I have a problem.
I can’t go anywhere and do the same thing over and over again—usually, at least. If I’m by myself, I can read a book for a while or write, but even then, I like to do it from different locations. It’s not that I can’t sit still; it’s that I need to fill my brain with something new—people, places, whatever’s around me. I can’t shut it off.
This past weekend I was with my son in Long Island for a baseball tournament, and we had to spend an ungodly amount of time waiting between games. It is a cruel individual who would spread a handful of games over four days like that. The first game was at 8 a.m. one day, followed by a 7:40 p.m. start the following day, throwing off our team’s rhythm and my sustained interest. So, I had to go searching. There’s only so much wandering around a Marriott one can take.
Beach Hunting
The second day, my son headed off to the Yankees game with his teammates, so I scoped out the Long Island beaches. Starting on the northside, I checked out Fleets Cove, Sunken Meadow, Cedar, and Callahans. Technically, I was only allowed on Sunken Meadow, where I sat for a while among the locals casting rods into the ocean. It was a fun scene all around, with kids running along the water and a couple of families playing Mexican music on boom boxes as they enjoyed a sunset meal. Despite the crowd, I found a quiet spot and enjoyed the views for a spell. But after twenty minutes, the sand fleas came out and started chomping my legs, so I continued my reconnaissance.
I did sneak onto Callahans, even though it’s “private,” to catch the last bits of sunset the day had to offer. It was nicer than Sunken Meadow and there were only five people there—one of whom didn’t deserve it. He was a tall, thin, Brad-Pitt-looking guy, talking crassly to his girlfriend, embarrassing her for sport. I think he was hoping to get a rise out of me, because his head turned to watch me after each crude proposition. If only it was still legal to box someone’s ears. She pretended to laugh it off, but I hope she finds better. Extraordinary good looks make terrible matchmakers. So do private beaches, it appears.
The next day, with ten hours or so to kill, my son and I explored the beaches on the southside of Long Island. Parking was jammed at Jones, so we continued along to another Cedar Beach, but they wanted $40 for the privilege to park. Forty dollars! The gate attendant suggested Robert Moses Beach, which was only a little farther down, and cost only $10 to park. Finding this much more palatable, we enjoyed a couple of beautiful hours in the hot summer sun there. I think this was my favorite of all the beaches I visited.
Callahans “private” beach on the north shore of Long Island
Filling the Time Between
But beaches are not enough. I’m learning to sit still on them this summer, but my curiosity still wins the battle for my attention more often than not, and I need to satiate it. The area we were staying kept putting us on Walt Whitman Road, so I had to find out what that was all about. Sure enough, his childhood home was nearby, so I made the boy go check it out with me. Google also told me that W.K. Vanderbilt II’s home was twenty minutes away on the northside of Long Island, so I made the boy see that with me as well. I don’t even care about fancy homes like Vanderbilt’s, but I like to get context. Where did these people come from? What did they do? And I love the juxtaposition of poetry and wealth.
Would I make a special trip to go see Whitman or Vanderbilt’s house? No. But I was there, and it’s better than watching ESPN or reruns on the limited hotel cable. I got to learn a few things. Got to see how the other half lived once upon a time. Got to get a better lay of the land. Learned a little history and found a little context for Whitman’s poetry when I went hiking in the area near his birthplace. Context is, after all, the jigsaw puzzle of an individual’s formation and the framework of every good story.
Hunting down the places where Whitman and Vanderbilt came from could be done out of adulation, sure, but I have a very different agenda when I set out for such quests: the search for context. Understanding context strips away the mystery of how one pursued, or was able to achieve, their dreams. It makes the world smaller, expanding possibilities in our minds. I love history and absorbing facts, too, but I mostly enjoy the broader understanding of people and time. Stripping the context of others is how we further expand—and unmask—our own.
Unmasking context at WK Vanderbilt II’s home on Long Island