Summer on Long Island at the age of twelve was a time of adventures and exciting adolescence, leaving grammar school, thinking of great things awaiting in high school, girls, baseball, soccer, and all the positive unknowns ahead. Our lives were wonderful and carefree, and of course would continue forever.

Meanwhile there were three months of beaching, swimming, fishing, crabbing, and tanning (we were all deep brown by Labor Day), hanging out at Kozy Korner, the best ice cream parlor in the village.

Despite it all, boredom would occasionally set in. Spontaneity was typical of our behavior, a suggestion would be made and we would quickly move to new adventures. Andy decided that he and Mickey should break the monotony by taking a boat across the bay to Fire Island for a dip in the ocean. "Why not, let's do it," was the typical response.

They never considered notifying their parents, or making any unusual preparations. Mickey lived with his grandparents who never seemed too concerned regarding any of his escapades. It wasn't that they were neglectful. It was a time of innocence and they accepted that he was comfortable in this environment and able to fend for himself, even at this early age. The perceived him to be one with nature. It was not necessarily true.

Getting to Fire Island was more than just hopping in a boat and rowing across the bay. It required passing through a narrow half-mile creek that eventually widened into a delta as it met the bay.

The creek (John's Neck Creek) was essentially a play ground for them One in which they spent many hours learning about its natural secrets. It was filled with surprises and a large assortment of wild life. They had no idea who owned it, but merely accepted it as their "swamp." It was there for their exploration, diversion and entertainment.

The creek was bordered by swamp grass, huge reeds grew on the banks narrow segments, they contained cigar like "punks" or cattails, as some called them. They didn't smoke well despite what was said. They would inevitably see large snapping turtles; long stemmed birds of unusual distinction would flurry into their path on occasion. Ducks of various varieties with their broods were common place. Of course mosquitoes and dragonflies were omnipresent.

They wore nothing but bathing suits, practical and convenient if they wanted to hop over the side to obtain a dozen clams as they crossed the bay. No picnic basket, no water, barefoot and free without useless appendages. Just the boat and a set of oars, there might be a can for bailing. The boat usually leaked a bit. Crossing took about an hour, they expected they would be home by four.

Fire Island was about a thousand yards wide from the bay side to the ocean. It required walking along a path not well traveled, strewn with clumps of grass along the way. The patches of grass were useful because the sand was excruciatingly hot to their bare feet. The only practical way to make it was to jump from clump to clump, oohing and aahing all the way.

Sand dunes were the last hurdle before the ocean. They were high with steep drops to the beach. Great for running, rolling and scampering into the deliciously cool ocean water, soothing and invigorating after the hot sand.

The year was 1946, the war had ended, however, Fire Island continued to be inhabited by divisions of Coast Guard across the more than seventy-five miles of coast line. They served a very real function in protecting the East Coast from enemies during those critical war years.

Mickey and Andy were body surfacing in the ocean for about an hour, enjoying the invigorating surf, usually twenty degrees cooler or more than the atmosphere. They would occasionally come out, race down a dune, roll around in the sand and reenter with a glorious splash.

Just as they "owned" the creek, they also considered this beach theirs. Rarely was anyone present. It was only accessible by boat, a small boat in fact due to the shallow approach from the bay side. They never perceived of this ever changing. This beach would always be there for them without intrusion and disruption.

About three in the afternoon, the sky began to cloud over and the wind blew fiercely. The rapid change in weather convinced them to leave. They ran across the still burning sand toward the bay. They could see the waves kicking up and crowning white caps hurtling their boat from side to side. Fortunately, it was anchored securely. These were climate changes neither of them had experienced in a boat.

Typically the bay was calm. One person could easily row the boat under normal conditions. Now the raging waves made it necessary for both of them to row side by side. They began in earnest, but quickly realized that it was beyond their combined strength to move away from the shore. The rowed with all their might but the wind and waves were unforgiving. The small boat was no match for the turbulence. The waves kept driving them back.

They both became concerned. The thought of spending the night on the island was something they anticipated or could accept. They had no means of communication to contact anyone for assistance. The Island was barren with the exception of the Coast Guard Station that was at least two miles away.

The both expressed their concern and frustration. "Mick, we are not going to make it.," said Andy. Mickey could do nothing but nod his head, as he pulled his oar out of the water allowing the boat to veer toward shore. "Heck, if the wind wants us back on the Island, lets go, we can ask for help at the C.G. station." He responded. "Yeah, but that's two miles away." expressed Andy. "So what, we ain't going anywhere this way." said Mickey.

It took no effort to get back to shore; the wind and waves drove them to where they had begun. They firmly anchored the boat, and began the long walk to the Coast Guard Station.

