Was talking recently with Yelp friend Carol S., and the subject of Long Island came up, and it brought back some pleasant memories. I haven't been there in a long time, and my knowledge of it was always limited. But the memories I have are good ones.
I do have an early memory of my parents taking me as a kid to Teddy Roosevelt's estate in Oyster Bay. Unfortunately, my memories of that visit are fragmentary.
My 1st real exposure to Long Island came when I was in my 20s. I was working at the time in Ft. Lee, and I became friendly with 2 older guys from Brooklyn who were hard-core fishermen. I wasn't, but I had occasionally gone fishing with my father at the Jersey Shore, and it was a nice bonding experience, although I don't remember that we ever caught many fish. When these 2 Brooklyn guys asked if I wanted to join them for a fishing excursion on Long Island, I was agreeable.
It was a long 3 days every time I went. Cross over the GW Bridge on Friday night, take the exit for Long Island, and then I'd venture up the island in the dark. Somehow, I was able to do this without getting lost, but it was always a very long drive. We'd fish Saturday into Sunday, and I'd drive back Sunday afternoon without any sleep (I was an insomniac anyway, but this was pushing the envelope). Sometimes we fished out of Greenport (the man running the fishing boat used to play a doctored recording of Willie Nelson's that went "On the boat again...").
Other times, we'd journey up to distant Montauk. The surroundings struck me as beautiful desolation, an eerily windswept landscape. (I hadn't been to Cape Cod yet, but later on I would come to recognize the similarities between the 2 locations). When I finally arrived in Montauk, and met up with my friends, we'd have a few drinks at a bar near the waterfront, and board the boat. They did provide bunks on the boat for sleeping, but I never slept. As dawn lightened up the sky, the vista presented was magnificent. The boat traveled a long way (I was told somewhere off the coast of New England) before dropping anchor.
I wasn't much of a fisherman, but I never caught so many fish in my life. After a half hour, I was through. My friends, of course, caught enough fish to open their own seafood restaurant. If you fish, Montauk is the place to go.
Driving home, I'd pass through historic, picturesque villages, past enchanting meadows and fields and forests, alongside Hampton shorelines with their beaches and distinctive high-end houses on stilts. I wish now that I had stopped and explored more. But even though I was young and resilient, after 3 days without sleep, I wanted nothing more than to get home in 1 piece and then crash. Into bed.
Ultimately, I had to stop the fishing trips. On the last 1, which occurred in the fall, I got into my car Sunday cold and wet. As I drove, I turned on the heater, which felt wonderful. For awhile. Suddenly, I saw a line of red lights stretching across the highway. Thinking the police had set up a barricade for some reason, I slammed on my brakes. With my heart hammering in my chest, I realized there was nothing there. Thankfully, there wasn't another car on the road. Not sure if it was a hallucination brought on by exhaustion, or a belated flashback from something I ingested at a concert or party that I shouldn't have ingested, but that was my last 3-day trip out to Montauk. I made the right decision to stop those trips, but...all these years later...I miss them.
Anyone who has read my reviews knows I have a fascination for mobsters/gangsters/organized crime. A friend of mine was fascinated by the case of Ricky Kasso and wanted to drive out to where he had lived in Northport. I had no interest...Kasso to me was a mentally ill jerk with a drug problem who caught the eye of the "Satanic Panic" people who were prevalent at the time...but my friend had accompanied me to the gravesite of Dutch Schultz, so how could I not reciprocate?
That area too was achingly beautiful and had a quaint charm, if more populated than Montauk, and that's what I remember of that day-- the loveliness of the area and the surroundings.
Later, another friend wanted to see the "Amityville Horror" house. He was driving, so I went. I remember the street was narrow and the house itself not as isolated as I thought it might be. My friend asked a passing jogger if "that house is THE house," and the jogger said yes. My friend said, "You must get sick of people asking." The jogger shrugged, said, "We're used to it by now," and jogged away.
I thought the Great South Bay was gorgeous, and the meal we ate at a roadside pizzeria one of the best I've had, but that was my "take-away" from Amityville. No ghosts, no demonic pigs-- just a house where a slimebag killed his family.
Going back to Montauk is on my bucket list, but I think I'll make a hotel reservation next time. These days, I can't stay awake for the 10 o'clock news, much less for 3 days navigating Long Island's roadways. read more