Late to the Races: Touring Long Island

As a lifelong fan of car racing (and former racer myself), I’d always wanted to visit Long Island, New York. After all, the earliest major automobile road races in America took place there starting in 1904. Moreover, the Bridgehampton racetrack hosted the world’s best racers during the 1960s. I wanted to see what, if anything, was left from these long-ago events. (Carlo Demand painting of Vanderbilt Cup racer courtesy of Sports Car Digest; photo of 1967 Bridgehampton CanAm courtesy of Andy Lipsiner at Pinterest.)

Why Would a 2020 Mercedes be Slower than a 1906 Mercedes?

My ever-faithful 2020 Mercedes-Benz SL550 propelled me rapidly from Catonsville, Maryland, to Staten Island, NY—but there the traffic ground to a halt. We crawled along, eventually reaching the Verrazano Narrows Bridge and crossing over onto Long Island. The traffic there was even worse: Long Island must have more cars per square mile of road than anywhere else in New York (or maybe even the whole country). But I slogged along patiently, with a first goal of retracing the route of the 1906 Vanderbilt Cup.

The Vanderbilt races were the brainchild of William K. Vanderbilt, II (the great-grandson of mega-magnate Cornelius Vanderbilt). As an ardent fan of the fledgling U.S. automobile industry—and a Mercedes racer himself—William was anxious to put the country’s best cars and drivers into competition with Europe’s best. He laid out a racecourse using public roads running from one small town to another. His course for 1906 was 29.7 miles in length, and the race was for 10 laps. (Photo of William Vanderbilt in his Mercedes, course map, and other historical photos courtesy of the Vanderbilt Cup Races website; this site documents the races, cars, drivers, and other features in astonishing detail.)

In 1906 these were rural dirt roads, sometimes only 1 lane wide. Crowd control was practically nonexistent, with spectators edging out further and further onto the course to catch sight of the next car to appear—and then jumping back at the last second to avoid being struck. William Vanderbilt and course marshals tried in vain to keep the crowds at a safe distance, but it was impossible. Amazingly, out of 200,000 spectators, only 1 was killed after he wandered absent-mindedly onto the course. (The car shown in the historic photo is the no. 10 Darracq, which won the 1906 race with Louis Wagner at the wheel and Louis Vivet serving as his “mechanician.”)

In 2024, most of these same roads were now 4 lanes wide, nicely paved, and anything but rural. Fortunately, no spectators were on hand as I bravely attempted my record run in the SL550. I began in Westbury by approaching the original start/finish line “at speed” (as we former race drivers like to say). As it happened, however, I was going in the wrong direction…

After turning around, I restarted my lap of the 1906 Vanderbilt Cup course. I turned left at Jericho and followed the gently curving highway toward East Norwich. When you reach the New Dream Korean United Methodist Church, it’s time to apply the brakes and prepare to turn left onto Northern Boulevard. These days, however, you’re bound to sit at the traffic light for several minutes. The church was built in 1905, with its cornerstone dedicated by President Teddy Roosevelt. It replaced an earlier Methodist Church from 1834.

Back in 1906, the intersection looked like this photo, where Felice Nazzaro is taking the left in his F.I.A.T. This period photo was taken just outside of the East Norwich Hotel. (Nazzaro’s victories in Italy inspired a 10-year-old Enzo Ferrari to become a racing driver.)

Here is the intersection today, taken from roughly the same position. A Mercedes GL SUV is leading a Jeep, with a Mercedes G-Wagon trailing behind. (An unusual number of Mercedes on the roads? Not at all: This is Long Island, home of the incredibly rich and sometimes famous.)

The East Norwich Hotel was built in 1855. A year after the 1906 Vanderbilt Cup, the hotel became the Rothmann’s Steakhouse restaurant. Today, it is once again Rothmann’s Steakhouse, having been many other restaurants in between (and occasionally just an abandoned building). It’s considered one of the best restaurants on Long Island.

In Rothmann’s parking lot, where I’d stopped for the then-and-now pictures, I was trying to line up a tree-less shot of the SL550, when I noticed the only other car on the lot. Yep, that’s a new Ferrari Roma. Like the SL, the Roma has a twin-turbocharged V8 engine. With a capacity of 3.7 litres, it’s a whole litre down on the Mercedes—but it is a Ferrari, after all, and it makes 620 horsepower to the SL’s “mere” 449. However, it lacks a convertible top and the all-important AIRSCARF®…

Leaving East Norwich, I began the long straightaway toward the Bulls Head Tavern corner. The 1906 entrants could hit over 90 mph along here. The cars lacked turbochargers, but they had engines as large as 16 litres (yes, 16!). And their no-profile 3-inch tires offered minimal rolling resistance. Aerodynamic drag was an issue, but at least they saved weight by omitting seat belts and roll cages… Only the very brave need apply (in this instance, William Luttgen in his 120-horsepower Mercedes Rennwagen).

