Willem de Kooning, widely considered the greatest American painter of the postwar era, is dead at the age of 92. The giant of Abstract Expressionism died at his Springs studio at 5:30 yesterday morning from complications of Alzheimer's disease.

De Kooning had lived full time in Springs since 1963. While many other prominent artists have lived and worked on the East End, few have been so immersed in the place, or so profoundly affected by it.

Together with Jackson Pollock, de Kooning was the pre-eminent figure of Abstract Expressionism, the first art movement in the United States to advance beyond European examples and the first to influence art in Europe. Other first-generation members of what is also known as the New York School include, among others, Franz Kline, Robert Motherwell, Adolph Gottlieb, Clyfford Still, James Brooks, Lee Krasner, and, more loosely, Hans Hofmann and Arshile Gorky.

W.P.A. Shaped Career

The artist was born in Rotterdam, Holland, and received a classical art education at the Rotterdam Academy of Fine Art. In 1926, when he was 22, he jumped ship illegally in America and found work as a house painter. A turning point came in 1935 when he joined the Works Progress Administration's Federal Art Project, where he met many other artists.

It was his work with the W.P.A., and the encouragement of the painters John Graham, Stuart Davis, and, in particular, his close friend Gorky, that led to his becoming a full-time artist. His subject matter was the figure and landscape, both of which he explored in varying degrees of abstraction.

De Kooning met his wife, the painter Elaine Fried, in 1938 and married her five years later. It was an unconventional marriage from the start. Both were driven by art, both were heavy drinkers, and both pursued other romances. At one point de Kooning said to her, "We live like a couple of bachelors. What we need is a wife."

Artist's Milieu

Their early life together was characterized by the camaraderie of an artist's milieu in Greenwich Village coupled with extreme poverty. De Kooning did not officially sell a painting until 1943 and he was 44 years old before he had his first solo show in 1948.

He was one of the founders of the Club, the informal association of New York artists that met from 1949 through the late '50s for discussion and socializing, and among the first artists to convert a downtown industrial loft into a studio.

After meeting his wife, de Kooning started to paint large gestural portraits of women, edging gradually toward what he described as the "melodrama of vulgarity" of his famous "Woman" paintings.

No Pretensions

While he was as knowledgeable about the history of art as any American artist in this century, he was drawn to what the art critic Thomas Hess called the "concept of the American banal," always asserting the commonplace view of things over intellectual, social, or political pretensions.

He was a harsh critic of his own work, destroying more paintings than he kept. Many were saved, according to his wife, only because someone bought them straight off the easel.

He initiated works by taking images already available, things seen from the corner of the eye or flashing past on a billboard or studied in a museum, and then worked on the images, transforming them again and again. For example, he worked on "Woman I" for two years, according to Mr. Hess, scraping down and repainting the surface "at least 50" times.

De Kooning described himself as a "slipping glimpser," an odd phrase but one extremely evocative of how the artist experienced things - quickly, spontaneously, obliquely, while off-balance.

In the late '40s, the artist painted a series of predominantly black paintings which were shown at the Samuel Kootz Gallery in a show called "Black and White," along with work by Motherwell, Hofmann, Gottlieb, Mark Tobey, and William Baziotes.

At his first solo show, at the Charles Egan Gallery, he did not sell anything, but the exhibit got a lot of press attention and one painting, "Mailbox," was chosen for the Whitney Annual. Prompted by the reviews - the eminent critic Clement Greenberg had called de Kooning "one of the four or five most important painters in this country" - Josef Albers asked the artist to teach at Black Mountain College.

The "Woman" paintings that dated from just after his return from Black Mountain were shown by Leo Castelli in the famous Ninth Street Show in 1950 and at the Sidney Janis Gallery. But they received their first major public viewing, and caused a critical uproar, at his third solo show in March 1953, also at Sidney Janis.

Of that show James Fitzsimmons wrote that de Kooning painted "in a fury of lust and hatred," in "bloody hand-to-hand combat." Others accused him of misogyny and referred to the woman portrayed as predatory and rapacious, a harridan, a frightening goddess, an evil muse. While Harold Rosenberg remained his staunchest defender, Mr. Greenberg turned against him.

Debate has continued over the years but was eventually summed up by Carter Ratcliff: "We can argue forever about the nature of de Kooning's message. To claim to know precisely what he expresses is to reveal one's needs and fears, not his."

By the mid-'50s, de Kooning had both critical acclaim and financial reward, as well as the kind of fame that would eventually drive him to leave Manhattan for good.

"I have no need to be celebrated," he said to Mr. Rosenberg, "to shake hands with a lot of people. In the end it's just your friends and your work that count." (When he was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1964 he asked in bemusement, "What on earth have I done for freedom?")

He and Elaine de Kooning separated, and in 1957 she left New York to teach in New Mexico. They lived apart for 20 years until she returned in the 1970s to help him fight alcoholism and to enter a new and productive phase of painting.

Meanwhile, de Kooning was spending more and more time on the East End. He had bought a house on Accabonac Road, and when he was in the country he lived there with Joan Ward, who in 1956 gave birth to his only child, Lisa.

Perhaps in response to the pressure of being an art-world phenomenon, the painter moved full time to Springs in 1963 and built a large new house and studio, which he designed himself, on Woodbine Drive. He started painting there the following year, but did not move in for some years, instead bicycling home each evening to the small house on Accabonac Road. He never learned to drive.

The move had a profound effect on de Kooning's art. "Actually I've fallen in love with nature," he said in an interview. "I don't know the names of the trees, but I see things in nature very well. I've got a good eye for them, and they look back at me."

He went to Manhattan less and less often. Once his studio was finished exactly as he wished, he entered upon a productive period of painting that included a renewed examination of the "Woman" theme.

David Sylvester, an English art historian and curator who writes of de Kooning as the supreme painterly painter of the human figure since Picasso, calls 1977, no less than the groundbreaking years of the late '40s, the annus mirabilis of de Kooning's career.

The artist was in his mid-70s and creating both sculpture and a series of transcendental, loosely painted works that teem with energy and belong, says Mr. Sylvester, with the powerful canvases painted by Monet, Bonnard, Renoir, and Titian at the same age.

"I made those paintings one after the other, no trouble at all," de Kooning told the art writer Sam Hunter in 1975. "I couldn't miss. It's a nice feeling. It's strange. It's like a man at a gambling table [who] feels that he can't lose. But when he walks away with all the dough, he knows he can't do that again. Because then it gets self-conscious. I wasn't self-conscious. I just did it."

