Early Islander

She Was One of Us

She was one of us.
You know: one of us Happy Healthy Saltaire youngsters the Village was guaranteed to grow.

Mary Buchler, 1946-2012.

BABY BOOMER:

We knew her as "Mimi" way back when.
So much like all of us, Mimi was.  Growing up surrounded by family and friends. The future was said to be  unlimited in those Baby Boom years. Especially for Saltaire kids.

CARRIER OF THE McMANUS GENE FOR LOVE OF SAILING:

A skinny kid learning the ropes.
I imagine this: (poetic license here) :

Sitting at the Club:

"Here's a clove hitch
That's a  bowline.
Use a reef knot to reef a sail
and a figure 8 on a cleat, but not for the main sail or you will end up swimming home.
 Got  that, kids? 
OK. lets get out on the Bay."

A QUIET GIRL:

Here's a picture of Mimi in the  1960's.  A  detail from a family portrait by Dana Wallace:

                                                              click image to enlarge
Dignified?
Reserved?
Shy?
Do  we see a smile at the edge of sadness?
A family member wonders if it is just the image of a teenage girl awkward to smile  with braces.
It was hard to tell with Mimi. I didn't know her  well.
-Did anyone?

A POPULAR GIRL:

Laurie Lyon and Leigh Johnson wanted Mimi on their "Saltaire's Girl Softball Team"  in 1964.
Here's the roster:

click image to enlarge

I don't know if they found a team to play  against in the Summer of '64.

-Does anyone remember?

Who could we ask?

They could not field this  team this summer.

-Don't ask.

BEATLEMANIC:

She chased the Fab Four around New York with a million other kids.

I don't know if she went to Shea in 1965.

Does anyone remember?

-Who could we ask?

ALWAYS THE ARTIST:

They tell me that if she loved anything more than  sailing, it was drawing: designing; making decorative items. To me that means: Observant. Sensitive. Lots of thought behind those beautiful Irish eyes.

ALWAYS THE SAILOR:

But always the sailor, Mimi was. And is.

And those sailing races on the Bay-
Everyone remembers those afternoons.

Mimi used to sail with Jeannie.

Where are they now?

I bet you can find their names  somewhere on one of those ignored  tarnished old trophies on the fireplace at the Yacht Club.

Would somebody take a look? I don't go there much anymore.

-Who would look?

SHE WAS ONE OF US:

Mimi was right there with us soaking up that Saltaire Summer Sun.

"The sun that is young once only," as Dylan Thomas said.

I never knew her when the sun was old.

-Did anyone?

  

REST IN PEACE

Rest in Peace, Mimi.

No- let's use the name that she likes best:

Rest in Peace, MARY BUCHLER

Rest in Peace.

-JO'H

Tobacco Card,  1890's

Saltaire's Finest

Should there be limits on Building in Saltaire?

Maura Corrigan McCurdy:

The Village of Saltaire needs to create an architectural review board to put some limits on the size and character of new houses, especially on the Bayfront. Otherwise, new homeowners will tear down traditional and smaller homes and built huge houses that are not in character with the village.
By Maura Corrigan McCurdy on DESECRATION on 3/26/12


Maura urges all to see this PDF about teardowns "National Historic Trust: What's wrong with Teardowns, a Visual Analysis:

http://www.preservationnation.org/information-center/sustainable-communities/teardowns/additional-resources/whats_wrong_with_teardowns_visual_analysis.pdf


Ed: Lets start a dialogue on this issue. Comments below.

From the HAMPTONS, our founder, George Fontanals Jr. has seen lots of teardowns:

One thing I can tell you a lot about is tear downs. Out here in the Hamptons there are many many of them. The problem is that as property values go up the likelihood that a house will be raised rather than renovated also goes up. Big $ people just don't want what old homes have to offer and they are willing to pay for waterfront locations.
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Anonymous sez:
Isn't it a little late to impose an architectural review board? Saltaire has always and will always be chaning. The modern homes of the 1970's didn't exactly fit the character of the 1920's style homes.
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Another anonomous: on Should there be limits on Building in Saltaire?

There are heights and restrictions by the village- but due to new fema and state regulations they might look out of place in the height now. Older houses only about two feet off the ground in clearance. Look at the Reiger house on Broadway- very low to the ground. No standards back then, and they are paying for it now with the water table growing. Then turn to the Hill house- had to be reposted to todays fema and state regs height. Look at the Store after it rains and the water table is high- getting to the underneath is impossible.By Anonymous on Should there be limits on Building in Saltaire? on 3/29/12 Publish Spam Delete
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Maura Corrigan McCurdy:
well you can let the market forces decide what Saltaire will look like 50 years from now or you could attempt to impose some control. The choice is up to the voters. I for one would rather make the attempt to keep homes in scale than allow McMansions to dominate the skyline. Maybe the new home on Neptune and Bay will be something we will all appreciate......but maybe not

Instantly Indispensable

Instantly Indispensable

That's the only way we can describe “Historic Homes of Saltaire, 2011.”
Inspired and sponsored by SCAA, but primarily the result of the result of unbelievable digging by author Patricia Hennessey, this book memorializes, categorizes, slices and dices 100 years of Saltaire history and houses.
This is the first book ever that you can use to walk around the village and look at a classic house and find out:
“Who built it?”
“Who owns it?”
“Who was every darn owner of that house in the last 100 years?”

“Yeah, I remember them. They owned that house back in the '50's. I used to babysit there.”

