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Articles by this author:

  • It is over a year since The Star last reported on progress on the national historic landmark in East Hampton that is being restored to its former somewhat unorthodox glory.
  • Back in April at the height of the daffodil season, I wondered in this space whether hijacking your neighbor’s flowers — considering that the neighbor’s lot was just a gritty wasteland waiting for the construction of what would probably be yet another blight on the block — was really such a bad thing.

  • Apparently undeterred by recent efforts to discourage them from spending their summer weekends at the residents-only Indian Wells Beach in Amagansett, young share-house renters have been parking their cars all around the hamlet and leaving them behind for the day.
  • Growing up Jewish in pre-Hitler Poland with a series of nurses and nannies who sang to him in a Babel of native tongues, Yehuda Nir could read or speak seven languages by the time he was 10. The one that helped save his life, though, he did not learn until he was 11, soon after his father was murdered — Latin, which allowed the blond-haired child not only to pass as a Roman Catholic, but even to serve as an altar boy.

  • Somewhere near Springs-Fireplace Road in East Hampton there is a very small, very old, very decrepit saltbox house, unoccupied for decades except by raccoons, that is newly in the crosshairs of town and county historians.
  • Robert E. Costello, a pioneering producer of classic ’50s television shows who later won a Peabody Award for the PBS series “The Adams Chronicles” and two Emmys for ABC’s daytime serial “Ryan’s Hope,” died of a heart attack on May 30 at his summer house in Amagansett’s Beach Hampton neighborhood. He was 93 and had been diagnosed many years before with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease.

  • In a scathing decision denouncing the testimony of a retired East Hampton Town justice as “either self-serving or intentionally vague and disingenuous,” a State Supreme Court judge has ordered her to repay $1.045 million plus interest to a former partner of her late husband
  •     Down the street from where we live is an arid wasteland of a building site, stripped bare not only of the modest house that was once home to a pair of gentleman gardeners but also of the profusion of flowers, shrubs, even trees (the ultimate insult) that they had so carefully tended. There is nothing left but 20-foot mountains of dirt, a broken-down shed off in a brambly corner, whose survival may have been an oversight, and a waiting construction trailer.  

  •        “The great thing about working with Life magazine,” John Dominis once said, “was that I was given all the support and money and time, whatever was required, to do almost any kind of work I wanted to do, anywhere in the world. It was like having a grant, a Guggenheim grant, but permanently.”

  • Dressed for the season in brown burlap, striking dramatic poses all around town like models on a runway, hundreds of shrubs and trees stand bundled root to crown in their protective winter coats, ready for whatever Jack Frost can throw at them. (Photos by Durell Godfrey)