But the decade also saw its share of violent alcoholic episodes and, by the end, the first signs of Alzheimer's. By the beginning of the '90s de Kooning had stopped painting and needed round-the-clock caretakers. Much of the artist's work dating from the onset of disability until it finally consumed him can be seen in the current show at the Museum of Modern Art.

The show seems to have put critics on the spot, unable to agree whether the simple, pared-down paintings in primary colors, which retain a formal cohesion, show an intellectual decline or merely a release from the violent demons of the artist's youth.

What is in no doubt at all is de Kooning's place in history. In November 1996, "Woman," painted in 1949, was sold at auction for $15.6 million. It was the highest auction price of the year and the third highest price ever paid for a contemporary painting.

Major exhibits of de Kooning's work include those held at the Guggenheim in 1978, a retrospective at the Whitney in 1983 that traveled to Berlin and Paris, and shows that marked his 90th year at the National Gallery and the Hirschhorn Museum in Washington, both of which traveled internationally.

Commenting on de Kooning's truly extraordinary career, Robert Storr, who curated the current show at MoMA, drew attention in particular to the continuity of the artist's personality in his work, even in the last sad years, and said of his death:

"All artists have a set of people leaning over their shoulders, either living or ghosts. But nonetheless it's disconcerting when a living presence becomes a historical figure. You're never ready for it."

In addition to his daughter, Liesbeth de Kooning Villeneauve, and her mother, Joan Ward, the artist is survived by three grandchildren, Isabel, Emma, and Lucienne.

A funeral service will be held at 1 p.m. on Saturday at St. Luke's Church in East Hampton.

A raging blaze totally destroyed the oceanfront house of the television personality Dick Cavett and his wife, Carrie Nye, an actress, on Tuesday afternoon. The loss was not only a personal tragedy but one mourned by the entire community because of the historic and architectural significance of the stately residence.

Once called "Tick Hall," the structure was one of seven so-called Association Houses on the Montauk bluffs designed by Stanford White before the turn of the century and later designated national landmarks. Mr. Cavett was nearing completion of an extensive renovation at the time of the fire.

Firefighters worked frantically but unsuccessfully to gain control of the flames, which consumed the two-and-a-half-story, wood-framed house, leav ing just a tall stone chimney looming over the burning debris. A huge funnel of smoke could be seen from as far away as Amagansett.

Devastated By News

Mr. Cavett and Ms. Nye, who split their time between Montauk and Manhattan, were not at home at the time of the fire. But they had been there just the previous day. Gregory Donohue, the caretaker, was able to reach them at their apartment in Manhattan on Tuesday afternoon. He said they were "devastated" by the news.

"Mr. Cavett said he could not imagine looking up at that hill and not seeing Tick Hall sitting up there," Mr. Donohue told The Star.

Mr. Cavett and Ms. Nye have lived in the house since 1968. Ms. Nye owns the neighboring house, named DeForest Cottage, which is west of the burnt structure. That property is frequently rented out during the summer. The two houses are connected by a winding, wooded path.

Renovation Work

Workers involved in the renovation project had just quit for lunch before the fire began. According to Mr. Donohue, they had been installing lead flashing around a flat roof with a blow torch and using an electric tool with an extension cord.

East Hampton Town Fire Marshal David DiSunno said he was aware of the construction but stressed yesterday that the official cause of the fire had not been determined.

An automatic fire alarm alerted S.C.A.N. Security of the fire at 12:23 p.m. Dennis Snyder, Montauk Fire Department's second assistant chief, was first on the scene and found the house completely engulfed in flames.

Three fire engines, a power ladder, and two tankers responded from the Montauk Fire Department. Additional tankers from East Hampton, Amagansett, and Springs Fire Departments were called in for help. Emergency medical technicians and two ambulances were also on hand in case they were needed.

Access Problems

The firefighters' work was hindered by the isolated location of the house on DeForest Road. Access was through a quarter mile of winding dirt road. The nearest fire hydrant was half a mile away. Montauk Fire Chief Tom Grenci said the firefighters were able to lay down a five-inch hose and use portable hydrants.

Hot burning embers ignited several small brush fires in the wooded area surrounding the house. Firefighters carrying portable squirt cans continuously scanned the site and extinguished them as they began.

Explosions could be heard within the house as huge billowing blasts of flames shot out of the crumbling structure. The intense heat cracked a window of a Montauk Fire Department pumper parked nearby and melted part of the truck's vinyl seat. Chris Carillo, a Montauk fireman, suffered heat exhaustion and was taken to Dr. Gavino Mapula's office for treatment.

Radio Dispute

When Mr. Donohue, the caretaker, arrived on the scene of the fire, his first words were, "Mr. Cavett does not need this right now." He may have been referring to Mr. Cavett's recent widely reported bout of manic depression and the lawsuit that has followed.

In January, Mr. Cavett quit his nationally syndicated radio talk show. He said he couldn't continue because he was suffering from manic depression, an illness that has haunted him throughout his life. In a Newsday article in 1992 Mr. Cavett mentioned the antidepressant medication he was taking.

The Associated Press reported last week that Mr. Cavett was being sued for $35 million by James Moskovitz, the producer of the radio show. Mr. Moskovitz said he spent more than a year and $650,000 to get the show on the air. The three-hour weekday program had its debut on Jan. 6. Mr. Cavett, who signed a two-year, $500,000-a-year contract, last appeared on Jan. 20.

Ready To Work

Mr. Cavett's lawyer, Melvyn Leventhal, said Mr. Cavett would be ready to return to work in about a week. But Mr. Moskovitz has reportedly said he doesn't want him back. The damage has been done, he said.

When the fire was finally extinguished, about two hours after it had begun, Mr. Donohue walked around helplessly trying to salvage anything. He said the house contained precious antiques and Indian relics collected by Mr. Cavett. Before he was chased from the scene by a fire marshal, he was able to find the charred brass bell that had hung under a copper cupola in the watch tower. It was all he found.

The bell tower that stood on the southwestern corner of the veranda was removed by firefighters before it was engulfed by flames. It was the only part of the house to be salvaged.

Among the many distinctive aspects of the structure was an anchor placed atop the chimney by a yacht captain employed by a previous owner, Harrison Tweed. By Tuesday afternoon, the chimney and its anchor were all that remained of the historic residence.

Attention E-Mailers

The Star is always pleased to receive correspondence from readers, but, as most are aware, it does not print anonymous letters, even those that are not of a scurrilous nature. This has been our policy for many years.

