editor of a national magazine for visual artists, hopes to return to Rehoboth this year for a visit...if only he can remember his way back. |
LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 13, No. 2, March 7, 2003 |