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THE BEAUTY OF LOVE by Jorge and Laura Posada A Memoir of Miracles, Hope, and Healing.

AIN’T NOTHIN’ BUT… A ‘T-T-TEA’ PARTY! by John Francis Hoctor Is this a movement or a public relations campaign?

FICTION: RANCHO MIRAGE by Joanna Gleason A personal chef gets too personal.

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THIRD EYE We’ll always have Elliot Erwitt’s Paris.

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Departments 22

TRAIN OF THOUGHT by Daniel Asa Rose The coolest kid in class.

THE LOCAL SCENE Ticked off, Writopia Lab and community leaders.

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BALANCE SHEET by Kevin Corcoran Down and Out on Wall Street.

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THE ARTS Where to Look, Listen and Learn around the region.

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PARENT TRAP by Ina Chadwick My father was a legend, not only in his own mind.

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THE HEALING AGENT by Dr. Andrew Kornstein Cosmetic surgery is an art, as well as a science.

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SOUND INVESTMENT by Tom Sherman Put whole life insurance into your diversified portfolio.

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RURAL PALATES New Haven rates a visit; Chef Prasad Chirnomula’s expanding realm.

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NEXT STOP GRAND CENTRAL Primetime in the Meatpacking District and fall premieres.

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LIKE A ROLLING STONE From the Sundance Film Festival to London’s West End.

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At the beginning of junior high I was unexpectedly taken under the wing of the coolest kid in class. I didn’t know why he saw fit to choose me; all I knew was that my world opened – I suddenly became aware of all I had been dreamily oblivious to in grade school: that there was such a thing as popular and unpopular kids, that girls favored the popular ones, what power was. I had never paid special attention to anyone before, but I made up for lost time by understanding that Eric was of Swedish descent, a Viking hero, dangerheaded and goldenhaired, with transparent eyelashes; I was instantly moony for him, my eyes puppyish with love. I was like a rookie catcher from some dusty farm league, plucked by a star Big League pitcher to be his partner. Anointed. In the rigid caste system of junior high, we were at the top, and under his Norse tutelage I was his second in some spectacular afterschool adventures. We leapt off a rope swing into a canyon full of boulders and somehow – because he said we wouldn’t — didn’t snap our ankles. We jumped onto ice floes and rode them out beyond the bridge. We tossed a coin for math class homework and astounded the class by getting heads 20 out of 20 2 2 W E S T O N M A G A Z I N E G R O U P. C O M

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Weston Magazine, Rye Magazine, Westport Country Capitalist, Greenwich Country Capitalist, New Canaan Country Capitalist, and The Upper East Side Magazine, Issue #42, are published 4 times per year by Weston Magazine, INC. P.O. Box 1006, Weston, CT 06883. Email: eric@thewestonmag.com. Tel: 203/227-5377. www.westonmagazinegroup.com. Copyright 2010 by Weston Magazine, INC. All rights reserved. Weston Magazine/Country Capitalist/Rye Magazine/The Upper East Side Magazine are trademarks of Weston Magazine, INC. The contents of this publication may not be reproduced either in whole or in part without the consent of the publisher. Weston assumes no responsibility for unsolicited materials. Print subscription rate: four issues, $100. Back Issues, $10. Attention Postmaster: send address corrections to Weston, P.O. Box 1006, Weston, CT 06883. Printed in Canada.

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times. We found an exploded dynamite casing from where they had blasted boulders to make Interstate Route 95. We were sprayed by a skunk and had to bathe together in tomato juice. We sat for hours in his tiny windowless converted closet of a bedroom — the ceiling slanted to the floor — that smelled horrifically of his baseball cleats, and it was here that we perfected a best friend’s slap-handshake routine that became the envy of our classmates, and here that he confided his secret wish to catch an atom bomb falling from the sky, which we both thought was the most heroic thing imaginable — to make a final gesture as futile as it was noble. To kick off the beginning of mid-winter break in a blaze of glory he even burst his appendix in school one morning without complaining, just stoically sitting in class until he calmly said, "I think I should see the nurse." He spent the entire break in the hospital, prohibited from seeing visitors,

ingly short time to put out the fire, but our afternoon was in tatters. Our clothes and hair smelled like smoke. The firemen advised Eric and me to separate and go home; the chief would call on our parents that night. My heart was enflamed. It had suffered so many emotions in such a short while — excitement, panic, fear, relief — that it felt like it had been soaked down with a fire hose and now was spongy with the next emotion: apprehension. What would my parents say? When the fire chief came to our house that night to make sure I wasn't a pyromaniac – and to offer the advice that a bed sheet would have worked better, because it wouldn’t have shredded — my parents amazed me by consoling me. I was grateful, and even allowed my mother to stroke my hair that night with my head in her lap, one of the only times in my life we both were in the mood to let such tenderness take place.

WE TURNED AND BEHELD A FRAGMENT OF BURNING TOWEL FLOATING LAZILY BEHIND US IN THE WIND, LANDING IN THE ISLAND OF CATTAILS JUST OFF THE ROAD. with no phone in his room, so the only way I could communicate with him was to send him an envelope. With wild hyperbole, but also with more simple thrilling dash than I would ever again have in my life, I enclosed only a single thing inside: an ace of diamonds, a wordless reminder that he would recover and continue being my hero. One afternoon that spring, when he was back in full swing, Eric and I came up with the after-school idea of making a torch by wrapping old towels around the end of a broom handle and dunking it in gasoline. Then we went running down the road near my house yelling "Hail Methusah." When we got to the bridge, we turned and beheld a fragment of burning towel floating lazily behind us in the wind, landing in the island of cattails just off the road. Instantly Heart's Island exploded. Like a dream that was both slow motion and fast motion at the same time, the flame went "woooomph." Right before our eyes a third of the island was engulfed in crackling, rustling, real-life fire that singed Eric's eyelashes and made my fingertips go cold. Stunned, we ran up the street and banged on the doors of unoccupied houses. Neighbors left their doors unlocked in those days, and we pushed one open and found the kitchen phone and yelled for the operator to connect us with the fire department. The instant the connection was made, we heard the siren go up a mile away, and we ran outside to see one of the sights of our lives: a sheet of bright orange flame as high as the telephone wires. We waited with our hearts in our throats for the two or three minutes it took for the volunteer fire trucks to arrive, and with them what seemed like the entire town: babysitters pushing strollers while eating Milky Ways, kids straddling bikes and enjoying the show. It took a surpris-

2 4 W E S T O N M A G A Z I N E G R O U P. C O M

THE FIRE was the end of my friendship with Eric, however. Because just after the siren went off and while we were waiting for the fire trucks to arrive, something awful had happened. Eric started whimpering — just a tiny noise that rose from his gut with the sound of the siren. I wanted to whimper myself, there on the street hearing the fire trucks get closer. But I wouldn't tolerate it. "Buck up, Eric," I told him. I had no idea where those words came from. I didn't even know the expression "buck up," and I was mystified as to where I found the brute authority to speak it. Shocked, Eric obeyed. He cut off the whimper midsnivel. We got through the fire, we survived the reprimands from teachers and the congratulations from classmates the next day in school. But our friendship was doomed. Eric and I stabbed at it a few months more, but he never forgave me, and by the next year he hated me. WHO WAS "Methusah?" It wasn’t until the end of our teenage years that I realized our cry of "Hail Methusah" was incorrect. It should have been "Methuselah" — the oldest man in the Bible, the grandfather of Noah who lived to be 969 years old. I would have liked to consult Eric as to why a couple of glory-starved children would choose to mangle a biblical name as they burned down an island of cattails, but by that time we were not only not friends. Eric’s body had decided not to live to the age of Methusaleh, or anywhere close. He was dying of leukemia at the age of 19. I went to see Eric in his hospital room shortly before he died. We had gone our separate ways after the fire. He hated me for continuing with advanced placement courses while he dropped to the middle, for starring in the senior class play while he was a stagehand, for scoring high on my French SATs even though I had just gone down the rows, filling in dots at

random. His shame defeated us. Where once we had performed a best friend’s slap-handshake routine in the hallway, by the end of high school we passed without nodding. But he was wounded and I had to reconnect. On a visit home from college I went to his room in the local hospital. He looked like a fallen hero in his white bed, a slain gladiator. He was still so charismatic that he had gotten his nurse to fall in love with him, which struck me as neat a trick as catching an atom bomb falling from the sky – making one final act of heroic futility. There was so much I wanted to talk to him about. In our quest for glory, did we maybe fudge the coin toss a bit for that math homework; maybe it was time to own up to the fact that there were a few tails in the mix. I had found out that Heart's Island wasn't a real island after all; it was a peninsula. I wanted to talk to him about how peninsula was such a sad

chemotherapy and I told him it looked cool. Because it did. Even dying, Eric couldn't not look cool. He was glad to hear that, but again we fell into silence. We strengthened each other by being there together; we also weakened each other. We were old friends who knew things about each other no one else knew, yet we weren't friends any longer at all. I felt like an imposter; I felt like his only ally. We were uneasy and awkward and phony with each other; at the same time we were relaxed and true. We consoled each other, and made each other disconsolate. Our silence was profound. After a few minutes it was apparent that it was time for me to go. I got up and approached his bed. We both knew it would be the last time we would lay eyes on each other. I reached into my pocket and pulled out an envelope for him. Inside was a single thing. His eyes filled with tears. It was the only time I ever saw my Viking cry.

ERIC’S BODY HAD DECIDED NOT TO LIVE TO THE AGE OF METHUSALEH, OR ANYWHERE CLOSE. HE WAS DYING OF LEUKEMIA AT THE AGE OF 19. word. One time in fourth grade the only kid who knew its definition was someone who had stayed back. Mrs. Wilson was startled. "How did you know that word?" she asked. "My father taught me," he said. And the whole class had been touched and sad, picturing Jay with his father sitting around with a map at night, the father trying to teach his slow-learning son something. And succeeding. Eric had been there, in that fourth grade class, and I wanted to talk to him about that; and other equally sad heroic things that I knew the juniorhigh schooler in him would appreciate, maybe even about his leukemia, if we could. Was it the cleat-reeking airlessness of his boyhood closet bedroom that made him sick? Was it our fire that had somehow scorched his blood, or my unforgivable words that had so deeply shocked him? Mostly I wanted to tell him that I had figured out why I had said the thing I’d said, that I had borrowed his grandeur to say it, that it really came from him! — what I had learned being his puppy dog, how I imagined he would have acted in that situation — even though it happened to be me who was granted the wherewithal to voice it. But we couldn't. We didn't. There was nothing to say. We who had once sat jabbering together naked in a tub of tomato juice now sat silent in his over-dry hospital room. He asked me how his hair looked after the

"Bye Danny," he said. "Bye Eric," I said. He tucked the ace of diamonds under his pillow as I left. ❉ Daniel Asa Rose is the author of LARRY'S KIDNEY: Being the True Story of How I Found Myself in China With My BlackSheep Cousin and His Mail-Order Bride, Skirting the Law to Get Him a Transplant... and Save His Life (Morrow, ©2009.) A NEA Literary Fellow for 2006, Daniel won an O. Henry Prize and two Pen Fiction Awards for stories in his first collection, Small Family with Rooster. His first novel, Flipping for It, a black comedy about divorce from the man's point of view, was a New York Times New and Noteworthy Paperback. Daniel is the author of HIDING PLACES: A Father and his Sons Retrace Their Family's Escape From the Holocaust, a saga that intermingles a taut current-day search for the hiding places that saved his family in World War II with memories of the author's own hiding places growing up in WASP 1950s Connecticut. He is currently the editor of the international literary magazine The Reading Room. 'Ace of Diamonds' was first published in obit-mag.com, Summer 2008.

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The dynamic debate about Lyme disease BY CATHRYN J. PRINCE Lyme disease, a tick borne illness, may be one of the most politicized diseases to emerge since AIDS and breast cancer. Most everyone involved in its care and diagnoses agrees that early detection and treatment equals a high cure rate. But when the issue is whether or not chronic Lyme disease exists, the debate threatens to become vitriolic. For some time the issue has been staged like a debate, with two sides. However, in reality, the issue is far more nuanced. At a time when people want black and white answers, it’s easy to divide the issue into the equivalent of a medical Spy v. Spy. But that it has become so polarized is detrimental to all sides and ill serves people bit by a tick. More than 25,000 Americans have, or have had, Lyme, according to the Centers for Disease Control. Many people think Lyme only occurs in New England. That’s wrong. It’s present in every state except Hawaii. In Connecticut, Fairfield County has the highest number of cases, with numbers peaking in July and August. What the data shows, and what the CDC reports, is that 95 percent of people treated with antibiotics for 10-28 days are cured. It’s the other 5 percent who comprise the controversy. A yawning gap separates the opinions regarding these other people, most of whom see their symptoms gradually wane within a year. “I think what’s fueling this is there are a lot of people out there who are genuinely suffering from medically unexplained symptoms. They’re frustrated, and so they start turning to herbalists and other alternative types who say ‘I know what’s wrong with you –you have chronic Lyme!’” says Dr. Gary Wormser, Chief of Infectious Diseases at the Westchester Medical Center in Valhalla. “It’s a relief to someone to hear there is someone who can make him feel better, to give a name to something.” And then, said Wormser, “these people are offered antibiotics, which seems a relatively benign treatment compared to invasive surgery, or, say, chemotherapy, and so I can see how it becomes very appealing.” But that isn’t necessarily a good thing, Wormser explains, because these diagnoses aren’t really based on hard science. There has yet to be

a prolonged, clinical trial in the United States to compare symptoms, including fatigue in post-Lyme patients with that of the general population. And so Wormser and hundreds of other doctors stand with the Infectious Diseases Society of America (IDSA) and nearly 20 years of scientific research. Scientists and doctors who challenge the notion of chronic Lyme disease have been criticized severely. Some have been stalked and harassed. As such, most infectious disease doctors would only speak on background and on condition of anonymity. Then there is the International Lyme and Associate Diseases Society (ILADS) and hundreds of smaller lobbying groups. There are now walks for Lyme, rubber bracelets for Lyme, and websites and chat rooms devoted to the disease. Some more extreme websites go so far as to claim that Lyme is actually a secret biological weapon. And there is the media. In 2008, the New England Journal of Medicine wrote: “The media frequently disregard complex scientific data in favor of testimonials about patients suffering from purported chronic Lyme disease and may even question the competence of clinicians who are reluctant to diagnose chronic Lyme disease. All these factors have contributed to a great deal of public confusion with little appreciation of the serious harm caused to many patients who have received a misdiagnosis and have been inappropriately treated.” According to area doctors and the IDSA, people who say they still have problems likely don’t have on-going or chronic Lyme. Either they never had Lyme disease at all and received the wrong treatment for their illness, or, they had Lyme disease at the same time they had another infection but only received treated for Lyme disease. Or, perhaps, they contracted a new illness unrelated to Lyme disease, but with similar symptoms. Or, the Lyme disease-causing tick bit them again. It’s that there are all these “ors” that has some fired up. “Is there something special about Lyme disease? Or is it like when someone has pneumonia or a heart operation and it just takes lots of time for them to bounce back?” said one doctor, speaking on condition of anonymity.

Part of the problem is that it’s not so easy to find the bacteria causing Lyme in the first place, and after treatment it becomes near impossible. So, if someone had Lyme and after several months still doesn’t feel better, a “ ‘so-called Lyme literate doctor’ can’t say you don’t have Lyme. But, if you follow that logic you can’t tell if anyone has Lyme disease,” continues the doctor. As Wormser explains, medically unexplained symptoms go back centuries. To treat Lyme, the IDSA passed a series of guidelines several years ago. They state: “There is no convincing biological evidence for the existence of symptomatic chronic B. burgdorferi infection among patients after receipt of recommended treatment regimens for Lyme disease. Antibiotic therapy has not proven to be useful and is not recommended for patients with chronic subjective symptoms after recommended treatment regimens for Lyme disease.” Not surprisingly, the Lyme lobby rejects this. It maintains that these 5 percent are suffering from long-term Lyme and need weeks, months, and perhaps even years of intravenous antibiotics. Yet long-term antibiotic use can be dangerous. Long-term antibiotic treatment has been linked to infections of the blood stream, the potentially severe and sometimes deadly infection of the bowel caused by a type of bacteria called Clostridium difficile, and even the development of drug-resistant superbugs that are difficult to beat. Doctors also acknowledge that while some on long-term antibiotics might feel better, that’s not scientific proof that the antibiotic cured or suppressed infection. It might be a placebo effect, or because antibiotics have anti-inflammatory effects certain symptoms might be alleviated. Those who believe in chronic Lyme say this isn’t the case. They maintain the IDSA is an “old boys club that doesn’t want to lose face,” claims Wormser. Yet, despite painting itself as a victim of IDSA bullying, it’s a powerful lobby. Time for Lyme in Greenwich alone raised $1 million last year and counts Connecticut Attorney General Robert Blumenthal and Senate hopeful as a friend. In 2008 Blumenthal aligned himself with the Lyme lobby and brought an unprecedented anti-trust case against IDSA, an 8,000-member organization of doctors trained to understand diseases like AIDS, malaria and tuberculosis. Blumenthal, now running for Senate, has received awards and money from Lyme groups. He accused the ISDA of issuing Lyme treatment guidelines to doctors that warned against using long-term infused or oral antibiotics. “The Attorney General has been incredibly supportive,” says Deborah Burnaman, a board member for Greenwich-based Time for Lyme, an affiliate of the Lyme Disease Foundation. “He understands the issue, he’s a friend.” Burnaman said the Lyme community, as she and others call the advocacy groups, hopes Blumenthal “won’t back down from his stance” now that he is running for Senate. Blumenthal charged that some of the 14 experts who had approved the IDSA’s guidelines received consulting fees, research grants and stock ownership from drug companies and other businesses with stakes in the

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treatment and diagnosis of Lyme disease. Still, anti-trust was an odd charge, since a 1996 policy statement from the Federal Trade Commission and the Department of Justice said that treatment guidelines issued by medical societies do not limit competition. Moreover, an independent eight-member review panel took a look at IDSA and unanimously agreed to uphold the IDSA disease treatment guidelines. The guidelines, among other things, don’t recommend treating Lyme disease with antibiotics for more than a few weeks and say there is no evidence that chronic Lyme disease exists. Reporting isn’t required as it is for other infectious diseases such as

Many people think Lyme only occurs in New England. That’s wrong. It’s present in every state except Hawaii. the influenza virus. “We are hoping to mandate reporting requirements. That will help prevention,” says State Rep. Peggy Reeves (D-W143). Diane Blanchard, co-president of Time for Lyme, says the guidelines consider neither patient testimony nor evidence that extremely ill patients actually respond to prolonged antibiotic treatment. “I do not understand why they cannot be more open-minded to help all of the patients who are suffering,” Blanchard says. Reeves recently co-sponsored legislation ensuring physicians who prescribe long-term antibiotics for their patients won’t lose their medical licenses. “I think it’s going to be challenging to bring together the medical community on this,” Wormser states. “It’s not science anymore for some, it’s become a religion. “ What all sides do agree on is that prevention and early treatment can not only treat the disease, but also diffuse some of the politics. Still, “It’s easier to prevent than treat,” notes Wilton resident Eileen Rice, a volunteer with Ridgefield’s BLAST Lyme Disease Prevention Program. Covering skin when in grassy or wooded areas, using insect repellents with DEET, and showering after spending significant time outdoors are the best ways to prevent the disease, says Rice. ❉ Cathryn J. Prince is the author of the forthcoming book A Professor, A President, and a Meteor: the Birth of American Science, (Prometheus Books). She is also the author of Burn the Town and Sack the Banks: Confederates Attack Vermont! and Shot from the Sky: American POWs in Switzerland.

GREEN ROOM GENTLEMAN'S AGREEMENT

IN APPRECIATION

JUNE HAVOC

WHEN June Havoc, one of Connecticut’s longest running acts, died last

March, it threw me back to a time 25 years ago when, as Fairfield County residents, our paths crossed–twice, and unforgettably so. Many people knew her from the Broadway hit, Gypsy, the 1959 Stephen Sondheim-Jule Styne-Arthur Laurents “musical fable” in which she was forever immortalized. Based on the life of the striptease artist and burlesque queen, Gypsy Rose Lee–her more famous sister (née Rose Louise)–it was a fictionalized distortion of Havoc’s life that served to diminish her considerable vaudeville achievements, create and fuel rumors of estrangement from her sister and, despite her own successes,

BY HOWARD V. SANN affix upon her the label, “Gypsy Rose Lee’s little sister.” June Hovick–her given and stage name–began her career in 1914 at the age of two (before she could talk) as “Dainty Baby June” with bits in silent shorts and then in Hal Roach comedies starring Harold Lloyd. By five–already a trouper–she was a vaudeville star, a headliner billed as “Baby June, the Pocket-sized Pavlova,” earning $1,500 a week and “killing the audience” on the Orpheum-Keith Circuit, four shows a day, five on weekends and never missing a show. She knew exactly “how to get PHOTOGRAPHS COURTESY OF THE JUNE HAVOC LIVING TRUST (TANA SIBILIO, TRUSTEE)

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laughs and applause” the first time she appeared before a live audience. Kids knew her as Miss Hannigan from the early 1980s hit Broadway show Annie, which she played in the final years of the original production. Their grandparents knew her for her 1940 breakthrough role in the Rodgers and Hart musical comedy Pal Joey, the first of her major work in the theatre: over a dozen shows on Broadway, 22 in all, including Marathon ’33 (1963), starring Julie Harris, which she adapted from her autobiography Early Havoc (1959) and directed. Fans of daytime soaps knew her as Madeline Markham, the character she portrayed on several episodes of General Hospital (1990), her swan song that capped four decades of work in television. Film buffs knew her as Gregory Peck’s selfhating Jewish secretary in Gentleman’s Agreement (the best picture of 1947) also starring John Garfield–the first of her 26 Hollywood films–and younger moviegoers knew her as Steve Guttenberg’s wacky Jewish mother in Can’t Stop the Music (1980). However, before she began her career on the Broadway stage and in film and television, June Havoc was a highly successful marathon dancer. West Palm Beach, Florida. 1934. That’s when a 17-year-old Havoc, dancing as “Jean Reed,” stayed on her feet 3,600 hours (almost five months), establishing the all-time marathon dance endurance mark–for “a whopping forty dollars.” In his 1967 book, Fads, Follies and Delusions of the American People: A Pictorial History of Madnesses, Crazes and Crowd Phenomena, my father, Paul Sann, devoted a number of pages to “The Marathons” or “Endurance Follies”–the craze that swept the nation between 1924 and 1934 before it was widely outlawed–called both “a pageant of fatigue” and “a macabre modern equivalent of a homicidal Roman gladiatorial spectacle.” In the chapter, “June Havoc, Winner and Still SISTER ACT Champion,” Sann chronicles her successes on the marathon circuit, which happened, “quite by accident” when she was “slowly starving as a single in vaudeville.” She’d gone to do some tap dancing during a rest period in a San Francisco marathon because she needed the money (five dollars) and, as Sann tells it: “She happened to look the way any marathon promoter wanted his contestants to look–“you know, anemic, like you’re about to drop dead; it was good box office” [Havoc said]–and so she was talked into putting her taps away and going after the big prize money…” As a “marathoner,” Sann writes, “June Havoc was a star,” not a “horse.” Havoc thought of herself as “a sort of an athlete, too.” “For a girl as fragile as she was in those days,” Sann writes, she was “deceptively sturdy.” When she needed to carry a partner who needed to rest, “she developed a simple trick, somewhat unappetizing, to keep him from col-

lapsing. She kept a pinky in one of his nostrils.” When I moved to Wilton in the fall of 1982, June Havoc was living in an old farmhouse in Cannondale, just north of Wilton Center, the town’s downtown area, and just above the pre-Civil War farming village of Cannon Crossing, a complex of 19th century buildings across the tracks from the Cannondale train station. In the years after 1978, when Havoc sold her jewelry, furniture, furs and five decades of showbiz memorabilREVERE BEACH MARATHON

One day, I asked the mailman why Newtown Turnpike had never been paved. “June Havoc,” he said. “She wanted her privacy.” ia, craft and gift shops sprang up, making the area just off of Route 7, then called “June Havoc’s Cannon Crossing,” a popular tourist destination. She had traded her treasures to buy the eight-acre site for $230,000 and then restored it, boutique-style. Well known for her love of animals of which she had many, including a burro named Bottom, and for adopting many “furry people,” she also hosted an annual holiday event, the Blessing of the Animals, a ceremony to which people traveled from far and wide, bringing every imaginable creature–from house pets to farm animals. It was always listed in the Connecticut section of The New York Times, with the additional language,

DAINTY BABY JUNE

“All animals welcome (on leads). Carol singing,” and then, at the event, she would distribute song sheets to everyone. I lived over on the far eastern side of Wilton on the Weston town line on Cobbs Mill Road, which, separated by the Saugatuck River, ran parallel to Newtown Turnpike in Weston. Strangely, the road between Cedar Road and Route 57 was unpaved, and Cobbs Mill became the cut-through speedway of choice to Routes 57 and 53 north. One day, I asked the mailman why Newtown Turnpike had never been paved. “June Havoc,” he said. “She wanted her privacy.” It was on a Saturday in a crowded food market in Wilton Center that I first came face to face with June Havoc. My wife, who was associated with her professionally, introduced us. When I mentioned that my father had written the Fads book, at the sound of the word “fads,” Havoc, her head shielded by

CANNON CROSSING

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a sprawling hat, turned suddenly and locked her blue-eyed gaze upon me. “It’s not right in the book,” she said. “What do you mean?” I asked, stunned. “He got it wrong,” she said, “I wrote him a letter and never heard back.” “I’ll tell him,” I said, figuring that was the end of it, but she said, “He should fix it,” and then, unfinished business completed, turned and engaged my wife as if I no longer existed. Later that day, I found my father, the former newspaperman, who, as executive editor, had run The New York Post for the last 27 years of his 44-year career. He was on his IBM typewriter at home in Rhinebeck, New York, busy working on a novel. “I was just assaulted by June Havoc,” I said. “I thought she was dead,” he replied. “Hardly,” I said. “She’s very much alive. A powerhouse.” I voiced her complaint about his not answering her letter. “Tell her it’s fixed,” he said gruffly. I could tell that his head was someplace else. “I fixed it in Panorama,” he explained, his intonation making it clear the discussion was over. The last of his seven nonfiction books, American Panorama was a revised edition of Fads, published in 1980, the same year as June Havoc’s second autobiography, More Havoc, the story of her “overnight stardom,” which took 22 years, and the relationship between her, her sister and their fiery mother, “Momma Rose”–the mother of mothers of all stage mothers–the ruthless primemover of it all who often pitted the girls against each other. Then, a year and a half after my father had died, in 1988, going through his papers, I came across June Havoc’s letter. Typed singlespaced, in italics, three paragraphs unevenly indented, ellipses between sentences and–at the top–in my father’s printed handwriting in big, red, block letters the word, “F-i-x.” It began: “Dear Paul Sann: First of all….” There was no animosity, it was cordial and, under Havoc’s signature, my father had printed her return address in New Orleans. Knowing my father to be a consummate newsman–doing the research and separating fact from fiction–I had my answer for June Havoc. The moment of delivering his response would come nearly two years after I’d first met her, again running into her in Wilton Center. This time she was wearing a light yellow silk shirt and loose-fitting black pants, a large hat over a black scarf wrapped around her head, protecting her from the sun. After she said hello to my wife, she removed her sunglasses and looked at me, surveying my face, studying it until making positive ID. Acknowledged, I said: “I found the letter you wrote my father. As far as I know, he fixed it.” “It’s not fixed,” she shot back, surprising me. I thought, she mustn’t know about the other book. “I talked to him right after we met,” I said, spelling it out. “There was a second book, a revision, American Panorama. That’s where he fixed it.” “It’s not right,” she insisted again, leaving me nonplussed; then, bringing her sunglasses up to her face, she flashed me one more look of certainty and walked past me. And

that was that. Or–so I thought. Last March 29, when I read that June Havoc had passed away, her undated letter to my father happened to be sitting on my desk. I re-read the letter, looking for clues in my father’s prose to what might have upset her. In it, she speaks of “playing Mrs. Malaprop here with a wonderful Rep.” This puts her in Sheridan’s The Rivals in 1970, the season she was serving as artistic director of Repertory Theatre New Orleans. Home was still Weston, where she’d been living at least ten years and where she suggested my father, “send things [because] they will be safe there.”She was referring to two of the four original photographs from her collection that she’d given him for the book: one of her as a curly-haired young blonde, arms draped over her partner’s shoulders, resting on her feet during a marathon; the other, on her back, head in arms, on a cot onstage in the girl’s rest quarters during a break–they’d dance 45-minutes straight, then rest 11 minutes, taking two minutes to get to the cot and two to get back on the dance floor. As a champion, Havoc was an authority on the

It was Havoc’s preparation, perseverance and industry– she was always rehearsing and taking lessons… which launched her stage and film careers and from which she achieved stardom. subject, which is why my father sought her out: Miss Havoc recalls that the eleven-minute breaks actually were surprisingly refreshing for most of the dancers because they had trained themselves–“it was a kind of self-hypnosis,” she says–to fall asleep as fast as they hit the cot and then roll off it refreshed when the wake-up sirens went off. “I’ve always believed that you can train yourself to do anything,” says the pretty stage star. “To stay alive in those marathons, you had to get the most out of those eleven minutes or run the risk of going ‘squirrely’–out of your head, cuckoo–on the floor.” Rereading her chapters in both books, I was surprised to learn that there was no revision, no “fix.” She was right. My father only added one sentence on the 1969 film They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? for its brilliant recreation of “that time of madness.” According to Sann, Havoc’s first marathon was in 1933, but, in fact, she had “established” herself four years earlier at 13–after she’d eloped (she was a mother at 16)–when she went 1,500 hours in her first marathon and, although unimpressed with her own performance, realized that there was money to be made. In her letter, she seemed to be saying, “I was more than a marathon dancer... it was a means to an end… not who I was.” That, and modeling, performing in the Catskills and in summer stock were her bridge between vaudeville and theatre, between eating and starving, between a career and a life and becoming her own person.

There was also this line in both books: Dancing under the name of Jean Reed and making futile stabs at Broadway chorus lines between marathons… Nothing was “futile.” It was all part of her plan: “legit” theatre was where she always wanted to be. That’s why, in-between marathons–a way to support herself while honing her dancing (she was a charismatic high kicker) and singing talents (fans threw money when she sang)–she used all her marathon winnings to travel by train or bus back and forth to New York to audition for the stage. Sann doesn’t finish her story. This was the destiny she’d forged. She never doubted it. It was partly her fierce and driven nature and partly in spite of her mother’s monumental lack of confidence in her: having reminded her that her sister was “the most beautiful girl on Broadway” and telling her she’d never get noticed “looking as plain as a piece of homemade soap.” It was Havoc’s preparation, perseverance and industry–she was always rehearsing and taking lessons, what she called, “the endless effort”–that led directly to the audition for John O’Hara’s Pal Joey, which launched her stage and film careers and from which she achieved stardom. My father had understated the breadth of Havoc’s creative force and not properly “framed” the arc of her life as a performer–Paul Sann, the latest to underestimate the indomitable June Havoc. About marathon dancing, in 1966, she’d told him: “Of course, you were always on the verge of falling down, the way you do when you’re untrue to your system, but you kept going somehow.…” June Havoc had a very, very long run–97 years; 39 years and 11 months of them without her sister Gypsy, who died in 1970. The story of their “estrangement” was pure media fiction, and couldn’t have been further from the truth. Havoc knew Gypsy’s place in the American musical comedy pantheon and, more importantly, she knew what Gypsy the musical meant to Gypsy the woman, and she was never going to allow anything to come between her and her only sibling. It was beneath her; part of her graceful and generous loving spirit. June and Gypsy were friends to the very end, with June at her bedside during her dying days–and then mourning and missing Gypsy every day of her life. In the late Eighties, I occasionally stopped at the renovated, old stationhouse at Cannondale, which had become a coffee and donut place within an art gallery and antique shop. Once, while paying for postcards and talking to the guy at the register, the mailman came in and handed the mail to him, momentarily interrupting the flow of our conversation. The mailman turned and said, “Excuse me.” I nodded and said, “June Havoc lives around here, right?” “Up the hill,” he said, paused then added: “She got a mailbox moved; the pickup box in front of her property. She didn’t want traffic there. It’s down the hill now. Not many people can get a mailbox moved. Do you know the kind of clout it takes to get a mailbox moved?” When the expression on my face conveyed that I did, he said, “Did you know she was Gypsy Rose Lee’s little sister?” ❉ Howard V Sann is the principal of Victory Ink, a Bridgeport-based communications company. This fall, Dover Publications of New York will reprint Paul Sann’s 1957 picture book on the Roaring Twenties, The Lawless Decade: Bullets, Broads and Bathtub Gin, with a new introduction by the author’s son.