Now, with the advent of E-mail, and its increasing use as a supplement to or even substitute for conventional postal correspondence, we are faced with a dilemma. E-mailed letters often bear no indication of their author or origin other than an alias, to wit BLUBOY4 or SBSNY.

That may be fine in cyberspace, but it is not so fine for The Star's letters pages. This week, for example, a letter arrived by E-mail inquiring why no police news appears on our Website (http://www.easthamptonstar.com). A legitimate question, but, alas, one that cannot be answered unless and until we can verify the identity of the asker. Mail is mail is mail, and the rule ought not to be waived just because it originates in Cyberia.

Sharp-eyed readers will note a new line in the instructions to letter-writers. It says:

Unsigned E-mail will be treated as anonymous.

Obsessed With Drugs

East Hampton

March 17, 1997

To The Editor,

The decertification of Mexico as a partner in the United States's war against drugs is The New York Times headline. The idea would be laughable if it were not so absurd. Only those nations certified by the U.S. are allowed to participate in the war against drugs. The drug war is essentially a battle against the evil products that are being shipped into the U.S. by small, dark, scary people, which are destroying segments of the U.S. population.

Because the Mexican drug czar was found to be on the payroll of several major drug dealers, Mexico can no longer play in the drug war game. They will be sorry, because this is a great war. The longest one since the War of the Roses. A war with such limited success that under ordinary circumstances it would have been stopped as a total failure. A war where the enemy is ourselves and everyone else. A war that is impossible to win because we refuse to deal with any of the reasons for the war.

So we create absurd issues like decertification and crop replacement participation rather than deal with the essence of the problem: Why the demand for drugs in the U.S. is so phenomenal that users and dealers are willing to risk their lives in battle with the most powerful government in the world to buy and sell drugs, and why the U.S., unlike every other country in the world, is obsessed with drugs.

Every imaginable form of legal and illegal drug is hawked nonstop by the drug companies, the medical profession, the psychosocial industry, and the school systems. We take drugs to sleep, to stay awake, drugs for depression, and drugs for hyperactivity. The typical American medicine cabinet has 47 different drugs, a bottle of perfume, and two creams. Compare it to a typical French medicine cabinet which has 47 perfumes, 20 creams, and four drugs (suppositories probably). We are a drug-crazed country.

Profile our typically depressed citizen. He can no longer drink or take drugs to relax, so he takes Prozac because he's depressed and can't work. But it kills his sex drive. So he takes an amphetamine three hours before sex but can't sleep afterward. So he takes a Valium to sleep but is constipated. He can't get relief because the anticonstipation pill and the Prozac don't mix well. And the best sex he has he can't remember. But it's all Food-and-Drug Administration certified.

Why we are so drug crazed is the question. Why are we a breeding ground for potheads, cokeheads, pillheads, acidheads, junkies, free- basers, etc.? Is there something wrong with our society or is it just part of the American dream turned nightmare? Is it the natural progression of a system where the realities of a large segment of the population are too far removed from the American dream? Does our society alienate as many people as it incorporates?

Unquestionably, the Government doesn't have a clue. It carries on about Mexico and Colombia because it doesn't know what to do. If we wipe out the heroin and cocaine sources, people will come up with something else. They'll mix Prozac with paint thinner and create a new super designer drug. Or maybe they'll freebase formaldehyde and turn everyone into William Buckley. Anyone who has ever worked with drug abusers, who has ever taken drugs, who knows anyone who has ever taken drugs, or who knows someone who knows someone knows that the drugs are not the problem. Why don't Bill Bennett and Bill Clinton? Neither of these men is a brain surgeon, but they aren't idiots either.

Should we assume that there is a serious conspiracy in the drug world? Or should we accept their behavior as typical governmental buffoonery? Perhaps they see drugs as a means of controlling segments of the population that they can't deal with anyway. Or maybe they just don't care. It is truly a great mystery as to why we are so totally inept in recognizing and dealing with this problem.

There are two obvious issues that need to be dealt with. First we must end the delusion that the yellow, black, and brown people of the world have any sympathy for our drug problems. They often refer to us with the P word. (The Clinton, Gingrich, and Bennett imagery certainly enhances that perception.) We can't control what happens outside the country. Second, we have to come to terms with the reality of our obsessive need to consume drugs. The source of the problem is not where the drugs are produced, but where they are consumed.

Ultimately the whole problem is a bummer. The drugs don't make you feel good after a while, but you continue to take them. The addiction is not to the substance but to the process. At least if people felt good while they were getting high there might be some redeeming value. But getting loaded makes no more sense than the Government's drug policies. So the population is on drugs, the Government has to be on drugs, and nobody's happy. Summer is just around the corner, and we'll soon be tanned and beautiful. Life is getting very strange out here.

NEIL HAUSIG

Metaphorical Machete

East Hampton

March 15, 1997

Dear Helen Rattray,

In the March 13 "From the Studio" column regarding the current Parrish Museum exhibit, Rose C.S. Slivka states that "in the decade following World War II, the majority of artists were men, and there is no question but that Abstract Expressionism was the result of the big macho gesture." "Generally speaking," she continues, "the women did not have quite the same physical strength. . . ."

As a fan of Ms. Slivka, this statement without any qualifications or explanations greatly disturbs me. Doesn't she believe that the old boys network and the professional exclusion of women were even more prevalent in the '40s than they are now? And, besides, with all respect for Jackson Pollock, how much strength did it take for him to sling pigments from a stick or lift a paint can?

Many important female artists were not given their due after World War II for complicated reasons, but neither physical strength nor talent is among them.

As a female artist myself, reviewed favorably in The New York Times and other newspapers as one of the New York Bad Girls, I am very sensitive to the way women are, or are not, given their deserved places in art history. My own work, which is sculpture incorporating dulled steel machete blades, addresses (subconsciously, perhaps) the issues of power/vulnerability, asculinity/feminin ity, and seriousness/whimsy.

On the heels of reading this article's justification for male dominance in post-World War II Abstract Expressionism, as well as seeing The East Hampton Independent's March 12 "Room Full a Chicks" caption under the photo of the three female jurors for the Salon des Femmes exhibition, one might be justified in feeling that the only way for a woman to be given equal and serious treatment in the art world is for her to brandish a metaphorical machete.

Cordially,

LINDA STEIN

Letter Home From Boynton Beach

March 14, 1997

Dear Editor:

There was a time not so very long ago when the harbors, creeks, and bays of eastern Long Island abounded in shellfish and finfish, the quality of which was rarely surpassed. The prime waters in the Town of East Hampton were Three Mile Harbor, Accabonac Creek, Napeague Harbor, and Great Pond. After a channel was dredged, connecting it to Block Island Sound, Great Pond's name was changed to Lake Montauk. The waters of Northwest Harbor border on the Town of East Hampton, but are under the jurisdiction of the State of New York. To generations of Springs fishermen, Northwest Harbor has been known as "Up-Bay." That body of water, too, was a prime fishing area.

