Samuel Levine founded the Arcade Department Store in 1928. One year later the stock market crashed but the Arcade rolled on, becoming a Greenport landmark. It was located in the heart of the village in every sense of the phrase.
Sixty-nine years later it was going out of business and Greenporters were bereft. With its wooden floors and aisles of necessities and notions, it was an emotional touchstone to the good old days.
Then a mercantile miracle happened: Bob and Roseanne Paquette appeared. Not only did they buy the old place, but they vowed to keep it as it was.
Now, 13 years later, the country’s battling another financial crisis and some fear this one might finally be the Arcade’s Waterloo. The store’s been on the market for a year but there are no serious offers. “Only bottom-feeders looking for a fire sale,” Bob Paquette told me last week. “I’m not looking for that.”
In the meantime, Paquette has reefed the store’s sails to weather the storm. Among other things, that’s meant cutting the staff from 22 to eight. Painful? “It certainly is,” he said. “Hours have been cut somewhat too.” Nevertheless, he said morale remains remarkably high. “The people here know we’re doing the best we can,” he said. “I’m very lucky; I’ve got a good crew.”
While the store cuts back, of course, costs do not. Energy, taxes, insurance – “they’re all going up,” Paquette said. “I’m trying to reinvent the store to keep it together.”
That reinvention involves a plan to lease out one-third of the space to others with products to sell. Products like sporting goods, shoes, linens, jewelry, gifts and art. “People are talking to me,” he said. “I’m taking phone numbers and will determine what’s best. I don’t want a flea market feel.”
Paquette said sharing space is an old idea that’s been used successfully across the country as the big-box revolution gutted downtowns. And for the record, he said, that’s what’s happening with the Arcade.
“It’s been very difficult to keep it going,” Paquette said. “There are so many second-home owners out here now,” and they tend to gravitate to Riverhead for their serious shopping. “It was hard when it was just Tanger,” he said. “But now it’s Tanger, Sports Authority, Best Buy, Michael’s, Border’s, TGIF. People make it a destination and stay all day.”
It’s “the way America’s gone,” he said, noting the transition from downtown shopping at places like Bohack and Sears.
Add to that a Great Recession and the slide gets steep. “New York sales tax receipts are down 30 to 35 percent,” Paquette said. “That tells you what’s happening.”
It’s a grim turn for someone who has a genetic attraction to all things five-and-dime. Paquette’s father was in the business for 50 years. “Retail was in my blood,” he told The New York Times in 1996. “I was always on the floor with my dad.”
Paquette himself worked at McClellan-McCrory in Riverhead before going into radio in New York. When he left that career in 1996, it was almost kismet that he found the Arcade with a “For Sale” sign in place.
It was a fortuitous pairing for both parties, but the joy is draining away now. “It’s a dinosaur,” Paquette said, and it would take a special person to want to ride it. “We carry over 40,000 items. A lot of people are intimidated by the inventory alone.”
The last year has been funereal for Paquette. Once he lived on a boat, and now he dreams about doing that again. Then there’s this fantasy: “I’d rather be a customer at the Arcade than the owner.”
Nevertheless, he’s going to soldier on with the shared-space plan in hopes that the old variety store can ride out this latest tempest.
Thirteen years ago I wrote a column wishing that there could be some kind of business preservation program, because some shops are as important to our sense of place as are the farms and the old homes we currently strive to save. The focus of the column was the Arcade. Then, miraculously, the Paquettes arrived and did it.
Is it too much to hope for another miracle?
Long Island Business News / December 16, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Paparazzi swarm out east
“Fame is a disease,” said comedian Margaret Cho, and she wasn’t joking. These days it’s a pandemic that afflicts both stars and the star-struck. Take, for instance, the Tiger Woods story.
Newspapers have been feasting on it, and not because he’s got a fun name (“Cagey Tiger,” “Tiger Hides His Tale,” etc.). Also not because it’s high time golf finally generated some shock value. It’s really all about us. Celebrity sells. Sex sells. Scandal sells. So a celebrity sex scandal is catnip on steroids. If people weren’t addicted to it, tabloids wouldn’t be surviving even as legitimate newspapers are folding.
Tiger is big-time catnip, and since there’s a scandal, of course it has a Hamptons connection. His alleged/rumored/staunchly denied mistress, Rachel Uchitel, reportedly has worked as a Hamptons nightclub hostess, “policing the velvet rope,” as the lush expression goes.
The last time Woods was linked to the Hamptons was March 2008, when rumors swirled (from the New York Post) that he had bought a $65 million waterfront home in Southampton. The story was debunked but still managed to live on for a while.
Another case of celebrity psychosis recently hit the East End in the form of “The Romantics,” the “Big Chill”-ish movie being filmed in and around Southold. For those whose People magazine subscriptions have expired, its cast includes Anna Paquin, Elijah Wood, Jeremy Strong, Adam Brody, Josh Duhamel and (cymbal crash, please) Katie Holmes.
It’s the last name that brought the paparazzi out in force, lining the beach to capture the filming of a bayside wedding scene. But since the beach was too low, the canny photogs raided local hardware stores to buy ladders, The Suffolk Times reported.
So showbiz has been good for the local economy. Motels, restaurants and coffee shops have also seen upticks. But since it’s fame we’re speaking of, there must also be a dose of crazy. It was summed up in a Times editorial headlined, “Paparazzi, don’t let the door hit you in the … ,” which culminated by asserting that the photographers’ “intrusive behavior … far outweighs the little good they’ve brought to the local economy.”
The Times itself, however, did photograph Tom Cruise (Katie Holmes’ husband, for those who read books) while jogging, and asked him a question, which he ignored. “And you know what?” said the editorial, “We completely understand.”
Nonetheless, the paper did put a video of the encounter on its Web site, and even the respectful Times was chastised by a reader in an online comment for intrusive behavior. The video is no longer available.
