Dan's Papers - December 14, 2007 -

"Of all the gin joints in all the world, she walks into mine." - Humphrey Bogart

In 1972, I walked into Bobby Van's and met the greatest piano player. I was one of those summer people with a seasonal shop in East Hampton, which I called "The Summer Wind." That year, the artist Bill Durham arranged for me to adopt Bonnie and Clyde, two intelligent, beautiful, Labrador Retrievers with shiny black coats. They loved to swim and I knew if I returned to Manhattan they'd attempt swimming in the East River. So I decided to stay, at least a year. Bobby offered me a job on weekends and that was that.

Bobby Van's, (it was just Bobby's to the regulars) was located in the current home of World Pie in Bridgehampton. Dark paneled walls, Tiffany lamps, a small bar, some booths, a few tables and seating for about sixty people. A Steinway piano was placed in front of the bar where Bobby played and laughed, not knowing that the saloon he opened in '69 was destined to become a legend for the literary clientele that patronized it.

His happiest days were when he cooked early evenings, and then closed up the kitchen and retreated to the Steinway, playing the night away.

Bobby's menu was simple - a noolas, steak on a sizzling platter, steak sandwich, fried chicken, chicken Kiev and the catch of the day, which usually was caught by Bobby himself. Bay scallops were plentiful in the 70s and the favorite item on the menu. John "Bunky" Hearst did his best to encourage Bobby to try new recipes, which, of course, never happened. Bunky was thrilled when Bobby was forced to hire a cook. Bobby had a love of beautiful woods and would hunt deer in a small upstate town called Fishers Eddy.

His customers looked forward to his return and the annual traditional venison stew dinner. That all changed when he and I were married in 1975. I just couldn't see a dead deer tied to the top of his station wagon. He once told me that in 76 he had a deer in his sight, thought of me, and didn't shoot. Sorry venison lovers to ruin your tradition. He hosted the famous New Years Day Buffets, now immortalized in many books and articles. People came from all over. Food was on the house. You paid for your drinks. Our regulars would say, "who are all these people?" Of course, Bobby knew them all.

At Bobby Van's, the saloon was Bobby's living room. One day, Bobby's close friend, Willie Morris, decided to write a poetic article about the beauty of Bridgehampton and Bobby's. The piece appeared on the Op Ed Page of the New York Times. Today, restaurateurs would be thrilled with such free publicity. But not Bobby, nor the gentle folk of Bridgehampton. Our secret was out. A simple weekend turned into scores of curious people looking for Willie and wanting to hear Bobby play. Bobby was forced to hire more cooks and servers. It was so crowded that he couldn't play.

He called Willie and said, "Get down here and see what you did." Everybody wanted Willie. The tourists wanted to kiss him and our regulars wanted to kill him. Nora and Freddy Cammann just kept saying, "Oh no, wait till we get our hands on him." Willie locked himself in his home for days. I had to deliver Irish coffee just to keep his spirits up.

The upside of the publicity was that the literary crowd now knew where they could find Willie. A beautiful new era began to which we all adjusted. Adam Shaw and Winston Groom were among the first. Bobby loved them. Both were writing novels, young, bright and knew how to laugh. Bobby would talk about Vietnam with Winston because they both served in the army around the same time. Adam gave us an elegant pre-wedding party in 1975. He played the Louis Armstrong version of "Lets Call The Whole Thing Off," all night long.

The rest of the gang of great writers followed - John Knowles, Wilfred Sheed, Truman Capote, Jim Jones, Irwin Shaw, Budd Schulburg. Bobby's became a second home to all of them. The writers mingled with local farmers, fishermen, musicians and sportscasters, which more than likely added to the cast of characters for their new novels. Of course, they were very careful not to mix with reporters or critics.

These were the days when people enjoyed the art of conversation. In a smoke-filled Bobby's, everyone was truly interested in what the other fellow had to say. Conversations were about books, music, sports, potatoes, scallops and dogs. No psychiatrists were ever needed with this crowd. Everyone would huddle around late at night and pour their hearts out to each other. No one ever betrayed anyone's confidence. You never read what you said the night before in some newspaper column the next day.

We were beginning to draw large crowds on weekends. A patio was added called Nematode Hall and named after a noble and winning softball team called The Golden Nematodes. There was usually a game held Sunday afternoons at Bridgehampton High School against a theatrical group called the Spindrift Players. Both teams would crowd into Nematode Hall the night before a game and try to out drink and out shout the other till the wee small hours of the morning. We were open till three, sometimes four a.m. those days.

Because of our good friend Jack Whitaker, we learned the art of horse racing. Televised races, such as the Triple Crown, with the winners "Seattle Slew" and "Affirmed" were common "Bobby" events. Most sports were allowed on TV, except tennis. Bobby didn't care for it because the players didn't drink.

After a photo that was taken in front of the restaurant of Truman Capote, Jack Knowles, Willie Morris and James Jones appeared on the cover of New York Magazine, Bobby truly considered turning Bobby Van's into a private club. Many heated "over the bar" discussions took place about the pros and cons of a private club. We decided to welcome all by building a larger place across the street. Bobby designed the interior to look like the old saloon. The mahogany bar was built by Warren Padula. Crystal glass was brought over from a theater in England with the inscription "Saloon Bar." Tiffany lamps were purchased. Bobby was excited and happy with the décor of the new place until he realized it had become a business and was no longer his living room.

Bobby Van was a gentle man with Rachmaninoff in his head, a fishing rod in his hands and magic in his fingers. He would play Gershwin, Porter, Scott Joplin and the Beatles. Complete scores of Broadway shows would fill the air. He brought down the house with "The Maple Leaf Rag," but his signature song was "Mountain Greenery."

Since his passing, many friends have told me that the song "Mountain Greenery" is going round and round in their heads. Mine too. I say to all of his friends that loved him so much to drive over to Bridgehampton on a quiet night, park somewhere between Bobby Van's and World Pie, open your car windows and listen for "Mountain Greenery."