Up until the first 30 years of this century, one of the most difficult tasks in a fisherman's long and arduous day was getting to a launching site. In those days, there were no concrete launching ramps, nor were there any paved roads in the town's woodlands for him to travel on. It was not until the town election of 1929 that serious consideration was given to improving the two-rut wagon paths that served as roads throughout the town's woodlands from the time of the land allotments of the early 18th century.

When the roads were first laid out, they were more or less straight to conform with the established boundaries, but as time passed, sections of them developed turns as uprooted trees fell across the wagon paths. Instead of the path, the horse or oxen- drawn wagon was driven around the tree, thus creating a turn in the road.

In 1930 as unemployment increased, idle men with families went to the Overseer of the Poor to request welfare assistance. After being urged by a few influential citizens and the increasing numbers seeking welfare, the Town Board approved a woods road project. The approval of the project was received favorably by the town's electorate, as it would create employment for jobless men, and the woods road system would be greatly improved.

Prior to the road improvement project, baymen often had difficulty trailering their boats and gear to the shore. Sam Nelson, a bayman who lived on Miller Terrace, used Oak View Highway and Hand's Creek Road to go to his fishing shanty on the northwest shore of Three Mile Harbor near the foot of Sammy's Beach. His route along Hand's Creek through the Gardiner property, now the Settlers Landing Subdivision, to his shanty was a sandy, often rocky two-rut wagon path.

At one section, north of the Hand's Creek-Hand's Path junction, there was a rocky section which, at times, was nearly impossible to travel over because of excessive erosion created by severe rainstorms. The slope, known as Long Hill, was difficult to travel on under normal conditions, but a trailered boat loaded with gear made travel much worse. The return trip was often more time-consuming, due to the added weight of fish or shellfish. Before Springy Banks Road was improved, the slope just to the north of the Hampton Waters subdivision was as rocky and as difficult to travel as Long Hill. After the roads were improved, the bayman's real work began after his arrival at the shore.

After a bayman arrived at the shore, he backed his car as far as possible without getting stuck in the sand. Backing up over a rocky beach was no problem, so he'd go to the water's edge with his car. Usually, the trailer was in deep enough water to float the boat as it came off the trailer. When he unloaded the boat on a sandy shore, he placed homemade wooden rollers under the boat and pushed until it floated. With his gear aboard, and in its proper place, he rowed to the area he wanted to work in. There were few outboard motors available, and they were not reliable. Powering for scallops was illegal back then.

Upon arrival at his working area, he threw the anchor over the side, and if he was scalloping, he prepared his workday by placing the culling-board just aft of midships, which allowed adequate space in which to work. The culling-board was long enough to span the beam of his boat. On each side of the culling-board, a retaining board, several inches in height and about an inch in thickness, was fastened to prevent the scallops and other debris from falling into the boat, as he emptied the dredge. The unwanted grass, shells, etc., were swept overboard as he culled.

Most baymen wore oilers which were purchased at stores similar to the Edwards Brothers' store at Promised Land. Oilers prevented water from entering their boots and wetting their feet. Oilers, in those days, were not the nice synthetic types seen today. They were coated with a sticky waterproof substance, which at times was annoying, especially when the arms and legs adhered to each other.

When everything was in place, he played out the anchor line a predetermined distance and threw one or two dredges overboard. When dredging on a bottom full of grass, one dredge was about all he could handle. After the dredges reached bottom, he went to the bow and grabbed the anchor line and proceeded to pull it in hand over hand until the dredges were full. As each dredge was lifted aboard, it was emptied on the culling board, where the scallops were gathered and the unwanted debris was tossed overboard.

On a calm day, when the bottom was clearly visible, a bayman picked up scallops by catching them in a long-handle scoop net. Picking up scallops from the bottom was much more relaxing than pulling that anchor line and lifting dredges. Also, the culling operation was eliminated.

The pickup net, about eight to 10 inches in diameter and 16 to 18 inches in length, was attached to a one-quarter-inch metal hoop, the tang of which securely fastened into a long wooden handle.

Fish oil, obtained from the fish processing plant at Promised Land, was used to smooth the water and make it translucent. The oil was processed from menhaden, a small herring-like fish known as bunkers by local folks. When it was dispersed in small drops from a cork bottle stopper, the water became clear, allowing the baymen to view the bottom more distinctly. The picking-up operation was more productive during the morning hours, for sea breezes, which arose in the afternoon, often made picking up impossible.

After filling five bushel baskets and putting them into burlap bags, the bayman gathered his gear and rowed to shore. Upon reaching shore, he removed the gear and scallops, and washed out the boat. If the following day looked promising, he left the boat securely anchored above the high water mark. In those days, boats left on the shore were as safe as they would be if they were in the owner's backyard.

After arriving home, he unloaded the trailer and carried the scallops to his opening bench. With the aid of his wife, he opened scallops without interruption, except when he arrived home late in the afternoon along toward sundown. When that occurred, he ate a quick supper and then commenced opening scallops, and he did not stop until all of them were opened and placed in some kind of refrigeration. A bayman's children were required to learn the art of opening scallops, for many hands made light work.

After the scallops were opened, they were taken to a wholesaler. If the price was satisfactory, they were sold. If the price was unfavorable or if the wholesaler had gone for the day, the scalloper would go house to house the following day selling scallops for 50 cents a quart. If the following day was a good day to harvest scallops, the schoolboy had the task of peddling scallops after school.

People were rarely unfriendly and seldom passed up scallops, especially at 50 cents a quart or 25 cents a pint. Clams and scallops were put in pint and quart glass containers and were carried in a large market basket. When peddling from house to house, women often emptied the jars and washed, dried, and returned them to the peddler, who waited outside. In our modern world it is difficult to understand how common folk could be so patient, kind, and friendly. Rarely was a peddler treated in a degrading manner.

There were two places in the village where scallops and clams were quickly sold. They were Halsey's Garage and East End Hardware, where the employees could not afford to pass up an inexpensive opportunity.

A few of the less scrupulous baymen soaked scallops in fresh water to swell them in order to obtain a greater yield. Water-soaked scallops were never as delicious as those which had never been exposed to fresh water.

