Annie Wilkinson

Annie Wilkinson is an an award-winning former associate editor of the Long Island Press. The New York Times and Los Angeles Times have run her features and cover stories.

John Philip Sousa: Mr. Stars and Stripes

Left: John Phillip Sousa, who lived in Sands Point, composed the National March. Right: Historic American Sheet Music Collection, Duke University Rubenstein Library.

For many, summer celebrations would be nothing without hearing John Philip Sousa’s The Stars and Stripes Forever. The 1896 march conveys images of flags waving, parades, and the sense that everything will be alright.

Bringing music to the masses, evoking nostalgia for a simpler time, the “Pied Piper of Patriotism” and self-proclaimed “salesman of Americanism” was so popular that a Liberty battleship, a Washington, D.C. bridge, and schools — including John Philip Sousa Elementary in Port Washington — bear his name.


His childhood was as American as can be. He was born in Washington, D.C., next to the United States Marine Barracks, the first son of European immigrants. His father played trombone in the U.S. Marine Band.

By 1861, the lad with perfect pitch was an award-winning multi-instrumentalist at a private conservatory. He studied harmony, composition, and violin as the sounds of military bands and Civil War battles echoed nearby.

When he was 13, a traveling circus offered him a bandleader position. He later wrote that he wanted “to follow the life of the circus, make money, and become the leader of a circus band myself.”

He tried running away but his father enrolled him as a Marine Band apprentice. At age 19, he published his first march. He became a solo violinist, conducted Broadway and vaudeville orchestras, and wrote operettas. Appointed the Marine Band’s leader, in 1888 he composed Semper Fidelis, which became the Corps’ official march.

He moved to Manhattan in 1892 and formed his own symphonic concert band. Neil Harris’ Library of Congress biography described how the “carefully groomed Sousa, clad in tight fitting uniform and spotless white gloves, acted out the maestro.”

Sousa mastered marketing his brand as public relations wizards worked the press. He had an instrument created, the Sousaphone. The newly invented phonograph had recorded the Marine Band marches, making the the world’s first recording stars. Among those marches was his famous 1896 Stars and Stripes Forever.


In the late 1800s, agricultural America was becoming an industrial powerhouse; German, Scandinavian, and other immigrants fled to America; the nation struggled for global domination after warring with Spain over Cuba in 1898.

Sousa faced criticism. Frederic D. Schwartz wrote in American Heritage that critics at the time remarked on The Stars and Stripes Forever’s “‘jingoistic’ or ‘martial’ character.”

In Lawyers, Guns, & Money, University of Rhode Island Professor Erik Loomis calls Sousa “the composer and conductor of America’s soundtrack for imperialism and colonization.”

During the Victorian era, many held that America was culturally inferior to Europe, an attitude that irritated Sousa. But on their first European tour in 1900, his musicians impressed audiences, mastering dynamics to include different levels, unlike other bands’ often bombastic sounds. The dapper mustachioed showman, a mason and member of the Sons of the Revolution, attracted a following by offering humor, perfection, and patriotism.


In 1914 America joined World War I and Sousa, 62, enlisted in the Naval Reserve. His navy band was so popular that it raised $21 million for the war effort. As Howard Reich wrote in
the Chicago Tribune, “… And out of that noisy, cacophonist din came the measured, four square, reassuring beat of the ‘Sousa March.’”

In 1915, Sousa moved to Wild Bank at 14 Hicks Lane in Sands Point. His band continued performing, including 1923 and 1924 concerts at Ward & Glynne’s movie palace (today’s Patchogue Theatre), and he advocated for children’s music education and composers’ rights.

In 1932, he rehearsed The Stars and Stripes Forever with the Ringgold Band for a Philadelphia concert. The next day he died of heart disease at the Abraham Lincoln Hotel. Wild Bank is now a National Historic Land- mark; in 1987, Congress named his Stars and Stripes the National March.

Ironically, although “The March King” wrote more than 100 marches, his band marched in just eight parades.

Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton: Long Island’s Romance of The Century

Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor in Cleopatra.

It started in January 1962 on the set of Cleopatra. Two stars acted out their scene, sparks ignited, and all thoughts of marital fidelity vanished. As Vanity Fair reported, “There was more going on than just electricity.”

They were already famous. Elizabeth Taylor, she of the violet eyes and raven hair, the child actress who blossomed into the most beautiful woman in the world and won multiple Academy Awards and Golden Globes, played the seductive Egyptian queen. Cast as dashing Roman General Marc Antony, Richard Burton was a braggartly sexy Welshman and Shakespearean actor with perfect elocution and a philandering heart.

In 1962, divorce meant disgrace and affairs were taboo. The newly invented birth control pill was outlawed in many states, the media was not celebrity-obsessed, and the internet was science fiction. In that prudish atmosphere, the stars poked a hornet’s nest of public attitudes as cameras focused on their Manhattan, Europe, Africa, and Long Island romance.


