247: WE ALL FALL IN LOVE SOMETIMES

“Wise men say, we’re still in Oyster Bay. Sagamore’s now a memory, Ol’ Ted’s just a stone’s throw away. Painted eyes that tried to guide me, aching legs that still mystify me, yet it’s all worth it. We all fall in love sometimes.”

For some strange reason, as my companions and I made our way up the twenty-six steps that led to a hilltop gravesite at Youngs Memorial Cemetery, a song suddenly filled my resin brain. The melody was very familiar as my photographer has played it a countless number of times over the years, but this time it seemed different, and not only because I changed the lyrics. I knew it had something to do with where we were at – in the tranquil ambiance of historic Oyster Bay. But it was more than that – I could feel it in my stainless-steel bones.

It was just past three-thirty in the afternoon on Saturday June 10, 2023 when my camera guy and I, along with our good friend Bob Moldenhauer, arrived at the iron-fenced fortress that surrounded the gravesite of our 26th President Theodore Roosevelt, and his wife, Edith Kermit Roosevelt. During my first visit to the cemetery on July 21, 2017, I quickly learned how difficult it was to pose anywhere near TR’s headstone. One reason was the gate at the entrance to the eight-foot-tall wrought-iron barricade was locked, and sharp spikes on top of the fence would impale any would-be intruder. Another reason was Tom doesn’t own an extension pole with maneuverable grippers on the end. If he did own such a gripper device, there were two flat areas on both sides of the rounded granite tombstone I noticed that would make the perfect “landing places” for me. The risk for me would be falling out of reach of the grippers, which would make Roosevelt’s final resting place my final resting place as well.

During our twenty-minute visit at the grave of Theodore Roosevelt, I thought about the cold January 8th afternoon in 1919 when the President was laid to rest at Young’s. The frozen ground was partially dusted with snow as the pallbearers carried TR’s flag-draped casket up the steep hillside where family members, and other distinguished mourners, bid their final farewell to “The Old Lion”. When the simple ceremony concluded and everyone moved away from the gravesite, one mourner stayed behind. A large, mustachioed man wept openly as he stood alongside Roosevelt’s grave. It was TR’s longtime friend, and one-time political foe, William Howard Taft. Days after the funeral, Taft wrote a letter to TR’s wife, Edith, saying: “I loved him always and cherish his memory.”

“Naive notions that were childish, simple words that tried to hide it, but now he’s gone. Did we, didn’t we, should we, couldn’t we? I’m not sure ’cause sometimes we’re so blind; struggling through the day. When even your best friend says: ‘Don’t you find, we all fall in love sometimes?'”

As the three of us prepared to leave the final resting place of Theodore and Edith Roosevelt behind, I couldn’t help but think about something the President once said about death: “Death is always, under all circumstances, a tragedy, for if it is not, then it means that life has become one.” Roosevelt’s death was truly a tragedy as our nation lost its great ambassador for truth, justice, and the American way. But because of that vivacious man’s zest for life and living life to the fullest until the very end, it gave me solace knowing TR left this earth with no regrets. And that’s all anyone can ever hope for.

We left Youngs Memorial Cemetery and headed west along Cove Road; the same route used for Roosevelt’s funeral procession 104 years earlier. But unlike a century earlier, I didn’t see a road lined with thousands of mourners who were saluting their native son for a final time. When we reached our destination after our 1.2-mile journey from the cemetery, Tom parked the Explorer along Main Street and directly in front of Christ Church, which was the site of Theodore Roosevelt’s funeral service.

Christ Church was founded in Oyster Bay in 1705, although several buildings have occupied that site along Main Street just a few blocks east of downtown. The modest stone structure in front of me was built in the 1870s, then it was greatly enlarged after being renovated in 1925. Five hundred invited friends and relatives gathered inside the church on January 8, 1919, two days after the death of Theodore Roosevelt. While TR loved being the center of attention in life, he insisted on having a funeral with no music and no eulogy. Once my photographer had me pose at several spots near the exterior of the historic church, Bob once again tried to work his magic by getting us inside. But this time, we were out of luck. Both entry doors to the building were locked and there was no one around. When I saw Mongo’s attempt go for naught, I began to wonder if our Divine friend, the mysterious entity who had helped us so many times during the past seven days, had taken the rest of Saturday afternoon off. Or perhaps our goddess of good fortune had used up all of her magic earlier in the day when she got us to Sagamore Hill on time.

