When Leighton Moore got kicked out of school in the 11th grade for fighting with another student, he went to work full-time at his family’s Gateway Motel in Ocean City before heading to Jamaica, the beginning of a lifelong love of the Caribbean island.

“I picked up on the vibe down there,” says Moore, who’s returned hundreds of times to the lush paradise known for its “irie,” or joyful spirit. “I knew I wanted to have a beach on the bay, like Jamaica, with the sand and the view.”

He kept that idea in mind when he came back to the seaside town where he grew up, finally realizing his dream after he and his siblings sold their 60-unit, oceanfront lodging on 48th Street and another property, the Ocean Club, in 1987.

At the time, Moore, who will turn 73 on July 2, was left with a liquor license, a small piece of property on peaceful Assawoman Bay at 49th Street, and an overwhelming drive to create his own slice of tropical heaven in Maryland.

His vision started small in 1988 with a private tiki hut that held, maybe, 50 people. A vintage membership card reads, “For locals only…and for those who wish they were.”

Greg Benson, 54, who worked at the beach then and now lives in Ellicott City, remembers those early days. “It was a hideaway,” he says. “You had to know someone to get in.”

Word of mouth quickly spread about Moore’s oasis. “We were filled,” Moore recalls. “That’s what spurred the idea of starting another bar. Then, I would add another bar.” In 1989, the growing enterprise opened to the public.

Today, Seacrets—named for its one-time, hard-to-find location (it’s a secret at the sea, get it?)—sprawls across about 12 acres from 48th and 52nd streets on the bay and holds almost 5,500 visitors, many of whom wait in long lines for admission during peak summer days.

Even Ocean City’s longtime mayor, Rick Meehan, recognizes Seacrets’ landmark status in the oceanfront town. “It is a destination within a destination,” he says. “You can go anywhere, and Seacrets has become synonymous with Ocean City, or maybe Ocean City has become synonymous with Seacrets.”

The attraction? Twenty-one bars, seven music stages, a concert hall, a distillery, several dining areas, and the bay, where those who are 21 and older settle into tables set in the shallow, albeit murky, placid water, waited on by bikini-clad servers.

This summer, Moore is also focusing on the north side of his property, officially opening The Hideaway, an upscale waterfront restaurant, coupled with a wedding and event space, and transforming another venue, Area 51, into a swanky area for celebrations, including a speakeasy.

Will the fancy digs change Seacrets, often known for its hard-drinking, rollicking good time? “It will stay the same,” Moore assures. “Seacrets will always be akin to Jamaica.”

The scene can get rambunctious when bachelorette and bachelor parties grab prime-time seating in the bay to celebrate their upcoming nuptials with some dedicated day drinking. The women are often dressed in matching outfits, from bright-pink tank tops imprinted with “bride” and “bride’s friend” to glittery tiaras, frilly tutus, and lacy sarong wraps.

They down adult beverages, dance to reggae and rock ‘n’ roll music, and often engage in elaborate scavenger hunts, with challenges ranging from coercing a piggyback ride from a stranger in the watery throng to searching for a tattooed bather for a photo.

EVEN OCEAN CITY’S LONGTIME MAYOR RECOGNIZES SEACRETS’ LANDMARK STATUS.

Owen Breininger, of Coopersburg, Pennsylvania, has witnessed the celebrants many times. He even received a marriage proposal on one occasion. For the past 12 years, Breininger and his fantasy-football league have met up at Seacrets on the weekend before Labor Day. They plant themselves at a bay table and check out the action.

“The people-watching there is always an experience,” says the 41-year-old father of three girls. “It’s just a fun scene. It doesn’t get too rowdy or out of control.”

Two of the guys in his group of 12 were former Seacrets “doormen”—their official title on the job, though they might be better known as bouncers elsewhere. The identical twins—Justin Strickland, from nearby Camden, Delaware, and Shaun Strickland, who now lives in Dover—look forward to being part of the party instead of having to monitor the wild-and-crazy guests.

“We’re the outsiders looking in,” says Shaun, 42, with a laugh. “We take it all in and try to decide if that was us at that age.”

