I could feel the tension in the air become thick, and I slowly withdrew from the conversation. My eyes returned, once
again, to the safety and comfort of the college football game on the TV. As I watched the soundless screen, I
wondered whether Annie, Papa, or Captain Johnny were capable of pulling out a handgun and firing a shot at one of
us to preserve a lifestyle they’d moved to Montauk many years ago to preserve, back when fishing and not real
estate was the main attraction in town. Actually, Old Hippie looked to be the craziest of the bunch, but then again,
Annie had shown a temper that I imagined could have led to gunplay if that bar rag she’d so effectively wielded in her
fury had been replaced by a pistol.
Were they all starting to feel the strain of an ever-expanding
suburbia pushing out their simpler way of life and maybe even
pricing them out of their own homes? Will Montauk one day
soon become just another chichi resort and playground for the
rich where places like the Liar’s Saloon will be torn down and
replaced by a gourmet coffee bar or a veggie restaurant or a
cute little boutique or art gallery with a view of neat-as-a-pin
sailboats and yachts moored out in the harbor where
hardscrabble fishing boats once ruled? Where would they go?
What would they do? Who would replace them? Would I have to
drive to upstate New York when I needed a respite in the near
future?
Were they all capable of shooting? Would the BlackBerry be the new pink shirt?
“So what brings you out here?” Captain Johnny’s deep voice snapped me out of my trance of endless speculation.
“To tell you the truth, I come out here once in a while to clear my head.”
It was the first time I had seen him really show his teeth and laugh. I didn’t know what to make of his reaction, so I
just said, “What?”—as in What the hell is so funny? But I didn’t dare complete my question.
He pointed to the beer I had been slowly sipping for almost an hour. Finally, he explained: “It’s funny that you come
here, to a bar, to clear your head.”
I understood then why he’d found what I’d said so amusing, but I wasn’t sure if he understood the meaning behind
what I was saying—that my head-clearing trips had little to do with drinking beer and much more to do with the
people I met and what I heard and saw and felt when I went to Montauk.
I suppose it was finally my turn to share, because he didn’t quarrel with me. He just began to listen and bob his
head politely as I spoke. For just a few moments in time at the Liar’s Saloon, I felt like a Montauk local, and it felt
very good.
by Michael Domino
Copyright © 2006 by Michael Domino