The Hamptons of the Midwest
Lake of the Ozarks (Missouri): mega mansions, badass boats and zero "ducks" given
Lake of the Ozarks is a sprawling, serpentine water channel, a spidery lake that each summer welcomes visitors with a promise of sunburns and questionable life choices. Nestled in the heart of southern Missouri, the lake itself is a 54,000-acre paradox — part natural wonder, part floating frat party. Its size is deceptive. It features 1,150 miles of shoreline — more than California and Oregon combined — that twist and coil through the Ozark hills.
Lining that shoreline are 75,000 homes, many of which could double as luxury hotels. It is not unusual to see 25,000, even 30,000 square feet of living space with $250,000 worth of windows staring at the water. Even some of the private docks below are well-heeled. During the summer, those homes fill up with the haute bourgeoisie of suburban Chicago, Kansas City, St. Louis, and other cities and towns across the heartland.
For eight months, the lake is relatively quiet and serene. An occasional boat of day-trippers drifts slowly through the buoys that guide traffic. But from Memorial Day to Labor Day, the lake transforms into a four-month-long party, a wild, raucous blowout where everyone lounges on the decks of badass boats and drinks a shit-ton of Bud Lite (well, that is, until gender-bending Dylan Mulvaney took down an entire brand of Anheuser-Busch).
The lake was created in 1929 by damming the Osage River and flooding its valley, which means miles of the shoreline are hard to access. Reaching some remote parts means driving down a bumpy, winding road that doubles as a footpath, where cell service drops off. Most Americans have never been there. And for good reason. The closest airport with commercial service is over an hour away. The lake puts the Boon in the Boonies.
One thing of note … a significant note:
This is Trump Country, with MAGA hats, the funny double-jerkoff dance and a “we don’t give a shit” attitude. The Lake is the essence of Middle-American wealth, people who have the financial muscle to give coastal elites — those who summer in the Hamptons and Nantucket —a huge middle finger.
The Ozarks have “fuck you” money, and they have the monster boats and mega-mansions to prove it.
Backwater Jack’s
Down on the water, there’s Backwater Jack’s, a massive restaurant/bar complex spread out over several acres. It juts out over a marina at the bottom of a parking lot so steep it makes you wonder how patrons make it back up after a few drinks. Hint: Golf carts. (Back in 2023, I had lunch there with my family, docking on the lake in my brother Steve’s 42-foot boat Feelin’ Alright. Steve and his wife Lois have owned a condo in the Ozarks for 30-plus years).
In May 2020, at the beginning of a summer like no other, Backwater Jack’s was home to the earliest and most notorious pandemic rebellions, when thousands of lakegoers gathered in its pool and multiple bars for the annual Zero Ducks Given Party. Just because the whole world had locked down and masked up did not mean the Lake of the Ozarks had to, too.
But when images of the party got out, showing swarms of dancing girls in bikini thongs, gawking dudes and everyone doing tequila shots, it caused national outrage. Online Covidians were horrified. Congress exploded in anger. CNN monitored the situation regarding a possible uptick in COVID-19 cases.
The Ozarks said, “Deal with it.”
But when images of the party got out, showing swarms of dancing girls in bikini thongs, gawking dudes and everyone doing tequila shots, it caused national outrage. Online Covidians were horrified. Congress exploded in anger. CNN monitored the situation regarding the possible uptick in COVID-19 cases.
The Ozarks said, “Deal with it.”
Before the party, Backwater Jack’s had said it would provide temperature screenings and personal bottles of hand sanitizer. These were perfunctory gestures, at best. The organizers didn’t care, and everyone knew it. The lake had no intention of giving up its summer.
By the time July 4 rolled around, those token gestures were gone.
It should be noted just two cases of COVID linked to the party, which seemed to mystify (read: upset) the mouth-breathers in Washington D.C.
Trumptilla
Then came the “Trumptilla.”
On June 14, 2020, Donald Trump’s 74th birthday, a flotilla (or “Trumptilla”) of 350 boats paraded down the lake. They flew flags emblazoned with “Keep Lake of the Ozarks Great,” “Make Liberals Cry Again,” and “No More Bullshit.”
For participants, the boat parades became something of a community — its Facebook group still has thousands of members. To anyone at the boat parade, Trump losing the election was inconceivable. After all, he was the only candidate with such visible, spirited public support. Joe Biden campaigned from his basement and all but encouraged voters to stay in theirs.
Trump did lose, however, and the resentment was palpable. But life went on. And it didn’t prevent them from cracking a Bud and having a good time waiting for the next election.
MAGAland
The conventional take on Trump is that he won in 2016 and 2024 by capturing young men and the working class — the disenfranchised and resentful, whose jobs were shipped to Bangladesh and who were getting by on disability and fentanyl.
Sure, many working-class voters did vote for him. But that wasn’t the heart of MAGAland.
The heart of MAGAland is the people who run car dealerships, gas stations, fast-food franchises, and other small- and medium-sized brick-and-mortar businesses who could not believe in the Clintonistas and Bidenistas and all the other virtue signaling, mask-wearing, self-righteous elites.
They were the people who spent their summers in places like Lake of the Ozarks, in mansions, cabins, condos and gated homes with boat slips and screened-in porches. They weren’t outwardly political until they felt cancel culture, the media, Ivy League blue bloods, the techies, the Hollywood glitterati … and the politicians living thousands of miles away telling them how to live, what to think, what was good or bad, bearing down on them.
The word of the day: “Have fun”
So far, they’ve kept most big-name brands away from the lake. There are no designer shops. There’s no Four Seasons hotel (although there is the Lodge of the Four Seasons, which has no affiliation with the “real” Four Seasons). At Lake of the Ozarks, there are no Michelin-star restaurants. No Whole Foods. The waitress at the local barbecue joint will probably call you sweetie.
What the people here really want is to have fun.
They want to have fun, not simply because fun is fun, but because the other tribe does not believe in fun. Those would be the people who live in COVID bubbles and “tweet” about masks and warning about lockdowns are, you know, neurotic. The pervasive feeling is one of anti-neurosis. ”Karens” need not apply. It’s water slides and piña coladas and big, manly, climate-warming boats.
And zero ducks given.
It’s the Margaritaville Resort — part of Jimmy Buffet’s chain of Caribbean-themed hotels — sitting at the resort’s Landshark Bar in the middle of the afternoon sipping a Pain in the Ass (half piña colada and half rum runner).
It’s the sun-burned dudes in red, white, and blue visors steering their boats out of the marina ... the girls laughing … the little kids splashing. The grilling, the zip-lining, the lack of virtue signaling, the absence of any tone-policing.
It’s the seemingly endless wallowing around on a long, lazy day in July under a blazing sun, pounding a cold one, listening to music and not giving a damn about what anyone thinks.
They wouldn’t have it any other way.
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Jim Geschke was inducted into the prestigious Marquis “Who’s Who” registry in 2021.
