Features

Atlantic City Family Reunion by the Naked Statue

From Susan Parker
Tuesday May 27, 2003

I took a flight into Kennedy International Airport, got myself through security, grabbed a shuttle into Manhattan, made my way to the Port Authority, bought a bus ticket for Atlantic City and called my parents in New Jersey from a pay phone to say I’d be arriving in three hours.  

“Where should we pick you up?” my dad shouted into the telephone. 

“How about Caesar’s?” 

“Where?” he asked 

“Caesar’s Casino,” I shouted. 

“That phone isn’t worth a damn,” Dad yelled. “Are you on a pay phone? Bang it against the wall. I can’t hear a thing you’re saying.” 

I banged the telephone against the wall as he told me to. I tried again. “Dad, can you hear me now? Do you have your hearing aid in?” 

“What?” Jeez, this is a sorry connection,” he said. “Look, I’ll talk and you just say yes or no, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

“What?” 

“Yes!” I shouted. 

“Do you want your mother and I to pick you up at a casino?” 

“Yes,” I screamed. 

“Bally’s?” 

“No.” 

“Jeez,” he mumbled. “Where then?” After I pause I heard him shout at my mother. “Edna! Where should we pick up Susan? She says not Bally’s.” 

“How about Caesar’s?” Mom’s suggestion was loud enough for me to hear. 

“Caesar’s!” shouted Dad into the telephone. 

“Yes!” I shouted back. 

“Okay,” he said. “Your mother and I will meet you at Caesar’s. Under the big statue.” 

“Which one?” I forgot that the conversation was to be limited to yes and no responses. But he must have heard me because he said, “Hold on. I’ll ask your mother.” 

He came back. “Your mother says we’ll meet under the statue of Caesar without any clothes on.” 

“Dad, all the statues are naked at Caesar’s.” 

“Yes, but this is the one where he’s really naked. Full-frontal nudity. You can’t miss it. It’s huge. I mean he’s huge. Big hands, big ears, big everything. Your mother and will be standing right under, you know, under Caesar.” 

“Is he inside or outside?” 

“Who?” shouted Dad. 

“Caesar! Is it the outside statue where he’s in a chariot or is he inside standing in a fountain?”  

“Neither,” Dad said. “He’s right by the nickel slots. You can’t miss him. He’s all bare.” 

“Your time is up,” said a voice on the pay phone. “Seventy-five cents, please.” 

“What?” Dad shouted. 

“Nothing,” I said. “I’m hanging up now. I’ll meet you in three hours under the bare statue of Caesar by the nickel slot machines.” 

“Okay,” Dad said. “Is it safe on the bus?” 

“Yes,” I said. I hung up the telephone and caught the bus just before it pulled out of the station.  

Every time I go home to visit my folks, I do the same thing. I take a red-eye into Kennedy, grab a shuttle to the Port Authority and ride a casino bus to Atlantic City. Even with all the changes in the world since Sept. 11, the casino shuttle buses still run every 30 minutes, straight down the New Jersey Garden State Parkway to Atlantic City. At 50, I am still the youngest person on the bus, the only one with luggage and the only passenger without a bag lunch. The ticket price has gone up. Before it was $21 and you got $19 back in chips when you arrived at Bally’s or Caesar’s. Now the ticket costs $28 and you only get back $14. Still, it’s a good deal, and it takes me where I need to go. 

I got off the bus and made my way to the all-bare statue of Caesar. There, right below his you-know-what, were my parents, holding on to one another and beaming. “Hello, sweetheart!” Dad shouted. “You found us!” 

“I couldn’t miss you,” I said. “You’re standing right where you said you’d be.” 

“What?” Dad said, shouting over the noise of the slot machines. “You can’t miss this statue, can you? They need to put clothes on this guy, but then we wouldn’t know where to meet you would we?”