Just as the three of us began the short walk back to the vehicle, a well-dressed man approached us along the walkway. After appearing out of nowhere, the man smiled and said: “Can I help you with anything?” While Bob explained the reason for our visit, at the same time, Tom pulled me back out of the camera case. The man smiled again, likely when he saw me, and asked: “Would you like to see the inside of the church?” I nearly fell out of my photographer’s hand and onto the pathway below. How was this happening to us over and over again? It seemed as though we’ve been in the right place at the right time with everything we’ve done since we left Michigan seven days earlier.

The man in front of us turned out to be Reverend Dr. Michael Piret, who was the minister at Christ Church. The Reverend said he saw us from his office next door and felt compelled to walk over to meet us. Once inside, Piret led us to the pew where Theodore Roosevelt and his family worshipped regularly. Of course, I had to stand in the butt prints of the President while I posed for pictures. Then Tom carried me up to the altar where President Roosevelt’s flag-draped casket was likely positioned during his funeral, which was conducted by Reverend George E. Talmadge. Since Roosevelt’s funeral on January 8, 1919, there has been only six men to lead the ministry at Christ Church in Oyster Bay after Reverend Talmadge left the church in 1934. And that sixth person was our new friend, Reverend Piret, who began his ministry there in 2015.

Tom and Bob thanked the Reverend for his kindness and thoughtfulness as he led us back outside. I was still flabbergasted by the fact he showed up out of nowhere just as we were about to leave the grounds. While Mongo headed to an area near the exterior of the church to read a sign, Tom and I stood in solemn silence as we reflected on the funeral service for President Roosevelt held inside that building over a century earlier.

At that moment, the piano melody I heard at the cemetery began to play in my head again; and like before, more words soon followed. “Running with the losers for a while, but our empty sky was filled with laughter. Just before the flood, painting worried faces with a smile.” I wasn’t quite sure of the meaning behind those words, and I surely didn’t know why they kept popping up inside my resin mind. It was true I’ve been running around with my companions, although I wouldn’t call them losers, well, at least not Bob. And it was true the three of us were definitely laughing after our good fortune rendezvous with Reverend Michael, who surely painted our worried faces with his smile and kindness. In my mind, our time in Oyster Bay couldn’t get any better. Well, tickle my ivories and call me Captain, I was wrong again.

Bob returned to where the two of us were standing and he had a huge smile across his entire face. Then he pointed across the street and said to my photographer: “Do you see that church over there? That’s the church Theodore Roosevelt attended with his parents when he was a kid. Let’s go over and check it out.”

The First Presbyterian Church of Oyster Bay was built in 1873 and was where Theodore Roosevelt, Sr. and his family, which included the future 26th President, worshipped when they were in Oyster Bay during the summer months. Following the elder Roosevelt’s sudden death on February 9, 1878 at the age of 46, his funeral was held at the Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church in NYC, then he was buried in Brooklyn. A short time later, a memorial service was conducted in Oyster Bay, which was attended by twenty-year-old Theodore Roosevelt, Jr., who was deeply affected by his father’s death. During that service, the Harvard student sat in a pew as local parishioners and other dignitaries honored the elder Roosevelt’s legacy. However, TR believed he wasn’t alone in the pew – someone else was seated alongside him. The event seemed so real to him that it caused the future President to later write in his diary about how he saw his father sitting in the pew “as distinctly as if he were alive.”

When Tom took me out of the camera case so I could pose for our initial batch of photos, I got my first glimpse of the beautiful blue and white wooden church that was constructed in what’s described as Stick-style. I was blown away by the appearance of the church’s steeple, set against the cloudless blue sky. Since the church sat on a hill, I felt a bit sorry for my photographer as he labored up the steep steps towards the front of the building. But once Tom got the two of us up there, we took our time and admired the magnificent beauty of another historic site associated with the great Theodore Roosevelt.

It was roughly ten minutes before five o’clock and I figured getting inside the building would be completely out of the question. My initial thought was solidified when Bob attempted to open the door located beneath the church’s steeple and it was locked. Not one to give up, however, our friend ran around to the back of the historic church where he disappeared from our view. Several minutes later, Bob was back, and he sported a huge grin on his face. “You’re not going to believe it, but I found someone back there who said he can get us inside the church. The guy said he’s working at the dinner that’s going on in back, but he’s willing to take a few minutes to show us around inside.” My photographer was in disbelief, and from an opening in the camera case, I looked up into the cloudless sky to see if our Divine entity was somewhere on the building’s roof and smiling down upon us.

