Dan's Papers - August 29, 2008 - Looking for Monster 2

Everybody wonders who it was who came upon the "Montauk Monster" on Shagwong Beach in Montauk three weeks ago. His name is Evan Finnegin and he's given many interviews - to CBS, to USA Today, to The Christian Science Monitor, to The Wall Street Journal, the list goes on and on - but for each one, he's asked that his name be kept out of the paper. He was just this honest fisherman who happened to stumble upon this dead creature with a beak, fur on some parts of its body and not on others, fangs, three-toed paws and a tail.

Because of him, the Montauk Monster has become a huge hit nationwide. The Monster has been mentioned on "The Tonight Show," there have been songs written about it, there are t-shirts with its picture on them, there are videos made of it on YouTube, there are cartoon strips about him, and there are made-up stories about how there's a whole school of them out there, and how he came here after being zapped at the Animal Disease Center on Plum Island.

But then, about a week ago, Finnegin had a change of heart. He decided that in the future, for all interviews, he would let his name be used. But nobody called. And that's because the Montauk Monster has played itself out. It's old news.

The following day, he called me up at Dan's Papers to give me some news.

"I found another creature on the beach," he said. "It's entirely different. I think this is going to be even bigger than the Montauk Monster."

"Why are you calling me about this?" I asked.

"Because you got this whole thing started with the national media. I sent a picture of the monster to your son David, David forwarded it to you, and then you published it. So that's how it got on Fox News and then out all around the world."

"So you want me to do that again?"

"Okay, I'll have a look at it. But if it's icky just bring over a picture of it."

"It's not icky," he said.

Finnegin came into my office the next day, Tuesday, with a big wooden box. He sat in a chair opposite me, with the box on his lap.

"Want to have a look?"

"Yes. Just like the Montauk Monster."

Finnegin opened the box. Inside was what appeared to me to be a very big starfish. Except it had six points instead of five.

"Where did you get this?" I asked.

"Same place. Shagwong Point. Isn't it amazing? This is going to be even bigger than the Montauk Monster."

"I don't think so," I said.

"But it's got six points instead of five. Nobody's ever seen a six-pointed starfish. It came from outer space."

"I really don't think people would be interested in this. So it's a six-pointed starfish."

Finnegin looked disappointed. "But it's a six-pointed starfish," he said, his voice trailing off. Then he brightened. He raised an index finger. "You don't think this is it? I'll go out to see what else is out there," he said. "I'll be back."

The secretary escorted him down the stairs and off to the front door. She later told me that on his way down, he showed her what was in the box, and she said she thought it was a Jewish starfish.

"He didn't seem amused," she said. "But then he walked out the front door with it, taking big purposeful strides."

The next day, Wednesday, Finnegin was back. And again he came upstairs with a big wooden box, this time a wooden box even bigger than the one he'd had before.

"You're not going to believe this," he said as he opened it. "It's amazing."

Inside was a big boulder, about one foot in diameter, shaped like a potato. I wondered how he had even gotten it up the stairs.

"I got this on the beach at the False Bar by the lighthouse," he said.

"It's a boulder," I said.

"Yes, but it's not just ANY boulder. Look at it from this angle." He turned it slightly sideways. "What do you see?"

"I don't see anything."

"From this side, it's a profile of Jimmy Carter. Exact. It's exactly like Jimmy Carter. Is that unbelievable?"

"I don't think this is as good as the Monster," I told him.

"You don't?" he asked.

"I don't think any of the networks would be interested in this."

His shoulders slumped again. He took a deep breath. "Well, I'll be back," he said. And he got up, straightened his shoulders and struggled with the big box with the stone in it down the stairs.

The next day, Thursday, he had a much smaller wooden box.

"What's in that?" I asked.

"THIS is going to be my shot heard round the world in the publicity department. This is going to make the Montauk Monster look like chopped liver." He leaned forward. "You can say you knew me when," he whispered.

He slowly opened the little box. In it was a clam. Sticking out from it was something that looked like a finger with a fingernail on it. But closer inspection revealed it was just a spongy piece of wetland vegetation shaped like a tuber.

I told him that is what it looked like.

"But who knows that? Huh? Some people will say that the clam ate a person, and all that's left is this finger and fingernail. Other people will say that this is the finger of an alien who is trying to emerge from a clam to take over the world. Who's to say?"

"I don't think the media is going to be interested in this, though," I said.

"Well, would you try?"

"Okay," I said. "I'll try."

Finnegin really is a nice person, most of the time. And so he left it with me, issuing forth great encouragements about making my magic phone calls. "Mention my name," was the last thing he said before he went down the stairs.

I did call Fox News, but they weren't interested. I tried Newsweek, I tried The Christian Science Monitor, I tried CBS.

The next day, when he brought in a dead squirrel with white markings on its feet that made the animal look like it was wearing tennis shoes, I had to give him the bad news.

He burst into tears. "I keep trying and trying," he said. "I go out there and there's all this stuff and..."

"Maybe you ought to call these people yourself," I said.

"Oh no," he said, "They have to hear from you."

Over the next four days, he brought in a swordfish that had only one eye (the left one); a "ray gun" that turned out to be a Super Soaker with barnacles on it; a giant twisted steel pole which totally baffled me and which Finnegan said was what the aliens used to slide down when they hovered over the surf at Shagwong Point; and a bluefish with markings on its side that looked exactly like Spock from "Star Trek."

I shook my head no at all of them.

"Well, then, think of them TOGETHER," he said. "What if I brought them all in and just laid them down in front of you on your desk. Wouldn't you think THAT was something?"

When I said that, regretfully, I didn't think so, he just put his head in his hands, and sitting there in the chair in front of me, began sobbing.

"The Montauk Monster is such a hard act to follow," he blubbered. "If only I had said I wanted them to use my name, everybody would know me today."

"Bad, bad, bad," he said, slapping the box that contained the Spockian bluefish. "What can I do? I'm just a one-hit wonder. Have a hit. That's it. No follow-through."

I took Finnegin down to Bobby Van's that evening, bought him four beers, which he chugged down one after another, and then put my arm around him.

"You tried," I said. "By golly, you tried. And tomorrow is another day."