Opinion

My granddaughter stroked the ball well in a middle school tennis match at Sportime the other day, but it was her composure that struck me.

My teen years here in the 1970s, in retrospect, seems a halcyon time.

I quit Facebook years ago, convinced that, despite the happy patina, it was by and large a medium for meanness, for back-stabbing, name-calling, ganging-up, and worse.

Doing the storms, the worst rot I found was on windows less than 20 years old made of junk wood and not intended to last.

There’s more going on than you’d think at Sunken Meadow come state qualifier time.

Back-of-the-ballot measures asking for a “yes” or “no” after a block of intentionally confounding text were never a good way for government to function.

So what did Joseph DiSunno do about having no oil in his truck as the Germans closed in?

In the mid-1970s, Promised Land was like the wilderness of the Bible.

Moving beyond the endless talk of how hard it is to find a place to live here on an ordinary income, the East Hampton schools aim to do something about it.

Over the course of 15 years running a registered charter fishing boat and taking people out to Montauk Point, I have issued five official mayday distress calls and sunk two boats — with customers on them.

I myself don’t believe in specters, but this is a true story.

The Democratic establishment victory in the election that ended Tuesday was the expected outcome, but while the winners savor the moment, they must also realize that it is well past time to get moving in a number of areas.