But what’s a newspaper to do? Imagine the debate inside the newsroom. Mega-stars are walking among us. If we ignore them, aren’t we missing a story? But if we cover it, how are we different from the paparazzi?
To get an insider’s thoughts, I called a paparazzo who was here for the big event. “No, I didn’t buy a ladder,” Bobby Bank told me. “I rented a speedboat.” (Coincidentally, he’s no stranger to the North Fork. As a kid he and his father used to go fishing out of Mitchell’s Dock in Greenport.)
Google “bobby bank romantics” and you’ll see a flood of his shots from Southold. A few days after his visit he told me by phone, “I’m just coming back from shooting Barry Manilow, Lance Armstrong and Matt Damon.” Every day, he said, many constellations of stars twinkle around the tri-state area. Bank and his long lenses zoom in on as many as possible, including “The Romantics” in Southold.
The 54-year-old Bank is unapologetic about his profession, and accepts the public’s hunger for what it is. Which means he treats celebrities as a sort of cash crop to be harvested with his camera. “I know the pulse of the city very well,” he said.
I read recently that paparazzi pay has declined from the glory days when a shot of a rampaging Britney Spears brought a reported $300,000. So how much will Bank’s Southold photos yield? He said it depends on how widely they’re purchased through WireImage and Getty Images, which broker his work. But he did assert this: The real money to be would have been a certain picture shot through an unshaded window. The subject: “Katie Holmes naked.”
Long Island Business News / December 10, 2009
Newspapers have been feasting on it, and not because he’s got a fun name (“Cagey Tiger,” “Tiger Hides His Tale,” etc.). Also not because it’s high time golf finally generated some shock value. It’s really all about us. Celebrity sells. Sex sells. Scandal sells. So a celebrity sex scandal is catnip on steroids. If people weren’t addicted to it, tabloids wouldn’t be surviving even as legitimate newspapers are folding.
Tiger is big-time catnip, and since there’s a scandal, of course it has a Hamptons connection. His alleged/rumored/staunchly denied mistress, Rachel Uchitel, reportedly has worked as a Hamptons nightclub hostess, “policing the velvet rope,” as the lush expression goes.
The last time Woods was linked to the Hamptons was March 2008, when rumors swirled (from the New York Post) that he had bought a $65 million waterfront home in Southampton. The story was debunked but still managed to live on for a while.
Another case of celebrity psychosis recently hit the East End in the form of “The Romantics,” the “Big Chill”-ish movie being filmed in and around Southold. For those whose People magazine subscriptions have expired, its cast includes Anna Paquin, Elijah Wood, Jeremy Strong, Adam Brody, Josh Duhamel and (cymbal crash, please) Katie Holmes.
It’s the last name that brought the paparazzi out in force, lining the beach to capture the filming of a bayside wedding scene. But since the beach was too low, the canny photogs raided local hardware stores to buy ladders, The Suffolk Times reported.
So showbiz has been good for the local economy. Motels, restaurants and coffee shops have also seen upticks. But since it’s fame we’re speaking of, there must also be a dose of crazy. It was summed up in a Times editorial headlined, “Paparazzi, don’t let the door hit you in the … ,” which culminated by asserting that the photographers’ “intrusive behavior … far outweighs the little good they’ve brought to the local economy.”
The Times itself, however, did photograph Tom Cruise (Katie Holmes’ husband, for those who read books) while jogging, and asked him a question, which he ignored. “And you know what?” said the editorial, “We completely understand.”
Nonetheless, the paper did put a video of the encounter on its Web site, and even the respectful Times was chastised by a reader in an online comment for intrusive behavior. The video is no longer available.
But what’s a newspaper to do? Imagine the debate inside the newsroom. Mega-stars are walking among us. If we ignore them, aren’t we missing a story? But if we cover it, how are we different from the paparazzi?
To get an insider’s thoughts, I called a paparazzo who was here for the big event. “No, I didn’t buy a ladder,” Bobby Bank told me. “I rented a speedboat.” (Coincidentally, he’s no stranger to the North Fork. As a kid he and his father used to go fishing out of Mitchell’s Dock in Greenport.)
Google “bobby bank romantics” and you’ll see a flood of his shots from Southold. A few days after his visit he told me by phone, “I’m just coming back from shooting Barry Manilow, Lance Armstrong and Matt Damon.” Every day, he said, many constellations of stars twinkle around the tri-state area. Bank and his long lenses zoom in on as many as possible, including “The Romantics” in Southold.
The 54-year-old Bank is unapologetic about his profession, and accepts the public’s hunger for what it is. Which means he treats celebrities as a sort of cash crop to be harvested with his camera. “I know the pulse of the city very well,” he said.
I read recently that paparazzi pay has declined from the glory days when a shot of a rampaging Britney Spears brought a reported $300,000. So how much will Bank’s Southold photos yield? He said it depends on how widely they’re purchased through WireImage and Getty Images, which broker his work. But he did assert this: The real money to be would have been a certain picture shot through an unshaded window. The subject: “Katie Holmes naked.”
Long Island Business News / December 10, 2009
Put to rest the myth of the highly paid doctor
In case you missed it, there’s been lots of health talk recently. Much has been about patients struggling to get care. Rarely do we hear about doctors struggling to give it.
One such doctor is Erica Jurasits.
Not long ago the owner of North Country Family Health and Medicine in Rocky Point was thinking of giving up the fight. “I keep putting money in, reinvesting in the practice, but not getting anything back out,” she told me recently. “At some point you have to say that’s enough, cut your losses and move on. Join a multispecialty practice or become a teacher at the university. A lot of physicians are retiring early and moving out of state.”
But she doesn’t want to do any of that. “I love my practice, and I love my patients,” she said. “I think I give quality care but the business end of things gets a little difficult.”