Take the Leigh House, 1 West Bay Prom. Sure, the Leighs have owned it since 1964: Hennessey's book will tell you that before the Leighs it was owned by the Correas. And before them the Langs, all the way back to when it was built in 1914.

click image above to enlarge

.. and so on for 86 homes and buildings like the village stores; Yacht Club and churches.
This is crazy, dogged good research on Ms. Hennessey's part. She started with lists first drawn up by Kitty Goggins, Saltaire's second historian, and updated over the years by Liz Starkey and the SCAA. Then the searches: Village records; tax rolls; the 1925 Hyde Map. Then the trips all the way to Riverhead to the county clerk's office probably being a little pushy to get what she needed from musty archives.

Then Ms. Hennessey got together more than eighty classic village scenes from historical postcards and images. Many of these images are virtually impossible to find anymore. This I know. I have been searching for some of these images for years. They are very rare and collectors don't want to give them up.

The narrative writing and descriptions set up this history well. And the book supports its provenance with a thorough bibliography.

The production, design, graphics and layout by JP Williams is professional throughout and makes this book attractive, sturdy and of archival quality.

The end product is a definitive documentation of the history of Saltaire and Saltaire buildings.
Kind of thing you gotta have if you live in this place. Or used to live there.
Get it from the SCAA . Benefits the SCAA. Will help funding future research projects. See post below.

--JO'H

Andy Logan Writes About...

Laurie

copyright New Yorker Magazine

Laurie Elisabeth Lyon

July 8, 1947-March 17, 1972

Early 1960's

Before the storms.

Ed. Note: Those were baby boom dreams in 1952.

For Baby Boom parents, their kids had a manifest future of unlimited happiness, wealth and success.

As time went by, the kids had a different take.

--JO'H

Diane McManus remembers: I remember Laurie --she was my counselor in the 12-14 girls' group and I felt somehow protected, nurtured. She was friend and guide, not "whatever you want to do" friend but someone who cared enough to say no when she needed to.

I knew the strong Laurie. Somewhere, she lives no matter.

-Diane McManus

The Japanese House

Ed note: some bloggers were commenting on about the house that Phil Keane was “Protecting” in his story below “Phil Keane Jr. Writes about Suzie.” Thinking together, they figured out it was the Johnstone house on Neptune Walk. Here is how their chain of consciousness spun out of control:

Jon Lyon sez: I Know the house, on Neptune, a few homes north of Corkscrews. The wife was Japanese which explains (I guess) the tea house. I think I considered making off with some available firewood from there on a cold autumn night, but shied away when Chief Dwight Isaakson just happened by (now that's a name from the past). Hello Dwight, just ignore me as I slither by with that wagon trailing behind me.

Phil Keane sez: The woman was not Japanese, she was a free spirited older woman with long flowing grey hair, what Stevie Nicks probably looks like now, spinning and shit. She and her husband were very artsy types.

Dwight was never a cop, just head lifeguard, too easy going of a guy for the seedier side of Saltaire. This occurred while Dunleavy was still at the helm, after the first summer of that famous trio of peace officers, Noel, Harry, and myself appeared on the scene. (Picture on request)

JO'H adds: The Tea House: a mystic lady named Johnstone.

Phil sez: You are probably right, now that I hear the name. He was a grumpy guy as I recall. I couldnt remember the people who's house it was I watched.They were a nice older couple. They were the first with a tea house in back and I think the Corrigans later built next to them. I cant remember the walk name either. East side of the ball fields?

Ed: Can't remember the name of the boardwalks? You have been away too long.

Jon: Dwight was never a cop, just head lifeguard, too easy going of a guy for the seedier side of Saltaire. This occurred while Dunleavy was still at the helm, after the first summer of that famous trio of peace officers, Noel, Harry, and myself appeared on the scene. (Picture on request)

Phil sez: I dont know, they didnt seem like the corporate type at all, she was kind of mystical. I didnt know they had children. The tea house was behind their house, NE corner, about as big as Jon's backhouse. Now theres a story. If Jon's backhouse is ever torn down you could smoke the 2x4 studs and roof joists and catch a hell of a buzz. Or build a sauna with them...

OUR HERO, COSMO HAS THE LAST, DEFINITIVE WORD:

cosmo sez:

I became very close to the Johnstones when they were alive. Bill Johnstone was  the first attorney and senior vice president for Bethlehem Steel since the  twenties.  Milly and Bill were very  wealthy, and brought the tea school to New  York, buying a former 100 plus year old equestrian unit of the NYPD, bought a  tea house and garden in  Japan for a fortune, and had it moved and reconstructed  in the old police building exactly as it had been in Japan.  Their son George  was one of the greatest photographers of our time, and would go deep into areas  of the planet that no white man had previously gone, later bringing with him the  leaders of the Travel industry who would open the areas to tourism.  George was  married to Lo, who was Chinese, and she still summers in Saltaire with her son  Tommy.          Cosmo

The Water Tower by Virginia Baum

Phil Keane Jr. WRITES ABOUT SUZIE

SUZIE

I spent a winter at Saltaire, on Fire Island, working for the Village. Winter of 1970-71.Tearing up old boardwalks, and building new ones. From bay to ocean and back again. It was hard, cold work, with the North wind blowing off the Great South Bay every morning.

