The Changing Face of Montauk…And Other Musings (Part Two)

In “Part One” I outlined some of the more obvious changes happening in this tourist-fishing town, knowing full well I’d get a mixed response. And I did. But what I didn’t do a particularly good job at was explaining (in my opinion) how this very recent round of changes was nothing compared to the more dramatic changes that have been observed over a much longer period of time.

So here goes:

I guess all this complaining about “change” should rightfully start with the Montaukets, right? These were the only real “locals,” after all.

Today’s locals cry about having to deal with bankers and trust fund citiots (Urban Dictionary: More commonly from New York City, citiots venture out to their summer homes in the Hamptons from Memorial Day to Labor Day. They usually have fancy cars and are usually wealthy. They drive like they own the place, and they walk around town and in stores like they own them too. Citiots are very snobbish. See also snob)

But the Montaukets certainly had it much worse. Try as they might to live a peaceful life in the land of wampum and plenty, those Pequots from up in southern New England (no doubt future Red Sox fans) seemed hell bent on making life miserable for the Montaukets. What do you think those Montaukets thought, seeing those bass rolling on the south side in 1500? All the seafood, deer and turkey, only an arrow shot away?

White settlers eventually invaded the place, these strange looking white men (that’s you and me, Bub) would eventually would change the place forever. Anyway, somewhere along the way these settlers managed to buy almost 9,000 acres of what we now recognize as most of Montauk.

By  the 1700s, Montauk was used for livestock (watch your step). It was finally “rediscovered” by Arthur Benson of Brooklyn, who bought all of Montauk for $151,000 in 1879. He didn’t buy the property from Barbara Corcoran or Sotheby’s,  no, he bought it during an auction, from the steps of the Brooklyn Federal Courthouse.

Fuhgeddaboudit.

But at least Benson was a sportsman at heart, his only intention was to use the place for hunting and fishing, for his sons and friends. Not a bad guy to have been friendly with at the time. So there, the Brooklyn-Montauk fishing connection actually goes way back. I always got along great with the Brooklyn crowd anyway.

Imagine what a comeback line: “YES, AS MATTER OF FACT, I DO OWN THE WHOLE DAMN MONTAUK POINT!”

Next turn at trying to screw the place up came from Carl Fisher, who reportedly acquired most of the land from Benson’s heirs  (so that’s a $151,000 purchase flipped for $2,500,000 in 1925). Most of you know how this story ended – probably the only good thing to come from the stock market crash of 1929 and the Great Depression, which clearly prevented Fisher from realizing his dream of an exclusive resort here.

Since then, Montauk has seen vast amounts of development, but has resisted just enough wholesale change to keep the place special. We all piss and moan at the changes, but thankfully, there are/were enough people in the right places  (some no longer with us) with the means and talent for making important things happen, often behind the scenes.

Quite striking when you really think about it. How many acres are still undeveloped? How many acres survived the threat of a mass housing development, or even a golf course? How many times was a big sale threatening to go through, or a development being contemplated, until one or more tenacious people stepped in and convinced the town/county/state to buy the land instead? All that state and county land? Shadmoor? Amsterdam?

These could have been gated communities, or an amusement park, or a private club? Instead, there is land. You can practically live out of your truck for a few days, and fish non-stop. You probably won’t get bothered as long as you don’t screw it up for yourself: you know, get drunk, pee in front of others, leave a mess, or complain too much about your “rights” while you blast all the other people who want use the land and beach for what they enjoy too. You can still drive on the beach too, and if on East Hampton or County property, stop to build yourself a fire. Maybe even spike a rod and cook something you just killed (or bought at the IGA)…you know, live out your true inner caveman.

Try that in New Jersey.

More to write on this…maybe an “Occasional Series?”

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