The business end includes Long Island’s notoriously high real estate prices and taxes, plus salaries for her 3.5 employees, big student loans that are “like a second mortgage, basically,” and on and on. Worst of all is the “horrendous” malpractice insurance.
In Nassau/Suffolk, which ranks sixth highest in the nation, specialists pay well over $100,000. “Even family physicians are in the $20,000 range,” Jurasits said. Match all that outlay with inadequate HMO reimbursements and the dilemma is clear. “Insurance barely covers costs. I don’t even give vaccinations for HPV or shingles anymore.”
As a result, Jurasits began taking on more and more patients and seeing up to 50 a day. “It really burnt me out,” she said. “It’s what I needed to do to keep my practice afloat, but I just knew I couldn’t give quality care.” Since then she’s added another doctor and is cutting her appointments to a maximum of 30 a day.
Problem solved? “Not yet, but we’re working on it,” she said.
Jurasits brings a broad spectrum of experience to the subject. A 1991 graduate of the New York College of Osteopathic Medicine, she interned at Peninsula Medical Center in Queens and then at Robert Wood Johnson Medical School in New Jersey. On a health policy fellowship she helped write one of the nation’s first patient protection acts.
She also has two children, one of whom was home sick the day we spoke. So you could say that Jurasits sees health issues from all sides: public, private and practitioner. “Absolutely,” she agreed with a laugh.
And not only from a U.S. viewpoint, since she also did a residency rotation in England. I asked her about the popularly held notion that doctors in countries with nationalized health care make modest livings while those in the United States all live in beachfront mansions and drive Mercedeses. Her laugh turned rueful. “That’s a definite misconception,” she said. “We live in a two-bedroom ranch house on barely a quarter-acre, and it’s not on the water. I drive a little Toyota van.”
(By the way, she doesn’t have much hope for nationalized medicine here due to restricted access. “I don’t think the American people will stand for that,” she said.)
Meanwhile, some U.S. doctors aren’t standing for the current situation. Some have started charging a flat $75 per visit. Some are offering concierge service, in which patients pay a couple thousand dollars per year just to get guaranteed access. The advantage there is the ability to see fewer patients and give them more time and attention.
Jurasits has seen figures indicating that a primary care physician’s practice needs 3,000 to 4,000 active patients to survive. But that doesn’t work for her brand of doctoring. “Osteopaths are much more geared toward prevention,” she said, daunted by the notion of giving thorough care to that many patients.
Yet another problem might be the average person’s disbelief that doctors can suffer financial distress. It’s a refutation of a deeply held American belief: that medicine is a sure-fire career path to wealth.
These days, in many cases, it’s apparently not true. And after 11 years of practicing, six of them in her own company, Dr. Jurasits herself seemed surprised to be saying, “I would have thought it would be profitable.”
Long Island Business News / December 3, 2009
One such doctor is Erica Jurasits.
Not long ago the owner of North Country Family Health and Medicine in Rocky Point was thinking of giving up the fight. “I keep putting money in, reinvesting in the practice, but not getting anything back out,” she told me recently. “At some point you have to say that’s enough, cut your losses and move on. Join a multispecialty practice or become a teacher at the university. A lot of physicians are retiring early and moving out of state.”
But she doesn’t want to do any of that. “I love my practice, and I love my patients,” she said. “I think I give quality care but the business end of things gets a little difficult.”
The business end includes Long Island’s notoriously high real estate prices and taxes, plus salaries for her 3.5 employees, big student loans that are “like a second mortgage, basically,” and on and on. Worst of all is the “horrendous” malpractice insurance.
In Nassau/Suffolk, which ranks sixth highest in the nation, specialists pay well over $100,000. “Even family physicians are in the $20,000 range,” Jurasits said. Match all that outlay with inadequate HMO reimbursements and the dilemma is clear. “Insurance barely covers costs. I don’t even give vaccinations for HPV or shingles anymore.”
As a result, Jurasits began taking on more and more patients and seeing up to 50 a day. “It really burnt me out,” she said. “It’s what I needed to do to keep my practice afloat, but I just knew I couldn’t give quality care.” Since then she’s added another doctor and is cutting her appointments to a maximum of 30 a day.
Problem solved? “Not yet, but we’re working on it,” she said.
Jurasits brings a broad spectrum of experience to the subject. A 1991 graduate of the New York College of Osteopathic Medicine, she interned at Peninsula Medical Center in Queens and then at Robert Wood Johnson Medical School in New Jersey. On a health policy fellowship she helped write one of the nation’s first patient protection acts.
She also has two children, one of whom was home sick the day we spoke. So you could say that Jurasits sees health issues from all sides: public, private and practitioner. “Absolutely,” she agreed with a laugh.
And not only from a U.S. viewpoint, since she also did a residency rotation in England. I asked her about the popularly held notion that doctors in countries with nationalized health care make modest livings while those in the United States all live in beachfront mansions and drive Mercedeses. Her laugh turned rueful. “That’s a definite misconception,” she said. “We live in a two-bedroom ranch house on barely a quarter-acre, and it’s not on the water. I drive a little Toyota van.”
(By the way, she doesn’t have much hope for nationalized medicine here due to restricted access. “I don’t think the American people will stand for that,” she said.)
Meanwhile, some U.S. doctors aren’t standing for the current situation. Some have started charging a flat $75 per visit. Some are offering concierge service, in which patients pay a couple thousand dollars per year just to get guaranteed access. The advantage there is the ability to see fewer patients and give them more time and attention.
Jurasits has seen figures indicating that a primary care physician’s practice needs 3,000 to 4,000 active patients to survive. But that doesn’t work for her brand of doctoring. “Osteopaths are much more geared toward prevention,” she said, daunted by the notion of giving thorough care to that many patients.
