kodachrom-lob6

Then Anthony halts my racing, grandiose thoughts: “I think I’ll do like you told me at the bar—get prints
made up and see what I’ve got before I sell the three hundred.”
Crap, damn . . . Why had I educated him? He’d thought he had junk, but now he thinks he’s sitting on
Montauk treasure.
Calm down, I think. This is not business; this is fun, a mini adventure. I tell myself, in my most soothing inner
voice, You came out here to Montauk on a nice spring afternoon to take some pictures of boats and walk
around, relax, have some fresh seafood, and then go home.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll call you in a week, and maybe we can meet again here at The Dock.” I’ll take any excuse to
return to Montauk.
We agree and walk out of the bar together, leaving the three other lobstermen behind with their drinks.
Anthony doesn’t even say good-bye, not even a quick see-ya-later, to his buddies as we exit. They’d barely
noticed the negotiations that had occurred right alongside them. I gather that in Montauk, you live and let
live. I feel comfortable with the whole thing.
I follow Anthony in his vintage seventies pickup truck. His black Labrador had faithfully waited for him in the
cab while he was in The Dock. Now the dog is eager to see him and get petted.
The bank is not far away and is on my way home. We make the exchange in the parking lot, just a few steps
from the automated teller machine. It’s getting colder now, and the sun is almost gone. I’ll miss the dunes
and the surf on my drive back, but my photographic find is a fair trade-off. I’m excited about getting to finally
hold all the slides in my hands. Anthony seems happy with the trade: the two hundred dollars is for real. The
slides are an unknown, but I’m happy with my end.
I had been holding back, but now but finally I blurt out, not caring, “Now that I own them, can you tell me
where you got these from?”
He hesitates but then cannot resist, probably figuring he will never see me again. “Yeah. They belonged to
the Duryea family.”
“You mean Senator Duryea? That family?”
“Yeah, they were the richest family and the biggest land owner out here in Montauk. And Perry Duryea Jr.
was a state senator. In the sixties and seventies, I think. Some of those slides are marked Perry Jr. That
must be him, I guess.”
“And you just found them?”
No response from Anthony. I knew not to press. Why should I expect a treasure hunter to hand over a map
with a big red X on it pointing to the buried treasure? Don’t take a lobsterman for a fool. It take brains and
guts and toughness to survive a life on the sea, day after day, no matter what the conditions are—calm,
stormy, blazing hot, freezing cold. I respect Anthony and the men we left back at The Dock.