The people's seaside mansion
Reclaiming built opulence in Narragansett
When was the last time you got invited to a party at a mansion? It happened to me several winters ago. I was near-broke and doing medical studies in Boston to supplement my meager freelance writer income. I happened to know someone who knew someone whose parents owned a palatial estate in Central Mass. and one winter night, I was granted passage through its gates for a night of revelry. Around 11pm, sitting at one end of a black leather couch, alone, listening the party guests gab about entry level roles at McKinsey, I lost control of the glass of zinfandel that I had been twirling in my hand. It spilled into the crease of the couch like floodwaters pouring into a ravine. My face became as red as the wine, knowing that this couch would cost more than my monthly rent. But by this point, the party had become so animated that no one seemed to have noticed. (The dark tones of the couch surely helped too.) Everyone just kept talking about those sweet McKinsey compensation packages, as I slipped out the back door without a word and fled back to Boston.
For many of us, this is the problem with visiting a mansion. You’re out of your depth, you know it, and the understanding that you’re a guest on rarefied ground makes you walk on eggshells. But in southern Rhode Island—a state with its fair share of gated mansions—I recently stumbled across a wrinkle in the social fabric. Along the foamy shores of Narragansett, the ruins of a pharmaceutical family’s seaside manor still loom over the bay. To reach them, you have to take a dreamlike hike along a gentle path with ocean vistas that can make you feel like a guest in a watercolor painting.
