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Booze & Broads
By: Paul Melnyk
Surfrats.com Weekly Editorial #4
Oct 29th, 2007

Booze and Broads….

OK, this may be a short one…. Where do I start? First off, let me assure all of you who are members of the gentler sex that I have written this essay with my tongue firmly ensconced in my cheek. I have tried to keep both parties in equal proportions with my cynicism. Try to understand that I am a member of one of the combatant sides, so my views may be slightly skewed in one direction. Please don’t sick the feminist movement on me. Don’t E-mail this to my wife. I was only tryin’ to be funny…. Now, YOU ASKED FOR IT!

Well, in the beginning, Montauk was just one big ranch. There were a multitude of cows and sheep, so the broads part was not so important. The calves learned how to run fast and stay away from tree stumps. A notorious Texan, (who shall remain nameless), once told me, “A good thang with sheeps t’is yah juss taike along a hain’ful o’ suga ‘en yah kin have yer way!”

Back then the local population tended to be farmers and fishermen. They were the descendants of eighteenth century German mercenaries, known as Hessians. The poor lads fought on the loosing side in the squabble known as the Revolution. This lead to their exile at the end of the earth. At that time, that end was known as the Springs. The fruition of this ostracism led to the Bonackers [named for the Accabonac Harbor where their original settlement was located.]

Bonac women, when in their youth, are true beauties whose natural physiology causes them to mature quickly. Having German ancestry, these women are quite comely and often considerably buxom at a tender age. As a result, these girls were often wed rather early in life. The problem with women of their ilk is soon after they procreate, they will often develop the tendency to grow at an astounding rate…sideways…. The men were also of extra large dimensions. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Large broods were the norm. In defense of our Bonac brothers, it was only natural that they would train their women to keep up the home fires, strong in stature as they were. As fishmongers, and buccaneers, [those who smoke meat or fish as a preservative], these womenfolk excelled. Housekeeping and gardening were also among their attributes.

Frequently, the men would not choose to linger with mates who could beat them into submission. As a result, they would spend days fishing, hunting and sippin’ moonshine. Running the stills scattered among the kettle-holes and springs of their homesteads became a fine diversion. Their homebrew achieved some notoriety, and soon a trade of fish, jerky and whisky developed between the Bonackers and the more gentile communities of Long Island. It was only natural that these gentlemen would jearn for the joys offered by the wilderness lifestyle. The first migration of sportsmen ensued.

The sport fishermen who came here during the nineteenth century were mostly wealthy urbanites and philanthropists. With no cars or trains available, these fellows would bring their entertainment along on horseback or by carriage. This is when the expression “The carriage trade” was coined. What was the main form of regalement you ask? A female companion and a flask could often cure the boredom of a long journey. In addition, there was not much to do as these gentlemen waited for their footmen to build their fishing stands and chum up hundred pound strippers [oops, Freudian slip!] Reading Kipling or Shakespeare would not warm the soul in a cool fishing cottage. A local Bonac beauty might be convinced to reside as the (eh-emm) house keeper, until her looks failed or she became gravid.

As was the case in the past, the men of wealth and power would often harbor their “Lady companions” in bungalows along the coast, to keep them away from their passionless and shrew-like wives. Month long jaunts of fishing, smoking and debauchery would result. Ahhh, for simpler times!

God put a curse on Adam after kicking him out of the garden. This hex is in the form of unconditional love. Ever since then, men have been doing things they know are just plum crazy to satisfy the fairer sex. It is a curse, indeed. As an example of this dilemma; the result of your fishing pal’s marriage. Hah!

Well, leave it to women to mess up a good thing. The education and proselytism of young ladies had a grim effect. Women’s suffrage was the result. Prohibition was the consequence of this cumulative masculine brain fart. No more Booze.

Thank God for the Kennedy clan or else the USA would have gone to pot! (Hmmmm) Old Joe made sure that Booze and Broads began to flow like the waters over Niagara. Montauk became the smuggler’s entree into New York City. With the easy access to booze, the Montauk Yacht Club and the Montauk Manor were constructed to shorten the delivery time and avoid the constabulary. Once again the gentry could escape their mundane lives while frequenting these establishments for a drink and female companionship. An entire economy was created to entertain the rich and famous. Sadly, the locals were not privy to the dance. When the local workmen who built the clubs and speakeasies came to enjoy their handiwork, the guard at the gatehouse turned them away with a Tommy gun! You can still see remnants of those gate houses at the head of Star Island and the entrance to East Lake Drive.

All went well until that Roosevelt fella screwed things up. Prohibition was repealed. The N.R.A. built the railroad. The watering holes went out of business. Montauk, as party central, passed on…. All that was left was the fishing village at Fort Pond, which promptly blew away with the hurricane of ’38. What was to be the next incarnation for poor old Montauk?

Hitler and the Japs! When the Krauts and Nips started to stir things up, the Army decided to turn Montauk into a fortress. Six huge sixteen inch cannons were distributed around the Point in turrets. Ten thousand servicemen were stationed in Montauk at Camp Hero to stem the expectant Nazi horde. The area around Fort Pond Bay became a submarine base and blimp port. The roads were improved and town was reborn out of the detritus of the tempest. Bars and bordellos were abundant once again! There was a peculiar old girl who had a small home on the old road through Hither Woods. She had a special place in her heart for service men, and would perform the “Kiss of Life” for those lonely sailors who would wander past in the night. Hurrah for the forties! There were now more bars per square mile in Montauk than ever!

The war ended and so did Fort Montauk, which was left to disintegrate into the soil. Except for the Radar base at the Point, Montauk was positioned to fall off the map. Then in the early fifties and sixties there was a revival of sport fishing. This time angling would not be controlled by Vanderbuilts and Morgans. The working class had discovered this piscary! With the railroad came “The Cannonball Run”, a blessed train with a parlor car and plenty of room for fishing gear. This locomotive became the express to fishin’ Nirvana! Filled with Moe and Joe, all had a big thirst and special needs. The Cannonball would rumble into town at 5am. Guys would dive off the train with their gear, before it stopped, to insure a good spot at the head-boat rail. Montauk once again flourished. The party boats, The Captain Spider, The Peconic Queen, The Viking, and The Jigger all had banner years. The age of the seedy Montauk motel was born to give hapless fishwives something to do. This is when the terms Dock Rat and Dock Box came into the local vernacular.

Alas, all good things come to an end. Montauk became gentrified. Half the bars now serve those drinks with the umbrellas in them, and the other half are just plain scary. I am pleased to say that although we are a town of only five thousand residents, we embrace three liquor stores! Loose women are still available, only now they don’t charge. They are the dissatisfied and spoiled daughters of the nouveau riche robber Barons of Wall Street. Dirty little dock girls can still be found staggering around at 2am. Women’s liberation has finally paid off! Naked and bawdy broads swing and sway their sultry bronzed bosoms down the beaches all summer long. (whew… that was a tough one…) God has a sense of humor, after all! Fornications prevail on our beaches, both day and night! Youthful hawkers peddle cold beers from coolers on the sand. $5.00 a brew… The occasional trailer frequents the campsites which will allow a lonesome man to drop in… for a bite...

 
(c)Paul Melnyk 2007, written exclusively for Surfrats.com

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