Before the tarred road to Lazy Point was constructed, there were times when it was difficult to reach Napeague Harbor. The old road, which passed through the Hayes fish factory, skirted the shoreline, passed close to the Point o' Pines, and continued on to the Lazy Point shanties.

Shellfish taken from the waters of Napeague Harbor were rated very highly among the local residents. Many of the housewives, especially Jessie Adams, would never think to make a chowder without Napeague long clams. The scallops gathered in those pristine waters were larger in shell size, as were the eyes or muscles which we eat. The hard shell clams, or quahogs, grew to such enormous sizes that to describe them one would be accused of telling yarns. I was told by one old-timer that he filled a bushel fruit basket with 16 of those large clams, and he is a man noted for his integrity.

Any bay or harbor shore within the Town of East Hampton was abundant in shellfish back in the '30s. Softshell clams were so plentiful that any person of limited ability would dig at least one bushel during a falling tide. The more skillful dug as many as four bushels during a tide.

Standing in a boat tonging hard clams was rugged and backbreaking work, but many a bayman made a living and enjoyed the freedom and peace of mind it brought to him. Several baymen who I recall were skilled carpenters who worked the winter months. As soon as spring arrived, they called it quits to put in fykes and fish-traps. Baymen were independent individuals who were accountable only to their families and themselves.

One of the better soft-clam diggers was Wilbur Taylor Miller, born and raised in the Green River section of Springs, and, like Nat Smith, he knew "Bonac Crik" like the back of his hand. He was not only an excellent clam digger, but he harvested scallops with equal dexterity. As an opener of scallops, he was as fast as any of the better openers. When he opened, he did not waste any motion, nor was there any dirt left on his scallops. Being left-handed, he opened just the opposite from a right-hander. A right-handed person holds the flatter or darker side of the shell facing up, whereas a left-hander has the lighter or more rounded side up.

Clams and fish were shipped to the Fulton Fish Market, but they were first picked up by Reich Brothers of Patchogue. Reich Brothers made a daily run through the East End, picking up butter tubs of clams and boxes of fish. Billy Seeger, who drove for many years for the Reich Brothers, picked up shellfish and finfish at pick-up points. Bill, a nice person and a rugged individual, handled those containers with apparent ease. To some, he was known as Billy Reich. By others, he was just plain Bill. Regardless, he always had a smile and saw the brighter side of life.

As the Great Depression grew worse, more and more men were forced to go clamming in an attempt to make ends meet. Some men, who had never clammed for a living, discovered it was difficult to adapt to the change, both physically and mentally. A person who goes down to the shore to get a mess of clams finds it an easy and relaxing way to spend an hour or so, but, when it becomes the only source of income, the fun vanishes and the drudgery and worry commence. That was one of many reasons why so many people who lived from hand to mouth during those terrible years became so discouraged with life in general.

(To be continued)

Sincerely,

NORTON (BUCKET) DANIELS

Joe Pintauro dramatized the vanishing world of the East End's haulseine fishermen when he brought "Men's Lives" to the stage of the Bay Street Theatre. The Sag Harbor playwright's new play, "Heaven and Earth," which will be staged at the theater during the month of August, was inspired by another threatened Long Island community: the farmers of the North Fork.

The play, based on Steve Wick's nonfiction book of the same name, is about an East End very different from the one most people come in contact with.

It is about the farmers who sell flowers and apples, zucchini and melons at small farmstands and who still farm the same acres as their forebears, right back to the first settlers.

Three Cultures

"It's also about the extraordinary circumstances of farming on land whose boundaries are marked by water on three sides," said Mr. Pintauro, "and how the arrival of different groups of European settlers have played out in our present culture."

The English were the first, farming on land previously cleared by the Shinnecock and other Native American tribes. Then came the Irish, who didn't mix with the English because of religious differences, and the Poles, who didn't mix because of language differences.

The three European cultures grew into the North Fork farming community.

The Vanishing Farmer

"Today," said Mr. Pintauro, "the stresses of time, technology, and the limitations of the land have combined to construct a family drama."

Though the play is about the North Fork, it is also about America, he said, and even the world as a whole, as large-scale technological farming drives the small farmer off land cultivated for centuries in more or less the same manner.

And the disappearance of the small farmer raises bigger questions, said Mr. Pintauro:

"What is the soil? Who are we? What have we done to interfere with the relationship of man and the earth?"

Comden And Green

"Heaven and Earth" will be Bay Street's main theatrical offering of the summer.

It is only one of three major attractions, however. Coming up in May is the world premiere of "Make Someone Happy," a musical comedy celebrating the lives and lyrics of Betty Comden and Adolph Green, longtime East End residents and songwriting partners.

The musical will feature the lyrics of Mr. Green and Ms. Comden and music by Leonard Bernstein, Cy Coleman, Jule Styne, Roger Edens, and Larry Grossman.

Phyllis Newman, who wrote the book with David Ives, is the director.

Laurents's "Good Name"

The other major production, also a world premiere, is Arthur Laurents's "savage high comedy" about greed, identity, and family honor, "My Good Name." The play, by the author of "Gypsy," "West Side Story," and "The Way We Were," will run from June 25 through July 20.

Bay Street's season will open on April 5 with a performance by the Shanghai Quartet, a celebrated young ensemble whose program will include Haydn's Quartet in G major and Schubert's "Death and the Maiden."

The cabaret singer Phillip Officer will return to the theater on April 12 and the following weekend, April 19, Susannah McCorkle, a jazz-pop singer, will perform. The theater's spring weekend series will conclude on April 26 with "Julie," an evening of comedy and song with Julie Halston.

Conversations

The theater has a starry lineup planned for its August "Conversations With. . ." series.

Promised for these informal discussions are such big names of the stage and screen as Anthony Hopkins, Lauren Bacall, Roddy McDowall, Terrence McNally, and Jon Robin Baitz, all subject to confirmation.

Bay Street will also continue its series of Sunday-morning play readings, starting on April 27. The season will end with a fall cabaret series.

Walter Hinds, the new chef at Southampton's 75 Main, has a mission. He wants to put a dent in the East End culinary scene. If enthusiasm has anything to do with impact, he will.

"Cooking is my passion. It's what I want to do more than anything else in the world. I love it, daily."

Mr. Hinds's dedication to his art is obvious (his eyes literally sparkle when he gets talking about food), and so, too, is his enjoyment of what he does. "It should be all about having fun," he said, admitting he is "obsessed" when it comes to quality.

"I really want it to happen." By "it" he means the achievement of excellence in cuisine, service, wine, and ambiance - in short, being one of the best of the best on the East End.

