So a subsidiary skirmish is breaking out among the oceanfront owners who have signed their easements, those who haven’t, and the inlanders, most of whom want the dunes rebuilt. But the holdouts have the upper hand. “The erosion makes me nervous,” says William Kunz, who has lived on the ocean in Long Beach Township for 25 years, “but it doesn’t mean I’m going to adjust my principles. I’m not [signing away] my property!”

Kunz is among the 55 owners represented by attorney Kenneth Porro. Not only do they not want the Feds on their land in perpetuity, they don’t want the dunes raised at all. “They bought oceanfront homes for the ocean view, the breeze, the sights,” Porro says, “and to have these walls of sand—these monstrosity walls!—in front of their homes is ridiculous. That’s why they refuse to sign, because it’s not a reasonable plan.”

“I looked up and saw the ocean breaking in the streets,” says Leonard Connors. “It’s like Katrina. If they knew what was coming, they would run.”

Not all the dunes on the island are in bad shape, they argue. Kunz points to his own well-insulated property: For years, he has maintained his dune fence, as has his neighbor, and their only flooding has been from the bay side of the island. It’s not that they’re against replenishment, they say; they just want it kept to areas that really need it. Porro says his opponents are “utilizing scare tactics. They say the dunes are there to protect the property, so if you don’t sign this easement, you’re creating damage to the entire community. So the dunes get good press from people who are not educated. But if you live inland, this dune ain’t doing nothing for you.”

The inlanders, as well as the oceanfront homeowners who have signed on, don’t agree. “People don’t understand that [Katrina] could happen here,” says Wendy Mae Chambers, head of the Harvey Cedars Tax Payers Association, who has been trying to bring the resistance around. “It’s serious. People will die.” As Michael Pasnik, a Somerset attorney who signed an easement for his summer home, says, “This is bigger than just my house. We have to protect the island. The entire economy of the shore could be affected if we don’t.” New Jersey’s second-biggest business sector is tourism, and it brings in $30 billion per year, half of that from the shore counties. “I’d rather have a big, safe beach, even if my view was lessened,” says Nels Kauppila, managing director of JPMorgan in New York, who also signed on.

But with the Feds unwilling to compromise on the terms of the easements, there’s little they can do to change the holdouts’ minds. “No one likes the word perpetuity. It puts the hairs up on people’s necks,” says Mayor Oldham, explaining the resistance. “Some people just don’t trust the government.”

Tacked on the office wall of State Senator Leonard T. Connors Jr., across from the driftwood clock, is a framed black-and-white photo showing a flooded group of houses. It’s a shot of the Great Atlantic Storm, which leveled nearly half the buildings on Long Beach Island and killed several people in March 1962. It haunts the 77-year-old Connors, who was there. “I’ve seen the devastation,” he says in his thick Jersey accent. Connors recalls running supplies up the island’s main road in a boat with an outboard motor. “I looked up and saw the ocean breaking in the streets,” he says. “These people haven’t seen it. It’s like Katrina. If they knew what was coming, they would run.”

Connors, a Republican, is a large man with a large presence on LBI. One resident calls him “our Boss Hog.” In addition to being a state senator, he has been the mayor of Surf City for 40 years. He’s used to getting his way, and he’s frustrated with the oceanfront owners. “These are the same people who took the town to tax court,” he says. “They’re just ballbusters.” And yes, a good number of the holdouts are New Yorkers. “I don’t want to characterize people from New York, but they bring large purses of money, and they’re a little more demanding of services than what has traditionally been acceptable.”

Just as Harvey Cedars trucked in sand in October, Connors began using $500,000 of the borough’s emergency funds to dump sand on Surf City’s beaches this May, making an end run around the easements. He also got an ordinance passed that will bill homeowners directly for future dune repairs. Considering the near-constant erosion and the frequent storms, the bills could easily reach tens of thousands of dollars. (Passing laws like this is easy when weekenders are not around to vote.) “There’s a saying in China: ‘No tickee, no shirtee,’ ” he says. “If you don’t sign up, you don’t get sand.”

Even more controversial plans may be on the horizon. By July 4, the Army Corps and NJDEP will tally the easements and plan the next step. Although they’d been asking all along for 100 percent of the easements in affected areas to be signed, that requirement is no longer so cut-and-dried. Just this month, Governor Jon Corzine stepped in, pledging support for the project. Watson now insists that the replenishment will happen, even if the municipalities need to seize the dunes under eminent domain. Though it would be costly—politically and economically—“we could take that property,” Connors admits. Watson goes him one better: “We are going to build beach fill on this island somewhere this year.”

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