Theodore Conklin, the charming, blue-blazered owner of the American Hotel in Sag Harbor, N.Y., passed away on February 1 in West Palm Beach, Fla., at the age of 77. His remarkable transformation of the hotel from a dilapidated building into a thriving establishment played a pivotal role in revitalizing the entire Long Island village.
His wife, Susie Franklin, confirmed his death was due to complications from cancer at a hospice facility.
In the winter of 1972, a 23-year-old Ted Conklin took a gamble on the American Hotel. This grand 19th-century brick structure on Main Street was a shadow of its former self, having hosted no guests for years. Its previous owner resided in the dining room, and the cellar was piled high with coal ash.
The village, Sag Harbor itself, was also in decline. Its primary employers—the Bulova Watchcase Factory, the Grumman plant (a key contributor to the Apollo program’s lunar modules), and Rowe Industries (electric motors for toys and toothbrushes)—were either downsizing or shutting down. Hundreds faced unemployment, and by the 1980s, these industrial sites would become Superfund clean-up zones.
Undeterred, Conklin purchased the property for $60,000, securing a down payment from his grandmother and a mortgage from the Youngs family, the previous owners. Then, he rolled up his sleeves and began the arduous work of restoration.
He understood the magnitude of the task, telling Wine Spectator in 2007, “Any 23-year-old should have known this was less an opportunity than a sentence.” His ambition was clear: transform the hotel into an upscale bar and restaurant, complete with a French-inspired menu and an exceptional wine cellar. It would be a haven, as Peter Applebome noted in The New York Times in 2012, “for generations of the literary, the garrulous, the bibulous, the moneyed and the not-nearly-as-moneyed-as-they-would-like to be.”
An old black-and-white photograph shows the American Hotel in 1972, the year Mr. Conklin acquired it. The building looks worn and neglected, a testament to its then-derelict state. (Credit: Photograph via Conklin family)
A modern photograph captures the hotel’s beautifully restored brick facade 50 years later, adorned with an American flag and bunting. This image highlights the successful transformation of the property, embodying Joe Hanna’s quote that ‘Ted’s concept was to set the tone for the town with the American Hotel.’ (Credit: Photograph via Conklin family)
And indeed, they came: a mix of artists, writers, and pop stars; heiresses, plumbers, and judges; journalists, police chiefs, and even spies, alongside cherished local Lions Club members. It wasn’t uncommon to find Billy Joel at the piano, Bono engrossed in a game of backgammon, or Jimmy Buffett enjoying a drink at the bar. The hotel became a place ‘sprinkled with the fairy dust of celebrity sightings,’ as Applebome eloquently described.
Mr. Conklin was the epitome of hospitality. Friends found refuge on his boat or in a complimentary hotel room during difficult times. He generously covered the costs of funeral gatherings for loved ones. When regulars Anthony Brandt and Lorraine Dusky married in 1981, he hosted their reception at his grandmother’s Westhampton estate and even loaned them his Bentley for their escape.
The hotel’s aesthetic remained classic: crisp white tablecloths, a majestic taxidermy moose head, prints of Revolutionary War figures like George Washington, and Hudson River School-style paintings. Above the bar, numerous Wine Spectator awards proudly displayed the accolades for Mr. Conklin’s magnificent wine cellar. A self-taught oenophile, he meticulously curated a collection of 30,000 bottles, beginning with prized Bordeaux, which Playboy magazine recognized in the early ’80s as one of the nation’s finest.
‘He took something that was wind-blown and turned it into something unique,’ commented Bryan Boyhan, former editor and publisher of The Sag Harbor Express, adding, ‘Even if it must have felt like the Titanic at times.’
A black-and-white photo from 1973 shows a young, 24-year-old Mr. Conklin with Dorothy LaFreniere, the hotel hostess, both looking elegant amidst the early days of the hotel’s transformation. (Credit: Photograph via Conklin family)
Mr. Conklin ran his establishment with a distinct set of rules: a strict dress code (John F. Kennedy Jr. once found himself turned away for wearing shorts); a zero-tolerance policy for fighting (one punch meant a lifetime ban); a fervent ban on cellphones in later years; and, notably, no Budweiser. He firmly believed that the presence of Budweiser on the menu would attract what he famously termed ‘a Budweiser crowd.’