SPEAKER’S CORNER

MONA LISA EGGS FOOD, FAMILY AND POLITICS IN GEORGIA, SOVIET UNION BY NANA SMITH

THERE

WAS A PEACH TREE ORCHARD IN FRONT OF THE WINDOW. THE TREES WERE SHORT AND SKINNY WITH FEW LEAVES; PEACHES WERE HUGE – PINK, WHITE AND YELLOW GLOBES THAT SEPARATED FROM THE PIT EASILY. Some summers there would be so many peaches on the trees that the trees could not bear their weight and broke big branches. We woke up early mornings, ran into the orchards and quickly picked peaches up from the ground. They were pleasingly cool with velvety skin. Their strong scent would “wake the dead from the grave,” my mother would say. My father would arrive and put the trees together, tying them with rope. Miraculously the trees would heal and bear us peaches in the summers to come. The orchards extended onto vineyards, then fields, river and then the road. Just on the horizon line, there was the majestic Caucasian Range. On clear days we saw the mountains stack above each other, with peaks and valleys. These huge mysterious hills were commanding. And yet they seemed to be within strolling distance. Sometimes they would turn into shades of blue and gray, with white tips of snow peaking above the clouds; from the balconies they seemed to hang in the sky, extraordinary shapes wrapped in snow blankets. Early mornings the huge golden sun would rise from their left and make its way all over the range, ending the day in the purple circles behind mountains streaked with purple-red paths. We loved watching cars on the road zigzag their way under mountains; cars as small as matchboxes. From the balcony we counted them. Sometimes we waited ten minutes between cars. At night, just their tiny, diamond lights reached our enticed eyes through the darkest blue, mimicking the stars that shone bright. The earthy smell of wet soil permeated the air, the summer rain just passed by. Grandma and three girls sat at the harvest table in the open loggia. We were still children. Now I see that grandma was still young, but back then she seemed an old age. A petite but forever beautiful woman; light skin intensified her blue eyes, framed with golden curls. She was very particular about coloring her full hair. Every morning she rose at 4 a.m. and

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spent about two hours in front of the mirror dying her hair with freshly brewed tea. She waxed her eyebrows using the same strong brew tea. She dyed her eyelashes also. She allowed no one to witness these beauty secrets. We all believed she was a natural blonde. She wore 1930’s clothing — beautiful silks and damasks subtly revealing her décolletage against round collars woven at her neck. Her curls fell to her collarbones. One would notice her beauty – were it not for her fierce anger. Grandmother told us a story about a man who was our grandfather, a man we neither met nor knew. Grandmother choked with the tears. With childish sensitivity we wanted to hide our tears, but they rolled slowly down our cheeks. The long farm table was perfectly set up for late supper. We were having Mona Lisa Eggs. It was much past our bedtime; our parents were not home, so we stayed up late for the treat and talks. “They came at 4:00 o’clock in the morning,” she said. “They always came at this time of the night. Whether to hide themselves from others or to put even more fear into people’s hearts, we do not know. They took him. With him gone, all we had was gone. Your grandfather’s brothers visited him the night before with a fat stack of cash, begging him to take us and run. He thought that they were alarmists. He said: ‘Beria and I, we are friends, we graduated from the same university, we lived at the same dorm, we are neighbors, how he could possible do this to me?’” Grandmother continues. “His brothers answered: ‘Constantine, because you graduated from the same university, because you lived in the same dorm, because you are neighbors, you should be the first one to run.’ He did not believe it; he stayed, innocent in his beliefs.” Lives were ruined, families torn apart. “I was pregnant with your father,” she faced us. Then she cried until she wailed. “He was dead. He was dead all the time I carried food to his prison. Every Sunday morning I would prepare food and walk to the prison. I would hand it to the guards after standing in line for hours. They took it, week after week, long after he was dead.” I squinted my eyes to imagine her standing in a sunny blue kitchen with her blonde curls and blue eyes, in a ruffled apron. At the stove she carefully blended fresh eggs with sweet butter and cream, after chopping aromatic parsley and marjoram from her garden and gently slicing tomatoes

warmed by the sunlight. One by one she layered each ingredient into a baking dish with precise care. She sprinkled a final dusting of cheese before placing it in the hot oven to bake. Grandmother was making her now classic baked egg dish, Mona Lisa Eggs. She created this dish in the professor’s house at the University of Georgia where they lived when they were newlyweds swooning with love. At the time, Grandfather was a prominent and published geophysicist, a well known and respected professor. Their lives were lovely and magical then, or so they seemed to her now. “They kicked us out of our apartment and put us in the basement. It had one room separated by cloth hanging between the kitchen and the rest of the room,” she continued. This time I squinted my eyes even harder to see how she went behind the hanging bedspread to change into her once expensive and beautiful clothes. There was an iron bed in the room with iron springs. It made squawky noises every time she sat on it and bounced up and down. She sat for a minute to take a breath and relax her tightened stomach. She bent over to put on her silk stockings. She lay down while dressing several times to gather her strength and thoughts. Aunt was all ready and waiting — seven years old back then. The Mona Lisa Eggs were ready; she put the egg dish into a basket, climbed the tall steps that led toward daylight out of the basement with the gracelessness of a pregnant woman. She carried the heavy basket in one hand, held my aunt with the other and walked her way across town to the prison. Sunday after Sunday… Eventually grandmother received a letter “explaining” the reason for the arrest and death. Grandfather was arrested for the small book he published about oil wells in the southern part of Georgia. They dug for oil and no oil appeared. So he, his family and his unborn son were all labeled “enemies of the people.” He died of “pneumonia” — the same cause of death given to all prisoners killed in 1937-1941. I spent years and years trying to understand the unfathomable. Now I know they were young and the country was young. Everybody had this new found feeling of pride, similar to the American sentiment felt when reciting “The Pledge of Allegiance.” Like witnessing the birth of a child; discovering a new land, or flying for the first time. They thought they discovered “This New Land.” They thought they had everything. When one has no ability, no resources, no means of travel, when one has no foreign books, no tourists coming or leaving, one lives in a cocoon. They had no basis for comparison. They did not compare at all, just were satisfied with what they had. I eventually figured this out somehow, for myself. But how my grandmother and later, my father made such a distinction between Stalin and Communists – I still cannot understand. How could they, ‘til the very end, believe that Stalin was a bad guy, whereas Communists were good? Why did they not see that Stalin was a byproduct of Communism and the Soviet Union, and vice versa. What Stalin did with “cleansing,” he did to nourish Communism and the Soviet Union. He did not just get rid of intelligent, bright, promising people, he also put fear in the ones that were left alive. So brainwashed and scared that all they could do was just “hooray” the Soviet Union.

In 1989 the Berlin Wall fell and life in the whole world, even Georgia, changed forever. I now live in Connecticut and frequently share meals and stories with my friends. I feel my father in my heart, and my grandparents live there too. I still feel the emotions of those warm, lazy, summer nights smelling of damp soil at our mountain house, which fuels my desire to prepare Mona Lisa Eggs. Mona Lisa Eggs are delicious and make perfect picnic food since they can be eaten at room temperature. Family lore says that Grandmother included this dish in every meal she ever prepared for Grandfather, while walking pregnant to the prison. The eggs were my Grandmother’s means to stay connected with him. ❉ Nana Smith was born in the Republic of Georgia and works in the field of real estate as a certified assessor, appraiser, and agent. She lives with her husband, Ken, in Stamford, Connecticut.

MONA LISA EGGS Ingredients: 3 Chinese eggplants – sliced about 1/4” thick slices 3 medium sized Heirloom tomatoes – sliced about 1/4 thick slices 1 cup white uncooked rice 4-5 Organic eggs (depending on size) 2 Teaspoons chopped fresh marjoram 1 Teaspoon caraway seeds 2 Teaspoons unsalted butter, preferably “President Brand” Salt Pepper Method for cooking: On a gas stove precook rice per instruction for about 5-10 minutes, rinse and let drain. Rice should feel uncooked. –Slice eggplants and tomatoes. –In a cast iron pan (do not use a non-stick pan) fry eggplant in batches and then the tomatoes. Drain on paper towels. Drain juices from the tomatoes; try to have them as dry as possible. –Have marjoram and caraway seeds ready and mixed with salt and paper to sprinkle over layers. –Place a heavy wrought iron pan at least 6 inches deep over two burners on the stove. –Melt butter and let it roast til it has a nice toasted smell. –In a bowl, whisk eggs for several minutes and add salt and pepper to taste. –Pour eggs into the wrought iron pan and let start cooking. –When eggs seem lightly cooked on the top, add rice, eggplant, tomatoes, marjoram, caraway seeds, salt and pepper. –Repeat for the next layer till all ingredients are used. Raise the pan by putting one burner grill on top of the other so the pan is not sitting directly on the flame. Put heat on very low. Cover and let cook for about 25 minutes. –When ready to serve, treat the dish as a cake which is supposed to be flipped over. –Using a knife, separate Mona Lisa Eggs from the pan and turn onto a serving platter. –Serve as a side dish or as the main entrée.

BUDDING SCRIBES

WRITOPIA LAB TWO YEARS AGO, MY DAUGHTER ENROLLED IN A WRITOPIA LAB WORKSHOP BECAUSE OF HER LOVE OF WRITING. AT THIS UNIQUE ORGANIZATION, HER PASSION FOR WRITING INTENSIFIED AS HER SKILLS PROGRESSED. SHE IS HARDLY ALONE: MANY YOUNG PEOPLE HAVE FOUND A REAL HOME HERE. Visionary writer and teacher Rebecca Wallace-Segall created Writopia Lab in 2007 to address unmet needs of aspiring young writers. This young writers’ community provides a welcoming and inspiring environment for children and teens to hone their skills and deepen their love of language. Children come to Writopia because they have a passion for writing that is not addressed elsewhere. They stay because they find encouragement and confidence among like-minded children and are nurtured by exceptional teachers—all of whom are authors trained in Writopia’s student-centered method. Writopia Lab has rapidly gained national recognition. In 2007, Scholastic Art and Writing Awards named Ms. Wallace-Segall — who goes by just “Rebecca” — “outstanding educator” and officially endorsed Writopia Lab. In 2008 and 2009, Scholastic awarded her the National Gold Apple Teacher Award for submitting “the most outstanding group of submissions on the National level” to the Scholastic Art and Writing competition. This year, Writopia produced its first Annual Theater Festival. The New York Times featured it because all plays were written by Writopia’s award-winning young playwrights (ages 10-17), and were performed by professional actors. Writopia Lab offers workshops in Manhattan, Westchester, Brooklyn, Washington D.C., and Los Angeles. www.WritopiaLab.org Peggy Teich is a business librarian and educator at CUNY’s Baruch College and a Writopia Lab board member. Peggy has taught business librarianship in the Masters of library science programs at Pratt Institute, Columbia University and Rutgers.

Sincerely Yours, Norrace BY SPENCER FOX, 16 At roughly a quarter to ten, Norrace woke up and pulled back the shades to greet the beaming New York City sun. He arose from his quarter and walked down the corridor into the breakfast nook. “Ah, I suppose this will do,” Norrace murmured as he picked up a stale

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BY PEGGY TEICH bagel from his kitchen counter. He took a seat at the table and began nibbling at breakfast. After he finished eating, he returned to his sleeping quarters and threw his bathrobe on top of the armoire. He opened up his wardrobe and selected the proper attire for a day such as this. He walked out into the hallway, took a look into the mirror, and approached the front door. He grabbed his bag that he packed each night before he slept to optimize morning luxury time. As he opened his door, the doorknob fell off—again. He jabbed it back into the foundation of the door. With a swift flick of the wrist, the doorknob slid back into place. How disappointed Norrace was. Fifteen hours of hard work at his welding station, juxtaposing stop signs and loose bicycle parts to make such a lovely door, and the knob couldn’t even stay in place. As he walked from his home, the stale smell of garbage and waste filled his nose as he walked through the gritty alleyway. He passed by Joe and Jansen. “Howdy, Norrace!” said Joe. “Must be real warm in that there…er…house…thing…of yours huh?” “Why yes, I do suppose it is rather toasty.” “Well, ya know, maybe sometime…you could let us in?” “Well, I’ll see you around, Joe,” said Norrace as he strutted away. Just filthy…Norrace thought in disgust. Norrace did not care for their kind. Not in a mean or snobby way, but more instinctually. Norrace just thought it was useless to associate with those that were so far from his caliber of achievement. It was like in nature: The swan did not associate with the mongrels. He pushed back his hair with an heir of haughtiness, and wiped a bead of sweat that tickled his forehead. Norrace did not like to be tickled. He pulled a cigarette from his back pocket, lit it, and began to stroll to the park around the corner from his abode. Norrace has been without an orthodox home since he was 21. No one knows where he came from, how he got where he is, but most importantly, no one has the slightest idea as to why he is such a genius. Norrace can tell you the number of letters in any phrase five words or less and he can list all of the ingredients needed to make a duck confit with a raspberry white wine reserve. While these coups are astounding, none of them come close to Norrace’s most notable ability: his skills in building. He was the MacGyver of homeless architects. What made his crafts so astonishing was the medium he chose to utilize. Everything around him, every spare part, every scrap of discarded compost was employed in his works. His crown jewel was the place that he called home, Chez Norrace. Tin garbage cans—held together with caulking, reinforced by spare car parts, heated and then shaped to fit inside of the cans—held his house up. The roof was made from waterproof paper found in the dumpster out-

side of the Kinkos down the block. It had the consistency of cardboard and was replaced every month or so. He also fashioned a bed out of an abandoned canoe found near Battery Park, with sleeping bags galore to keep Norrace warm. He walked down the block to the park and sat down on the nearest bench he could find. He removed his bag from his backpack, and pulled out a copy of The Sun Also Rises. He pleasantly flipped through the pages, indulging himself in each and every last word, savoring each paragraph. What Norrace would do to be whisked away to the world of opulence and extravagance of 1920’s Paris. His head filled with thoughts of lit street corners, beautiful slender women, and the smell of divine cuisine and near perfect wine wafting from the doorways of cafés. Norrace believed that while he was in his current situation, there was no way for him to obtain any of these things. Norrace may have been the only homeless person in New York City who longed for extravagance, but not for a job. Norrace’s eyes felt heavy. His head grew heavier. His legs found their way onto the bench and before his mind had time to catch up to what his body was doing, Norrace was asleep on the frayed, rotting wooden support bars of the city bench where he had once sat. Norrace was dropped into a room filled inch by inch with perturbing darkness. Beside him he saw a bicycle that, unlike the rest of the expanse he found himself in, was magnificently illuminated. He blinked, and as his eyelids rose, he found himself straddling the bicycle, his feet mounting the pedals. With each revolution of the bicycle wheel, the room began to grow less and less aphotic. Norrace was overwhelmed not only with happiness, but also accomplishment. He kept peddling and peddling, until the whole room was completely resplendent. He glanced around, with a growing sense of familiarity trickling down his spine. He knew where he was…where was he? He looked down to see his size 13 feet standing on an all too recognizable wool, coffee-stained carpet. Was this? Oh, yes it was. Norrace was standing in his middle school principal’s office. Not only was he standing in it, but he was overlooking a meeting between the principal and Norrace…when he was 12. He was standing right over the table that separated his adolescent self from the principal, yet his presence was completely unknown. The conversation was just getting started and he decided to stick around and listen. “Norrace, do you know why I called you into my office?” “Why, no I do not. My behavior has been absolutely immaculate this entire school year, and this “meeting,” if you will, is putting a serious damper on my learning time, so if you don’t mind, I’ll just let myself ou–” “You will not be going anywhere. Now, let me help jog your memory. Does Ms. McKinnley’s 7th period English class ring a bell?” “Why yes it does, I do recall listening to the same mindless dribble as I do every class.” “Are you aware Ms. McKinnley is my fiancé, Norrace…?” “Well…I was just…see, did I say mindless dribble? That’s so funny! I believe that was what’s known as a Freudian slip, sir, now a Freudian slip is when you say wha–” “I know…what it means…Norrace. Listen Norrace, I’m not here to play games. You know exactly why I called you in here. Either you can comply, or we can do this the hard way and I can call your parents and have them come in tomorrow morning.

“Sir, are you giving me an ultimatum?” Norrace was getting more audacious by the second. “ENOUGH, NORRACE. If you don’t tell me why you decided it would be a good idea to put pencil shavings on Linda Pausch’s sandwich, you will be in deep shit, do you understand me?” “Whoa, whoa, your tone, it’s just so hostile, do you hear that hostility? It’s just so extraneous, sir. Now about the pencil shavings. Sir, Ms. Pausch insulted me on such a level that tainting her sandwich seemed to be the only plausible course of action.” And just as the principal was about to retort, the room began slumping downwards and downwards until Norrace was on all fours trying not to be crushed by the ceiling. Soon he was face down on that very same coffeestained carpet he had grown all too accustomed to many years ago. The moon was a waxing gibbous, and Norrace was really cold. Norrace’s body shot up and his eyes opened. He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and looked around only to see the silhouette of a bulky man whose scent was reminiscent of coffee and leather. “Sir, I am going to have to ask you to leave.” “Officer, you see, it was never my intention to…I must have lost track of…I’ll be on my way…” As Norrace walked out of the park, he wondered how long he had been sleeping. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the fob he had found in a dumpster outside of the Four Seasons. He let a German immigrant board with him in exchange for repairing the pocket watch. Norrace always needed to know the time, because time was what kept him organized. Norrace was very angry with himself for wasting the day in suspended consciousness. He was supposed to go dumpster diving at 2:30; at 3:45 he was going to replace the support bars in his living room (as of now, the ceiling formed a 45 degree angle with the floor); and at 6 o’clock he was supposed to go the dice game on 25th Street. Norrace trudged his way down the block and made the sharp left into the alleyway where his residence lay. “GET AWAY FROM ME. DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH MONEY I’M WORTH? I KNOW PEOPLE WHO CAN GET YOU KILLED!” Norrace heard this frightening and unsettling plea from down the alley. He stuck to the corner and peered his head around to view two silhouetted figures, one significantly larger than the other, and one significantly more skittish. It didn’t take much for Norrace to figure out what was going on. It was a mugging. A mugging outside of his house. No one else was around to help, no one except Norrace. Norrace never thought of himself as much of a hero type, but for some reason a gallant wave was coming over him and he knew what he had to do. He charged with a mighty battle cry at the ongoing malfeasance and went into action. The way Norrace decided to rescue the victim was not very conventional. Instead of charging at the attacker, he ran directly into the victim, hoisted him over his shoulder, and ran directly to his door, frantically opened it, closed it behind him, and dialed in the combination to the safe lock he had installed in the last month. The aggressor charged behind them, nearly missing the two. The criminal banged hysterically, trying to get into the house, but Norrace’s construction was too much for the foe. He gave up after about five minutes and retreated, tail between the legs. The two ended there post traumatic period of silence and looked each other in the eye.

“Who are you?” said the victim. “Who are you?” retorted Norrace. “Why did you save me? Where am I? What is this? Jesus Christ…” By this point the victim’s tone had changed from inquisitive to sheer, frantic uncertainty. “This…is my house, and you’re welcome. Ungrateful pig…” “Hold the phone, I never said I wasn’t grateful…I was going to get to the whole thank you spiel in a second, honestly. Seriously, you saved my ass back there.” “Well…you’re welcome. It was just my civic duty. It was really nothing, just what I felt was my responsibility as a fellow man in this hectic city. Really it was n–” “What…is this place?” “Must I reiterate? This is my place of residence. This is where I sleep, where I eat, where I start my mornings, where I end my ni–” “Yes, I understand…you live here. But…where did all of this stuff come from? It’s just all so…well I don’t really know a word to describe what it is. I mean how did you make this chair? Is this the frame from an old car?” “A Ford Pinto, actually.” “How did you…What is all of this?!?” “Well my friend, you are standing in the midst of what I have dedicated the last 15 years of my life to. Every inch, every iota of structure, was all built by yours truly. It really does seem that in this crazy modern world, the art of building has become so extinct, so obsole–” “You built all of this?” “WILL YOU STOP INTERRUPTING ME?! Good God, does no one respect the vivacity of speech anymore?” “Sorry, I’m just a little bit frazzled.” “It’s fine I suppose…” Norrace was a bit insulted at this point. “That’s spectacular. That you built all of this, I mean it’s nothing short of amazing.” “Well…why thank you,” Norrace said as a blush rushed his cheeks. “Please, just tell me already, what is your name?” “Norrace, French descent actually, the name means the northern–” “Well Norrace, I am very impressed. And very grateful indeed. Do you have any idea who I am, Norrace?” “Well, judging by your little plea back there, you apparently ‘know people who can get me killed.’” “Well, that much is true.” “You’ve got me, I’m intrigued. Who are you?” “Richard Platt, Jr.” “No, you’re not.” “Yes I am.” “Whoa…” Richard Platt, Jr. was the third generation in a family of famous actors and actresses. He played the lead in primetime dramas such as “Emergency Room Confidential,” “Canine Cop: A Man’s Best Friend, a Criminal’s Worst Enemy,” and many others. Needless to say, Richard was extremely impressed with Norrace’s work. This was Norrace’s first experience having someone with any form of credentials compliment his work. Sure, he’d received a handful of compliments in his life on his cre-

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ations, but most of those compliments came from the mouths of the likes of T Bone, the crazy homeless magician on 43rd Street and Mertha, and the woman who claimed to be able to communicate with cats who lived behind the TGI Friday’s down the block. With both parties involved in this conversation in especially high spirits, the discussion went on merrily into the wee hours of the night. They spoke of women, they spoke of literature, they spoke of everything ranging from favorite dishes to favorite Lou Reed songs. However, near the end of the conversation, something very interesting happened. As things wrapped up, Richard found himself very accustomed to the elaborate architecture surrounding him, so accustomed that he had trouble leaving. He was so in love with what Norrace had created that he wanted to be in this type of environment for the rest of his life. But what if he had access to real materials…his potential is completely untapped, thought Richard. This one thought acted as a catalyst that would set off a series of events that would change Norrace’s life. Over the next six months, Norrace would be flown out to California, courtesy of the Platt family jet, to design houses for the stars. He designed Don Johnson’s beach house, Duran Duran’s Beverly Hills mansion, and Rick James’s condo, with many more in the works. Because of all of these architectural achievements, Norrace had become the hot new thing. He was a star; he was truly a member of high society. No more dreaming of what it would be like to live the life of leisure that those privileged enough to call themselves “famous” indulged themselves in. He was experiencing it firsthand. Through the duration of this, Richard and Norrace’s relationship continued to flourish. Richard eased Norrace into his new lifestyle. He wasn’t particularly an expert in what it meant to be rich in the 1980s, however; if it had been 1922, Norrace would’ve been just hunky-dory. Richard showed Norrace how to dress, where to go, and who to talk to. One day, the inevitable happened. Norrace met a woman. Norrace never really felt the need for a significant other; he felt as though love was a waste of time, and lust was a bit of an alien thing to him. Norrace loved literature, he loved black coffee, he loved corduroy suit jackets, but he had never loved a woman. Norrace met her while out to lunch with Richard. She was Richard’s stylist, her name was Bianca, and she was wearing a black polka-dot dress and thick-framed sunglasses. Initial attraction occurred when Norrace noticed the way she smelled. “You smell like roses,” said Norrace to Bianca, completely throwing off Richard, who was mid-sentence. “I know,” replied Bianca. From then on, Norrace was infatuated. A lot of things were going on for Norrace, and he was very unaccustomed to such a potpourri of competing emotions. He was thrilled to be living out his dream, he was overwhelmed with pressure to maintain the status he had recently gained, he was thermally perturbed by the consistent 70-degree weather, and now he might be in love. This was a lot of Norrace to swallow, but he took things one day at a time. He decided to have a little talk with Richard about Bianca, to just find some things out. “So, what, is she single or…?” asked Norrace. “Oh, she is single my friend! I saw the way she was looking at you. I bet you and her could hit it off.”

“Well I mean, you two aren’t, you know…or anything?” “Oh me and Bianca? No, now don’t be silly Norrace, she’s just my stylist.” “Well then, it seems as though I have a love interest. Intriguing.” Over time, Norrace and Bianca became more and more well acquainted. The two eventually came to the point where they would converse daily. And oh, did Norrace’s affection for Bianca grow. With each coming day, Norrace found himself more and more intoxicated by young Bianca. However, he thought things could be going better between them and he didn’t feel as though their relationship was completely mutual. One day, Norrace decided to take Bianca out to dinner and tell her his true feelings. Of course she knew that he was at least mildly enamored by her, but Norrace deemed it necessary to make the full extent of his feelings for her known. He arrived outside of her house promptly at 7:06 with two brandy and sodas bubbly anticipating Bianca’s arrival. She stepped into the limo wearing a gorgeous pearl white dress that seemed to breathe in the Californian wind. She emanated pulchritude. Norrace got out, greeted Bianca, and opened to the door to the limo for her. She stepped in and began to delicately sip her drink. “Well don’t you know how to treat a woman.” “I only saw it fitting, for someone as ravishing as you, that is.” “You’re too sweet, darling.” They arrived at the restaurant at roughly a quarter to eight. They took their seats, and soaked in the atmosphere of Hollywood’s finest eating establishment. Norrace ordered the risotto with white truffle oil and Bianca, the saffron shrimp, and of course, a magnum of the finest wine on the menu. The two engaged in small talk for a fair amount of time, but Norrace grew impatient. Just do it, say it, sweep her off her feet. Women probably love that. Just do it, come on, you putz. It’s now or never, thought Norrace to himself. “Do you have any idea how you make me feel?” asked Norrace. “Whatever do you mean, dear?” replied Bianca. “Quite frankly, you drive me mad!” “Oh stop! You’re too much, dear.” “I really do mean that.” “Well, I certainly do get a kick out of you as well.” “Bianca. I love you.” “Norrace, you’re drunk.” “Bianca. Just say it back.” “What are you doing…” “Why won’t you say it back?” “Norrace…just stop this, what is this, some kind of game? Stop this.” “I don’t play games, I’m not a boy. Now say it back. Don’t you love me?” “Stop this, you know I love Richard.” “You what?” Norrace was shaking. “Norrace you’re scaring me.” “Why are you in love with Richard?” “Oh dear. Well this is just fantastic. Has he not told you? He swore he’d tell you. Norrace I’ve been sleepin– I’ve been seeing…Richard.” “But Richard said you were just his stylist.” “Richard says a lot of things, darling. Now, let’s just forget about all this. How about that wine?” said Bianca. She reached across the table

and poured Norrace and herself a glass of wine. “How about a toast, to you, the almighty Norrace, the genius who rose from nothing to become California’s greatest architect!” Norrace flung his glass at the floor, and an eruption of crystalline shards flew up into the air, followed by a flowing surge of scarlet red wine. He walked directly out of the restaurant, only looking back once, to see Bianca nonchalantly applying her lipstick. Norrace felt defeated, confused, and lost. This wasn’t what he wanted. Bianca tore his emotions to shreds and Richard, the man who he thought was his friend, and been brutally dishonest with him. He hadn’t experienced anything like this in his life, and never wanted to again. Norrace wasn’t sure about anything. He pondered if the thought of something like this is what subconsciously kept him away from ever really getting close to anyone. Norrace then pondered why he had ever agreed to come to LA. Why would he leave the city he had come to know so fondly? Now that Norrace was actually among the wealthy cosmopolitans he had yearned to be amongst for so long, he came to figure that it was not the actual physical manifestation of his aspirations he had yearned to live in. It was the illusion of grandeur; he preferred living throughout his fantasies in this lavished life, for the real thing was far too brutal for Norrace. He had found that out the hard way. Norrace walked down the street with a broken heart and wine stains all over his new loafers. Norrace sat down on the curb and just tried to clear his mind. He came to the conclusion that he could no longer stay in California. He’d tried it on for size, and it just didn’t suit him. While he was rather upset that this lifestyle didn’t work for him, he was rather content that he could simply make his way back to New York and just continue life as it once was. Norrace was to purchase a one-way ticket to New York the next day. He called the chauffeur and had him drive to Richard’s house, one last time. He slid a note under the door that read the following: Dearest Richard, Thank you for the hospitality. I do mean that without any equivocation. You have treated me to some of the best days of my life. However, I also must say with no equivocation, f––– you, sir. F––– you very much for leading my heart astray. For the record, “Canine Cop” is utter filth. Sincerely Yours, Norrace And with that, Norrace bid adieu to California and the life of a wealthy architect. When he returned home he took back where he had left off, with the constant renovations of his house, strolls through the park, dumpster diving—the whole routine. This experience led Norrace to come to a grand cognizance. The life of a homeless man in New York City was beyond ideal for Norrace. He could live with all the luxury he pleased, with none of the pressure or stress that came with actually living the wealthy life of an acclaimed individual. In no other situation could Norrace simply return to his former life. He was never more grateful to be so unfortunate. ❉ Spencer Fox, 16, lives in Westport, Ct, and has been developing stories at Writopia for two years. He is a 2009 Scholastic Awards gold key winner, and a 2010 silver key winner for "Norrace."

104th ANNUAL EMMANUAL CHURCH FAIR SEPTEMBER 25, 2010

CC CCGALLERY

Think you make the best chocolate chip cookies in the state? Enter the “Best Chocolate Chip Cookie in Connecticut” contest at the 104th Annual Emmanuel Country Fair and find out. The Fair will be

decorations, toys/games, bikes, and more. The church is now accepting donations. “Country Kitchen” — homemade pies, cakes, desserts, cookies, baked by Emmanuel parishioners and friends. Popcorn and ice cream also available. Snack Bar — Enjoy hamburgers, hot dogs, french fries, Jake Ready’s famous chili, soda and ice cold water, while the Shade Tree Band entertains you. Seasonal plants, used books, jewelry, purses, scarves and other accessories also available for sale. Bean Bag Toss, Treasure Hunt, MerryGo-Round, and more entertain the kids. A prize table ensures no one goes home empty handed. Take a peek inside the church for an impressive display of handmade quilts. Emmanual Church, 285 Lyons Plains Road, Weston.

ADL UPPER FAIRFIELD COUNTY RECEPTION TO CELEBRATE EXCEPTIONAL LEADERS SUNDAY, OCTOBER 17, 2010 WESTON'S FIRST SELECTMAN GAYLE WEINSTEIN AND SELECTMAN DAN GILBERT JUDGING COOKIES AT THE FAIR

held, rain or shine, on the Church grounds at 285 Lyons Plains Road, Weston, on Saturday, September 25. No fee to enter. The Fair runs from 10 am to 4 pm. Competing bakers must bring one dozen homemade chocolate chip cookies, along with a list of ingredients (no secret recipes allowed!) to the contest table by 10:30 on the morning of the fair. In the past, judges have included seasoned food experts and celebrity cookie lovers, including Jose Feliciano, as well as local and state politicians. The Emmanuel Church Fair has been an annual event in Weston since 1907. Other popular elements of the Fair include: “Good Goods” tent —gently used household and kitchen items, furniture, holiday

The Anti-Defamation League’s Upper Fairfield County Reception will honor Beth and Jay Rand and Sally and Michael Kliegman with the Distinguished Community Leadership Award on Sunday, October 17, 2010 in Westport. The award reception and gala dinner is one of ADL’s premier annual events in Connecticut, attracting prominent citizens from Upper Fairfield County. Co-chairs of the event are Rita Appel, Paula and Mark Argosh, Wendy and Jeff Cohen, Indy and Seth Goldberg, Lynne and Stephen Goldstein, and Diana and David Muller. The evening will also feature a program highlighting ADL's innovative work monitoring and exposing extremism. Robert Orkand, Rabbi of Temple Israel and a prior ADL honoree, noted that the event “is a must-attend gala that brings together hundreds of leading citizens in the Westport,

Weston, Wilton and Norwalk communities to recognize ADL’s vital efforts to combat bigotry and discrimination against all. ADL and this year’s honorees deserve our generous support on October 17th.” The Anti-Defamation League, founded in 1913, is devoted to fighting anti-Semitism, racism and other forms of bigotry, building bridges of understanding and safeguarding our liberties. For more information, please contact Janet Magid, Associate Development Director at (203) 288-6500 x313 or jmagid@adl.org.

FRIENDS OF THE WESTON LIBRARY AND FAIRFIELD COUNTY CHESS HOST BRAIN GAMES SUMMER 2010 CHESS TOURNAMENT On Saturday, August 21, 2010 The Friends of the Weston Library and the Fairfield County Chess Club sponsored a free Chess Tournament for Fairfield county chess lovers in grades K-12. 42 participants from 10 area towns gathered in the Weston Library Community Room for the 3 sections, 4 round tournament. Taking first place in Section 1: (USCF Rated) Grades 6-12: Druha Karunakaran of Norwalk, with 3.5 points. First place in Section 2: (USCF Rated) Grades K-5: Daniel Lu of Stamford, with 3 points. And in first place, Section 3: (Unrated) All Ages Grades K-12: Will Carron of Southport, with 4 points. Fairfield County Chess offers classes, opportunities to play, tournaments and more. For more information on Fairfield County Chess, visit fairfieldcountychess.com. P.O. Box 722 Norwalk, CT, 06852.

a local clinic that really gives a HOOT BY MIKE LAUTERBORN You'd be hard pressed to find a local business more dedicated to its clients. At the same time, you'd be challenged to find one more eager to let its clients go. Weston-based non-profit Wildlife in Crisis (WIC) is such a business, and late afternoon on

TOP: WILDLIFE IN CRISIS FOUNDER/DIRECTOR DARA REID PREPARES TO RELEASE A REHABILITATED GREAT HORNED OWL.

Sunday, August 29, its all-volunteer staff and supporters came together for its annual fundraising event at the Greenwich Audubon Center. The highlight was the release back into the wild of two Great Horned Owls that had been rescued and rehabilitated at the clinic. Black Bear Wines and Spirits, a Westport retailer, hosted and conducted a wine tasting. “Animals' fearlessness and resilience to injury is an inspiration,” said Black Bear spokesperson Denise Iulo. “It is so important to protect wildlife in our community and the environments in which they live.” Besides the wine, supporters, numbering over 100, enjoyed both bottled and draught beer, passed hors d'oeuvres and other food provided by WIC volunteers. A silent auction and raffle was also conducted. Kiernan Hall was where the event, co-chaired by WIC volunteers Amy Jenner and Janice Vitale, was mainly focused. WIC foundation co-leader Peter Reid manned the beer bar and said about the organization, “WIC has been serving Fairfield County since 1988, when my wife Dara founded the organization. We treat over 5,000 animals each year - everything from hummingbirds to

white-tailed deer. The area is an attractive habitat for wildlife so there's a lot of potential for human/wildlife contact. Birds hit windows, fawns are orphaned, animals are hit by cars.” When there is a harmful interaction, WIC nurtures and rehabilitates animals back into the wild. Funding is provided by private citizens and a few local philanthropic groups and goes to supporting animals' needs and the maintenance of the organization's 10-acre plot adjacent to Weston's Devil's Den preserve. Volunteers are high school interns, collegiate recruits and local people passionate about animals. “When someone finds an injured animal,” explained Reid, “they bring it to us. We're set up for minor surgical procedures but work closely with South Wilton Veterinary Group for advanced surgeries and splinting. The animals are brought back to our center for recovery.” Andrew Pollino, 13, from Wilton, was sad that his summer term as WIC's youngest volunteer had ended. “I thought they could use extra help and Amy said she'd be delighted to have me. My first task was to re-mulch a path. By the end of the summer, I was handling squirrels, feeding birds and cleaning cages. It's been so much fun to work with animals and has given me the idea to become a veterinarian.” Along with two other volunteers, Anna Clark, 24, manned a table displaying WIC merchandise. Said Clark, “I feel very privileged to be a part of the center. Once someone brought in a crow and it was in very bad shape. I had to give it antibiotics every day and keep flushing the wound out. It got better and better. I named him Jack. The day came to release it - I was sad but also happy to see him return to the wild. The experience has changed my life.” Founder Dara Reid was very pleased with the turnout. “I'm grateful to everyone that came out to support us,” she said, presenting certificates of recognition to select volunteers and the South Wilton Veterinary Group for their support. Then she encouraged the gathering to join her at the back of the building for the owl release. From a second floor balcony, Reid took the first owl, orphaned as a baby, and set it free. It spread its massive wings and soared away over a tree line. She then released the second owl, nicknamed Oscar, and it took off over the gathered crowd and a field of wild daisies in

DONE

the direction of the setting sun. Looking on, WIC intern Laura Cummins, 21, said, “The work we do is so meaningful and important. But when you finally get to see a release like this, that's the true benefit of all our time and energy. This program has been the most amazing of my life!” Mike Lauterborn is a Fairfield Beach area-based freelance writer, author and marketing consultant and a frequent contributor to Fairfield County newspapers, magazines and websites.

A SIGN OF THE TIMES When Norwalk High School parent, Rose Emro, attended a Norwalk High School meeting 31/2 years ago, “I raised my hand and asked if I could raise money for an LED. They all loved the idea. A subcommittee was formed, “The Marquee Committee,” and funds were raised quickly. A state grant was also secured, as well as private funds. The project expanded to include three internal LEDs, 15 lap tops for students, and software and a security camera to be aimed at the marquee 24/7. At the time, Parents for Norwalk High School were not set up to accept funds, so, they had to enlist help from Norwalk Education Foundation. Parents for Norwalk High School

were permitted to use the foundation as a passthrough for the funds, and then, politics happened. It's taken 31/2 years to make the outside LED a reality: working with a traffic study engineer, a surveyor, years of public meetings, hiring an attorney and the creation of a website by a committee member to keep public informed. Petitions were signed and finally approval from the zoning commission was received.” Designed by Norwalk High School students and principal, the marquee was unveiled on June 22nd. ❉

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The Beauty of Love

A Memoir of Miracles, Hope, and Healing > By

Jorge

Jorge Posada and Laura Posada

and Laura Posada need very little introduction. Heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a five-time World Champion and the catcher for the celebrated New York Yankees. Sheâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s a successful lawyer and philanthropist. What is not well known, is that the Posadas are parents who suffered for many years in silence when their firstborn son, Jorge Luis, was diagnosed with craniosynostosis, a life threatening condition in which the bones of the skull fuse together prematurely, causing a growth disturbance. Before the age of ten, Jorge Luis would require eight major surgeries to correct his skull. Early on, Jorge and Laura kept their son's sickness a private, family matter to protect him from a media frenzy, but in time they realized they could use their celebrity status to help others. They launched the Jorge Posada foundation to increase awareness about craniosynostosis and to offer both emotional and financial support to families afflicted with the disease.