Like the real Cleopatra and Antony, Taylor and Burton littered their path with broken alliances. Taylor, 29, many times married, was branded a homewrecker for stealing crooner Eddie Fisher away from her best friend, actress Debbie Reynolds, in 1958. Debbie and Eddie had the perfect marriage with two kids (including actress Carrie Fisher) and were dubbed “America’s Sweethearts.” Taylor persisted, though, marrying Eddie Fisher in 1959. They vacationed off Fire Island on their yacht, but things soured by 1961. Enter Burton.

“From those first moments in Rome we were always madly and powerfully in love,” Taylor said, in Furious Love: Elizabeth Taylor, Richard Burton, and the Marriage of the Century. After their scene, Burton boasted that he would bed Taylor within two days. It reportedly took five days. He bragged to others about his conquest.

Burton, 34, had won a Tony Award for his portrayal of King Arthur in Broadway’s Camelot. He had been married for 12 years to actress Sybil Williams but had casual affairs. Beguiled by Taylor, he fell into an un-casual romance.

All hell broke loose: The scandal was leaked in February 1962 and Fisher fled. Sybil Burton found out and fled. Twentieth-Century Fox halted production for days at a daily cost of $100,000.

Then-U.S. Rep. Michael A. Feighan (D-Ohio), calling the tryst “a public outrage,” lobbied to revoke Burton’s visa, saying Burton’s presence would be “detrimental to the morals of the youth of the nation.” An “open letter” from the Vatican accused Taylor of “erotic vagrancy.” Pursued by paparazzi, vilified by the Vatican, Taylor divorced Fisher and married Burton in Montreal in March 1964.


The couple retreated to LI. In 1964, she and Burton honeymooned for a weekend at a waterside guesthouse at Pembroke, a since-demolished Glen Cove estate.

They made 11 movies together including Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf in 1966, for which Taylor won the Best Actress Oscar. They were observed dining at Rothmann’s in East Norwich and having a bite with a local liquor store owner while sitting on stools at the Quogue Fountain of Youth soda shop.

They stayed in a Quogue carriage house at the Shinnecock Road estate of Aaron Frosch, their attorney and business manager. They visited Hamptons galleries and played tennis at the Quogue Field Club during the summer of 1967. Taylor shopped at the A&P on Montauk Highway.

“Quogies were dazzled by the couple at the height of their stardom,” reported the Quogue Blogue.


Neighbors heard the couple arguing, over Burton’s temper, or alcoholism, or cheating, or Taylor’s anger, drug addiction, alcoholism. They battered one another emotionally and physically.

They divorced in June 1974, then re-married in 1975. Their final divorce was in July 1976. In Quogue, Burton insisted they weren’t separated. Taylor partied at Calvin Klein’s Fire Island waterfront home, where she reportedly left towels stained with lipstick and makeup. In the late 1990s, she vacationed at Andy Warhol’s Montauk summer estate. Taylor and Burton married again—but not each other.

On Aug. 5, 1984, Burton died at age 58 of a cerebral hemorrhage; he rests in Wales. Taylor died 27 years later at age 79 in 2011. Many say that Burton’s love letter written three days before dying was buried with Taylor in Forest Lawn Cemetery in California. Burton’s last wife, Sally Hay Burton, disputes that, saying that her lawyer was told by other lawyers that there was no letter.

The truth rests with Taylor and Burton.

The Rise and Fall of Anne Morrow Lindbergh

Anne Morrow Lindburgh, wife of Chrles Lindburgh, during the period when she had accompanied him on a round-the-world survey flight in a Lockheed Sirius floatplane.

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

Charles Dickens’ 1859 words still ring true. Many people believe they control their lives: With luck or power, they soar and grow in stature. Others navigate the tightrope of survival, fearing a fall from grace.

Anne Morrow Lindbergh lived through the best of times, marrying wisely, raising five children, learning to fly, and becoming a best-selling author. Then, the times shifted, destiny intervened, and the sky fell.


Born in 1906, Anne Morrow was raised in a New Jersey mansion, the daughter of a successful diplomat and a feminist pioneer. At age 18, she declared her wish: “To marry a hero.”

And she did. In 1927, she met Charles Augustus Lindbergh Jr. The 25-year-old daredevil barnstorming pilot had made history at Roosevelt Field airfield (now the Source Mall), when his Spirit of St. Louis made the first nonstop solo transAtlantic flight. His  subsequent tour in his plane popularized flight and bolstered the Golden Age of Aviation.

The first date for the “Lone Eagle” and the Smith College senior was in an airplane over LI. Their 1929 marriage catapulted Anne into celebrity. She became the first woman to earn a glider pilot’s license, then practiced for her pilot’s license in a “Bird” at the Hicksville Long Island Aviation Country Club, the haven for the society and aviation elite.

She went “round and round the field alone…making one hideously bumpy landing after another.”

Anne often flew from Uniondale’s Mitchel Field in a Weaver Aircraft Company biplane, as “Willie K” Vanderbilt’s Motor Parkway snaked past potato fields below.

She was Charles’ co-pilot, navigator, and radio operator on global route surveys. When Charles set a transcontinental speed record, she was the seven-months-pregnant navigator.

Internationally adored, the handsome adventurer and the shy, attractive author/pilot could do no wrong.


