TWO hours from Manhattan is an exclusive and idyllic little island that is suspended in time. Fishers Island has the charm of a Martha’s Vineyard or Nantucket without the swelling crowds – practically a scene from the “Summer of ’42.”
But instead of spotting the sun-kissed faces of Benjy or Hermie, you’re more likely to find blond, blue-eyed Muffys or Skippys practicing their golf swings on one of its two private golf courses, one of which is rated one of the top 10 in the world.
“It looks like one big Polo ad without a Ralph Lifshitz (a/k/a Lauren) in sight,” jokes a recent visitor of the island’s lack of ethnicity.
WASPy Fishers Island, a dependant of Suffolk County, is nestled between the Connecticut coast and the tip of Long Island’s North Fork, whose citizenry sees to it that it remains the antithesis of its South Fork contemporary that has become overrun with publicity princesses, movie premieres, wannabes and SUVs.
It’s where the idle rich can be comfortably idle, while their offspring can safely roam the island from one end to the other.
“Fishers is probably one of the last bastions of civility on the planet,” sniffs a resident.
It’s probably the last encampment of understated old-guard wealth, too.
Since the 1920s, the island – which measures a mere seven miles in length by perhaps a mile at its widest point – has been the summer playground for the Social Register-set that includes the Rockefeller, duPont, Firestone, Whitney and Roosevelt families.
Rep. Porter Goss (R-Fla.), one of the richest members of Congress, summers there, as do former New Jersey Gov. Tom Kean and “Ice Storm” author Rick Moody.
A scare went through the highbrow community a few years ago when an unfounded rumor circulated that Donald Trump was buying Simmons castle, an imposing, 25,000-square-foot turreted structure built in the 1940s by the mattress moguls at the far end of the island.
Richard Nixon was blackballed from the island by the mostly Republican crowd fearing encroachment from the outside world.
There are only two grocery stores, a sandwich shop, ice cream store, movie house and a liquor store, that, until recently, was owned by a duPont – who’s name is Kippy.
There is also one public bar on the island, the Pequot Inn, a rustic place without velvet ropes and clipboard-toting door people that serves tycoons sitting on barstools next to gardeners.
Yet for all of its charm, few will see the place. There is no hotel or fancy stores. The social center of Fishers Island revolves around the two private clubs that allow very few outsiders in their close-knit circles.
You could spend millions on a house and never get into the clubs – in which case, it could be a long summer.
To discourage daytrippers from hopping on the direct ferry at New London, Conn., two thirds of the island is off-limits to anyone except residents and their guests. “That doesn’t give bikers much of a chance to break a sweat,” fumed one visitor.
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