Columnists

Roll the tape . . .

I have been studying East End slavery for close to a decade now, but that has not diminished the shock that accompanies many of the documents that turn up.

Prince Edward Island, the island of my dreams.

Adventures with my father, beach-bannering and landing hard at the Foster Farm’s au naturel runway in Sagaponack.

What if visitors here were not being entitled jerks but rather were doing the best they could with the cerebral horsepower they had?

My career in the theater was not illustrious.

A showman for the ages deserves his due.

This season, late-model Range Rovers are the leading contender for the most annoying kind of car on South Fork roads.

Raise your hand if your mood is forcefully impacted by the weather.

Flagging over the Pledge of Allegiance and the national anthem.

Whale stink is something of a Proustian madeleine for me.

Despite my recent, mild interest in birds, I remain an indefatigable mis-identifier of them.

Finding success, of a sort, and camaraderie with the run-walk-run method at the Shelter Island 10K.

Scarcely is there a moment that I can step outside the office and not hear something other than the birds.

This broken toe is my excuse for having an empty head this month. It’s impossible to have a new idea without walking.

Summer’s tough on year-rounders. But at least there’s humble Long Beach.

There is an honor system of sorts. Star letter writers are expected to be self-policing. But artificial intelligence has made our job a lot more difficult.

A family romp at a Dartmouth graduation.

Learning to love the high school band.

The case of Brownie the Rooster underscored the ongoing tension between people who live here and others for whom their properties are a moneymaking opportunity.

It’s boring to force others to listen to the stories of your dreams, so I do apologize to be telling one here.

Pounding the Bridgehampton pavement for the Potatohampton 5K does tend to trigger the memories.

Having spent the better part of 60 years noting the comings and goings of the Promised Land and Pond o’ Pines osprey, I feel as if I know them.

Encounters with a Columbia undergrad with a “Brideshead Revisited” aura and Julian Sands good looks.

The King of Comics gets a street named after him.

What would anyone want with a ratty old fiberglass dinghy?

I am building a criminal case against our pet housecat.

The ne plus ultra in nonverbal communication.

Artificial intelligence has crept into the letters to the editor and I don’t like it.  

I appreciate King Charles’s defense of classical architecture and historic preservation.