The Lindberghs moved to a secluded New Jersey mansion in 1932 to avoid the press. Shortly after, their firstborn infant son was kidnapped. Ransom was paid, but after several months his dead body was found nearby. Newspapers dubbed it the “Crime of the Century.”

It was later revealed that Charles had locked the 18-month-old baby outside, encouraging independence. He forbade Anne to cry after the kidnapping and murder. He was lonely and stoic, perhaps because his parents had separated when he was 7 years old.

After the murder, the Lindberghs rejected the relentless media and fled to England. Anne’s first book was published in 1935, and a German carpenter was convicted of the murder and executed.

In 1936, the U.S. government asked Charles to tour German aircraft factories. Impressed by Hitler’s airpower, Charles deemed a war unwinnable. As the leading spokesman for the isolationist anti-Semitic, America First movement, Charles wrote in Reader’s Digest that Western countries should band together to preserve their inheritance of European blood.

Supporting Charles, in 1940 Anne published The Wave of the Future, advising America to reject foreign wars. Its defeatist tone was despised; she later labeled her work naive.

Furious Americans, having endured the 1929 stock market crash and the Great Depression, rejected their Golden Pair as Nazi apologists. In early 1940, the Lindberghs moved to Lloyds Neck; by late 1940, Charles was labeled a traitor.

In her diary, Anne wrote, “I am now the bubonic plague among writers and C. is the anti-Christ!” … “My marriage has stretched me out of my world, changed me so it is no longer possible to change back.”

In the early 1950s, Anne sought psychotherapy; Charles, displeased, vacated their bedroom. She later had an affair with her therapist. In 1955, her feminist manifesto Gift of the Sea was published.


Charles died in 1974, Anne in 2001. Family skeletons surfaced: Charles had controlled his family with tedious checklists, lectures, and banned holiday celebrations. Anne kept quiet, valiantly keeping up with her husband’s travels.

One diary entry read, “Damn, damn, damn! I am sick of being this ‘handmaiden to the Lord.’”

In 2003, the news broke: From 1957 until his death, Charles had fathered seven children with three mistresses in Germany. Anne’s relatives said Anne had suspected something, but didn’t know what. Her stalwart silence preserved the myth till the end — because they had, after all, the best of times.

Seasonal Uptick in Lyme Disease Concerns on Long Island

Female deer ticks are found on Long Island.

They’re out there, crawling up grasses or low-growing bushes. They cling to perches, claws waving in the air, then snag an unsuspecting passerby. Latching on to shoes or  clothing, they climb to a cozy spot and bite the skin, using their curved teeth and mouths to transmit bacteria and viruses as they become engorged with blood.

Ticks are masters of this host-hunting called “questing.” Nationwide, deer ticks infect 300,000 people annually with Lyme disease, and transmit the rare but sometimes fatal babesiosis.

A bite can cause flu-like symptoms or hives two days or up to nine weeks later, plus facial swelling and trouble breathing. Untreated, the transmitted pathogens can cause paralysis, limb or joint amputation, and/or organ failure.

The spread of tick-borne diseases (TBDs) has been labeled an epidemic, with New York State having the nation’s highest number of confirmed Lyme cases. Suffolk County has at least 500 reported cases and boasts the state’s highest babesiosis rate.


Researchers have learned that ticks don’t fly, leap or jump. And their bite doesn’t always produce a bull’s-eye-shaped rash.

Only female ticks are bloodsuckers, swelling to 135 times their original size; sometimes, male ticks steal the blood. After a blood meal, she lays thousands of eggs, keeping them moist by painstakingly wrapping each one in wax from an organ on her head.

Genital secretions of people who had intimate contact have revealed Lyme bacteria, and the bacterium that causes Lyme and the bacterium that causes syphilis are cousins. Babesiosis can be transmitted from mother to baby during pregnancy or delivery, or by transfusion.

These arachnids — not insects — are not a new problem, as proved by a 30-million-year-old amber-preserved tick engorged with monkey blood unearthed in the Dominican Republic. More recently, over the past 50 years, a dozen emerging TBDs have been discovered. Between 2001 and 2015, TBD rates doubled nationwide.

Hundreds of East Enders developed red meat allergies starting in 2010. The cause? Bites from lone star ticks, dubbed “reverse zombie” ticks because they make humans say “No” to red meat. Symptoms included itching, stomach cramps, flu-like symptoms, trouble breathing — and even death from anaphylactic shock. Doctors warn those with the allergy to avoid beef, pork, lamb, goat, rabbit, venison, and animal products like gelatin and milk.


Humans help increase ticks’ numbers. Some trace higher survival rates to climate change’s warmer weather. Others blame suburban development, forests decimated to become landscapes that not only invite people but provide paradises for deer mice. Ticks feed on LI’s white-footed mice; 90 percent of these mice carry Lyme, other bacteria and parasites. Development destroys fox, raptor, and other mouse predator habitats, so more mice survive to host ticks.

For de-ticking, people embrace natural solutions, keeping chickens, bats, and other predators. Just one opossum can vacuum 4,000 ticks in one week with its mouth.


