Never Let Them Know What You’re Thinking
The response to "Selling the Ghost of Asbury Park" caught me off guard. I was raised under the "Never Let Them Know What You’re Thinking" directive. Attention is just not something I'll ever be comfortable with. I’m about 1,000% sure the people that know me personally are surprised that I’m writing these pieces. It's great to see the effort to save the Asbury Casino has gained some traction. There is a petition now: SAVE THE CASINO.
Years ago, I participated in a documentary about Asbury Park. At the time, I thought I had a lot to say. Then the horror of seeing myself as a talking head on a movie screen set in at the premiere. It was crippling. I had given hours of interviews, but the clip that made the cut? The one where I was driving, distracted, and twisted a fact. I knew it the second I heard it. I looked at my wife in the dark theater and mouthed, “What the fuck did I just say?” There were actual Asbury historians in that audience. One glared at me for the rest of the night. It was one of the worst evenings of my life. I treasure that film only because my Dad is in it and because the director had her heart in the right place, but I thank God it fell off the radar.
I've made a career of being the "guy behind the guy." I keep the lights on, but I'm never the face of the business. Jersey Shore Memories is a "faceless" social media account. You won’t find me engaging with followers much, despite how much I appreciate every one of them. But since the article dropped, I keep seeing variations of the same two questions: The first is, "Why do you care so much?" The second is, "Why doesn't the Boss fix it?" (Also, a lot of “Fuck Bruce,” but I’m not touching that one.) I'll do my best to answer both.
So, here goes...
I was born in 1977. I missed the "heyday" of Asbury Park. I went to Our Lady of Mount Carmel School, I shared the 07712 zip code, but by the time I was born, my parents had settled across Deal Lake in Interlaken....Asbury Park school district, heard every APHS football game from my front lawn, mostly Asbury transplants as neighbors, but definitely NOT Asbury Park.
There’s a line from It’s a Wonderful Life that always stuck with me since I was a kid: "You were born older, George." In the movie, it refers to the pressure on the eldest son, and I understood that. But I felt it described me because I spent a lot of time living close to the generations before me. My Italian grandparents, my father’s parents, went through a nuclear divorce in the mid-80s, a rarity for that generation. It changed the family dynamic forever, but it had one positive byproduct: I spent those years glued to my grandmother and the immediate family of her generation. My eight-year-old brain absorbed their stories about Asbury Park until I could almost play them out in my head. At Sunday dinners, my Dad and Uncle would recount their childhoods in the 50s and 60s, laughing until they cried. In a way, I was there. I witnessed it through them...or I wished I did.
The few people left from that era are very important to me. I care about what they care about. Most importantly, I care about what my father would have cared about. And the history of our family in Asbury Park was everything to him. Jersey Shore Memories didn’t start with me. It started as "Johnny’s Jersey Shore Memories." This was my Dad’s baby. He was the historian and storyteller of all things Asbury. When he died, I became the "caretaker" of the legacy.
There is a moment in everyone’s life when the horizon shifts. For decades, I looked at the WWII generation, my grandparents', as invincible. They were the structural integrity of my world. When they passed, the foundation cracked. But I still had my parents as a buffer against the inevitable. Then liver cancer took my Dad. He was gone before we even had time to process his diagnosis, and only five years after his parents had passed. Suddenly, the buffer was gone. The invisible wall protecting me from mortality had vanished. Then the terrifying realization hit: I'm the front line now. And I’m not even 50!
Something happens in your mid-40s that nobody prepares you for: You start losing peers and elders at the same pace. Nobody is safe. The feeling of loss and the sense of time passing you by just parks itself in a corner of your brain at about 45, and never leaves. As much as we want to, we can't stop the people we love from the wrecking ball. But if I can play a part in stopping the destruction of the places they loved and called home? I'm in.
As for the second question, why doesn't Bruce save the Casino? The simple answer is that Bruce Springsteen can’t save the Casino for the same reason Henry Vaccaro’s non-profit failed. He has no legal standing. Neither does Danny DeVito, Jon Bon Jovi, nor even the esteemed and respected Mr. John Lyon. The contract is between the City and the Developer. Period. But I will say this: A public statement supporting the preservation of the town that launched his career would go a long way... assuming Bruce cares. I would be surprised if he didn’t. But, there are plenty of people, many of whom commented on my post, that don’t support preservation. Don’t ask me why they follow an account called Jersey Shore Memories...
So, that’s the long and short of it. I was raised by high-strung Italians. To use a 2026 word, I was "triggered" by the Casino news. What they are building is no longer a revival. It’s Epcot Asbury. Don’t get me wrong... I love Epcot. But you build Epcot on a swamp in Florida, not on top of the real Asbury Park. When they talk about "reimagining" landmarks, they are just finishing the job of pricing out the history. They want the aesthetic of old Asbury without the baggage of the people who lived through the bad times.
I'm easily 'triggered' lately, and it's not just because of the Casino. Staying in Monmouth County is becoming a luxury the people who built this place can no longer afford. The house in Interlaken that my father bought in 1976 for $40,000, and sold in 2014 for $400,000 is now valued at $1.3 million. I know that house. It was a nice house to grow up in. But let’s be honest: You're not supposed to hear someone whisper on another floor in a $1.3 million house.
We are living through an insanity of price gouging, overcrowding, overdevelopment, and suffocating taxes. With Netflix arriving in Eatontown, my current "ground zero," we're staring down the barrel of exponential cost increases. It's a double-edged sword. As a homeowner, I want the value. As a father and husband, I'm constantly terrified. It is a non-stop "two full-time jobs plus a side hustle" grind just to stay middle class (which I know my wife and I are very lucky to have), yet we still rely on family support to stay in the very affluent and upscale town of Eatontown, NJ. I look at the numbers and realize I can't retire in this state...not with a fixed income. It's a depressing prospect after a lifetime given to this area. My family immigrated here, built businesses here, and died here. Yet I have a sinking feeling that mine will be the last generation of Falcos that makes it in Monmouth County.
Is this whole thing a textbook midlife crisis? Absolutely. But make no mistake: I will hold on to the stake my family planted in this very small, but important, area of New Jersey, even if I'm the last one left to hold it.
Ok, I think I’ve covered everything. Thanks for reading, watching my video postcards (for lack of a better term), and helping me fund this little expensive hobby of mine by buying the t-shirts.
Rudy Falco
Photo:
My great-grandfather Joseph Falco’s delivery truck, sometime between 1944 and 1947. His apprentice went on to open a locally famous bakery, where the Falco Italian bread recipe is still used today. I won't name the bakery, as I have no proof of this, other than the stories passed from generation to generation. But it's still the best bread around.