Time is infinite and stretches on forever, yet it connects the past and present so seamlessly that it’s often hard to remember if an event happened a second or a century ago.
Today my partner and I celebrate our 22nd anniversary. I have loved her longer than anything else I have done in my existence. The night we met, I knew we would spend a lifetime together. While the years have been long, they have also passed quickly.
In my mind, I hold a snapshot of her standing in the rain – raven hair blowing wildly about her head – waving me in for our first date and leaving me awestruck by her beauty. Since then, we’ve turned dreams to reality and made thousands of memories, side by side.
Nothing comes easy. Life is a work in progress. But thankfully we’ve learned to give each other enough freedom to explore our individual interests so that we’re able to bring our best selves to the dinner table every evening.
It seems fitting that yesterday we spent the morning wandering through Grey Gardens – the East Hampton, Long Island estate by the sea, noteworthy for its former residents who had absolutely no concept of time.
The mansion was open to the public as a marketing ploy to swiftly empty it of its contents and ready it for its new owner.
As anyone who reads this blog knows, I’m enthralled with houses. I first saw Grey Gardens in a 1997 newspaper article, the estate aptly named for its cement garden walls, the color of the dunes and the sea mist – and then I was pulled in by the Beales.
The Beale family purchased Grey Gardens in 1923 as a summer escape from New York City. After Phelan Beale left his wife “Big Edie” in the 1930’s, she and their daughter “Little Edie” remained in the house in increasing squalor until Big Edie’s death in 1977.
So much about the lore of Grey Gardens piqued my curiosity: eccentric women holding on to the past, rooted in the knowledge that they were of the manor born – no matter the circumstances; the house itself – a fortress keeping reality at bay; and the nostalgic 1970’s – a time when old money was dwindling, mansions were becoming unmanageable and real glamour was beginning to fade.
Little Edie went on to live alone in the falling down estate for two more years before selling it to Ben Bradlee, former Executive Editor of the Washington Post, and his wife, Journalist Sally Quinn, for a mere $220,000 and a promise that they’d renovate the mansion rather than tear it down. You can read about it and view the photo essay.
Bradlee died in 2014, and Quinn just sold the estate for 15.5 million, along with her promise to keep it intact.
"I just don't want to go back there anymore," she said. "I went there last summer and it was just not a happy time.”
Living at Grey Gardens in solitude and isolation would be history repeating itself.
Quinn hasn’t named the new owner, though she did say the person really understood the house. Since most of Grey Gardens’ furnishings are being parceled out, I’m not sure I agree.
Few people realize how alive a house can be. Perhaps the only person left who could really understand Grey Gardens is Lois Wright, a friend of the Beales who lived with the duo for a short time in 1975. Her book, My Life at Grey Gardens: 13 Months and Beyond, characterizes the house and intimately details day-to-day life there, including how Little Edie dealt with the decline of her mother who suffered for months after a mysterious fall left her with a broken leg and infected bedsores before agreeing to go to the hospital to die.
“Whatever happened to her, she never really recovered,” Wright wrote of Big Edie. “Grey Gardens started to deteriorate. The house wasn’t well. It seemed upset. Old houses have feelings.”
My partner and I are always up for a mansion adventure, and so is our young daughter who skipped school for the day to get a first-hand history lesson. We waited on a block-long line for hours in the cold with other Grey Gardens fans just for a peek at the magical place. We purchased a few original items (since they were not staying with the house anyway) as a tribute to the Beales and a way to honor their memory.
Little Edie often spoke of the spirits who roamed Grey Gardens – Cap Krug, her one true love whose ghost kept her from dating any other man, and Tex Logan, her mother’s rumored lover who died of pneumonia in the kitchen. It seemed reasonable to think the Beales themselves would now haunt the mansion. As I walked through the front door and into the foyer, I expected the house to feel sad. Instead, I found it sun-filled, cheery and welcoming. Everyone at Grey Gardens was celebrating the Beales. It was a party. They would have loved it.
Maybe the ladies were quiet on the day of our visit, taking it all in. Or maybe they are gone, free from East Hampton once and for all.
Either way, Grey Gardens and the two Edie Beales will stay with me – a snapshot in my mind – for eternity.
Just like that raven-haired girl.
November 18, 2017
by Cynthia Gunnells