He has been at the restaurant a month and a half, and feels he's found a team, including the owner, June Spirer, that shares his understanding of food and his aspirations. "That's why I'm here," he said last week.

The Port Jefferson-born chef is a newcomer to 75 Main, but no stranger to the East End. He has lived in Southampton off and on for eight years and spent a year and half of that time working at Karen Lee's in Bridgehampton under its chef and co-owner, Robert Durkin.

Trained at the Peter Kump School in Manhattan, Mr. Hinds worked at some of the city's better-known restaurants - the Gotham Bar and Grill under Alfred Portale, Sign of the Dove with Andrew D'Amico, Odeon under Patrick Clark, and Match Uptown as executive chef - before heading east.

Like any lifelong gastronome, he grew up surrounded by good cooks. "My mom had an immense cookbook collection . . . and my grandfather, I renamed him 'the Cooking Man.' " His parents were from Panama, so he was introduced to more than average American fare in his formative years.

Now, fresh from four months in Paris, where he worked at Lucas Carton with the world-renowned chef Alain Senderens, Mr. Hinds brings contemporary French techniques and principles of cooking along with a love of Asian ingredients to his new culinary home.

Vegetables figure prominently in his dishes. He cooks with a vast variety of spices, and his sauces are based not on cream and butter but on fruit and vegetable juices, broths, bouillons, and oils.

While he appreciates the level of excellence inherent in fine French cooking, he is inspired by the lightness of Asian cuisines and looks to Thai, Vietnamese, Japanese, Cantonese, Mongolian, and Szechuan food for inspiration.

The recrafted 75 Main menu has hints of this - a seared-tuna appetizer with stir-fried Asian greens and crisp rice noodles, for example - but, said Mr. Hinds with a slightly mischievous grin, "It's not as fierce as I want it to be."

His creative flair will be more evident on the spring menu. "I love to play. That's where my spirit is, and spring is my favorite season to play."

Among the Asian-inspired dishes, diners can expect at least one entree influenced by the foods of the chef's childhood: roasted chicken with black beans, coconut rice, and sweet plantains.

Walter Hinds's Warm Chocolate Torte

Ingredients:

5 oz. unsalted butter

1 lb. bittersweet chocolate, chopped

6 egg yolks

7 Tbsp. sugar

6 egg whites

11/2 Tbsp. sugar

Method:

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Melt the butter with the chocolate. Let cool. Whip the egg yolks with the seven tablespoons of sugar, then fold into the chocolate. Whip the egg whites with the remaining one-and-a-half tablespoons of sugar into stiff peaks. Fold into the chocolate mixture.

Lightly spray eight six-ounce cake molds with a non-stick spray. Fill each mold three-quarters of the way. Put them on a sheet pan and place in the center of the oven.

Bake for about 15 minutes. The finished product should be slightly underdone in the center. Serve warm.

Serves eight.

"Dewey Defeats Truman" is the intriguing title of Thomas Mallon's latest novel. The author will read from his book at Book Hampton in East Hampton on Saturday at 5:30 p.m.

Mr. Mallon has appropriated the story of President Harry S. Truman's upset victory over Thomas E. Dew ey, the Governor of New York State, in the 1948 Presidential election (and the famous headline run by an overconfident newspaper that went to press before the final results were in) to build a Midwestern fantasy.

Set in Dewey's Michigan hometown of Owosso, "Dewey Defeats Truman" is the story of a local love triangle that mirrors the national election contest. Three generations of Owosso residents are followed, each with his or her own secrets and dreams.

Mr. Mallon is the author of eight previous books, including two, "Henry and Clara," a novel, and "A Book of One's Own," a study of diaries, that were New York Times Book Review "notable books of the year."

The next author to read at Book Hampton will be Daniel Silva, author of the best-selling "The Unlikely Spy," on March 29.

Anita Brown was bored in the winter of 1989. She had appeared Off Broadway and in television and regional theater, and had long been working with the Double Image Theater in New York City. She and her husband, Bill, commuted most weekends out to Montauk, where he spent most of the time designing their garden near Hither Woods.

With Mrs. Brown's background in acting and directing, it didn't take long to figure how to fill her time while he planted. Also the longtime director of the the children's program at the New Brunswick Educational Theater, she started up some improvisational workshops in the basement of the Montauk Community Church.

She found her charges by sending flyers home with students at the Montauk School, whose holiday pageants were the only theatrical performances in town at the time.

Evolving Company

Next she went after the children's parents and grandparents, creating a pool of local talent as well as a captive audience for children's recitals, holiday productions, cabarets and variety shows - and a theater company known as Theatre in Montauk.

The group continued to evolve into what is now known as Montauk Theatre Productions, along the way picking up Mr. Brown, a member and former chairman of the Caravan Theatre Company, as a co-founder. In 1993 M.T.P. moved into its own storefront on South Elmwood Avenue in downtown Montauk, and in 1995, when adjacent space became available, expanded to include a separate dance studio.

Today, the group gives playwrights a venue for screening new works in a weekly summer series. Last summer Will Eno, a fellow at the Edward Albee Foundation, prescreened "A Tragedy" - to a "wonderful" re sponse, according to the Browns, who since then have become the producers of the play, which they have submitted for major festivals in New York and Washington.

Community Theater

"Half and Half," a one-woman comedy-drama written and performed by the British comedienne Alison Larkin, was contracted by HBO after Ms. Larkin performed it at the studio last summer, and she is working on a pilot.

Meanwhile, M.T.P.'s year-round performers range from locals to big-city professionals. Smaller productions are held at the studio, which seats an audience no larger than 45, while the Community Church is still used for larger productions.

"Community" theater is probably an apt description. One variety show regular is Frank Borth of Montauk, who performs humorous renditions of such classical tales as " 'Twas the Night Before Christmas." Another year-rounder, Ed Ecker Sr., can be counted on to begin each Christmas show with a carol that conveniently omits the traditional lyrics. And Claire Mayer invariably gets a laugh when she smiles with blackened teeth.

"Enormous Talent"

Montauk Theatre Productions is involved in community projects, also, giving puppet shows and other performances for the Montauk Library and the Chamber of Commerce Fall Festival, for instance, and leading role-playing sessions

Meanwhile, the dance studio next door seems to thrive under the tutelage of Mary Ponsini, its director. It has over 80 participants and a total of 22 weekly classes, Mrs. Brown said, with classes for everyone from toddlers to senior citizens.