His brother, Justin, was a 19-year-old college football player when he landed a summer job at what he calls “the coolest bar in Ocean City.” But he was quickly introduced to the challenges on one of his first nights patrolling Seacrets. “A guy was so intoxicated he was peeing on the bar,” he says. “It was crazy.”

Besides the yearly bro weekend, Justin takes his wife and three children, ages 12, 5, and 3, to his former workplace for fun. “We’ll have lunch in the restaurant portion,” he says. “All my kids love it.”

Shaun and his wife go there with their two daughters, too. “Our girls like to play in the sand while they wait for their meals,” Shaun says. “It’s like they’re on a tropical vacation somewhere.”

That’s the dichotomy of Seacrets, with its multiple venues. “If you go to the dance hall, people are packed together and bumping into each other, dancing,” explains Butch Arbin, captain of the Ocean City Beach Patrol, who has been guarding the beach for 53 years. “But if you go to another part of Seacrets, you’ll see families sitting down and eating dinner.”

While some locals may see Seacrets as a tourist trap and a source of excessive drunken revelry, others enjoy showing off the beach town’s ode to Jamaica. Arbin, who lives in West Ocean City during the summer when he’s not teaching in Charles County, was especially pleased when he took a couple he and his wife met on a church mission trip to Seacrets.

“They’re Jamaican,” he said. “They loved it.”

George Larson and his wife, Michele, both 65, started going to Seacrets when it first opened. The couple, who reside in Newark, Delaware, have been regular customers since they bought a condo across the street from the bar 20 years ago.

“We love the party atmosphere,” George says. “Sometimes, we stay late into the night; other times, we’ll stay for a few hours.”

They skip the bay, though. “I don’t like to take my shoes off and get into the water,” George says. “It’s more of a younger crowd.”

The rollicking hordes can be a deterrent. Mickie Meinhardt, the owner of The Buzzed Word, a bookstore, wine shop, and wine bar on 118th Street in Ocean City, avoids Seacrets in the summer. “If you’re crowd-averse and don’t really want to be packed into a space with a lot of sweaty tourists, it’s not necessarily a place you feel the need to go to,” she says. “But it’s a joy for me to go in the offseason for food and drinks.”

Ron Pichini, a former Glen Burnie resident who lives full-time in the Wight Bay condos, next door to Seacrets, acknowledges that things can occasionally get a bit out of control, but says the bar has been a good neighbor.

“The issues we have are not with Seacrets or any of their staff. It’s the drunken patrons,” says Pichini, who is vice president of his condo association. “They come over here, walking around our canal, getting in our boats, and jumping in the water.”

Owner Leighton Moore takes the safety of his customers and the community seriously. Several years ago, he changed the title of “doorman” to “peace police,” with their titles emblazoned in black-print letters across the back of their bright-orange T-shirts.

“They try to keep the peace,” he explains. “They also answer questions and help people find their way around the property.”

But most visitors aren’t looking for trouble. They go to Seacrets to soak up a carefree Caribbean atmosphere with a drink in hand and feet in the sand amid the more than 300 fresh palm trees, brought in annually from Florida, and for the camaraderie of fellow vacationers.

Many of the bartenders at Seacrets have been mixing drinks there for decades, like Michael Gray, who was named the 2025 Bartender of the Year by the Restaurant Association of Maryland at its annual gala.

Gray, 49, came to Ocean City to celebrate senior week after graduating from Chesapeake High School in Pasadena and found his calling, eventually ending up at Seacrets 27 years ago. “I’ve always enjoyed the bar business,” he says. “No two days are the same. People are having a good time.”

Adam Peix, who’s been tending bar at Seacrets for 20 years, will transfer his know-how to the new Hideaway restaurant as the general manager. “It’s going to be fun to do something different with a different clientele,” he says. “It’s not going to be such a party crowd.”

His staff will be focusing on craft cocktails and classics like Old-Fashioneds, Manhattans, and dirty martinis, as well as a carefully curated wine list.