After visiting an area with sea grass in Amagansett, 6-year-old Cate Higgins discovered two bulls-eye rashes and took antibiotics. Six months later, she was getting headaches, which later worsened. Neurologists and concussion specialists tried different medicines without success.

In 7th grade, she developed asthma with the headaches. She was missing one day of school a week, then several. She had a rash that spread and was extraordinarily fatigued and anxious.

Finally, an acupuncturist suggested looking at her bloodwork and diet. They did, and found a suppressed immune system.

Now age 15, the Oyster Bay resident dropped out of public school because of severe headaches. For her slow-growing, chronic Lyme disease, some remedies work, and some don’t.

Her mother Margaret Higgins says the 10 doctors they consulted treated only the migraines and didn’t look at the big picture.

“It’s a very polarizing disease. Some in the medical community don’t acknowledge chronic Lyme disease,” says Higgins. “It’s an invisible illness: She looks fine, but often can’t get out of bed, do sports, or see friends.”

Runaway Flu: Could A Century-old Enemy Return?

The trenches at Camp Upton were breeding grounds for the Spanish flu a century ago.

It was sociable, tenacious, and adaptable. When it tired of torture, it turned to murder.

The Spanish flu of 1918-1919 first targeted soldiers training to support America’s allies during World War I. At Suffolk’s Camp Upton Army base, 6,131 men were hospitalized. To prevent panic, the press, the military, and the government downplayed it. But the pandemic infected 500 million globally within 15 months.

A typical flu kills less than one percent of those infected. This one killed up to 100 million, including 675,000 Americans — 5 percent of the world’s population.


In January 1918, farmers in dusty, flat Haskell County, Kansas received wartime subsidies for hog backs. So, the farmers raised pigs. Flying above the pigs, birds navigated major flyways. Avian viruses can infect hogs, especially in crowded conditions. When a bird virus and human virus infect a pig cell, they can produce a virus that’s lethal to humans.

Suddenly, pig farmers were falling down in the fields. Then, others sickened. America needed troops to fight in the “War to End All Wars,” including Haskell recruits exposed to the flu. Within weeks after entering nearby Camp Funston, 1,100 soldiers were hospitalized and thousands more sickened.


Brookhaven National Laboratory now occupies the land where Yaphank’s Camp Upton opened in 1917. In spring 1918, the flu’s first non-fatal wave hit. Troops who survived the virus transported it to France and every European army. Soon, a deadlier mutation decimated upper respiratory systems and lungs with viral or bacterial pneumonia, sometimes suffocating victims in bodily fluids.

In September, Upton closed to check the virus’ spread. The New York Times reported, “There had been no deaths and no serious cases of influenza,” but by October 1918, Upton had 3,050 cases. The gauze masks everyone wore offered little protection: One sneeze broadcasted 500,000 virus particles, and viruses survived on hard surfaces for 24 hours.


Every few weeks, new brigades joined the front, providing fresh bodies for the virus. Physicians’ requests for clean, uncrowded barracks were ignored.

Surgeon General William C. Gorgas admitted, “We can control pneumonia absolutely if we could avoid crowding the men, but it is not practicable in military life …”

The “Spanish Lady” devastating the European camps, trenches’ close quarters and international seaports hadn’t actually originated in Spain. Because Spain was neutral, its relatively uncensored press reported influenza statistics. That made infections seem worse than in France, Great Britain, and America, who suffered more deaths from influenza than war, but suppressed facts to avoid encouraging enemies.

With no effective vaccines or anti-viral treatments in that pre-antibiotic era, the runaway death toll likely ended the war earlier than predicted. While other viruses favored children, the elderly, and those with weakened immune systems, the 1918 strain ravaged healthy victims like soldiers, turning their immune systems against their own bodies.


New York churches, businesses, and saloons closed. People starved, fearing shopping for food, and nobody would visit. “Healthy” people boarded the Coney Island subway and died before reaching Columbus Circle. In one 10-week siege, 20,000 died.

But officials held that battling on foreign soil trumped surviving in the homeland. President Woodrow Wilson rejected policies that might weaken America’s role in the conflict. U.S. Surgeon General Rupert Blue described “mild cases of influenza.”

If the 1918 flu recurred today, it would kill more Americans in a year than die annually from heart disease, cancers, strokes, chronic pulmonary disease, AIDS and Alzheimer’s disease. It’s possible: Type A avian flu influenza viruses that adapt best to vaccines spring from the 1918 virus. A severe strain could mutate this year (Northern Hemisphere pandemics usually hit in late spring or early summer). New cases may have peaked, but the season lasts through May.

Researchers recently found that simply breathing without coughing or sneezing spreads the virus. They advocate staying home, vaccination, and hand washing.

Jonathan Quick, M.D., Global Health Council chair, takes it a step further, saying, “We have inadvertently developed a powerful way of helping influenza to kill us, 100 years on,” citing the crowding of thousands of pigs or chickens in poor conditions, creating the ideal lethal virus environment.

Despite our 1918 influenza genome sequencing and global systems tracking emerging strains, a new pandemic could collapse global economies, disrupt food and medical supplies, and worse.

