Dan's Papers - May 8, 2009 - Tradition, Tradition

Last summer, there was a fair in Sag Harbor with a climbing wall, live music and stands offering a mishmosh of engaging carnival games. But there was a clear crowd favorite among the activities: A table where you could make your very own fish print T-shirt.

It went like this: You bought a white T-shirt and flattened it out on the table. Then, from a bucket of water thick and murky with paint, you pulled out a dead fish of your choosing - fluke, striper, etc. You slapped the dead fish down next to the T-shirt and painted it with colors or designs of your liking. Flop the painted side of the fish down on the T-shirt, press firmly, lift off gingerly and, voila! A fish print T-shirt! A woman working the stand was proud as punch of the popular offering. "We've been doing it since the '80s," she beamed.

Here in the Hamptons, we love tradition. Out of the passion for it grows a dedication to preservation, keeping things the way they've always been, just like in the good old days. And so we maintain our traditions - the fun or quirky ones like giant clam contests, polar bear plunges and artist/writer baseball games. We bemoan lost traditions - getting fresh cinnamon doughnuts at the "real" Dreesens, rubbing elbows with artsy types at the Elaine Benson Gallery, getting dolled up for tea dances at the Swamp, flipping properties for fun and profit. We wring our hands over centuries-old endangered traditions like farming, fishing and working the bays for a living.

But from time to time, even diehard preservationists are ready to let go of a tradition, like having an open cesspool in your back yard. For practical reasons, those kinds of traditions have happily gone the way of, well, having an open cesspool in your back yard. Other historic practices, like the selling and buying of "Indians" have simply fallen out of favor. (Steven Pharoah, after whom Steven Talkhouse was named, was sold by his mother for $40 to toil on a farm. He escaped, and went to work on a whaleboat.)

One tradition that carries its own tradition of controversy, is hunting. Considering that many people want to limit or ban the activity, it was a surprise last summer when the East Hampton Town Board actually approved the opposite: expanding hunting to eight new areas, five of which allowed big-game hunting with big firearms.

The big game season ended January 30. But during that month, people complained about piercing shots jabbing through the quiet woods as they took their wary dogs out for the first walk of the day. One reported incident came from homeowners who witnessed, over their morning coffee, a group of hunters in an open field near an upscale residential area, shooting a deer and dragging the carcass through the field and across the lawn of an unoccupied house for sale.

But hunting is a tradition and traditions must be preserved! And as many residents, design review boards and historical societies attest, the East End is hell bent on preserving preservationism. In addition to its historical society, East Hampton has not one but now two town historians, with the board recently voting in Averill Geus to work with Stuart Vorpahl.

Geus, nee Dayton, has a family history on the East End that goes back to the 1650s. She knows from tradition. In addition, the Skidmore-educated historian and writer authored the volume From Sea to Sea, 350 years of East Hampton History, which chronicles many historic practices in these parts.

Maybe some deserve a second look. Right now, everyone's grasping for answers to problems from economic and environmental woes to rampant corruption and greed. Maybe there are some East Hampton traditions that could benefit the environment, help the beleaguered town save or raise money, or bring justice for all.

Algonquin Indians made wampum on Long Island from the 1600s into the 1800s. These strings of white beads were currency, used to pay ransoms and, according to Geus's book, "buy a murder or pay off a punishment." Hmmm. Using currency to avoid punishment ... Nah. That would never work. But the Shinnecocks are poised for national recognition by the Bureau of Indian Affairs, and once that happens, we'll get a casino. Hopefully, gamblers will actually have cash by then, but if not, now is the time to revert to wampum and more wampum.

Here's a revenue generating idea. The towns have raised the price of parking permits at the beaches again. From the 1890s to early 1900s, a member of the Conklin family set up shop on a beach in East Hampton, renting out women's bathing suits. "That's the way they made a living," said Geus at lunch recently in Bridgehampton. The suits were actually long, heavy woolen dresses - just think of the sun block they afforded. The dresses, which would be rented to several different people during a single day, ended up weighing about 30 pounds when wet. Granted, this could be a disadvantage if you're caught in a riptide. And then there's that hygiene issue ... On second thought, maybe we should all just pay the extra $25 for permits.

To hell with those expensive, time-gobbling hearings and court cases. Way back when, if someone did something untoward in East Hampton, vigilantes "dunked" him in the pond. "Ebenezer Dayton was a peddler," said Geus. "He came to town, sick with the measles, and went to church and infected a lot of people." Ebenezer was given a good dunking by a group of men, led by "a fellow named Chatfield," said Geus. "Ebenezer hired Aaron Burr, and won the court case." So, as it turns out, vigilante-ism was not tolerated in these parts. Someone really should tell Steve Levy about this.

Privateering - the plunder of enemy ships at sea - was legalized by England in 1690s. American merchants were forced to produce an income to help pay the royal debts, so the kings made it easy by legitimizing theft. It worked for Enron, and almost worked for Madoff. And there are plenty of pirates in the news these days. Looks like a revival is already well underway.

Finally, up until the early 1900s on Wiborg beach in East Hampton, whalers processed blubber at a tryworks. Squares of whale blubber were cut out and boiled down in trypots for oil. "It stank," said Geus. "Nobody went down there." Sure it smells! But so does diesel fuel. Has anyone looked into the possibility of running a car on whale blubber oil? Oh wait, hunting whales is illegal. But hunting deer isn't ...