Tom and I followed Bob around to the back entrance of the building, and then the three of us were led into the sanctuary by the man who introduced himself as Ken Pollitt. The interior of the historic church was painted in several shades of gray and its architecture seemed beautifully simplistic to my resin eyes. At one point, when Tom placed me on the altar, I looked out at the first few rows of pews where I hoped to catch a glimpse of a college kid and his dad sitting. While I knew the two Roosevelt’s were there in spirit, likely sitting alongside our Guardian Angel, I didn’t see anyone in the entire sanctuary except for Tom, Bob, and Ken.

As soon as I finished posing for a handful of images inside the building, my photographer formally introduced me to Ken Pollitt, our generous tour guide. Pollitt said he often wears several hats in the church, including pinch-hitting for Pastor Jeff Prey whenever he’s on vacation. Our new acquaintance was one of the friendliest and most cordial men I’ve ever met, and I laughed to myself when he said his main role in the church was “chief cook and bottle washer.” But as I kept looking at our host as he laughed and talked with my two companions, I couldn’t help but notice a vague resemblance Ken had with famed actor Jackie Coogan.

The three of us were led to the back exit door from where we first entered the building. As we stood at the doorway and said our goodbyes to Mr. Pollitt, I heard Bob say out loud: “Oh man, that food sure smells good.” He was right, the delicious aroma had permeated throughout the hallway where we were standing. It was a few minutes past five o’clock and I knew my photographer was hungry because I heard his stomach growl a couple of times inside the church. There was little doubt in my resin mind our next stop would be at a restaurant, then we’d visit the remaining Roosevelt sites on our agenda that were all located in downtown Oyster Bay.

“Why don’t you join us for a meal? We’d love to have you as our guests.” I knew my cheap companions were surprised by Ken’s offer, and at first, they politely declined. But as Pollitt continued his friendly persuasion, and said the church was hosting a community meal that was free to all, Tom and Bob accepted Ken’s offer. I wasn’t surprised whatsoever by their decision. What did put me in a state of temporary shock, however, was the fact it took my friends so long to accept Ken’s invitation. After all, ‘FREE’ is one of Tom and Bob’s favorite four-letter words.

The three of us went into the large room that was set up with a dozen or more long tables with chairs. A band played cover songs off to one side of the room, while on the other side, I noticed there was a long line where the food was being served. As my two companions stood in stunned disbelief as to what they were experiencing, I saw a small poster that explained the purpose of the event – a Community Meal for guests of the Senior Center and the local food pantry, called People Loving People. That poster made me feel better as I knew Tom and Bob blended in perfectly with the attendees – they were both people, and at 66 years old, they were definitely Seniors. When Ken noticed that we still hadn’t sat down, he pointed to a man seated alone at a table and said: “Why don’t you two grab some food and sit at that table with Maurice. He’d really enjoy the company.”

Once through the food line, both Tom and Bob had their plates piled with mounds of Asian and Italian cuisine when they sat down across the table from Maurice Foley. During moments when my photographer wasn’t shoveling fried rice and mostaccioli into his face, he was engaged in a conversation with Maurice and Bob as the three of them talked about sports, history, and our current trip. I laughed to myself when Tom told his new acquaintance how comfortable he felt because everyone was so friendly and they made him feel at home, which Maurice jokingly followed with: “How do you know I’m not a serial killer?” My quit-witted photographer fired back with: “How do you know we’re not?” They both laughed, then Tom asked Maurice if he would pose with “The most famous bobble head in the world”.

With their dinner finished, Tom and Bob extended their gratitude to everyone who made the three of us feel at home, including Maurice Foley and Jerry LaLonde, a volunteer who had joined our table late. But the gracious, heartfelt generosity and warm friendship we felt from Ken Pettitt transformed our visit at the First Presbyterian Church of Oyster Bay into an amazing once upon a time experience for my companions and me.

We still had several Roosevelt sites to visit in Oyster Bay, but when we left the Presbyterian Church and headed into town, my companions noticed a large section of the downtown area was blocked off for what they figured had been a celebration. Not wanting to deal with the closed streets, Tom and Bob decided to postpone the remainder of the sites until morning; we headed for The Tides Motor Inn instead.