Quick says this “disaster-movie nightmare” is “waiting to come true, thanks to the most diabolical, hardest-to-control and fastest-spreading potential viral killer known to humankind.”

How Long Island’s Irene Corwin Davison Helped Win Women’s Right to Vote

Left: Womens suffrag paradein New York City, May, 6, 1912. Right: Suffrage Wagon heads to Long Island in the summer of 1913. L-R: Edna Kearns, Serena Kearns, Irene Davison. (Library of Congress photos)

In mid-1800s America, citizens were defined as male, not female; nonwhite men and freed slaves could vote, but women couldn’t; and married women could not own property in their own right or make legal contracts on their own behalf.

To protect her rights, Irene Corwin Davison never married, instead working to improve  unfair working conditions for women and children, inadequate public health programs, and discriminatory education practices.

Tall and intelligent, Davison was a dedicated reformer, organizer, marcher, poll-watcher, canvasser, and generous member of the community. She instigated change using her plucky personality, her financial freedom — and a sturdy old wagon.


Her father, Oliver Davison, an area pioneer, ran the grist- and saw mill he inherited. One of the few free entry ports, the “Near Rockaway” business prospered.

His daughter, Irene, was born in 1871. After completing college preparatory courses at Brooklyn’s Packer Collegiate Institute and graduating from Pratt Institute, she taught art in Jericho schools, and was one of the first women to open her own insurance agency.

Years earlier, New York State had been dubbed the “Cradle of the Women’s Movement” after the organized women’s rights convention in Seneca Falls in 1848. At the convention’s heart was the quest for suffrage: the right to vote in political elections. Their Declaration of Sentiments outlined rights that women citizens should have, by adding to the Declaration of Independence “all men and women are created equal.”

The opposition reacted: One newspaper even ran editorials asking who would darn socks if women got the vote.

During the Civil War, suffragists concentrated on abolishing slavery. By the late 1890s, they regrouped, joining the Progressives. With social services struggling with industrialization, urbanization, and European immigration, suffragists fought to open health clinics, outlaw child labor, and improve factory conditions.


In 1902, in her early 30s, Davison joined women from East Rockaway’s oldest families to exchange books. Drawing strength from reading, by 1906, they had built the new East Rockaway Free Library. Davison and her two older sisters worked for suffrage, which was making headway.

In March 1913, the day before U.S. President-elect Woodrow Wilson’s inauguration, crowds were expected. But the Pennsylvania Avenue suffragists upstaged him.

“Where are the people?,” he reportedly asked, and was told, “On the Avenue watching the suffragists parade.”

Those 8,000 marchers called for a constitutional convention. Many were attacked by the mostly male spectators; police allegedly ignored the violence and 100 marchers were hospitalized. The event generated national attention and congressional hearings — but no legislation.


Several months later, Davison helped engineer a hugely successful publicity stunt. It was July 1, summer’s peak, when she left Manhattan, drawn by their horse “Suffragette” in a one-horse shay built in 1776. The wagon bore banners saying, “Votes for Women” and yellow knapsacks (the color of suffrage). Davison, then 42, rode with suffragist Edna Buckman Kearns, dressed in hot minutemen garb, and Kearns’ daughter, 8-year-old Serena.

They headed to Long Island for a month of speeches at meetings and rallies. Another “wagon woman,” Rosalie Jones of Cold Spring Harbor, often drove her yellow wagon next to them. They were among many activists crisscrossing the Island and major U.S. cities from 1913 to 1915.

The news-savvy Davison helped stage a September 1913 event that drew hundreds of women and men. For the Aerial Party encampment on the Hempstead Plains aviation field (now Roosevelt Field), 50 women slept in a hangar. Davison later worked as a poll watcher, asking Sayville voters to sign statements saying that the vote should be granted to New York women in 1915. The following year, Davison became president of the South Side Political Equality League of Lynbrook and East Rockaway. When her father died in 1916, the 45-year-old, considered an “old maid,” sold his farm to create one of the Island’s first housing developments.


In 1920, after decades of activism, women were granted the vote in national elections. The New York Times wrote that women succeeded “despite the fears of anti-suffragists that when a woman received the right to vote, ‘political gossip would cause her to neglect the home, forget to mend our clothes and burn the biscuits.’”

Davison continued educating women on the importance of voting. The League of Women Voters named her Nassau County outstanding suffragette and listed her name on a bronze plaque in Albany. She died on November 12, 1948, and was buried in Rockville Cemetery in Lynbrook.

Theodore Roosevelt: A Study in Contrast

Long Island's Teddy Roosevelt
Long Island's Teddy Roosevelt

He started life as a sickly, asthmatic child, confined to his bed. But illness didn’t stop him: Before reaching the age of 42, he had become the 26th president of the United States — the youngest person to hold that title.

Theodore Roosevelt Jr. was a strong-willed natural leader who embraced constant challenges. Dubbed the “conservation president,” he went up against timber barons to establish the U.S. Forest Service and hundreds of national forests, bird reserves, game preserves, and national parks, while protecting 230 million acres of public land. He signed into law the Antiquities Act to protect archaeological sites and monuments.

