When I was a reporter
for the Martha’s Vineyard Times
during the nineteen-eighties, one of
my beats was the town of Oak Bluffs, Massachusetts. A story I covered concerned
a private beach club, the East Chop Beach Club, suing the town over the
ownership of a bulkhead.
At the turn of the 20th
century, the body of water adjacent to the beach club was known as Squash Pond
and was probably fresh water. At that time, about 300 feet of beach land was
taken by eminent domain and a channel was dredged, creating a salt water
harbor. In the 1930’s the town built a bulkhead. In order to do this, Oak
Bluffs was granted an easement to give them access to build and maintain the
bulkhead. Members of the town and residents of Oak Bluffs both shared the use
of the bulkhead. In 1958, the beach club became a yacht club but kept the beach
club name. The town said that they maintained the bulkhead until 1978, when the
private club constructed a gate at the entrance to the bulkhead, limiting the
town’s access.
The town owned two acres of beachfront adjacent
to the club and you had to cross over club owned land to get to it. This
easement remained unobstructed and I would often use that stretch of beach as
it was close to where I lived. I would also jog through there during my morning
run. One dawn I noticed that the club had started to construct a second fence.
This one was on the beach separating their beach from the town beach. It was an
eyesore.
By this time, I had
quit the Martha’s Vineyard Times
twice, which is another story. I was working at a radio station, but this
didn’t seem like much of a radio story. It was more of a literary event. I
decided to write a letter to the editor and in addition to my former paper, I
also submitted it to the Martha's Vineyard
Gazette, which was established in 1846. The
Martha’s Vineyard Times was established right before I got there. That’s
another story.
I remember when I hand
delivered the letter to my old paper, the News Editor asked, “Is this an
exclusive? Are you just giving this to us?”
And a reporter who knew
me better than he did said, “No, he wants this to be read.”
She was right. I gave
the letter to both papers. As a matter of fact, I gave it to the Gazette first. They had an earlier
filing deadline.
So here’s the letter I
wrote. There’s a lot of metaphor. You
may be able to tell I had recently graduated from college with an English
degree. Some people liked this letter.
Some people did not. This is what it said:
August 12, 1985
To the Editor:
I was sitting on the
public beach in East Chop early one morning late last week, reading a book,
when Robert Frost suddenly said, “Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
that sends the frozen-ground-swell under it and spills the upper boulders in
the sun, and makes gaps even two can pass abreast.” It was not an unusual thing
for the poet to say. He had said it before.
I looked up from the
book and noticed that someone had started to build a wooden fence to separate
the town owned beach from that portion claimed by the East Chop Beach Club.
Whoever the builder was must have done
it during the night or on a previous day, for there was no one at the half
completed structure to take responsibility for what was being done.
"The gaps I
mean," Frost said, "No one has seen them made or heard them made, but
at spring mending-time we find them there."
I stood up and walked
over to investigate the fence builder’s handiwork. I brought the book with me.
It was shaping up to be
a fine fence as fences go. The builder had gone to the trouble of pouring
concrete into the sand to anchor the wooden poles. Further down the line, there
were already other holes dug to pour more concrete in to anchor more poles to
complete the structure.
As I said before, it
was early. The beach was deserted. I looked over at the beach club building and
its structure seemed to say, “Good fences make good neighbors.” I think if
there had been a member there, I would have asked him to explain.
And Frost said,
"We do not need the wall: He is all pine and I am apple orchard. My apple
trees will never get across and eat the cones under his pines.”
Although I don’t always
agree with Frost, he was right this time. But I didn’t tell him because I would
never hear the end of it. I put the book down and ran into the water.
There, the beach club had no authority
to build a wall.
On Saturday I returned
to the beach with my book and the fence was almost complete. There was someone
in the employ of the beach club making a great deal of noise, banging wooden
boards onto the fence. The worker then proceeded to staple signs to the board
which read: "WARNING! NO TRESPASSING. THIS IS PRIVATE PROPERTY.
Hunting, Fishing, Trapping or Trespassing for any purpose is Prohibited Under
Penalty of the Law." It was a common sign, not made expressly for the
club.
When the worker was
done, so was the fence done. He returned to whatever his other duties were at
the club. Perhaps he worked at the front desk making sure that everyone who
passed his way was a member.
"Before 'I built a
wall," Frost took up where he had left off a previous day, "I'd ask
to know what I was walling in or walling out, and to whom I was like to give
offense." The poet sounded angry, but the beach club did not listen.
I put the book down to
go for a short swim. On my walk to the water I wondered if there would be more
fences at the bulkhead if the beach club won the pending land court case.
"Something there
is," Frost grumbled as I dove into the sound, "that doesn't love a wall, that wants it
down.”
James
Tripp
Oak
Bluffs
The Editor of the Martha’s Vineyard Times gave the
letter the headline: “Frost on Walls.” I forget what banner was used by the Martha’s Vineyard Gazette. One of my
roommates, who sold ads at my paper, asked me if I really had a Robert Frost
book with me. I said, “No.” That seemed to bother him. He shouldn’t have been bothered;
the letter was the result of the scars of a New England liberal arts education.
It was bound to come out that way. He had had a New England business school
education---different perspective. It probably would have bothered him to know
that I really wasn’t at the beach that first day. I was just jogging through.
That’s when I got some of my best ideas. One of my other roommates was a
typesetter for the Gazette. She
typeset my letter. She didn’t get it either. She thought I was weird. Those two
were actually having summer sex with each other---nothing serious. I’m not sure
if they got each other.
It turned out I was
right to put the letter in the Gazette. Someone
on the Planning Commission told me his father read the letter out loud at the
dinner table. The next time the Planning Commission met, they determined the
fence was built without a permit and they made the East Chop Beach Club take it
down.
I don’t know how the
lawsuit turned out. I didn’t stay on the island much longer. I did an internet
search and I couldn’t find anything about it. I don’t really care anyway.
That’s not the point of the story.
I remember that every time
one of the DJ’s at the radio station saw me he said, “Something there is that
doesn’t love a wall, that wants it down.”
No comments:
Post a Comment