Yet another problem might be the average person’s disbelief that doctors can suffer financial distress. It’s a refutation of a deeply held American belief: that medicine is a sure-fire career path to wealth.
These days, in many cases, it’s apparently not true. And after 11 years of practicing, six of them in her own company, Dr. Jurasits herself seemed surprised to be saying, “I would have thought it would be profitable.”
Long Island Business News / December 3, 2009
Restoring the Cricket II
“Jaws” swims on.
Thirty-four years after the blockbuster was released, the movie and its offshoots are still scaring the bejesus out of people and earning a lot of money doing it.
There are Jaws theme parks in Orlando, San Francisco and Japan. There’s a documentary. There are toys, posters, games, T-shirts and fan clubs. Martha’s Vineyard hosts JawsFests.
All of which screams that a monument to Montauk fishing with the Cricket II as its centerpiece simply has to happen.
To explain:
Frank Mundus was the legendary Montauk shark hunter who was the basis for the crusty, crazed Capt. Quint in the movie. Mundus died a year ago and his boat, the Cricket II, upon which the movie’s Orca was based, went to auction. It was bought for $51,750 by Jon Dodd of Rhode Island, who has begun renovation.
Meanwhile, however, efforts to keep the boat here as part of a monument to Montauk fishing were under way. At the helm was Henry Uihlein of Uihlein Marine in Montauk, where the Cricket II has been berthed.
As a result, the two men ended up at odds. That’s unfortunate because they have a lot in common. Most importantly, they both had fond connections with Mundus dating back to their childhoods. “My father had that effect on a lot of young men,” the captain’s daughter, Patty Mundus of Greenport, told me last week.
Dodd, who won the auction, was 13 when he started writing Mundus letters, offering to swab decks if he could go along on a shark-hunting expedition. “He was my Mickey Mantle,” Dodd said.
Same sort of thing for Uihlein. “As a kid I saw those sharks being pulled,” he recalled. “There was a lot of excitement. He gave me sharks’ eyes and taught me how to make marbles out of them by burying them.”
Uihlein went on to run the marina where the Cricket II was kept. “Frank trusted me with the boat,” he said. “He came to me two or three days before he died and told me to take care of it. He wanted the boat here.”
The captain’s daughter agrees. “I like the idea of the Cricket remaining in Montauk, not just as a memorial to my father,” but as part of a monument to Montauk fishing.
Uihlein said he’d succeeded in getting the county to donate a piece of land to that end, but now the campaign is scuttled. The money’s not there and “the boat is gone,” he said. “It’s no longer Frank’s boat.”
Patty Mundus agrees. “It’s very unfortunate it’s already been taken apart,” she said. “It was in sort of artifact state before. Now the whole boat’s been gutted.”
Dodd says he didn’t know about the memorial idea when he won the auction and began restoration. When he did hear, he said he would be willing to part with the Cricket II if his $71,850 investment could be reimbursed. More recently an unnamed Montauk accountant sent him an e-mail suggesting he could cover his costs by donating the boat to Montauk. That interests him.
“I’ve been reading the comments about what a shame it is, etc.” Dodd said. “I’m not extremely desirous to get rid of it, but if something special could be done …” He had planned to use the rebuilt Cricket II for family outings, but he too likes the idea of it being “the centerpiece of a monument to commemorate Montauk as the fishing capital of the world.”
As for the loss of artifact status, he said the things he’s done, such as removing the gas tank, would have to be done anyway. If there’s truly interest, however, he said it should happen quickly before major expenses are incurred.
This is too good an idea to let fizzle. Think of all the Montauk anglers who might contribute. Maybe Steven Spielberg would help too. (I called and got as far as his publicist’s secretary. No reply yet. Also no reply from East Hampton’s supervisor-elect or acting supervisor.)
But I hope we don’t let this one get away. Something’s not right about Martha’s Vineyard hosting the highly successful JawsFests. It was all based on our shark, our Mundus and our Cricket II. It ought to be our attraction too.
Long Island Business News / November 23, 2009
Thirty-four years after the blockbuster was released, the movie and its offshoots are still scaring the bejesus out of people and earning a lot of money doing it.
There are Jaws theme parks in Orlando, San Francisco and Japan. There’s a documentary. There are toys, posters, games, T-shirts and fan clubs. Martha’s Vineyard hosts JawsFests.
All of which screams that a monument to Montauk fishing with the Cricket II as its centerpiece simply has to happen.
To explain:
Frank Mundus was the legendary Montauk shark hunter who was the basis for the crusty, crazed Capt. Quint in the movie. Mundus died a year ago and his boat, the Cricket II, upon which the movie’s Orca was based, went to auction. It was bought for $51,750 by Jon Dodd of Rhode Island, who has begun renovation.
Meanwhile, however, efforts to keep the boat here as part of a monument to Montauk fishing were under way. At the helm was Henry Uihlein of Uihlein Marine in Montauk, where the Cricket II has been berthed.
As a result, the two men ended up at odds. That’s unfortunate because they have a lot in common. Most importantly, they both had fond connections with Mundus dating back to their childhoods. “My father had that effect on a lot of young men,” the captain’s daughter, Patty Mundus of Greenport, told me last week.
Dodd, who won the auction, was 13 when he started writing Mundus letters, offering to swab decks if he could go along on a shark-hunting expedition. “He was my Mickey Mantle,” Dodd said.
Same sort of thing for Uihlein. “As a kid I saw those sharks being pulled,” he recalled. “There was a lot of excitement. He gave me sharks’ eyes and taught me how to make marbles out of them by burying them.”
Uihlein went on to run the marina where the Cricket II was kept. “Frank trusted me with the boat,” he said. “He came to me two or three days before he died and told me to take care of it. He wanted the boat here.”