They followed a service road that enabled them to avoid the burning sand. They began discussing the dilemma as they walked. "What do we tell them when we get there, " asked Mick. "We tell them we can't make it back home and ask for a lift back home, maybe we'll get a ride in one of those cutters," said Andy. "I don't know what we'll do with our boat, we may have to come back tomorrow to pick it up." Mickey wasn't convinced it was going to be that easy but did not voice his concern.

The Coast Guard Station came into view. It consisted of a series of large wooden buildings worn and weathered from exposure to wind, rain, sand and sun. The building could not have been older than seven or eight years old but appeared older.

As they walked into the compound they were greeted by quizzical looks by the seamen who were walking about. "He fellows, where you going," asked one, implying they were in an area where they didn't belong. "Mister, we are in trouble," shouted Andy. We began to relate our problem to the young sailor, who finally stated, "come with me."

They followed him along an elevated walkway that connected the buildings. They entered a waiting room approaching a series of offices. "Sit here, I will be right back, " he indicated pointing to several leather bound chairs. The carpeted floors felt great on bare feet. They stared in awe at the surroundings. The very comfortable furniture did not seem to fit a beach environment. On the other hand, they had never seen a military installation before. They sat there tired and disheveled. Thirst and hunger began to preoccupy them. They notice a water cooler nearby and satisfied one problem.

In a few moments the sailor who they now knew as seamen third class O'hara reappeared. He escorted them to the Captain's office. The Captain a handsome man sat behind a huge desk piled with papers and office paraphernalia. Behind him was another piece of furniture that displayed a series of photographs that were apparently his family. On the walls were nautical paintings that fit right in to the feel of the office. He was dressed in a khaki uniform much different than the denim attire of the sailors they had seen. There were epaulets on his shoulder and yellow stripes down his sleeve. He seemed to be amused at their plight. "So you're the two stranded sailors, are you." he asked? "Yes sir," they both responded with what they perceived was proper military fashion.

"Tell you what we are going to do," he said with broad grin. "It is now mess time, so we're going to feed you and then get your boat and ferry across the bay. How's that?" "That's great," they both said as they followed their escort out of the office. It seemed a salute was in order, but neither one of them were sure of just how to do it, though they both were familiar with John Wayne movies.

They again followed O'hara to the huge Mess Hall that contained several hundred sailors in various stages of dining. They were greeted by huge smiles and introduced to several sailors nearby. O'hara handed them large segmented metal trays and led them to the cafeteria line. The variety of food was more then they had ever seen. Several selections of meat, vegetables, potatoes, corn on the cob; scrumptious pies and other desserts were displayed behind the serving line. They both ate their fill; it was more than eight hours since their last meal.

They enjoyed the comradely of the sailors sitting with them as they related their tale of "battling the sea." The seamen were highly amused. Mickey and Andy began thinking how pleasant an experience this had become. They were now veterans of an adventure at sea.

After the meal O'hara and two additional sailors accompanied them to a large coast guard cruiser docked along a pier on the bay side. It took no time to reach their small rowboat. However, because of the shallow water it was necessary for Mickey to jump over the side and manually pull the boat to the cruiser that idled in the deeper water.

The ride across the bay took no longer than fifteen minutes. As they approached the shore the seamen pulled the rowboat along side the cruiser as Mickey and Andy jumped back in. They waved goodbye shouting their gratitude as they rowed into the creek and home. They both congratulated themselves on turning a difficult time into a fun filled day. They remarked on how great a life it must be to be a coast guard.

It was now past seven p.m. late, but not that late. They docked their boat and returned home. Grandma greeted Mickey with her broken English mixed with Italian expressions, "why you late, tu fa fama?" she asked. "No, I'm not hungry," he stated, without explaining why he was late. No other questions were asked.

TWENTY YEARS LATER

Mickey drove across the new bridge to Fire Island for the first time. A beach pavilion and snack bar had replaced the coast guard station. It was now a State Park guarded by uniformed sentinels. He looked across the shoreline both east and west. The sand dunes were no longer high. Worn down by years of traffic and erosion. The waves and sea were the same. The walk to the sea was now along a spacious boardwalk. You no longer needed to be concerned about the burning sand.

He looked with amazement and regret that there were now three thousand people on his beach.

Postscript: The Smith Point Coast Guard Station was abandoned in the '50's and got torched in the '60's. Greta Tucker recalls riding her bike to Eugenie Smith's dock in the '40's and calling the Coast Guard from a phone that was there. They would send a boat over and Greta and her friends would spend a day at the beach. K.S.