A New Reality Is Born: Jorge The universe has a funny way of creating vicissitudes. One minute you are the picture of accomplishment and glamour, riding around with your spirits up and your hopes high, fancying yourself one of the lucky ones, determined to entertain a jubilant life, sure of yourself, of your behavior and your decisions. But in less than a split second, before you can even turn around to give a wave of gratitude to your loved ones and adoring fans, the universe reminds you, in her ever-mysterious way, of your fundamental, unarguable mortality. As for us, we certainly did not realize on that crisp autumn day during the celebratory parade down Fifth Avenue in Manhattan, as we were cheered on by millions of zealous Yankees fans and proud New Yorkers, ticker tape raining on us like a magical snowfall, that this reign of glory of ours was on the brink of a dark and stormy chaos. On November 28, 1999, our first child, Jorge L. Posada, Jr. , was born in San Juan, Puerto Rico, where we returned after the Yankees won the World Series against the Atlanta Braves, excited to have the 5 6 W E S T O N M A G A Z I N E G R O U P. C O M

birth in our own hometown, together with our family and friends, who were all waiting with joy and anticipation. Much like expectant parents everywhere, we were eager to meet our son and to begin the exciting journey of parenthood, which we had always seen as the grand and beautiful culmination of our love as a couple. We were ready for that world of interminable cuteness that we always imagined would come with the birth of a baby, everything cast in pastels and softness. We were ready for adorable fuzzy presents and joyful relatives, and smiles and hugs and laughter all around. We were even ready for that crazy-sounding baby language that adults use to communicate with infants. We wanted it all, knowing that we were at a point in our lives where we would be able to provide for a family adequately and fuel that family with all kinds of love. By the end of the month, after all of the excitement and commotion, Laura was ready to pop. She felt haggard, swollen, and tired but was nevertheless ecstatic at the prospect of our new baby. Finally, on the twentyeighth day of the month, when the temperature in the air was just slightly starting to change, we were at home resting, when all of a sudden Laura shot up, ran to the toilet, and screamed when no urine came out. Instead, a flood of water came gushing out of her like a fountain. She howled like a madwoman, which of course got my attention, and within seconds I was with her in the bathroom, trying to calm her down. Despite being completely and utterly hysterical, the woman wanted to take a shower. Can you imagine? She was crashed out on the floor, amniotic fluid flowing out of her like the Rio Grande, screaming at the top of her lungs, and she still wanted to take her shower! Somehow or other she managed to do so, and in the interim I got our things packed and ready, called the hospital to make arrangements, and of course notified both of our parents. It was clearly showtime, and although things were starting to feel hectic, I was beyond excited. We arrived at the hospital, and our ob/gyn was already in the maternity ward waiting for us. There was a frenetic, almost antsy energy crackling in the air as we checked in, but no different from what I pre-

viously had imagined all births and deliveries would somehow always elicit—pure adrenaline and serious hustle. Doctors and nurses shuffled past us briskly as we filled out all varieties of paperwork, while I tried to keep myself calm. As they wheeled Laura toward the delivery room, I like to believe, we were both feeling that we were about to take on adulthood in its most glorious form. Things started to get complicated during the delivery, when the anesthesiologist began to have trouble getting the epidural placed properly. He tried a few times and just couldn’t seem to get it right. The massive needle seemed to pierce Laura’s lower back like a glass knife. She could see, through her watery eyes and lots of obvious physical pain, that I was starting to get nervous too. She became a bit edgy herself when she noticed that her back seemed to be completely drenched, realizing that the epidural fluid was leaking all over her. Everything started to happen really fast at that point, a blurry series of abrupt clinical snapshots that I can barely decipher, but each one tinged with everyone’s collective anxiety. Everything turned an even darker shade when the doctor announced that the baby’s heart rate was slowing because the umbilical cord was wrapped around his little neck. I, now on the brink of fainting, pale as a ghost, and in a state of helpless shock, was clearly starting to lose it, to the point that Laura had to ask me to step out of the room and get a Coca-Cola. I couldn’t stand to watch her suffer (and she couldn’t stand to watch me watch her suffer), with that needle continuing to go in and out of her back, to no avail. The poor anesthesiologist was thrown out of the room as well, which is when the obstetrician said, “Forget about the epidural, this baby needs to come out right now. ” The baby was in distress, and so were we. By the time I was able to collect myself and come back into the room, they were already giving Laura an episiotomy, cutting her open from rectum to vagina with a local anesthetic, and with the help of forceps beginning to deliver our newborn son, Jorge Luis, who by now was totally bright purple. Poor Laura, who never once complained, was fully aware of everything that was happening, conscious of everyone in the room, and trying with all her might to control the situation from her position on the delivery bed. Her main concern, if you could imagine, was to take care of me. After Jorge Luis was finally out, they abruptly took him off somewhere to run all the basic health tests. Since the doctor had had to cut Laura to help the delivery, he still had the task of stitching her up. But the major storm seemed to be over. Later, when I saw Laura with the baby, a firstborn son who would carry my name, I felt utterly complete and perfectly whole. The adventure of a son-father relationship could mean so many things to me, and I really allowed myself to fantasize about how much fun it would all be. Everything seemed to be in sync, the scenes of my life playing out exactly as I had always dreamed they would. It was without a doubt one of the happiest days of my life.

The Bittersweet Truth: Laura We waited about an hour or so, until finally a nurse came in holding the miniscule bundle of our son, who was warm, clean, and wrapped like a fresh little dumpling. My eyes fluttered open from the twilight nap that I’d gotten lost in, and there beside me was my husband, looking slightly nervous but smiling proudly, holding our first baby. We looked at him, both of us in tears, injected with the rawness of true, unconditional love. In the moments between shock, pain, deep sleep, and fuzzy wakefulness during my pregnancy, I had talked, dreamed, and fantasized about this first encounter with our son. Now, seeing him in Jorge’s arms, I was beside myself with emotion. “What a vision, ” I thought blurrily through my fog of meds and exhaustion. Jorge passed the baby to me, and a wild blend of emotions overtook my being. As hard as it is to admit—and I think I can only do so in hindsight—when I looked down at him on the day of his birth, despite the surge of love that I felt for him, I also instinctively knew that something was not quite right. The right front side of the baby’s forehead looked slightly flat and even a bit caved in, and on the other side there was clearly a bump. I could not have imagined using these words then, but he looked visibly deformed. Jorge and I both saw and knew it right away. With just one look into each other’s eyes, we said everything without speaking one word. We both knew there was something wrong, but neither of us wanted to be the one to say it first. You have to remember that at this point we were both young, inexperienced, first-time parents, with no real point of reference as to “how things were supposed to be, ” so we just stayed sort of quiet under the unspoken assumption that the baby’s head and face would gradually take proper shape. Of course we questioned the doctors and tried to get some clarity during those first few days, but everyone seemed to think we should just wait and see. There was no sense of desperation, no urgency, and no mad rush of physicians anxious about the way our child had been born. The doctors simply told us that the use of forceps might have been the cause of the deformations but that we shouldn’t worry—which of course is exactly what we wanted to hear. Needless to say, we were hungry for some semblance of relief after the crazy whirlwind of the delivery, and hearing the doctors’ casual response to what we thought might be a problem was almost music to our ears; indeed, we wanted to believe that everything was under control, that forceps often cause slight deformations, and that all we had to do was sit tight and all would fall into place. But none of that happened, and two days later we were discharged from the hospital, sent home with our baby and a subtle but looming sense of dread. Looking back now, it was a pure and total denial of the facts. When we got home, I was still recovering from the debacle of the epidural, barely able to stand, dizzy from morning to night, and aching from the whole ordeal. I was having chronic postpartum headaches and

el cielo con la mano,” we say in Spanish. This metaphorically describes the act of trying to “cover the sky with your hand, ” which speaks to the notion of denial and the sense that reality is always right there, regardless of our conscious or unconscious attempts to hide it. But reality was getting closer and closer by the moment, and in time no amount of denial would be able to stifle what we were now up against. The other thing was that the baby never stopped crying. He would cry from the moment he was awake to the moment he fell asleep, a screechy wail that pulsated through the whole house all day and all night. It was almost as if he himself knew that something JORGE LUIS IS BORN IN PUERTO RICO IN 1999 was not right. We certainly did not know how to handle the crying and his evident discomfort and irritability, and that, combined with my painful recovery from the delivery, made those first few weeks seem impossible. There was no way of knowing if the baby was in pain or not, and if he was, we had no idea how to treat it. It definitely felt as though a crisis was brewing, but because of the newness of it all, neither of us knew exactly what we were dealing with. Each day seemed interminably long, the only constant being the perpetual shrieks of this poor child, who was clearly not well. And then a few days later, we started to notice something else. One day in December, I was holding the baby, during one of those very rare moments when he was quiet and calm, when I realized that not only was his head deformed, but it was also starting to look like one of his eyes was higher than the other one; worse still, his nose and mouth were both sort of off to the side as well. At first

felt nauseous most of the time. I tried to breast-feed, but Jorge Luis could never seem to latch on properly, and each attempt left me (and probably him, as well) even more frustrated and exhausted. The worst part about it was that all throughout my own debilitating physical misery, I could plainly see that Jorge Luis’s little head was still very much deformed. I would go to bed at night, close my eyes, and silently pray that he would look normal the next morning when I’d go in to check on him. And the following morning I would wake up, take a deep breath,

We certainly did not realize on that crisp autumn day during the celebratory parade down Fifth Avenue in Manhattan… ticker tape raining on us like a magical snowfall, that this reign of glory of ours was on the brink of a dark and stormy chaos.

and drag myself over to his bassinet, only to see that nothing had changed. I felt as if I were locked inside some awful dream, the kind where you know you are dreaming and trying desperately to cry for help but no one seems to hear you no matter how hard you scream. We didn’t want to panic, but we knew we would have to address the issue at some point. I guess we wanted to remain hopeful and not get all riled up, and we decided to believe that whatever it was, we would somehow be able to handle it. But by the tenth day, the baby still did not look quite right. If my parents noticed anything unusual about his appearance, they did not say it to me and instead always displayed a silent optimism. They carried on as if everything were normal, and I suppose I was unconsciously waiting for someone to speak up and agree with me that something was not right. But no one had the heart to say it. “Tapando 5 8 W E S T O N M A G A Z I N E G R O U P. C O M

I thought that I was maybe hallucinating from lack of sleep, but the more I looked at him, the more I knew just how real it all was. I kept thinking that if it were indeed the use of forceps that had caused all of this, why was my baby’s face shifting and morphing from one day to the next? I used my own physical sickness as an excuse to keep friends and relatives, except for our parents, from visiting our house, frankly because I didn’t want anyone to see him. I didn’t want interrogations, I didn’t want shame, and I definitely didn’t want pity. Somehow I knew that a serious frenzy was coming, but I certainly did not want to be the one to start it. ❉ From THE BEAUTY OF LOVE by Jorge Posada and Laura Posada. Copyright © 2010 by Jorge Posada and Laura Posada. Reprinted by permission of Atria Books, a Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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AIN'T NOTHIN' BUT A… 'T-T-

TEA' PARTY! by John Francis Hoctor

Members

of the 1970s New England J. Geils Band knew how to bring the house down when they performed-make a deafening racket, appeal to primal urges, and invite anyone willing to pay the price of admission to join in. The method of the nascent Connecticut “tea party” faction for rallying potential supporters is not dissimilar. Tea party members fired up the crowd at a recent New England gathering in Westport by declaring that both national parties have sold out “freedom,” “liberty,” “states rights,” and the “rugged individualism” trifecta of “individual opinion,” “individual autonomy,” and “individual choice.” And with remnants of the real American Patriot movement everywhere, however subliminal, here on Connecticut's opulent I-95 gold coast-from license plate sloganeering that alludes to the nation's founding “Constitution State,” “Live Free or Die,” or the “Spirit of America” to the stout Minuteman standing sentry at Westport's Compo Beach-tea party leaders encouraged like-minded, fed-up audience members to support the campaign coffers of the increasing number of tea party candidates popping up on ballots around area. A difference is that while J. Geils wailed, “It ain't nothin' but a party,” the New England tea partiers' emphasize that their tea party ain't nothin' but a tea party movement-and movement factions have tax exempt status as a nonprofit organization-even while these tea partiers seek to bring the U.S. House-and Senate-down by neutralizing their power with the rhetoric of candidates consistently vowing to gut waste from “the government”-or standby and watch it writhe and eventually self destruct.

This author's research indicates that the tea party is no more a "movement" than Coca-Cola is a movement or Nike sneakers are a movement. It is evident that the tea party has elements of a corporatefinanced public relations campaign bent on stopping the government from implementing laws that could hurt certain business interests. Its strategy appears to include convincing conservative voters that they are part of some larger patriotic uprising against tyranny (and yes, it helps that the “tyrant” they have inveighed against is black). Tea party members (and non-tea party members) need to know who is funding the movement, and what their agenda is. Reports indicate that the tea party benefits from an influx of millions of dollars from conservative foundations established by wealthy U.S. families to promote their business interests. It appears that a steady cash flow is used to organize and implement the movement and that it primarily flows through two conservative groups: Americans for Prosperity and FreedomWorks. In an April 9, 2009, article posted on the ThinkProgress.org website, Lee Fang reports that principal organizers of tea party events are Americans for Prosperity and FreedomWorks, which he terms two “well funded” “lobbyist run think tanks” that provide the logistics and organizing for the tea party movement from coast to coast. Media Matters reported that David Koch of Koch Industries was a co-founder of Citizens for a Sound Economy, the predecessor of FreedomWorks, where he currently serves as chairman of the board of directors. Citizens for a Sound Economy received substantial funding from Koch Industries, which is the largest privately held energy company in the United States, and from the conservative

Koch Family Foundations, which make substantial annual donations to conservative think tanks and advocacy groups. Media Matters reported that the Koch family has given more than $12 million to Citizens or a Sound Economy between 1985 and 2002. FreedomWorks leader and former House majority Leader sporting an ever present cowboy hat, Dick Armey, claims his organization gets “15 to 20 percent” of its money from corporations. Perhaps not 100% accurate. Look at what one Tea Party leader, Mark Skoda, announced at the tea party convention in Nashville (the event at which Sarah Palin wrote the word “Energy” on her hand to remember, well, the word “Energy”). Skoda announced the creation of a tea party political action committee and the creation of a tax-exempt 501(c)(4) nonprofit called the Ensuring Liberty Corp. PACs have contribution limits and are required by federal election law to fully disclose their funding, but a 501(c)(4) organization, on the other hand, has no contribution limits. It can raise as much money as possible from corporations, wealthy donors, foreign governments-and there are no disclosure requirements whatsoever. Therefore, the Ensuring Liberty Corp. can raise as much money as it can manage from Saudi Arabia, Aetna, and Richard Mellon Scaife (see him for links to Clinton-era investigations and the impeachment efforts) without any fear of backlash when working-class tea partiers find out it's not funded by mom and pop small business owners who just want low tax rates or more guns or less abortion or whatever it is that drives people to flock to these golden calves of American politics.

Schiff Receives Tea Party Endorsement Weston Republican, über-libertarian, and former Connecticut Republican U.S. Senate challenger Peter Schiff (see Weston Magazine Group March 2010 issue) won the backing of the Connecticut Grassroots Alliance, a loose network of 28 conservative and tea party affiliated groups. “No candidate in America better understands the fiscal mess we are in than Peter Schiff,” Vivian Rockwell, cofounder of Distressed Patriots for America, said. “The Washington establishment pretends we can borrow our way out of debt. Peter Schiff knows we must face facts and cut spending. He has the courage and the financial expertise to tackle our economic woes.” “The financial crisis does not result from a lack of regulation, but an excess of regulation," Schiff's website states. “We need to stop distorting price signals, stop distorting resource allocations. We need to allow these decisions to be made collectively through the marketplace, not by government bureaucrats centrally planning our economy based on what they think should happen, because they're almost always wrong. That path has been tried time and time again, and it has never succeeded. Obama will not succeed where Castro failed. It's just not going to happen.”

Tea Party for Two Years The question at the end of the second year of the creation of the raucous “new tea party” in Connecticut is– Who are these 21st century libertarian “Athenians” who so vociferously and many times angrily defend their Holy Grail-the U.S. Constitution? More than their political ideas, it is the professed anger of the tea party members that is already reshaping our 6 8 W E S T O N M A G A Z I N E G R O U P. C O M

political landscape. However, the hodge-podge lists of animosities tea party supporters mention fail to cohere. The tea party's own candidate for the U.S. Senate, Lindsay Graham (Rep. South Carolina), also a McCain stalwart, recently predicted the eventual demise of the movement into a body of conventional political grievances. The current popular appeal of well organized and well funded tea party activists is the perception that they are political anti-heroes-they seek, at least publicly, to destroy, rather than amass, political power. A New York Times editorialist recently characterized the movement as a

Hartford, CT Tea Party Platform We invite you to read the Declaration of Tea Party Independence below, which the Hartford Tea Party Patriots has signed and wholeheartedly supports. Recent events have dictated that we NOT allow ourselves to be defined by Democrats, Republicans, the media, and other self-serving individuals and groups. This document was created by a group of tea party patriots who like you are saying: Enough Is Enough! This Declaration of Tea Party Independence represents our creed and our charter moving forward. We the People of the tea party movement define ourselves and our purposes. We the People of the tea party movement declare our independence from the “status-quo” in our political process. We the People of the tea party movement have names and faces; to see a tea party “leader,” just look in the mirror. We the People of the tea party movement are going to take our country back to the vision and values of our Founding Fathers.

“libertarian mob” because they proclaim the belief “that they can do everything themselves if they are only left alone.” However, the reality is that the tea party activists seemed contentedly inert while Mr. Bush increased the size of the federal government by 22% per year for eight years, with bloated budgets all in the red largely for “national security” increases in what Washington recently called a nightmare of overlapping bureaucracy with no real accountability.

Hudson Valley, New York, Patriots Weigh in During a summer 2010 meet-and-greet gala in Westchester, New York, hosted by North Salem soccer mom of five and activist/Internet pamphleteer Lisa Douglas, leader of the Hudson Valley Patriots, two tea party candidates served up reactive political rhetoric. But it was nowhere near as polemical or overtly seditious as summer 2009's “Obama as Hitler” Capitol Hill tirades, although a yellow, 13-colonysegmented snake “Gadsden flag” was on display. The pair of candi-

A group of western Connecticut activists has registered the name “CT Tea Party” with the Connecticut Secretary of State's office. The group's proclaimed goal is “To ensure that the Democratic and Republican caucuses are prepared to put forth candidates that are ready to go to work for the people, and not continue the status quo that's caused the problems both locally and at the state and federal levels,” said former Marine Dan Gaita of Bethel, the party's chairman. “A good candidate for the CT Tea Party isn't somebody who has money, isn't somebody who has political power and isn't somebody that will be corrupted by the major party trade winds,” Gaita said. “We're looking for outsiders, for people who are living in the trenches, who are going through everyday struggles.” “We are literally one of the families in the trenches that the people in Hartford are disconnected from,” he said. “[The Democrats] got their health care, they've got their union protection. They've squandered the public trust and they need to be fired. We need new leaders to fix the mess we're in and that's the mission of the CT Tea Party.”

challenger who spent the summer vying for the tea party endorsement but fell short in the August 10th primary, told the Courant that the movement's ideas naturally mesh with those of most Republicans challenging Connecticut's Democratic incumbents. “There is no extremism here at all,” Novak said. “These are just our neighbors who believe in God and country, and if it's radical to believe in God and country, then so be it.” Republican Party Chairman Chris Healey said that it's not clear how much the tea party movement has affected the GOP's congressional campaigns, where there were primaries in four of the five districts. “They are an organic group, they are not a Republican group,” Healey distinguished in the Courant. “But it is emblematic of what's going on in the state, which is a frustration with government that has energized the political debate, and is something we obviously hope to capitalize on.” Rob Merkle of Norwalk considered himself a tea party activist. He petitioned his way onto the Republican ballot in the 4th District using members of the group to gather the required signatures. He believes those who can tap into the tea party base have a good chance of winning; however, he only got 24% of the vote, bringing in only Wilton. “There are 3,000 to 5,000 tea party members in the 4th District alone,” he pointed out. “These are passionate volunteers that are willing to be organized and go out there and do the heavy lifting and the retail politics that need to get done to beat the Democrats, and the Republican Party doesn't have that.” But Rick Torres, another of the three candidates seeking the GOP nomination in that district, isn't so sure. He has spoken at several tea party events, and says he strongly supports their opposition to big government and calls for fiscal responsibility, but received only 15% of GOP primary votes. He told the Courant he believes some in the movement take it too far, by labeling their opposition as socialists or worse. “Whether it's about Nancy Pelosi or Harry Reid, whom I disagree with completely, I can't listen to attacks of that sort, I just can't do it,” he said. “Those few in the movement who speak like that kind of take it over the top and drag the whole thing down.” Dan Debicella, the 'non-tea party' safe candidate won 15 out of 17 towns in the 4th district- losing only Bridgeport to Torres- and earned a slot to take on Jim Himes in November. Tanya Bachand, leader of the Connecticut Tea Party Patriots, who endorsed state senator Sam Caligiuri's candidacy for Congress in Connecticut's Fifth District, is the only formerly tea party endorsed candidate to score a clear victory in the primaries. Caligiuri, a twoterm state senator, defeated political newcomers Justin Bernier, of Plainville, and Mark Greenberg, of Litchfield, in the primary. He faces U.S. Rep. Chris Murphy, a two-term Democratic incumbent from Cheshire, on Nov. 2.

Connecticut Political Quandary

Race and the Tea Party

Though not affiliated with either major political party, tea party activists espouse a political philosophy of less government, a free market, lower taxes, individual rights, and political activism, according to a recent article in the Hartford Courant. Daria Novak, from Connecticut's second district, a Republican

The National Association for the Advancement of Colored People has prepared a resolution decrying tea party “racism.” Free Republic tea party members countered by calling the NAACP itself the “klan with a tan” and claiming that it's a case of the “pot calling the kettle white.” Other conservatives are outraged over the pending NAACP resolution

dates were surprisingly mainstream Republican, first up, and direct. Independent businessman Jay Spencer, sporting a power blue suit and solid red tie, delivered heavy doses of “taxed enough already” rhetoric but in the calm drone of a CPA, and portly but eloquent, fiery former career CIA officer Gary Berntsen campaigned hard on a message of fiscal responsibility and refocused national and homeland security. Both were tagging top gun senior U.S. Senator Chuck Schumer as the prince of “arrogance” as they vie for the Republican nomination in New York state. Their shared rallying cry was simple bumper sticker fare: “Scrap Schumer,” who at last count is ready to unload a record $23 million war chest. Current frontrunner Berntsen received a solid 62% of the vote at the Republican pre-nominating convention this June and preaches the tea party point, “Schumer is not one of us!” Berntsen continued working over Schumer by recounting a well documented story from mid-December 2009 between his standard “tax cut/deficit” pontificating to the passionate choir totaling approximately 30 at the Mount Kisco Holiday Inn: “Chuck Schumer forgot to check his dirty mouth for a DC to NYC bound flight. Schumer blasted a female flight attendant as a 'bitch' after she insisted that he shut off his cell phone so the plane could take off.” The verbose, third-in-command Democrat Schumer, apologized for the mumbled-under-his-breath gaffe, but Berntsen, who commanded the CIA's counter-Hamas group during the Bush years and a task force of 30 direct reports, called Schumer an out-of-touch elitist to this crowd of tea party faithful.

Patriot Parties Display Foothold in Connecticut

“condemning racism within the tea party movement.” The Kansas City Star noted recently that the resolution, scheduled for a vote by delegates attending the late summer annual NAACP convention in Kansas City, calls upon “all people of good will to repudiate the racism of the Tea Parties, and to stand in opposition to its drive to push our country back to the pre-civil rights era.” Complaining that the “NAACP has more of a political agenda now,” Brendan Steinhauser, director of campaigns for FreedomWorks, who, according to Star reporter Judy L. Thomas, “organizes tea party groups,” said, “I just don't see racism in the tea party movement. Racism is something we're absolutely opposed to.” Gary Langer, director of polling at ABC News, apparently agrees with Steinhauser, “While our data doesn't speak to views at the individual level, in the broadest, population-based sense, we don't see it.” But certainly suspicions of racism at its depths are there. At political

turing drawings of a “Tea Party Jesus” mouthing the hate mongering of the most extremist elements of this extreme movement, tea partiers remain a curious enigma to most Americans. Media frequently portray the tea party movement as a novel and contemptible political phenomenon. Michael Kinsley of the Atlantic Monthly asserts that tea partiers “sprang from nowhere,” and unlike the “selfless and idealistic” 1960s hippies, they are “nasty” and ultimately “self-interested.” Mark Lilla, a Columbia University political philosopher, wrote a more thoughtful assessment in the New York Review of Books, but nonetheless reached a similar conclusion. The tea partier is a “new type” of American, an “anti-political Jacobin” who exhibits “blanket distrust of institutions and an astonishing-and unwarranted-confidence in the self.” Weird, radically anti-government, new, and selfish is not a pretty picture. But is it accurate? The evidence shows that the tea party movement is not a bunch of

The current popular appeal of well organized and well funded tea party activists is the perception that they are political antiheroes-they seek, at least publicly, to destroy, rather than amass, political power. blog Think Progress, Nina Bhattacharya wrote that the tea parties have a “well documented history of racism and wrongful co-opting of the civil rights movement.” In 2009, tea party members analogized President Obama to a “monkey.” And in March, tea party protesters hurled racist epithets at civil rights hero Rep. John Lewis (D-GA) and spat at Rep. Emanuel Cleaver (D-MO). At a recent July 4th rally in Lexington, Kentucky, the blog Daily Kos documented tea party members selling shirts boasting, “Yup, I'm a Racist!”

Raging Against High Taxes The tea party continually claims that there is a “high” corporate tax rate in the United States, but of the 40 industrialized countries, the lowest corporate taxes are collected in this country, and two-thirds of the corporations operating in the United States pay zero taxes. Corporations' share of federal tax collections have gone from 45% in the 1950s to down around 6% in 2010. Many corporations also gain windfalls from various levels of government for “creating” jobs, or get money for things like oil “depletion” (tax breaks for having used up resources). In some cases, that makes corporations negative tax payers.

weirdos with uniformly far-out views. According to an April New York Times/CBS poll, most tea partiers identify themselves as married, middle-, or working-class churchgoers. The vast majority have full-time jobs or are retired. It is true that nearly all tea partiers say they want a smaller federal government. Yet, a majority of those polled also believe Social Security and Medicare are worthwhile programs. Apparently, they truly believe they can have their tea cakes and eat them too. This overwhelming moral streak at the grassroots level is the key to understanding tea party politics. It is often a matter of unwavering values, not ideology, or public policy. And with this focus, well meaning folks such as those with whom I spent time in Connecticut and New York, including Lisa Douglas, who donated time, talent, and treasure to the tea party at the expense of her own five children, become vulnerable and attractive to well-funded, high-level political machines that may seek to exploit, rather than promote, their supporters' morality. ❉ John Hoctor is a veteran political/feature writer and former staff writer with Gannett Newspaper Group, Westchester/Connecticut Business Journal, Army Times, Washington, D.C., and the Stamford, CT Advocate. He is a graduate of the University of Iowa, Journalism School and attended the famed Writer's Workshop.

Tea Party Morality? For all the media portrayals of colorful characters ranging from Revolutionary-garbed grown-ups, gun toting Second Amendment advocates, and birthers claiming that President Barack Obama is an alien-born puppet of international socialist forces to a satirical blog fea7 0 W E S T O N M A G A Z I N E G R O U P. C O M

He now lives in Westport where he performs private high-end personal training and has taken on a book project for later this year. In preparing this issue's story he attended several 'tea party' events in the New York area and interviewed local tea party Senate candidate and business mogul Peter Schiff.

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FICTION

RANCHO MIRAGE BY JOANNA GLEASON DECEMBER 15 If a violent man has two dogs, Danny was thinking as he started up the bamboo-lined driveway, one might assume that it’s better to be the second dog. “And what are you looking at?” might have less fury behind it than, “Sonofabitch!” At least that’s what Daniel Fahey, soon-to-be second dog, assumed. First dog, Evan Barrows-Burke’s personal assistant Palmer Johns, had a dowager’s hump already forming on his thirty-year-old back, a result of his shoulders anticipating verbal and, witnessed on occasion, physical blows. Danny thought Palmer might have every reason to commiserate and bond with a new hiree, but Palmer was a hunchbacked asshole. When Danny had come to interview for the position of personal chef to Evan Barrows-Burke he had been greeted at the massive teak door by a housekeeper in black uniform. She had led him through an atrium filled with banana palms and Bidermeier. Danny recognized the furniture style from the coffee table books of his current employer. Those books and stacks of heavy glossy magazines had been his library, his decor-as-a-second-language class at the behest of Palm Springs society maven Juditha Leland, for whom he had made low-calorie cognitionenhancing mood-altering meals. When he had remarked to Juditha that he one day hoped to own a piece of that nineteenth-century furniture, he knew full well it was entry-level brown nosing but with, Danny thought, an elitist twist. Juditha had rebuked him, telling him that Bidermeier was strictly middle class. He was momentarily stung but kept thinking that she would pay for that remark. He could make her pay. His scorecard never showed a tie or a rain delay, much less a loss. One strike, and you were out. Now, walking the terrazzo floors of the E. Stewart Williams designed house he smirked at the Bidermeier commode that Barrows-Burke had sawn in half and filled with ferns. “Bidermeier,” Danny sniffed, fast study that he was. “We just have Pellegrino,” the maid replied. She motioned, as she left for parts unknown, to a horsehair bench in a small study and Danny sat. He noticed a wall of small cubbies, each lit from within. He rose to get a closer look. Inside each was a miniature replica of a household item sitting on velvet and caught in a halogen beam. Danny was transfixed. Gadget Guru Evan Barrows-Burke had recently moved to Palm 7 8 W E S T O N M A G A Z I N E G R O U P. C O M

Springs from Aspen, Colorado where he and his poetess wife had presided over a twenty thousand-square-foot chalet. Burke had emerged as a star just as television was making celebrities out of bellowing salesmen with bleached teeth. There were no shortage of people who sat around watching hours of infomercial television, buying items to help save the time and effort they just couldn’t muster for the simple things. Burke used his booming voice and three heads of hair to rouse the folks to reach for their telephones and credit cards. He had one idea after another, and the breathless childish qualities of enthusiasm for fantasy and American science fiction. He was MegaBuck Rogers. He wasted no time getting manufacturers in Ningbo, south of Shanghai to pop out prototypes, which he tested once or twice before a panel of experts. These experts included his mechanic, his osteopath, his tennis pro, and the maid. He then took his fistful of thumbs ups and starting churning out product. He hit the late night airwaves in a tight tee shirt and khakis, a spray enhanced tan, and what looked like a Superbowl ring on his right hand, if the Superbowl had been sponsored by DeBeers. Aspen house and land were paid for in cash from the sale of the NoMore-Tears Onion Slicer. There were ski lifts to their sauna deck, a staff of twenty, five horses, three swimming pools and a meditation hut. Life was grand until it wasn’t. The Barrows-Burkes were forced by way of a dozen out of court settlements to “downsize” as they called their punitive payments when the latest of Evan’s inventions, the Self-Making Bed, had led to numerous lawsuits. There had been, the court decided, no copyright infringements, just the evidence that eleven people, eight of them undocumented domestics, had not fully understood the English-only instructions and had ended up pinned under the box springs. The No-More-Tears Onion Slicer with its blade shield and mini exhaust fan was an annuity and was almost bested by the earnings from the Inflatable Home Car Wash Canopy, so the losses from the bed maker were somewhat covered. They pulled up tents and headed for the Palm Springs desert. Juditha Leland had brought Danny Fahey down to Palm Springs from Los Angeles where four years prior he had transplanted himself from Maine where he had held and lost all the jobs available within ten square miles. Every boss was “an idiot” he told his parents, who by now knew enough to remain mum. He realized he was only remotely happy when he THE CHAPTER “RANCHO MIRAGE” IS PRINTED WITH THE AUTHOR’S PERMISSION FROM HER FORTHCOMING NOVEL, MAKE ME ONE WITH EVERYTHING.

One

Two

was cooking. He had rented a studio apartment over Nelson’s China Shoppe and Cafe, just outside of Center Lovell. It had room for a single bed, a fiberglass shower and a two-burner stove. At twenty-nine, while stirring a shrimp and pea risotto, Danny literally heard his calling as his small TV played an interview with the personal chef of a once legendary record producer who was currently on trial for shooting a woman through the face. All he heard, while the final chicken stock was added to the swelling rice, was “personal chef,” and he found himself saying it out loud over and over. The personal chef was a young woman, and her voice became a siren’s song echoing through the pines of Maine and begging him come. The compass pointed to the land of the rich and show business elite. Danny knew he could cook well enough; this he had been teaching himself for years, one cookbook at a time. In the days before the incident with his step-brother and Ben Rosen, the days of young Danny, his parents Stu and Darla all making pancakes on Sunday, he would dance around in his stockinged feet tossing eggshells into the trash and watching as his Dad flipped pancakes higher and higher as a squealing Darla caught them on plates. The kitchen was the de-militarized zone. The armed camps of monosyllabic father and depressed lonely mother lay down their arsenals and accusations. The cease-fires included salad and dessert. Danny stretched them out as long as he could around the hand-me-down pine table and its mismatched chairs. At thirteen, he could make veal stock and flan. He knew from his early teens that he was handsome and sexy; this he had been inappropriately told by men who called his adolescent looks ‘devastating’ and, later, by women who mostly just made sounds. He also knew that on one winter night when he was seventeen he had ruined his mother’s life and the lives of two others. Maybe three, he thought, but rarely. As the housekeeper brought him a warm Pellegrino and a glass of ice, Palmer Johns entered from another wing. He had begun speaking while still quite far from Danny and all Danny heard was, “for the first month, all right?” “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you,” Danny said. “Really? You really want to do this with me? I believe you did hear me.” The housekeeper made herself a blur as she fled. Danny stood with his back to the cubby containing the tiny version of the Shower Kitchen, the state of the art waterfall showerhead and espresso maker for those who skip breakfast. The light from the display case was making a halo around Danny’s full head of chestnut hair, and he knew it, letting his face tilt upward to allow the light to make planes on his chiseled face. He knew he was ready for his close-up. He also knew within that instant that Palmer was as gay as Halloween in Manhattan. “Well, if what you said was that I work from five p.m. until ten p.m. four days a week and make eight hundred a week then yes, I agree.” Palmer’s eyes opened until they were completely round. He jerked his head back and looked at the ceiling, searching for his next thought. “You know, Daniel, when I first came here I was full of young man eagerness and a degree from Emerson in Media Arts. I had lived in Boston, L.A. and even Malibu. I wouldn’t have had the balls to make this kind of scene with a prospective employer, not the balls.” 8 0 W E S T O N M A G A Z I N E G R O U P. C O M

“I honestly didn’t hear what you said.” Palmer pointed to a small chair covered in pony skin. “Sit.” Danny didn’t move. Palmer sat on the pony’s mate, crossing his legs and holding his knees with clasped hands. Danny saw a wide platinum band on Palmer’s right ring finger. “Okay. Well, I said that, sit Daniel, that for the first month, Daniel sit, for the first month, SIT.” Danny sat and let out a tiny “woof.” Palmer’s eyebrows raised along with his dowager’s hump. “For the first month you would be on call. Understand? Evan and his wife don’t keep standard business hours. They entertain a great deal and they make it a point of honor to serve the latest in culinary trends. They are also extremely health conscious but not freaky about it, so yes to pork products and duck fat, but served with, like, lemon rind and stuff to cut the fat or whatever. Questions so far?” “No.” Lemon rind? This’ll be easy, he thought. “Let me finish. Their friends are the movers and shakers of media, and so you will undoubtedly recognize many of them. Discretion is job one. Understand? No eye contact, no schmoozing and above all, no f—-ing flirting!” Danny let silence hang. He wondered how many other job applicants there had been and whether the homeliest would get picked. He also wondered if the no-f—-ing-flirting clause came from on high or was a more personal concern of Palmer’s. “Two.” Palmer uncrossed his legs. “Two...hundred a day?” “Two thousand a week to be on call twenty-four seven. And you start tomorrow and there’s a New Year’s Eve party for which we’d hire some extra help for you.” “Wouldn’t Evan.” “Now you see, Daniel, that’s exactly what I mean. Nobody invited you to call him Evan. And probably never will. Are we not clear on this?” “Wouldn’t a party of this size be catered is what I was trying to say, Mr. Johns.” “Well, for one thing, it’s only going to be ten people and for another thing I may look like I enjoy biting wit and innuendo and sarcasm and all that but actually it doesn’t get much play with me. So if you want this job, let me know now and we’ll just hope you can make the necessary personality adjustments.” His right hand fell between his legs and dangled limply. “Juditha Leland said to hire you in her lovely castrating way so this is a formality and almost a waste of my time.” Danny thought it interesting that balls had come up again. I could play him, Danny thought. And for two grand a week, I could enjoy it. He worried for a moment that Juditha had told Palmer why Danny was leaving her employ. She wouldn’t dare, Danny assured himself. “I’ll take it,” Danny said as he rose, extending his hand. “All right.” Palmer stood and after a beat extended his hand. Danny was transfixed by the ring. It was wide as a shell casing and pricey if it was platinum. If it was silver, he could make Palmer blink first. He met Palmer’s hand in a quick shake.

