Spielberg’s blockbuster turned 50 this June, so it was time to head back to the island that became Amity

At the inaugural Nightmare Weekend in Richmond, Virginia, in 2023, I paid for a photo-op with the actor Jeffrey Kramer, whose Deputy Hendriks worked for Roy Scheider’s Chief Martin Brody in Jaws. More or less as a throwaway comment, Kramer asked if I was coming up to Martha’s Vineyard in 2025 for the 50th anniversary celebration.

I’d been to the Vineyard only once before, in 2011, taking the ferry across from Cape Cod for a little walkabout tour of the island where one of my favorite movies had been filmed. If ever there was a reason to return, this was it.

The island now known as Martha’s Vineyard, founded by English explorer Bartholomew Gosnold, had been inhabited by the Wampanoag and other Native people for thousands of years. Today the island is lively and multicultural, with Anglican, Native American and African Americans all sharing this piece of land less than 100 square miles in area. Joe Alves scouted the island in 1974, successfully pitching it to Steven Spielberg and Universal as the setting for the fictional Amity community. Unusually for a major motion picture, locals were cast not only as background but also in minor speaking roles—which no doubt would give today’s union leaders a severe headache.

The only ways into the Vineyard are via ferry or commercial airfare—unless you possess private means of ingress. (I do not.) Despite flight delays on both ends of my trip, and one embarrassing moment where I got off the bus nowhere near my bunk, I found the island’s all-electric bus system to be surprisingly efficient and, thanks to a grant from the Massachusetts government, free of charge all summer. (Even the bus drivers got in on the fun, with the driver of my bus from the airport wearing a shark hat.) In fact, I managed to get around the entire weekend without a single cab or Uber. This was good news considering that getting to and staying on the island were both, well, a pricey proposition. So were dining and shopping, with every item costing about five bucks more than it “should”; this is the price of island economics. If you’ve ever gone to Burger King in Hawaii, you’ll know what I mean.

Speaking of BK, I learned on my Jaws bus tour Saturday afternoon that the Vineyard is almost completely free of franchises but for one Dairy Queen that someone squeaked by. A decent meal here, plus alcohol, costs around $100 for one person, plus local taxes and gratuity, but the money stays within the community and maintains Martha’s Vineyard quaintness that brought Spielberg & Co. here a half-century ago.

Roger Ebert observed in his 2000 “Great Movies” essay that “if Spielberg’s favorite location would become the suburbs, ‘Jaws’ shows suburbanites on vacation.” No wonder that this community continues to be a favorite of the well-heeled and the famous out for relaxation.

So too have the acolytes come in pilgrimage to celebrate 50 years of a pop-culture touchstone. Sadly the Island Theater, where the film had its world premiere June 20, 1975, is shuttered now, I was told, thanks to unmitigated asbestos. Across the street, however, at the Mikado Asian Bistro, the film was playing silently on every TV in the joint Friday evening. One patron couldn’t help but commenting on how the 4K restoration makes all the naughty bits of skinny-dipping victim Chrissie (Susan Backlinie) far more visible in the PG-rated film; Backlinie’s more-visible nudity would doubtless have bumped it up to a PG-13 today.

I met a man in his mid-fifties named Patrick from Connecticut, who had taken the ferry over for the fest. He and his wife had been about to bed down for the evening when they passed the Mikado and saw the movie playing. It was important, Patrick said, to pull over and bear witness—especially since, for reasons that shall remain mysterious for another 50 years, there were no official Jaws screenings anywhere on this island until…the following Tuesday. It should have been playing on a perpetual loop, Patrick and I agreed, and Universal was foolishly leaving cash on the table. Even a marathon of OG Jaws followed by its increasingly ridiculous sequels would have drawn a crowd to local theaters, we agreed. Hell, toss in “Orca,” “Piranha” and any or all of the other ripoffs for good measure.

“Fifty years to the day,” Patrick said, with a self-assured smile as we sat on the Mikado’s outdoor deck and watched, for the hundredth or five-hundredth time, as Brody blew the shark to smithereens. The sound may have been turned off, but “Smile you son of a bitch!” was definitely uttered by several folks nearby. Shortly thereafter, a man claiming to be the Mikado’s owner stepped out onto the deck, drink in hand, to tout the importance of Jaws playing on this crucial anniversary at his establishment.

In both my in-person conversations as well as observing posts on the Jaws50th Facebook page, I encountered fellow travelers who came to the island from all points of the compass not only from the United States but also from the U.K. and as far away as Singapore. Fandom is many things, but it transcends traditional boundaries posed by arbitrary lines on a map, cultural differences or, in some cases, even language barriers.