Dance Studio

Ms. Ponsini used to give workshops for at-risk children from the Young People's Alternative Program in Brooklyn, and this spring teenagers from the Montauk dance studio will visit the Brooklyn School and participate in an exchange program, with the Brooklyn students visiting Montauk over five days this summer.

She also travels weekly to Shelter Island to teach a tap class in conjunction with the continuing education program at the Shelter Island School.

"We don't want to tell anyone they can't come to dance," said Ms. Ponsini, and to that end the dance studio offers a recently established scholarship program for its students.

"There is an enormous amount of talent in Montauk," Mrs. Brown said. "Seeing that talent developed is thrilling."

On Sunday the Choral Society of the Hamptons gave its spring concert at the Presbyterian Church in East Hampton.

The highlight of the afternoon was a performance of Maurice Durufl‚'s Requiem. Living from 1902 to 1986, Durufl‚ was an accomplished organist, but, as a program note remarked, "one of the least prolific composers" of the 20th century. Nevertheless, in the requiem he wrote a masterpiece of French choral music.

It is a strange and compelling work. Taking Gregorian chants for its musical base, it manipulates these earliest of religious melodies with counter melodies and harmonies that are distinctly modernist. And distinctly French.

Forgiveness To Come

This is not a requiem on the grand and passionate scale of Mozart's or Verdi's. Rather, it is a work suffused with tranquil French mysticism that also surfaces in Faure's earlier Requiem and in much of Olivier Messiaen's music.

Following the traditional Latin text of the mass for the dead, each part moves at a floating andante pace interrupted only rarely, as in the Dies Irae, by a more urgent tempo. But even there the terrors of the Day of Anger and Judgment are quickly subdued by strains expressing a quiet confidence in ultimate forgiveness.

The prevailing spirit of the music is one of calm acceptance of death and trust in a peaceful afterlife. Even the phrase "dona eis requiem aeternam" ("Give them eternal rest") repeated throughout the mass sounds more like the affirmation of a promise than a plea.

Met The Challenges

The Choral Society performed the work with a moving intensity. The sound of this music - voices floating above rippling or flowing contrapuntal figures in the organ accompaniment - is a deceptively simple one. It is unusually difficult music to sing.

Instead of the crisp attacks a chorus makes in most baroque church music, for instance, the voices here make entrances as if drifting into audibility and often on notes set high in the vocal range.

But except for an occasional weakness in initial pitch or timely entrance, the Choral Society met the challenges of the score with confidence and sensitivity. Under the conductor, John Daly Goodwin, they sang with a finely tuned variety of vocal texture that never allowed the music to lose its measured forward movement or its haunting seductiveness.

The mezzo-soprano, Mary Ann Hart, and the baritone, Christopher Schaldenbrand, sang the requiem's solo parts. In the Pie Jesu, Ms. Hart revealed a voice well matched to the swell from gentle to passionate pleading and back again.

And Mr. Schaldenbrand's clear, ringing tones brought instant authority to the Hostias and the Libera Me. David Gifford's organ accompaniment was perfectly tempered throughout, and his registration for the organ sounded eloquently French.

The concert opened with a performance of Johannes Brahms's a cappella motet "Warum Ist Das Licht Gegeben." A late religious work, it begins with a loud asking of Job's Why? of his affliction, and moves through a lightening of mood in a second movement ("Let us lift up our hearts"), written in a gentle waltz tempo to the final calm assurance of a Bachlike chorale using a hymn tune by Martin Luther.

Frisky To Reflective

But Brahms's initial Why? remains unanswered, and its full poignancy was beautifully expressed in the chorus's sudden drop in vocal volume from a penultimate "Warum?" to a hushed repetition of the word.

Between the Brahms and the Durufl‚ were three four-part songs by Haydn sung by a chamber chorus of 15 Choral Society members. These songs, to texts in English, find Papa Haydn in a frisky mood extolling the virtues of marital harmony, in a reflective one looking back on a "life like a joyful song," and in a playful one in which he avers that "water makes you dumb."

These songs provided a nicely calculated break in the seriousness of the rest of the program.

In presenting the Durufl‚ Requiem so ably and with such well-projected feeling, the Choral Society allowed a large audience to hear an exemplary performance of a rare choral masterpiece. It was a fitting undertaking in the continuing celebration of the society's 50th anniversary season.

As Serena Seacat gazed from her hilltop living room in Northwest Woods out across a sweep of scrub oak forest to the Atlantic Ocean in the distance, a visitor was reminded of Dorothy waking up in Oz and saying, "Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."

Arguably the East End's most dynamic theater person - she acts, teaches, directs, and develops theater-related projects at Guild Hall - Ms. Seacat, like Dorothy, took off from a farm in rural Kansas.

"The saying goes, find a barn and put on a show," she said. "But I had my own barn with cows, chickens, pigs, my Tennessee walking horse - and my faithful grandfather as my audience."

"I'd arrange bales of hay for the sets and give solo performances in the hayloft, singing away, accompanied by the pigeons in the rafters. It was fun growing up on a farm, but also a lot of hard work."

Stagestruck Sisters

Her oldest sister, Sandra, now a noted drama coach in New York City, was active in interstate dramatics and drew Ms. Seacat into the theater as a young girl. Their middle sister, Sherrell, a special education teacher and the Worthy Grand Matron for the State of Kansas in the Eastern Star Masonic Order, thought they were both crazy.

After attending Kansas State University, where she married her high school sweetheart, Dwayn Hoelscher, a horse-trainer, Ms. Seacat lived on a ranch in Loveland, Colo. The couple trained show quarter-horses, working animals bred to run a fast quarter-mile and to herd cattle.

They had two children, Devon Hoelscher, now a cabinetmaker in Santa Monica, Calif., and a "good little actor," and Shannan, assistant manager of the Coach Store in East Hampton, married to Robert A. Miller Jr., a brick mason, and living in Springs.

Theater-In-The-Round

When Ms. Seacat's marriage broke up, she moved with her children to Denver and launched her career as one of the founders of Theatre in the Square in Larimer Square, then known as Denver's Bowery.

The group gutted the lobby of an old hotel, creating a theater-in-the-round, and starred Ms. Seacat as Polly Peachum in their maiden production, "The Threepenny Opera." Other shows followed. "It was a thrilling time."

A move to New York City in the mid-60s found her studying at the Actors Studio with her sister, already on the faculty, and with the drama coach Allen Miller. She also studied choreography and tap-dancing with the legendary Charles (Honi) Coles.

"In those days there were dance studios everywhere, next to the pool parlor, above the weight-lifting room. Honi didn't really teach so much as just let his feet fly, and you'd have to try to follow - what a guy!"