“Platinum?” Danny asked. Please be silver, he thought. “Of course.” Damn. “Tomorrow come at eight a.m. and you’ll meet them and make breakfast. And wear clean slacks and a loose shirt, no aftershave or cologne, she’s allergic.” Danny realized that he didn’t know Evan Barrows-Burke’s wife’s name. Palmer had only referred to her as ‘his wife’ or ‘she’. “What is Mrs. Burke’s name?” “Tremula. She’s a poet. Poet-ess.” “Any good?” Palmer responded before thinking. “Hey, “Uterine Stanzas” is on sale at the Aspen airport. And how many poets does it take to rhyme ‘respect to me’ with ‘clitoredectomy.’ Please, Mary.” Danny was impressed that Palmer could lower his head and roll his eyes at the same time. But he had uttered the shibboleth. The gay password. Lisp-free, no pelvic semaphore but clear as a bell. “Maybe I’ll get hold of it and give it a read.” “Maybe being such a blatant and oily suck-up has nothing to do with cooking. What exactly is your m.o. Danny? Why did you leave Juditha and oh yes, can I see a sheet with some other references in Los Angeles? Bring it tomorrow.” “We just shook so I think I have the job already.” “This is for my personnel files. Evan insists.” ‘Evan’ was drawn out a bit, heavier on the ‘Eh’. Danny thought there was something possessive about it. Intimate, or longing for intimacy by association, viral among the desert crowd. “I’ll drop off a resume, meaning I’ll go home and write one since I’ve never been asked for one before.” “Danny, you’ve never been asked for one because your qualifications for your so far junior varsity responsibilities were your looks and your flinty charm. You may in fact be an axe murderer, which I will find out, as I’m having you run on the Maine and California police computers as we speak. I’ve checked the Feds as well. And I have your transcripts from your less than stellar community college years as well as a copy of the inscriptions in your yearbook.” Danny imagined a cartoon of himself rising from his body and lunging for Palmer to beat him senseless. “Then why a resume?” “Just make it a mission statement as to why you want this job and forty suggested dishes you can make. Would that kill you?” It was one thing to play steel-toed footsies with an adversary; it was another to play with your knees bound. Palmer was a sadist and had some uber-standing around here. Danny needed the job, the money was amazing and he was not ever going to reveal why Juditha and he had parted company. He decided to go home and cook up some buttkissing paragraphs about the personal food service industry, list eighty dishes and prepare five to bring as a thank you/f—k you for Palmer. “Any food allergies, Palmer?” “None for Evan, she doesn’t eat tomatoes if they’re cut longwise.” “How about you?” Danny knew from Palmer’s hesitation that he took his meals elsewhere,

probably with the maid. More than likely on a tray watching a flat screen TV. “I can’t eat meat, fish or chicken, dairy or sugar.” He looked quite helpless for an instant. He hadn’t puffed up and announced that he “doesn’t,” for political reasons eat these things, more like he had been unfairly deprived of them. “Why? Nobody’s allergic to all that, are they?” “Ev...I was told to cut them out for three months to see if my body chemistry would change. Apparently, people who eat these things have a different...a noticeably different body...odor.” He was looking out the window toward the driveway. Night was falling. Danny moved a step closer to him. “I’ve heard that. It really works, eliminating those things. Me, I stink of garlic for days after eating it, red wine, too.” Palmer took a few seconds to determine if there was ridicule in Danny’s voice and decided that a man that beautiful couldn’t also be compassionate. It might just kill him if it were true. And ruin the ecology of the Barrows-Burke household. “Whatever. It’s not me you’re cooking for. I don’t give a shit.” Danny moved to the front door, but Palmer was opening the kitchen door for him. He doubled back and exited without a goodbye. Personal chef was a great gig, he thought. Two thou a week was much needed money he couldn’t make anywhere else. Palmer was a weasel and would only have his back for target practice. I can handle him, Danny thought. He’s just another bitter fag. It won’t kill me. The Palm Springs winter was clear and shiny. The air was crisp without being hot or cold, and the night sky was a starlit rotunda. I have a job, he thought, inhaling deeply. I’m on my feet. I’m connected for life and they all have to eat. Unless all their bodies stink, he laughed. The New Year is coming and I might even call my parents. Might. “Maybe this is my year,” he said out loud. Daniel Fahey jumped into his nineteen ninety-five Volvo station wagon and pulled out of the Barrows-Burke driveway, looking in the rear view mirror to see if Palmer was watching him from the kitchen window. He was. Danny smiled. This is gonna be interesting, he thought. Danny would be dead by New Year’s Day. ❉ Joanna Gleason is a Tony Award-winning actress (Stephen Sondheim’s “Into The Woods”) who made her film debut in Woody Allen’s “Hannah and Her Sisters.” She was also in “Crimes and Misdemeanors” as Woody Allen’s wife, “Heartburn” for Mike Nichols, “Mr. Holland’s Opus,” “Boogie Nights,” and will be seen in the upcoming “The Rebound” with Catherine Zeta Jones. Her Broadway credits include “Joe Egg” and “Dirty Rotten Scoundrels,” for which she was nominated again for Tonys and Drama Desk Awards, plus off Broadway shows “The Normal Heart” by Larry Kramer, “Something You Did” by Willie Holtzman and Lincoln Center’s “Happiness.” TV includes recurring roles on “The West Wing” and “Friends,” among many other appearances. Joanna is married to actor Chris Sarandon and they live most happily in Connecticut. If they could find a translation in Latin for “What took us so long?” it would hang over their front door.

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FICTION

BACHELOR DEGREE BY JUDITH MARKS-WHITE I REMEMBER THE FIRST TIME SHE SAID IT. WE WERE IN A TAXI HURTLING DOWN PARK AVENUE ON A STEAMY AUGUST AFTERNOON. "Boyfriend," my mother, Madeleine, was saying, not in a mocking, judgmental tone of voice but matter-of-factly, as though she could be referring to the weather or an item on a menu. "Mark Robbins would make a very nice boyfriend, don't you think?" I was applying mascara at the time. The taxi lurched, and the brush slipped from my eyelashes onto my eyebrow, extending my brow line all the way over to my right ear. "Boyfriend? I don't quite picture Mark Robbins as boyfriend material." "Oh, not for you, darling," my mother said, "for me." And then I knew: My mother, Madeleine Krasner-Wolfe, had crossed over to the dark side. I come from a long line of family members who are crazy, each in his or her own way. "Not crazy," my mother said (who had begged me to refer to her on a first-name basis since I was three), "eccentric." "Why can't I have a mother who's normal?" I had implored throughout my adolescence. "Don't be ridiculous, Samantha. Anyone can have a normal mother. Eccentricity is so much more appealing. Someday you'll understand that." But I could never adjust to the fact that when my friends' mothers were puttering about their kitchens, mine was lying on a table getting a bikini wax or sipping champagne in the middle of the afternoon. On this particular Tuesday we were on our way to lunch, a pastime 8 8 W E S T O N M A G A Z I N E G R O U P. C O M

my mother considered an occasion, not because she loved to eat but because it allowed her to parade herself in front of the world in her latest fashion ensembles. "It's so festive dining in restaurants," she said, "eating at home is absolutely dull." My mother took daily living to new heights and considered Auntie Mame her fictional role model. She watched the film over and over, often quoting Rosalind Russell's famous line: "Life is a banquet, and most poor suckers are starving to death." Fortunately, my mother could indulge her fancies because she was loaded. My father, her first husband, Henry Krasner, whom she professed to be the love of her life, had croaked at forty-five on the sixteenth hole at the Rock Ridge Country Club, leaving my mother with a gaping hole in her heart, along with a small fortune that Dad had made in disposable diapers for adults, and an art collection worth millions. As we were leaving the cemetery, my mother told me through a barrage of tears sprinkling down the front of her black veil that she could finally live the life she was meant to lead. "Your father was a wonderful man," she said, "but frugal was his middle name. He wouldn't part with a cent. Of course," she mused, "in the end that was probably a wise move, because now I won't have to be a bag lady." That was certainly true. My mother was not one to make do. The only bags she paraded were designed by Gucci, Fendi, and Louis Vuitton. Cutting back was not something she could gracefully handle. And so, before my dad's body was even cold, she went out and bought herself a sporty little Mercedes SLK350 Roadster that she rationalized would help her through the grieving process. Her accountant, Sheldon Glick, had assured my mother that shewould be fine as long as she lived within reason. "Within reason? What does that mean?" Madeleine had put down

her lace-edged monogrammed hankie and stopped crying long enough to inquire. "You're a rich woman," Sheldon had said. "But like most of us, unless we're Rockefellers, you need to be sensible." Sensible to Madeleine was having enough dough to keep her in her Upper East Side apartment with Gilda, our housekeeper of thirty years; the summerhouse in Connecticut; and a monthly allowance

that guaranteed she could continue living in the style to which she deserved to be accustomed. "I'm not a woman who takes to change well," she'd said. "Continue living as you are for now." Sheldon had reached over his desk and took her hand. "We'll revisit this subject in a few months." "Yes," my mother had agreed. "After the ground settles, I'll be able to think more clearly." Then she'd taken herself over to Per Se for lunch and drowned her sorrows in a couple of dirty martinis. That was the one thing about my mother: She had style. But the relationship I shared with my dad was unique. He was the role model for every man who would eventually come my way. In turn, I was the love of his life. He openly made his affections known, not only through the gifts that he showered upon me but with weekly dinners, just the two of us. From the time I was six, Tuesdays became our night. Although my mother often asked to tag along, Dad refused her entry into our exclusive club. This was our time alone, and no intruders, even my mother, were allowed to trespass on this ritualistic occasion. Hundreds of such evenings punctuated my future. We began a tradition where these weekly jaunts allowed us to catch up on each other's lives. Not once did I ever remember him canceling our standing appointment. In that way, Tuesdays belonged only to us, and in that way, they became cherished moments. When he died, that abruptly ended. Dad's death brought with it a sense of longing I had not yet been able to relinquish-a yearning for something that would never be the same again. I had accumulated a wealth of knowledge from our talks. I was privy to personal insights and private thoughts he enjoyed sharing only with me, mainly because my reactions to whatever he told me were spontaneous and deliciously secretive. There were times I believed my mother was jealous, though she always brushed it aside by asking: "Whatever do you two have to talk about?" "Everything and nothing," I would

respond, hoping that would placate her, but it never did. These dinners, my dad's and mine, provided a setting I could retreat to in ways that I never could with my mother; Tuesdays became some of my happiest times. While my relationship with my mother was close, it was my father who left an indelible imprint on my psyche. Without judgment, he gently guided me through childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood and served as my one-man support system and guardian of my soul. My mother, colorful though she was, exhibited her parenting in more outspoken, symbiotic ways that often put tension between us. As I evolved more into my own, she clung to me with an intensity that often felt smothering. After my father's death, while my mother lapsed into grieving mode, I mourned his death in a less conspicuous way. In the days that followed, I kept hearing him call my name, which would stop me cold. After that, Tuesdays were never the same again. Now, at thirty-eight, I lived alone on the opposite side of Central

looks up to you. You're her role model." "You're the one with all the space, Mother. Why can't she stay with you? You have all those guest rooms just lying around with no one in them." The blood drained from my mother's face. "Postmenopausal women don't have roommates," she said. "Anyway, she adores you. Maybe you can help her get over her shyness with boys. You know, teach her the ropes." But the only rope I was interested in was a noose to tie around Celeste's chubby neck. Finally, after much prodding, I acquiesced. It was too hard to fight my mother. Celeste moved in on the last day of June with her bunny slippers and five bottles of olive oil she used as both a moisturizer and hair conditioner. Celeste had an edginess that couldn't be ignored. The elder of two daughters of Elaine and Philip Bleckner from Tenafly, New Jersey, Celeste, at twenty, was the less attractive of the two. Her nineteen-

The year she turned sixty, my mother gave herself a birthday present of a face lift, tummy tuck and breast implants just so people like Celeste would continue to use words like “hot” and “fab-u-lous” to describe her. Park in a brownstone on West Eighty-Fifth Street. Alone, that is until my first cousin Celeste Bleckner, a sophomore at Sarah Lawrence, decided to invite herself to spend the month of July with me. My mother had a hand in making the arrangements. "You know I can't stand her," I said. "Darling, it's the least you can do. Your aunt Elaine is my only sister. When she asked, what could I say?" "No!" I said emphatically. "The last thing I need is Celeste following me around all summer. I'll have no privacy whatsoever. Why can't she stay at school? Bronxville is only a half hour from the city." "Celeste wants to experience what city life is all about. It's only for a month," Madeleine said, holding firm. "And you do have that extra bedroom." "You mean my office?" "She can sleep on the pullout couch. It will make her happy, and it's good for family relations." "It might have been nice to have had Celeste check with me first." "She was afraid you'd say no." "Well, she's got that right," I said. "Sweetheart, do it for me." Madeleine played on my guilt. "Celeste 9 0 W E S T O N M A G A Z I N E G R O U P. C O M

year-old sister, Fern, had no trouble attracting men, but she couldn't care less. Fern was rumored to be a lesbian who was having an affair with a girl she had met at Smith during freshman year. The family tried keeping this hush-hush. "Even more reason to be compassionate," Madeleine said. "Poor Elaine is beside herself with grief that Fern might never give her grandchildren. At least with Celeste, there's still a chance. That's where you come in. Maybe you can find a suitable man for her." "The men I know are much older." "They might have younger brothers. You never know. At any rate, a month with you might be the best thing for her." "And the worst for me," I said. "Celeste will be a dream roommate," Madeleine added. "She'll never cramp your style or borrow your clothes. Maybe she can even shed a few pounds." For years, Aunt Elaine had referred to her daughter as "pleasingly plump." At five-two and 160 pounds she was downright fat. On the plus side: She wouldn't be borrowing my clothes. The negative: She never dated and would be hanging around my apartment every evening. Celeste considered a night at home with a hot novel and a

pint of ice cream about as good as it got. One of the reasons that Madeleine was so adamant about her moving in was that Celeste adored my mother, and with Madeleine, flattery went a long way. "Aunt Madeleine is the hottest woman I've ever seen. The woman absolutely rocks. She's more like a girlfriend than a mom," Celeste said. "Sometimes that can pose a problem," I said. "I wish my mom were more like her. I mean, at sixty-two, Madeleine is fab-u-lous." "I wouldn't go spreading that around," I said. "Madeleine doesn't exactly advertise her age." "Her dirty little secret is safe with me," Celeste said. The year she turned sixty, my mother gave herself a birthday present of a face-lift, a tummy tuck, and breast implants just so people like Celeste would continue to use words like "hot" and "fab-u-lous" to describe her. "And those drop-dead clothes. I'd kill for the shoes alone," Celeste said. And so, on the Fourth of July, while fireworks exploded along the Hudson River, Celeste moved in for what was going to be a month of sheer hell. When my mother stopped by a few days later to check up on things, she was sporting her latest pair of Manolo Blahniks and a little Donna Karan purse. I was so accustomed to her beauty, I had stopped being mesmerized years ago. It was only when Celeste raised my consciousness that I had to agree: For "a woman of a certain age" Madeleine was sexy as hell. I was not the only one who thought so. Grayson Wolfe, widower and one of the most prestigious art dealers in New York, agreed. They had met at an art opening. After only a few months of dating my mom, he asked her to marry him. That same month I was hired by Alexandra Cole, owner of the Cole Gallery on Madison Avenue, to run her gallery. Alexandra entrusted me to handle all affairs when she was away in Europe on her frequent "business" trips; really, she was screwing her head off with a Frenchman named Jean-Luc. While Alexandra and Jean-Luc f--ked their way through Europe, I was still looking for my Mr. Right. In the meantime, my mother had found hers. After Grayson proposed, Mom and I went to the Four Seasons, where, in the Pool Room under a canopy of trees, she told me she was considering accepting his offer. The five-carat yellow diamond from Harry Winston had clinched the deal. "Granted, he's not your father," she said, "but he's got a lot going for him." What my mother meant was that Grayson had inherited his family's wealth and wanted nothing more than to lavish it upon her. His two sons, grown and married, were themselves highly successful. Pierce, fifty, owned a thriving orthopedic practice and lived with his wife and two boys in Atlanta. Hillard, fifty-three, a recently divorced real estate attorney from Austin, Texas, specialized in clients with big bucks. Each had become a millionaire by the time he was forty. "Grayson even agreed to sell his apartment and move into mine,"

my mother said. "You know how I detest moving." "The man is a relic. He's as old as Methuselah." "He's pushing seventy-five, but he's very spry. Don't let his age fool you. He's a tiger in the bedroom." Grayson Wolfe might have been many things,but an animal between the sheets was hard to imagine. "And let's not forget his seat on the stock exchange," my mother boasted, "and his board positions -at the American Museum of Natural History and Memorial Sloan-Kettering. Grayson is one of the most eligible bachelors in New York." "For the geriatric set, maybe." "Not to mention he has season tickets to the opera, first tier." "You detest opera, Mother." "That may be true, darling, but I adore dressing up." That June Madeleine and Grayson tied the knot at a small gathering at the Carlyle. She wore a virginal white Valentino and a Vera Wang veil adhered to her head by a clip of white orchids. Grayson took one look at his blushing bride, and an erection appeared right though his Armani tuxedo pants, helped along by the Viagra he had popped minutes before saying "I do." For hree years Madeleine and Grayson lived in marital bliss. Between my father's money and Grayson's fortune, my mother was having the time of her life running between the Westport house and Grayson's home in Millbrook, New York, where he kept two polo ponies and his Lamborghini, used only for recreational riding. In between, he and my mother sailed the Atlantic, flew to Paris twice, toured the Greek Islands, and rented a villa in Tuscany for two months. The night they returned home from Italy, Grayson complained of chest pains, blamed it on the airplane food, and dropped dead three hours later on the new Suri rug for which Madeleine had spent a bundle. Two days later, she gave the rug to Goodwill and buried Grayson Wolfe under a cherry tree at Green Willow Cemetery, where the elite meet in the afterlife. Madeleine Krasner-Wolfe was a widow once again, only this time the word "filthy" preceded "rich." Between the money of Henry Krasner and Grayson Wolfe, the world was her oyster. "Life moves in strange and unexpected ways," Sheldon Glick told Madeleine when they were going over Grayson's will. "You're a woman of substance." Then he tacked another thousand on to her bill. "I'm a woman alone... again," Madeleine sobbed. To cheer herself up, she went over to Tiffany and splurged on a little trinket. â?&#x2030; Judith Marks-White is the author of Seducing Harry, an epicurean affair and Bachelor Degree. Both novels are published by Random House/Ballantine. In 1985, she joined the staff of the Westport News in Connecticut where her weekly Wednesday column The Light Touch has appeared for the past twenty-five years. From the Book, BACHELOR DEGREE: A Novel by Judith Marks-White. Copyright ÂŠ 2008 by Judith Marks-White. Reprinted by arrangement with Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved.

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Down and Out on Wall Street BY . KEVIN CORCORAN

THIS was surely the summer of our discontent – brown lawns, marital discord, soured expectations. A general malaise continues to enshroud the leafy suburbs within a 100-mile radius of the epicenter of Manhattan. Economic recovery? What economic recovery? With the implosion of Lehman Brothers in the Fall of 2008 (no irony intended), the so-called wealthy communities of the tri-state area are still suffering from the nuclear winter following the apocalyptic Credit Crisis of ’08. We’re not out of the woods yet. And some are predicting we never will get out. Take David Stockman, for one. The former director of the Office of Management and Budget under Ronald Reagan, Stockman penned a blockbuster op-ed in the New York Times in mid-August contending that the Republicans under Bush permanently destroyed the U.S. economy. “If there were such a thing as Chapter 11 for politicians, the Republican push to extend the unaffordable Bush tax cuts would amount to a bankruptcy filing. The nation’s public debt... will soon reach $18 trillion.” Stockman said the situation “screams out for austerity and sacrifice.”

11 0 W E S T O N M A G A Z I N E G R O U P. C O M

The nation is quagmired in two futile wars in far-off lands, which cost taxpayers about $1 million per soldier per year to support, and the GOP is pushing extended tax breaks for the wealthy? Hey, no problem – we got ways to make up for that Central Park hedge fund honcho paying reduced taxes on his billions. After all, we have a “magic” Treasury which owns a high-tech, high-speed printing press. We can always print more paper money to keep up with the interest payments to the Chinese who hold $896 billion of our soon-to-be downgraded debt. In fact, that’s just what we’re doing.

NOW, I recognize no one is going to throw a pity party for all the MBA-clutching financial wizards who are down and out on Wall Street. But you got to have a bit of heart for their comeuppance. Sometimes. Three months ago, the doorbell rang at my home in Westport. Opening the door, I came face to face with someone I knew from Merrill Lynch, a prominent marketer in the commodities division of the firm. As far as I could recall, he was from New Canaan and I was

clueless as to why he was up in my neck of the woods. “Glenn, man,” I blinked. “How’s it going?” “You know, uh, it’s uphill, but I got some irons in the fire.” He pulled out a clipboard and cleared his throat in discomfort. “I’m here to get some information for the U.S. census.” Last month, all those temporary, government-sponsored U.S. census positions evaporated and, accordingly, the jobless rate spiked. Cynics claim the government is obfuscating the real numbers – unemployment stays suspiciously steady at 9.5% month after month, always just below double-digits. For example, Newsweek columnist Dan Gross isn’t drinking the KoolAid when it comes to the government’s propaganda. The real unemployment rate is closer to 16.5 percent, he said in July 2010, because the Federal stats conveniently don’t include the unemployed professionals who simply “give up” looking after months (or even years) of fruitless searches for employment. That goes double for the Down and Out on Wall Street. Recently, I got a call from an acquaintance from Rye Brook who was a managing director at Wachovia’s equities division for years. Then, one day, he got into a heated eff-you-and-the-horse-you-rode-in-on squabble with a rival that nearly came to fisticuffs on the trading floor. (It was actually a legendary fable among some in the business.) The rival won the political skirmish with senior management, forcing Ted out. Taking a you-can’t-fire-me-because-I-quit attitude to the situation, Ted raised enough working capital from friends and family to start up XBR Capital, an internet-based high-velocity trading system for institutions who wanted to zip in and out of the markets cheaply and anonymously. That’s where I lost track of his activities. I agreed to meet him at the rooftop bar at the Peninsula for cocktails to catch up. “How’s XBR going, Ted?” “Well, it’s not,” Ted said, staring at his martini in misery. “We ran out of capital 18 months ago, and had to shut it down.” I was sorry to hear it, I told him. So what was he up to now? He ducked the question, saying pointedly, “Do you realize that on Wall Street, you are absolutely f—-ed after the age of 40? I’ve been looking for work for nearly two years and I can’t even get a single call returned. My resumé is almost three pages long, and I get this ‘overqualified’ bullshit excuse as a cover for age discrimination every single time.” (Now that he mentioned it, I realized that there’s almost no one on a trading floor at any one of the major financial institutions who even comes close to the age of 40.) Ted continued his sour grapes. “When the housing bubble burst, the investment banks hemorrhaged talent. A lot of the talent was grayhaired guys like me. Those jobs may or may not come back someday — but even if they do, I’m not gonna have one of ‘em.” “Yeah, finance. It’s a young man’s game,” I say lamely, as I sip my Grey Goose. Ted peered at me for a moment, as if he were waiting for the right time to pop a question. Then he cleared his throat and produced a brochure. It had the Northwestern Mutual logo on it. “By the way, Kevin, I thought we’d take a moment to discuss your current situation, see if you had enough life insurance coverage – “

Inwardly, I groaned. One of the unanticipated consequences of the Wall Street meltdown is that an entire army of down-and-out Wall Streeters has transformed themselves into life insurance salesmen. Just what the world needs.

THERE’S plenty of reasons to despise the hyper-caffeinated, over-educated troglodytes who populate the trading floors in the skyscrapers of Manhattan. Collectively, we’re still not quite over the mind-numbing outrage that most of the $186 billion U.S. taxpayer-funded TARP bailout of AIG in 2009 was wired directly into the record-level bonus pools of Goldman Sachs and a couple of European banks. Once we get past that, however, it needs to be understood that Wall Street ain’t gonna change its ways, no matter what Mr. Dodd and Mr. Frank push through Congress. The money culture of Wall Street will always reward risk-taking, especially when those risks turn into obscene profits. According to the New York Federal Reserve Board, the average securities wage in New York City is six times the average nonfinancial wage. Twenty percent of all of New York State taxes are paid by this group. According to estimates from the New York State Comptroller – and this is exceptionally important – each securities job on Wall Street generates two other jobs in New York City and one additional job in the suburbs. Let’s pause to reflect on that. Going back to my friend Ted’s lament that he’s been involuntarily retired from the Street, it means that at least three other people are out of work along with him. Actually, come to think of it, that’s just an average figure cited by the Comptroller. At Ted’s former stratospheric pay grade at Wachovia, there’s probably a ripple effect of ten job losses alongside him. That sobering statistic itself, of course, is no reason for you to get a warm and fuzzy feeling inside when you see that arrogant 32-year-old mortgage-backed securities marketer at Goldman Sachs dropping in at Miller Motors in Greenwich to pick up his new yellow Lamborghini. But there is an awesome responsibility on the shoulders of the financial services community to spend their obscene compensation as quickly and as lavishly as possible on the rest of us common folk. And if they don’t? Then dire consequences follow. Let me explain.

THE pesky thing about the residential housing bust is that it’s an in-yourface blight. FOR SALE signs pop up nearly as ubiquitous as mailboxes themselves. A neighbor in the McMansion near the water flipped the keys to the bank last spring, and the thicket of weeds are an eyesore to the rest of the homeowners. And that developer who was building a $5 million spec house on the property he purchased from the famous songwriter in Rowayton? He went bust, and the edifice sits forlornly, not even close to half-finished. Everywhere you go in Westchester County, there are homes that are still occupied, but the renovation projects have been suspended indefinitely because the money dried up. Dozens of homes in the tri-state area still have the iconic TYVEK house wrap on a section of the structure for over a year, and the money’s not coming anytime soon to complete the project. Driving on the Post Road in Fairfield and Westport is a stark reminder

of the ripple effect the Down and Out refugees from Wall Street have in the suburbs. Every week, another small business goes under and their storefront goes empty. Everyone these days is hoarding their cash, and the victims are hard-working entrepreneurs who previously made an honest living for decades, in good times and bad times. The roll call of failed businesses in Connecticut’s Gold Coast is nearly of a depression-era caliber. I’m saddened to see the windows boarded up at the places that give the towns their unique character, and not some generic shopping mall sameness. There’s the small coffee place in Fairfield that could no longer compete with Starbucks; the small stationary store that couldn’t match Staples’ marketing muscle; the local hardware store where the guy’s livelihood got crushed by Home Depot; the reasonably priced local eatery that didn’t have a prayer against the aggressive new McDonald’s Dollar Menu. I often wondered where these noble entrepreneurs wind up after their businesses complete their death spirals. My uncle-in-law is an economist

mused, is how Walmart could keep the higher income customers “once the economy recovers.” Hey, Bill. No need to worry about that scenario anytime soon.

AND so, there you have it. The potential of a permanent recession among Middle Americans, a stagnation of the money-spinning engine we know as Wall Street, and stingy Fortune 500 companies amassing record stacks of cash while refusing to use the capital to create jobs. Now the wolves are at the door. Uncle Sam has to tiptoe around the Chinese when we politely ask them to not engage in trade with Iran, and to not commit human rights abuses in Tibet, because that might make Big Red angry, and they could dump a half-trillion of our national debt into the open market overnight. The Russians? They smell blood and are calling for an end to the petrodollar as the benchmark currency used to measure the value of OPEC oil, much to the impotent fury of the American government. India is buying gold like there’s no tomorrow,

There is an awesome responsibility on the shoulders of the financial services community to spend their obscene compensation as quickly and as lavishly as possible on the rest of us common folk. who noted that they end up working for the same sprawling rivals that destroyed their livelihoods. In fact, I thought I saw the former owner of my local hardware store in the lumber department of Home Depot in White Plains a few weeks back. Depending on how compassionate you are for your fellow humans, you might consider this either ironic – or tragic.

MAYBE 15 years ago, when Donald Trump was at the peak of his obscene wealth (back then he was still annoyingly referred to as “The Donald”) there was a front page story in the New York Post that shocked the nation. The Donald – are you ready for this – was caught by a photographer in a small Pennsylvania town shopping for his college age daughter – here it comes — at Walmart! The press had a field day, running a two-page spread of billionaire mogul Trump caught in the act of being a low-budget cheapskate when he was 150 miles away from the paparazzi in Manhattan. How déclassé of The Donald! But it turns out that Trump was simply way ahead of his time. In the last two post-apocalyptic years since Lehman melted away, the Down and Out of Wall Street have invaded the big box, lowbrow megastores like swarms of locusts, frantically seeking bargains. Yes, the credit crisis has turned Wall Streeters into honorary Joe Sixpackers, where they can experience the joy of saving 38% on a Sharp AQUOS big screen TV over the full price they would have paid at Harvey’s in Greenwich. Bill Simon, the chief executive of Walmart, began articulating the trend in a Morgan Stanley conference call in April 2009, noting that the superstores were filling up with higher income shoppers, who were “filling their carts with more than just low-margin groceries.” The challenge, he 11 2 W E S T O N M A G A Z I N E G R O U P. C O M

pushing up the prices to stunning levels, and – since we went off the gold standard years ago because it was such a nuisance compared to simply printing money out of thin air – we may find the cupboard is empty when we go to launch yet another ludicrous war in the Middle East. The nation may be on the precipice of a downgrade on its debt, just like Spain, Ireland and Greece, that is, if Standard & Poor’s has the cojones to actually do it and deal with the immense global repercussions of such a move. If the so-called Hindenberg Omen comes to pass (too complicated to get into here, just Google it, please), then the nation may actually go into economic freefall and wind up with the creditworthiness of a banana republic. Then the Down and Out of Wall Street will truly be down and out – the ranks of the unemployed workers in the financial sector will spike to mind-boggling levels. At that point, the Wall Streeters would have no one but themselves to blame — but who gives a damn about that or whether they can afford the monthly payments on their yellow Lamborghinis? The real problem is the ripple effect. For every Wall Streeter that crashes and burns, at least three of us go down with him. And that doomsday scenario, my friends, is why Main Street has to give a damn about what happens on Wall Street. ❉ Kevin Corcoran was “down and out” of Wall Street years ago, when he turned to writing about the financial services industry. He categorically denies the conventional wisdom that “those who can – do; those who can’t — write about those who can.” And yes, the Hindenburg Omen is just as scary as it sounds.

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off in September. For a list of upcoming events, call 203/847-8844 or visit www.norwalksymphony.org. WESTPORT COUNTRY PLAYHOUSE ANNOUNCES 2011 SEASON Celebrating 80 Years with a Variety of Outstanding Plays and Playwrights Works by five renowned playwrights – Christopher Durang, W. Somerset Maugham, Terrence McNally, Tennessee Williams and William Shakespeare – will comprise Westport Country Playhouse’s 2011 season. Four and five play subscriptions are now on sale, starting at $25 per ticket. “Beyond Therapy,” written by comic master Christopher Durang and directed by Tony Award winner John Rando, will play April 26 – May 14, 2011. The scintillating comedy of manners, “The Circle” by W. Somerset Maugham, will run June 7 – June 25, 2011. “Lips Together, Teeth Apart,”

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THE JEWISH MUSEUM Houdini: Art and Magic October 29, 2010 through March 27, 2011 First Major Exhibition to Explore Life, Career and Lasting Influence of Legendary Magician Harry Houdini (1874-1926), the renowned magician and escape artist, was one of the 20th century’s most famous performers. His gripping theatrical presentations and heart-stopping outdoor spectacles attracted unprecedented crowds, and his talent for self-promotion and provocation captured headlines on both sides of the Atlantic. Visitors will be able to explore the career and legacy of the celebrated entertainer while considering his lasting impact on contemporary art and culture. Shifting the Gaze: Painting and Feminism Through January 30, 2011 Key Works by Judy Chicago, Eva Hesse, Lee Krasner, Miriam Schapiro, Nicole Eisenman and Others Taking the visitor through a half-century of painting, the exhibition focuses on art at the crossroads of societal shift and individual

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                                                                             

   

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future future future snorer? snorer? snorer?

