Celebrating the last Fourth of July of the twentieth century
Oh oh, it’s the Fourth of July, that most American of holidays. It’s the weekend of parties and more parties, of fireworks and barbecues and celebration. It’s the signal to put our serious concerns on the shelf for a while and enjoy the golden days of another Hamptons summer. Real life can wait till after Labor Day. The days are long now, the nights are mild, and the beach is beckoning. Our friends are here more often, some for the season, some for long weekends, some forever. It really is summer.
That’s the existential holiday. But Independence Day marks more than the start of another lazy, lovely season. There is the historical holiday, and many of us tend to forget the actual past events that we are nominally commemorating. I’ve tried over the past few years to look for the meaning and significance of the day and in particular to find the links that our local communities have to the war that resulted in our independence as a nation.
The residents of eastern Long Island experienced great hardships and disruption during the Revolution. Averill Dayton Geus, in her recent history, From Sea to Sea, points out that Long Island became the no-man’s land of the Revolution and endured more suffering than any other area of the colonies. It was at the mercy of friend and foe.
The patriot sentiments of the eastern towns destined them for British occupation during the war, and their unprotected cattle and food supplies made them an even more attractive target. When General Washington sent word that a British fleet was on its way to Montauk, a militia set out from the Bridgehampton Church. With the help of Minutemen from East Hampton they concocted a subterfuge where they marched round the hills and changed clothes often until the fleet was fooled into thinking that an army was on guard. The British then moved on to Gardiner’s Island where they succeeded in capturing vast quantities of supplies.
While we celebrate the holiday lavishly, there was little celebration when the British finally left Sag Harbor in 1781. Properties were ravaged and working farms were destroyed. The legacy of bitter feelings from the occupation lasted for several generations. It’s all behind us now, but I think during this weekend we should remember the sacrifices that bought our liberty.
While I’m looking back, most people I know are looking forward. They are trying to make this summer count more than others. It’s the millenium sensibility, and time’s winged chariot is telling them this is the last summer of the century and they ought to make it memorable. And not just the Fourth of July. If there was any time in the last hundred years or so when they missed out on having some fun, well, this is the summer to make up for it. What, they’ll ask someday, did you do when the air was balmy, the breezes fresh and salty, the grass green, the beach plum fragrant, and the century’s clock ticked down toward zero?
I’m going to spend the last matchless days of the twentieth century where I’m happiest, close to my roots in the Hamptons. I’ve already eaten the first asparagus from the Green Thumb and the first strawberries in Wainscott. Soon I’ll get the first corn in Water Mill and tomatoes and zucchini in Amagansett. I’ll watch the Fourth of July fireworks at Main Beach, go to two or three benefits and parties every Saturday night, and spend the entire week at the Hampton Classic. I’ll make corn relish for the East Hampton LVIS Fair, dig clams in Accabonac Harbor, attend weekend and weekday polo matches, and teach my new puppy and Faith Popcorn’s new baby to swim together in Georgica Pond.
Of course there will be many more wonderful Hamptons summers after this, but they won’t be nineteen hundred and anything. Our local history goes back to the seventeenth century, so facing the twenty-first century should not be daunting. And just think: next year we will celebrate Independence Day on the Fourth of July, Y2K.