Imagine being summoned to a town hall meeting about a pressing issue, only to find yourself shivering in a parking lot at 27 degrees Fahrenheit. That’s exactly what happened to nearly 50 residents of a Jersey Shore town who dared to question a 20% hike in beach fees. But here’s where it gets controversial: instead of addressing their concerns indoors, officials forced the meeting outside, citing fire code restrictions. Was this a clever tactic to discourage dissent, or simply poor planning? Let’s dive in.
On a frigid Monday morning, residents and beachgoers gathered outside Allenhurst’s town hall, bundled in winter coats, hats, and gloves—or, in some cases, just sweatshirts. The agenda? A proposed 20% increase in beach fees for the 2026 summer season. The outrage was palpable. One attendee sarcastically remarked, ‘Are they kidding me?’ while another, rubbing her gloveless hands, muttered, ‘What are they thinking?’ The scene was surreal: a mound of plowed snow towering nearby, printouts of the agenda weighed down by rocks to prevent them from blowing away.
Officials claimed they expected a large crowd and had no time to arrange an alternative venue, given the municipal building’s capacity limit of 49 people. But for many, this felt like a thinly veiled attempt to discourage attendance. And this is the part most people miss: the real issue wasn’t just the cold—it was the beach fee hike ordinance passed in January, which sparked widespread anger.
The backlash was swift. Residents, including the deputy mayor and former commissioners, rallied to collect signatures for a petition—securing at least 15% of registered voters—to force a special election for taxpayer approval of the fee increases. Facing this pressure, the board of commissioners repealed the ordinance at the meeting, opting to keep fees at 2025 levels for the upcoming summer. But it wasn’t a unanimous decision, and the divisions within the three-person board were on full display.
Deputy Mayor Theresa Manziano-Santoro, who had been removed as beach commissioner by her colleagues in a move she called ‘unwarranted and pernicious,’ recused herself from the vote after signing the petition. Mayor Frieda Adjmi and Commissioner Joseph Dweck were left to cast the deciding votes. Santoro was even asked to step away from the makeshift dais during the vote, adding another layer of drama to the chilly proceedings.
Adjmi defended the initial fee hike as part of a long-term plan for ‘much-needed Beach Club improvements,’ acknowledging concerns about timing and affordability. She also noted that a special election would cost the borough $20,000. But attendees remained skeptical. One resident, Ed Dowling, bluntly asked, ‘Am I the only one that thinks this is a bunch of garbage?’ He questioned whether the planned improvements had even been identified, a point commissioners—one shivering in a lavender coat and spiked heels, the other in a knit hat—failed to address.
Transparency was a recurring demand. Residents pointed out that the beach club’s revenue had soared to $2.9 million in 2025, yet officials offered no clear explanation for how the funds were being used. Some even questioned whether the beach club, owned by the town and charging fees, should be classified as a utility under state law. Others highlighted the staggering disparity between resident and nonresident fees—for example, a seasonal cabana cost $3,360 for residents in 2024 but a whopping $8,500 for nonresidents, with further hikes planned for 2026.
‘When a municipality sets user fees, those fees must bear a reasonable relationship to the cost of providing the service,’ said Tonie Dunn, a longtime beach club patron, citing New Jersey case law. ‘This shouldn’t be a disguised tax.’ Yet, without a budget introduced, residents remain in the dark about how their tax dollars are being spent.
While the repeal of the fee hike was seen as a small victory, one attendee noted, ‘The problems in town are so much deeper than the beach club and the fee hikes.’ Another added, ‘Last time I checked, the beach club belongs to the taxpayers, not Mayor Adjmi.’
Here’s the burning question: Was the fee hike a legitimate effort to fund improvements, or a misguided attempt to generate revenue at the expense of residents and visitors? And what does this say about the relationship between local government and the community it serves? Share your thoughts in the comments—let’s keep the conversation going.