Our friend Felice Navarro takes the turn (in the 1905 race) with the Bulls Head Hotel in the background.

Here I am, taking the same corner in the SL, while keeping an eye out for wayward SUVs, jaywalkers, and school busses. It’s considered one of the busiest intersections on Long Island.

The next corner was the infamous “hairpin” at the intersection of Wheatley and Old Westbury Roads. Unfortunately, there was a police SUV parked right in the middle of my intended photo. I decided to forgo the picture, thereby avoiding an explanation for why I was photographing Officer Friendly doing his job.

This section of the course along Old Westbury Road probably looks the most like it did in 1906 (other than its width and paving). It was blissfully free of modern traffic.

There are very few buildings along the course that were in place back in 1906. This is one of them, at the corner leading onto the Manhasset Turnpike. It now serves as a veterinary clinic.

Did I mention all the high-end cars I was seeing on Long Island? Well, more cars per square mile, plus more millionaires per square asset portfolio, add up to a lot of exotics. This Porsche Taycan seemed almost ordinary…

…and this Maserati MC20 was considerably rarer yet. Elsewhere, I spotted a Mercedes-AMG SLS gullwing coupe, a classic Maserati Merak, a Ferrari 488, an E-Type Jaguar, several Audi R8’s, innumerable Porsche 911’s (most of them cabriolets), and nearly every single 850i convertible that BMW ever made. I mean, they wuz everywhere!

How’s this for a random parking lot on Long Island? That’s a Bentley Continental GT convertible, a Ferrari California Spider, and a BMW 750iL (not to mention various Porsche 911’s and other lust-worthy automobiles). The SL550 fit right in, wherever we went. I, on the other hand, wearing cargo pants and a stained white beach hat, could have easily passed as an itinerant fishmonger.

When I wasn’t distracted by exotic sports cars, I occasionally noticed striking buildings, such as this one. I thought it was a church, but it turned out to be St. Mary’s Elementary School, part of the St. Mary’s Roman Catholic Church complex in North Hempstead, just before the ess turns at Lower Manhassett.

Maple Cottage, on Lakeville Road, is another of the few buildings surviving since 1906. It’s a nice-looking place, largely hidden behind hedges and pine trees. In this photo, you can just see a portion of its old carriage house in the background.

Maple Cottage is particularly noteworthy because it was the headquarters of the Locomobile racing team in 1906. This photo shows the Locomobile team cars being readied at the Maple Cottage carriage house. Both of the cars carry number 12, because one was a backup to the official entry. Locomobiles were made from 1899 to 1929, primarily in nearby Bridgeport, Connecticut, and were known for their high degree of precision. The cars shown were purpose-built racing machines, rather than regular production cars. They employed 4-cylinder engines, with each cylinder having a 4-litre displacement!

Number 12 was raced by American Joe Tracy in 1906. It did not perform well, owing to repeated tire failures, but it finished the 297-mile race in tenth place.

Both Locomobiles received significant upgrades after the race, which solved the tire problem and added more power. The backup car, now carrying number 16, went on to win the 1908 Vanderbilt Cup, driven by George Robertson at an average of 64.3 mph—the first win by an American automobile in international competition. Affectionately known ever after as “Old Number 16,” the car was later purchased by renowned painter Peter Helck and has been part of the Henry Ford Museum collection since 1995. (Peter Helck painting courtesy of A Tribute to Peter Helck (1893-1988), the Great American Artist.)

Want to know what a piston and connecting rod from a 16-litre engine look like? Check out this cast-iron spare, held here by Peter Helck’s son Jerry!

After Lakeville, modern roads have largely erased the original Vanderbilt Cup course. In the interest of getting to my next waypoint, it was time to move on. I retraced my steps to the SL and was glad to find it safely in place.

You Meet the Most Interesting People at the Racetrack

Before leaving the Vanderbilt Cup, let’s take a look at a pioneering young woman of the day. During practice at the 1906 race, journalist Harriet Quimby managed to cadge a ride with racer Herbert Lytle in his Pope-Toledo. She was thrilled as the 120-horsepower race car flew along as fast as 100 mph, even though her fancy hat flew off and was run over by other cars.

In an article for Leslie’s Illustrated Weekly entitled A Woman’s Exciting Ride in a Racing Motor-car, Harriet wrote the following:

It was fast, faster than you in your very wildest dreams had ever experienced, and if truth be told, you wonder how you managed to stick on, and you turn and look with a new and respectful interest at the boyish young chap, with a pink-and-white face showing between the mud and oil spots and the dimple in his chin, who had dared to speed up to the hundred mark and past it, and who expects to go still faster on the day of the great race.