Al Aherne, Dan Weinlandt, and myself had rented the Bernhardt house up in Rabbittown. It was one of the few houses that were winterized back then. We had to take the ferry back and forth to shop on the mainland for provisions. We also had Dan’s VW bug parked at the lighthouse for the occasional trip into the city and such, but that was a hike.

I started a little business on the side, House Watching.

98% of the homes were vacant in the winter moths. So I would check on people’s houses every few days, for a small monthly fee. I’d walk around the house, checking the windows and doors, making sure everything was safe and secure .

Late that fall I was also asked to dog-sit for Marvin Schwartz’s dog, a trained guard dog named Suzie, while Marvin and his family were away on vacation. Suzie was a beautiful dog, a big strong German Shepard, supposedly trained as a guard dog for protection. She was also a very smart good old dog, she was goofy, loved tennis balls, and at home if I wasn’t looking she would swipe food off the counter. Other than that she was really well behaved and listened well. Apparently there was a command word that she would attack on but I didn’t want to know what it was, it would have been too tempting to play around with it on Dan or Al.

Suzie was a great companion when I walked around the village checking on my houses, always right by my side.

One day as we were walking around I stopped to check a house. I tried the side door. The knob turned in my hand and the door swung open. Sitting on the floor next to the door in the bathroom was a typewriter, a reel to reel tape deck, a small TV and a large radio. All neatly stacked and ready to go. I checked around inside the house. Everything else looked normal.

Apparently someone had broken in, and was planning to come back that night and pick the items up, figuring no one would be around for miles.

I left the door unlocked like I found it, but I moved the items off the floor and stashed them in a closet.

Now, the village is pretty deserted this time of year, there are maybe 10 people living there in winter, and I didn’t think anyone of them could be the culprit. I was about to tell the local police about the break-in but then I got a better idea. We didn’t need no stinkin’ cops for this, Suzie and I would handle this caper all by ourselves.

Later that night (it was a Thursday, as I recall) after it got dark, Suzie and I packed a few beers some joints, and a couple of dog treats and we quietly snuck back into the house. We sat on the floor in the darkness away from any windows, waiting quietly. After a few hours I was getting cold and bored, we were out of beer, pot and dog treats. We were about ready to call it a night when I heard and felt footsteps coming down the boardwalk towards the house. They walked right up to the door, not even trying to be quiet or stealthlike. Suzie immediately sensed trouble and her ears stood up. We eased over to the bathroom where the outside door was located, I was holding Suzie back by her collar. Waiting until I heard the door swing open and someone take a step inside, I yelled ” Go Get ‘em Suzie! ”as loud as I could and I let her go.

Suzie roared into that room, teeth bared, barking up a storm. It was beautiful…what a sight.

I’ve never heard a grown man scream like him that night or since then. It sounded like the Hounds of Hell in all their fury had been released on him! Suzie chased him out the door, up the boardwalk and around the corner onto Lighthouse Promenade barking and nipping at his ass. I could still hear him screaming as it faded into the distance. Suzie came back after awhile, wagging her tail, happy as could be. A job well done. Good dog! We were both pretty proud of ourselves. That night Suzie and I shared a steak dinner.

I never found out who it was that night, don’t really care. In a village full of dark empty houses, I don’t think anybody would have ever expected a giant German Shepard to jump out at them growling and barking. I did keep my eye out to see if anyone suddenly had hair turned white or developed a nervous tic.

A few days later, Suzie went back to Manhattan. I received a nice bonus from the homeowner’s who’s valuables I had saved.

Saltaire didn’t have any more break-ins that winter.

And thus ended a great crime fighting duo’s career.

Phil Keane

1/4/11

Cosmo Remembers-

That would have been either Elmo or Joey Ferrara. They were from Kismet and ran a burglary ring in the early seventies. They were finally caught a couple of years later when the authorities found a shack in the bushes between Kismet and the Lighthouse. In the shack were a few stolen items and a map laying out the whole plan. It depicted how they would bring their swag from Saltaire to the shack, where it would be stored until they had a big haul. The map then depicted how they would transport their loot by boat back to the mainland.

In a multi-jurisdictional raid by Suffolk County Police (including a helicopter), the National Park Service Rangers, Suffolk Marine Bureau and Saltiare's finest (I believe it was Lenny McGahey), the ring was busted. Unfortunaely, being minors, they only received a slap on the wrist. This did not satisfy Saltairians, and one Saturday night during August in front of the Kismet Out, we cornered Elmo. He was stuck on the Kismet Ferry Dock and there was no escape. Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, he turned around and ran off the end of the dock.

Peter Baum and Victoria Baum Bjorklund on the Ash Wednesday Storm

PICTURES OF THE HISTORIC MARCH 1962 STORM AFTERMATH BY PETER A. BAUM.

All pictures by Peter Baum unless otherwise noted.

orologists called it a "Perfect Storm." It battered the East Coast for three days and five high tides from March 3-6, 1962. It reshaped the Outer Banks and altered shorelines up and down the East Coast.

This week marks the Fiftieth Anniversary of the March 1962 storm. Meteorologists called it a "perfect storm." For Fire Island it was one of the most destructive storms of the Twentieth Century.