And yet, this nature worshipper was an obsessive hunter who tracked grizzly bears, stalked endangered white rhinos, and killed hundreds of animals — not all in the name of science.


Born in 1858 in a New York City brownstone, “Teedie” grew up thirsting for adventure. The bright 8-year-old preserved specimens and founded the “Roosevelt Natural History Museum” in his bedroom. He read obsessively, and by age 11 was writing essays on insects.

His merchant-philanthropist father, Theodore Roosevelt Sr., helped found the American Museum of Natural History in 1869. Teedie later donated his childhood natural history cabinet, containing thousands of animal specimens, to the museum. Encouraged by his parents to exercise, Teedie improved his health through the “strenuous life.”

He hiked, rode horses, and swam during summers around Cove Neck and at Tranquility, his family’s summer home in Oyster Bay. He hoped to become a naturalist and studied natural history and zoology at Harvard University.

After graduating magna cum laude in 1880, TR purchased land in Cove Neck for a home for his new wife, Alice Hathaway Lee.


Enrolling in Columbia Law School, he dropped out in 1882 to pursue public service as a Republican. But his ambitions were crushed in 1884, when his mother and his wife both died, on Valentine’s Day.

The political life could not ease his grief. He headed for the Dakota Badlands, a buckskin-clad, New York City tenderfoot who reined in his sorrow by living in the saddle and hunting big game.

Roosevelt’s hunting passion was shaped by Victorian attitudes. Feathers and dead bird parts adorned women’s hats and boas, while gentlemen hunters embodied “all the qualities of the idealized, rugged, independent American,” as described in Environment and Society. Big-game specimens were collected — killed — to become trophies. Despite poor eyesight, Roosevelt loved the chase; he later recalled a group safari that “made our veins thrill.”

In 1885, on one of the last Dakotas buffalo hunts, he shot a bison, but the injured creature was never found. After several years he came home to pursue politics, married Edith Carow, and settled at Sagamore Hill. By age 25, TR was a three-time New York State assemblyman. He served as a reformer — on the Civil Service Commission, as police commissioner, assistant secretary of the Navy, governor of New York and vice president.

When President William McKinley was assassinated, Roosevelt assumed the office and curbed corporate power as a trust- buster. He was awarded the Nobel Prize in 1906 for brokering an end to the Russo-Japanese War.

As President from 1901 to 1909, he fought for wilderness preservation — and he hunted. On one 1909 safari, the Smithsonian-Roosevelt African Expedition, more than 11,000 animals were donated for taxidermy. Roosevelt and his son Kermit shot 512 animals, from aardwolves to zebras, many at excessive ranges. Author Bartle Bull wrote in that the safari outfitter described “the slaughter which [Roosevelt] and his party perpetrated.”

This was the Jekyll and Hyde duality of Theodore Roosevelt. Today, his many supporters flock to his sprawling North Shore estate Sagamore Hill, where he lived from 1885 until his death in 1919. They view original furnishings and mementos throughout the 23-room Queen Anne home surrounded by forests and salt marshes. They absorb stories about the international dignitaries who visited this Summer White House from 1902 to 1908.

And they stare at his abundant hunting souvenirs — once-majestic creatures on display, now stuffed and silent — trying to understand the figure who is both revered and reviled.

Besides Opulent Estates, Vanderbilts Left Scandalous Legacy

Willie K. Vanderbilt’s Eagle Nest mansion in Centerport.

Any fool can make a fortune; it takes a man of brains to hold onto it.
—Cornelius Vanderbilt

From the North Shore’s Gold Coast to the South Shore, they lived golden lives during the Gilded Age. But their scandal-ridden hijinks sullied their reputations and their fortunes nearly vanished, leaving only a dusty picture fading into history.

The dynasty began with Cornelius Vanderbilt. Born into poverty in Staten Island in 1794, he left school at age 11 to work with his father’s ferry business. At age 16 his mother loaned him $100 to start a Long Island Sound ferry; undercutting the competition, he made $1,000 that year, then expanded to the Hudson River and New England.

His character was despicable: One descendant said Cornelius was “Illiterate, bad-tempered and foul-mouthed,” and would “spit streams of tobacco juice and fondle the maids.” His philandering infected him and his wife, first cousin Sophia Johnson, with syphilis when he was 19. He ignored his daughters, insulted his sons, and committed family members to lunatic asylums.

He sold his shipping empire, bought New York Central and Long Island Rail Road, built Grand Central Station, and acquired ocean liners worth $100 million when he died at age 82, the richest American man disinherited all offspring except his eldest son, William Henry “Billy” Vanderbilt. Billy doubled his inheritance before dying in 1885, leaving much of his $200 million to his son, William Kissam Vanderbilt I.

Cornelius Vanderbilt


Like banks deemed too big to fail, the Vanderbilts’ wealth seemed invincible. They collected fine art, donated millions, endowed a university, and endured legal battles—a $10 million divorce, a custody battle over a child worth $5 million—and other scandals. They outdid each other by “Vanderbuilding” palaces for worshipping late 19th-century opulence.