…another racer comes tearing along and Lytle swerves his car to the right. He has detected a false note in the medley of noises made by the two cars. Quick as a flash he has slowed down and has run off to the side, and a second later you are both out, looking with frightened eyes at the driver who had been hurled over the fence far into the potato patch, and who immediately rises and walks toward his car, which is now only a pile of scrap iron. You and Lytle begin to question him. “Steering gear went wrong; lucky not to have been killed,” he remarks. He is unhurt, and he coolly offers to assist you into your car. The smashing of the machine and the close call on his life is only an incident in the history of a race-car driver.

Enchanted by the speed she experienced, Harriet soon learned to drive an automobile, and in 1911 she became the first woman in the U.S. to earn a pilot’s license. Just a year later, she was the first woman—and only the second person ever— to fly across the English Channel. She demonstrated her flying skills in air shows across the country and helped inspire many men and women to learn to fly—including my own mother, who took lessons in the 1930s. Tragically, Harriet was killed 12 weeks after her English Channel flight, when her new Blériot XI bucked unexpectedly and threw her out of the plane. She was only 37.

Lunch at a Castle

By now it was mid-afternoon, and I was starving. I made a beeline for the Oheka Castle in Huntington, arriving there too late for lunch but just in time for an early dinner. The Chilian sea bass was exceptional, as was a flourless chocolate torte.

Suitably fortified, I made a quick tour of the mansion. It was built in 1915-1917, during the height of the “Gilded Age” or “Second Industrial Revolution.” The North Shore of Long Island quickly became known as the “Gold Coast,” with roughly 500 mansions serving as summer or weekend homes for the wealthiest of New York City’s families. One of these was Otto Herman Kahn, who had proven himself from a young age as a highly skilled banker in Germany, England, and finally the United States. He was particularly successful in rescuing, reorganizing, and rebuilding America’s railroads, most notably in the case of the Union Pacific Railroad, working with its owner E.H. Harriman. (Sound familiar, fans of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid?) The mansion’s name, “Oheka,” is derived from Otto Hermann Kahn. Many say that Otto’s likeness was used for the mascot of the Monopoly game. Kahn was also a philanthropist, using his great wealth in support of the Metropolitan Opera and many other cultural and artistic organizations.

This iPhone photo shows Oheka Castle’s southwest wing. (Use of more capable cameras, such as my Sony α6400, is not allowed at Oheka.)

Oheka is the second-largest private residence ever built in the U.S., being surpassed only by the Biltmore Estate in North Carolina. It has 127 rooms, with a total of 109,000 square feet of floor space on 3½ stories. The estate originally spanned 443 acres, but currently encompasses “only” 23. Here is a photo of the full mansion (courtesy of The Real ‘Gatsby’ Mansion On Long Island):

The formal gardens were originally designed by the firm of Olmsted Brothers (the sons of famous landscape architect Frederick Law Olmsted, who drew up the plan for Central Park, among many other notable gardens).

I’m not sure who this quaint fellow is, but he’s certainly putting everything into sounding that seashell.

In the mansion’s heyday, it hosted countless lavish parties, which were attended by all the glitterati of the time. One of these was F. Scott Fitzgerald, who lived nearby and used Oheka’s parties—and the mansion itself—as settings for his novel The Great Gatsby. Many of the scenes in Citizen Kane were filmed at Oheka. More recently, Taylor Swift used Oheka Castle to film her hit video Blank Space.

Following Otto Kahn’s death in 1934, the mansion was sold to the City of New York, becoming a retirement home for sanitation workers, then a military academy, and later an abandoned, vandalized, and deteriorating ruin. A developer purchased the property in 1984 and undertook a $40 million restoration. His first order of business was rebuilding the slate roof, together with replacing the mansion’s 222 missing doors and windows. And hauling away 300 truckloads of debris. The results were well worth the effort.

Formal tours of Oheka Castle are available at a modest cost, but they fill up quickly. In the library, one of the bookcases on the right wall originally covered a secret passageway, but it led only to a small secretarial office.

I did not see the formal entryway, but I wish I had. A good excuse for another visit. (Photo courtesy of Oheka Castle.)

Here’s a last look at Oheka Castle. The valet parking attendant had thoughtfully placed the SL550 right next to the ivy-covered restaurant, where I could see it from my window-side table.

From One Mansion to Another

From the rampant luxury of the Oheka Castle, I returned to the dreadful slog of the Long Island Expressway. The only good news about this portion of the trip was that the crush of traffic gradually eased as I drove further to the east. Along the way, I passed by the sole remaining automobile racetrack on Long Island: Riverhead Raceway. In contrast to the swashbuckling “dawn of motoring” Vanderbilt Cup or the high-speed swoops of the Bridgehampton course, Riverhead is a one-quarter-mile paved oval, featuring a figure eight layout, specializing in thrills and spills. Schoolbus races are a popular show here… (Don’t believe me? Check out this YouTube video!)

After 54 miles, I arrived at the Jedediah Hawkins Inn, which would be my home for the evening. What it lacked in grandeur compared to Oheka, it more than made up for in charm.