The captain’s daughter agrees. “I like the idea of the Cricket remaining in Montauk, not just as a memorial to my father,” but as part of a monument to Montauk fishing.
Uihlein said he’d succeeded in getting the county to donate a piece of land to that end, but now the campaign is scuttled. The money’s not there and “the boat is gone,” he said. “It’s no longer Frank’s boat.”
Patty Mundus agrees. “It’s very unfortunate it’s already been taken apart,” she said. “It was in sort of artifact state before. Now the whole boat’s been gutted.”
Dodd says he didn’t know about the memorial idea when he won the auction and began restoration. When he did hear, he said he would be willing to part with the Cricket II if his $71,850 investment could be reimbursed. More recently an unnamed Montauk accountant sent him an e-mail suggesting he could cover his costs by donating the boat to Montauk. That interests him.
“I’ve been reading the comments about what a shame it is, etc.” Dodd said. “I’m not extremely desirous to get rid of it, but if something special could be done …” He had planned to use the rebuilt Cricket II for family outings, but he too likes the idea of it being “the centerpiece of a monument to commemorate Montauk as the fishing capital of the world.”
As for the loss of artifact status, he said the things he’s done, such as removing the gas tank, would have to be done anyway. If there’s truly interest, however, he said it should happen quickly before major expenses are incurred.
This is too good an idea to let fizzle. Think of all the Montauk anglers who might contribute. Maybe Steven Spielberg would help too. (I called and got as far as his publicist’s secretary. No reply yet. Also no reply from East Hampton’s supervisor-elect or acting supervisor.)
But I hope we don’t let this one get away. Something’s not right about Martha’s Vineyard hosting the highly successful JawsFests. It was all based on our shark, our Mundus and our Cricket II. It ought to be our attraction too.
Long Island Business News / November 23, 2009
Greenport thumbs nose at recession
1. Go to a bar and order a Fine and Dandy.
2. Watch the ultimate screwball comedy, “It Happened One Night.”
3. Read some Dorothy Parker.
Those are the top three Internet suggestions I just found for shaking off The Great Recession. The writer said they should work because they helped people shake off The Great Depression, too.
But there’s another way, which involves gestures of confidence in the future. Maybe not gestures as grand as Warren Buffett’s $34 billion bet on a railroad and, by extension, American commerce, but still acts that are so buoyantly heedless of danger that they appear somewhat zany. Sort of like creating a Nello in Greenport.
Nello is a Manhattan restaurant launched in 1992 by Nello Balan. It was followed in 2005 by Nello Summertimes in Southampton. And now, in a few months, a Nello tentatively dubbed “Seaweed” should be cooking in Greenport.
To some that seems a bit strange. Greenport isn’t a backwater but it’s not exactly Hamptonic (yet). Nello, on the other hand, is all that and then some. “The setting is beautiful, the food is very good and the prices are obscene,” said the lede of Joanne Starkey’s 2005 New York Times review of Nello Summertime, “Long Island’s most expensive restaurant.” She reported choking over the $17 price tag on a dish of mixed berries. On viewing the wine list, one in her party said a cardiologist should be on the staff. And many online commenters note that while the food tends to be excellent, Nello is really about being somebody, being glam and being seen.
So, again: Greenport?
The restaurant is actually part of a two-building project envisioned and bankrolled by Manhattan real estate player Khedouri Ezair and art gallerist Marijana Bego. Adding to the degree of difficulty is the fact that the two buildings are separated by Greenport’s Main Street.
To the east is the restaurant, in the white clapboard building that formerly housed the crêperie Ile de Beauté. To the west is a long-vacant building that’s being gutted to become a nine-room hotel, an art gallery and a Japanese-style cafe also to be run by Balan.
Ambitious? That it is, said Greenport Village Administrator Dave Abatelli. “The hotel they’re virtually rebuilding stick by stick.” Over the two-year planning process, parking issues nearly derailed the whole thing, but now all is go. “They could make it by Memorial Day,” Abatelli ventured.
Ezair went one better. “I assume April or so,” he said.
Ezair is Nello’s landlord in Manhattan, Southampton and now in Greenport. And like the other two locations, Greenport will also host a gallery headed up by Bego. In fact, Ezair credits Bego as the catalyst behind the Greenport venture. She’s excited about it? “Very much so,” he said. “Basically it was her idea. She saw the buildings sitting there empty and said, why not do something?”
It’s all part of a new orientation for the couple.
“I’m a city kid,” Ezair said, having grown up in Queens. And so, he didn’t really know much about the North Fork even after they opened the Southampton location and established a residence there. Now, smitten by the North, the couple has bought the 90-acre former Whitmore Tree Farm in Orient and set up a beachhead there too. “It’s a beautiful place,” Ezair said.
But still hangs the question of restaurant impresario Nello Balan, who’s comfortable offering pasta at $100 a plate, fitting in on the less glitzy North Fork stage. “I don’t think he’ll do what he does in New York and Southampton,” Ezair guessed. “I think he’ll tone it down a little bit.”
On the other hand, noting the rise of upmarket restaurants like Greenport’s Frisky Oyster and Southold’s North Fork Table & Inn, he thinks the North Fork and especially Greenport are becoming serious destinations.
The project’s architect, Peter Wilson of Bridgehampton, agrees. “I think Greenport could eclipse Sag Harbor,” he told me. But still, is it ready for Nello, who is perhaps New York’s most eccentric restaurateur and describes himself as a descendant of Vlad the Impaler?
“Being totally outrageous is part of the cachet,” Wilson said.
Maybe, gulp, we could use a helping of that.
Long Island Business News / November 17, 2009
2. Watch the ultimate screwball comedy, “It Happened One Night.”
3. Read some Dorothy Parker.
Those are the top three Internet suggestions I just found for shaking off The Great Recession. The writer said they should work because they helped people shake off The Great Depression, too.