Near what is now Connetquot River State Park Preserve, William Kissam Vanderbilt I established his 900-acre Oakdale hunting retreat/holiday residence in 1876. The estate boasted a 110-room mansion, palm house, bowling alley, English maze, and game pen with deer and elk. The mansion burned down repeatedly—first in 1899, during the honeymoon of his son William Kissam Vanderbilt Jr.—but the couple escaped and the mansion was rebuilt. It served as part of Dowling College but was auctioned last year after Dowling declared bankruptcy. Preservationists are lobbying against demolition and redevelopment.

William Kissam Vanderbilt II (Willie K.), a Harvard dropout who pursued speed sports, travel, and natural history, started developing his park-like, 560-acre “Success Lake” Deepdale estate in 1902. Of the structures—a 17-room mansion, inner terrace, sculptured columns, two crystal conservatories, a stable, and terraced views—one remains: Deepdale Gate Lodge.


Willie K. created the first major road racing competition, the Vanderbilt Cup, in 1904. But he lost a fortune in the 1907 stock market crash and even tried selling vacuum cleaners and jewelry. After his 1909 divorce, unable to acquire Lake Success land, he abandoned his Georgian Colonial home.

In 1910, he started building a “modest” bachelor getaway house in Centerport overlooking Long Island Sound. The 43-acre estate grew to 11 buildings – a 24-room-Spanish Revival mansion (“Eagle’s Nest”), museums, a golf course, boathouse, seaplane hangar, and a salt-water pool. He hosted the Duke and Duchess of Windsor, the Tiffanys, and other notables, reportedly playing $50,000-per-hole golf with the Rockefellers. From Centerport, he sailed his yacht around the globe with a 50-person crew, collecting natural history and marine specimens.

Willie K. opened his home to the public in the 1930s; he died in 1944 and bequeathed the estate to the county with $2 million for upkeep. The Suffolk County Vanderbilt Museum has been open to the public since 1950, and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

The Vanderbilts’ legacy includes mansions, summer palaces, farms, museums, golf courses, country estates, and fascinating stories to go with them. Some remain, but many have vanished. But that’s another history.

Michael Crichton: Roslyn Heights’ Renaissance Man

Michael Crichton speaks on "The Media and Medicine" at Harvard Medical School in Boston, MA on Thursday, April 11, 2002. staff photo by Jon Chase/Harvard University News Office

In the 1950s, there were three fuzzy, black-and-white TV channels. Direct-dial phones, credit cards, iContraptions and computers didn’t exist.

It was this low-tech suburbia that produced Michael Crichton and his popular predictions of technological disasters.

Although he died from cancer in 2008 at age 66, Crichton’s popularity continues. Jurassic Park spawned five films; the next debuts in June 2018. A Swiss collector paid $100,000 for the crate housing the movie’s velociraptor. Crichton’s novels are in film and TV development. And an ankylosaur, Crichtonsaurus bohlini, bears his name.

The screenwriter, director, producer, anthropologist, professor, and physician — a true Renaissance man — focused on monsters running amok. Did his upbringing fuel such scenarios?

“I Was the Weird Kid”

He was born John Michael Crichton in 1942 in Chicago. In 1948, the family moved to Roslyn Heights and he attended Green Vale and East Hills Elementary. In 1996, he revisited Roslyn High, reminiscing with Newsday about childhood: Nobody feared being murdered. There was no known drug use. Child abuse wasn’t discussed. Children walked to school and rode bikes.

But paradise was imperfect. Crichton recalled home as “a pretty crazy house with lots of turmoil and yelling and screaming.”

His mother, a homemaker, took the kids to museums and libraries. His father, a journalist and executive editor of Advertising Age, was a demanding “first-rate son of a bitch,” Crichton said. Although they fought, the ad man provided inspiration. By third grade, Michael was writing plays. He loved movies, but they were forbidden. His parents relented with art films and movies by Alfred Hitchcock, Crichton’s first hero.

“The older I get, the more it seems that Hitchcock is the major influence,” Crichton recalled. No surprise there: Hitch loved trapping reluctant heroes in majestic settings, pursued by out-of-control powers.

“Big Mike” was 6 feet 7 inches tall by age 13. “I was the weird kid who wrote extra assignments….tall and gangly and awkward and I needed to escape,” he said.

Excelling at varsity basketball, he set three MVP records. He was an A student, the school paper news editor, a Latin scholar, and Harvard-bound.

“A Colossally Talented Guy”

Former Harvard Crimson editorial chair Robert W. Gordon said that “he was relatively understated…. It was only later on that many of us learned about many of the amazing different things he was doing at the time. He was a colossally talented guy.”

Crichton possessed a prescience about computers, completing his thesis on an IBM mainframe computer that occupied an entire building. He wrote programming manuals and computer games. He explored ethics regarding robotics and genetic engineering.

Majoring in anthropology, he wanted to be a journalist. But after earning C-minuses in English, disillusioned, Crichton decided on medical school. He graduated Harvard in 1964 summa cum laude.

To offset Harvard Medical School tuition, he wrote spy novels under a pen name. His first, A Case of Need, won a Mystery Writers of America Edgar award.