Jedediah Hawkins began working as a seaman at the age of 12 and became a ship’s captain while still a teenager. He and his brothers ran a successful shipping business for decades, allowing him to build his Italianate-style home in 1863. Although it fell into disrepair in the latter half of the 20th century and was slated for demolition in 2004, it has since been restored to its former glory. Like Oheka, the Jedediah Hawkins Inn has a secret passage—although no one seems to be sure where it leads.

After parking the SL and checking in, I climbed the steps to my tidy and modern room. And yes, that is Marilyn Monroe keeping me company from her place on the wall.

The Inn has a highly rated restaurant, where I enjoyed Long Island-style crabcakes and a(nother) piece of flourless chocolate cake!

With the last of the sunlight, I got a couple more photos.

During breakfast the next morning, I enjoyed a conversation with the couple at the next table. The husband was a retired marine biologist who had specialized in clams and oysters. He was also a car guy, specializing in Fords, including his 1965 Ford Falcon Sprint—a very rare version of the Falcon with a V8 engine and uprated suspension. After breakfast, the three of us toured the third floor of the mansion, the “widow’s walk” tower, and the basement “speakeasy.”

A First for the U.S. Navy

With a final shot of the Inn, it was time to get back on the road.

First up on the touring schedule was the nearby Hallockville Museum Farm. A friendly volunteer told me about the history of the farm and the many Hallock generations that resided here—concluding with Ella Hallock, who lived here until age 95 in 1979. (Hardy stock, these Long Islanders.) The first part of this house was built in 1765; it was acquired by the Hallock family in the 1790s and expanded considerably over the years.

New Suffolk has sat by the shore of Peconic Bay since 1836, but it remains a tiny hamlet. At the end of the 2023-2034 school year, the town’s only school closed. It had just 2 rooms and 9 students across its K through 6 grades. However, I was searching for an important part of U.S. Naval history.

Irish expatriate John P. Holland had been designing submarines in the U.S. since 1875, but none had met the standards of the U.S. Navy. His sixth iteration was built in 1897 and incorporated substantial improvements, including a gasoline engine for surface cruising and an electric motor for submerged propulsion. It carried a single, reloadable torpedo tube and a pair of deck “dynamite guns,” which used compressed air to fling a projectile filled with dynamite in the general direction of the enemy. With the ability to change depth and attitude underwater, and to submerge up to 75 feet, it was a huge advance in technology.

The Navy purchased the Holland VI in 1900 and immediately launched a rigorous set of “field tests” in Little Peconic Bay, shown here. Courses were set up, and the Holland VI ably navigated them on the surface, underwater, and in both directions. Its ability to fire torpedoes was also tested (thankfully using nonexplosive versions). Holland’s new submarine became the first such boat to be commissioned by the U.S. Navy, named the USS Holland (SS-1).

The submarine testing facility continued in operation through 1905, but today there is no sign that it ever existed. (On the day of my visit, there was no sign that anyone even lives here, but I suspect the beaches are popular in the summer.)

A Change in Plans

My goal for the afternoon was to motor out to the iconic lighthouse on Montauk Point before turning north to catch the ferry across Long Island Sound to New London, Connecticut. I made it as far as Southampton and the Basilica of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary before becoming mired in traffic getting an early start on the weekend. At an average speed of 3 or 4 mph, I mentally calculated that it would take me about 10 hours to reach Montauk—and promptly replanned the rest of the day. (No kidding: Long Island traffic is not a fun place to drive.) But I enjoyed the majestic church, which was built in 1908 and elevated to the level of a “minor basilica” in 2011. (Apparently this is quite an honor, despite the seemingly muted terminology. There are only 4 “major basilicas” in the world.)

Returning to the SL, I couldn’t help noticing a dramatic difference in appearance depending on whether it was in the sun or the shade. It almost looked like the back one-third of the car had been repainted in a different color. I guess that’s a property of the Selenite Grey Metallic paint? I tried to look up the properties of selenite, but I was distracted when I saw a reference to its “three unequal cleavages.”

As I was leaving Southampton, a red brick home with a dramatic, medieval-style tower popped into view. A closer look wasn’t easy, given the tall hedges surrounding the property (placed there, no doubt, to ward off nosy tourists such as myself). The main entrance seemed modest enough…

…and the main part of the house was elegant…

…but the tall, narrow tower was breathtaking. Every home should have a feature like this one! Later, I learned that this is the Balcastle mansion, built in 1910 for a “prosperous Russian immigrant,” about whom nothing more is known. And it has a smaller, second tower as well. No word on whether Rapunzel ever lived here.