But there’s another way, which involves gestures of confidence in the future. Maybe not gestures as grand as Warren Buffett’s $34 billion bet on a railroad and, by extension, American commerce, but still acts that are so buoyantly heedless of danger that they appear somewhat zany. Sort of like creating a Nello in Greenport.
Nello is a Manhattan restaurant launched in 1992 by Nello Balan. It was followed in 2005 by Nello Summertimes in Southampton. And now, in a few months, a Nello tentatively dubbed “Seaweed” should be cooking in Greenport.
To some that seems a bit strange. Greenport isn’t a backwater but it’s not exactly Hamptonic (yet). Nello, on the other hand, is all that and then some. “The setting is beautiful, the food is very good and the prices are obscene,” said the lede of Joanne Starkey’s 2005 New York Times review of Nello Summertime, “Long Island’s most expensive restaurant.” She reported choking over the $17 price tag on a dish of mixed berries. On viewing the wine list, one in her party said a cardiologist should be on the staff. And many online commenters note that while the food tends to be excellent, Nello is really about being somebody, being glam and being seen.
So, again: Greenport?
The restaurant is actually part of a two-building project envisioned and bankrolled by Manhattan real estate player Khedouri Ezair and art gallerist Marijana Bego. Adding to the degree of difficulty is the fact that the two buildings are separated by Greenport’s Main Street.
To the east is the restaurant, in the white clapboard building that formerly housed the crêperie Ile de Beauté. To the west is a long-vacant building that’s being gutted to become a nine-room hotel, an art gallery and a Japanese-style cafe also to be run by Balan.
Ambitious? That it is, said Greenport Village Administrator Dave Abatelli. “The hotel they’re virtually rebuilding stick by stick.” Over the two-year planning process, parking issues nearly derailed the whole thing, but now all is go. “They could make it by Memorial Day,” Abatelli ventured.
Ezair went one better. “I assume April or so,” he said.
Ezair is Nello’s landlord in Manhattan, Southampton and now in Greenport. And like the other two locations, Greenport will also host a gallery headed up by Bego. In fact, Ezair credits Bego as the catalyst behind the Greenport venture. She’s excited about it? “Very much so,” he said. “Basically it was her idea. She saw the buildings sitting there empty and said, why not do something?”
It’s all part of a new orientation for the couple.
“I’m a city kid,” Ezair said, having grown up in Queens. And so, he didn’t really know much about the North Fork even after they opened the Southampton location and established a residence there. Now, smitten by the North, the couple has bought the 90-acre former Whitmore Tree Farm in Orient and set up a beachhead there too. “It’s a beautiful place,” Ezair said.
But still hangs the question of restaurant impresario Nello Balan, who’s comfortable offering pasta at $100 a plate, fitting in on the less glitzy North Fork stage. “I don’t think he’ll do what he does in New York and Southampton,” Ezair guessed. “I think he’ll tone it down a little bit.”
On the other hand, noting the rise of upmarket restaurants like Greenport’s Frisky Oyster and Southold’s North Fork Table & Inn, he thinks the North Fork and especially Greenport are becoming serious destinations.
The project’s architect, Peter Wilson of Bridgehampton, agrees. “I think Greenport could eclipse Sag Harbor,” he told me. But still, is it ready for Nello, who is perhaps New York’s most eccentric restaurateur and describes himself as a descendant of Vlad the Impaler?
“Being totally outrageous is part of the cachet,” Wilson said.
Maybe, gulp, we could use a helping of that.
Long Island Business News / November 17, 2009
The Hamptons are feeling empty
Economically, I’m beginning to get a sense of what it must have felt like for the original East Enders who worked hard and saved up big piles of wampum only to see everything change when those tall masts appeared on the horizon.
Now, it seems, everything is changing just about as fast. Venerable stores like the Hamptons’ Long Island Sound are perishing at the hand of the Internet revolution. Death by download. Newspapers, of all bedrock institutions, are locked in the same desperate digital struggle. Restaurants have been ravished by the recession, with 43 percent of diners recently telling Zagat that they’re eating out less, 36 percent saying they’re ordering cheaper and 22 percent saying they’re skipping appetizers and/or dessert. On the other hand, Scotts Miracle-Gro has announced record sales for 2009, so maybe people are creating their own salads again.
Now yet another trend is causing concern out east: nomad merchants.
“We’re kind of following our customers,” Stephanie Goureau recently told The East Hampton Star. “As we close East Hampton we’re opening up Palm Beach.”
Goureau was speaking of her family’s women’s fashion store, Courage. b, which opened on East Hampton’s Main Street in June and has now closed to concentrate on more populous locations. Back in June she told The Star, “We’re not sure what’s going to happen. Right now it’s sort of up in the air, but we’d love to see what the results are and create some sort of permanent presence there.”
Or maybe not.
The Star included Courage. b in a story about the pop-up shop phenomenon – stores that pop up for the season and then vanish as the crowds do. Already gone along with Courage. b are Intermix, Hermes and Jill Stuart, and some others, like Brooks Brothers and Gucci, were expected to “follow suit in the pop-up, pop-down phenomenon.”
Nomadic life apparently makes sense for some merchants in the recession era, when landlords are hungry for tenants, even fleeting ones. But it represents a fundamental shift in our traditional understanding of a shop if, instead of a steady presence in our midst, it’s only as solid as a piece of paper, and a short-term one at that.
Then there’s the impact of all those empty storefronts on year-round residents. “It concerns me, honestly,” Judi Desiderio of Town and Country Real Estate told The Star. “Last winter was eye-popping, with the amount of vacancies we had, then the seasonal leases kind of stuck their finger in the dam.” The reporter, Kate Maier, possibly tipped her feelings about the phenomenon by writing that those stores popped up “like weeds” this spring.