Everyone, it turns out, loves to be scared of the big bad shark.

Among the tidbits I learned on the bus tour of the island Saturday is that Oak Bluff’s Inkwell Beach earned its name due to being segregated in earlier times. Thankfully, the country has changed somewhat, and today people of all skin colors gleefully took to the Vineyard’s waters together all weekend.

One particularly noteworthy location for a dip is the so-called Jaws Bridge at the border between Oak Bluffs and Edgartown. It was here that the shark swam into the “pond” to attack the rowboat victim (stuntman Ted Grossman), he of the heavily New England-accented “You guys OK over dere?” The estuary is used by boats traversing between the Atlantic and Sengekontacket Pond, where many Jaws scenes were filmed, including Brody’s duel with Bruce the Mechanical Shark (through careful camera angles, making audiences believe the ship was far out to sea).

The Jaws Bridge is also a place where Jaws-nerds and other visitors leap into the waters. There is no platform, requiring the adventurous and the foolish to clamber over the railing; the bravest stand atop the railing before taking the plunge. I went there about 6 p.m. Saturday, attempting to psych myself out for the 15-foot drop into the drink. There I met two young ladies, probably in their early-20s, who had come with the same mission: one to jump, the other to film her friend. The jumper asked me if I was scared; I told her yes, and that we could do this together. As she removed her outer clothing, I couldn’t help but notice horizontal lines along the left side of her torso…a cutter. It wasn’t my place to ask or to comment, but if I could help her be brave in this moment, so be it.

After all, the human brain is there to tell us when we face a foolish idea. I had at least two decades on the Jumper, and if anything should go wrong, my recovery would likely be slow. What if the tide was too low and I struck bottom? While I was told no actual shark attacks had happened on the Vineyard since 2012—and the last prior to that nearly 80 years earlier—what if this was the moment that the real Jaws was down there waiting for me? What if what if what if?

The Filmer made her way to the beach below, shouting “OK” and giving the thumbs-up as she rolled with my iPhone camera. Upon realizing there was no way I could stand atop the railing without falling, I opted to clamber over the railing and grasp it behind me. “I’ll go first,” I told my companion, “and you follow.”

I jumped.

The water was refreshingly cool on this first full day of summer, and when I breached the surface I whooped at the thrill, cheering on the Jumper, who leaped in as I paddled toward shore. “Yeah!” I shouted as she surfaced from below the waterline.

Back on the bridge I high-fived the Jumper while toweling off. She and the Filmer went to meet their friends, while I walked down to the beach to have a final foot-dip in Nantucket Sound. I couldn’t help but feel accomplished.

Over the weekend I walked over 20 miles. This required considerable caloric refueling—and beers, many of them nods to that most famous phony-tiburon visitor from the west coast. I enjoyed oysters and a lobster roll at the Offshore Ale Company and, on the recommendation of my Airbnb host, a dinner of clam chowder, sushi and Martha’s Vineyard vodka-infused mule at the Martha’s Vineyard Chowder Company. Morning fuel came thanks to a bagel sandwich at Mocha Mott’s and a breakfast sandwich at Aalia’s, topped with zaatar and labne for something different. The sweet tooth also was tended properly at Rosie’s Frozen Yogurt and Back Door Donuts. More beers met my lips at Bad Martha’s Brewing Company, which I imbibed while updating my social media with photos from my various sojourns about the island.

While I do my absolute best not to eavesdrop on others, my ADHD sometimes can’t help but pick up on conversations around me. On the bus down to Edgartown Saturday, I heard a woman of Native American heritage telling an African American commuter that the Obamas are incredibly gracious visitors to the Vineyard.

“I don’t want to get political,” the lady told her seatmate, though it’s hard to imagine anyone getting “angry” at someone relating how a high-profile couple acts civilized while visiting this unique community.

In addition to Richard Dreyfuss, Joe Alves, Carl Gottlieb, Jeffrey Kramer and others connected with Jaws, the Orca too also came back to the island. While the film’s Orca and its re-sinkable stunt double Orca II have long since been the victims of time and entropy, father-and-son duo Michael and Jack Sterling from Florida built a replica of Quint’s fishing vessel—complete with a lineup of yellow barrels at the bow—and sailed her up the Eastern Seaboard. This 21st century Orca spent the weekend docked outside Nancy’s Restaurant, where the famous and the curious could ogle the vessel resurrected from its watery grave.