In Search of the Bridgehampton Race Circuit

Having abandoned any hope of seeing the easternmost part of New York, I left the traffic jam behind and headed north toward what had once been the Bridgehampton Race Circuit. Automobile racing began in this area in 1915, using public roads around the small town of Bridgehampton (including a portion of the Montauk Highway that I had just escaped from). As with the Vanderbilt Cup, crowd control was impossible, and the races were discontinued in 1921. After World War II, however, sports cars and racing became very popular, with organized events using public roads at Watkins Glen, NY, Thompson, Connecticut, Elkhart Lake, Wisconsin, and Pebble Beach, California. Bridgehampton joined the fun with a new course laid out on its streets in 1949-1953.

Soon, however, New York State banned automobile racing on public roads, following injuries and deaths at Bridgehampton and Watkins Glen. Hay bales and snow fencing were wholly inadequate to protect drivers and spectators. (Photo courtesy of A Wild Ride: the 7-Year History of the Pebble Beach Road Races. The driver of this MG TC was not injured.)

On Long Island, well-heeled local enthusiasts joined together and built the Bridgehampton Race Circuit, with the first races starting in 1957. With a main straight that was three-fourths of a mile long, and curves bordered by sand dunes and/or trees, Bridgehampton was a daunting track. The late Sir Stirling Moss characterized it as “the most challenging track in the western hemisphere.” The new course soon attracted major races such as the World Sportscar Championship, United States Road Racing Championship, and the ground-pounding TransAm and CanAm series organized by the Sports Car Club of America. American and international racing stars were regular participants, including Dan Gurney, Mark Donohue, Mario Andretti, Phil Hill, Walt Hansgen, Parnelli Jones, Jim Hall, Sam Posey, Al Unser, Paul Newman, Denise McCluggage, Briggs Cunningham, Ken Miles, Bruce McLaren, Chris Amon, Denny Hulme, John Surtees, Pedro Rodrigues, Jo Bonnier, Jo Siffert, and many others. As a teenager during this period, I happily read about their exploits in Road & Track magazine and Competition Press, and I even got to see some of them race at the old Marlboro Speedway in Maryland. (Photo of Denise McCluggage and Stirling Moss courtesy of the Binghamton Automobile Racing Club (Barcboys).)

The following pictures illustrate the unique nature of the Bridgehampton Race Circuit. (Photos courtesy of the Facebook group Bridgehamton Race Circuit Memories.) Note the elevation changes and the view back to Noyack Bay, with Cedar Beach in the distance.

This photo shows the early days of racing aerodynamics at the 1969 Can-Am race. The McLaren M8B’s finished first (Denny Hulme, no. 5) and second (Bruce McLaren, no. 4), with a Porsche 917 in third, driven by Jo Siffert (no. 0, the first of the non-winged cars in the photo).

This short video clip of the 1967 Can-Am race provides a fun look at Bridgehampton in action—and it’s narrated by Sam Posey, no less: Can Am: A Racing Odyssey.

Here we have a brand-new 1966 Ferrari 275 GTB. A really close look reveals that it’s one of the rare, alloy-bodied GTB’s. The car has obviously rolled over but was able to continue racing. Today, such alloy GTB’s are worth $5 million or more (in good condition). Back then, they were just expendable race cars. (Photo courtesy of 1960s: The Golden Age at the Bridge.)

I’ll finish up the Bridgehampton photos with this one of Mark Donohue in the Penske Sunoco McLaren 6A—one of the best American drivers ever, and (in my opinion) one of Team Penske’s most beautiful race cars ever. (The most beautiful one was the 1966 Lola T70 Mk. II. I well remember seeing it race at Watkins Glen in 1966—before it caught fire and burned to the waterline.) (Photo courtesy of Barcboys.com.)

By the end of the 1960s, Bridgehampton Race Circuit still had only one spectator grandstand and a shabby press building. With increased speeds, the track had become more dangerous, and the owners lacked sufficient funds to upgrade the facilities. The last professional race at Bridgehampton was held in 1971, although SCCA amateur races continued until 1997. At that point, the Bridgehampton property was worth many millions, and the developers finally took control, building The Bridge golf course soon thereafter.

So what might be left of the racetrack? I was encouraged to find this old, corrugated hut as I approached the vicinity of the track. This had almost certainly been a flag station back in the day.

Just beyond the flag station was what had been the end of the main straight and turn 1 of the track. The view from the road revealed that the golf course was beautiful. As I stopped for this photo, a black Mercedes SL550 pulled up alongside, and the driver chastised me (good-naturedly) for not having my car’s top down. We shared a laugh, and I explained that my trunk was full of suitcases, computer bags, and other vacation necessities for my upcoming 2-week vacation on Cape Cod.

At the top of the hill, I found the original, iconic pedestrian bridge for the racetrack, still sporting flags and a fresh coat of paint! The golf course has kept it as a historical monument. This bridge had featured in many of the photos I’d seen in the 1960s’ racing articles.

