I’ve been noticing a lot of Idaho, Washington and California license plates these days, the coastal cue that it is once again Spring Break.
Not to date myself, but back in the day we didn’t have Spring Break in Pennsylvania. Or at least no one told me about it. We had Easter. We didn’t run off to Mexico; we didn’t even go to the shore. We went to Sunrise Service, we went on Easter egg hunts, we went to dinner — usually in my parents’ dining room accompanied by a dozen or so family members. We didn’t wear thongs, we wore patent leather shoes and lacy dresses and maybe a hat and gloves. And no, wet T-shirt contests were not featured in the entertainment, though that surely would have livened things up a bit.
Spring Break didn’t really become a concept to me until I enrolled in classes at the University of Alaska, and then spring break was just that — a break from the books. And while a few students might have run off to Hawaii, I was lucky to be able to afford a round-trip ticket on the public bus system.
And then of course, suddenly it seemed everyone was taking Spring Break and I couldn’t help wondering what had I missed? How did the teenage me not know that it was a rite of passage to spend one week in spring in some hot tropical place? I mean, Florida was a reasonable drive. I could have so been there.
I did once have the misfortune of inadvertently ending up in Cabo during Spring Break. I must confess that girls in bikinis downing industrial strength punch then flinging themselves round and round a stake stuck in the sand before letting go and doing a face plant, was definitely lost on me.
Here on the coast, Spring Break has long been part of our seasonal cycle, almost a holiday in its own right — regardless of when Easter falls. Seaside likes to claim itself as the first Spring Break destination, though there was a period when that title came with much regret. Riots, like those in 1999, will do that. (If you missed that year, search the subject on YouTube.)
So this year, I decided to do some research. Where did it all come from? When did it begin? Turns out, I was so late to the party, I really did miss it. Here’s what I gathered from a March 2014 article in New York Magazine:
Spring Break got its start in Fort Lauderdale in 1935 — 1935! — my own mother was still in kindergarten — when a swim coach took his team there to train, sparking an annual conference.
It got a real bump when an English professor tagged along to Fort Lauderdale with some students and wrote a book, “Where the Boys Are,” which then became a movie and song. And here’s the thing, I know that movie. I can sing that song. And yet, there I was clueless.
From there it was thongs and wet T-shirt contests and in 1986, MTV’s Spring Break, which I missed because I was stuck in Juneau with a borrowed TV and no cable.
Some other cultural moments we can credit to Spring Break: the first time the term “woody” was used on TV (thanks again, MTV), and the first flavored condom — called Kiss of Mint, no less.
While I haven’t partaken in many Spring Breaks myself, I have written about it a number of times. I wrote about Seaside, luckily riot-free these days, and the place to go for bumper cars and arcade games; and Lincoln City, where glass blowing is big, and of course, my hometown of Newport, currently celebrating the arrival of new sea lion docks at Bachelor Row.
And once, I wrote about one of favorite coastal towns — Manzanita. The local business people loved it.
Everyone else, it seemed, wanted to put a hit out on my head. How dare I share word of a beautiful place so that others might also enjoy it?
One man wrote, repeatedly, to ask who paid me to write it. As in, not my employer, but what business owner had bought me? Another woman, apparently an avid visitor to the village during Spring Break herself, called and left me a message that ended: ‘You must be dumber than hell.’
No, I thought to reply, just smart enough to live in one of the most beautiful places on Earth, which means, as always, I get to stay home for Spring Break.
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