This ‘no-Bud’ policy was a particular point of contention for patrons at the Black Buoy, a boisterous bar across the street, once a haunt for literary giants like John Steinbeck and Truman Capote. One night, a disgruntled patron, fueled by drinks and a 1970s streaking trend, vowed to strip for every round bought and then streak through the American Hotel in protest. His plans were cut short when he hit his head upon entering the dining room and fell. Mr. Conklin, ever composed, quickly wrapped him in a tablecloth and escorted him out.
For lesser infractions, Mr. Conklin employed subtler methods. For years, a sign in Old English lettering hung in the front hall, visible from the bar, proclaiming: ‘Nathan Please Keep Your Voice Down.’ It was a gentle yet firm directive aimed at his friend, Nathan Joseph, a lively Israeli artist. Mr. Conklin himself was a paragon of sartorial elegance, rarely seen without his signature blue blazer and a crisp pocket square. Art dealer Julie Keyes, whose gallery is now located within the American Hotel, humorously described him as a blend of ‘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.’ She added in an interview, “He was both the guy who owned the American Hotel and the guy he should throw out.”
An older Mr. Conklin sits in the richly stocked wine cellar of the American Hotel, surrounded by countless bottles, a testament to his self-taught expertise as an oenophile. (Credit: Gordon M. Grant)
Author Lucian Truscott, a long-standing regular, regarded Mr. Conklin as ‘the unofficial mayor’ of Sag Harbor, emphasizing his pervasive influence.
James Larocca, a former actual mayor of Sag Harbor and a veteran state politician, credited Mr. Conklin as a mentor and advisor in his own local political engagements. Larocca noted that Sag Harbor was at a crucial ‘inflection point,’ transitioning from ‘the un-Hampton’ to ‘a Hampton.’ While growth was welcome, preserving the village’s unique character was a significant challenge, and ‘nobody was more central to that process than Ted.”
Two summers prior, the American Hotel was thrust into the spotlight when Justin Timberlake was arrested nearby for DWI shortly after leaving its bar (claiming only one martini). This incident sparked ‘Timberlake tourism,’ with throngs of curious visitors ordering martinis and snapping selfies. A local gallery even capitalized by selling Warhol-esque prints of Timberlake’s mug shot. Through it all, Mr. Conklin maintained his grace, telling TMZ that Timberlake was ‘a great guest and a nice guy’ and always welcome back.
Theodore Brigham Conklin III was born in Manhattan on April 16, 1948, and raised in Manhasset, Long Island. He was the eldest of five children born to Natalie Jourdan (O’Brien) Conklin and Theodore B. Conklin Jr., who managed the family’s T.E. Conklin Brass & Copper Co.
Ted was an alumnus of the Lawrenceville School, an all-boys boarding school in New Jersey, and later attended Babson College in Wellesley, Mass. He took a year off to open and then sell a restaurant in Westhampton, before moving to Paris for further studies. He then spent two years farming in upstate New York.
He is survived by his wife, Susie Franklin; his daughters, Samantha Brooks Conklin and Natasha Conklin James; his son, Theodore IV; a stepdaughter, Katy O’Donnell; his sisters Susan Spurgeon, Natalie Jourdan Conklin, Louise Cox Conklin and Kimberley Burnett Conklin; and five grandchildren. His earlier marriages had ended in divorce.
Joe Hanna, a friend, told The Sag Harbor Express days after Conklin’s death that ‘Ted’s concept was to set the tone for the town with the American Hotel.’ During the village’s lowest point, various ideas, including docking a decommissioned destroyer as a tourist attraction, were floated to revitalize it. ‘Standing against that was Ted’s aesthetic,’ Mr. Hanna concluded, ‘In his blazer.’
The exterior of the beautifully restored American Hotel, showcasing diners enjoying meals under its front awning, reflecting Mr. Conklin’s successful vision for an upscale dining and hospitality experience. (Credit: John Dunn for The New York Times)
Kirsten Noyes contributed research.