Meanwhile, Seacrets will continue to ply its customers with a variety of flavored Crushes—from orange and grapefruit to lemon and watermelon-cucumber—and frozen drinks made with liquors like Seacrets orange vodka and bourbon, produced at the on-site Seacrets Distilling Company.  “It’s very islandy,” Peix says.

Even before the opening of the new wedding venue, couples have been tying the knot at Seacrets. Jen Pavinski and her now husband, Corey Pavinski, moved to Ocean City from Pennsylvania in 2019. Although they got married in February 2021 in a courthouse ceremony, they decided to exchange their vows again on the beach at Seacrets that October and have their reception, complete with the bar’s prime rib and crab cakes, for 100 guests at the on-site nightclub.

And while the beach was blocked off for their wedding, some customers were sitting at an outside bar, watching the proceedings.

“When we said, ‘I do,’ there were strangers cheering for us, which was nice,” Jen recalls.

Moore, an affable raconteur with a self-deprecating wit, seems as surprised as the next person that his humble drinking spot grew into a behemoth bar, restaurant, and nightclub scene. He declined to reveal the property’s annual revenue, although he surmises that Seacrets is one of the largest, independently owned entertainment complexes in the country.

He sees his new projects as a way to stay competitive. “We have to diversify,” he says. “If we want to grow, we have to go after a different clientele.”

Moore describes the ambiance at the new restaurant as casual but refined, where people can dress up and enjoy a delicious meal, indoors or alfresco. His wife, Rebecca, is also involved in the endeavor, relying on her hospitality background, waiting tables and tending bar at Fager’s Island for almost 20 years before opening a restaurant, Jules Fine Dining on 111th Street, which has since closed.

“I put my two cents in for everything, whether they want it or not,” she says with a chuckle.

They hired a new executive chef, Paul G. Suplee, a Johnson & Wales University graduate, who, years ago, spent time at Baltimore-area restaurants like the now-closed Polo Grill and Rudys’ 2900 in Finksburg.

“I’VE ALWAYS ENJOYED THE BAR BUSINESS. NO TWO DAYS ARE THE SAME. PEOPLE ARE HAVING A GOOD TIME.”

Moore often calls Seacrets a “beast,” with its 650 summer employees and thousands of visitors, but he’s personally connected to this land. He lived on the property for a decade in the early ’80s and ’90s, in a house that has become part of the establishment. His former kitchen and office have been transitioned into a music stage; his one-time porch leads to the stage.

He now lives in West Ocean City and often commutes to Seacrets in a boat that he designed for the shallow bay. It takes four minutes before he’s mooring the 40-foot craft at the bar’s pier. He likes being close to home. It’s one of the reasons why his earlier plans to franchise Seacrets at other locations, including Florida, don’t work for him anymore.

“I can’t be in two places at one time,” he says.

But he knows he can rely on his management team. One longtime member is Mary Handy, who joined him in 1979 at the Gateway Motel. She then assisted him while he was building Seacrets. “He is a very kind-hearted, conscientious person,” she says. “I’ve always been part of the family.”

While Moore calls her a company vice president, Handy demures. “It’s not official. I do anything that needs to be done,” she says. But Moore knows she is a force. “You can mess with me, but don’t mess with Mary,” he says. “She’s vice president of everything.”

As he gives a tour of his pride and joy, Moore enjoys pointing out the antique light fixtures, stained-glass windows, and Art Deco antiques that he buys for his various buildings. He spent more than $1 million on items from the 1920s and ’30s to recreate a Prohibition-era experience at the distillery, which opened in 2016. He’s always on the hunt for new additions. Even his wife jokingly calls him a “professional buyer.”

As he surveys the north side of his property, he points to a swath of the asphalt parking lot. That’s where an eight-story hotel will eventually be built. He also wants to add a second floor to the nightclub.

On the cusp of another birthday, Moore is pensive as he talks about the property’s future.

“I’m getting tired,” he shares. “How long do I want to work?”

But he’s not stopping any time soon. He can’t help himself.

“It gives me something to do,” Moore says. “It keeps me from retiring and stops me from being bored.”