It’s a safe bet Steve Jobs had no say in the design of the phone on my desk. It’s boxy, dull black and headstone gray, and dotted with plastic bubbles above obscure instructions like “Park Ret.” It embodies those dreary features of workaday life that can rip your soul from you like a shirt from a hanger.
One Monday it was dead. Its single sliver of red indicator light, a little reptilian eye that looks on me unblinkingly, no longer announced its readiness to receive.
The history that runs so deep on the South Fork is matched by a passion for it and, too often, by a willingness to destroy it. For notorious example, Wick’s Tavern in Bridgehampton, once catering to drinkers and gossips at the same Main Street intersection as two historic houses that made it to the 21st century, the Nathaniel Rogers House and the Bull’s Head Inn. Wick’s Tavern dated from the end of the 17th century yet was leveled in 1941 so a gas station could rise in its place. (It’s gone now, too, and won’t be missed.)