It’s also a paradigm shift that some corporate stores, although seen as having less emotional attachment to village life, might be the ones that stick around.
Marina Van, director of the East Hampton Chamber of Commerce, told The East Hampton Press that the big-name shops can be good for the village because they have the backing to survive the dark months. “So when people staying at the hotels call the chamber to ask which stores are open, I have something to tell them,” she said. Among them, Tommy Hilfiger, which debuted this spring, J. Crew and the Hamptons’ five Ralph Lauren shops are expected to keep the lights on this winter.
It’s not enough, some feel. “I don’t know what the answer is,” former village merchant Ronald Eisenberg told The Press. “But I can tell you that business is declining so badly in East Hampton because landlords are dealing with pop-up stores like Hermes and Michael Kors.” He feels that the annual pop-up immigration inflates rents across the board, aggravating the situation.
On yet another hand, it’s fundamental capitalism that opportunities must be pounced upon. “I can’t say that we planned on going from one store to five in the last six months,” Goureau told The Star back in June, but those recessionary rents virtually compelled them.
What’s the long-term impact? While the ground’s still shifting in the midst of all this economic evolution it’s hard to say. But for East Enders it definitely feels like something important is being lost when shops simply pack up and leave town to follow the caribou consumers.
Long Island Business News / November 11, 2009
Now, it seems, everything is changing just about as fast. Venerable stores like the Hamptons’ Long Island Sound are perishing at the hand of the Internet revolution. Death by download. Newspapers, of all bedrock institutions, are locked in the same desperate digital struggle. Restaurants have been ravished by the recession, with 43 percent of diners recently telling Zagat that they’re eating out less, 36 percent saying they’re ordering cheaper and 22 percent saying they’re skipping appetizers and/or dessert. On the other hand, Scotts Miracle-Gro has announced record sales for 2009, so maybe people are creating their own salads again.
Now yet another trend is causing concern out east: nomad merchants.
“We’re kind of following our customers,” Stephanie Goureau recently told The East Hampton Star. “As we close East Hampton we’re opening up Palm Beach.”
Goureau was speaking of her family’s women’s fashion store, Courage. b, which opened on East Hampton’s Main Street in June and has now closed to concentrate on more populous locations. Back in June she told The Star, “We’re not sure what’s going to happen. Right now it’s sort of up in the air, but we’d love to see what the results are and create some sort of permanent presence there.”
Or maybe not.
The Star included Courage. b in a story about the pop-up shop phenomenon – stores that pop up for the season and then vanish as the crowds do. Already gone along with Courage. b are Intermix, Hermes and Jill Stuart, and some others, like Brooks Brothers and Gucci, were expected to “follow suit in the pop-up, pop-down phenomenon.”
Nomadic life apparently makes sense for some merchants in the recession era, when landlords are hungry for tenants, even fleeting ones. But it represents a fundamental shift in our traditional understanding of a shop if, instead of a steady presence in our midst, it’s only as solid as a piece of paper, and a short-term one at that.
Then there’s the impact of all those empty storefronts on year-round residents. “It concerns me, honestly,” Judi Desiderio of Town and Country Real Estate told The Star. “Last winter was eye-popping, with the amount of vacancies we had, then the seasonal leases kind of stuck their finger in the dam.” The reporter, Kate Maier, possibly tipped her feelings about the phenomenon by writing that those stores popped up “like weeds” this spring.
It’s also a paradigm shift that some corporate stores, although seen as having less emotional attachment to village life, might be the ones that stick around.
Marina Van, director of the East Hampton Chamber of Commerce, told The East Hampton Press that the big-name shops can be good for the village because they have the backing to survive the dark months. “So when people staying at the hotels call the chamber to ask which stores are open, I have something to tell them,” she said. Among them, Tommy Hilfiger, which debuted this spring, J. Crew and the Hamptons’ five Ralph Lauren shops are expected to keep the lights on this winter.
It’s not enough, some feel. “I don’t know what the answer is,” former village merchant Ronald Eisenberg told The Press. “But I can tell you that business is declining so badly in East Hampton because landlords are dealing with pop-up stores like Hermes and Michael Kors.” He feels that the annual pop-up immigration inflates rents across the board, aggravating the situation.
On yet another hand, it’s fundamental capitalism that opportunities must be pounced upon. “I can’t say that we planned on going from one store to five in the last six months,” Goureau told The Star back in June, but those recessionary rents virtually compelled them.
What’s the long-term impact? While the ground’s still shifting in the midst of all this economic evolution it’s hard to say. But for East Enders it definitely feels like something important is being lost when shops simply pack up and leave town to follow the caribou consumers.
Long Island Business News / November 11, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
November: The Horror
Dave’s nights are haunted, knowing that the evil ones are busy plotting out there in the dark. He listens at the doors, at the windows, and can’t hear much of anything, but he knows they’re out there. Massing.
It’s November. Hell yes they’re out there, the creeps.
Dave lives in the woods. Not the woods woods, but the Long Island exurban version – three-quarters of an acre and a terrible lot of trees. Every November they return, wave after wave, parachuting in and lying there all innocent like, the way they do. Then they start sneaking in.
There’s one now. He hadn’t even been outside yet this morning, so it’s no good pretending that the leaf had accidentally gotten snagged on his pants cuff or something. No, he’d specifically swept the entryway last night. Or maybe it was the day before. Who knows anymore, he’s so groggy from lack of sleep. He strolls casually around behind it then pounces, grabs the hideous thing by its stem, opens the door just five inches, hurls it out and slams the door fast, before the others can attack.