Hand Commercials

Over the next 17 years Ms. Seacat appeared in countless plays and on major TV networks, acting in commercials, on soap operas, and appearing on the game show "Beat the Clock."

One of her most lucrative jobs was a hand commercial for the Massengill company, makers of feminine hygiene products. Ms. Seacat has beautiful hands, which have appeared in many commercials. She accents them with vivid nail polish.

"During a voice-over my hands would move onto the screen holding the Massengill product, set it down, and move out," she said. "The money was excellent."

Superman Lost It

While commercial and television work enabled her to raise her children in a spacious West Side apartment, it was the learning experiences in the workshops with people who really knew their craft that she treasures, even when the encounters were painful.

"I remember doing a scene from 'Tobacco Road' with Christopher Reeve for Lee Strasberg at the Actors Studio. Chris was doing Van Heusen shirt commercials at the time, and we'd ride around the city on the bus practicing our New York accents."

"In the scene I was playing his wife, whom he no longer loved and actually wanted to harm. Losing himself in the heat of the moment, he threw me across the hardwood floor and really hurt me."

"An actor is supposed to go to the edge but not lose control - it's important to keep one foot in reality - but in this instance Chris lost it. It was a perfect example of what you don't want to have happen, and he felt terrible about it."

The secret of the actor's life? Learning how to deal with rejection. 'Think of yourself as a commodity, I tell my students. Put something between yourself and the business.'

"Working with Vietnam vets could also be terrifying. Those guys were so intense you actually feared for your life."

Directing - a series of productions at The New Dramatists Theatre - was the logical next step.

"I'd done a lot of scene and character analysis in workshops, and what began to interest me most was the playwright's overall vision. As I read a play, very strong images would come to mind, and I'd watch the action moving around in my head."

In the early '80s, with her kids grown and off on their own, Ms. Seacat began visiting the Hamptons on weekends. She fell in love with the area, and in 1983 married George Ryan, now chef at the Atlantic Golf Club. Soon she was acting and directing in summers at the Woodshed Saloon's theater-in-the-round in Bridgehampton.

Ten Musicals, Nine Plays

A gig as Belle Starr in "Jessie and the Bandit Queen," in which she played nine different characters, brought her to the attention of the Community Theater Company. In 1987, she debuted on the John Drew stage as Alice in an acclaimed production of "The Octette Bridge Club."

Since moving to the East End, Ms. Seacat has been involved with 45 local productions. As resident director of CTC Theater Live, she directed the company's last 10 musicals: "The Pajama Game," "Fiorello!," "Oklahoma!," "Guys and Dolls," "Kiss Me Kate," "South Pacific," "Finian's Rainbow, "Bells Are Ringing," "The Fantasticks," and "Annie Get Your Gun."

She's also at the helm of the upcoming "Anything Goes," and has directed nine CTC plays including the much-praised "Dancing at Lughnasa" and the recent "Waiting in the Wings," in which she stepped into the lead on a week's notice, to rave reviews.

Guild Hall Workshops

It's quite a list, to which must be added directing the summer musicals "Nunsense" and "The All-Night Strut" at Guild Hall, appearing in Tri-Light Productions' "The Wo men" and "Cole Through the Night," and performing with Andrea Gross and the late Michael Paoni in their cabaret act, "The Eighty-Eights."

At Guild Hall she also teaches tap-dancing and directs the creative workshops Dramarama at the Drew and Teen Acting.

"The kids get to work in a real live theater. They talk to set designers, lighting designers, stage managers, and see how it all gets put together. We play dramatic games involving improv, mime, and sensory work, drawing on their memories and experiences."

Acting As Teen Outlet

"We also do personalizations, exercises in which an actor evokes a person from his past who enables him to conjure up the emotions he needs to bring his character to life, and make the scene real."

"It's a wonderful outlet for the kids, a way to express themselves. Families don't talk to each other much any more - it's either the Internet or cartoons - and the kids bring some pretty heavy scenarios to class, things they need to work on."

She's in a position to change people's lives, Ms. Seacat said, and she has to be "very careful and spiritual, open and available."

Young Admirer

The best compliment she ever got came from a student whose essay on "The Most Significant Person in My Life" named her acting teacher, Ms. Seacat, for having opened up her life and allayed her fear of speaking her mind.

"That's where it's at," her teacher said. "I feel very lucky to have the venue at the John Drew where I can do things like that."

There are very few good young-adult plays around, she said, so last year Ms. Seacat wrote the show the workshops put on herself.

Called "Sisters Grimm," it deals with the brothers' obscure siblings who decide to dramatize their own fairy tales with puppets.

"Sisters Grimm"

"I was still on a high from doing "Waiting in the Wings," so I rode on that and just went to the computer and let it roll."

"Everyone loved it, especially the character of Willard the Wolf, who's worried he's getting a bad reputation for falling down chimneys and chasing little pigs and jumping into bed in women's clothing."

" 'And always always always, there's the call of the wild,' he groans," Ms. Seacat reported with a smile.

On the actor's life she fosters so tenderly, she said the secret was learning how to deal with rejection. "Think of yourself as a commodity, I tell my students."

"Put something between yourself and the business. Actors are so vulnerable, and so many don't make it. But somebody has to do it, and it's a great life if you don't weaken."

"Anything Goes"

Just as the interview was ending, the phone rang. Over the answering machine came the voice of the costume designer Chas W. Roeder.

"Hi. I'm calling from the city. I've found this terrific red dress for 'Anything Goes.' Let me know about the size."

"Anything Goes," the great Cole Porter musical, will be CTC Live's final production for the season. "The show must go on," as the saying goes, and it will, if Ms. Seacat has anything to say about it.

The Star is always pleased to receive correspondence from readers, but, as most are aware, it does not print anonymous letters, even those that are not of a scurrilous nature. This has been our policy for many years.

Now, with the advent of E-mail, and its increasing use as a supplement to or even substitute for conventional postal correspondence, we are faced with a dilemma. E-mailed letters often bear no indication of their author or origin other than an alias, to wit BLUBOY4 or SBSNY.

That may be fine in cyberspace, but it is not so fine for The Star's letters pages. This week, for example, a letter arrived by E-mail inquiring why no police news appears on our Website (http://www.easthamptonstar.com). A legitimate question, but, alas, one that cannot be answered unless and until we can verify the identity of the asker. Mail is mail is mail, and the rule ought not to be waived just because it originates in Cyberia.

Sharp-eyed readers who turn this page over will note a new line in the instructions to letter-writers. It says:

Unsigned E-mail will be treated as anonymous.