It’s gone now. Well, the school is, anyway. If you drive down Montauk Highway in Oakdale, Long Island, you’ll see the massive, sprawling estate that once housed La Salle Military Academy, but the echoes of marching boots and "yes, sirs" have long since faded into the salt air. It's kinda wild to think that for over a century, this place was the premier Catholic military boarding school in the Northeast. Now? It’s a university campus, a site for high-end weddings, and a collection of memories for a dwindling number of alumni who still call themselves "La Sallians."
Most people driving by just see the brick and the gates. They don't see the history of a school that survived world wars and cultural shifts only to vanish just as the 20th century was closing out.
Why La Salle Military Academy Still Matters
Honestly, the story of La Salle isn't just about a school; it's about a specific brand of American education that basically doesn't exist anymore. Founded in 1883 by the Brothers of the Christian Schools, the academy wasn't always in Oakdale. It actually started in Westchester as the Westchester Institute before moving to the former Bourne Estate in 1926.
That move changed everything.
The Bourne Estate was—and is—a masterpiece. Frederick Bourne was the president of the Singer Sewing Machine Company, and his "shack" by the water was a 438-acre playground of Gilded Age luxury. When the Christian Brothers bought it, they turned a millionaire’s retreat into a disciplined, rigorous training ground for young men.
We’re talking about a school that produced generals, CEOs, and even a few names you’d recognize from the news, like former New York City Mayor Rudy Giuliani (who attended back when it was a different kind of institution) or some of the top brass in the US military. But it wasn’t just a "rich kid" school. It was a place where the De La Salle Christian Brothers tried to mix the grit of military life with the spiritual focus of Catholic education.
It worked. For a long time.
The Oakdale Years: Life on the Bourne Estate
If you went to La Salle in the 50s or 60s, your life was dictated by the bugle. You lived in the barracks. You wore the uniform. You spent your afternoons on the drill field or out on the Great South Bay. The school was famous for its cavalry unit—yes, they had horses—and its rifle team.
The campus was basically a fortress of discipline.
The brothers were tough. The officers were tougher. But the bonds formed there were different from what you’d find at a typical prep school. When you’re 14 years old and you’re polishing brass at 5:00 AM while the wind whips off the Atlantic, you tend to make friends for life.
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There’s this misconception that military academies like La Salle were just "reform schools" for bad kids. That’s total nonsense. While some parents certainly sent their difficult sons there to get "straightened out," the majority of the student body consisted of high-achievers. It was a college preparatory school first. The military aspect was a framework for character, not a punishment for being a brat.
The Shift in the 70s and 80s
Things started to get complicated as the world changed. The Vietnam War era wasn't kind to the military school model. Enrollment across the country started to dip as the "military" part of the "military academy" became a harder sell to suburban families.
La Salle tried to adapt. They focused more on their international appeal. By the 1980s, the school was a melting pot. You had kids from wealthy families in Mexico, Venezuela, and Spain living alongside kids from Long Island and Queens. It was an odd, fascinating demographic mix.
I spoke with an alum from the class of '88 once who described it as "International House of Pancakes, but with more shouting." It was a unique environment where the shared language was the drill manual, even if the kids were speaking three different languages in the mess hall.
The Beginning of the End
So, what happened? Why did a school with that much history and that much real estate just... stop?
It wasn't one thing. It was a perfect storm.
First, the cost of maintaining a Gilded Age estate is astronomical. When your "schoolhouse" is a historic mansion with intricate stonework and aging infrastructure, the bills never stop. Second, the pool of families looking for a single-sex, Catholic, military boarding school was shrinking.
By the early 1990s, the writing was on the wall. The Brothers of the Christian Schools were facing the same challenges as many other religious orders: fewer men entering the brotherhood and a mounting financial burden.
In 1993, the school made a desperate pivot. They transitioned to a co-ed, non-military format for a brief period, trying to save the institution by becoming "La Salle Prep."
It didn't take.
The identity was gone. The "Old Boys" were upset. The new students didn't have the same connection to the traditions. By 2001, the doors finally closed for good.
What’s There Now?
If you visit the site today, you won't see cadets. After the academy closed, the property was eventually sold to St. John's University. They used it as a satellite campus for years, maintaining the beautiful grounds and the historic Bourne Mansion.
Eventually, a large portion of the property was sold again. Today, the centerpiece is the Bourne Mansion, which is a premier wedding venue managed by Lessing’s Hospitality Group. It’s a strange irony: the barracks where boys once scrubbed floors are now backdrops for black-tie galas and tiered cakes.
The southern portion of the estate became home to the Sisters of St. Joseph, and other parts of the land have been developed or repurposed for educational and community use.
Does the Legacy Live On?
Sorta. The La Salle Military Academy Alumni Association is surprisingly active. They hold reunions, they maintain a digital archive, and they keep the "LSMA" spirit alive. They even helped move the school’s historic war memorial and other artifacts to ensure they weren't just bulldozed or forgotten.
But as an institution, it’s a ghost.
It represents a time when Long Island was a place of grand estates and rigid traditions, before the sprawl of strip malls and modern suburban life took over.
Understanding the La Salle Impact
If you’re researching La Salle for family history or just curiosity, it’s important to look at the numbers. At its peak, the school sat on nearly 300 acres of prime waterfront property. That’s an insane amount of land for a private school.
The curriculum was also surprisingly advanced for its time. While the military drill was the most visible part, the science and math programs were top-tier. They weren't just training soldiers; they were training the next generation of engineers and doctors.
Many people confuse La Salle Military Academy with other "La Salle" schools. There are dozens of them globally, all founded by the same religious order (the De La Salle Brothers). However, the Oakdale academy was the only one with that specific military boarding school identity on such a grand scale.
Actionable Steps for Historians and Alumni
If you are looking to dig deeper into the history of this Oakdale landmark, don't just rely on a Google search. Here is how you can actually find the real stuff:
- Visit the Sayville Historical Society: They hold a significant amount of local lore and physical records regarding the Bourne Estate and the school's transition.
- Contact the De La Salle Christian Brothers Archives: They are the official keepers of the school’s institutional records. If you’re looking for specific student records or religious history, that’s your best bet.
- Check the LSMA Alumni Association Website: This is the most "human" source. You’ll find old yearbooks (The Sabre), photos of the cavalry unit, and personal accounts that aren't in the official history books.
- Tour the Bourne Mansion: You can’t exactly go on a "school tour" anymore, but attending an event at the mansion gives you access to the main house. You can still see the intricate woodwork and the massive fireplaces that the cadets used to walk past every day.
The story of La Salle Military Academy is a reminder that even the most imposing institutions are fragile. It survived a century of change but couldn't survive the shift into the 21st century. It remains a beautiful, slightly haunting piece of Long Island history that shaped thousands of lives before finally surrendering to time.