Toward the end of my column today, I bring up a mystery — well, not really a mystery, but something about which I had some doubt. The item is as follows:

Last week, I had the pleasure of having a sandwich at the Shubee Shack in North Redington Beach, Fla. I asked the young woman behind the counter, “Is ‘Shubee’ a person’s name?” No, she said: A shubee is someone who likes surfing and the beach scene but does not surf himself.
A friend of mine thought that “shubee” derived from “shoes on the beach.”
Hmmm. Maybe an investigation is in order. Mark Steyn once called me “the master of the American vernacular.” He said this somewhat tongue in cheek — as well he should have — but I took it as a high compliment, and I’m stickin’ to it.
But I ain’t the master of squat unless I can get to the bottom of “shubee.”

A reader comes to the rescue. He writes,

Yes, “shoes on the beach.”
It is a significant slur which regular beachgoers employ to deride those who are not regular beachgoers. It derives from folks from Philadelphia who took the train to Atlantic City and then walked onto the beach with shoes. Regular beachgoers referred to these folks as “shoe-bees.”
It almost cost me my marriage. In my late teens/early 20s I considered myself a South Jersey beach veteran (knew how to body surf, plant an umbrella so that it didn’t blow away, surreptitiously drink beer, avoid beach-tag checks, play volleyball, throw a Frisbee into a crowd of pretty girls, etc.).
One day a friend and I drove from Philadelphia to a South Jersey beach to visit a girl I had been dating on and off. She was not home, so we left a note, discarded our shoes, and walked to the beach. Twenty minutes later she arrived at the beach and greeted us with “Hey, shoe-bees!” She was just teasing, but …
We stayed for about 15 minutes longer. I was so upset about the slight, we left in a bit of a huff.
Later that summer, I departed for law school, but not before writing a lengthy letter to her, calling her out for the slur. She responded/apologized.
We’ve been married 24 years this June with two beautiful kids, neither of whom is a shoe-bee.

I’m sure you’ve seen the famous pictures of Nixon — this one, for example. But he was a Californian and must have known better. I can only think that he wanted a quick walk on the beach and didn’t have time to change. I should look into this — an extra minute of Googling would do it, I’m sure — but like Nixon, perhaps, I have no time.