The Ash Wednesday Storm of 1962 occurred on March 6–8, 1962 along the mid-Atlantic coast of the United States. It was considered by the U.S. Geological Survey to be one of the most destructive storms ever to affect the Mid-Atlantic States. One of the ten worst storms in the United States in the 20th century, it lingered through five high tides over a three day period, killing 40 people, injuring over 1,000 and causing hundreds of millions in property damage in six states.
--Wikipedia

We remember going out there to assess the damage on March 10, 1962. (I remember the date because I brought along a transistor radio to listen to the very first ever broadcast of a New York Mets spring training game-- you could look it up).
Wreckage was all over the beach. West of Saltaire, the flotsam and jetsam from all points
east washed up above the dune line and made it look like you could walk from Kismet to the lighthouse stepping only on debris without putting a foot in the sand.

We got the below story and pictures from Victoria Baum Bjorklund. The great photos were taken by her dad, the late Peter A. Baum. Thanks, counselor Bjorklund, for your priceless contributions.
Don’t forget this storm. It was a big one.
--JO’H

Victoria Bjorklund writes:

My father, Peter Ackerman Baum (1922-1995), was a trustee of the Village of Saltaire for a number of years in the 1960s. He elected to take leadership of the "public safety" areas. For example, in that capacity, he hired Saltaire's first full time policeman, Officer Joe Kelly. He also had all the old fire hoses unrolled one Saturday so that he could inspect them. He was horrified to see that mice had chewed holes in most of the hoses, so he started a fundraising campaign to modernize the fire protection equipment. Remember that in those days, the Village's fire equipment consisted of hose carts that village volunteers would grab from the sheds and pull to the site of the fire. Similarly, he believed that storm preparedness and aftermath were part of his trustee responsibilities.

Anyhow, my family always sweated every big nor'easter for fear that our cottage, Sea Spray, at 309 Pacific Walk would wash away. After Hank and I married in1972, we were dispatched with my Mother to empty the house of memorabilia before big storms. We would carry precious things and store them at either or both of the Lathams' attic or our cousins' Hub Bub. But in the 1960s it was harder to get over to Saltaire in the off-season so we just took our chances in the storms. This storm was different. It battered the beach day after day for days through a series of high tides. My parents were very worried about whether our house would still be there, and if it was, if it had been so undercut that it would be subject to condemnation. Or did it once again squeak by?
So we bundled up and trekked over to check. The damage was extensive as these
Pictures show. West Walk, Broadway, and Pacific walk stairways all washed away. But miraculously, our house was still standing on its little posts. While we no longer had any dunes, much less the big dunes that used to block our ocean view, we did still have our little house.

Best regards, Victoria
Victoria Bjorklund writes:

My father, Peter Ackerman Baum (1922-1995), was a trustee of the Village of Saltaire for a number of years in the 1960s. He elected to take leadership of the "public safety" areas. For example, in that capacity, he hired Saltaire's first full time policeman, Officer Joe Kelly. He also had all the old fire hoses unrolled one Saturday so that he could inspect them. He was horrified to see that mice had chewed holes in most of the hoses,so he started a fundraising campaign to modernize the fire protection equipment. Remember that in those days, the Village's fire equipment consisted of hose carts that village volunteers would grab from the sheds and pull to the site of the fire. Similarly, he believed that storm preparedness and aftermath were part of his trustee responsibilities.

Anyhow, my family always sweated every big nor'easter for fear that our cottage, Sea Spray, at 309 Pacific Walk would wash away. After Hank and I married in1972, we were dispatched with my Mother to empty the house of memorabilia before big storms. We would carry precious things and store them at either or both of the Lathams' attic or our cousins' Hub Bub. But in the 1960s t was harder to get over to Saltaire in the off-season so we just took our chances in the storms.

This storm was different. It battered the beach day after day through a series of

high tides. My parents were very worried about whether our house would still be there, and if it was, whether it had been so undercut that it would be subject to condemnation. Or did it once again squeak by?

So we bundled up and trekked over to check. The damage was extensive as these pictures show. The West Walk, Broadway, and Pacific walk stairways were all washed away. But miraculously, our house was still standing on its little posts. While we no longer had any dunes, much less he big dunes that used to block our ocean view, we did still have our little house.

Best regards, Victoria

2012 pic of same location courtesy Ali Beqaj

All pictures except otherwise noted by Peter A. Baum.

Copyright 2012 Baum Family.

The March Storm

We can't figure out why everybody forgets about this storm. They spent the whole spring and half of the summer in 1962 dredging new sand onto the oceanfront from the Cove. Big ugly dredge in the cove.

click on this image to enlarge.

Note: Well, the Baums sure remember. Everyone thought their house was gong to be gone in that storm, but it held on. Here is a recollection from Victoria Baum Bjorklund:

Dear Jim—Thank you for your recollection of the March 1962 nor’easter. Visiting after that storm was pretty disturbing. Even so, we were amazed and thankful that our house was still standing, albeit with flotsam and jetsam around and under it.

My parents were forever grateful that the Village of Saltaire attorney Frank Goggins had convinced my parents not to buy the lots on top of the dunes but behind them. The dunes had been so high that our cottage “Sea Spray” did not have an ocean view from the time it was built in 1948 until the March 1962 storm, at which time “Sea Spray” became more than “water view”.

