Theodore Conklin, the beloved, blue-blazered owner of Sag Harbor, N.Y.’s American Hotel, passed away on February 1st in West Palm Beach, Florida, at the age of 77. His remarkable revival of the once-dilapidated hotel unexpectedly transformed the fortunes of the struggling Long Island village.
According to his wife, Susie Franklin, he passed away in a hospice facility due to complications from cancer.
Known to all as Ted, Conklin took the reins of the American Hotel in the winter of 1972, at just 23 years old. This 19th-century brick building on Main Street was a shadow of its former self, crumbling and long-forgotten by guests, with its previous owner even residing in the dining room and the cellar buried in coal ash.
Sag Harbor itself, once a bustling factory town on Long Island’s East End, was also facing hard times. Its major industries, including the Bulova Watchcase Factory, the Grumman plant (famous for making parts for the Apollo lunar modules), and Rowe Industries (electric motors for toys), were all either downsizing or shutting down, leaving hundreds jobless. By the 1980s, these industrial sites would become environmental cleanup zones.
Ted acquired the property for a mere $60,000, securing the down payment from his grandmother and mortgaging the remainder through a loan from the original owners, the Youngs family. With determination, he immediately set about revitalizing it.
“Any 23-year-old should have known this was less an opportunity than a sentence,” he once humorously remarked in an interview. His ambitious vision for the hotel included an upscale bar and a restaurant featuring a sophisticated French menu and an exceptional wine cellar. It was meant to be a haven for a diverse clientele, attracting a mix of intellectuals, conversationalists, connoisseurs, the wealthy, and those aspiring to be.
Conklin embraced everyone who walked through his doors: artists, writers, pop stars, heiresses, plumbers, judges, journalists, police chiefs, and even spies, alongside cherished local Lions Club members. It wasn’t uncommon to spot Billy Joel casually playing the piano, Bono engrossed in a game of backgammon, or Jimmy Buffett enjoying a drink at the bar. This vibrant mix gave the place its famed ‘fairy dust of celebrity sightings.’
Ted was truly the ultimate host. He’d generously offer friends a place to stay on his boat or in a hotel room, free of charge, if they were going through a divorce. He even covered the costs for friends’ funeral receptions. When regular diners and writers Anthony Brandt and Lorraine Dusky wed in 1981, he hosted their reception at his grandmother’s Westhampton estate and even loaned them his Bentley for their departure.
The hotel’s interior maintained a steadfastly traditional aesthetic: white tablecloths, a majestic taxidermy moose head, prints of Revolutionary War figures like George Washington, and elegant Hudson River School-style paintings. Above the bar, numerous Wine Spectator awards proudly showcased Conklin’s impressive wine cellar. A self-taught wine enthusiast, he amassed a collection of 30,000 bottles, beginning with exquisite Bordeaux, which by the early ’80s, Playboy magazine lauded as one of the nation’s best.
Bryan Boyhan, former editor and publisher of The Sag Harbor Express, fondly recalled, “He took something that was wind-blown and turned it into something unique, even if it must have felt like the Titanic at times.”
But Ted’s establishment wasn’t without its quirks and strict rules. There was a dress code – John F. Kennedy Jr. himself was once famously denied entry for wearing shorts. Fighting was strictly forbidden; a single punch meant a lifetime ban. In later years, his vehement anti-cellphone policy was legendary. And absolutely no Budweiser was served. Conklin firmly believed that offering Budweiser would attract what he dubbed ‘a Budweiser crowd’ – a clientele he preferred to avoid.
Ironically, the very ‘Budweiser crowd’ Ted sought to avoid often congregated directly across the street at the Black Buoy, a lively, no-frills bar once favored by literary giants like John Steinbeck and Truman Capote. Conklin’s firm ‘no-Bud’ rule at the American Hotel became such a point of contention that one memorable night in the 1970s, a patron at the Black Buoy vowed to shed an article of clothing for every drink he was bought, culminating in a streaking protest right through the American Hotel’s dining room.
However, the streaker’s grand protest ended rather abruptly when he tripped and fell upon entering the dining room. Quick-thinking Conklin promptly wrapped him in a tablecloth and escorted him out.
For minor infractions, Ted employed more subtle strategies. A long-standing sign in the front hall, easily seen from the bar, read in elegant Old English script, “Nathan Please Keep Your Voice Down.” This was a gentle, yet public, reminder aimed at his friend, Nathan Joseph, a wonderfully expressive Israeli artist.
A true stickler for sartorial elegance, Conklin was almost never seen without his signature blue blazer and a perfectly folded pocket square. Art dealer Julie Keyes, whose gallery is located within the American Hotel, vividly described him as a fascinating blend: “an antique blue blood who wore double-breasted jackets and only used the salad fork for the salad, and a 10-year-old troublemaking lunatic.”
Keyes humorously added, “He was both the guy who owned the American Hotel and the guy he should throw out.”
Author Lucian Truscott, a long-time regular at the hotel, often referred to Conklin as “the unofficial mayor,” acknowledging his deep involvement in every aspect of the community.
James Larocca, a former actual mayor of Sag Harbor and a seasoned state politician who served under Governors Hugh Carey and Mario Cuomo, revealed that Conklin had been a valued mentor and advisor when he first ventured into local politics.
Larocca explained, “Sag Harbor was at a crucial crossroads; the ‘un-Hampton’ was transforming into a ‘Hampton,’ a complex evolution. While growth was certainly welcomed, preserving the village’s unique character was a significant challenge, and Ted was undeniably central to that effort.”
Just two summers prior, the American Hotel found itself swarmed by camera crews following Justin Timberlake’s arrest nearby for driving under the influence. Though he informed police he’d only had one martini, a wave of “Timberlake tourism” ensued. Curious onlookers descended upon the hotel, ordering martinis and snapping selfies, with locals affectionately dubbing them “Justinis.” A nearby gallery even capitalized on the craze, selling enlarged mug shots of Timberlake, styled like Warhol portraits, for $250. Yet, amidst the frenzy, Conklin remained his usual gracious self, telling reporters that Timberlake was a “great guest and a nice guy” and would always be welcome back.
Theodore Brigham Conklin III was born on April 16, 1948, in Manhattan, and spent his formative years in Manhasset, Long Island. He was the eldest of five children born to Natalie Jourdan (O’Brien) Conklin and Theodore B. Conklin Jr., who was involved in the family’s business, the T.E. Conklin Brass & Copper Co.
Ted was an alumnus of the Lawrenceville School, an all-boys boarding school in New Jersey, and later studied at Babson College in Wellesley, Massachusetts. His adventurous spirit led him to take a year off to launch a restaurant in Westhampton. After selling it, he moved to Paris, resumed his studies, and eventually settled in upstate New York, where he spent two years experimenting with farming.
He is survived by his devoted wife, Susie Franklin, his daughters Samantha Brooks Conklin and Natasha Conklin James, his son Theodore IV, stepdaughter Katy O’Donnell, his sisters Susan Spurgeon, Natalie Jourdan Conklin, Louise Cox Conklin, and Kimberley Burnett Conklin, and five grandchildren. His previous marriages concluded in divorce.
“Ted’s vision was to establish the American Hotel as the benchmark for the entire town,” recalled his friend Joe Hanna shortly after Conklin’s passing. During Sag Harbor’s lowest point, many unconventional proposals emerged to revive it, including docking a decommissioned destroyer in the harbor as a tourist draw. “Ted’s aesthetic, always impeccably dressed in his blazer, stood firmly against such ideas,” Hanna concluded.
Research for this piece was generously provided by Kirsten Noyes.