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  • Does anyone know how many undocumented immigrants live in East Hampton? Southampton? The East End? Has anyone estimated whether, or to what extent, unskilled workers who find low-wage work among the wealthy here reduces the economic prospects of local, native-born residents?
  • The heart of Riverhead — and by that I do not mean its nearby shopping centers — has a lot of culture and history going for it.
  • This week, we learned it was likely that Jamal Khashoggi, a 59-year-old journalist for The Washington Post and a Saudi dissident who lived in the United States, was not only murdered by the Saudi government, but, according to Turkish authorities, tortured first, his fingers cut off while he was alive, his body dismembered entirely — with a bone saw — once he was dead. A bone saw. Dismembered.
  • You might remember a radical reimagining of East Hampton Village that was put forward last year by a group of architects lead by Maziar Behrooz. It was called “Restoring Forward: A Vision for East Hampton Village,” and among the other revitalization ideas it proposed — which included adding walking and biking paths and greenways, and creating park space where there is now parking space in the Reutershan lot — was the creation of a cultural zone at the west end of Newtown Lane.
  • I love the movies and saw every film I could get tickets for during the Hamptons International Film Festival last weekend, but one movie in particular left me with something of an emotional hangover.
  • The word “community” came to life under sunny skies on Sunday afternoon at the East Hampton Historical Farm Museum, where a large party of locals gathered around outdoor tables for a turkey dinner
  • The busy season was over, or so we thought, when two events proved otherwise.
  • Hurricane Esther had weakened into a tropical storm by the time its winds doubled back on eastern Long Island in September of 1961, and as a newcomer to East Hampton with no experience of the effects of heavy weather in coastal regions, I was excited and looking forward to the storm.
  • It was 6:30 on Tuesday morning, the time I usually get up, but I wasn’t ready. Although the cold snap was ending, I grabbed the thick New Zealand blanket, a long-ago present, and made myself quite comfortable on a living room couch. The next thing I knew it was after 8 — to be exact, 8:03 by my watch. For me, that counts as a lazy morning.
  • For reasons that I think require explanation, I have never registered as a member of a political party. To put it simply, I was the editor of this paper for more than 20 years and thought it quite enough to have an opportunity to express opinions large and small in print, including who should be elected or re-elected to local or national office.

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