Like, Later By E. Emmet Leadman Washington Post Staff Writer Wednesday, September 6, 2000

Summer workers in Ocean City say so long at the season's last party. Photo by Grant L. Gursky for The Post

"It was a great laugh," says Ronan Lawlor, a student from Ireland's County Laois, exhausted from three months of toughing out poolboy duty at the Ocean Mecca hotel by day and hopping from pub to pub by night. "It passed so quickly . . . constantly working, constantly going out. I'm a little sad but so happy to be going home to sleep, sleep, sleep."

Lawlor's not the only one in need of a nap. This week--the week after Labor Day--the whole of Ocean City begins to drift from sleepless summer to a drowsy fall of cool bay breezes, moist sand and long sleeves.

"Next weekend the locals take back the beach," says Chuck Hargest, a local bookseller transplanted from Northern Virginia. "It smells different in the fall. The air is crisp and clean. The weather is still great, but when you go to take a walk on the beach there are only four or five people in sight."

For locals and a growing number of post-collegiate off-season visitors, September marks the beginning of the good life at the water's edge. But for the young, it's the end. Friendships made over months of running pizza to sunburned tourists are slouching into hibernation--probably ending forever. Even the guys get emotional. For the six male roommates sharing a two-bedroom apartment off 28th Street, breaking up their messy household has been hard to do. The first of the crew to leave was wrecked when it came time last week to say "later."

"It was his first summer," says roommate Dave Pearson, a 22-year-old senior at California University of Pennsylvania. "He had never lived with other guys before and he really had to break out of his shell. He was, like, crying when he left."

I used to, like, cry when I left, too. For me, summer is Ocean City. It's one long Bruce Springsteen song, a place of lights and music, Go-Karts and Tilt-a-Whirls. It's crowded beaches, sunscreen and sweet-tasting shots with silly names served up four at a time so all your friends at the rail can join in.

For six years through high school and college I worked each summer in Ocean City, at Lombardi's Italian Trattoria on 94th Street. The pizza was the thing, but there was good birch beer, tasty antipasto and awesome cannolis. After work, I'd ride the bus to the small, four-unit apartment co-op near the bay where my grandmother spent every summer since my grandfather built it in 1962. That was back before they dredged sand to create more land; Ocean City ended at 30th Street and Billy Baker's Carousel Hotel was a world away.

The apartment was a block and a half down from Jolly Roger's amusement park, three blocks from the beach, and smack dab in the middle of party central. Over time, the adjacent building owners went "summer seasonal," renting to the hordes of college kids swarming down to take coveted jobs renting beach equipment, patrolling the waves, slinging soft-serve and taking telescope photos of cute girls in teeny bikinis. Unmuffled motorcycles spit gravel from under their tires as they took off from our stop sign, the common mating dance of the unbridled beach biker. Drunken surfers howled from balconies, beer sludge oozed from the dumpster, cans rolled down the street. My grandmother watched all with calm amusement--even when young revelers burst into her living room by mistake, even when she found a stranger passed out on the raft on our front porch. There we sat: our octogenarian neighbors next door, my grandmother and me, the 15-year-old pizza girl--the lone holdouts.

For me, the party on the porch across the street was all about the Ocean City summer. I half wanted to rush over and join in. Instead, I kept my place on my grandmother's sedate porch and observed as the days degenerated into all-night festivals of bacchanalia and the summer marched toward Labor Day.

Gena Cotter, a 20-year-old student from Dublin who this summer worked my old waitress station and raked in $120 in tips on a good night at Lombardi's, shared a two-bedroom flat around the corner from our old place with nine other Irish students. Her Ocean City summer has meant "no worries, no college, no studying. Just clothes and empty beer cans on the floor." It is all about being away from moms and dads and dorm monitors, about the freedom to stay out late, sneak into bars and push the envelope a little more. It's about rules, the temporary lack of them, and how far the fun can go.

Sometimes, the fun came into our yard, just outside my bedroom. Sleeping with the windows open brought in more than the breeze from the bay and the gentle knocking of the metal blinds. It brought in the background music of Jolly Roger's, the tick-tick-tick of climbing roller coasters and the hollow cry of the kiddie-train whistle. Even the thumping music from across the street became a comfort sound that helped me sleep. But also common was the sound of a summer novice vomiting in our grass. By summer's end, of course, overdrinking is nothing to an educated stomach. And by Labor Day, physical wrenching sounds gave way to emotional wrenching as summer romances came to an end. Young love finished, right outside my room--a little crying, some murmured, soon-forgotten endearments. And they are gone. Summer is over.

Peace is at hand.