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IsIsIs your your your little little little one one one aafuture afuture future snorer? snorer? snorer? Many Many Many kids kids kids today today today are are are unable unable unable tototo breathe breathe breathe comfortably comfortably comfortably through through through their their their noses noses noses and and and instead instead instead breathe breathe breathe through through through their their their mouths. mouths. mouths.Allergies, Allergies, Allergies, nasal nasal nasal polyps, polyps, polyps, and and and large large large adenoids adenoids adenoids are are are few few few among among among many many many potential potential potential causes causes causes for for for nasal nasal nasal obstruction. obstruction. obstruction. Children Children Children who who who are are are mouth mouth mouth breathers breathers breathers tend tend tend tototo have have have growth growth growth patterns patterns patterns that that that differ differ differ from from from the the the rest rest rest ofofof the the the population. population. population. Their Their Their lower lower lowerjaws jaws jaws are are are smaller smaller smaller and and andshoved shoved shovedback, back, back, their their theirlips lips lipsdon’t don’t don’tclose, close, close, and and andtheir their theirnoses noses nosestend tend tendtototo develop develop develop aabump. abump. bump. The The The dropped dropped dropped lower lower lower jaw jaw jaw usually usually usually causes causes causes the the the tongue tongue tongue tototo fall fall fall into into into the the the back back back ofofof the the the throat. throat. throat. This This This condition, condition, condition, combined combined combined with with with large large large tonsils, tonsils, tonsils, aalong along long palate, palate, palate, and and and nasal nasal nasal obstruction, obstruction, obstruction, completes completes completes the the the ingredient ingredient ingredient list list list for for for snoring. snoring. snoring. Obstructed Obstructed Obstructedbreathing breathing breathinginininchildren children childrenand and andadults adults adultsdisrupts disrupts disruptssleep sleep sleepand and and causes causes causes the the the brain brain brain tototo wake wake wake up up up hundreds hundreds hundreds ofofof times times times per per per night. night. night. The The Theresulting resulting resulting disruptive disruptive disruptive ororor fragmented fragmented fragmented sleep sleep sleep prevents prevents prevents individuals individuals individuals from from from getting getting getting the the the needed needed needed deep deep deep delta delta delta sleep sleep sleep and and and causes causes causes fatigue, fatigue, fatigue, forgetfulness, forgetfulness, forgetfulness, and and and irritability irritability irritability upon upon uponawakening. awakening. awakening.Kids Kids Kids can can can even even even become become become hyperactive. hyperactive. hyperactive. The The The good good good news news news isisthat isthat that with with with the the the right right right diagnosis diagnosis diagnosis and and and treatment treatment treatmentchildren children children can can can breathe breathe breathe through through through their their their noses. noses. noses. ENTs ENTs ENTs and and and orthodontists orthodontists orthodontists can can can change change change the the the shape shape shape ofofof children’s children’s children’s faces-giving faces-giving faces-giving them them them aabeautiful abeautiful beautiful smile smile smile and and and aapleasing apleasing pleasing profile profile profile with with with aaa strong strong strong chin chin chin and and and full full full lips-and lips-and lips-and enhance enhance enhancechildren’s children’s children’sdaytime daytime daytimeperformance performance performanceby by byopening opening openingairways airways airwaysand and andeliminating eliminating eliminating headaches, headaches, headaches, neck neck neck aches, aches, aches, ear ear ear ache ache ache and and and snoring. snoring. snoring. According According According tototo the the the Stanford Stanford Stanford University University University Sleep Sleep Sleep Center, Center, Center, treating treating treating children children children with with with preventive preventive preventive interceptive interceptive interceptive orthodontics orthodontics orthodontics can can cangreatly greatly greatly reduce reduce reduce snoring snoring snoring and and and sleep sleep sleep apnea apnea apnea problems problems problems they they they might might might encounter encounter encounter asasas adults. adults. adults. Many Many Many ofofof the the the Gelb Gelb Gelb Center’s Center’s Center’s orthodontists orthodontists orthodontists and and and ENTs ENTs ENTs inininWestchester Westchester Westchesterand and andNew New New York York YorkCity City Cityfocus focus focuson on onbreathing breathing breathing related related relatedsleep sleep sleep disorders disorders disordersinininchildren children childrenand and andadults. adults. adults. Coordinating Coordinating Coordinatingthe the theefforts efforts effortsofofofdentists dentists dentistsand and andENTs, ENTs, ENTs,one one one ofofofthe the thebest best bestways ways waysofofofopening opening openingthe the thenose, nose, nose,for for forexample example exampleisisis early early early expansion expansion expansion ofofofthe the the palate. palate. palate. Small, Small, Small, non-invasive non-invasive non-invasivesleep sleep sleeprecorders recorders recordersthat that thatresemble resemble resemble Dick Dick Dick Tracy Tracy Tracy watches watches watches can can can monitor monitor monitor children children children and and and adults adults adults while while while they they they sleep sleep sleep ininin their their their own own own beds. beds. beds.InInIn these these these times times times ofofof increased increased increased stress, stress, stress, not not not only only only isisis ititit important important important tototo get get get enough enough enough sleep, sleep, sleep, but but but also also also good-quality, good-quality, good-quality, non-fragmented non-fragmented non-fragmented sleep. sleep. sleep.

PA R E N T T R A P

HUSH MONEY MY FATHER’S homecoming only two days after his departure with my mother on a dignitary’s tour of Israel—awarded to him for raising millions of dollars—was not quite a first class arrangement. Instead of returning in luxury, my father came home from Tiberius, on the Sea of Galilee, in a slatted shipping crate haphazardly plastered from top to bottom with “Port of Entry” stickers and official “Customs” stamps. Big block letters that had been exposed to rain during the transporting of cargo had leaked red ink into the cheap, porous wood. The large container had been proclaimed “free of communicable disease.” But my father’s disease, while not a public health threat, is indeed a contagious and lasting disease. Under the microscope the spiral threads of his DNA, the double helix of his verbal brilliance and leader traits, twist into the DNA of his black depression. His illness flows through my bloodlines, and most importantly; his breakability has blighted my heart. Nat Chadwick, my father, was a drunk who spent most of his weekday evenings in upscale bars, aided in his quest to be blotto by bartenders, maitre d’s and his ever-faithful sycophants, barflies and drunk cronies who benefited from his ferocious wit and drunken over-spending. In the rare candid photos I have of him taken in the 1930s when he was a labor organizer in the South, he is standing on a rickety porch with both arms draped around two boozy broads. He’s laughing. His man-in-the-moon, wide-faced openness and his smile are what I loved most about him. There is a soft heart leaping out of those photos despite the fact that he’s wearing what’s now called a “wife beater” undershirt. For all of my father’s rough and gruff posturing, I never saw him do a mean thing to anyone. Though he came home drunk every night, when he sang Melancholy Baby off key and wobbling, I was a goner. Madly in love. Unfortunately, he ended many of his performances with a fast exit for a barfing trip to the bathroom. During the day, Daddy presided over one of the most powerful trade unions in the country, and at the time of his death was on the short list to begin hearings for the cabinet post of Secretary of Labor. JFK had phoned a month before the assassination and told Daddy to get his public drinking under control before the hearings. That was a tall order for Daddy, who needed alcohol to be socially comfortable. At the funeral home I learned that inside that hideous crate was a plain pine coffin. Though Daddy and his family renounced Judaism in the early 1900s, my father supposedly requested that he be wrapped in a

BY / INA CHADWICK

white shroud and buried amongst Jews. Apparently the crate had been constructed around him. In the days after the funeral I stuffed away my terror of what would happen to our family without Daddy’s mega-job, the money, the perks. I worried about who would make me a three minute egg every morning, crack it and open it and hand me a spoon. Who would wait patiently while I finished my milk, gently prodding me because he drove me to school and didn’t want me to be late. He nicknamed me Dilly Dally. As the steady stream of high profile visitors — including the Mayor and all of the City commissioners— paraded through our apartment along with the show biz faces in the days after his death, I couldn’t drown out the sound of the sirens, the squadron of police cars leading the reportedly more than a thousand mourners, hundreds of blocks up to the George Washington Bridge into New Jersey, where he was buried. I was sixteen. Certainly old enough to know that my father was too epic, too smart, to die such an ignominious death, and as the weeks went by I began to doubt Nat Chadwick’s body was really in that box. I knew my father. I knew him better than anyone else. He sang only for me. Here is what really happened: Daddy made a daring, final escape— he used his scotch-soaked twinkling charm, and his ever-present wads of cash to bribe the Israeli doctors. They arranged for a getaway car to whisk him from the triage tent in the Army Hospital where my mother had taken him when he complained of chest pains. That’s what he did. Yes, that is exactly right. Now at 103, he is padding through olive groves in rope sandals. He no longer keeps a baseball bat in the trunk of his car. He doesn’t have a car. He carries a branch to use as a crook. He is never inebriated in that land that I imagine looks like Anthony Quinn’s Greece. In Tiberius on the Sea of Galilee, my father is not a tormented man. Nor does the grey beast of melancholy, which climbed on his back and sent him into remorseful tears after every bad bender, stalk him. My father, who softly explained to me once when I was twelve, how hush money worked, how everyone used it, finally used it properly. He created a new life, far, far away, where I could never see or feel or be hurt by the “sad” Daddy again. ❉ Ina Chadwick writes a column for westportnow.com called “Insider Arts” and designs and produces storytelling and spoken word and writing programs for both amateurs and professionals. She has been producing shows with the Fairfield Theatre Company and the Westport Arts Center since 2009.This memoir first appeared in the online magazine www.goodmentproject.com, where her work can be seen regularly.

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THE HEALING AGENT

“Only after cosmetic surgery can a patient truly determine if they got what they paid for. Great results begin with your ability to evaluate practitioners. Making a choice based primarily on price may be one you regret for years.” –Andrew Kornstein, M.D., F.A.C.S.

CONSUMER ALERT:

HOW TO AVOID THE TEMPTATION OF CHEAP COSMETIC ENHANCEMENT CONSUMERS ARE SAVVY. Whether out of necessity or with an eye for opportunity, the stalled economy has made many of us smarter, happier buyers. We’ve come to expect terrific bargains from housing to technology to designer gowns. The obsession with discounts has permeated every area of our lives but can become a dangerous paradigm when shopping for a cosmetic surgeon. How should you define quality and value when considering aesthetic procedures? Dr. Andrew Kornstein elaborates on the top seven guidelines to use if you really want the most for your money.

1. Understand all providers are not created equal. More and more people in diverse areas of healthcare are involved in aesthetics. Dentists are administering Botox; OB/Gyns are doing tummy tucks; 1 4 2 W E S T O N M A G A Z I N E G R O U P. C O M

aestheticians are doing fillers. Practicing outside one’s specialty is perfectly legal, provided one has a medical license; however, it is up to you, the client, to determine if a provider’s level of expertise can match your expectations. It has been widely touted that the best way to evaluate a surgeon is to be sure he is Board Certified. This is only partially true. “Board Certification” is the first tollgate. The next, is he certified and recognized by one of the 24 specialties in accordance with the American Board of Medical Specialties (ABMS)? If you are seeking cosmetic procedures, certification would most likely be in areas of Dermatology, Otolaryngology, or Plastic Surgery. Having made that point, understand this important credential can also be misleading. There are wide variations in skill, even among Board Certified Plastic Surgeons. Some are super specialized in a particular area of interest that may make

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them a better provider for the specific procedure you desire. Ask, and consider the answer in context.

2. Don’t assume experience and training guarantee aesthetic skill and judgment. Most patients would say experience and training are the most critical factors in judging the competence of a physician, and they would be correct. However, once you take that same physician into the realm of cosmetic enhancement, you are counting upon something that cannot be learned. Visualization and aesthetic judgment are innate gifts. Consider the difference between a builder and an architect; a cook and a chef; a dancer and an artist. All are technically proficient, but few can consistently create on the next level. You want the artist. 3. Know exactly what and who you are seeking. It’s tougher than ever to cut through all the noise associated with cosmetic surgery and aesthetic procedures. Being a hot topic has its drawbacks. Media reports are often inaccurate, and subsequently more misleading than helpful. Well meaning friends and family may insist “their” doctor is the best without regard for the procedure you desire or the chemistry they may have felt that you may not share once you have a consultation. In Manhattan, there are dozens of surgeons to choose from. Fifteen years ago, patients occasionally sought a second opinion—something good physicians always encouraged. Today, it is not uncommon to have patients explore five or more opinions. Fatigue and confusion may lead to the wrong decision. Even after making a decision, patients second guess themselves and are filled with anxiety for not following a referring doctor’s recommendation or best friend’s advice. Be smart and diligent, but keep it simple. Satisfied patients will occasionally leave a surgeon who has served them well. It inspires curiosity as to what patients are looking for, and will they know it when they see it? Unfortunately, most often they come back needing to be fixed. 4. Use chemistry to make the right decision. Don’t discount your intuition. Be aware of the connection (or absence of one) between you and the physician during the consultation. Consider it a first date. Do you feel rushed or relaxed? Listened to or lectured? Does he/she have a strong grasp of what it is you want accomplished and an equally confident recommendation with alternatives? A good sense of what needs to be done? Sometimes, making an appointment for injectables with a surgeon you like prior to committing to surgery can help you get a better feel about the doctor’s approach and your level of trust. If you are interested but unsure, ask for a second date or test drive.

her untouched photos of actual patients. If they are, spend some time analyzing the before and after of the procedure you are considering so you are comfortable with that surgeon’s results. Beware of a book full of Barbie and Ken look-alikes.

6. Don’t depend upon the proverbial silver bullet. It’s fine to get comfortable with Botox, but you cannot count on one solution to correct every condition. Too much Botox used in place of fillers can lead to an aesthetically imbalanced expression. Fillers demand more technical skill and artistry but they deliver the volume where you need it for a more youthful appearance. This dependence upon a universal answer to any condition also includes doctors. Some have a circumscribed level of comfort and will continue to go to the same well without regard for the changing needs of the patient. Eventually the cheeks are too big, the lips appear swollen while other areas age and shrink. You are left with disparity and atrophy. The best surgeons are fluent in a wide variety of both surgical and non-invasive procedures, properly educate their patients and effectively communicate the “why,” “how” and “why not.” Find a doctor who can help you graduate to the next level when necessary. 7. Wait to do what’s right vs. going with the least expensive quote. The reality is most people have less disposable income than they had even a few years ago. If you cannot afford to do what you need to do, don’t compromise on surgeon selection by going with the bargain brand. There are options. You could simply wait until your financial picture is brighter. If you feel good about a particular surgeon, revisit him or her. Maybe there are alternatives that can be tailored to your budget. Do it right vs. selecting a surgeon with whom you are not comfortable, offering a low price and perhaps a poorly chosen procedure. Keep in mind, not every surgeon—no matter how brilliant—will be a “fit” for every patient. If you do your homework and listen to your intuition, odds are you will be happy with your choice. Price may be what you pay, but the cost of the surgery goes well beyond the financial transaction. If cosmetic surgery is a success, the more you live with it, the more you should enjoy it. If not, it’s difficult to hide in the back of the closet along with the other “great deals” that ultimately didn’t bring you the joy you expected. Remember this ancient Chinese proverb when you're choosing a cosmetic surgeon: "A CHEAP PRICE IS A SHORTCUT TO BEING CHEATED." ❉ Andrew Kornstein, M.D., F.A.C.S. is board certified by the American Board of Plastic Surgery and a member of the American

5. Recognize the importance of restoring natural anatomy. One of

Society for Aesthetic Plastic Surgery and Rhinoplasty Society.

the most commonly voiced fears during a consultation is, “I don’t want to look unnatural or 'done', like those people on Fifth Avenue!” Looking older can put you in an aging free fall where you feel out of control. The secret is finding a surgeon who is adept at replacing support in an aesthetically harmonizing, appropriate way. You don’t have to go from photofacials to a full facelift. There are some very compelling ancillary procedures that yield subtle, yet remarkable results. Look carefully at a surgeon’s photo library. Be certain these are his or

He is a pioneer in fat grafting and one of the largest users of

1 4 4 W E S T O N M A G A Z I N E G R O U P. C O M

Allergan injectables, including Botox®. He is on the Advisory Boards for Allergan Medical and Medicis Corp. (Restylane® and Dysport®) Frequently featured in popular periodicals, he also lectures internationally on fat grafting, injectables and secondary rhinoplasty. Dr. Kornstein consults with his patients at his Fifth Avenue offices, and will be available to see patients in Fairfield CT starting in the fall of 2010. 212/987-1300; 203/292-9190.

“If you invest in beauty, it will remain with you all the days of your life.” - Frank LLoyd Wright

“When my friend walked in I couldn’t stop looking at her face. She was radiant and had an incredible smile. After staring at her for a few minutes she then told me she had a facelift with Dr. Kornstein. I had her tell me the whole story. It was exactly what I wanted to hear. A few months later I flew to New York to meet with Dr. Kornstein.” “I am a California girl and had lots of sun exposure and damage in my early years. Fat grafting along with my facelift was one of the BEST decisions I have ever made! It looks incredibly natural and soft while making me look and feel much younger. My daughter hates when people say...’ this is your mother?’’’ “He saw me in a more holistic way and talked to me about his impressions. His perspective was more far sighted and the surgery he performed was both dramatic and subtle. Dramatic because I look like a more beautiful, refined younger women and subtle because nobody who looks at me thinks I did work. I instantly trusted Dr. Kornstein because he didn’t tell me what I wanted to hear. In my opinion he has the precision of a great surgeon and the point of view of a talented artist and architect.” “Friends or colleagues frequently tell me how amazingly well I look, how well rested I seem and how much retirement agrees with me; new acquaintances are amazed to learn that I turned 60. Yet no one has ever asked whether I had surgery because everything looks completely natural.

.... artistry speaks for itself.

Photo by Figuura www.wright-house.com

andrew n. kornstein, md, facs 1050 5th avenue new york, ny 10028 1 3 7 3 re d d i n g ro a d f a i r f i e l d , c t 0 6 8 2 4 212.987.1300 ny 203.292.9190 ct

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a thoughful approach to timeless beauty

SOUND INVESTMENT

The New Building Block by Tom Sherman SOMETIMES IT TAKES A CRISIS TO HELP SHAKE OFF OLD, OUTMODED WAYS OF THINKING AND STIR UP NEW IDEAS. THAT’S CERTAINLY BEEN THE CASE FOR WHOLE OR PERMANENT LIFE INSURANCE OF LATE. IN THE AFTERMATH OF THE GREAT MELTDOWN OF THE GLOBAL FINANCIAL MARKETS, MANY PERSONAL FINANCE EXPERTS HAVE BEGUN TO REEXAMINE HOW WHOLE LIFE COVERAGE NOT ONLY SAFEGUARDS WEALTH BUT CAN ALSO HELP GROW IT OVER TIME. A Portfolio Building Block Some financial advisors now argue that whole life deserves the status of an asset class among the other investment building blocks – stocks or equities, bonds or fixed income investments, money market accounts or cash, annuities and real estate. According to the successful science of combining investments, called ‘Modern Portfolio Theory’, different asset classes or types of investments work together to increase returns and minimize the risk investors incur if one or more financial markets slip. The underlying logic that makes this type of diversification so sensible harkens back to the advice we all heard as toddlers: Don’t keep all of your eggs in one basket. Put into practice, Modern Portfolio Theory recommends spreading your wealth among a variety of sound holdings. Then, whenever one of the asset classes lags or drops, the others are there to contribute gains over time, cushion the blow and reduce risk. Whole life insurance has earned a place among the other instruments for several reasons. It’s the ultimate safety net: It protects your family’s lifestyle in the case of your death. It also grows in value over time and can provide some very important benefits to holders who need cash.

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The Numbers Don’t Lie Upon close examination, the long-term numbers prove whole life’s attributes as a key financial building block – even before the crisis of 2008/2009. Between 1977 and 2006, large company stocks provided investors an actual compounded annual rate of return of 5.2% factoring in investment fees and inflation. Bonds may seem less risky than stocks, but their return was smaller, too. Treasury bonds, anchored on Uncle Sam’s reputation as the most dependable of borrowers, logged a compounded annual real rate of return between 0% and 2% during the same

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30-year stretch, while municipal bonds posted just 1.8%. Here’s the surprise: According to figures tallied by Guardian[1], a whole life policy opened in 1984 would have provided a 5.4% average annual return through the end of 2009.

Small Business Sense There are a number of reasons why whole life deserves consideration in a small business owner’s investment portfolio. First, at a small premium cost, whole life provides the benefit we’ve all come to associate with coverage – a payout that protects survivors in the event that a breadwinner dies. What’s more, the money payable is income tax-free and in some cases estate tax-free as well. Then, over time, a policy’s cash value can grow similar to a fixed income investment with a guaranteed minimum return. The benefits do not stop there. Once they have built up the cash value of a policy, holders can actually use the dividends[2] their coverage generates to pay premiums over time. The cash that collects in a life policy doesn’t have to sit on the sidelines, either. As a store of wealth, a policy’s cash value can function as an important lifeline for small business owners. Think of it as your personal capital reservoir, one that can function as collateral for outside

life policy. For one, you’ll need to investigate your insurer in order to sign on with a solid company for the long haul. Look for a company that is highly rated and which invests its portfolio assets in government-backed investments and solid fixed return holdings. You can investigate the financial standing of a life insurer by looking over ratings compiled by firms such as A.M. Best, which offers up an independent opinion on a company’s ability to meet its obligations to policyholders. You can find Best sheets on insurers at your local library.

A Welcome Change Now that personal finance experts are reevaluating their stand on whole life coverage, it might be a good time for you to rethink your position as well. Thanks to the current recession, we’ve all gotten a wake-up call on neglecting the bigger picture for short-term gains. We may not like the shock, but if we pick up on long-term lessons, the tumult of the last two years may actually work to our benefit. ❉ Tom Sherman is a Financial Advisor and Specialist with Park Avenue Securities & Strategies for Wealth. He is a 17-year resident of Weston with offices in Rye Brook and on Wall St. He can be reached at 914-288-8845 or tsherman@strategiesforwealth.com.

THERE ARE A NUMBER OF REASONS WHY WHOLE LIFE DESERVES CONSIDERATION IN A SMALL BUSINESS OWNER’S INVESTMENT PORTFOLIO. financing. It can be the source of a tax-free loan[3]*, an infusion that’s all the more valuable in tight credit times like these. The same store of cash can work for your family, too. It can help fund college tuition, the purchase of a vacation home or primary residence, or cover for emergencies when money is tight.

Term Limits There’s an important footnote to the recent rehabilitation of whole life’s reputation. Over the past 20 years, many investment experts have spent a good deal of energy steering the public to term life insurance as a means to secure whole life’s death benefit at a smaller cost. According to their argument, investors were better served by taking the money they save on whole life premiums and investing the difference in a bull market where stock returns would generate more money over time. There’s one obvious hole to that line of thinking that was exposed in 2008: Bull markets don’t last forever. And there are other drawbacks to term coverage as well. The biggest is the fact that term policies simply don’t accumulate value over time. They provide a death benefit for a set amount of time, but no more. When a policy expires, a holder has nothing to show.

Caveats There are, of course, steps you need to take when purchasing a whole

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This publication is for the purpose of education and information only and is not intended to constitute tax or legal advice. For information on your specific situation, please consult your personal legal or tax advisor. Thomas E. Sherman is a Registered Representative and Financial Advisor of Park Avenue Securities LLC (PAS). Securities products/services and advisory services are offered by PAS, 800 Westchester Avenue, Rye Brook, NY 10573 914-288-8800, a Registered Investment Advisor and broker-dealer. PAS is a member FINRA/SIPC. NY Rosbruch/Harnik, Inc. D/B/A Strategies for Wealth is an Agent of The Guardian Life Insurance Company of America, New York, New York. Footnotes [1] The Guardian Life Insurance Company of America (Guardian), New York, NY [2] Dividends are not guaranteed, and may be declared annually by a company’s Board of Directors. [3] Policy benefits are reduced by any outstanding loans and loan interest. Dividends, if any, are affected by policy loans and loan interest. If the policy lapses, any loans considered gain in the policy may be subject to ordinary income taxes. *Guardian, its subsidiaries, agents or employees do not give tax or legal advice. You should consult your tax or legal advisor regarding your individual situation.

The decisions you make now affect the rest of your life ... and beyond.

Your Life. Your Legacy. Thomas E. Sherman Financial Advisor 800 Westchester Avenue, N409 Rye Brook, New York 10573 914.288.8845 tsherman@strategiesforwealth.com Registered Representative and Financial Advisor of Park Avenue Securities LLC (PAS). Securities products/services and advisory services offered through PAS, a registered broker/dealer and investment advisor. Financial Representative, The Guardian Life Insurance Company of America (Guardian), New York, NY. Securities products and services offered through Park Avenue Securities LLC (PAS), 800 Westchester Avenue, N409, Rye Brook, NY 10573. PAS is an indirect, wholly owned subsidiary of The Guardian Life Insurance Company of America, New York, NY. Guardian, its subsidiaries, agents or employees do not give tax or legal advice. You should consult your tax or legal advisor regarding your individual situation. PAS is a member FINRA, SIPC.

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RURAL PALATES Fearless Critic New Haven Brutally honest reviews. By undercover chefs and food nerds.

Robin Goldstein CAME TO AN IMPORTANT REALIZATION WHEN HE WAS A STUDENT AT YALE LAW SCHOOL. HE WAS FAR MORE INTERESTED IN EXPLORING NEW HAVEN’S ETHNIC EATERIES THAN IN THE STUDY OF THE LAW. CHANGING FROM TRIALS TO TOQUES, ROBIN RECEIVED HIS CHEF’S TRAINING AT THE FRENCH CULINARY INSTITUTE. HE LAUNCHED FEARLESS CRITIC RESTAURANT REVIEW GUIDES IN 2006, PUBLISHING GUIDES FOR NEW HAVEN, CT, PORTLAND, AUSTIN, HOUSTON, SEATTLE, WASHINGTON, D.C. AS WELL AS WINE AND BEER REVIEW GUIDES. FEARLESS CRITICS’ REVIEWERS MAINTAIN TOTAL INDEPENDENCE FROM THE RESTAURANTS AND WINERIES THEY REVIEW. WWW.FEARLESSCRITIC.COM. THE BEST OF NEW HAVEN 300 places to eat in and around New Haven? You’d better believe it. The Elm City’s renaissance has hit full swing, and its world-class culinary engine—oiled by New Haven’s remarkable ethnic diversity—is firing on all cylinders. Bon appétit!

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R U R A L PA L AT E S

THALI SHRIMP TEMPURA

CULTURAL IMMERSION THALI: REGIONAL CUISINE OF INDIA

The menu at Thali Westport is built around a stunning array of small plates — think of them as “Indian tapas,” — which allow diners to sample and share a variety of tastes, combinations and sensations. “Tell us what you want and how many you’d like,” the simple, oversized sheet declares, allowing regulars to fill in the boxes and turn it in to get the evening rolling. First timers can consult their server, or pow-wow over the myriad tempting selections. The tomato soup, with fresh crushed tomatoes slow simmered with herbs, is like no other tomato soup you’ve tasted, and will have you coming DINING ROOM

THALI OPENS IN WESTPORT WITH A FUNKY DÉCOR AND FABULOUS SMALL PLATES. JAMES BEARD HONOREE CHEF PRASAD CHIRNOMULA WANTS NOTHING LESS THAN TO “CHANGE THE WAY AMERICA THINKS ABOUT INDIAN FOOD,” AND WITH EACH OF HIS RESTAURANTS (RIDGEFIELD, NEW CANAAN, NEW HAVEN) HE PUSHES CLOSER TO THAT GOAL.

R U R A L PA L AT E S back just for this. Other standouts are New Zealand lamb chops served spicy and pan seared, or hand rubbed with habañera chilies and grilled; jumbo lump blue crab with hints of coconut and ginger; crisp curry leafdusted shrimp; and spice-crusted sole steamed in banana leaves. Arugula, red beet and pistachio salad is a nod toward European cuisine, but its secret ingredient of Fenugreek leaf gives it a decidedly exotic twist. A short list of entrees served in traditional portions includes an excellent sea bass seared in the hot tandoor with a side of squash, lentil and truffled basmati rice; and date and walnut grilled chicken breast, with papayapineapple-tomato salsa. Did I mention pepper-crusted filet mignon in a cardamom cream sauce with fingerling fries? That too is a must try. The bar list is long and lovely, as is the popular, fairy light lit bar area. There are plenty of carefully selected wines and serious spirits to go with the piquant menu, or for fun, pick something from the Mumbai Bar Cocktail List: a Tajmopolitan Martini; Bubbly Bangalore, Thali Mary or Calcutta Cooler. Expanding his touch to innovative housemade desserts, chef Chirnomula has created sweet delights such as cardamom crème brulee, lemon grass key lime pie, and caramel mango cheesecake with which to finish a memorable and exhilarating meal. For a culinary experience extraordinaire, join Chef Prasad on one of his yearly food tours to India, where you’ll sample native dishes from Mumbai to Hyderabad, explore exotic markets, meet up with local luminaries, as well as visit renowned sites. Open daily for lunch and dinner. 376 Post Road East, Westport, CT. 203/557-4848; www.thali.com. ❉ Restaurants also in New Haven, Ridgefield and New Canaan: 4 Orange Street, New Haven, 203/777-1177. ThaliToo Vegetarian: 65 Broadway, New Haven. 203/776-1600. 296 Ethan Allen Highway, Ridgefield, 203/894-1080. 87 Main Street, New Canaan, 203/972-8332. THALI BAR

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Rural Palates

reviews

Chao Chi Newtown Chef Prasad strikes again. With a whole new kind of restaurant, but the same exacting attention to quality and blow your tastebuds creativity. Chao Chi, located in a beautiful historic tavern with terraces over-

Chao Chi

looking a mill stream, is an American eatery and raw bar. Prasad has tapped young Executive Chef Adam Roytman to oversee the kitchen, and his talent and flair abound. Local ingredients, skilled hands, and imagination combined with classic training make this an outstanding new establishment. Take a country drive, and enjoy a sophisticated and memorable meal. Inventive small plates offer tastings of beets, grapefruit, almonds, and crème fraiche with frisee; cornmeal crusted tuna with avocado, peppers, and cilantro; or grilled squid with potatoes, wax beans and a spicy aioli. Diners can expand their repertoire with entrees such as Long Island duck breast over polenta and chard with a blackberryfoie gras emulsion; or caramelized sea scallops wrapped in gravlax over sweet corn, snap peas and peaches. Nouvelle, and they work. But then there is the excellent and traditional steak frites: grilled hanger steak with garlic butter, hand-cut fries and béarnaise sauce. Why reinvent the wheel? With superb food one would expect no less than outstanding wine, and Sommelier Steve Garrett is passionate about pairing dishes with selections from the wide ranging and well-priced wine list. OK, his real love are the Burgundies, on which he is an expert and from whose collection he will offer you something to make you swoon. Finish your meal with a housemade dessert, such as hot valrhona chocolate cake or fruit-infused panna cotta. Serving lunch and dinner daily. Live music on weekends. 1 Glen Road, Sandy Hook, 203/364-9393; www.thali.com.

Tuscan Oven Norwalk We all know appearances can be deceiving. That’s why you have to ignore the Route 7 mass market setup of Tuscan Oven and stop in for

a wonderful, farm fresh meal. So many items of this 18-year, familyrun establishment are house produced: crusty breads, pastas, pesto, all desserts. Others are locally sourced, predominantly from Ambler Farms in Wilton: heirloom tomatoes, beans, zucchini, herbs and seasonal vegetables. And then there are those imported from specialized producers in Italy: virgin olive oils, prosciutto and pancetta, cheeses, wines. Dining here is attentively and enthusiastically overseen by secondgeneration restaurateur Jon Paul Pirraglia (recently returned from his wedding at a winery in Umbria). From the snowy white table linens which are laundered on site, to the extensive wine cellar with selections by the glass, the well trained wait staff to the outdoor fireplaces lit nightly on the terrace, Jon Paul has an eye on it all. And above all comes the food. Uncooked options of tuna tartar with avocado, capers, frisée and fennel; or carpaccio of beef with arugula capers and parmigiano are exceptional. Pasta sauces range from the simple — tomato, mozzarella, basil and olive oil, to the sublime — shrimp, scallops, clams, mussels, and calamari in a rich tomato broth. Thin crust pizzas come

Tuscan Oven directly from the wood-burning oven; bistecca on the grill has a smoky, charbroiled appeal. If there were a neighborhood nearby, this would be the locals’ hangout; since there’s not, drive over and see what makes this one of the longest running restaurant shows in the area. 544 Main Avenue, Norwalk; 203/846-4600; www.tuscanoven.com

Aurora Soho, NY Step into Aurora in Soho between the hours of 5 and 7 pm, and you’ll think you’ve walked into an elegant bar in Milan. Aperitivi are being served, and the bar is covered with platters of complimentary hors d’oeuvres to be enjoyed with drinks in a sophisticated, relaxed setting. Italian conversations waft in the air; young, attractive waiters serve an equally attractive clientele. Rustic yet stylish, Aurora continues that theme of authenticity throughout its décor and cuisine. Candlelight, brick walls and exposed beams add to the charm factor. Natural linens grace the wood plank tables; all pastas, breads and desserts are made on the premises with

Bice Palm Beach, FL

fresh, seasonal ingredients. To start, experience Italian specialties such as vitello tonnato: veal tenderloin with a tuna mayonnaise and crispy capers that’s beloved by Northerners in the summer and much tastier then it sounds; fave e ricotta, imported sheep milk ricotta and fresh fava bean salad with lemon and mint; or polipo, grilled octopus with crushed potato salad. A delicate prosecco and lemon zest risotto incorporates chunks of Maine lobster; saffron flavored tagliatelle are studded with rock shrimp and hot peppers; while ricotta ravioli are tossed with tomatoes, zucchini squash blossoms and marjoram. Secondi range from seared scallops with pea purée, mushrooms and pea shoots; to grilled lamb chops with rosemary potatoes and roasted artichokes. For dessert, L’affogato is a coffee lovers’ delight: vanilla, chocolate and hazelnut truffle ice cream “drowned” in a shot of espresso. The seasonal, warm cherry and almond tartelette with cherry sauce and a side of vanilla ice cream is also not to be missed. The restaurant offers a $25 prix fixe menu for lunch, and is open daily for lunch and dinner. 510 Broome Street, NYC. 212/334-9020;www. aurorasoho.com.

It’s nice to know that some things never change. Economies may rise and fall, but Worth Avenue is still Worth Avenue, and Bice is still the place to dine on it, to see and be seen, to make a little noise. Walk by the Bentleys outside, vintage or otherwise, and enter the restaurant either through its packed courtyard with al fresco dining, or through the wide wooden front doors giving onto the generously sized dining room. Dress well and expect to be treated well, whether you’re a regular or not. And don’t be afraid to bring the kids, if you’re not afraid of a pricey family meal. The ample menu includes a host of Aurora Italian favorites with which to start, such as prosciutto with melon; fried calamari, zucchini and mushrooms with a spicy Bice tomato dip; beef carpaccio with arugola salad and shaved parmesan; and smoked salmon with chopped onions and capers. Its okay to dig into dishes such as linguini with clams, garlic, olive oil, onions and crushed red pepper if you can do it with style; or to roll up your sleeves for a 14 oz. grilled veal chop with sautéed broccoli rabe and veal jus. In the mood for something rich? Ricotta cheesecake with aged balsamic and strawberry sauce is lovely, as are the warm chocolate cake with amaretto ice cream, or pear poached in mixed citrus and filled with mascarpone cream. Enjoy a convivial setting, consistently good food and great people watching lunch through dinner, and long into the night at the popular bar. 313 Worth Ave., Palm Beach, FL. 561/835-1600. ❉

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tech amenities you would expect, like high-speed Internet access, WiFi, Plasma and LCD televisions, ipod docking stations, a stocked bar and Ionic breeze machines. A third of the guest rooms have balconies, and many feature bay windows. The ultimate crib is the Duplex Penthouse, 1,400 sq. ft. of luxury including 30-foot floor-to-ceiling windows, a step out balcony with daz-

Meat-Packing District HOTEL GANSEVOORT A century ago, raw beef ruled the streets of Manhattan’s Meatpacking District, the commercial warehouses and loading docks along the Hudson River. Strolling the now fashionable neighborhood, it’s not hard to imagine the clamor of the 250 slaughter houses and packing plants that flourished there in the late 1800’s. Eventually the neighborhood fell prey to obscurity, and by the 1980’s it was a refuge for drug dealers, prostitution and Mafia dealings. Fortunately, due to the lobbying efforts of the Greenwich Village Society for Historic Preservation, the New York City Landmarks Preservation Commission established the Gansevoort Market Historic District. Rather than being torn down and replaced with sky-rises, the buildings were restored. In 2007, the area that is now a world of designer boutiques, hip restaurants and a flourishing nightlife was listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Whether you are a history buff or a fashionista, a visit to the Meatpacking District is a must. For the ultimate experience, stay at the hotel that was rated one of the “World’s Top 10 Hippest Hotels” by Tripadvisor.com, Hotel Gansevoort. The hotel’s striking metallic façade combines the building’s historic architecture with modern additions; a sweeping canopy, shiny glass balconies and soaring glass columns. The interior is glamorous, yet understated, like the lobby staff, dressed in the Hugo Boss fashions of the upcoming season. The 187 guest rooms boast nine foot high ceilings and all the hi-

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zling river views, an oversized working fireplace, two luxurious bathrooms, a master bathroom with separate steam shower and Jacuzzi bath, custom-designed furniture, and a custom pool table. In Manhattan, it’s not difficult to find 400-thread count sheets and goose down pillows, but a 45-foot heated roof-top pool with underwater music and techno lighting. The pool is open 365 days a year from 7am to 11pm. The glass roof comes off for the summer season and the views are unbeatable. Stay for a drink at Plunge Rooftop Bar and Lounge — it’s the perfect way to take in the sunset over the Hudson River. Those who like to stay fit while they travel can check out the hotel spa, Exhale, known for its transformational Core Fusion R exercise programs and its unique restorative spa therapies. The wellbar serves healthy snacks and shakes. Hotel Gansevoort is family friendly too; babies enjoy a complimentary crib, diapers and organic bath amenities. At check-in, kids receive a lunch box filled with treats, the use of a Nintendo Wii and a children’s room service menu. Even Fido gets a personalized “I’m staying at Hotel Gansevoort” collar tag, and free treats. Now that’s something to wag about! 18 Ninth Avenue at 13th Street, New York, NY. 212/206-6700; www.hotelgansevoort.com.

