REMEMBERING THE SUMMER AT A PLACE WHERE IT ENDS
By Michael Winerip, Special To the New York Times
In 1921, Robert Moses, exploring alone in a small motorboat, came upon a stretch of unspoiled beach 25 miles southeast of Manhattan and envisioned a magnificent public park, offering miles of oceanfront and dunes of white sand. In 1985, on the last week of the summer season, two regulars, Pat Michaels, a food broker, and Lou Scotti, a retired private investigator, set up their aluminum chairs on the concrete walk beside the refreshment stand at Parking Field 6 of Mr. Moses' creation, Jones Beach State Park. ''Right now, the flies by the ocean are murderous,'' said Mr. Michaels. ''That's why we sit back here, right Scotti?'' ''Northwest wind,'' said Mr. Scotti. ''Blows flies off the marsh,'' said Mr. Michaels. ''We have our own group of people here at Field 6, the nicest people, they come from all over, right Scotti?'' ''That's it,'' said Mr. Scotti. ''Never a dull day down here, right Scotti?'' said Mr. Michaels, snapping the top off a plastic container. ''You want to try my salad, Scotti?'' Mr. Scotti had eaten. ''We like it better after Labor Day,'' said Mr. Michaels. ''More tranquil. How would you classify the Labor Day crowd, Scotti?'' ''Savage,'' said Mr. Scotti. ''The reason we're regulars,'' said Mr. Michaels, ''very simply, this is the only place you get away from all the nonsense, right Scotti?'' ''That's it,'' said Mr. Scotti. A Lonely Stroll Like Mr. Scotti, anyone who has ever been to some place public, knows that it takes all kinds.