PRHON THE CORNER
THANKS for MEMORIES Clap your hands, clap your hands! ON THE CORNER
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with
photo by ANDREW ANDREOZZI
outh Jersey’s most iconic nightclub is turning 50. Through the years, clubs along the coastline, some with catchy names like The Stardust, Shamrock, Deja Vu and Chez Paree, all had their days in the sun. And like the ghosts of summers past, each with tales to tell. But the one still standing stoically, like an ageless, undefeated, heavyweight champion is Memories in Margate. No surprise really, considering the man behind the turntables is, in fact, a timeless wonder who needs no introduction. If I say Geator, you say, Jerry. Blavat – that is. With his star shining brighter than ever, the “Geator with the Heater” still lands the punch that packs the house. Now in its golden anniversary year, the place he calls home every warm weather weekend remains as hot as the summer sand on an August afternoon. For a nightclub, Memories has always danced to its own beat. Unequaled in a sense that the music is of another day and another time. Everything from his signature rap to introduce “Heat Wave,” to a jitterbugging ditty like The Capris’ “Morse Code of Love,” is delivered with the youthful enthusiasm that is uniquely Blavat. The “yon teens,” now with silver crowning their hair, remain as slick and smooth on the floor as ever. They’re still doing the Wagner Walk, Soul City Walking or just Twistin’ the Night Away. But the beauty of it all is that every generation represents, here. Memories is an eclectic blend, where the city meets the sand, all ready to let the good times roll deep into the summer night. With no cliche intended, Memories is that place where everyone knows your name. It starts with “the big boss” who seemingly recognizes everyone and always has his finger on the pulse of the club. With a simple “maa man” or a nod to your corner hang - “8th and Federal in the house!” - before long, the Geator will shout you out.
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| ROWHOME MAGAZINE | April / May / June 2022
MARK CASASANTO
It’s why I love Memories. I’m not the “clubbing” type, however. Never was. Never will be. Friday in Philly or Saturday night “Down’a shore,” it doesn’t matter. I’m just a cigar, cognac, patio chair and a hoodie away from a self-imposed good time. Although there was that one summer… I was spending a long weekend in Margate with friends. In lieu of making an ill-advised deposit at a glitzy casino, we decided on a guaranteed good time and headed over to party with the Geator. I made it maybe 30 feet past the doorman before I was bear-hugged by a former football playing friend I hadn’t seen since DVYAA in the mid ‘70s. That was just the first of many hugs, high-fives and handshakes, that night. Probably best I wasn’t in the witness protection program. Memories isn’t the place to go if ya wanna lay low! We laughed, we sang, we danced. It was the fun that should be associated with a weekend at the Jersey shore. Yet, my personal recall of that evening is trying rather unceremoniously to flip the lime in my first-ever bottle of Corona. Ahh, yes. Memories! (And a beer-stained shirt). I’ve buried a few Coronas with an inverted lime since then. I’ve also meandered my way on and off Amherst Avenue in Margate more than I can remember. I’ve boiled the appeal down to this. A night at Memories is akin to walking into a cousins’ party in the suburbs. It’s not something you do often. Then you wonder why you don’t do it more often. Finally, you realize, you must do it again, soon. That’s a tribute to Jerry. He is that guy. That cousin whose door is always open. The endearing host that defines “party over here!” As the title of his 2011 autobiography, You Only Rock Once, suggests, Blavat makes the most out of every waking minute. A virtual playbook for 50-somethings, not unlike yours truly, who still have some rocking to do, themselves. At 50 years old, Memories stands ready to help us all rock on! Happy Birthday, old friend! PRH
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