Letters

There were no fences on Van Brunt Street when we bought No. 21 in 1967, an early 1900s four-square. Our rhubarb and zucchini garden blended into old Cliff Green’s flowerbeds to the north. The kids would climb the huge trees on the Bergmanns’ property to the west. We picked mulberries from the tree on the Marcincuks’ to the east.

Grandma Bishop lived in the Wee Cot across the street, and Courty and Catherine Bishop were in the big brick house on the corner. No physical boundaries. Just Bruce the dog, chained to the steps at the brick house, barking at anyone he didn’t know.

The house cost $14,000, with a bank loan from Mr. McAuliffe that was $75 a month. We could bike to the beach, walk to the village and the train station, and drive to the Milk Pail in minutes.

It was a perfect place for our new marriage and young family. Jumping in the leaves in the fall, watching the ice boats on Mecox in the winter, swimming in the ocean or Big Fresh Pond in the summer. Rum raisin ice cream at Sip N’ Soda, donut holes from Crutchley’s, pizza and sandwiches from La Parmigiana. A&P, Ted’s Market, and the Cunninghams or Morleys.

The neighborhood families grew up together, laughed, grieved and sang carols at Christmas. A house account at Herrick’s and a membership at the Southampton Golf Club meant we were accepted into the fold of this special place. Alvin and Patsy Topping trained my wife and kids to become competent show riders, and my golf game improved — but dinner at the Lobster Inn on Sundays was as fancy as it got for us.

Now, every property on Van Brunt Street is separated by a fence. Physical boundaries everywhere. There are many more rules. Many more Range Rovers. The kids are not climbing trees or picking berries. They are on their screens — and people are too afraid of lawsuits anyway.

I was never one for nostalgia, but at 81, I guess I am now.

The Greens, Bergmanns, Marcincuks, Miznickis, Cunninghams and Bishops are all gone. My wife of 56 years is gone. The kids and grandkids have long since moved away. Only a handful of the people and places from our life here remain.

And now it is time for me to say goodbye.

I will miss Southampton deeply. The lifetime of incredible memories we built here — the light, soil, sand and sea. Summer corn and winter squash. July 4th parade and a roaring fire on New Year’s Eve.

But it is time. I’m leaving to live with my daughter in California and son in Philadelphia. By the middle of September, I will be gone.

Michael Pateman

Southampton