ASIATE MANDARIN ORIENTAL NEW YORK Twenty years ago, the vacated New York Coliseum at Columbus Circle on Manhattan’s West Side was a dismal spot. Today, native New Yorkers and tourists alike enjoy the fashionable stores at what is now the thriving Time Warner Center at Columbus Circle. There’s another reason to head to Columbus Circle— Asiate— the restaurant located on the 35th floor of the chic Mandarin Oriental hotel. For an unforgettable evening, take a special someone to Asiate and enjoy spectacular views and outstanding ASIATE

BICE Italian restaurants come and go in New York City, but the enormously popular Bice, on Manhattan’s Upper East Side, has stood the test of time. The Bice story started in 1926 when Beatrice Ruggeri of Milan took her classic Italian cooking on the road with her namesake restaurant; today, Bice boasts over 50 locations throughout the world. The New York restaurant is the American flagship locale. Internationally renowned designer Adam Tihany is responsible for the striking décor. Known as the place to see and be seen, Bice attracts a celebrity crowd, and you’re likely to rub shoulders with the likes of Jack Nicholson, Hillary and Bill, or Saudi Prince Abdullah, as you delight in the simple, classic cuisine. Cold starters include tuna tartare, piled high with avocado, capers, red onion, greens and lemon dressing; and beef carpaccio, served with fresh arugula, hearts of palm, and thinly sliced parmesan. Pasta dishes made in-house, like spaghetti alle vongole veraci, spaghetti pasta with baby Manila clams; and tagiolini with lobster, wild mushrooms, cherry tomatoes and lobster reduction, are heavenly. On a lighter note, the branzino is seared and set atop green lentils cooked with finely chopped vegetables. The legendary osso bucca con salsa ai

BICE

dining in very high style. The experience begins when you enter the hotel’s stylish lobby on West 60th street. Take a moment to admire the magnificent ceiling sculpture by Dale Chihuly and Waterford. In the 35th floor lobby, a second impressive Chihuly creation accentuates the space.The furnishings are serene and the views are breathtaking. A glass enclosed wall of wines at the entrance displays a remarkable collection of old and special vintages. Inviting banquettes line the perimeter of the dining area and are slightly elevated, which, along with floor to ceiling widows, allows every table unparalleled views of Central Park and the Manhattan skyline. Contemporary cuisine with Asian and French influences is as inspiring as the view. Asiate’s Brandon Kida, Chef de Cuisine, is a graduate of the world-renown CIA in Hyde Park, NY, who has worked at New York City’s Lutèce and Los Angeles’ L’Orangerie and Bastide. The tasting menu, which changes with the seasons, included dishes such as Raw, a selection of five raw tastings; followed by Buckwheat and Eggs, soba noodles, osetra caviar, and uni cream. The Dover Sole, served with sautéed Asian vegetables, mushroom-gingerinfused consommé; and the lobster, served with white polenta, salsify, and kaffir reduction, are some of the other eight delectable selections that night. I highly recommend the wine pairings by sommelier Annie Turso. 80 Columbus Circle at 60th Street, New York, NY. 212/805-8881; www.mandarinoriental.com.

funghi, is a delicately braised veal shank prepared with parmesan risotto and porcini mushroom truffle sauce. Leave room for the irresistible desserts, such as cioccolatissimo fondente — warm, soft-centered chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream; and the sublime Napoleone dell Bice. After one taste, you’ll understand why this timeless restaurant is also one of New York’s most loved. 7 East 54th Street, New York, NY. 212/688-1999; www.bicenewyork.com.

ON STAGE:

ON VIEW:

Lincoln Center Theatre’s world premiere of the new musical, Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown. Book by Jeffrey Lane, music and lyrics by David Yazbek, directed by Bartlett Sher. Previews beginning Saturday, October 2 at 8pm. Opening night-Thursday, November 4 at 6:45pm. On Broadway at the Belasco Theatre (111 W. 44 Street). Based on Pedro Almodóvar’s internationally acclaimed 1988 film, Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown is set in late 20th-century Madrid and tells the story of the intertwining lives of a group of women (Sherie Rene Scott, de’Adre Aziza, Nikka Graff Lanzarone, Patti LuPone) whose relationships with men lead to a tumultuous 48 hours of love, confusion and passion. Tickets available through Telecharge. 800/4327250 or 212/239-6200, www.telecharge.com. Driving Miss Daisy. Tony Award-winners James Earl Jones and Vanessa Redgrave return to Broadway this fall to star opposite one another in Alfred Uhry‘s Pulitzer Prizewinning play, Driving Miss Daisy. Directed by David Esbjornson, performances begin on October 7, 2010, at the John Golden Theatre (252 West 45th Street), with an official opening on Monday, October 25th. Weston’s Alfred Uhry is distinguished as the only American playwright to have won a Pulitzer Prize, an Academy Award and two Tony Awards. Mr. Uhry‘s classic play is a timeless, searing, funny, and ultimately hopeful meditation on race relations in America, told through the complex relationship between two of popular culture‘s most enduring characters. When Daisy Werthan, a widowed, 72-year-old Jewish woman living in mid-century Atlanta is deemed too old to drive, her son hires Hoke Colburn, an African-American man, to serve as her chauffeur. What begins as a troubled and hostile pairing, soon blossoms into a profound, life-altering friendship that transcends all the societal boundaries placed between them. Tickets available through Telecharge. 800/432-7250 or 212/239-6200; www.telecharge.com.

KING TUT NYC, RETURN OF THE KING The King Tut exhibition: Tutankhamun and the Golden Age of the Pharaohs is currently on view at the Discovery Times Square Exposition through Jan. 2, 2011, marking the first time a collection of treasures from the young pharaoh’s tomb has visited the city since the groundbreaking 1979 exhibition that attracted 1.8 million visitors in New York. This National Geographic exhibition contains more than twice the number of artifacts shown previously, with more than 130 objects of exceptional craftsmanship and beauty that

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provide insight into the daily life and royal burial practices of the 18th Dynasty. Fifty of the artifacts are from Tutankhamun’s tomb, only a handful of which were part of the 1979 exhibition, and an additional 80 objects come from the tombs of his ancestors and other high-ranking figures of his time. Discovery Times Square Exposition is located at 226 West 44th Street (between Broadway and 8th Avenues) directly across from Shubert Alley. Avoid the lines and reserve advance tickets at www.discoverytsx.com/exhibitions/kingtut ❉

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SUNDANCE Film Festival Park City, Utah BY DEBBIE SILVER mentary, dramatic, and short films, and world premieres. There are live music performances, panel discussions with leading filmmakers and industry figures, and cutting-edge media installations. January 20-30, 2011 marks the 26th year of the ten day festival. Film screenings begin each morning at 8 am and end after midnight. When your partner hits the slopes for first tracks at 8:30 a.m. you can be at a screening of a world premiere documentary. Ticket packages can be purchased at www.festival.sundance.org beginning in the fall and single tickets can be purchased online in January. As you read through descriptions of 200 films, it’s difficult to select which films to see a month or two ahead of time. Once you get to the festival you can exchange tickets for a $2.00 fee at the main ticket office. During the ten day festival the slopes are quiet –a skier’s nirvana. Best time to arrive is after the opening weekend when the celebrity chaos wanes. The solitude of the slopes can be savored at the area’s three ski resorts: Deer Valley, Park City and the Canyons. At the end of the ski day reconnect with your partner for après ski and attend an international film premiere or two. Regardless of the celebrity sightings, the festival is very low-key and the focus is on the creative process. The director of the film is introduced at the beginning of each screening and a Q and A follows. Festival goers come away with a genuine appreciation for the years it takes to bring a film to the screen and how grateful the film community is for the Sundance Film Festival’s dedication to independent film making.

The Stein Eriksen Lodge

THE BEACH

vs. the slopes tug of war. Sound familiar? If you’re a skier and your spouse isn’t, planning a winter vacation can present a black diamond challenge. While skiers celebrate the winter, nonskiers seek an equally thrilling experience. The Sundance Film Festival held annually in January in Park City, Utah is an ideal way for skiers and non-skiers to share an exhilarating winter getaway. Each year the Sundance Film Festival selects 200 films for exhibition from more than 9,000 submissions. Screenings are held in Park City, Salt Lake City, Ogden, and Sundance, Utah. It’s a ten-day program of docu-

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Where to stay during the festival? The Stein Eriksen Lodge, a Forbes FiveStar, AAA Five Diamond resort set mid-mountain at Deer Valley. Norwegian gold medal winner Stein Eriksen is the founder and host of the Lodge and Director of Skiing for Deer Valley Resort. When you ski Deer Valley, you’re treated like a guest of the mountain. The Deer Valley staff welcome skiers upon arrival and offer assistance in unloading skis and answering questions. To insure the utmost comfort, the mountain limits the number of skiers and no snowboards are allowed. The Stein Eriksen Lodge is a ski-in, ski-out luxury lodge. The suites are heavenly, with pillow-topped beds covered with plump duvets, soaking tub, fireplace, plasma TVs, and complimentary wireless. Stein Eriksen Lodge also has two- to five bedroom condos perfect for a year round

every half hour until 11:00 p.m. This is an invaluable amenity during the Sundance Festival. The hotel shuttle will drive guests to Main Street or any of the festival venues and guests can call to arrange to be picked up after dinner or a screening. Park City offers free public buses and the festival has a shuttle bus between venues. But, it is far more comfortable and inexpensive to navigate the festival as a guest at Stein Eriksen in Deer Valley than having to take buses or taxis in Park City. Most Park City restaurants offer a limited, expensive, prix-fixe menu during Sundance. Reservations are difficult to come by and must be made well in advance. Guests at Stein Eriksen have the luxury of being able to dine at one of the premier restaurants with a slopeside view, just steps from their room. The Glitretind restaurant at Stein Eriksen is a favorite for celebrity private dinner parties during the festival. Open for breakfast, lunch, dinner and Sunday brunch, the Glitretind is home to the lavish Skier’s Buffet, complimentary to hotel guests. A member of Preferred Hotels & Resorts, 800/453-1302; www.steinlodge.com.

Other Notable Dining

PHOTOGRAPH © STEIN ERIKSEN LODGE

multi-generational destination. Concierge services FIRESIDE DINING can arrange airport transfers, childcare, grocery shopping, and family activities. Service at Stein Eriksen is exceptional. The staff is cheerful and accommodating. The Lodge’s ski valets are like snow angels. They carry your skis, heat them, and lay your skis on the mountain for you. At the end of the day, the ski valet awaits your return with a cup of hot chocolate. Après ski festivities take place in the Troll Hallen Lounge, with live music and a roaring fireplace. The Spa at Stein Eriksen has recently expanded to an impressive 20,000 square feet. The new spa has 16 treatment rooms with separate men’s and women’s relaxation rooms that lead to a steam room, sauna, and whirlpool and plunge pools. The spa also includes two Vichy wet treatment rooms and two couple's treatment rooms, complete with private showers and tubs and a shared private relaxation suite with a fireplace. Natural elements native to Utah are the ingredients of the spa’s exclusive treatments. Stein Body Polish combines cedar and sage and salt crystals from the Great Salt Lake and honey butter is used to combat altitude dryness. The Nordic Experience Facial and Alpine Glow body wrap reawaken tired skin and the Après Ski Muscle Strain Therapy and Soak and the Ski and Hiker Boot Relief soothe fatigued muscles. The fitness room offers a slopeside view with a wide array of state-of-the-art equipment. Outdoors is the spa’s beautiful, heated, year-round pool, whirlpool and pool deck fireplace. The Lodge offers complimentary shuttle service to Park City leaving

Deer Valley Resort’s ten restaurants have redefined ski resort dining. Rated #1 in food and beverage by the readers of SKI magazine and by the Zagat Restaurant Guide year after year, Deer Valley Resort has four evening restaurants to choose from: The Seafood Buffet, Fireside Dining, The Mariposa and Royal Street Café. Fireside Dining is an alpine dining adventure. You can arrive by horsedrawn sleigh or on snowshoes. Four courses are served from five majestic stone fireplaces. To begin: a roaring fire melts Swiss raclette cheese onto a plate. Move on to select from a station of cured Italian and Swiss meats, freshly baked baguettes and condiments including housemade mustards and chutneys. The next fireplace offers simmering stews and fricassées made of veal, venison, chicken, or beef short ribs,served with hand-grated, crisp, buttery potato rösti. Another fireplace serves roast leg of lamb brushed with fresh herbs accompanied by polenta or three-onion risotto. For the finale, the dessert fireplace: warm chocolate, caramel and white chocolate fondues are poured into individual pots alongside a table of dipping possibilities: strawberries, bananas, apples, dried apricots, cinnamon pound cake and almond biscotti. It’s too wonderful for words! Open Wednesday, Thursday and Friday evenings from 6 to 9 p.m. In the evenings, Snow Park Lodge is transformed into the Seafood Buffet. Open during the winter ski season Monday through Saturday, from 6:30 to 9 p.m., highlights from the Seafood Buffet include mountains of fresh Dungeness and Pillion crab legs, lobster layered with mango salsa, and skillet-seared Pacific yellow fin tuna with a wasabi cream. For landlubbers, there are also plenty of choices, like cilantro lime glazed baby back ribs and cherry glazed Muscovy duck breasts. 800/424-DEER; www.deervalley.com.

Like a Rolling Stone HOTEL PARK CITY

THE MUSIC TAXI When you arrive at the Salt Lake City airport for the Sundance Film Festival why not begin your creative journey with an airport transfer to Park City in Zafod Beatlebrox’s Music Taxi. The self-named Zafod was inspired by “Zaphod Beeblebrox’ of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams. He’s a performance artist and metal sculptor with “a personal vendetta against boredom.” The birth of the music taxi: One night in "Taxiland" Zafod looked around and thought, "There's gotta be something better than this." He added a string of Christmas lights inside the van, and that night passengers broke into spontaneous song. “First year I organized a live performer in the taxi every night, but people were much more interested in performing themselves.” As they cruised Main Street in Park City, couple after couple jumped on board. Pretty soon there was a party of perfect strangers belting out tunes. The Music Taxi operates several vans with full sound systems, karaoke, microphone and mirrored disco ball. If you find a man’s leg in a dress shoe sitting on the passenger seat of one of the vans, Zafod will explain the history behind the “Shrine to Lost Soles’: A man’s shoe was left behind in the van six years ago. Zafod expected to hear from the missing shoe’s owner but was never contacted. “It wasn’t until Sundance that I was told it was an Armani.” Zafod the artist created a leg for the shoe, placed it on the passenger’s seat and titled the work “Shrine to Lost Soles.” The Music Taxi vans rock with music unto the wee hours of the morning, driving to all Park City or Salt Lake destinations. Zafod also operates regular taxis as well. The Music Taxi’s rates are cheaper than other airport transfers and the ride is far more engaging. 435/649-6496; www.music-taxi.com.

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Hotel Park City A member of Leading Small Hotels of the World, Hotel Park City is a sophisticated luxury hotel in downtown Park City. Park City is only 35 minutes from the airport so guests can ski, mountain bike, or tee off the morning they arrive! Priority tee times are available for hotel guests. For skiers, the hotel offers a complimentary ski shuttle to Park City’s three ski resorts: Deer Valley, Park City and The Canyons. Hotel Park City is set on the 18 hole Park City Golf Club at the base of Park City Mountain resort. The lobby lounge’s floor-to-ceiling windows reveal the magnificent four-season setting, perfect for a wedding. The view is hypnotic. If you’re here during Sundance, it’s so peaceful watching Nordic cross country skiers glide by, you could lose track of time and miss a screening. Hotel Park City is an all-suite hotel. Each guest room features a fireplace, kitchenette or full sized kitchen, separate living room, washer & dryer, jetted bathtub with separate shower and private patio with golf, pool or mountain views. The hotel has built new cottage accommodations that range from 650 -1500 square feet and are located on the golf course and cross-country course, just 130 yards from the new Silver Star ski lift. There’s a year-round outdoor heated pool and hot tub, a 10,000 square foot spa, health club and a movement studio offering complimentary daily yoga, Pilates and fitness classes. Hotel Park City is located just minutes from Main Street’s shops and restaurants. One of Park City’s best restaurants is right in the hotel, Ruth’s Chris Steak House, renowned for its steaks, seafood, unforgettable desserts and award-winning wine list. For casual allday dining there’s Bandannas Grill & Bar. 888/999-0098; www.hotelparkcity.com. www.lhw.com

TELLURIDE By Rich Silver When your ski vacation begins with two flights and an hour and a half drive, you find yourself thinking “This better be worth it.” But from the moment you arrive in Telluride and are captivated by the impossibly beautiful scenery, the thought never occurs to you again. Nestled in a box canyon in the spectacular San Juan Mountains of southwestern Colorado,

is a serious ski mountain—so pay attention” and he wasn’t kidding! The ski-in/ski-out Mountain Village, with its alpine feel and abundance of shops, cafes, restaurants and lodging is connected to the town of Telluride by a free gondola. Guests can stay in town and ride up to ski or stay at the mountain and come down to stroll the town or have dinner in one of the many excellent restaurants. For a special lunch on the mountain try the European style wine bar, Alpino Vino, serving artisanal cheeses, tantalizing antipasto plates and of course, fine wines. You’ll feel like you are in the Alps, but try not to get too carried away because skiing after “lunch” just might take some special skills. For dinner, Allred’s offers fine dining with jaw dropping views.

Aaahh...Capella

PHOTOGRAPH BY MICHAEL NEUMANN

ALPINO VINO PHOTO BY BRETT SCHRECKENGOST

Telluride is a picture postcard come to life. Charming Victorian buildings, restaurants and art galleries line the streets of this historic “old west” town. The feeling is friendly and inviting and you can actually sense that residents feel lucky to call Telluride home. Everywhere you turn, amazing snow-capped peaks surround you, beckoning to be explored. Telluride Ski Resort has 2000 acres of world class skiing for all levels. For experts, there is plenty of deep powder, moguls and steeps. Intermediates will love the long cruisers and corduroy from the top of the mountain, like the aptly named “See Forever.” For beginners, there is an excellent learning area and ski school, and the terrain parks are great for families with snowboarders. For thrill seekers, new terrain has opened in Revelation Bowl and The Gold Hill Chutes and guided backcountry access and heli-skiing are available for the extreme experience. The best advice overheard from a local — “This

Recently opened in the heart of the mountain village, the Capella Telluride Hotel offers mountain luxury and exceptional personal service in a wonderful ski-in/ski-out location. Capella Personal Assistants contact guests prior to arrival and remain on call during their stay. With an insider’s knowledge, the Personal Assistant can easily make all the arrangements to make your vacation a success. The Capella is a boutique hotel — its design is sophisticated yet cozy as a mountain chalet should be. The 100 guestrooms and 60 residence units are casually elegant with all the expected amenities. After a long day on the slopes, you can rejuvenate at the full service Spa at Capella, or relax with a hot cocoa on the oversized couches in the Capella Living Room, a great place to read, have a glass of wine and mingle. Other amenities include a ski valet service, fitness center featuring an indoor/outdoor pool, meeting and banquet facilities, ice skating rink and a kids’ club where younger guests can have a place of their own to hangout while parents ski or enjoy a private dinner. Hotel restaurants include fine dining with locally inspired touches at Onyx; the casual, bistro style Gray Jay Café; or slide into a cozy pair of slippers provided at the entrance to the Suede Bar where you can grab a light bite or meet friends over cocktails and local brews. You often hear that people come to Colorado for the winters but stay for the summers, and Telluride is no exception. In warm weather the ski trails are transformed into biking, hiking and horseback riding trails. Fly-fishing, river rafting, kayaking and golf (at 9300 ft above sea level) are also favorite summer and fall activities. Telluride is also home to more than 30 festivals celebrating wine, food, art, film and music. There’s even a Nothing Fest just for fun. Is it Telluride’s non–stop activity, the altitude or natural beauty that takes your breath away? Very possibly, it’s all three. www.tellurideskiresort.com; www.capellatelluride.com.

CAPELLA TELLURIDE HOTEL

Like a Rolling Stone Santa Barbara restaurants are renowned for their creative spins on the bounty from local farms and waters. Olio e Limone is a Santa Barbara By Carly Silver favorite, owned by husband and wife team Alberto and Elaine Morello. Serving authentic Italian fare with a flare, specialties include Timballo di You don’t have to go abroad to vacation on the Riviera. Santa Barbara, Melanzane con Puree di Pomodoro— eggplant soufflé with a goat cheese California, known as “The American Riviera,” has an allure all its own. center served with a fresh tomato-basil sauce; Ravioli d’Anatra ai Funghi Santa Barbara is refined yet relaxed, with the best of all worlds: the Porcini— a homemade duck ravioli with a porcini mushroom sauce; and Pacific, mountains, art, architecture, spas, a film festival, shopping, the Tagliata di Bue con Rucola e Tortino di Patate —sliced beef tenderloin and offerings for gourmets and oenophiles. Planning a trip is simple; the over a thin potato tart with arugula, shaved parmesan and truffle oil. city has a comprehensive website with spur of the moment savings Delizioso! Olio Pizzeria Enotecca and Bar just opened next door. 17 West packages. www.santabarbaraca.com. Victoria Street, Santa Barbara. 805/899-2699; www.olioelimone.com. The Cheshire Cat Bed and Breakfast Inn is a charming place to stay in All the elements come together at Elements Santa Barbara. Christine Dunstan is Restaurant and Bar. What an enticing menu! Crispy the owner of the inn, which is comSkin Arctic Char is served with local cherry tomatoes, prised of a cluster of houses built in roasted fingerling potatoes, tomatillos, smoked shalthe 1890s. Originally from Cheshire, lots and an avocado salsa verde vinaigrette; Maple England, Christine has recreated the Leaf Farms Duck Breast with house made duck feel of a traditional English bed and sausage, potato puree, braised fennel, arugula and breakfast in California. The inn is clementines; and Whole Roasted Game with rapini, named for her hometown and one of mint couscous, and feta cheese. 129 East Anapamu her favorite childhood stories, Alice in Street, Santa Barbara. 805/884-9218 Wonderland. Most of the rooms’ www.elementsrestaurant andbar.com. themes and names hail from the Lewis So much to see, so much to do: The Downtown Urban Carroll tale: White Rabbit, Tweedledee, Wine Trail is a convenient way to taste and tour eight winerTweedledum, and Dormouse. The luxies at their downtown tasting rooms. History buffs will urious Corner House has the Cheshire appreciate the Mission Santa Barbara, a meticulously preCat Suite, with a king-size bed and a served Catholic mission that includes clerical vestments, small Jacuzzi. Peppered with antiques replicas of living quarters, and a beautiful chapel. Move on brought over from England by to the Museum of Natural History; its Ty Warner Aquatic Dunstan’s father, the Cheshire Cat has SANTA BARBARA PHOTO BY NIK WHEELER Center has foot-long sharks, while the Gladwin Planetarium a cozy feel reminiscent of northern allows visitors to scan the skies for celestial sights. Rent a bike at one of THE CHESHIRE CAT BED AND BREAKFAST INN several local shops and cycle by one of the numerous beautiful beaches. The "Red Tile Walking Tour" offers an excellent introduction to downtown Santa Barbara's historic arts district. Begin at the Santa Barbara County Courthouse, a graceful 1929 example of Spanish-Moorish architecture surrounded by meticulously landscaped sunken gardens.The spectacular view from atop the 80-foot clock tower features the iconic American Riviera panorama of Santa Barbara's red-tile roofs, the mountains, and the sea. Next, cross the street to the Santa Barbara Museum of Art, home to an impressive collection of fine art, including the only intact mural in the United States by world-renowned Mexican artist David Alfaro Siqueiros. Fall is a wonderful time to explore the vineyards, farms, markets and restaurants of Santa Barbara. It’s celebration season, the grapes are being harvested and there are festivals aplenty!

SANTA BARBARA

In September: Old Town Harvest Festival: a partnership of local growers and restaurants. California Organic Festival: 80+ booths focusing on organics and gardening. England. Continental breakfast is served daily in the main house. Each room is uniquely designed with a lovely view of Santa Barbara. Three individual cottages are also available for monthly rentals. www.cheshirecat.com. 36 W. Valerio Street. Santa Barbara, 805/569-1610

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In October: Celebration of Harvest: 60+ local wineries, music, a silent auction, and food. Autumn Arts Grapes & Grains Festival: 20+ wineries, 15+ breweries, food, and art.

BOSTON By Paula Koffsky

The Ritz-Carlton Boston Common Boston, with its rich history, world-renowned museums, prestigious colleges and proximity to sun-drenched seashores and evergreen covered mountains, is the prefect pleasure spot. And there is no hotel more luxurious than the RitzCarlton, Boston Common in which to lay your head when traveling to this metropolitan mecca. Awarded the AAA FourDiamond distinction nine years in a row, the newly renovated Ritz Carlton Boston Common is synonymous with style, class and luxury. The Ritz-Carlton, Boston Common is ideally located in Boston’s “Ladder District,” the heart of the theatre and financial district and a stone’s throw from famed Faneuil Hall Marketplace as well as the

designer shops, boutiques and art galleries of the Back Bay. The sprawling Ritz-Carlton complex, made up of the Hotel and the Ritz Carlton Towers, offers its visitors every amenity desired. The Sports Club/LA is a 100,000 square foot, world-class mega sports and fitness center with a turquoise-colored lap pool, parquet floored bas-

ketball court and glass encased squash courts. After a good sweat, pamper yourself at the full service spa and salon. Within the complex is the Loews Theatre Cineplex; what with nineteen screens, you’ll have choices galore. Located on the hotel’s street level is Jer-Ne Restaurant & Bar, a local favorite. The Gallery, in the hotel lobby, offers light fare, cocktails and traditional afternoon tea on weekends. Visitors can sip a cocktail THE RITZ-CARLTON BOSTON COMMON GALLERY

and peruse some of the hotel’s $1 million collection of contemporary art by noted New England artists. The artwork is also displayed throughout the hotel, adding a distinct regional flavor. For business travelers, the hotel’s seven meeting rooms accommodate groups from ten to 350 people. The sumptuous rooms and suites offer the best in amenities, like Frette Italian linens, feather beds, marble baths, Bang & Olufsen sound systems and the services of various Butlers should you need one: a Technology Butler, a CD Butler and a Bath Butler. Whether for business or pleasure, the Ritz-Carlton, Boston Common is an urban sanctuary located in an energizing historic district. NOTE: Christmas is an especially enchanting time to visit and take part in the Holiday Events in the hotel’s Grand Ballroom. At the Nutcracker Brunch, members of the Boston Ballet charm guests over a delicious buffet. For the Sugar Plum Tea, the ballroom is transformed into a magical dreamland where ballet performers lead little ones in sing-a-longs and holiday activities. And what adult wouldn’t enjoy the Nutcracker Sweets and Champagne Flights of Fancy, an evening of luscious chocolates and Moët & Chandon? 10 Avery Street, Boston, MA. 617/574-7100; www.ritzcarlton.com.

Like a Rolling Stone Notable Dining O YA RESTAURANT If you want a suggestion about Boston’s culinary scene, ask Evan, the exceedingly knowledgeable concierge at the Ritz-Carlton, Boston Common. He recommended O Ya, as the answer to my sushi craving.

BINA OSTERIA Sister and brother team Azita Bina-Seibel and Babak Binah have struck gold once again with their third successful restaurant, Bina Osteria, located in Boston’s Downtown Crossing neighborhood. With an eye towards creating a friendly neighborhood restaurant, Azita and Babak kept the décor simple and welcoming; the food is easy to love too. Start with a Stuzzicare, “to whet the appetite,” such as sautéed shrimp with lentils, onions and homemade pancetta, or a pizzetta with fresh tomatoes, oregano, garlic and arugula. Pastas like the spaghetti alla carbonara, and Pappardelle with tuna, red pepper cream, black olives and capers, are favorites. The Red Snapper Cartoccio is baked with potato, spinach, tomato, and capers in a paper pocket. For dessert try the crème caramel served with a pistachio cookie. Looking for a quick take away sandwich or culinary gift? Head over to Bina Alimentari next door, a European-style specialty shop offering house baked breads, pastries, gelati, pastas and prepared meals. They also sell a superb selection of artisanal wines. 581 Washington Street, Boston, MA. 671/956-0888; www.binaboston.com.

AZITA AND BABAK OF BINA OSTERIA

O YA RESTAURANT

From his description, I knew O Ya was going to be a different kind of sushi experience. After my first bite, I was smitten! The nondescript front door and the rustic brick walls and exposed rough beams belie the extraordinary culinary dishes that are created here; each selection is a work of art. Nigiri, the first plates, include dishes like Fried Kumamoto Oyster with yuzu kosho aioli, finished with a dollop of squid ink bubbles. The Wild Santa Barbara Spot Prawn with garlic butter, white soy, and preserved yuzu is a mouthful of deliciously delicate and intricate flavors. Sashimi selections such as Hamachi Tartare with a ginger verjus sauce, and spiced chile oil and Wild Bluefin Tuna Tataki with smoky pickled onion, and truffle oil are not to be missed. The “truffles & eggs” section served up a Tamago Omelette “Roll” with dashi sauce, summer truffles, robiola cheese, and chives — out of this world! Desserts are equally enticing. The Wild Berry crunch sake sabayon, soy milk mascarpone crème was the perfect ending to an exceptional meal. 9 East Street, Boston, MA. 617/654-9900; www.oyarestaurantboston.com.

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LONG WEEKEND IN LONDON Planning a weekend getaway? How about a long weekend in London! It’s an easy flight and a weekend carry-on bag away. The Heathrow Express will have you in the center of town in 15 minutes. Whether it’s your first time or your tenth, check www.visitlon-

don.com for all the latest on London hotels, restaurants, maps, and events. Why not veer off the tourist track on your long weekend? Explore London’s East End and the bohemian weekend markets, galleries and shops at Brick Lane and Spitalfields. www.visitbricklane.org; www.visitspitalfields.com. The Tate Modern at Bankside is London’s much talked about contemporary art gallery. The Tate Modern restaurant on Level 7 has an unforgettable view of the Thames River and serves lunch and dinner. www.tate.org.uk/modern/information/ Also, at Bankside —the Menier Chocolate Factory. Built in 1870, this unique space now comprises a restaurant and bar, rehearsal room and 150 seat theatre. The recent Broadway revivals of Sunday in the Park with George, La Cage Aux Folles and A Little Night Music originated at the Menier Chocolate Factory. Renowned director, Trevor Nunn, returns to the Chocolate Factory to direct the first major London revival of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Aspects of Love.

Haymarket Hotel

HAYMARKET HOTEL

HAYMARKET HOTEL POOL

Where to stay? The Haymarket Hotel is the latest of Kit and Tim Kemp’s eclectic collection of London boutique hotels. You may have heard the buzz about their premiere U.S. property, The Crosby Hotel in Soho. The Haymarket Hotel is adjacent to the Haymarket Theatre Royal and opposite Her Majesty's Theatre; a perfect location for a night at the theatre. Kit Kemp is the award-winning designer of the Firmdale collection. Each of the Firmdale boutique hotels is like a textile fantasyland. You can’t help but touch the walls and chairs to feel the fabrics; they are a knockout. The Haymarket is designed like a chic game of Clue: The Conservatory, The Library, and the elegant Shooting Gallery. Brumus is the hotel’s restaurant overlooking St. James Place: open all day, an ideal spot for a pre-theatre dinner. The hotel has 50 spacious and sumptuous bedrooms and suites as

Like a Rolling Stone THE STAFFORD LONDON

well as an exclusive townhouse, each individually designed and decorated. All are equipped with luxury amenities including high-speed wireless internet access, flat screen LCD TV and DVD/CD player. There’s a spectacular pool and lounge area at the Haymarket: an 18meter length pool surrounded by gold leather couches and a 14-seat bar. It’s a splash of Miami glamour in the midst of London’s West End. The ceiling is lit like a starlit sky and at the end of the pool a contemporary light projection of an orange/fuchsia sunset is so magnificent you’ll want to grab your camera. 1 Suffolk Place, London. 44 20 7470 4000; www.firmdale.com.

Room Two), heralded its reopening in 1991. The newly renovated Mews offer a choice of 26 junior and master suites, as well as the Penthouse Suite, a rooftop apartment overlooking the skyline of London. Suites are apartment-sized and handsomely furnished. The Mews offers contemporary luxury accommodations so comfortable you could spend a month, let alone a long weekend. The American Bar is a favorite historic landmark at The Stafford. Named “Best Hotel Bar Worldwide” at the 2009 Luxury Travel Awards, The bar got its name in the early 1930s when West End hotels started to cater to American tourists crossing the Atlantic on steamships. The barmen are considered legends, particularly the late Charles Guano, behind the bar for 42 years. The American Bar has an emporium of memorabilia donated by guests of the Stafford, which includes regatta flags, photographs of guests’ yachts and horses, hundreds of ties, caps, and WWII model airplanes donated by pilots who flew during the war. As you enter the bar there are three photographs of Nancy Wake, the highest decorated woman of the Second World War. Nancy first came to the Stafford in 1946, when Louis Burdet, one of the leaders of the French Resistance, ran the hotel. Nancy graced the bar for many years and there is a plaque commemorating her presence behind the far seat, which reads "Nancy's Corner." During the Second World War the Stafford closed to the public and

The Stafford London by Kempinski The Stafford London by Kempinski is one of London’s most treasured hotels. The Stafford’s unique blend of history, elegance, service and location never fails to impress. Each guest is greeted by name, and welcomed home to a romantic English country house in the center of London. The Stafford London is comprised of the Main House, the Carriage House and the Stafford Mews. The Main House features 67 rooms and suites decorated with period pieces and British elegance. In the eighteenth century, the Carriage House stabled the nobility’s thoroughbred horses. The stables were converted to rooms and suites in 1990 and recently renovated. With their own private courtyard and entrance, the twelve Carriage House rooms and suites are the hotel’s most popular. First floor rooms are named after literary scholars, while the ground floor stable door rooms are named after famous racehorses. In fact, Grand National Steeplechase winner Seagram (and namesake of

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THE AMERICAN BAR AT THE STAFFORD

served as an officers’ mess for English and American soldiers. Throughout the Blitz, the 350-year-old stone wine cellar beneath the courtyard was used as an air raid shelter. The vestiges of the wine cellar as a wartime haven have been kept intact and are not to be missed. Today, the Cellars house a collection of close to 20,000 bottles, overseen by Master Sommelier Gino Nardella. What a wonderful locale for a private dinner or wine tasting. St James's Place, London.: 44 (0) 20 7493 0111; www.kempinski.com/en/london/ ❉

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Veniero’s Pasticceria & Caffé 116 Years of Family Tradition BY . ERIN LEVI

HE SUN HAS SET, WITH DUSK YIELDING TO THE RED AND GREEN LIT SIGN OF VENIERO’S PASTICCERIA & CAFFÉ – AN ARTDECO ORIGINAL FROM THE 1930’S – WHICH ILLUMINATES THE SWEET-TOOTHED CROWDS GATHERED ON MANHATTAN’S EAST 11TH STREET. BUT IT’S NOT QUITE BRIGHT ENOUGH. THREE MEN CLIMB UP THE FIRE ESCAPE ATOP THE BAKERY’S BRICK-RED AWNINGS TO ERECT TEMPORARY LIGHT FIXTURES – WHITE ROUND LANTERNS - JUST NEXT TO THE LANDMARK SIGN. CLAUDIA ATKINSON, A WESTON RESIDENT WHO OWNS VENIERO’S TOGETHER WITH HER THREE SIBLINGS, NERVOUSLY OBSERVES THE OPERATION FROM ACROSS THE STREET, AND SIGNALS TO HER BROTHER ROBERT, WHO IS SPORTING A BLACK HARLEYDAVIDSON SHIRT, TO MAKE SURE THEY’RE CAREFUL. “IF THEY DAMAGE THE SIGN IN ANY WAY, I’M NOT SURE WE’LL BE ABLE TO FIX IT. IT’S SO ANTIQUE.”

