Here’s the thing about the elephant: Everybody has a story.

About visiting the friend of the grandmother who sold tickets from the office in her left rear foot. About the first time they climbed the spiral staircase up her leg and gazed at the sea from her howdah. About catching sight of her backside while driving up Atlantic Avenue and knowing they were nearly home.

“We’d drive to my grandparents’ house every summer,” Jeffrey Gillman said. “My mom would always say, ‘When you see the big tushy, you know we’re close.’”

On the last Saturday before Labor Day, the Gillmans — Jeffrey, Jodi, 3-year-old Nathan and 6-month-old Blake — arrived before the gates were even unlocked to pose for a final summertime photo beside Lucy, the beloved Victorian-era elephant that stands six-stories high in this small city along the shore.