Graduating as an M.D. in 1969, he wrote full time; that year, his runaway-virus novel The Andromeda Strain was published under Crichton’s name. Universal Studios bought the novel and a young TV director, Steven Spielberg, guided him around the set.

Crichton directed Coma, Westworld and The Great Train Robbery, and wrote novels including best-sellers Sphere and Congo. Many became films, earning him tens of millions of dollars annually. TV’s ER and the movie Westworld revolutionized computer and camera effects.

New Life For Dinosaurs

On hearing about Crichton’s dinosaur-theme park idea, Spielberg committed to direct. The Jurassic Park films have earned $3.5 billion worldwide.

But insecurity plagued Crichton; much-married and divorced, he wrote incessantly. He told Charlie Rose, “My experience is of not being very gifted at writing, and of having to try really hard.”

Crichton wrote Jurassic Park six years before the first successful sheep cloning. Today, ironically, Harvard Medical School Genetics Professor Dr. George M. Church is using genome sequencing to resurrect the extinct woolly mammoth.

What would Crichton the future forecaster think of de-extinction? He might quote from Jurassic Park, “Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could that they didn’t stop to think if they should.”



Christie Brinkley Spills All About Her Kids, Activism and Her Wine

That dazzling smile is instantly recognizable. No wonder: Supermodel Christie Brinkley has appeared on some 500 magazine covers around the world. Today, at age 63, the Malibu-raised surfer girl is an environmental rights advocate, humanitarian, TV host, Broadway star, New York Times best-selling author, and entrepreneur. The longtime Long Island resident spoke with the Long Island Press about Christie Brinkley Authentic Skin Care products, Hair2Wear extensions, Bellissima Prosecco sparkling wines, and the creativity and gratitude that sustain her.

Long Island Press: What would other people be surprised to learn about you?

CB: Some people say, “You should stay silent,” or, “Oh, just be pretty—that’s your job.” I’m an Aquarius. We believe that one individual can make a difference. It’s your responsibility to leave this world a bit better than you found it. As a kid I marched against the Vietnam war, but I support our troops and the people who stand up for us. I marched against putting nuclear weapons on fault lines in California. I led the Pledge of Allegiance at the Los Angeles Democratic convention. I am patriotic. I think the NFL should support players who take a knee. They respect the right that that flag represents. I do, too. But it’s got to be equal for everyone.

LIP: You have a long history of activism. What do you think about our country today?

CB: I’m really distressed by everything I see. I think President Trump is a divider. We have to be really, really careful to not allow that to happen. I think the segment of people that makes us feel like we’re terribly divided is much smaller than we’re led to believe. I could cry about this, I feel so strongly about it. I’m really apoplectic that we can mention nuclear war so casually, as if this is something we could recover from—because we can’t. Nuclear war is not an option. It’s immoral, it’s unethical, it’s like a death wish. Nothing good can come from that. Nothing. I’m distressed about what this
administration is doing to our environment. All the initiatives put in place to protect our health are being removed. I’m a very protective mom and even though my kids are grown, they’re still my babies. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let this administration destroy our children’s rights to breathe the air. A million children die every year in China because of the pollution—but they’re doing something about it.

LIP: With your kids grown, have you become an empty nester?

CB: Last year, Sailor, my last child at home, left. This is her second year of college. She was back that weekend with half the class that were new friends. So the house became a nest full of even more kids. When they do come home, they come home with a crowd. I really haven’t had time to get empty-nest syndrome yet.

LIP: What do you enjoy most right now?

CB: My life is so very full and busy. I feel so grateful that I have so many opportunities. I love spending time with my kids. When I do have spare time, I have wonderful friends. I love the fact that I have no routine to my life. I really do thrive on all the change, and every day is different. I work with different people all the time, whether it’s a group of people I work with on Prosecco, or all the wonderful people at Christie Brinkley Authentic Skin Care and Hair2Wear.

LIP: Why did you get into the wine business?

CB: My mom taught me to be grateful. If I felt low or sorry for myself, she said, “How dare you? Just count your blessings.” To that end, we loved to pop a cork and turn any situation into a celebration. It makes you look at life through a prism of gratitude. We’re certified organic and vegan, gluten free with no added sulfites, non-GMO, and delicious. A normal glass of wine has 52 chemicals. Unless certified vegan, wine is filtered through animal parts.

LIP: If you could live a different life, what would it be like?

CB: I wouldn’t change anything about the life I’ve lived because everything I did got me to my three children. Though it’s not always easy, they were the prize. If someone waved a magic wand, I’d love to spend more time on a giant schooner sailing from island to island. I’d love to raise the sails, harness the wind, and explore places I’ve never been. I’d dive off the bow into crystal-clear waters and swim up to beautiful islands.

LIP: After several marriages, you’re currently unattached. Is there anyone special in your life?

CB: No one really, right now. I’m just sort of dabbling.

LIP: What’s always in your refrigerator?

CB: Tons of fruits, vegetables, and acidophilus—a healthy gut is a happy gut. And a bottle of Prosecco.