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Down below, long loaves of bread fill the storefront window: different from the usual display of decadent cakes and treats (a minute selection of what is actually offered inside.) Veniero’s doesn’t even sell bread – it’s a pastry shop! Yet on this night, an episode of “Curb Your Enthusiasm” is being filmed, and Larry David needs to buy a baguette. The store is still open to customers, though. Friday is a busy night, says Claudia, so they didn’t want to close. (Hey, they’re even open on Christmas Day!) “We’re especially popular on weekends since we stay open until one a.m. People wait in line to have their after-dinner drinks

FRANK ZERILLI, OWNER OF VENIERO'S PASTICCERIA & CAFE CELEBRATED HIS GOLDEN ANNIVERSARY WITH THE COMPANY, HAVING FIRST GONE TO WORK FOR HIS UNCLE IN 1944.

and dessert at one of the tables inside the cafe or out on the sidewalk. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a marriage proposal this evening, as many couples come here on dates.” And it is not an exaggeration. Beneath the vintage metal ceilings which add to Veniero’s romantic charm and old-world character, groups of twos, threes and fours flow in, some to sit down and eat, others just to buy goodies to go. Upon swinging through the vanilla-etched glass doors, a woman in a red floral dress gushes to her friend, “This is my favorite dessert place. I’m so excited to show it to you.” They pass the front counter, which is replete with cheesecakes, a variety of “regular” cakes, a vast display of Italian confections, as well as miniature versions of all of the above. Most of the customers seated back

World’s Fair in New York. You can view these accolades yourself as they are framed and hanging on the café walls next to a plaque from the New York Fire Department thanking Veniero’s for its support after 9/11, and a few real works of art: 18th century oil paintings by the Venetian artist Francesco Guardi. Not that you need a piece of paper to tell you Veniero’s pastries are special. One bite into a moist, creamy Italian cheesecake made with ricotta cheese is proof enough. If that doesn’t sway you, there’s the Torta di Mandorle — a Veniero’s original — made from homemade marzipan baked around a domeshaped yellow cake which is moistened with rum and layered with apricot preserves. And it would be a mafioso crime to miss tasting the tiramisu, cannoli (in all their glorious versions) or strawberry millefoglie - a house specialty that is a light, delicate pastry layer filled with Bavarian cream and topped with pow-

Antonio, who roasted his own coffee beans in the 1920s and '30s, is even credited with introducing espresso to New York. inside the cafe are oblivious to the filming that is happening in the front room (they’re more concerned with canoodling and their cannoli), while a few who are standing near the entrance stare in awe at Larry David’s signature bald head which keeps popping in and out of the yellow cab directly outside. One lucky couple is even chosen to be extras in the so-called “bread buying scene.” People have been flocking to Veniero’s ever since 1894, when it opened as a pool emporium. At that time, the neighborhood was a bastion of Eastern European immigrants, compared with today’s trendy scene – which saw a transformation after years of being a gritty punk ‘hood. Antonio Veniero, who emigrated that year from Vico Equense, a small coastal town near Naples in Southern Italy, started serving coffee to the patrons as they waited to take their aim behind the cue stick. This not only added to Veniero’s popularity, but also established it as New York’s first and most prominent coffee bar. Step aside, Starbucks: Antonio, who roasted his own coffee beans in the 1920s and ‘30s, is even credited with introducing espresso to New York. One can only have so many cups of coffee without a sweet accompaniment, and so Antonio decided to add cake to the menu. He wasn’t even a trained baker, but was so successful at this new-found trade that he shut down the billiards to open a full bakery, for which he won awards: a diploma from Bologna in 1933 in honor of “Antonio Veniero, per i suoi prodotti d’arte dolcaia,” in addition to a special acknowledgment from the 1939 FROM THE EARLY 1950'S, FRANK ZERILLI AT WORK AT THE BAKERY.

dered sugar and strawberries. Not to mention the homemade gelati, sorbetti (made from fresh fruits) and New York’s favorite cheesecake (“We’re way better than Juniors,” beams Claudia.) Over the last 116 years and counting, Veniero’s has been owned and operated by four generations of family, which is rather uncommon - and special - by today’s standards. After Antonio’s colorful reign (marked by petitions for electricity — he was the first to have it below 14th street; watermelon giveaways — the rind was more valuable than the red flesh as it could be candied and used for cake decoration; and an association with the “blackhand” — a man notorious for setting houses on fire was a friend of Antonio’s and was hired to keep the neighbors from stealing, essentially a modern-day bouncer), ownership went to his entrepreneurial son, Michael, one of six children, which was then passed on to Antonio’s nephew and Claudia’s father, Frank Zerilli. Since Frank’s pass-

around the city. That made it easier to establish a wholesale business, which is still very successful today. In the 1980s and ‘90s, Frank physically expanded the business by hiring more bakers (today there are a total of 18 in addition to 32 other employees) as well as by building another room in the café to seat more clients. Neither Frank nor his predecessors believed in spending money on advertising; their business was lucky enough to grow just by word-of-mouth. Word-of-mouth can travel far these days, even as far as Japan, where Veniero's is surprisingly popular. Who would have imagined there's even a Japanese comic book about the East Village pasticceria? Claudia Atkinson recounts the first time she heard about her business's strangefound fame abroad: “I was working out at the Weston Racquet Club with Scahyio Furukawa when she told me, 'Claudia, Veniero's was on Japanese TV today. They love it over there. They're so impressed with its longevity, family tradition and success.'” Customers still come in today remembering stories of THE FAMILY: (L TO R) LINDA MARTELLA, MEREDITH ATKINSON, CLAUDIA ATKINSON AND ROBERT ZERILLI Frank, the face of Veniero's for over 50 years, and often described as a very generous person and good motivator (he was known to hand out $20 bills to workers who were doing a good job, which at the time was a lot of money) who occasionally would exhibit characteristics akin to the infamous “soup man” if someone didn't like his pastries. Though the holiday season can be quite tiring - two-hourlong lines of people wrapped around the block waiting to pick up desserts their grandmothers ordered (Veniero's has become a part of many families' holiday traditions), Claudia especially enjoys working during this time because it's when she hears the most stories about her father's days of running Veniero's. “Customers will tell us about things we never knew happened because we were never there working,” she says. More than just a good bakery, “Veniero's is a place of opportunity,” explains Claudia. The establishment is composed of mainly immigrant workers: from a Bangladeshi barista to Turkish and Polish wait staff, a Maltese manager, and Mexican bakers (the head bakers have always been Italian.) They are all given the chance to make a life here in America and ing soon after Veniero’s 100th anniversary in 1994, Claudia’s mother ran pursue their dreams, from modeling to putting their children through the business full-time alongside Robert. Claudia and her sister Linda school. The diversity of the staff is also a reflection of the multiculturalwould help part-time, but are more involved now that their mother is ism of the neighborhood. “We have our own little U.N. here,” Claudia sadly no longer with them. notes as she scans the room. In the case of Frank and Antonio’s families, children were never In the age of Starbucks and Dunkin' Donuts - fast-food chains and corexpected to work at the bakery. Instead, education was stressed. Most porate franchises, it is a wonderful anomaly that Veniero's is still alive, went off to pursue other careers (like Claudia who became a nurse and well, and family run: a good reason to not curb your enthusiasm, and Linda who taught at an elementary school), but there was always one keep your appetite. who had an interest in the business: for Antonio it was Michael, for Frank it was his son Robert, and for Robert it is his son Frankie. Veniero's Pasticceria & Caffé, 342 E. 11th Street (between 1st and 2nd Claudia, who grew up above the bakery with her parents and three sibAvenue) New York, NY. 212/674-7070. Sunday - Thursday: 7am - midlings — presumably sharing a very aromatic childhood — remembers her night; Friday - Saturday: 7 am - 1 am. www.venierospastry.com ❉ father only joining the family for dinner on holidays such as Christmas and Easter. Every other night of the year, he was at a restaurant — dining Erin Levi lives and works in New York City where she celebrates as either a first timer or regular (like at Rao’s, where he, as well as each and every meal with the joy of la gourmandise, never missing an opportunity to try new food. Sinatra had tables) in order to build relationships with restaurant owners

2 0 0 W E S T O N M A G A Z I N E G R O U P. C O M

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am not receiving any type of compensation to write this article. I am a woman of integrity and refuse to endorse or promote anything that I have not tried myself or that I don’t believe in. The motivation to write this article is basically the fact that for the first time in ten years I can actually shop for jeans! The ability to slip into denim and the journey that got me to this place is what I want to share with you. I’ve been exercising all my life. My workout history began in my native Georgia, and I don’t mean Atlanta, but rather the country Georgia near the Black Sea. There I got into kickboxing and supplemented my workouts by

swimming, running cross-country, and skiing. My intense training routine was quickly abandoned when I came to the United States. Getting situated in a new country required all of my attention. My commitment to physical fitness was forced into the shadows as I struggled to make ends meet.

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Once life stabilized, it was time to resume my workouts. I found an American martial arts instructor and got back into kickboxing. I went all out… boot camps at 4:30 am, running with 20-pound packs on my back, and sweating like a pig! I loved every minute of it, except for two major problems. One was that I was gaining a lot of muscle weight and my physique was taking on a very “masculine” look. Secondly, all this military style training was taking its toll on my knees to the point where just going up and down the stairs was absolutely excruciating. It was time to seriously reevaluate my workout. I decided that intense boot camps were intended for young army recruits training for warfare. I also determined that I didn’t want to look like Mr. Universe, which was my present state at 205 pounds, with huge muscles. So I gave “hot yoga” a try. Stretching in a sweatbox seven days a week, at the rate of two classes per day softened me up a bit, but nothing more. I kept telling myself that this was really good for me and that I was actually losing weight. The reality was that “hot yoga” made me feel like I was going to pass out and I was still waking up in the morning with crumbs all over my body as a result of the nighttime eating! Just as I found myself at another crossroad regarding my training, I received an email advertisement from Calasanz Martial Arts. I heard that celebrities trained there and that Calasanz, a celebrity in his own right, had built his reputation on helping women re-create and re-shape their bodies for over thirty years. I was curious, but then talked myself out of calling because I was under the perception that it would be too expensive. I took a closer look at the ad, which said, “We offer special rates to accommodate rocky times of recession.” I decided to be proactive and called. Much to my surprise, it was Calasanz himself who picked up the phone. After a brief conversation, I made an appointment. Calasanz was not your typical gym. I can best describe it as a place that vibrated with “chi”… a large, open, airy space, decorated with mirrors, natural stone, and Asian water fountains. No heavy equipment or rows of machines. Instead, the training tools included ballet bars, wooden dummies, mats, light weights, and bamboo sticks. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming. Calasanz greeted me upon arrival. He was charismatic and down-toearth. During that first lesson, I discussed with him my dissatisfaction with my recent workout regimes. I was reassured as he said “You are in the right place! Now that you have the best we will fix everything!” Questioning his modesty, I was immediately amazed at how Calasanz was able to pinpoint the best exercises for my body type. I also noticed that the Calasanz approach was gentle on the body. I could feel my muscles stretching. I could feel myself working out in a way that felt natural…

BEFORE

a routine that was organically suited for my body. After a few introductory lessons, I signed up for a one-year membership. It was the best thing I could have done for myself. Like most women, I checked myself out in the mirror on a regular basis. It was really exciting to be a witness to my own transformation. Within a period of three months, I went from a size 14 to a size 8. The shame of being out of shape disappeared. My aches and pains were gone. I slept less and had more energy to get through the day. My jewelry came out of the box and so did the clothes I thought I had lost forever. I felt youthful and elegant. I was ready to adorn myself once again. I’ve even caught admiring eyes checking me out and men readily willing to hold doors open for me. The results have been totally magnificent! The best thing you can do for yourself is to pick up the phone, call 203-847-6528, and personally speak with Calasanz. Training is affordable and many different programs are available to suit your needs, from private to group classes, to special camps. The school is open from 4:00AM to 11:00PM, 7 days a week. The first lesson is complimentary, so you have nothing to lose. What you will gain, however, is nourishment for the mind, body, and spirit that will change your life forever… and you just may enjoy shopping for jeans once again! For more information visit Calasanz’ websites at: www.calasanz.com/; www.interdojo.com/. PS. I’ll go one step further! If you’d like a live testimonial, feel free to contact me directly! Nana Smith: 203-858-6727 (cell); Nana13@optonline.net.

AFTER

Nana Smith was born in the Republic of Georgia and works in the field of real estate as a certified assessor, appraiser, and agent. She lives with her husband Ken in Stamford, Connecticut.

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ounded in the spring of 1953, Julia B. Fee formed a real estate brokerage with the vision of offering an unmatched customer experience. In 2006, Julia B. Fee Sotheby’s International Realty was born as an affiliate of the prestigious Sotheby’s International Realty® brand. Julia B. Fee’s legacy of professionalism, personal service and area expertise remains fervent in the more than 200 real estate advisors who represent this distinguished firm. Today, Julia B. Fee Sotheby’s International Realty services all of Westchester County and has been recognized as one of the area’s preeminent real estate brokerages.

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Why You Should Buy a Home Now– Even After the Tax Credit B Y . G A I L L I L L E Y Z AWA C K I

hile much press coverage has been given to the recent first-time and move-up buyer tax credit, there are many time-sensitive factors that make the current climate an exceptional time to buy a home—even without the tax credit. Besides mortgage interest rates that have been hovering at nearrecord lows, homes in many markets have become more affordable. Prices have moderated from the highs of the housing boom that occurred in most of the country, especially in major markets where they had increased significantly. According to the National Association of Home Builders (NAHB), new construction homes are an especially wise investment for home buyers. New homes are generally built to be much more energy efficient than homes constructed a generation ago, making them more affordable to operate. Plus, new homes often incorporate open floorplans, flexible spaces, improved safety features and low-maintenance materials, making them well-suited for today’s modern families. So, if you’re thinking about buying a home, please don’t count on interest rates or prices staying at current levels—I’ve seen them change unpredictably and quickly! Mortgage rates are sensitive to market conditions, and even a slight increase can push monthly payments beyond a family’s budget. As the country recovers from the recession and people stabilize their financial situations, NAHB economists expect that home prices will begin to increase by 2011.

11 WAYS TO GET YOUR HOME READY FOR APPRAISAL If you’re looking to sell or refinance your home, you know that a home appraisal is a necessary step in the process. While the value of your home may not be what it once was, it is important for homeowners to be realistic when it comes to getting their home appraised. As a member of the Top 5 in Real Estate Network , I know how vital it is to list your home at the right price. Price is, after all, only a part of marketing—but it is crucial, and having an appraisal done is the first step toward making the right pricing decision. Here are 11 ways to prepare for a home appraisal: 1. The appraiser will need approximately 30 minutes to one hour to complete the inspection phase of the appraisal process, which includes: exterior photos of the front and rear of the home and a photo

2 1 6 W E S T O N M A G A Z I N E G R O U P. C O M

of the street in front of the property; measurements of the exterior of the home, garage and any outbuildings; a walk-through inspection of all rooms and levels of the interior of the home, including the basement. 2. Get organized. Put together a checklist that will help you get ready for your appraisal. 3. Be flexible when scheduling the appointment. 4. Have a copy of your home’s blueprint to help verify measurements and lot size. 5. Provide a list of improvements made to the property since the purchase. Improvements that should be noted include adding a pool, patio, updating your kitchen or bathroom, and any room additions. 6. Allow your appraiser access to the entire property, including access to any crawl space or attic areas. 7. Keep in mind that a clean home makes a good impression. Be sure to trim the lawn, clean the pool and garage, repair cracked windows or torn screens, check for leaky faucets and secure gutters and down spouts before your appraisal. 8. Point out any amenities that may not be obvious to the appraiser: sprinkler systems, patios, pools, security systems, built-in pool vacuum, etc. 9. Provide a copy of last year's tax assessment information. 10. Know what year the house was built and when improvements were made. 11. The first thing appraisers look for is comparables, so be prepared and have a list of recent sales of similar properties in the immediate neighborhood. Following these steps will go a long way toward making the home appraisal process a bit easier. For more information on home appraisals and preparing your home for sale, please e-mail Gail@SouthernCT.com and please feel free to forward these tips to any family and friends with a home sale in their future. Gail Lilley Zawacki, GRI, ABR, CRS, E-PRO, was awarded the Coldwell Banker International President?s Premier, an impressive distinction achieved by only the top 1% of all Coldwell Banker sales associates across the country in 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, and 2009. Office: 203/682-9444; www.SouthernCT.com.

Advice on using Zillow® for Weston, CT BY . RYA N CORNELL

y clients ask me all the time, “What do you think of Zillow ? Do you think it’s accurate for Weston?” Zillow .com is a popular real estate website founded by two guys from Microsoft who also created the wellknown Expedia travel site. Zillow has established estimates or what it calls “Zestimates ” for more than half the nation’s houses (more than 40 Million). Sellers always worry that a buyer will rely on what Zillow says about the value of their house. And buyers DO (although they shouldn’t, especially in places like Weston). Buyers are sometimes afraid to pay more than what Zillow says a home is worth (even if the buyer knows intuitively he’s paying a good price).

backyard (versus your neighbor’s swamp). If you just renovated your bathrooms, repainted and sanded the wood floors, there’s no way for Zillow to know that – since there’s no Zillow employees on Tuesday Broker Tours. Now, if you don’t like Zillow’s Zestimate for your house, you can log in and create an Owner’s Estimate. And, there are some tricks you can use to boost the number to where you think it should be. But, the Zestimate still shows up, prominently stigmatizing your house. No matter how mad you get, there’s simply no way to make it disappear. If you want to find out what a home is worth, you can’t rely on a website. You still need to find an expert REALTOR . And, in Weston, you absolutely need to find someone who specializes in Weston, someone

As far as I can tell, Zillow® simply calculates the average price per square foot for houses recently sold near yours, and then multiplies that by the square footage of your house (according to the tax records). The problem is that the site just isn’t that accurate for a town like Weston (with such diverse houses one next to the other). For instance, for the houses that sold in July, Zillow’s Zestimates were off by an average of 20% (meaning they were worthless). For example, as of today, the Zestimate for 5 Ledgewood Drive is $818,500, while it recently sold for $650,000 (21% less). And, the Zestimate for 50 Tall Pines Drive is $1,158,500, while it actually sold for $1,349,000 (16% more). Zillow even confesses its inaccuracy, if you click on their fine print. For Fairfield County, they concede that the Median Error is 12.1%, meaning that HALF of their Zestimate’s are off by more than 12%. The problem is in the site’s methodology. Zillow won’t reveal its proprietary formula. (It’s kind of like the credit reporting agencies that give you a bad score but won’t tell you how they came up with it.) As far as I can tell, Zillow simply calculates the average price per square foot for houses recently sold near yours, and then multiplies that by the square footage of your house (according to the tax records). It doesn’t consider whether you have a new kitchen or a flat

who has been inside all of the houses on the market (and those that sold recently). He can physically walk through the house and help you truly understand where the house fits into the market, and what you can expect for a sale price. Zillow is a great site, giving consumers access to valuable historical data and charts and graphs showing various trends. But, don’t rely too heavily on its Zestimates . ❉ Ryan Cornell is an expert real estate broker in the Weston and Wilton markets. He recently joined William Pitt Sotheby’s International Realty. His unique and innovative marketing program allows him to sell houses, even in this tough market. He has earned almost every designation and certification available, including the coveted Certified Luxury Home Marketing Specialist; and he has won various sales awards including the Double Gold Medallion. You can reach him at 203/247-0718 or ryan@ryancornell.com.

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INDEPENDENT SCHOOL GUIDE ILLUSTRATION BY DAVE CUTLER

Admission Open House Sunday, October 17 Grades 7–8: 12 to 1:30 pm Grades 9–12: 2 to 3:30 pm

Celebrating 350 Years

Hopkins School a coeducational college preparatory day school for grades 7–12 986 forest road new haven ct 06515 203.397.1001 www.hopkins.edu

Discover Ross School A BOARDING AND DAY SCHOOL FOR PRE-NURSERY—GRADE 12

Ross School is a co-educational boarding (grades 7–12) and day school (PN–Grade 12) located on two beautiful campuses in East Hampton and Bridgehampton, about 2 hours east of New York City. The School offers a global, integrated curriculum with engaging courses in science, arts, humanities and wellness, while offering opportunities for independent study, competitive athletics, extracurricular activities

ROSS UPPER SCHOOL BOARDING AND DAY GRADE 5 – GRADE 12 EAST HAMPTON, NY ROSS LOWER SCHOOL PRE-NURSERY – GRADE 4 BRIDGEHAMPTON, NY

and travel. Ross has a successful college placement program with

100% of applicants receiving acceptances at competitive colleges and universities. Ross School attracts a world class faculty and serves over 500 domestic and international students.

visit us online at www.ross.org/boarding

A co-ed day and boarding school for children in grades 4-9.

Schedule your visit today! Christine LeFevre Director of Admissions (518) 523-9329 ext. 6000 • admissions@northcountryschool.org 4382 Cascade Rd. • LAKE PLACID, New York • 12946 www.northcountryschool.org

Great Full Day

Wooster School Pre-K: Age 4

come visit us! Saturday, October 30th All School Open House 9:30 am—12 pm

• Pre-K to Grade 12 • Coeducational • Small Classes • College Preparatory Day School

Wooster School

91 Miry Brook Road Danbury, CT 06810 203.830.3916 WoosterSchool.org

INDEPENDENT SCHOOL GUIDE Day Schools Emphasis on Values Connecticut Friends School believes that education is preparation for life: the lively development of intellectual, physical, and socialemotional capacities as well as those of the spirit. Teachers are facilitators of the learning process, using dialogue, reflection and inquiry as tools for learning in the classroom. The Quaker values of simplicity, peace, integrity, community, equality, and stewardship of the earth are deeply embedded in the curricula and school culture.

Connecticut Friends School Serious Work, Joyous Atmosphere Wilton, CT “Strong core academics are complemented by character education, community service, visual and performing arts and outdoor education. We know our daughter will be well prepared to enter high school after finishing at CFS.” –David Mandel, parent of a middle-school student For more than 300 years, Friends schools have been recognized for fine academics as well as a whole-child approach to intellectual and moral development. Connecticut Friends School is the first and only Quaker elementary/middle school in Connecticut. With 60 students in four multi-age classrooms, the independent day school has an incredible student to teacher ratio. The small size of the school guarantees their students are individually guided in improving their passions and gifts. Along the way they develop the uncommon poise and kindness that distinguishes their graduates. CONNECTICUT FRIENDS SCHOOL • Creative, hands-on, interdisciplinary K-8 grade academic program • Outstanding faculty with advanced degrees and conflict resolution training • Main campus on five wooded acres; a second, 15-acre campus used as a “living” classroom for nature studies and activities • Inclusive Quaker values: simplicity, peace, integrity, community, equality and stewardship of the earth • Rich, varied arts and culture (dance, theater, drumming, music, art, storytelling) • Outdoor education and leadership program every other week

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Conflict Resolution and Compassion At Connecticut Friends School, they develop peace education practices for nonviolent conflict resolution. Their curricula promotes teaching each subject in a way that enhances student understanding of justice and basic human and civil rights. Through service learning, students gain an awareness of the world beyond their immediate environment, have exposure to broad societal issues, develop compassion for those struggling under difficult circumstances, and cultivate an ability to view problems from a variety of perspectives. Where Their Graduates Go Local public high schools in Weston, New Canaan, Darien, Norwalk, and Westport; magnet schools such as Academy of Information Technology & Engineering, Nutmeg Ballet, and the Center for Global Studies; private schools including The Masters School, King School, Fairfield Prep, Westtown School, Soundview Prep, St. Joseph High School, St. Luke’s School, Suffield Academy, Trinity Catholic, Trinity-Pawling, International School (Italy), and Wooster School. CFS alumni have been accepted at the following colleges: American University, Bowling Green, Bryn Mawr, Bucknell, College of the Redwoods, Colorado College, Columbia University, Cornell, Earlham, The New School, George Washington University, Gettysburg, Goucher, Green Mountain, Guilford, Hampshire, Harvey Mudd, Haverford, Hobart, Lafayette, Lewis & Clark, Middlebury, MIT, Princeton University, Swarthmore, University of Rhode Island, University of Rochester, University of Vermont, and Wellesley. Connecticut Friends School is accredited by Connecticut Association of Independent Schools and Friends Council on Education. Their first Open House is Friday, November 5th at 1 p.m. RSVP at 203/762-9860 or to arrange a tour. Go to www.CtFriendsSchool.org for more information. WILTON CAMPUS: 317 New Canaan Road (Route 106) Wilton, CT. 203/762-9860.

Ridgefield Academy Building a Strong Foundation from Preschool to Grade 8 Ridgefield, CT A child’s early educational experience significantly impacts the way they see themselves and the world around them. Research indicates that the critical education years from preschool through grade 8 are when skills are developed, confidence is built, character is formed, and a love of learning is instilled. At Ridgefield Academy, they know this best. For over 35 years, Ridgefield Academy, an independent coeducational day school located in Ridgefield, Conn., has helped educate children in a nurturing environment dedicated to building skills, confidence, and character. RA is intentionally not associated with a high school in an effort to focus on these formative educational years. Graduates leave the school well prepared for their secondary school experiences and with the tools to help them live successful adult lives that are filled with purpose. An Engaging and Challenging Curriculum Ridgefield Academy’s innovative teaching staff and small classroom environment help to nurture students with individual attention and encouragement. Through an emphasis on the whole child and high standards of achievement, Ridgefield Academy strives to help children become thoughtful, independent, and confident learners. Classroom environments are a safe place for children to express ideas and take risks, with only constructive criticism from peers. “The Ridgefield Academy community has given our children the strength and confidence to unleash their intellectual curiosity and revel in their individuality,” comments one parent. “We credit RA with helping prepare them for the continuing academic rigor and support they will receive at Hopkins School for their high school years.” RA’s curriculum combines the traditional, core subject areas of language arts, mathematics, science, and social studies with a rich program of music, art, and drama designed to inspire students and spark their creativity. “The strengths of RA’s program can be found on many different levels,” comments parent and Weston resident Barbara Chopin. “I think it is the school’s overall approach to curriculum development. Interweaving meaningful literature with verbal and artistic expression; expanding a history unit to include culture, art and science along with the core topic; relating Latin roots to English and foreign language vocabulary are all examples of how RA educates rather than teaches. From the first moment you meet the teaching staff, you realize they are there because they love to educate students.”

A School Built on Values The RA school community is a caring community built on a foundation of shared values. In all areas of school life, students model and reinforce the principles of respect, responsibility, fairness, and service to others. Service learning is incorporated into the curriculum to engage children in meaningful activities that reinforce the importance of service to others. Focus on Communication An important part of becoming a confident learner is mastering the tools to effectively communicate your ideas to others. Research supports that children who are taught communication strategies and provided with weekly practice at an early age are more adept at informal and formal public speaking. At Ridgefield Academy, children are taught oral and written communication skills as early as preschool. In second grade, children engage in a formal public speaking curriculum and are given ample opportunity to practice these skills through the curriculum. Every graduate completes his or her educational journey with a personal graduation speech that highlights the success of RA’s Public Speaking Program. The Right Secondary Placement Ridgefield Academy dedicates itself to helping each student find the right secondary school for the next step of his or her educational journey. This is their commitment to every eighth grade student. As students enter grade 6, the Head of School and the Head of Upper School lead each student through a sequence of steps designed to help prepare, plan, investigate and consider a wide range of high school options. To help in this process, trips to day schools and boarding schools are offered to interested seventh grade students. Additionally, all eighth grade students meet weekly with their Head of Upper School in an effort to determine the best next step for them. Throughout the process, students and families are guided and supported. The RA Difference Many families have discovered the difference the Ridgefield Academy experience can make in their child’s confidence and development. By utilizing a comprehensive curriculum delivered in a supportive school environment, Ridgefield Academy helps students build a strong foundation for future success. For more information about Ridgefield Academy, visit www.ridgefieldacademy.org or call Libby Mattson at (203) 894-1800 x112.

INDEPENDENT SCHOOL GUIDE Hopkins School New Haven, CT Hopkins School was founded in June, 1660 as Hopkins Grammar School by the Reverend John Davenport with funds from Governor Edward Hopkins, the second Governor of the Connecticut Colony. The school began with one teacher and about thirty local boys in a one-room schoolhouse on the New Haven Green. Hopkins School today is a highly academic, coeducational independent day school comprised of 680 students in grades seven through twelve, from 65 cities and towns throughout central Connecticut. The faculty and staff number 150; the School is located on a 108-acre campus in the Westville section of New Haven. Hopkins defines itself as a community of civility and learning, one that educates students from diverse backgrounds to a full measure of their talents and humanity. A commitment to competitive athletics, to the creative joys of the artist, and to community service are essential aspects of the Hopkins experience. Each year Hopkins hosts an annual Admission Open House on a Sunday in October, giving prospective families an opportunity to learn more about their unique community. Additional information about admission events can be found at www.hopkins.edu, by writing to admission@hopkins.edu or by calling the Admission Office at (203) 397-1001. Hopkins is one of the three oldest independent secondary schools in the country; this year the School is celebrating a milestone—its 350th anniversary. More than 3,000 members of the Hopkins community gathered on campus in June to commemorate the 350th with an outdoor party and fireworks display. They will be concluding their formal events with an Academic Convocation on September 24, 2010. Invited guests include college presidents, heads of schools and Hopkins community members —past and present —who will don their formal academia robes in honor of the 2010 Hopkins Medal recipients, Jane Aries Levin, Senior Lecturer, Yale University and Richard C. Levin, President, Yale University. The Hopkins Medal is awarded to a member of the Hopkins family for unparalleled commitment, devotion, and loyalty to Hopkins. The Levins’ first roles in the Hopkins family were those of parents, seeing four children complete their secondary education at Hopkins: John, ’90, Daniel, ’94, Sarah ’96 and Rebecca ’03. Among their legacy to Hopkins are the book acquisition fund established for Hopkins’ library and their service on the Committee of Trustees. Richard 2 3 4 W E S T O N M A G A Z I N E G R O U P. C O M

was a member and served as the Treasurer, a position he held until 1995, when he became Yale’s President. Jane Levin became a Hopkins Trustee in 2000, and served on the Education, Finance and Investment Committee and the Trustee Committee, which selects future board members. With Jane’s retirement from the Board in 2010, the Levins will have fulfilled twenty-four years of remarkable service to Hopkins. Questions about the Academic Convocation can be addressed to convocation350@hopkins.edu. 986 Forest Road, New Haven, CT. 203/397-1001. www.hopkins.edu

Lauralton Hall Prepares Its Students for the Rigors of College Study Milford, CT Academy of Our Lady of Mercy, Lauralton Hall, is a Catholic college preparatory high school founded in 1905 by the Sisters of Mercy. The school is over one hundred years old — a major milestone in the life of any school but even more significant for a Catholic girls’ school. Set on a beautiful 30-acre campus centered THE LAURALTON HALL CLASS OF 2010 REJOICES UPON HAVING JUST RECEIVED THEIR DIPLOMAS.

around a Victorian mansion built in 1864, the school prepares girls to become competent, confident and compassionate women. Students are challenged to not just succeed in a rigorous academic program, but to give of themselves —especially to those in need. The well-rounded curriculum fully prepares students for the rigors of college study, with demanding honors and advanced placement classes offered in all academic disciplines. Known for its many competitive sports teams, Lauralton also has a proud history of athletic excellence. In addition, numerous clubs and activities are offered to meet the interests of every girl. Since Lauralton believes character formation is as essential as academic achievement, the school’s unique mission incorporates the core values of its founding organization, the Sisters of Mercy: compassion and service; educational excellence; concern for women and women’s

issues; global vision and responsibility; spiritual growth and development; as well as collaboration. Students are encouraged to pursue knowledge, recognize truth and respond to the needs of others. As the oldest Catholic college-preparatory high school for girls in Connecticut, Lauralton attracts more than four hundred students from throughout New Haven and Fairfield counties. Centrally located in historic downtown Milford and within walking distance of the train station, students arrive by train, car or bus, seeking the same rigorous preparation for college as the more than 6,000 alumnae who have passed through Lauralton’s halls for over 100 years. Lauralton Hall encourages all interested young women in grades six, seven, and eight as well as transfer students to consider the Lauralton advantage for their high school years. Students are welcome to spend a day at the school visiting classes and meeting faculty and students. For more information, please contact the Admissions Office at (203) 877-2786, Ext. 144. 200 High Street Milford, CT. www.laureltonhall.org. LAURALTON HALL PRESENTS STUDENT FALL MUSICAL PRODUCTION OF “ANNIE” Lauralton Hall is pleased to present a student fall musical production of “Annie.” Some of the principal cast members include: Dominique Bonessi,’11 of Milford as Miss Hannigan; Victoria Conaway,’12 of Trumbull as Grace; Jeff Sargent of Trumbull as Warbucks; Briana Archer,’12 of West Redding as Duffy; Rajane Brown,’13 of Bridgeport as Pepper; Andrea Castillo,’13 of Monroe as Molly; Brenna Donahue,’14 of Trumbull as July; Maggie Mellott,’11 of Norwalk as Annie; Amy Patterson,’12 of Bridgeport as Kate; Saray Yoney,’13 of Easton as Tessie; Emma Linsenmeyer,’12 of Fairfield as Ronnie; Abbey Maloney, ’13 of Fairfield as Connie; and Carolyn Savoia, ’13 of Ridgefield as Bonnie. The student production of “Annie” will take place from Friday, Oct. 22 through Sunday, Oct. 24 in the Parsons Complex Auditorium, 70 West River St., Milford. For more information or to order tickets, call (203) 877-2786.

