The history of Otter Pond in Sag Harbor spans over centuries, where originally the fresh water pond was home to a large population of otters. In 1793, John Jermain was granted the right to dig a ditch to connect Otter Pond to the Upper Cove and build a bridge over the inlet. Hence salt water flowed into the pond, and with it the tears of one lovely but lonely Amelia Ford Wentworth. The year was 1924 and Amelia’s husband Derick, known as Dick, had moved her there as his young bride to find his fortune in this old whaling town. A carpenter by trade, Dick hoped to find work in the building business. He had not anticipated that with wood a scarcity, more houses were simply moved to new locations than being constructed. But those broad shoulders did attract a wealthy widow from New York City and Dick, with a simple note, one month’s rent, and his incisor left on the kitchen table, disappeared, leaving his new bride to fend for herself.
Amelia found a room at Miss Annie’s Boarding House across from the pond and took a small room with a shared bathroom that had a view of the changing estuary. Each morning she would share her cornbread with the ducks and swans, without an appetite of her own. After a discouraging search for work as a pretty, jilted stranger in town, Amelia saw a notice on the board of the Antheneum Theater which sat on the corner of Sage and Church streets. They needed a dancer.
As legend goes, one night after a show she was standing by the wharf, a melancholy overtaking her, when she noticed a man on his sailboat staring at her. “I’ve about had enough salt water on my vessel here Miss if you might care to let those tears fall somewhere else.” Amelia looked up at the scraggly man and what should have signaled danger instead was a connection.
Captain Bill McCoy was smiling, stepping off his boat, the Amelia. This was prohibition and many a sailor set out for “Rum Row” a spot just three miles off shore where the international water line allowed local vessels to connect with suppliers of contraband hooch then smuggle it back to shore. If you could avoid the Coast Guard and the mob, it was a lucrative trade.
The Captain invited her not for a drink because of course that was illegal but perhaps some tea. Across from the wharf was a speakeasy known as the Mousetrap due to the diminutive nature of the proprietor. The password Dead Cat only helped to perpetuate the myth. Bill was greeted as always as The Real McCoy. This nickname was earned because unlike other bootleggers, he did not water down his whiskey or rum before sending it on its way so it was “the real McCoy.” When one of the patrons recognized Amelia from her shows and made lewd remarks, Bill firmly grasped his arm. “Just because she has to work doesn’t mean she’s not a lady.”
Snow arrived early that year in December and despite the Captain’s promise to return to her, The Amelia had not been in port for weeks. To make matters worse, Amelia had a glimpse of Dick and his new wife, a gold tooth installed in his grin. Anger infused Amelia’s dance that night at The Antheneum which was so self-admittedly smoldering that she determined it would be the performance that brought down the house. And indeed it did. The Antheneum burnt to the ground that very night.
Without a job, without savings, without family or friends in a village dominated by the Women’s Christian Temperance Union, Amelia made a final stop in town and headed back to Miss Annie’s. It was Christmas Eve. The other girls were out so she had the bath all to herself. She drew a bath as hot as she could stand. Then she put Dick’s tooth on the sill and opened up the small bag and pulled out the razor blades. She took a moment to peer out the window at the pond then noticed a small light coming under the bridge. The light flickered on the vessel moving slowly in the still and silent night. Then it stopped in the middle of the pond and one by one she saw candles lit until they formed the outline of a Christmas tree.
Amelia climbed out of the tub and put on her clothes to head out to this mysterious vision. There in the middle of Otter Pond was a small boat with a glowing Christmas tree. When Captain McCoy pulled up to the shore and helped Amelia come on board, she asked what he was doing. “If I can smuggle rum past Dutch Schultz, I can certainly smuggle a Christmas tree past Mrs. Russel Sage.”
On that night he made a vow, “There is no room for Dicks in this town, only the Real McCoy, and from this point on there will be a Christmas tree lit in the middle of Otter Pond to give hope to those who don’t have hope and no more salt-water tears shall be shed… Now let’s go find us some otters to smuggle back to this pond.”
