Bonfire of the Stupidities

"Parts of the Hamptons are a well-known playground for the rich who own summer homes
there as well as a seaside resort frequented by the residents of New York City during the
summer months for weekend getaways..."

That's what Wiki says about the place where I grew up. The place where I spent, not only my summer weekends but my summer, winter, spring and fall weekdays as well. The kids who would come out with their families every summer would ask me where I live and I'd say, completely blind to the cultural gap, "Here...?" An old-money 13-year-old once said in response, "Here? People live here in the winter?"

Wiki goes on to report:
"Many year-round residents find the term 'Hamptons' to be misleading..."

Indeed. Though I don't personally find it misleading since to me "Hamptons" is a place defined by its multiple personality disorder. It just is... it's two things alternating, and at once. In the summer it wears crisp Polo and in the winter it wears a hooded sweatshirt with the cuffs cut off with a pair of scissors.

In the colder months the shops and the ice cream drive-in would close down, you couldn't park in the beach parking lots after dark, there were no more concerts at the gazebo, the flowers and shrubs were neatly wrapped in burlap. Us local teenagers spent a lot of time watching our breath make steam in the cold air at the 7-11 parking lot (which was made, per code, to look wooden and quaint) waiting for someone to give in and invite everyone back to his house.

It took us four years to discover a place we could go-- undisturbed, unsupervised, all-access. In 1998, a small group of Westhampton Beach High school seniors discovered Spinny Hills.

Though deep within Long Island's precious pine barrens, none of us idiots could ever point to it on a map-- the only way we even knew it was there was because it was at the end of some kid's street- some boy who'd stumbled upon it (literally) one night while looking for a place to drink beer alone, without his parents finding out. And that's exactly what Spinny Hills became- a place for us to escape adults, and potentially, looming adulthood.

It was unclear whether it had been discovered by lost teenagers before us, just looking for a place to hang out. Certainly it was an old trail-- the buzzing echoes of ATVs and dirt bikes had long since been heard. At some point, the location had been used as an illegal dumping site- there was lots of old furniture laying around and large, indistinguishable pieces of metal, wood, cardboard.

Our Spinny Hills was several muddy clearings in the middle of the woods, linked by narrow, sandy trails. This video, here, really captures the essence of this simple place. Though it seems much bigger in my memory.

Every weekend, we would drive into the clearing through an otherwise less-traveled side street in East Quogue. I'm sure some, if not all, of the residents of that street called the cops about the weekly teenage caravans. Some cars were too small to cut through the mud and would have to park near the entrance and either walk in or get a ride from someone. My best girlfriend drove a JMC truck we called "Jimmy." She could drive right into Spinny's and once into the clearing she'd speed into a series of donuts- so fast that the entire backseat of her old tuck would come right out and it'd feel like we were floating in space inside our rocket.

Then like everyone else, we'd park, get out and sit on the open flat-bed of someone's pickup, or on the hood, or open the car doors and turn on the radio to the highest volume.

I saw our class's top academic do a keg stand at Spinny Hills.

One of my clearest memories was the night of the spontaneous bonfire. Well, only spontaneous in the sense that someone spontaneously had the idea to start lighting stuff on fire. Not like it was a miracle.

I'm not sure what happened first-- maybe it was a cold night and someone was considerate enough to think to warm us all with the heat of cavemen. Maybe someone was playing with a lighter. Maybe someone dropped a lit cigarette and the whole thing was an accident. But first went in a few pieces of wood, and that burned really well, made a decent flame. Then a couple of guys carried in the small, disgusting love seat that had been in the woods for months, and dropped it into the fire. And the fire grew. Someone added the load of flattened cardboard boxes that was also part of the trash heap... and then a lawn chair... some plastic pipes. Our bonfire was huge and it made all the drunk boys act like lords of the flies. People were screaming and chanting and laughing-- daring even more ridiculous pieces of trash into the fiery sand pit. Every time something went in, the fire dipped down at first, then roared high. Fights broke out around the fire- the biggest kid in our high school emerged from the convulsion with blood on his T-shirt, but he didn't appear to be hurt. He released a battle cry and held an old mattress high over his head and dumped it into the pile with great dramatic flair. Everyone cheered. The mattress broke down in small explosions, letting out a sprays of snow-like fibers. It rained over us, as we watched it drift into the cold night air. The stars were bright over the tree-tops.

The following Monday everyone was talking about the craziness. (Apparently someone got their face broken in the melee? I never saw a "face cast" on anyone though, so that one couldn't be verified). And there was some talk of toxins in mattresses that get released in especially high intensity when burned. We worried for about five minutes.

After that, the group at Spinny's experienced another night that could have ended much worse-- in fact, all nights could have ended much worse, but didn't. I think that thought only crossed our minds after the fact, like most 18-year-olds probably.

On this night one of our friends-- "Teddy," a guy with a history of alcohol-- went missing. He was a benign guy, super funny- just drank a lot whenever we all hung out. I'd always gotten the impression he'd been drinking for years and years. I'm not sure if this was true at the time.

This night, though, we couldn't find Teddy anywhere. We checked in all the parked cars, but no Teddy. And it was late and dark, in the woods, the guys had been drinking, people wanted to go home... He could have wandered anywhere- we never knew the depths of the pine barrens at that location.

Finally, one of the group's leaders, "PJ," stood on the back of someone's truck and hushed everyone until he had silence and then announced:
"Everyone, we're looking for Teddy. He's missing. We're going to all drive around Spinny's with our brights on and try to find him."

The last car to park at Spinny's pulled out first. And trudging slowly through the mud, every car followed. It was our well-intentioned, drunken, surprisingly-well-organized search party. Driver looked left, passengers looked right. Some of the pickup trucks had people standing in the backs with flashlights, screaming his name. We passed through clearing after clearing-- every section looked just like the last one. The possibilities seemed endless. At what point do 18-year-olds call the cops for help?

We completed what appeared to be one, full revolution, bringing us back to the charred remnants of our historic bonfire and the first car pulled into his original spot... then the second... but one car up ahead didn't pull in, he stopped. Everyone stuck their heads out to see what was the hold up.

Lying on his belly in a thick layer of mud, was Teddy-- smack in between two deep tire tracks from one of the cars that had pulled out-- right over him.

I mentioned miracles earlier. This was a miracle. He had somehow rolled under a car and passed out-- slept as the car pulled out over him. When we found him, Teddy was snoring.

Eventually the cops caught on to us. At first they put up a wooden barricade. We moved it aside and drove past it. We moved it back in place on our way out. Not really the point the police were trying to make I imagine.

The next time we tried to go to Spinny's there was an old car in our entrance. It was banged up and had no engine.

We never went back.

I wonder what goes on in Spinny's now? Are the dirt bike tracks in use again? Have the local kids found some other way to sneak in there and hang out- laugh and act stupid? I hope so.