By the end of September, the population of Ocean City drops to about a third of its summertime census. The great de-camping of freshman fry cooks and sophomore waitresses creates a vacuum quickly filled by a mellower atmosphere, with cooling temperatures that appeal to everyone from the beachcomber and the bicyclist to the bundled book reader on the empty beach.

"For locals, the fall is our favorite season," says Bill Ochese, the owner of the Kite Loft, on the boardwalk between Fifth and Sixth. "In the fall you can come down here and canoe and kayak on the bay. There's great bird-watching in Assateague and along the whole peninsula."

Loosened regulations add to the easygoing atmosphere. After Sept. 30, dogs are permitted on the beaches and bicycling hours on the renovated boardwalk are lengthened. Area golf resorts offer special packages to keep the tee times filled. Those hotels that stay open cut prices to lure the weekend trade. One of those, Howard Johnson's, took over the Satellite Motel, many locals' favorite motel and breakfast spot. To their relief, the Satellite Cafe still operates and serves up plates full of pancakes and waffles, even scrapple and grits if you're so inclined.

And while the appeal of the off- season for many is its un-programmed calm, more people are coming every year to attend special events. Further, the town's convention center--a big off-season draw--is newly renovated. Motel Row, the section of the city running from 15th Street to the end of Baltimore Road, has been spruced up, with new streetlights and a landscaped median. The boardwalk has been rebuilt and widened to allow walkers to share it with the boardwalk train. Skateboarding has been ordinanced off the streets and relegated to a few skate parks. A move to ban body piercing in local parlors is also heating up between the vendors who promote it and the town leaders who want it left to doctors, all part of the cleanup campaign geared toward attracting more visitors throughout the year.

The only place that doesn't seem to have been renovated or cleaned up is my grandmother's old apartment building. After she became too infirm to make the trip, my grandmother and the other aging occupants agreed to sell the co-op.

It, too, now houses college workers. The trees that once sheltered the antics outside my bedroom window are dying. A Coke machine sits on the front yard. The front porch screens are knocked out and window-unit air conditioners wedged in with cardboard from 12-packs hang precariously on the sills. The six boys who spent their summer here called it the "Cowboy Clubhouse." Our old apartment is party central now.

And the party is over, for another year at least. Lombardi's is reverting to a shorter schedule and reduced staff of year-rounders. The clubhouse cowboys and their cohorts are getting ready to resume their semi-responsible lives as students. Some of them, in the sadness of their goodbyes, promised to return for weekend reunions in the fall. What they'll find is an Ocean City entirely different from the one they knew, the one that ended last Monday.

Escape Keys

GETITNG THERE: Suddenly silent Ocean City is 140 miles from Washington on the Eastern Shore. From the Beltway, take Route 50 east across the Bay Bridge to Ocean City.

SUDDENLY QUIET RESTAURANTS: Lombardi's (9203 Coastal Hwy., 410-524-1961) serves family-style Italian. Phillip's by the Sea (13th and oceanfront, 800-492-5834) is an OC overpriced tradition. Fager's Island (60th and the bay, 410-524-5500) is upscale by OC standards and has great sunsets. All open year-round.

WHAT NIGHTLIFE REMAINS: Seacrets Bar and Grill (49th and the bay, 410-524-4900): sand in your toes, fruit in your drink. Buxy's Salty Dog Saloon (28th and Coastal Highway, 410-289-0973) is an honorable dive. Both open year-round.

N0-LONGER ROWDY HOTELS: For downscale charming on the boardwalk, check out the Dunes Motel (27th and oceanfront, 410-289-4414; $79 for weekend beachfront). It's open through October. Dunes Manor (410-289-4414; $99 for beachfront), open year-round, is next door and one step up. Howard Johnson's Oceanfront Inn (24th and oceanfront, 410-289-6401, www.hojoexpress.com; rooms start at $79 through November), open year-round, was formerly the classic Satellite Motel; breakfast is still a tradition at the Satellite Cafe. Don't expect to see bikers at the Carousel Beachfront Hotel and Resort (11700 Coastal Hwy., 410-524-1000; weekend rates start at $149 for oceanfront).

THE FALL CALENDAR: Upcoming events include:

* Sunfest Music Festival, Sept. 28-Oct. 1. Ocean City Inlet parking area.

* Kite Festival, Sept. 28-Oct. 1. N. Division Street to Sixth Street.

* Winefest on the Beach, Oct. 13-15. Inlet parking area.

* Winterfest of Lights, holiday light display and tram ride. Nov. 16-Jan 2.

INFORMATION: 800-626-2326, www.ococean.com.