Three H's: The hostel, the Hopper landscape, and deep seated hostility
Editorial from the September 7, 2007 version of the Cape Cod Voice

Whose values are such that they would want to be known as the people who forced a hostel, one of the last great idealistic vestiges of inexpensive travel, to shut down?

And whose values are such that they would want to be known as the people whose oversized mansion obliterated the soulful landscape that inspired Edward Hopper during his Cape years?

The controversies are unrelated, hostel and Hopper, but at the core of both is the same fundamental conflict. Each is about legality versus legacy , private property rights versus-dare we say it-some broader responsibility and sense of community.

First, the Eastham hostel.

For 40 years or so, a great hostel has served travelers from all over the world, adventurous people who otherwise would not be able to afford Cape Cod in the summer. They come by bicycle, by car, by bus, even on foot. They convene in semi-private or not-at-all private accommodations, to cook and eat together, share stories and make friends. They are not always "youth" but they are always youthful, interesting, engaged souls, traveling light but traveling well. In all our years, we have never heard of a case where this hostel has attracted crime or bad behavior.

The organization that runs the hostel hoped to turn its building into a greener place, use less fuel, become more attuned to the philosophy and mission. Applying to Eastham for the necessary approvals opened its Pandora's Box.

Abutters found that a quirk in the transfer of land years ago ended the hostel's protection under zoning. The former owners did not intend that, on the contrary. But the neighbors now have a big stick. They are insisting the hostel close.

Hundreds of Eastham residents have responded with a petition and protest. We doubt many of them have stayed in this hostel, or any other. But they understand what this place means to our community, and our psyche. To destroy it is to say once again, in a new way, that only people with big money can come to Cape Cod. To end its generations of hospitality is to signal the demise of one of the few traditions left that encourages and allows for transient diversity among us.

The neighbors have every legal right to investigate, challenge, apply loopholes and zoning detail. But why would they resort to such ugly, selfish tactics? So they don't have to see bicyclists and backpackers walking down the road? So they don't have to hear foreign languages and laughter at the end of a summer day?

Do these people really think they should be able to destroy a hostel, and then be welcome in the community they've bought into? Do they not understand what it is they intend to obliterate, in the name of their private property rights? Do they not see that what they do now, for some kind of temporary idea of personal gain, means the loss of a great community expression?

Hold those thoughts, while we turn to the Hopper landscape.

For 40 years or so, from 1930 through 1967, Edward Hopper painted in South Truro, leaving and artistic legacy as profound as any created on Cape Cod. From his studio and home on a bluff overlooking Cape Cod Bay, he worked facing north and using north light, pondering a low heathland that undulates away from dunes along the shore, mimicking waves beyond.

The paintings he created here have fanned out across the world, gracing the walls of the greatest museums, inspiring millions of people. And in all our years we have heard nothing but profound appreciation for the fact that the present owners of the Hopper house (to whom it was given by the painter's widow in 1968) have kept it much as he did, an evocative sentinel to personal creativity and the Cape's inspiring beauty.

The rolling land to the north, where Hopper stared as he worked, has changed little as well, and always seemed integral to the vision and power of the setting. One chunk of it has been put into conservation protection. But new owners purchased the closest neighboring parcel for almost $7 million in May, and immediately set about securing access and permits to allow for a massive new home.

An existing homestead almost 200 years old, nestled into the dunes long before Hopper arrived, just won't do. The new owners, well known in the literati and upscale circles of Truro, want to build a house on the highest point of the bluff, directly in the Hopper view, that would total something like 6500 square feet. This would replace another controversial home they had intended to build in what's called the Shearwater section of Truro, which led to months of court battles with neighbors, hundreds of thousands of dollars in legal fees, and in the end approval for a much smaller mansion than the original plans called for. That new construction is now on the market-for $8.5 million.

Scores of Truro residents, art lovers, and environmentalists up and down the Cape have responded with concern. We doubt that many of them have set foot in the Hopper house, or painted its setting. But they understand what this place means to our community, and our psyche. To turn its landscape into an extravagant unnecessary edifice is to say once again that people with big money can dominate and transform Cape Cod.

And in truth, they can. They have the power, they have the money, and often as not they have the legal right. But does that mean they should? Why resort to such ugly, selfish tactics? For an extra 4,000 square feet of angular interior space, seemingly designed to house an ego rather than anything of true human need? To create a monument to excess capital? Will that make the owners happier, more fulfilled people?

Do they really think they should be able to "exercise their legal prerogative," destroy what we call the Hopper landscape, and then be welcome in the community they've bought into? Do they not understand what it is they intend to obliterate, in the name of their "rights"? Do they not see that what they do now, for some kind of temporary idea of personal gain, means the loss of a great community expression?

In both cases, the public has pressure points that might affect the outcome, delaying tactics, strategic appeals. But in both cases, the truly beautiful solutions would need to come from a change of heart within the people who are forcing the issue. At the risk of playing armchair shrink; we sense that psychological counseling rather than government intervention is what would work; that a profound change in goals and a better understanding of why destructive behavior seems appropriate is in order in both situations. Barring that internal, spiritual shift, we fear bad outcomes-and of course suggesting this course is completely inappropriate in a public conversation, sure to do nothing but elicit a defensive reaction, sure to be seen as condescending.

The old bumper sticker said that extinct is forever, and applies here. Generations of owners can treat land with care, scores of people can make a fair balance between personal need and public good, but then comes one owner, one neighbor, one misguided or needy spirit who decides to end a welcoming piece of community, rip apart an historic landscape, and then it's changed forever. It's over. It's gone. It can never come back.

And so this editorial bank is really nothing more than a verbose plea to the people who have the power to do that, but who really don't need to do that:

Please reconsider.