Wrong Side Of The Lake

Wrong Side of the lake

Along a murky watered lake lies a neighborhood that a county would rather forget and time already has.

Laurel Lake was my neighborhood like it or not. A town with a reputation so bad that people familiar with the area

would often ask which side of "the lake" you were from. Your answer determined what stereo type was assigned to

you. I spent most of my teenage years trying to escape this place.

Most people from South Jersey have never been there, and many are not even sure where it is. The truth is

there is not much to see. A township installed sign welcoming you to "scenic" Laurel Lake depicts a sailboat, but

this is no resort town. The scenery there is actually rather drab. Dirt roads sprinkled with mud puddles beg for

paving. Ashy mobile homes with thin metal roofs that sound like frying pans during a heavy rain is where most low

income residents call home. Many of which are rentals owned by people that live anywhere but here. Split rail

fencing and cars without wheels is common of the landscape. Broken wood pins hang from clothes lines that span

tree to tree. Screeching seagulls attracted by crushed clamshell driveways gave sound to an otherwise mute place.

Train whistles or factory clangs is not something this community deals with. The extent of commerce in my

neighborhood was limited. Laurel Station is a bi-level house converted into a mom and pop pizza shop. A

depressingly obese man with a charismatic smile named Byron was often seen wearing an ingredient strained white t-

shirt. The delivery man would often take his children on his routes when times were too tough for a sitter. . Bicycles

with broken kickstands litter the entrance as kids huddle around a Ms. Pac man game. A fingerprint coated door is

propped open to help compensate for the lack of air conditioning. Across town is a newly built liquor store named

Lalli's. Licenseless boozers are now with in walking distance of their poison. Cedar water leaves the clothes of public

beach swimmers a lighter shade of brown. An out of town lifeguard stares in awe at the diverse group he is attending

to. Graffiti covered basketball hoops without nets mostly go unused.

The town has little to call its own. The mayor of Commercial Twp. recognizes Laurel Lake only during tax

collections. Over burdened State Police stationed two towns

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