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was able to name as many as 48 species and bluffed on the ones he couldn’t. With a little luck, there might be a shark or a horseshoe crab, which always excited the crowd. They went away thrilled, likely to return on their next visit to Atlantic City.
    Young was the resort’s answer to P.T. Barnum. He had his finger on the pulse of his times. The Captain knew his customers and gave them what they wanted. The people who came to town on the cut-rate excursions had simple tastes. They wanted a high time at a bargain price—something to tell the folks about when they got home.
    Samuel Richards’ second train to Atlantic City ignited a war for the visitors’ dollars and local businessmen learned quickly that working-class tourists had money to spend, too. What they lacked in sophistication they made up for in numbers. Shortly after Richards’ narrow gauge railroad, a third train, the West Jersey and Atlantic Railroad, was organized purposely to transport “the medium and poorer classes.” The fare was “the astonishing sum of $.50 each—less than hack fare from Market Street, Philadelphia, to the Park.”
    Travel to Atlantic City, especially on the weekends, increased dramatically. Competition among the railroads for the excursion ticket buyer guaranteed a large volume of working-class patrons, most of whom came only for the day. While there were families and single people who came to town for week-long vacations, the weekends were vital to a profitable season. Success, and oftentimes survival, of many resort businesses hinged on 12 to 13 weekends, with Sunday being the day everyone anticipated. The six-day workweek of most visitors forced them to squeeze every bit of pleasure they could into their one day off. The result was that “the crowds in the city were so large at times, especially over Sunday, as to nearly exhaust the supply of meat, milk, bread, and provisions in stock.”
    In the early years following the second railroad, weekend tourists were entertained in excursion houses. These large open-air structures were built at the end of the railroad tracks entering the city. They were more than a reception point. Excursion houses generally included an entertainment pavilion with vaudeville acts, a dining hall, which sold food and provided space for visitors who brought their own, and an amusement park for the children. The West Jersey Railroad excursion house was known for its affordable all-you-can-eat meals, including fish, chicken, roast meats, vegetables, pies, pudding, ice cream, tea, and coffee. It also provided free music and dancing in its ballroom, a bar, a bowling alley, and a poolroom. Bathing suits and lockers were available, too, at a daily rental of 25 cents. Most excursion houses admitted customers at 5 or 10 cents apiece, aiming at high-turnover, low-cost entertainment. At the end of each season, most excursion houses offered their lowest priced outings for what were known as “Colored Excursion Days.” It was all made possible by affordable train fare.
    After the narrow gauge railroad there was no turning back. Within a few short years Atlantic City was a boomtown. Pitney’s sleepy little beach village had awakened. Each summer found dozens of new hotels and boardinghouses, appearing like mushrooms, popping up from nothing at sites that had been beach sand the year before. Year after year, late winter through spring, Atlantic City was a beehive of activity swarming with construction workers sleeping on cots, living in tents, eating in temporary cafeterias and working seven days per week. Workers signed on for the season, knowing they would work every day until the weather became too nasty. For nearly three decades, from the latter part of the 19th century into the second decade of the 20th century, a “Tent City” rose up from the sand every spring, pitched at a different location, following the growth of the resort. The residents of Tent City were mostly itinerant laborers and tradesmen,