An exhibition of Stephen Longmire's photographs from Keeping Time in Sag Harbor will be on display at the Nantucket Historical Association through June 7th. He will be speaking as part of the exhibition and signing copies of the book on May 9th at 2pm. In anticipation of the event, Longmire offered the following perspective on the changing times in Sag Harbor:
Like many large photographic projects, Keeping Time in Sag Harbor began with an impulse to record something that was disappearing. That's strange to say, since its subject is the architecture of a community protected by landmarks legislation. This former whaling port turned summer resort, my home on and off for over forty years, was heavily rebuilt during the nation's recent housing boom. The photographs were made to help me tell a story, as I watched the balance shift on an eclectic community of artists, writers, working people and retirees, while their houses were gradually transformed into weekend homes for wealthier New Yorkers. Many local people were priced out, even as others profited. The reasons were larger than local, as we now know.
As the book went to press, early in 2007, I was updating the manuscript to reflect the early signs of an economic downturn, which had realtors on the East End of Long Island worried. One can no longer speak of a booming real estate market, even here. The East End is Bernie Madoff country, one big Ponzi scheme, which fed on the conviction that property values could not drop, that new money would keep pouring in. "Capitalism," a University of Chicago friend told me years ago, "is the only perpetual motion machine." The machine may have stalled, but the story I tried to tell, of a preserved community struggling to shape its future, has continued.
The summer the book came out, Sag Harbor celebrated its 300th birthday, and many concerned citizens worried their community was being taken over by developers. The trend that had been working over the back streets arrived downtown. Several condominium projects were proposed at once, and rumors swirled about national retail chains buying up commercial buildings. Suddenly, the village was full of buttons and bumper stickers saying "Save Sag Harbor" and "Sag Harbor is Not For Sale." In the 1960s and 70s, local merchants struggled to attract tourists, eager to sell them on the charms of a historic port just 100 miles from Manhattan. Was this the price of success—or had no one bargained on two decades of cheap credit?
Starting in 1973, the village became a historic district, giving its citizens a say in any change to their built environment. In an increasingly seasonal community, where many houses are empty much of the time, the people's voice isn't always strong, but recent efforts to organize seasonal residents have changed this somewhat.
Some front page topics of the past two years… Should a historic factory, once a toxic Brownfield site, be remodeled as luxury condominiums? And does the developer have an obligation to provide affordable housing, an urgent community need, on site? Should an unbuilt section of the waterfront be developed as more condos, or acquired by the village as parkland? Should the library expand into a recently vacated church nearby or build a new building on the outskirts of the village, like the church's congregation? Should the shopping plaza at the base of Main Street be taken over by a large chain store, which would sell certain essentials cheaply, or should the many small businesses now there be protected?
The biggest question of all is not yet up for debate: can the community continue to make its living off real estate, selling its property at a profit, or will it find another business? Sag Harbor has faced economic crises before, reinventing itself as a manufacturing center after whaling went belly up in the 1850s, then shifting its focus to tourism when its principal factory, which made watch cases, failed—first in the Depression, then again in 1981. What will it do next?
I hoped the book would address issues of concern elsewhere too. What is the value of protecting bricks and mortar, if human communities cannot be protected when economic forces overwhelm them? Is historic preservation a success when it saves a community for newcomers? What can we learn from such early American boomtowns that have died and been reborn before? Where do a community's values reside?
These issues were on my mind as I prepared a companion exhibition of my photographs for two venues outside Sag Harbor, at New York's South Street Seaport Museum last fall and the Nantucket Historical Association this spring. Sag Harbor and Nantucket were rival whaling ports; Sag Harbor and New York City were once the state's ports of entry. All three communities enjoy landmarks protection and have survived economic transformations. Resorts like Sag Harbor and Nantucket are on the front lines of the collapsing housing market, since they became preserves for economic speculation—of which whaling was an early form. It's ironic, since these communities, with their recycled housing and walkable downtowns, should be models of sustainable design.
The two years since the book came out have been poignant ones for me, as I've wondered how long I could call Sag Harbor home. I photographed and wrote the book after moving away, then returned unexpectedly as it appeared—the result of changes in my wife's employment. After trying again to find a balance between housing and work here, we're packing to move away again as I write. (The median price of a house here remains over $1 million, and people describe houses that cost three-quarters of a million as cheap.) I'll keep my sailboat mooring and my grave plot—the only Sag Harbor real estate I expect to afford in this lifetime. But I remain hopeful for my community—and hopeful I've returned some of the favors it's done for me. —Stephen Longmire
All photos copyright Stephen Longmire
For more information on Longmire's Keeping Time in Sag Harbor, you can watch a recent interview with him on Plum TV.