How can she keep from dancing? (Photo by Lisa Carberry)
At 11 in the morning on Sunday, the vendors along New Jersey Avenue were doing brisk business in Guinness hats, Irish drinking team T-shirts, and shiny shamrock beads. The guys who shred spuds for butterfly fries were spinning out mountains of the things—and through the magic of boiling fat, turning them into thin, salty, crunchy chips for the masses. The Wawa at 4th Avenue was peddling plenty of hoagies, coffee and sun block.
A bar with wide-open windows provided the soundtrack: “Blow My Whistle (Bitch)” by DJ Alligator—a thoroughly unlovely, unsubtle, misogynistic sentiment for a Sunday morning down at the Shore, but really the only discordant note as the last day of the Wildwood Irish Fall Festival otherwise dawned bright and clear. It was a quiet morning down in Anglesey, with the promise of unrestrained, Irish-accented fun in the sun yet to come.
In a few hours, Paddy’s Well and a whole host of other bands were playing in the music tent. The beer taps were stuck in the open position more or less continuously.
And the parade finally kicked off down at 24th and Surf, bringing with it pipe bands from every corner of the Delaware Valley and beyond, the Irish American String Band, Reilly Raiders drum and bugle corps, dancers from everywhere, and Ancient Order of Hibernians divisions from Philly and the Shore. A short-sleeved Rev. Rev. William T. McCandless, the grand marshal, led the long procession up to the business end of the festival. The crowds seemed thinner this year than last, particularly at 1st and Central, the dogleg just before the parade turns up Anglesea Drive and into the festival grounds.
No matter—for all the folks who flock to Wildwood year after year, it was still the best way to end summer.
We have more photos than we count (thanks to pal Lisa Carberry for all her help) and some videos—including a little treat for Eagles fans.