During most of the five-mile ride from the church to the motel, Bob kept reassuring my photographer that he read mostly good reviews on Orbitz for the motel we were staying at. Seconds after the water from the Long Island Sound and the Stehli Town Beach came into view, I heard Mongo say out loud: “Oh no Tom, I don’t think you’re going to like this place. It looks like a dump.” I looked out of the camera case and sure enough, Bob was absolutely correct. At first glance, that motel looked like a classic example of a Cockroach Inn. My photographer seemed calm and collected when he replied: “Well, it’s only for one night and it’s better than paying two hundred and fifty bucks like most of the other places were charging. We were actually lucky to get this dump as most of the hotels in the area were already booked for the night.”

But after Bob registered and the pair lugged their gear up the dilapidated set of outdoor stairs to the second floor, we had one of the biggest surprises thus far on the trip. No, there wasn’t a giant roach inside the door to greet us. No, there weren’t stains all over the floor and bed linens. And no, I didn’t see any riff-riff hanging outside our room looking to make a quick buck. Our room looked amazingly clean, it was fairly spacious, and the room appeared to have been recently renovated. I’ve always been a true believer that you should never judge a book by its cover, and The Tides Motor Inn proved that proverb to be absolutely true. Good fortune was once again on our side.

Since it was roughly 6:45pm and Tom was hankering for some dessert, the three of us headed out on foot to a nearby establishment known as the Shipwreck Tavern. My friends opted to dine outdoors in the tavern’s famed tiki bar, mostly because of the view of the water across the street. For the next half hour or so, I had the pleasure of watching and listening to my photographer indulge in a large hot-fudge sundae. I had to admit, it looked and sounded delicious.

Then I saw her, sitting at a table next to ours – I was positive she was looking directly at me and smiling. The young lady wasn’t alone as I saw a gentleman and a toddler seated at the table with her. I don’t think Tom or Bob noticed her at first, but I did, and I couldn’t take my painted resin eyes off her. Every thirty seconds or so, the girl turned completely around in her seat and looked directly at me, and she had one of the most beautiful faces I had ever seen. As I watched her flowing light-brown locks of hair blow in the breeze, I became mesmerized every time she smiled. I soon wondered whether or not she might be the goddess of luck that had helped us along the way. She was definitely angelic, but was she our Guarding Angel of Good Fortune in human form? Why else would she be smiling and staring at us – it was almost as though she couldn’t take her eyes off our table?

Finally, after ten minutes or so went by, the mystery was solved – and I was instantly heart broken. It turned out the couple’s young son had noticed my photographer’s sundae and the infant kept pointing towards Tom’s ice cream. Talk about a buzz kill – she wasn’t smiling at me at all. Instead, the girl told my photographer she was checking out his sundae and wondered if the dessert was as good as it looked. Tom assured her it was one of the best hot fudge sundaes he’s ever had, and he suggested they get one for their son. A few minutes later, after some small talk was exchanged between the two parties, their dinner arrived. As we headed down the sidewalk towards our hotel, I looked back at the tiki bar and caught a final glimpse of our Angel of Luck.

It was roughly 7:30pm when we returned to our room and Tom immediately placed me alongside the television set. It had been one of the most special and memorable days I’ve ever spent on any trip. When the lights in the room were extinguished around nine o’clock, I stood in the darkness and thought about Theodore Roosevelt and the impact he had on Oyster Bay. But then it dawned on me – Oyster Bay had a huge impact on TR as well. But it wasn’t necessarily just the town, it was the people in the town. Throughout the entire afternoon, I was afforded the same hospitality, friendship, warmth, kindness, and generosity that Roosevelt had experienced during his time in Oyster Bay. And that experience, thanks to Noah Masi, Dr. Michael Piret, Ken Pollitt, Maurice Foley, Jerry LaLonde, as well as the amazing family at the Shipwreck Tavern, is something I will never forget.

“The full moon’s bright, and starlight filled the evening. We wrote it and I played it, something happened, it’s so strange this feeling. We all fall in love sometimes”.

And I certainly fell in love with Oyster Bay, New York!

** THIS POST IS DEDICATED TO CHIEF COOK AND BOTTLE WASHER, KEN POLLITT, FOR HIS HOSPITALITY, GENEROSITY, AND FOR MAKING THE THREE OF US FEEL AT HOME **