Looking back down the main straight to turn 1, you can get a sense for just how fast the Bridgehampton track had been. The turn reminded me of Turns 1 and 2 at the Nelson Ledges track in Ohio, Turn 1 at Road Atlanta, or Turn 5 at Watkins Glen (before the modern “Bus Stop” was added). In other words, extremely fast and with zero runoff room in case of a spin—i.e., scary! Average speed around the 2.8-mile circuit for the Trans Am cars was 100 mph, with a good Can-Am lap being another 18 mph faster.

There were no other signs of the old racetrack. Thinking that this was a public golf course, I decided to see if they had a snack bar or restaurant where I could get some lunch. Did you know that The Bridge golf club is for private members only? I was politely but firmly asked to leave. I went on my merry way sans déjeuner. (I later learned that joining The Bridge golf club requires an upfront fee of approximately $1.5 million. Oops…)

In Search of John Steinbeck

Sag Harbor is a well-known and popular attraction on Long Island, and it was only a few miles east of the old racetrack. No doubt they would have lunch for plebians such as myself! I’m sure they did, but the Main Street attractions were so popular that, even at 2:00 pm on a Thursday, there was no place to park for blocks and blocks. And I had a ferry to catch…

I contented myself with a look at the Old Whalers’ Church from 1844, which had replaced earlier churches of 1816 and 1766. The church was designed by Minard LaFever in the Egyptian Revival style (a new one on me) and is representative of King Solomon’s Temple. Its monumental original steeple, having toppled during a hurricane in 1938, may someday be rebuilt and reinstalled. All 185 feet of it… (Historical photo courtesy of the Old Whalers’ Church.)

Right next door, naturally, was the Old Burying Ground. Cemeteries are normally quiet places, uninterrupted by strife or cacophony. Early in the American Revolution, however, British forces occupied New York City and Long Island. They chose the highest point in Sag Harbor—the Old Burying Ground—to build an earthen fort, cutting down the trees and digging earthworks across the cemetery, much to the dismay of the town’s residents. A small force of British soldiers and Loyalists held the fort and the harbor below. Gardiner’s Bay was used as a port for the British ships guarding the eastern end of Long Island Sound.

In May 1777, the British sent 12 small ships with an armed schooner escort to Sag Harbor, for the purpose of plundering supplies. Patriot forces in New Haven, CT, learned of this raid and organized a response, led by Colonel Return Jonathan Meigs. On May 24, Meigs and about 170 soldiers rowed across Long Island Sound in whaleboats, arriving at the North Fork of the island around midnight. They portaged the boats across the North Fork and relaunched them into Peconic Bay. Reaching Sag Harbor, they simultaneously attacked the Loyalist forces in the harbor and at the fort on the Old Burying Ground. Despite being fired on by the 12-gun British schooner, the Patriot force killed 6 of the occupiers and captured another 90, with no casualties to themselves. The Patriots burned all of the British boats including, by some accounts, the armed schooner. It was a rare victory at a time when the Revolution was faltering. (Images of Col. Meigs and the Patriot forces courtesy of the Cutchogue-New Suffolk Historical Council.)

Famous American writers Herman Melville, James Fenimore Cooper, and John Steinbeck are all known to have spent time in Sag Harbor. But only one of them, Mr. Steinbeck, actually lived here for an extended period (from 1955 until his death in 1968). Steinbeck is widely considered one of the best U.S. writers. He won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 1940 for The Grapes of Wrath and the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1962 (in significant part due to The Winter of Our Discontent).

John Steinbeck lived and worked in California for the first 39 years of his life. He and his third wife, Elaine, moved to Sag Harbor in 1955, finding it to be a charming and restful waterside village that reminded him of Monterey when he was growing up. His home was fairly modest, and it was not easy to track down. But here it is, virtually unchanged from when he and Elaine lived here. (She continued to live in this home until her death in 2003.) Their house is now owned by the Sag Harbor Partnership and may be visited by appointment. John Steinbeck wrote his last 3 books in the tiny octagonal studio shown below, which he designed himself (photo courtesy of patch.com). The Sag Harbor Partnership leases the home for a writers’ retreat operated by the University of Texas’s Michener Center for Writers.

After retrieving the SL550, which was waiting patiently in the shade, it was time to take a few ferry rides.

When Peter Pan First Flew in America

The first ferry was from Sag Harbor to Shelter Island. It took all of 5 minutes to cross the one-third mile—just enough time to hop out of the SL and grab a couple of photos. Ferries have provided access to Shelter Island since at least 1846; there are no bridges, but a short airstrip is available.

The ferry landing on Shelter Island looked pretty old, but these days it receives dozens of SUVs, commercial vehicles, and the occasional SL550, rather than crowds of eager vacationers. (Historical postcard courtesy of the Shelter Island Historical Society.)