Two days ago Dave walked out like the guy in the movie about the birds, stepping gingerly through them all. He opened the car door and there, above the hinge, in the little space no bigger than his hand, for god’s sake, was a sleeper cell. Six or eight leaves just crammed in there, probably hoping to hitch a ride to one of their secret meetings. He cleaned them out but good. Then, yesterday morning, he opened the car door again and there was another gang of them wedged in there. “Don’t you guys get it?” he screamed. “I’m on to your tricks!” His neighbor, Mrs. Rappaport, shot him a worried look, dropped her rake and scurried inside.
Dave considers trying to slow his breathing. That’s what his therapist advised. “This November, Dave, why not try meditating?” he said. “Close your eyes and think peaceful thoughts.”
Dave said he would but he knew he wouldn’t because as soon as he closes his eyes they start trying to work their way into the house again. He’d found one in his jacket pocket that very morning. In his jacket pocket. The fiend.
“Dave, they’re leaves,” the therapist said. “They’re dead.”
Undead, Dave thought.
“They’re not out to get you.”
Then why do they keep coming, Dave wanted to ask. He gets them all raked up and things are okay for a while and then they come for him again. He was about to say that but then he looked down and saw one clinging to his therapist’s sock. Oh god, he thought. It heard everything. Or maybe ... maybe they’re working together. Mind control. The creeps never stop. Dave hadn’t been back to the therapist since then.
Dave goes into the kitchen to make a soothing cup of tea. He’s about to put the kettle under the faucet when he sees it – a leaf floating in the little space between the storm window and the inside window. There was no leaf there last night. It’s fluttering – taunting him. No, wait – it’s stuck! Somehow it had breached the outer window and was on its way in but had gotten caught on a spider web. “Ha!” Dave howls. “Got you, you bastard!” Dave never kills spiders for this purpose; they’re a key part of his border guard. In fact, when he finds one in the garage, he transplants it to the windows.
Dave opens the kitchen window and carefully clasps the leaf with a pair of salad tongs, trying to damage the web as little as possible. He carries it toward the front door to throw it out but stops dead. Blood drains from his face. Impossible. There. Right there. Another leaf on the floor. He’d just cleared that sector, for god’s sake. Dave takes off his slipper and begins pounding the leaf but it’s fairly fresh and keeps springing back instead of crumbling. Dave gives it grudging respect; this zombie can take a lick.
That’s how Dave’s wife finds him when she comes down the stairs: on his knees, one hand slamming a leaf on the floor with a slipper, the other hand clutching a leaf with a pair of salad tongs.
“Hi honey,” she says, stopping and pirouetting so he can check her for stowaways. They’d been through many Novembers together.
It’s November. Hell yes they’re out there, the creeps.
Dave lives in the woods. Not the woods woods, but the Long Island exurban version – three-quarters of an acre and a terrible lot of trees. Every November they return, wave after wave, parachuting in and lying there all innocent like, the way they do. Then they start sneaking in.
There’s one now. He hadn’t even been outside yet this morning, so it’s no good pretending that the leaf had accidentally gotten snagged on his pants cuff or something. No, he’d specifically swept the entryway last night. Or maybe it was the day before. Who knows anymore, he’s so groggy from lack of sleep. He strolls casually around behind it then pounces, grabs the hideous thing by its stem, opens the door just five inches, hurls it out and slams the door fast, before the others can attack.
Two days ago Dave walked out like the guy in the movie about the birds, stepping gingerly through them all. He opened the car door and there, above the hinge, in the little space no bigger than his hand, for god’s sake, was a sleeper cell. Six or eight leaves just crammed in there, probably hoping to hitch a ride to one of their secret meetings. He cleaned them out but good. Then, yesterday morning, he opened the car door again and there was another gang of them wedged in there. “Don’t you guys get it?” he screamed. “I’m on to your tricks!” His neighbor, Mrs. Rappaport, shot him a worried look, dropped her rake and scurried inside.
Dave considers trying to slow his breathing. That’s what his therapist advised. “This November, Dave, why not try meditating?” he said. “Close your eyes and think peaceful thoughts.”
Dave said he would but he knew he wouldn’t because as soon as he closes his eyes they start trying to work their way into the house again. He’d found one in his jacket pocket that very morning. In his jacket pocket. The fiend.
“Dave, they’re leaves,” the therapist said. “They’re dead.”
Undead, Dave thought.
“They’re not out to get you.”
Then why do they keep coming, Dave wanted to ask. He gets them all raked up and things are okay for a while and then they come for him again. He was about to say that but then he looked down and saw one clinging to his therapist’s sock. Oh god, he thought. It heard everything. Or maybe ... maybe they’re working together. Mind control. The creeps never stop. Dave hadn’t been back to the therapist since then.
Dave goes into the kitchen to make a soothing cup of tea. He’s about to put the kettle under the faucet when he sees it – a leaf floating in the little space between the storm window and the inside window. There was no leaf there last night. It’s fluttering – taunting him. No, wait – it’s stuck! Somehow it had breached the outer window and was on its way in but had gotten caught on a spider web. “Ha!” Dave howls. “Got you, you bastard!” Dave never kills spiders for this purpose; they’re a key part of his border guard. In fact, when he finds one in the garage, he transplants it to the windows.
Dave opens the kitchen window and carefully clasps the leaf with a pair of salad tongs, trying to damage the web as little as possible. He carries it toward the front door to throw it out but stops dead. Blood drains from his face. Impossible. There. Right there. Another leaf on the floor. He’d just cleared that sector, for god’s sake. Dave takes off his slipper and begins pounding the leaf but it’s fairly fresh and keeps springing back instead of crumbling. Dave gives it grudging respect; this zombie can take a lick.
That’s how Dave’s wife finds him when she comes down the stairs: on his knees, one hand slamming a leaf on the floor with a slipper, the other hand clutching a leaf with a pair of salad tongs.
“Hi honey,” she says, stopping and pirouetting so he can check her for stowaways. They’d been through many Novembers together.
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