On Patrol: Rangers Maintain Law and Order on the Beach

Shortly after 9 a.m. on a recent Friday morning on the second day of a sweltering heat wave that blanketed the region, John Stewart, the supervisory ranger in charge of the western half of the Fire Island National Seashore, hopped into his white and green Ford Expedition and started his usual beach patrol. Although he shares his name with the Daily Show satirist, his job should not be mistaken for a laugh riot.

With this reporter sitting shotgun, Stewart, the equivalent of a police lieutenant overseeing five rangers, unveiled a deeper look at both the natural beauty and gritty side to the barrier beach that many people don't see. The oft-misunderstood federal law enforcement officers, FINS rangers, like all within the National Park Service, are also trained in environmental protection, fighting wildfires and local history. Many are also emergency medical technicians with graduate degrees who typically face the same crimes as their mainland counterparts.

"We have to protect the people from the people, the park from the people and the people from the park," said Stewart as he checked on lifeguards in his command at Sailors Haven, the half-point of his patrol before turning around and heading back to the Fire Island Lighthouse. His job description's parallel to the plots of classic literature is no coincidence for the avid reader.

Yogi Bear to Chief Brody from Jaws

"Yogi Bear," exclaimed one boy sunbathing in Ocean Beach as Stewart drove by, proving his point that many people think of rangers as goofballs who only investigate picnic baskets stolen by talking cartoon bears.

Sporting a buzz cut, Maui Jim sunglasses and his forest green uniform, the sturdily built 43-year-old Hicksville native, Army veteran and married father of a six-year-old girl lives with his family on the beach. His caring nature has earned him the nickname "The Monsignor," although his wife recently suggested that he may be more like Chief Brody from the movie Jaws.

He has been stationed here since he became a ranger in 1996. He has worked at 26 parks-including Lake Mead near Las Vegas to Everglades National Park in Florida-in 13 states.

"Fire Island National Seashore is arguably the most complex park in the park system," he said, pointing to the unique issues of managing a park that is home to 17 communities, nude beaches and the Otis Pike High Dune Wilderness Area-an eight-mile stretch of wild beach between Watch Hill and Smith Point County Park.

Not surprisingly, the majority of law breaking occurs on the nude beach. Although technically there are two nude beaches: the section east of Field 5 at Robert Moses State Park is split by a non-nude beach in front of the lighthouse, so children on school field trips don't learn any inadvertent lessons in human anatomy.

Gangsters on the Nude Beach?

"Because it's a nude beach it has a sexually charged atmosphere and sometimes people take that too far," said Stewart, noting that lewd behavior is not uncommon. When federal park rangers issue summonses for public sex acts, the accused must face the charges at U.S. District Court in Central Islip. This experience is an often sobering one for the accused, but those crimes pale in comparison to the gang problem that was stamped out last year at the nude beach.

Rival Ukrainian and Russian gang members from Brooklyn sporting documented prison tattoos had frequented the beach with groups of women seeking what Stewart described as full tans. The two factions often clashed in the sand.

One suspect assaulted Stewart while he and the New York park police tried to break up a fight between the reputed gangsters. He took it all in stride, as rangers are the most-assaulted federal law enforcement officers. Stewart said that the gang problem is a thing of the past.

Now things are back to normal. Lifeguards on the state park side of the beach literally draw a line in the sand-with seaweed-to mark where the nude beach begins and ends.

"Most of these people are regulars, we know most of these people by name," said Stewart as he stopped and shook hands with one nude man named Marty, who offered the ranger some water. Newcomers are dubbed "cottontails" because of their white, un-tanned rear ends.

While cruising down the shoreline, Stewart slammed on the breaks. Over the hood he spotted a ghost crab he wanted to avoid running over. Once the little guy was out of the way, it was back to patrolling the beach.

Another Day at the Office

Shortly later, a woman stopped him as he slowly rolled down Lighthouse Promenade in Saltaire.

"Why aren't those kids wearing their helmets?" she asked.

"I agree, they should be," replied Stewart.

The children riding bicycles without helmets to which she referred were already long gone. Nothing he could do about it.

Sipping his Diet Coke while working his way eastbound through the Burma Road and western communities before driving back out onto the beach, Stewart stopped to help another woman who was struggling with a loaded wagon on a sandy road in Ocean Bay Park.

Once back on the oceanfront, the ranger was reminded that the piping plover fledglings are now flying and their protective fences would be coming down that day. Least terns, another endangered bird that usually inhabits the bay islands, have also been spotted on the beach this year.

At one point Stewart blurted out something most every Fire Islander has at some point while making introductions: "I love it here."

For Stewart, a year-round resident with intimate knowledge of the seashore beyond the average year-rounder, that love runs especially deep. He passed up a chance at a dream job for a ranger with his master's degree in history focusing on the Civil War: Gettysburg National Military Park.

"There's some days when it's the greatest job in the world," he said, characterizing it as more of a calling. "Other days, you just wish it was a different day."

This was one of the good days. Shaking hands with locals with whom he is on a first-name basis with as he drives past, sharing war stories under a cloudless sky.

One of those he passed was Robert Burke, an actor on "Rescue Me." Stewart spied Uma Thurman in Kismet the other day, and he once met Madonna in Oakleyville.

His darkest days came the week he and fellow rangers responded to lower Manhattan following the Sept. 11, 2001, attacks to help guard New York Harbor and assist in body recovery.

For the most part, the bad days usually involve run-of-the mill jerks who don't realize the Sig Sauer in his hip holster means he is not a Yogi Bear ranger. "Dude its Fire Island, I can do whatever I want," he said, quoting a composite local drunk gone wild who winds up in more trouble than if he just cooperated when asked to cease drinking alcohol in public.

Stewart doesn't let this haranguing get to him. After all, there was too much history surrounding him to enjoy: the 48-star American flag waving in Point 'O Woods and the pre- and post-French revolution flags that hung off a Seaview deck. Stewart could not help but wonder what statement the homeowner is making.

He finally used his siren near the end of the ride-a-long. A construction worker was speeding in his golf cart on a curve near Robbins Rest.

Stewart let him off with a warning. That's the kind of guy he is.