Being an engineer, my father, Peter A. Baum, wanted to evaluate the damage up and down the beach. So our family with cameras trekked quite far to look at the damage and to take pictures. I believe that my mother, Virginia White Baum, still has those pictures, many of which my father had blown up to 8 x 10 size. However bad the damage in Saltaire, I remember that the damage in Point O’ Woods, Dunewood, Lonelyville, and Fair Harbor was much worse. I recall that my father took photographs of those beachscapes too, with the houses lying on the beach or just pipes and chimneys where the houses used to be. I will see if I can find those photos at my mother’s house to share with you. . She remembered the old Ocean Promenade before it washed away in the 1938 hurricane. She thought that the damage in the 1962 storm was the worst since 1938

My mother still has wonderful memories of many, many years at Saltaire. It had been my mother’s idea to build a house in Saltaire. She is a Sammis descendent whose relatives owned the old Kismet Hotel. had been coming to Saltaire since she was a baby. Her mother and grandmother used to take her to the well house on Broadway and bring well water up in the bucket to wash the sand off of her when she was three or four years old. We have some great pictures of those scenes circa 1930.
- Victoria Baum Bjorklund

Duncan Dobie Writes About:

“Fire Island Magic”
A Writer’s Recollection of a
Childhood in 1950s Saltaire
by Duncan Dobie

click to enlarge images

The Dobie House of the 1950s

My first recollections of being in Saltaire go back to the late 1940s when I was around 3 years old. My grandparents owned a cottage on a corner lot just west of Broadway not far from the ocean. From the back deck where the family spent a lot of time, I remember being able to see the dunes off in the distance and hear the wondrous roar of the surf just beyond. That soothing sound was implanted in my brain at an early age and has been special to me all my life. It put me to sleep many a night. It was also special to my grandmother. If she couldn’t be right on the ocean, she had to be close.
Fire Island was in my grandmother’s blood at an early age. Being extremely strong willed, she and my grandfather eloped and were married in Lonelyville in 1915. They were both 20 years old at the time. Shortly after they were married, they chose Saltaire as the place where they wanted to put down permanent roots.
The original Dobie cottage was located at the northwest corner of Marine Walk and Lighthouse Promenade. Long-time Saltairian Frank Mina remembers a beautiful white fence bordering the lot and a very ornate garden. I wouldn’t describe it as ornate. From a three-year-old’s perspective, it was more like an impenetrable jungle where tigers and bears might be hiding and where harmless black snakes and hognose snakes were frequently seen.
As a toddler, I loved to follow my grandmother around as she watered her plants and tended to her flowers and vegetables. Gardening was one of her great passions in life. She always had several large, homemade bird feeders out in the back yard that constantly attracted a variety of local birds.

Catching the Saltaire Bug at an Early Age

When I was barely two weeks old in early 1947, my parents were transferred from their native Long Island to Augusta, Georgia. They usually made a pilgrimage to Long Island every summer and spent a few weeks with my grandparents in Saltaire. As a boy, I had the fortune to spend time in Saltaire before I could walk.
The Dobie cottage was very “homey.” It was decorated with dozens of antiques and family heirlooms. My most vivid memory of my grandparents’ cottage is still etched in my mind as if it were yesterday. Over the fireplace mantle (my grandparents wouldn’t have owned a beach house without a fireplace) hung a Confederate cavalry saber and a Sharps’ carbine that had belonged to a one of my grandfather’s ancestors, a Confederate cavalry officer from North Carolina.
Hanging on one wall was an original Confederate battle flag that had also belonged to our Civil War ancestor. My grandfather was very proud of his southern heritage and the fact that he was also related to Civil War General J.E.B. Stuart. By the time I was about three, I had an insatiable fixation on those Civil War treasures. Every time I visited my grandparents I would ask my grandfather if I could hold the carbine and the saber. Both were taller than me. My grandfather told me that they would someday be passed down to me. Just before my grandparents sold the cottage and moved to their new dream home in the dunes a few years later, someone broke into the cottage one winter and stole all three items.


Part II: The Dobies Build Their Dream House

Making the Dream a Reality
Around 1950, my grandparents acquired a building lot in the dunes overlooking the ocean east of the Saltaire water tower. The house that would be built there would become the center of my grandparents’ universe – and mine. During those magical summers from 1953 through 1959, For nine months I plied my way through grammar school in Georgia, counting the days until I could return to Saltaire to spend the whole summer with my grandparents.
The house that would soon rise out of the sand offered a commanding view of the village of Saltaire, Clam Cove and the Great South Bay. On clear days, you could see all the way north to the mainland. We had a spectacular view of the Ocean to the south. The pink dream house stood like an oasis in a desert; no other houses were within a quarter of a mile. That was just the way my grandparents wanted it.
The black Saltaire water tower stood just behind the dunes a hundred yards west. It was a well-known landmark to the Dobie clan. If you were leaving Bayshore on the ferry, it was one of the first things you could see in Saltaire. When you arrived at the dock, knowing our house was next to the water tower seemed like an old friend was welcoming us home.
Both my grandparents shared a reverence for the beach, the ocean, and the pounding surf. My grandmother often told me that surf could be your best friend. But it could also be very unforgiving. My grandparents well knew that it could take their dream home in the blink of an eye. The natural wear and tear caused by the surf, sand and wind was also something to reckon with, not to mention the damage that a sudden storm could inflict. But their lives would have never been complete had they not taken the risk to build their dream house in that place, at that time, and they were fully prepared to face whatever risks might lay ahead.
The original cottage in the village was sold to two young men from New York whose last names were Adams and Parker. Robert Feustel remembers them living in my grandparents’ old house during the 1950s and being well liked in the community. I have no memory of them. Tragically, they were both killed in an apartment fire in New York City a number of years later.

