PHILLY
EVENTSThe Essential Shore: The Sultan of Souvenirs
What good is a trip to the Shore without a pirate-head coconut to remember it by?
- Photo by Trevor Dixon
It’s a rainy April Thursday, and I’m at the beach. I’ve trekked from the city to presently sleepy Stone Harbor, to meet him — the king of kitsch, the numero uno of novelty, the foreman of the flip-flop, the boss of the beach chair. David Hoy, 53, with sky-blue eyes and gracefully gray hair, is the heir to the Shore-store empire Hoy’s 5 & 10. And he’s shuffling in the spotlight.
Well, sort of. He’s actually giving me a tour through aisle after aisle of sunscreen, boogie boards, water guns, volleyballs, coolers, t-shirts, straw hats, key chains, shark-tooth necklaces, nautical housewares, candles in coconut shells. But when I ask him the big questions — What’s it like running a landmark? How did Hoy’s carve its beach fiefdom? — he’s deflecting the attention. He’s talking up his enthusiastic store managers. He’s being, well, modest.
So we keep touring. And soon we’re laughing. David realizes that some of the stuff he sells is downright ridiculous. “When I see something really bizarre, I’ve got to buy it,” he says, pointing to a pirate head carved on a coconut, complete with gold hoop earring. “There are lots of things that my employees look at and ask what the heck I was thinking.” Like this small wonder, perhaps: It’s a six-inch tall glass egg. Inside, suspended, nearly lifelike, is a spooky purple jellyfish.
“Oh, that one’s a real gem!” an employee scoffs from the back, overhearing us. (The tentacled magnificence can be yours for just $10.99.)
Then there are the decorative signs and their sage proclamations: “Old fisherman never die, they just smell that way.” “We don’t skinny dip. We chunky dunk.” “Relax! You’re at the beach.” This last one causes David to ponder: “You know you’re at the beach. Why you need to have a sign telling you that, I don’t know.”
But make no mistake, there’s a buyer for every last trinket. “We have the world’s greatest impulse shoppers,” explains Patrick Antona, manager of Hoy’s Stone Harbor store. And down here at the Jersey Shore, perhaps more than anywhere else in the country, maybe even the world, kitsch sells.
“MOM, CHARLIE, AUNT BARBARA, Uncle Bob, Julie, Laura, Kim, Rachel … that’s eight,” I remember counting to my dad, who patiently waited as I perused every single store on the Wildwood boards for souvenirs. I was only 10, but I had an obligation to bring back something for the unlucky souls who weren’t here, in the sun, on the beach, down the Shore. When I packed up to go home, my bags wouldn’t close, so stuffed were they with key chains and mugs and visors and shorts that said BEACH BABE on the butt. There’s just something about this place that made me — makes us — do it.
David Hoy understands. Back in Stone Harbor, we talk the classics, the year-in, year-out standbys. There are, of course, the traditional souvenirs: Two different sizes of monogrammed flip-flop key chains. Revolving tiers of necklaces, anklets, toe rings. “You could sell just mugs till you die,” says Patrick. Shirts, hats, picture frames, many emblazoned with “Stone Harbor, NJ” (but most, naturally, made in China). There are practicalities: beach chairs, sunscreen, even hardware and cleaning supplies. (“But who wants to buy a broom on vacation?” David laughs.) There’s an entire array of flatulence devices — whoopee cushions, pens that make fart noises, a remote-control fart machine for embarrassing unsuspecting grandparents. And of course, there are the Jersey Shore hermit crabs, which come to Hoy’s the way all Jersey Shore hermit crabs do — from the Gulf Coast, via UPS.
Well, sort of. He’s actually giving me a tour through aisle after aisle of sunscreen, boogie boards, water guns, volleyballs, coolers, t-shirts, straw hats, key chains, shark-tooth necklaces, nautical housewares, candles in coconut shells. But when I ask him the big questions — What’s it like running a landmark? How did Hoy’s carve its beach fiefdom? — he’s deflecting the attention. He’s talking up his enthusiastic store managers. He’s being, well, modest.
So we keep touring. And soon we’re laughing. David realizes that some of the stuff he sells is downright ridiculous. “When I see something really bizarre, I’ve got to buy it,” he says, pointing to a pirate head carved on a coconut, complete with gold hoop earring. “There are lots of things that my employees look at and ask what the heck I was thinking.” Like this small wonder, perhaps: It’s a six-inch tall glass egg. Inside, suspended, nearly lifelike, is a spooky purple jellyfish.
“Oh, that one’s a real gem!” an employee scoffs from the back, overhearing us. (The tentacled magnificence can be yours for just $10.99.)
Then there are the decorative signs and their sage proclamations: “Old fisherman never die, they just smell that way.” “We don’t skinny dip. We chunky dunk.” “Relax! You’re at the beach.” This last one causes David to ponder: “You know you’re at the beach. Why you need to have a sign telling you that, I don’t know.”
But make no mistake, there’s a buyer for every last trinket. “We have the world’s greatest impulse shoppers,” explains Patrick Antona, manager of Hoy’s Stone Harbor store. And down here at the Jersey Shore, perhaps more than anywhere else in the country, maybe even the world, kitsch sells.
“MOM, CHARLIE, AUNT BARBARA, Uncle Bob, Julie, Laura, Kim, Rachel … that’s eight,” I remember counting to my dad, who patiently waited as I perused every single store on the Wildwood boards for souvenirs. I was only 10, but I had an obligation to bring back something for the unlucky souls who weren’t here, in the sun, on the beach, down the Shore. When I packed up to go home, my bags wouldn’t close, so stuffed were they with key chains and mugs and visors and shorts that said BEACH BABE on the butt. There’s just something about this place that made me — makes us — do it.
David Hoy understands. Back in Stone Harbor, we talk the classics, the year-in, year-out standbys. There are, of course, the traditional souvenirs: Two different sizes of monogrammed flip-flop key chains. Revolving tiers of necklaces, anklets, toe rings. “You could sell just mugs till you die,” says Patrick. Shirts, hats, picture frames, many emblazoned with “Stone Harbor, NJ” (but most, naturally, made in China). There are practicalities: beach chairs, sunscreen, even hardware and cleaning supplies. (“But who wants to buy a broom on vacation?” David laughs.) There’s an entire array of flatulence devices — whoopee cushions, pens that make fart noises, a remote-control fart machine for embarrassing unsuspecting grandparents. And of course, there are the Jersey Shore hermit crabs, which come to Hoy’s the way all Jersey Shore hermit crabs do — from the Gulf Coast, via UPS.