Sometime before 1888, Captain Thomas M. Turner started Westmoreland Farm along the western shore of Shelter Island. In addition to a farmhouse and barns, he added a unique clock tower. Capt. Turner had many friends, including actress Maude Adams, Broadway producer Charles Frohman, and a Scottish author named James M. Barrie. Barrie became most famous for writing the play Peter Pan, or The Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up. He had visited Shelter Island, and it is believed that the island helped form his vision for Never Never Land—Peter Pan’s remote island with forests, lagoons, mermaids, Indians, and (of course) Captain Hook. Charles Frohman first produced the play in London in 1904, and it became an instant sensation. Soon there was talk of showing it on Broadway. (Photos of Charles Frohman, Maude Adams, and J.M. Barrie courtesy of the New York Public Library and Wikipedia. Unless specified otherwise, all historical images are from the Library of Congress, Wikipedia, or the National Register of Historic Places.)

Maude Adams had previously starred in Barrie’s play The Little Minister,” and he thought she would be perfect as Peter Pan in America. Once again, Charles Frohman produced, and plans were laid for a short opening at the National Theatre in Washington, DC, followed by Broadway. Capt. Turner, an enthusiastic patron of the arts, proposed that a full dress rehearsal be performed outdoors, at Westmoreland Farm. Everyone agreed, and soon the sets, props, and actors arrived at Shelter Island. A wire was hung from the top of the clock tower to a nearby barn so that Peter Pan, Wendy, and the Lost Boys could fly. Shelter Island residents came out for the show, along with hundreds of their friends. By all accounts, the dress rehearsal was a great hit—and it marked the first American production of this classic play.

Maude Adams and James Barrie both lived to ripe old ages. Charles Frohman was not so fortunate: In 1915 he was traveling to England on the RMS Lusitania when it was torpedoed by a German U-boat, with 1,197 lives lost. A surviving passenger who knew Frohman reported seeing him and Alfred Vanderbilt helping infants from the ship’s nursery into lifeboats. She said Frohman’s last words were, “Why fear death? It is the most beautiful adventure in life.”

Today, much of Westmoreland Farm is hidden behind trees and tall hedges, invisible unless you resort to Flagrant Trespassing. However, I managed to spot the barn and clock tower across a large field. Or so I thought… Oddly, there were two towers, both of which look quite old.

After considerable research back home, I discovered that I had seen the right farm but the wrong tower. This Facebook photo shows Westmoreland Farm before all those annoying trees got in the way of everything. In the foreground is the clock tower and cow barn. Way in the distance is another barn with two connected silos—what I had taken to be the tower of Peter Pan fame. As we say in showbiz, “Rats!”

The clock tower is still out there, as shown in this recent photo from Dering Harbor Real Estate and a satellite view from Bing Maps. But good luck trying to get a view of it.

At least I got a nice photo of the SL550, showcased by some tall ornamental grasses.

And a look at West Neck Bay.

Farther north, I found the Union Church. It was built in 1875 as part of the Shelter Island Heights Grove and Camp Meeting Association. Both the exterior and interior of the church are largely unchanged from their original construction. Local artist Walter Cole Brigham created two of the colorful windows using local seashells and pieces of broken glass. (Stained glass photo courtesy of the Shelter Island Reporter.)

Initially, the camp meeting participants stayed in tents. Soon, dozens of tiny “Carpenter Gothic” dwellings went up, with surrounding porches and elaborate wood scrollwork. Since the camp meeting took place for only 1 week each year, most of the cabins were also used as vacation rentals. By 1885, the camp meetings were moved elsewhere, and the area continued to develop as a resort community. The magnificent Prospect Hotel was built in conjunction with the campground, catering to affluent vacationers. It was destroyed by fire in 1922, rebuilt from the ground up, and was ready for opening day in 1942—when it burned again. There was no third attempt: the hotel grounds have been a public park ever since.

(Baffling aside: In front of the hotel’s porch are several small hedges. In front of the hedges is a small, headless person, striding along wearing what looks like a suit of armor. I’m sure there is a plausible explanation for this slight anomaly…)

My second ferry ride of the afternoon was from the north end of Shelter Island to Greenport on the North Fork of Long Island. Getting onto the ferry was rather a tight fit—every one of the SL’s park-distance sensors was beeping anxiously as I drove on, with just inches to spare. No getting out and walking around this time.

Here’s the southbound ferry, making its trip. Once again, “the more things change, the more they stay the same.” Well, sort of…

From Greenport, it would be an easy, 9-mile trip to Orient Point, where I would pick up the third and final ferry, to New London, CT. Along the way, of course, I had to stop for a photo of Brecknock Hall. This magnificent home was built by Scottish stonemasons and Italian carpenters for David Gelston Floyd, a shipping magnate and grandson of a signer of the Declaration of Independence. Construction took place during 1851-1857, with no expense spared. Fireplaces for the 20-room mansion were custom made in Italy and shipped here. There were indoor bathrooms and gas lights from day one.