A Pink Castle in the Dunes
For most of us, those experiences in life that we can truly look back on and call “sublime” are few and far between. They may only occur once or twice during the course of a lifetime. Or they may never occur at all. The only word I can think of to describe that amazing lot and the dream house that eventually grew out of those enchanting dunes is “sublime.” You had to be there in the 1950s to understand this, but living in a house built on that particular stretch of sand in that place and time was an awe-inspiring and spiritual experience. From the lot to the house to the way the house was furnished, the Dobie “castle” was something special. My grandparents designed every aspect of their dream house themselves and they did a superb job in every phase of the planning and construction.
Somewhat contemporary in style, the house was probably ahead of its time for the early 1950s. Being angled into the dunes gave it a very natural look, as if it had always been a part of the landscape. And despite its color, pink, my grandmother’s favorite color, it blended in with its natural surroundings well.
If you’ve ever been to Mt. Vernon, George Washington’s home on the Potomac River, and if you’ve ever experienced the incredible river view of the river from that house, you’ll know what I mean by “sublime.” Mt. Vernon offers a view of the Potomac River that is truly breathtaking, and George Washington was greatly impacted throughout his life by living there. He lived there as a very young boy, moved away and went back as an adult and rebuilt his old home because the location with its spectacular view had always been so awe-inspiring for him.
The Dobie house was nowhere close to the magnitude of Mt. Vernon. Nor did it compare in size or cost with some of the two-story, bay-front homes in Saltaire. Nonetheless, it was a castle to a young boy from rural Georgia like me. There was no better place on earth for a boy my age to call home during those endless summers between 1952 and 1959.
Construction began in the autumn of 1951. By the summer of 1952, the basic shell of the house was pretty well completed. Coming from rugged Scottish stock, my grandfather, Duncan A. Dobie Jr., was a skilled carpenter and handyman and he did much of the exterior and interior finish work himself – most of the paneling and trim, all of the painting and all of the flooring and tile work on the inside. He also built all of the outside porches, steps and walkways.
Much of the lumber used for the outside decking and walkways was found on the beach. He started with a large railed deck in the front of the house facing the ocean where the family spent a great deal of time. Eventually he added a railed walkway that went all the way around the house on both sides and connected to the back porch.
His carpentry skills were equal in every respect to the gardening skills possessed by my grandmother, and every project he worked on was a labor of love. He never cut corners and he was a perfectionist about the finished product. Throughout the 1950s, he continued to make improvements both inside and outside the house every year. He always used the best materials available and made sure that any building project was done the right way so that it would last. He was very proud of the work he did on his dream house.
The House That Grandpa Built
The constant assault on the house by the elements, mainly the wind, the salt air, and the harsh summer sun, snow, ice, and the cold winter winds, could reduce a new coat of paint to bare wood or a metal fixture to rust. Grandpa was constantly rebuilding decks and porches, replacing rusted-out metal components and making other repairs.
I vividly remember the excitement that my grandmother felt as the house was being constructed. During the off season Grandma sent my family a steady progression of photos to keep us abreast of the progress being made. I was only four or five years old at the time but I was well aware of the excitement that the new house had created.
During my first full summer in the new house at Saltaire in 1953, Grandpa was constantly at work doing odd jobs like laying linoleum tile or painting or building outside decks and boardwalks around the house. I spent a lot of time watching him work, holding certain tools for him and trying to help out.
When a job was completed, he would address my grandmother with a big grin and say, “Mommy, look at what little Dunc and I have just done.” In truth, I was always in his way but he never complained. He made me feel like I was an important part of every project.
By Saltaire standards (especially today’s standards), the house was very modest beach house. But to my grandparents, this house in the dunes was a lifelong, dream come true. Over the years, my grandmother told me many times how grateful she was and how blessed she felt to live in such a house. She thanked God every day for giving her the privilege of living in Saltaire. To a boy like me, the house was definitely the finest house in all of Saltaire! A larger-than-life castle in the dunes! There were more expensive homes in the village, but none quite as unique as the well known and much-talked-about pink Dobie house in the dunes!
As you ascended the long, hand-made wooden walkway up Pennant Walk from Ocean Walk toward the house, the roar of the surf got louder and louder. The back of the house peered down at you like an old friend beckoning you home after an extended absence. Most of the rooms were finished with plywood paneling. My bedroom faced the ocean, and I have fond memories of lying in bed many a night and listening to the soothing sound of the surf while watching for the beam of light from the lighthouse as it came through the window and across the ceiling at regular intervals all night long. That light never let me down.
Fire Island’s historic, one-of-a-kind lighthouse boasted just two bands of white and black – a white band at the base, then black, another band of white and finally a black band at the top. I always thought of it as a huge chess figure, a black and white bishop, standing guard in the dunes and protecting everything within its long reach.