Dreyfuss, Alves and others showed up periodically for autographs and photos. I saw on Facebook various posts of “normal” people on the Orca, and I spoke to one person who got aboard due to having a friend in common with the owner. Despite my best attempts to talk my way aboard Orca III and play the press card, Jack, the son of the father-son duo, and his companions simply weren’t having it—not even as ballast, chief.

At the Martha’s Vineyard Museum in Tisbury, the exhibit “Jaws at 50” offers a summerlong nerd’s paradise of props, posters, vintage photos and costumes. A mockup of Ben Gardner’s (Craig Kingsbury) severed head, replete with its one missing eye, is encased in glass, and so is Mayor Larry Vaughn’s (Murray Hamilton) grey jacket with anchors on it. Joe Alves’ early concept drawings are on display, as is the harpoon gun used in the movie. (In Peter Benchley’s book Quint tossed actual harpoons Moby Dick-style, but this was stepped-up in the film.) One room contains Jaws-related everything, from beach bags to board games. There’s also a terrific photo of the Island Theatre on the day of the premiere; I used my photo program to compare it side by side with the shuttered, asbestos-riddled building that stands today.

I also managed to talk my way into the museum library, with its floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and room-length windows overlooking a boatyard leading out to the Sound. The museum worker who allowed me ingress into the library said it’s not a bad view. I could not disagree.

In another room is a life-size replica of Bruce’s gaping mouth and its exaggerated rows of teeth. I goofily stuck my head in his mouth for the photo, and continued the silliness outside taking selfies of myself wearing a shirt with the graffiti-d “Help! Shark!” billboard in front of…a recreation of the same billboard from the film—perhaps the one and only time and place where absolutely no one would judge me for doing so.

At the Vineyard Harbor Hotel in Vineyard Haven, the hotel leaned into the fun by temporarily rebranding itself as the Amity Harbor Motel. Amid my attempts at selfies, a kindly worker stepped out from the lobby to take my photo in front of the sign. She even allowed me the chance to wander around the hotel property and even walk its private beach, which certainly wasn’t in my original plans.

Other serendipitous moments included running into a person in a giant can of Narragansett wandering the streets of Oak Bluffs—the same kind Quint crushes aboard the Orca. While awaiting my bagel sammy at Mocha Mott, I also chatted with a fellow from Boston—Kennedy accent and all—not here for JawsFest but whose wife’s family has property on the island going back generations. We discussed the state of baseball until his breakfast was ready.

And while awaiting a bus near sunset on Saturday, a lady walked by with a giant shark teddy. I have three stuffed sharks at home—all of whom came to the Vineyard with me—but my rather patient wife Victoria has said that larger teddies would take up far too much of the bed. So while chatting with Victoria on FaceTime, the lady with the big stuffed shark saw me trying to capture this with my phone. She stopped over and asked if I might like to pet “Quint.” She then took several photos of me cuddling Quint there at the bus stop before she and her fellow Jaws-clothed companions moved on.

“That was weird,” Victoria says as the FaceTime call hadn’t ended throughout the episode.

On my third bus from the airport Friday I came upon a group of Jaws fans. They were on their way back from the sold-out Wharf Pub VIP event, where lucky, well-paying fans could mingle with Dreyfuss and co. The pub is owned by Jeffrey Vorhees, who played the ill-fated Alex Kintner and has been a lifelong resident of the Vineyard. Legend has it that the late Lee Fierro, who played Alex’s mother, once wandered into the Wharf without realizing it was in fact owned by her on-screen son, whose character took that fatal swim on the raft.

I tried to get into this party; I really, really tried. Oh how I tried, playing the press card with the organizers for months. Patrick, whom I met Friday night at Mikasi, offered to “sneak” me in on Sunday but alas I would by then have been on a plane home. Walking past the Wharf Saturday, I saw someone in a shark costume seemingly taunting the ticket-holders outside the pub. I’m just mad I didn’t think of such trolling first, if that’s in fact what it was.

So I did the next-best thing and took the bus back to Edgartown to have a beer at Vorhees’ pub. The joint was hopping, with the restaurant area still cordoned off after the meet-and-greet, and staff already setting it up for Sunday’s VIP event. Vorhees himself was nowhere to be found, but that didn’t stop me from ordering a Narragansett, which sadly was served in a plastic cup. However, to complete the adventure, I found an abandoned Narragansett can on a bar ledge and, because the moment absolutely called for it, crushed it like Quint.

Good times.