Those big old houses stood like sentinels on the shore. Looking out over the dunes toward the Ocean. They stood silent and empty waiting,waiting for the arrival of spring. These were the summer " cottages "of the rich. Artists and business moguls escaping to the seclusion of the eastern end of Long Island. That was back in the day. Back in the days of old money and the Gentry. It was a time not so long ago. It was the time of my childhood.
I grew up in the shadow of the summer people. There influence was everywhere. Dad always said, money talks. The life of the town revolved around the influx of money from the summer crowd. Everyone knew this but no one wanted to admit it. We (the locals) are a proud lot. Set in our ways and opinionated, but willing to bend just a little for a dollar. It is that way with most everyone, an ugly little fact of life. A mans gotta do what a mans gotta do, to get by.
The summer people were an elusive bunch. Rarely did you see them, and that is what they preferred. Some were famous people and some just plain rich. They circulated within there own little groups according to their shared interests. The horse people doing whatever it is you do with those fancy horses, something about dressing or dressage. All I knew was you had to wear boots, pants like a WW1 veteran and a helmet that looked like a ball cap ! Others played golf and hung out at the country club. The country club was in town though, so I didn't get that either. Wasn't much country about it that I could see. Maybe they wore cowboy hats when inside, never went inside one. You would bump into them sometimes at the store or in a restaurant. All that I met were friendly enough and I never did make much of a fuss over them. To be truthful, never gave it much mind at all, like the windmills in town, they just were.
In the later part of the 1960's, my that sounds so long ago, their presence began to be felt more and more. But it was a new breed of rich. An arrogant bunch that demanded everything their way.They certainly weren't the gentry of old. They even began to interfere with the local government. Showing up at town meetings and such, griping about things that didn't matter. These were the " no class " wealthy. That was about all they had going for them, money. Money talks. They couldn't buy the homes of the old Summer People, so they started building their own. Buying up properties and building ridiculous looking places. And they built them to visit year round ! These people seldom went away except for the work week. Every weekend they came in, more and more of them. This was something different altogether. The old summer people, the ones that had real wealth, came and stayed for maybe a month or six weeks. Then they closed up their home and went away. They came, spent their money and went back wherever they came from in the first place. By 1969 that whole thing was becoming just a memory. This new bunch was trouble.
The new crowd turned the place into a playground. A playground for those that had plenty of money and wanted everyone to know it. No quiet dignity with these people. No sir, this bunch is altogether different. This is a bunch that will use this place up and then discard it as quickly as yesterdays fashions. The only good part is that I am not there to see it in person. I only read and hear tales of it. My heart longs for this place but I know it no longer exists. The place I remember is just a memory,a bygone time. But there is always hope. The natural beauty of the place hasn't changed much . That is what attracted those summer people in the first place. Perhaps after these new rich become bored with it and move on to another " in " spot some of it will return.
A few of my classmates and acquaintances still live there and carry on. It pleases me to see them preserving our shared heritage. There are the stalwarts. The old guard and I admire them. Fate and circumstance has taken me away and fate and circumstance has left them there. The merits of either could be debated. It would appear that Dad was correct in one thing, Money talks. The old money and the new both impacting our lives. The old money was a lot more comfortable, this new money irritates. Time changes all things.
I grew up in the shadow of the summer people. There influence was everywhere. Dad always said, money talks. The life of the town revolved around the influx of money from the summer crowd. Everyone knew this but no one wanted to admit it. We (the locals) are a proud lot. Set in our ways and opinionated, but willing to bend just a little for a dollar. It is that way with most everyone, an ugly little fact of life. A mans gotta do what a mans gotta do, to get by.
The summer people were an elusive bunch. Rarely did you see them, and that is what they preferred. Some were famous people and some just plain rich. They circulated within there own little groups according to their shared interests. The horse people doing whatever it is you do with those fancy horses, something about dressing or dressage. All I knew was you had to wear boots, pants like a WW1 veteran and a helmet that looked like a ball cap ! Others played golf and hung out at the country club. The country club was in town though, so I didn't get that either. Wasn't much country about it that I could see. Maybe they wore cowboy hats when inside, never went inside one. You would bump into them sometimes at the store or in a restaurant. All that I met were friendly enough and I never did make much of a fuss over them. To be truthful, never gave it much mind at all, like the windmills in town, they just were.
In the later part of the 1960's, my that sounds so long ago, their presence began to be felt more and more. But it was a new breed of rich. An arrogant bunch that demanded everything their way.They certainly weren't the gentry of old. They even began to interfere with the local government. Showing up at town meetings and such, griping about things that didn't matter. These were the " no class " wealthy. That was about all they had going for them, money. Money talks. They couldn't buy the homes of the old Summer People, so they started building their own. Buying up properties and building ridiculous looking places. And they built them to visit year round ! These people seldom went away except for the work week. Every weekend they came in, more and more of them. This was something different altogether. The old summer people, the ones that had real wealth, came and stayed for maybe a month or six weeks. Then they closed up their home and went away. They came, spent their money and went back wherever they came from in the first place. By 1969 that whole thing was becoming just a memory. This new bunch was trouble.
The new crowd turned the place into a playground. A playground for those that had plenty of money and wanted everyone to know it. No quiet dignity with these people. No sir, this bunch is altogether different. This is a bunch that will use this place up and then discard it as quickly as yesterdays fashions. The only good part is that I am not there to see it in person. I only read and hear tales of it. My heart longs for this place but I know it no longer exists. The place I remember is just a memory,a bygone time. But there is always hope. The natural beauty of the place hasn't changed much . That is what attracted those summer people in the first place. Perhaps after these new rich become bored with it and move on to another " in " spot some of it will return.
A few of my classmates and acquaintances still live there and carry on. It pleases me to see them preserving our shared heritage. There are the stalwarts. The old guard and I admire them. Fate and circumstance has taken me away and fate and circumstance has left them there. The merits of either could be debated. It would appear that Dad was correct in one thing, Money talks. The old money and the new both impacting our lives. The old money was a lot more comfortable, this new money irritates. Time changes all things.
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