The beckoning beam of light came through my bedroom window every 8 1/2 seconds. To a bone-tired, sunburned kid who smelled like fish and was usually covered in poison ivy, no better sleep-inducer ever existed than the roaring of the surf and the reassuring beacon from the lighthouse. Like so many other things on that magical island, it was a spiritual experience.
Home Sweet Home
The family room had a large brick fireplace against one wall and a large picture window that looked out over the deck to the dunes and the ocean. The walls were covered with oil paintings done by my grandmother of Disney characters, animals and presidents. Directly behind the fireplace was a large walk-in pantry closet. The family room led into a small breakfast room/eating area next to the pantry with large windows that afforded a fantastic view of the cove and the bay and the village below. The breakfast room led into my grandmother’s kitchen and it, too, had large windows that faced the cove and the bay.
Even during the middle of the summer we frequently used the fireplace on cold and rainy days and my grandfather loved to cook streaks over the open flames on weekends. I can still remember the sizzling meat and the unforgettable taste of those char-broiled steaks. He also had a popcorn cooker and he frequently popped popcorn over an open flame. We burned wood from an ever-abundant supply of scrap lumber and driftwood found on the beach. (Good lumber was always saved and used for some express building purpose such as the various walkways and only scrap lumber was burned in the fireplace.)
Thanks to the spirit and happiness that my grandparents soaked into it every day of their lives, that house had a heart and soul. It breathed life as surely as a living entity. From the large picture window that always offered a magnificent view of the ocean and from which we observed the tides, the weather and the abundant shore life all around us, to the beloved white-painted brick fireplace, to the brass ship’s clock that chimed a series of bells—two bells was one o’clock, four bells was two o’clock and so one in four-hour increments– to the colorful wool afghans that my grandmother made on the sprawling couch that I could wrap up in with a good book when a summer gale was blowing a few feet away outside on the front deck, to the poison ivy that I was forever doing battle with and on which my grandmother always put her special concoction of some mysterious potion that would make it dry up and stop itching – I was truly living in the land of Oz!
Our house in the dunes reminds me of a quote from Abraham Lincoln: “I don’t need a fancy chair; I just need a good chair to sit in.” And so it was with the beach house and my grandparents’ lifestyle: nothing fancy, but something so special and so ingrained with their personalities that it became much more than a simple beach house.
Beach life was very basic, and most of my toys were on the beach. My Saltaire summer wardrobe consisted of a pair of tennis shoes or sneakers, several bathing suits and eight or ten T-shirts. I seldom dressed up unless I was going to church with my grandmother in which case I’d wear a nice pair of slacks and a short-sleeved dress shirt. If I needed anything during the summer like a new bathing suit, we’d usually order it from one of the New York department stores out of a catalog. Knowing something was coming in the mail and checking at the post office in the village every day was a big event!
Occasionally I’d need a new fishing pole or some tackle to replace something that was broken or worn out and my grandfather was great about buying good quality gear. My list of store-bought summer gear included a baseball glove, a bat and a ball, a mask and a snorkel and flippers, and fishing tackle. That was all I needed. My grandparents provided me with a bike, and other than a few toy soldiers that I brought from home and played with in the dunes and on the beach, that pretty well summed up my small arsenal of belongings. I never wanted for anything else. I was the richest boy in the world!
Like today, most Saltaire residents kept wagons with their family names on them on the dock. Our large wooden wagon was painted bright pink to match the house. Since Grandpa routinely came in on the Friday afternoon “daddy boat” and left on Sunday afternoon to go to work in New York City, the well-known and slightly over-sized pink “Dobie” wagon saw considerable use.
Today my grandparents “dream” house is a distant dream. After many years of salt, wind and weather, I’m sure it was beginning to show the effects of age. When they retired and moved to Florida in 1960, my grandparents sold the house to well-known CBS News correspondent Charles Collingwood. It was fitting that such a unique person bought such a unique house.
Collingwood was definitely from that old school of TV pioneers. He landed on Omaha Beach in1944 with the first wave of Marines and accompanied them all the way to Berlin. Years later in 1962, Collinwood famously caused Robert Moses to stalk out of a meeting when Collingwood compared Moses’ plan to pave over Fire Island to Hitler’s march through the Rhineland.
I only hope that Collingwood and his family had as many good times in that house as the Dobie clan did during their seasons in the sun. Collingwood died in 1985.
Liz Claiborne bought the original Dobie property from the Collingwood estate in 1985. I am told that our house was torn down to make way for a much larger and more modern structure. Claiborne also bought a lot of property from the dunes where my grandparents’ house once stood all the way down to Lighthouse Promenade.
Liz Claiborne also donated quite a bit of money toward the restoration of Fire Island Light. My grandmother and I walked to and from the lighthouse nearly every morning on the beach, and we lived by its beam at night. I sure hope that members of the Claiborne family witnessed and cherished that endless beam of light in the darkness at night just as I had done many decades earlier as a boy. I like to think that those magical light beams that made their way into my bedroom at night had something to do with sparking Liz Claiborne’s interest in preserving such a historic landmark.