Brecknock Hall remained in the Floyd family for 100 years but eventually suffered neglect at the hands of absentee owners. It narrowly avoided conversion to an apartment complex. Fortunately, other developers created a retirement community on the grounds and restored the mansion. Brecknock Hall is now available for weddings and other functions. (Photo courtesy of The Suffolk Times. The bride and groom are both Lieutenants in the U.S. Navy and won an all-expenses-paid wedding in the tenth annual Veterans Day Wedding Giveback sponsored by the owners of the retirement community.) (As best I can tell, that’s a late-1920s La Salle roadster—and its use was included in the Wedding Giveback!)

A Haunted Lighthouse?

At the Orient Point landing, I learned two pieces of good news: First, I had just made the 4:00 pm ferry. In fact, I was the last car on. Second, and more importantly, the ferry had a snack bar. Although my breakfast back at the inn was substantial, it had worn off hours ago. A foot-long hot dog, piece of cake, and a Coke Zero, and I was good as new.

Once underway, the ferry passed by Plum Island, which has a substantial history of its own. Shown here is the island’s lighthouse, which was built in 1869, replacing an earlier one from 1827 that was basically falling apart. The current lighthouse was imperiled by erosion, leading to a 15,000-ton stone breakwater.

Plum Island saw action early in the American Revolution, when British forces arrived here to plunder the local farms. General David Wooster sailed to the island with 120 Patriot soldiers, leading to “many shots fired but no casualties,” as the Henry L. Ferguson Museum describes it. General Wooster is little known in the annals of the Revolution—but the city of Wooster, Ohio, and the College of Wooster (my alma mater) are named for him.

The Plum Island Animal Disease Center sits about one-half mile past the lighthouse. It was established in 1954 to perform research on hoof-and-mouth disease in cattle. Simultaneously, a secret program was launched to study “HMD” as a possible biological warfare agent for use against cattle. This program ended in 1969 but was never revealed until 1993, when an investigative journalist discovered the truth. The Center continues to be controversial due to its proximity to New York City and two high-profile accidents involving release of the HMD virus.

I held my breath on the ferry until we were well past the Animal Disease Center…

Over the years, I’ve run across many old houses and other buildings that are said to be haunted. There’s always a good story associated with them, describing the events that led to the resident ghost(s). As we approached the New London Ledge Lighthouse, a couple I was talking with noted that it was one of the Long Island Sound’s most-haunted lighthouses. (Check out Five Haunted Lighthouses in Connecticut for a description of several of them. Who knew?) The unusually elegant Ledge Lighthouse was built in 1909, in the French Second-Empire style. Its lower 3 stories, plus a basement, provided plenty of room for the keeper and his family, supplies, and 11 tons of coal to power the facility. The Hurricane of 1938 shook the building considerably, with waves lashing its second floor, but no significant damage was done. The Coast Guard continued to have a 3-person crew at the lighthouse until 1987, making this the last such manned lighthouse in New England.

Ah, but we were talking about ghosts… Even an elegant lighthouse is a lonely place for the keeper and his family. Keeper John Randolph no doubt felt this way in the 1930s, but apparently it was much worse for his long-suffering wife. One day, while John was ashore for supplies, his wife ran off with the captain of the Block Island Ferry. Weeks later, distraught that his wife had not returned, John jumped to his death from the top story of the lighthouse. A long series of mysterious incidents has ensued, right up to the present. The Coast Guard crews encountered such frequent manifestations that they named the ghost “Ernie,” reporting that he would wash the windows and clean the floors when no one was looking, open or close doors randomly, rearrange items in the kitchen, and pound on their doors at night. Tour groups often report hearing sudden loud noises in the lighthouse, and their guides note that furniture is often moved about as well. Even well-secured boats have ended up adrift.

I report, you decide. But the New London Ledge Lighthouse does sound like an interesting facility to visit!

The Thames River in New London was a busy place. Nonetheless, this handsome ketch found enough space for a pleasant sail.

Did you notice the odd-looking black vessel in the background above? It turns out to be the one and only Sea Shuttle, designed to carry portions of a U.S. Navy submarine around on its deck. New London, after all, is right next door to Groton, CT, which is the submarine capital of the U.S. And the General Dynamics Electric Boat Company that is headquartered here? It is the outgrowth of John P. Holland’s Torpedo Boat Company from the dawn of the Twentieth Century. Small world indeed. (Sea Shuttle photo courtesy of NavSource Online.)

Here we are, docked and ready to roll off the ferry. From there, I would drive the remaining 126 miles to Falmouth, Cape Cod, where I would rejoin my wife Nancy, together with our nephew Matt and his wife Heidi.

It was a great tour through Long Island, despite the apoplectic hordes of traffic. Once again, the SL550 proved to be the perfect touring vehicle: a comfortable ride even on crummy roads, plenty of power for making time when possible, superb brakes for avoiding crazed New York banzai drivers, and superb handling for those times that you find an interesting series of curves. And you won’t even look out of place among all the Ferraris, Maseratis, Porsches, AMGs, BMWs, Audis, and Bentleys!

Rick F.