Part III: Was it All Just A Dream?

I stand amid the roar

Of a surf-tormented shore,

And I hold within my hand

Grains of the golden sand-

How few! yet how they creep

Through my fingers to the deep,

While I weep- while I weep!

O God! can I not grasp

Them with a tighter clasp?

O God! can I not save

One from the pitiless wave?

Is all that we see or seem

But a dream within a dream?
--Edgar Allan Poe

Even though the old pink house and the water tower standing like a silent sentinel nearby, are gone forever, and even though it seems like my Fire Island days were some sort of hazy dream that might not have really happened at all, I still have those precious memories tucked away. I keep a few old photos to look at from time to time as a constant reminder that it really did happen. I guess it’s just as well. A good writer friend in Florida, Sid Morgan, who has written a book about growing up poor on a farm in southern Illinois, wrote a passage in his book that struck a real chord with me. “We all come from the soil,” he said. “We gain wisdom and then we go back to the soil.”
I like to think that the old house and everything it stood for went back to the soil, or in this case, back to the timeless sands of Saltaire. Sid also tempered his statement with an interesting question. “What happens to all of that wisdom that we as people have gained throughout the course of our lifetimes? Does it go back into the soil as well, only to be redistributed out again to a newer generation like a new crop of corn?” God I hope so. I hope that some eight year old boy with a big grin on his face is throwing a ball with six or seven of his best friends on Saltaire’s athletic field every summer, or walking on the beach under the glorious Saltaire sun with his grandmother like I did.
I like to think that such an important birthright is carried out by the direction of the Man upstairs. What a shame it would be if all of that glorious wisdom shared by all the good people – my precious grandparents; my boyhood friends at Saltaire; the legendary Captain Al Skinner who ferried the Fire Islander for so many years; everybody’s “Uncle Pete,” the great athletic director – and all of the old-time villagers down through the ages, what a shame if all that were lost forever.
I have to believe that it has to be redistributed, like a never ending source of energy, like the “Force” in Stars Wars. I have to believe that it is recaptured in each new generation. I have to believe that is the real beauty of human existence. Otherwise, there would be no reason to live on this earth. Lord only knows: all of that special wisdom that my grandparents and my best friends’ grandparents and parents brought to the world in Saltaire during the 1950s and shared with others desperately needs to be utilized and redistributed today. Just as Grandma used to say: “All good things must come to an end, but there will always be more good days ahead!”
My boyhood days at Saltaire ended over a half a century ago, but the impact of those glorious days living in the house that Grandpa and Grandma built will endure and continue to kindle the flame that keeps the spirit alive long after I am gone.

--Duncan Dobie
February, 2012

Middle Pic: Ruth Dobie, Saltaire's First Historian

The Author with father, @1957. The Father died when the son was 15.

Myopic Motorboating:
Phil Keane Jr. on:
How Meegan and Me Almost Altered the Course of New York City History
by Phil Keane, Jr:
I've been starting to write down my stories lately. As they come back to me I'm reminded of more stories, and so on and so on. My kids have told me I had so many stories I should get them down, while I can. Nice huh?

But I just have these "adventures" as such, some no great shakes, just things that stayed with me over the years.Things I saw or happened at different times in different places. Some, maybe many, that I'm sure have been embellished with bullshit as time goes on. Like my neighbor who buried his car, a big old 40's something, in his back yard in the late 50's. (This I have confirmed with my brother and sister).

This is one:

Mike's was one of these stories that came about because something else that I remembered brought this episode back to mind.

I met Mike Keegan at Saltaire on Fire Island, where we our families spent the summers. We were about 13 or 14 that summer. Mike was called "Meegan" Keegan. Eveyone called him Meegan. I can't remember why. What I remember about Mike was that although he really needed to wear glasses, he was never seen with a pair on. Whatever he was doing, he was always sticking his head out and squinting real hard in front of him. But it didnt work very well for him, I dont think he could see more than 3 or 4 feet .
Mike had a boat. A 16 foot aluminum or fiberglass boat. Nothing fancy, 3 bench seats, and an outboard motor. It was great for running around in, fishing, crabbing all that stuff. One Sunday morning we were heading down towards Sunken Forest, Mike, myself and Allen Aherne. Staying pretty close to shore and avoiding the flats. We were cruising along at a good clip, Mike at the stern holding on to the throttle, leaning far forward, and squinting to beat the band. I was sitting in the bow, leaning over keeping an eye out for sand bars and shallow water that was flying by fast Out east that way it's a pretty deserted area, there were no houses or beach access to the ocean.

There was a cabin cruiser anchored off our port side, but we didnt see anyone on it, or anyone else around. I can't remember the name of the boat but at the time it sounded familiar. As we were cruising along I started hearing someone yelling. At first it sounded faint, then a little louder, then it sounded like it was right in my ear. As we ripped along I looked down off the starboard side right and right next to the boat and there was this old man waving his fists and cussing and screaming his head off. I could have touched his nose he was that close. There was something about him that seemed familiar, even in that split second. We never even slowed down. I had to yell to Mike that we had almost run someone over. He popped his head up, squinted around a bit, but we just kept on going.
It bugged me for a while that I couldn't place the face but some time later, I dont remember when, I saw a picture in the newspaper. There was our man standing next to his boat, all smiles. He was Robert F. Wagner, then the Mayor of New York City. We had almost killed the Mayor of New York City!

I dont know Mike or Allen will remember this, but its still a great one in my Saltaire memories.

---Phil Keane, Jr.
2/10/12

DESECRATION

Ali Beqaj

Ali Beqaj

Ali Beqaj

Ali BeqajJustin Zizes Jr.

I once read a column in the NY Herald Tribune by Jimmy Breslin. 1967 or so. I still think of it every time I see someone pull this the kind of crap anywhere.

Breslin said:

Yesterday was one of the worst days for anybody who likes what makes up a city. At 2 PM a man in the Buildings Dept. issued a permit to the Wrecking Corp of America. Within an hour, workers were all over the 84 year old Metroplitan Opera House. They were punching holes into the roof and walls of the building. The orders are that the old Met has to come down quickly. People have been trying to save the building and if you wreck the building the fight is over. And the firm which is leasing the land can not wait to inflict on the City a 40 story atrocity....

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Same thing here. That old house was always distinct on the Saltaire Bayfront. Totally different than the architecture of the other classic houses on the bay. But it fit in.

Just a "for instance:" Take a look at the shack in the lighthouse painting below. That hovel had more Island character than whatever McMansion goes up now at Bay Prom and Neptune Walk.

--JO'H