INDEPENDENT SCHOOL GUIDE Wooster School Danbury, CT What do you look for in a school? Challenging academics? Competitive sports? Innovative arts? Dedicated teachers? Small classes? The latest technology? A beautiful campus? These are important qualities of a fine school, and Wooster is one of the finest. Since 1926, Wooster School has provided a premier educational experience in Northern Fairfield and Westchester counties. But a first-rate education is more than just the sum of its parts: Maybe what you’re really looking for is the best place for your child to grow up! Located on the Ridgefield/Danbury border, their scenic campus of over 100 acres provides a safe and peaceful environment that offers a variety of habitats for experimentation, direct study, and outdoor fun. Central to its educational mission, Wooster has maintained a longstanding commitment to diversity in its student body, staff, faculty,

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and Board of Trustees. They cultivate the intellectual, creative, athletic, spiritual, and ethical development of their students – for their benefit and for the good of the world. Lower School (Pre-K to 5) emphasizes the joy of learning, integrating language arts with reasoning to create lifelong readers, writers, and problem solvers. A science lab, a foreign language initiative, computer skills, thematic units, varied athletics and recreational facilities, and a myriad of innovative events and programs are just some of their unique features. Middle School (6 to 8) offers a challenging curriculum taught in small groups by dedicated teachers. Students work with their advisors to navigate through the waters of early adolescence, while preparing to become autonomous learners. They feature classes in Latin, French, and Spanish; math classes grouped by ability; hands-on science; required geography; field trips integral to the curriculum; studio art, sculpture, and photography; private music lessons; and technologyinfused learning. Athletes may try out for the 32 Upper School teams. Upper School (9 to 12) provides an outstanding college preparatory curriculum within the context of a strong liberal arts tradition. Academic excellence is promoted through independent study, colloquia, honors, and Advanced Placement courses. Sophomores are eligible for a unique Year Abroad Program in France or Spain; all seniors participate in Senior Independent Study; “self-help” is a community philosophy wherein children and adults act as stewards of the School; and 100 hours of community service are required. They have talented, professional artists and musicians who bring their passion and skills to their classrooms. Sports teams compete in a 45-member Association as well as in New England Tournaments. Experienced counselors support students in the college application process. They explore their intellectual aspirations, personal goals, and career plans. Recent graduates have attended Amherst, Bard, Barnard, Boston College, Brown, Cambridge (UK), CarnegieMellon, Cornell, NYU, Pratt, Princeton, RIT, RPI, Tufts, UMichigan, UPenn, Wesleyan, and Williams. An excellent education in a community that cares. 91 Miry Brook Rd., Danbury, CT. 203/830-3916 www.woosterschool.org.

Villa Maria School Stamford, CT The Villa Maria School is a co-educational day school for children with learning disabilities. In small classes with a 4:1 student-teacher ratio, Villa Maria supports and encourages children to learn, develop individual interests, and exceed the expectations of their parents, teachers and themselves. Villa Maria, known as the “Jewel on the Hill” in residential North Stamford, has been approved as a school for students with learning disabilities by the Connecticut State Department of Education since 1980. Additionally, Villa Maria is accredited by the Connecticut

ent who felt that she had discovered an invaluable and precious resource in Villa Maria. The precious resource, however, is the Villa Maria student, whose willingness to explore different ways to learn enables him to refine and polish the skills necessary to unlock his true potential. For more information about the school and its programs, please contact Mary Ann Tynan at 203/322-5886 x104 or mtynan@villamariaedu.org.Villa Maria School: 161 Sky Meadow Drive, Stamford, CT. Villamariaedu.org; 203/322-5886.

THE FAIRCHESTER LEAGUE The Fairchester League is a consortium of independent schools located geographically within Westchester County, New York and Fairfield County, Connecticut. Admission Directors at these schools meet regularly to establish consistent practices and procedures designed to support applicant families in the admission process. Specifically, these schools establish: • common Admission Procedures • common required academic screening and testing assessments, locations, and schedules • common admission notification and reply dates. Member Schools represent a complete range of opportunities for students in early education through grade 12. Fairchester Schools are accredited with the CAIS (Connecticut Association of Independent Schools) and the NYSAIS (New York State Association of Independent Schools). The Fairchester Admission Directors adhere to the Principles of Good Practice established by the National Association of Independent Schools (NAIS). www.FairchesterIndependentSchools.org.

Association of Independent Schools. Attracted by the prospect of an individualized curriculum in a calm, accepting environment, students come to them from all across Fairfield County and Westchester County in New York, some from as far away as New York City. Their mission is to develop the full potential of students who are learning disabled with a focus on academic achievement and self-advocacy. “We do this by providing an education that will help children who learn differently acquire knowledge, develop skills, and increase the selfacceptance and self-esteem necessary to become responsible adults and by advocating for and promoting understanding of learning disabilities. Our ultimate goal is to facilitate a student’s return to an independent or public school armed with the tools and skills necessary to continue their education in a mainstream setting. Most of our alumni have gone on to achieve college degrees or higher levels of education.” Villa Maria stands apart from traditional schools in very distinct ways. First and foremost, they maintain a 4:1 teacher-student ratio in their classrooms, and all of their classroom teachers are certified in Special Education. Secondly, a heavy emphasis is placed on positive social interaction and development. Third, each student’s curriculum is developed based on his/her individual needs. In addition, Villa Maria hosts many enrichment programs throughout the year, such as children’s author visits and special performances. Furthermore, Villa Maria also holds seminars throughout the year for parents of special-needs children to provide information and updates on the latest developments in special education. Villa Maria was first given the nickname “Jewel on the Hill” by a par-

Fairchester Admissions Fair Fairchester Independent Schools Saturday, September 25, 2010: 10:00 am to noon. SUNY Purchase, The Performing Arts Center, 733 Anderson Hill Road, Purchase, NY.

MEMBER SCHOOLS Brunswick School 100 Maher Avenue Greenwich, CT 06830 The Children’s School 12 Gary Road Stamford, CT 06903 Connecticut Friends School 317 New Canaan Road Wilton, CT 06897 Convent of the Sacred Heart 1177 King Street Greenwich, CT 06831 Eagle Hill Greenwich 45 Glenville Road Greenwich, CT 06831 Eagle Hill Southport Main Street Southport, CT 06490 Fairfield Country Day School 2970 Bronson Road Fairfield, CT 06430 Fairfield College Preparatory School 1073 North Benson Road Fairfield, CT 06824

French-American School of New York 145 New Street Mamaroneck, NY 10543 Greenwich Academy 200 North Maple Avenue Greenwich, CT 06830 Greenwich Catholic 471 North Street Greenwich, CT 06830 Greenwich Country Day School P.O. Box 623 Greenwich, CT 06836-0623 Greens Farms Academy P.O. Box 998 35 Beachside Avenue Greens Farms, CT 06838-0998 Hackley School 293 Benedict Avenue Tarrytown, NY 10591

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INDEPENDENT SCHOOL GUIDE faculty house parents. Students living with host families are able to experience life in a home with siblings who are, in most cases, Ross students themselves. Hosted students are encouraged to attend all boarding house activities and excursions as well. Ultimately, the boarding program at Ross exposes day students to their peers from across the globe and around the corner, while providing boarders with a home away from home. “Being a boarder as opposed to a day student is a very unique experience. I feel that it creates a sense of independence that I would not have necessarily developed living at home,” says Fara. “I also believe that it creates longlasting bonds between people who would not necessarily have formed strong friendships unless under these circumstances.” FACTS ABOUT ROSS SCHOOL • Ross School is accredited by the Middle States Association (MSA), with an International Credential; it is a member of the National Association of Independent Schools (NAIS) and The Association of Boarding Schools (TABS). • Boarders eat breakfast, lunch and dinner in the Ross Café. The Café uses regional, organic, seasonal and sustainable foods and serves a variety of fresh, healthy and flavorful meals each day. • Ross High School students can take international trips as part of Winter Intersession. Students and teachers work intensively on group and individual projects for three weeks, including service projects, either home or abroad. • Ross School’s state-of-the-art athletic facilities feature two gymnasiums, a dance and martial arts studio, four multi-sport fields that can be configured for soccer, lacrosse and baseball, six indoor/outdoor Har-tru tennis courts, an outdoor basketball court, and a Fieldhouse. • The school has excellent college placements, including Bates, Bowdoin, Brown, Columbia, Duke, Georgetown, Middlebury, Princeton, Tufts, University of Chicago, University of Southern California, University of Pennsylvania, Vanderbilt, Vassar, Wesleyan and Yale. Since 2001, 418 students have received 1637 acceptances at over 495 colleges and universities both in the US and internationally. • The 49 members of the class of 2010 had 157 acceptances at 116 different colleges. They received 30 merit scholarships and financial awards totaling over $2 million. Nine students were accepted to their first choice college in the early decision round. The Ross School boarding blog features a review of weekend activities as well as upcoming events, photos, and changes in school schedule or travel alerts. Visit www.ross.org/boardingnews. For additional information or to schedule a visit, contact the Admissions Office at 631/907-5400 or admissions@ross.org. Ross School, 18 Goodfriend Drive, East Hampton, NY. www.ross.org.

Day & Boarding Schools The Ross School A Global Education, Right Around the Corner East Hampton, NY Classrooms filled with active learners. Electives that take place on the beach, in the woods or on a farm. A global curriculum that offers a chance to travel the world. This may sound like a utopian vision of education, but it is alive and well at Ross School. Serving students in pre-nursery through grade 12, Ross School is located in the Hamptons, just two hours from New York City and Connecticut. The Upper School is nestled in the woods in East Hampton while the Lower School is surrounded by farmland in Bridgehampton. This private institution also boasts an innovative and thriving boarding program for students in grades 7–12. Entering its third year, the program has more than doubled its enrollment, starting with five students and growing to include 85 boarders, or 30% of the High School. A major draw is the school’s dynamic learning environment. Cultural history is at the core of its global curriculum, weaving together math, science, language arts, visual arts, performing arts, media studies, technology and physical education/wellness. Students are provided with a 21st century skills set and are encouraged to become environmental stewards and compassionate citizens, following the school’s motto, “Know Thyself in Order to Serve.” With an education that focuses on cultures and peoples around the world, it is only fitting to have a student body that represents all corners of the globe. The current student body represents Brazil, China, Colombia, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, Korea and the United States, including students from New York City and Texas. Fara Kaner has been attending Ross School for the last four years, first as a day student and now as a boarder. Originally from New York City, she attended the United Nations International School before coming to Ross. “The best thing about Ross would have to be the innovative nature of the curriculum and the warm environment the classes create, to make learning enjoyable,” she says. Boarding students follow the same integrated curriculum as day students and are expected to maintain strong academic standing. A support network of house parents, faculty and the Director of Residential Life offer boarding students assistance at every turn. There are two options for housing. Boarders can choose between living in a family-style home or with a host family. The boarding houses offer beautiful, spacious living environments and are supervised by Ross 2 4 2 W E S T O N M A G A Z I N E G R O U P. C O M

North Country School Lake Placid, NY “What’s the most important educational decision that you and your child will ever make? It’s not college, it’s not grad school and it’s not high school,” explains David Hochschartner, Head of North Country School. “Middle school is the determining factor in a child’s academic and personal well-being. It is where the action is. Our residential program is different from other boarding schools; we are small and personal.” Located just outside of Lake Placid, NY, North Country School is a co-ed day and boarding school for children in grades 4-9. It is a school with small classes on a unique 200-acre campus. The School, and during the summer, Camp Treetops, operate a working farm. Everywhere there are views of the Adirondack Mountains that surround pastures where horses, pigs, sheep and a sheepherding llama graze—not always at the same time. Children head to the barn before breakfast to care for the farm animals, or they help adult staff tend the large gardens. As it’s been for decades, students balance studies, chores and seasonal activities. Daily they participate in an extensive choice of outdoor offerings that may include horseback riding, hiking, games on the soccer fields, rock climbing or skiing on the ski hill. The challenging academic curriculum integrates the surrounding environment for meaningful classroom projects. For instance, math students conduct a cost analysis to determine if raising pork is cost efficient while another class collects data to measure monthly utility use. With more than 20 art offerings, the performing and fine arts program reflects the school’s longstanding belief in the importance of creativity and personal expression. Almost daily, children participate in studio arts, dance, theater and/or music classes. “It is critical for children to pursue projects with passionate intensity… Children do that here,” says David Hochschartner. Year round, the school and camp communities compost, recycle and practice green, sustainable living. “These ‘new’ trends have become all the rage, but we’ve been doing progressive educational farming since 1921,” notes farm manager, Mike Tholen.

Debbie Reamer, a parent from California says, “I have seen the benefits of an education at North Country School through the lives of my two youngest children. They have come home older and wiser in ways that will serve them well the rest of their lives. Actually, it seems hard to believe such a school exists in these times. But luckily for all of us, it does.” Another parent explains it this way, “It provides children with the opportunity to be kids again—the way it was years ago—but with

many of the advantages we enjoy today. It emphasizes the importance of family, community and the responsibilities that go with them. My oldest son has been involved with everything from ice climbing to constructing the set for the school play. NCS stands apart from most boarding schools in their commitment to arts, activities and community responsibilities. What you learn in the classroom is only a small part of what NCS delivers. North Country is the complete package.” For further information, contact Christine LeFevre, Admissions Director: admissions@northcountryschool.org; (518) 523-9329 ext. 6000. 4382 Cascade Road, Lake Placid, NY. www.northcountryschool.org.

INDEPENDENT SCHOOL GUIDE The Knox School A Home by the Shore St. James, NY The Knox School was founded in 1904 in Briarcliff Manor, New York by Mary Alice Knox, the former principal of the Emma Willard School. After moves to Tarrytown and Cooperstown, in 1954 Knox settled on Long Island’s North Shore in the Village of Nissequogue in St. James—on 48 beautiful acres bordering Stony Brook Harbor. Originally an all-girls school, Knox became fully co-ed in the 1970’s, and currently serves both boarding and day students in grades 6 through Post Graduate. Knox has always been a close-knit community, with alumni and students alike referring to it as their “home by the shore.” They serve fewer than 200 young men and women and have a student to teacher ratio of 6:1, so every student has a voice. Here, young people can take that AP course, captain the team, become a student council officer, and earn a role in the play. And in such a warm and safe community, everything they do is geared toward helping individual students become exceptional scholars and people. Knox students thrive as they develop a strong sense of belonging to the community and become part of something bigger than themselves. It’s easy to do so with all of the varied and cherished traditions at

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Knox. Students love to ring the Victory Bell after athletic contests; each year the entire community, faculty and students, participate in a yearlong “Red Team vs. White Team” competition; and their Lantern Parade, annual all-school trips, and daily Morning Meetings become part of the fabric of life at Knox, leading always to a one of a kind shoreline graduation ceremony. Their academics include Advanced Placement offerings in every subject area, outstanding Visual and Performing Arts, a 5-level ESL program and a support program called BOOST for students who have mild learning differences or simply require additional support for test taking strategies and overall skill building. Their athletics include standards like soccer, basketball, volleyball, baseball and tennis, but they also have a nationally renowned Equestrian program, and they recently added a crew team. Clubs and activities abound, keeping their students engaged in meaningful endeavors not only on campus but all over the country and abroad as well. A rigorous college preparatory program in a family style setting; proximity to the wonders of the North Shore and the endless cultural opportunities of nearby New York City; a profoundly optimistic and dynamically diverse community—this is The Knox School. Contact admissions@knoxschool.org; 631/686-1600 ext.414. www.knoxschool.org. 541 Long Beach Road, St. James, NY

Darrow School Small Community, Big Opportunities New Lebanon, NY At Darrow, it’s not just what you learn, it’s what you live. Darrow’s innovative approach to education creates a dynamic learning environment inside the classroom and throughout the school community. Darrow is a collegepreparatory boarding and day school where students in grades 9–12 are motivated to reach their potential and become their best selves. Darrow’s low 4:1 student-teacher ratio, small classes, challenging hands-on curriculum, inspiring National Historic Landmark campus, and personalized attention encourage students to become critical thinkers, confident learners, and creative individuals. Darrow is a place for students to stretch themselves and reach new horizons. At Darrow, respect for different cultural backgrounds, experiences, learning styles, and interests is emphasized. All students have the opportunity to assume leadership roles, whether on the playing field, in the classroom, or in the dorms. Darrow students also participate in Handsto-Work, a community-service program based on the Shaker motto “Hands to work; hearts to God” that allows them to learn about the benefits of purposeful effort and use of time, as they work alongside their peers, faculty, and staff to maintain our historic campus and reach out to the local community. Another long-standing tradition at Darrow, stewardship of the earth, also harks back to a Shaker legacy. Darrow students study sustainability across the curriculum, helping them to become not only responsible caretakers of their historic campus, but also knowledgeable decision makers and future leaders in global environmental issues. Darrow is the only secondary school in the United States with a Living Machine, an all-natural wastewater treatment facility and learning laboratory, and its Samson Environmental Center has been featured as an example of green building on the Northeast Sustainable Energy Association’s Green Building Open House for six consecutive years. Recently installed Swift wind turbines provide further testament to Darrow’s commitment to sustainability as they help to defray the costs and impact of their electrical usage and provide students with enhanced study options within the sustainability curriculum. Living within Darrow’s close-knit community makes it easy for students to learn about collaboration and teamwork. The combination of personalized feedback from highly accessible faculty and the

hands-on effort of each individual allows every student to clearly see that he or she makes a difference. Darrow students learn that success may not come on the first try, but can be achieved through persistence and reflection. They also learn that it’s okay to make mistakes— it’s part of the process of becoming a life-long scholar and a responsible citizen. Because of this approach to educating the entire individual both in and out of the classroom, Darrow students feel comfortable being themselves as they learn how to express who they are through academics, visual and performing arts, sports, and a variety of stimulating social activities. Whether a student is looking for new opportunities or a fresh start, Darrow School provides a welcoming environment in which all students can excel if they apply themselves conscientiously, and then graduate feeling prepared for the challenges of college and beyond. 110 Darrow Road, New Lebanon, NY. For more information about Darrow School, visit www.darrowschool.org; or call 518/794-6000.

INDEPENDENT SCHOOL GUIDE

Wilbraham & Monson Academy Wilbraham, MA Nestled in the foothills of the Lower Pioneer Valley of western Massachusetts, 205-year-old Wilbraham & Monson Academy is redefining high school education. They are a Grade 9-postgraduate day and boarding school with a full cadre of college preparatory classes that prepare students for the challenges of competitive colleges and universities. They have championship sports programs, an active residential life, and compelling opportunities for student artists, musicians, and actors. But their distinctive educational approach means that they have even more to offer – they engage their students with an understanding of the global economy and its incredible potential and unimaginable challenges. They prepare their students to be global leaders. As The Global School®, Wilbraham & Monson Academy has an historical foothold in bringing students together from around the world. The first U.S. school to admit Chinese students in 1848, it is part of their institutional culture to be connected to the rest of the world. The Academy now has students from 24 different countries and six continents. Their international alumni base includes government leaders, financial executives and entrepreneurs, and their children. This diverse student body offers their students a high school experience of multicultural understanding that yields lifelong friends and business contacts all over the globe. This global integration and networking is more valuable now than ever. Educationally, it provides a living context for understanding the rapidly evolving global economy, a mastery that they believe is critical to success in later life. That understanding is realized through their students’ experience of economics, finance, and entrepreneurship in their Center for Entrepreneurial & Global Studies (CEGS). The CEGS program is a captivating economic laboratory where students 2 4 6 W E S T O N M A G A Z I N E G R O U P. C O M

surpass the traditional prep school education and engage in entrepreneurial thinking, rigorous analysis, and experiential learning through innovative coursework, independent projects, and travel. One point of entry to the CEGS program is the Shenkman Trading Center, a virtual trading floor environment that offers state-of-the-art technology for students to experience global financial markets. The markets curriculum engages students with financial speakers and mentors, courses in the trading floor on economics and finance, and trips to international financial capitals. Through their extensive alumni and current family network around the globe, they design travel programs where students can learn firsthand about international markets and business while experiencing other cultures. Their students have visited the financial capitals of the U.S., Thailand, Korea, Taiwan, and Belgium. This year’s CEGS trip to China will be a powerful learning tool as students learn about business and finance in one of the world’s most dynamic economies. Entrepreneurial thinking and experiential learning are key to the CEGS learning approach. Students are taught to achieve innovative solutions by integrating their creativity, vision, analytical reasoning, and intellectual skills. Their cutting-edge Global Ecolearn Project® is a living case study, run in part by students, that develops our natural resources while training students in the global, sustainable use of management policy. The project blends business opportunities from harvesting a portion of the Academy’s heavily wooded real estate with real lessons in both entrepreneurship and management of environmental assets. Students may also travel to the Amazon on a trip that is a living example of a visionary economic strategy. On the Amazon trip, students have a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to visit remote tribal villages and sustainable-based research facilities and ranching operations where innovative economic approaches are utilized to preserve environmental resources in Brazil. At Wilbraham & Monson Academy, students partake in unique and innovative economic learning experiences that captivate the imagination and create a greater depth of understanding of our rapidly changing world. As we enter a millennium with connections never before imagined, Wilbraham & Monson Academy students, equipped with the tools they are taught and the imagination that we foster in them, will be able to meet the challenges ahead and reach their true potential. Contact the Office of Admission at 413/596-9108 or admission@WMA.us. 423 Main Street, Wilbraham, MA. 413/596-6811; www.WMA.us.

Darrow School

A College-Preparatory Boarding and Day School for Grades 9-12

Small Community. Big Opportunities. That’s Darrow. And there’s more… Challenging Academic Program – Real-world learning using a unique combination of classroom instruction and community involvement

Hands-to-Work/Community Service – A tradition that cultivates an appreciation for purposeful work and builds connection to the community

Individualized Approach– Inspiring Inclusive Athletic Opportunities – classroom environment and one-on-one Eight competitive team sports and several Tutorial Program offer strategic mentoring non-competitive sports, including skiing for academic success and snowboarding five days a week Commitment to Sustainability – Visual and Performing Arts – Robust Responsible stewardship of environmental art offerings, in-depth music curriculum, resources and environmental awareness and a dynamic theater program foster permeate the Darrow culture creativity and collaborative learning

Please join us for an Open House! Experience the Darrow School Community Attend a Darrow class, meet our dedicated faculty and enthusiastic students, enjoy lunch, and take a tour of our distinctive campus. Ask questions, hear the chorus sing, learn about Shaker history and so much more! You may register by sending an e-mail to admission@darrowschool.org or online at www.darrowschool.org/openhouse. If you are unable to attend an open house, we also welcome visits throughout the year. Call (877) 432-7769 to schedule a visit today!

110 Darrow Rd., New Lebanon, NY 518.794.6000 | admissions@darrowschool.org www.darrowschool.org Accredited by the Middle States Association of Colleges and Schools

Westover infinite choices

strong voices,

Westover School,

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Westover School is a rigorous college preparatory program for girls in grades 9 -12 located in Middlebury, Connecticut. Our community includes students from 17 countries and 16 states. These bright young women enrich one another with their varied backgrounds, talents, interests, and ideas.

Come see for yourself! Our preview days are Monday, October 11th, & Monday, October 25th, from 9:30 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. Registration is required, so call now! Call 203-577-4521 or visit westoverschool.org

Open House Hou us ssee En Entrance tran ce Exam use Entran trance Oct. 3 | 1 - 3 pm pm

Oct. 16 or 23 | 8 - 11:3 11:30 0 am

Pre-register online at www.lauraltonhall.org â&#x20AC;&#x201D; $60 test fee Scholarships and financial aid available

MILFORD, CONNECTICUT

203.877.2786 | www.lauraltonhall.org

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artistic AA fine arts boarding boardinghigh highschool, school,offering offeringthe thehighest highestquality quality artistic training combined academics. training combined with withcomprehensive comprehensivecollege-preparatory college-preparatory academics. The Academy also The also offers offerspost-graduate post-graduateopportunities. opportunities.

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Boarding Schools Hampshire Country School Rindge, NH Hampshire Country School is a small boarding school designed for boys of high ability who want to please their teachers but whose impulsivity or idiosyncrasies keep getting in the way of their good intentions. It may be a good option for the boy who has managed elementary school because of supportive teachers and a comfortable structure but who is likely to struggle with the complex demands of a large middle school. The school offers a friendly environment, a good education,

a peaceful rural setting, and a wide variety of after-school and weekend activities. The best entering age is 8 to 11 years old. Students may remain into high school. The elementary education program, through 6th grade, is designed to strengthen skills and knowledge in reading, writing, math, science, and social studies while accommodating students who may be significantly advanced in some areas (perhaps, reading) and seriously deficient in others (perhaps, writing). The secondary program, begin-

ning with 7th grade, is more traditional. Students move from one subject teacher to another for courses in English, history, science, math, and a foreign language. A typical class has 3 to 5 students. School work is important at Hampshire Country School, but so is life after school and on weekends, when students have time for scheduled activities and also for spontaneous play. Boys who have been afraid of organized sports discover the fun of informal soccer or Wiffleball. Those who have been isolated find other students who share their interest in Legos, complex board games, or obscure bits of knowledge. Those who have been without friends in other places realize that the boys with whom they explore a stream, build a fort, and sled down â&#x20AC;&#x153;death-defyingâ&#x20AC;? hills are, in fact, their friends. All this happens because Hampshire Country School is a manageable world where life can be exciting but is not overwhelming. Both scholastic and behavioral expectations are high but with the realization that bright, sensitive, energetic children may become stubborn, move around too much, blurt out remarks they should not, or explode in unnecessary meltdowns. Hampshire Country School is not for the child who intentionally misbehaves and needs aggressively imposed limits, but it can be the place for a boy who gives in to his frustration and regrets it later. The school is also for boys who seem a bit different and have never before found a setting where they fit intellectually and socially. For the right boy, Hampshire Country School can be an ideal world and a place to discover abilities, develop a love for life, and build some of the happiest memories of growing up. Hampshire Country School is located at 28 Patey Circle, Rindge, NH. For more information, contact the admissions office at admissions@hampshirecountryschool.net or 603/899-3325; or visit www.hampshirecountryschool.org.

INDEPENDENT SCHOOL GUIDE St. Johnsbury Academy St. Johnsbury, VT St. Johnsbury Academy is unique among America’s boarding schools. Students from 52 communities in Vermont and New Hampshire, nearly half of the American states, and even more countries come together to form a remarkably diverse, yet cohesive, and supportive community. The curriculum of 220 courses includes 21 Advanced Placement offerings, 15 comprehensive technology-based programs, 40 offerings in the fine and performing arts, college level engineering, four levels of ESL, and six languages. Extra-curricular programs include 42 interscholastic athletic teams, 65 clubs and activities, 20 intramural sports, international exchange opportunities, and weekly regional travel. With an enrollment of 900 students (240 boarders), St. Johnsbury is able to combine the opportunities found only at the world’s largest and most selective boarding schools with the nurturing support and personal attention exclusive to the best small boarding schools. The quality of its programs has been recognized by the U.S. Department of Education, which named it one of the nation’s “exemplary schools.” The Academy’s mission focuses on character, inquiry, and community. Students are expected to be good citizens, to study hard, become independent lifelong learners, and to give back to their community. Each senior completes a Capstone project that will help to improve the quality of life for the school or another community. Located on Main Street in the town of St. Johnsbury, students are within easy walking distance of a variety of restaurants, theaters, Catamount Arts, the St. Johnsbury Athenaeum, and the Fairbanks Museum and Planetarium. Skiing and some of the best mountain biking trails in the country are less than one-half hour away. National Geographic Adventure Magazine named St. Johnsbury America’s #1 small town for outdoor adventure! Everyone enjoys the region’s natural beauty and the safety of living in Vermont. Each student benefits from small classes (average 12), a devoted faculty, and a talented and committed peer group. The unique 2 5 4 W E S T O N M A G A Z I N E G R O U P. C O M

block schedule provides great flexibility and access to the school’s extensive elective offerings while ensuring each student completes a strong core curriculum. The Learning Center provides opportunities for both academic assistance and enrichment, while a strong advisor program, and resident faculty mentor ensures that each student takes full advantage of all the opportunities, challenges, and support the Academy affords.

The school is committed to working with students of varied abilities and offers academic classes at four levels of instruction in order to meet the needs of each student. The program is especially attractive to students who benefit from academic and personal support, but also seek a school with unlimited opportunities. St. Johnsbury is one of just twelve schools in New England to offer mathematics courses beyond the Advanced Placement program. Last year, nearly 30 percent of the senior class scored over 600 on the SAT Reading test, while almost 40 percent scored above 600 on SAT math. This combination of outstanding faculty, facilities, diversity, and support makes the Academy experience unique. If you are seeking a school where every student is encouraged to Dream Big — this is the one! 1000 Main Street, St. Johnsbury, Vermont. 802/751-2130; admissions@stjacademy.org; www.stjohnsburyacademy.org.

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Emma Stories: Shibani “My Emma story is about confidence and self-improvement.”

“Emma has made me a more confident person… not just in academics but in sports, social life, extra-curricular activities—all aspects of my life. “I have learned to communicate better… to be a leader in the community… to balance my activities… skills for college and beyond. “Emma feels like home.” An Amazing Girl. Shibani helps others as a leader of PHILA, a student-run philanthropic organization assisting nonprofits from Troy to Mumbai.

www.emmawillard.org 2 8 5 P AW L I N G A V E N U E , T R O Y, N Y 1 2 1 8 0 5 1 8 . 8 3 3 . 1 3 2 0

Apply now:

A Waldorf high school for

grades 9, 10, 11

boarding and day students

Contact Pat Meissner Director of Admissions 603 654-2391 ext. 109 222 Isaac Frye Highway Wilton, NH 03086

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Make other resumés really jealous Earn a prestigious degree from Drexel University anytime, anywhere. Drexel University Online offers over 90 programs with 24/7 online convenience. Ranked as one of “America’s BEST Colleges 2010” by U.S.News & World Report, Drexel has programs in areas such as: • • •

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DrexelOnline.com Your Classroom. Anywhere™

info@drexel.com | 877-215-0009 Drexel University Online • One Drexel Plaza • 3001 Market St., Suite 300 • Philadelphia, PA 19104

The summer before her senior year as a criminal justice major at Rutgers, Karina Martinez of Lyndhurst, New Jersey, studied child labor laws in Ghana as part of an effort to raise awareness about human rights.

Some universities prepare you for the real world.

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admissions.rutgers.edu/isg

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International Academy

Par tia l schola rships availab le. Apply b efore May 31 .

EF New York Campus

High aspirations call for a global education EF International Academy New York is a private boarding school with a global focus. It offers rigorous academic programs, including the world-renowned International Baccalaureate Diploma curriculum, and its campus is home to students from around the world. Nurturing academic excellence • Pursue the International Baccalaureate Diploma • Prepare for top colleges and universities • Master skills valued in the global marketplace • Governed by EF Education First, a worldwide leader in international education An international experience • Students from over 30 different nations • Experienced faculty members have lived and worked around the world. • Campuses in New York, Oxford and Torbay

Safe and secure campus • Scenic campus in Tarrytown, New York, is 40 minutes by train from Manhattan • Private grounds on Hudson River feature historic buildings and modern facilities • Campus includes science labs, theaters, library, interactive classrooms and full boarding accommodations • Comprehensive sports facilities include fitness center, pool, sports fields, tennis courts and more To request a brochure, e-mail iaadmissionsny@ef.com

| New York | Torbay | Oxford | EF International Academy, 100 Marymount Avenue, Butler Hall, Tarrytown, NY 10591 (914) 597-7241, iaadmissionsny@ef.com

We chose ridgefield academy Barbara and Stefan Chopin, Weston “From the first moment, we realized RA’s teaching staff are there because they are passionate about educating students. At RA the bar is set higher in terms of curriculum content and quality of students’ output. We are so happy with RA and how it is stretching our daughter that we have enrolled her younger sister for next year.”

Building a strong foundation 20 months through Grade 8 To find out how RA can be the right choice for you contact us at (203) 894.1800 or visit our website www.ridgefieldacademy.org.

Wilbraham & monson academy a Global experience • The Center for Entrepreneurial & Global Studies • The Mark R. Shenkman interactive trading center • Hands-on entrepreneurial experience through The Global EcoLearn Project® • The advancement of financial intelligence • An extensive travel program to Asia, South America, and Europe • A full AP curriculum • Championship athletics • A fine & performing arts program including theatre, music, fine arts, and dance • College counseling program beginning in sophomore year Founded in 1804, Wilbraham & Monson Academy is a boarding school of 380 students in grades 9-postgraduate. The Academy is dedicated to preparing students for successful competitive college admission and facing the challenge of global leadership.

Please Contact the Office of Admission at 413.596.9108 or admission@WMA.us 423 Main Street, Wilbraham, MA 01095

SHPâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Biking Adventures LIVE BEYOND THE MOMENT Nothing strikes fear in the hearts of parents like the thought of their teens spending the summer on the sofa watching reruns of Scary Movie. As the summer months approach and the 11th hour arrives, the decision to do something of value is more critical than ever before: Like sending your teen to cycle through the country roads of New England or on the cobblestone streets of Amsterdam. Help your teen Live Beyond the Moment and send them on a SHP Biking Adventure, where they can check out the Tour de France when biking from Amsterdam to Paris, jump in a Vermont lake or bike across the Golden Gate Bridge. They can even bike cross-country!

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E V E RY S T U D E N T C A N

LEARN TO BE EXCEPTIONAL

KNOX SCHOOL OPEN HOUSE NOVEMBER 6 • 10am - Noon

At The Knox School, everything we do is geared to helping young people become exceptional in the classroom, on the playingfields, and in developing character. We have engaging teachers, small class sizes, and students that care as much about good values as they do about strong academic achievement. At Knox, all our students learn to be exceptional. Contact us at 631-686-1600 or online at www.knoxschool.org.

THE KNOX SCHOOL LE A R N T O B E E X C E P T I O N A L

541 Long Beach Rd. St. James, NY 11780 • A Coeducational Independent Boarding and Day School for Grades Six-Post Graduate

Hampshire Country School Rindge, New Hampshire

A small, friendly boarding school for 25 boys. Best entering age: 8 to 11 years old. Students may remain into high school. For the high-ability boy who needs a good education, a manageable world, and an unusual amount of adult attention.

admissions@hampshirecountryschool.net www.hampshirecountryschool.org 603-899-3325

Open House 1:00pm Friday, November 5, 2010 • Creative, hands-on, interdisciplinary K-8 grade program • Rich, varied arts and culture (dance, theater, drumming, music, art) • Inclusive Quaker values: simplicity, peace, integrity, community, equality and stewardship of the earth • Main campus on five wooded acres; a second, 15-acre campus used as a “living” classroom • Outstanding faculty with advanced degrees and conflict resolution training • Outdoor education and leadership program 317 New Canaan Rd / Wilton, CT 203-762-9860 www.ctfriendsschool.org

{COMMUNITY.ROOM} ECO-PARENTING By Krista Richards Mann I WAS WASTEFUL when I was married. After parties, I dumped platters of organic crudités into the garbage, rather than composting or better yet, eating. Diet Coke cans made up a good portion of our garbage. I ran the Swedish washer and dryer constantly and discarded Happy Meal toys along with the kids’ preschool drawings and soiled paper towels. My post-divorce poverty alerted me to my previous excesses. Or perhaps it was Al Gore and global warming or the novelty of organic shampoo; I found comfort in consuming less and less. In the first house I rented, I planted a pumpkin patch and rejected the monoculture or a suburban lawn. I took the kids hiking, as I couldn’t afford amusement parks and movies as their father could. And suddenly it became my “thing” to be green. It wasn’t only that I couldn’t afford to discard Ziploc bags; I didn’t want them to accumulate in landfills for centuries. We ate less meat and started an organic garden plot in the local community garden. I began to write a column for the local news on living a simple and green lifestyle. Never mind that I could afford no other. Meanwhile, Ex decides to start a green building consulting firm. He joins the green energy task force and also begins to write a column in the small town’s other local newspaper. Some weeks, we write about the same topic. We send the kids clothes back and forth in re-usable shopping bags. We are both scheduled to attend meetings on the second Tuesday of the month for the Green Village Initiative. Though, to be honest, I try to arrive a bit late and check for his car in the parking lot before walking in. If he’s there and I’m feeling low, I tend to have a cupcake instead. If I’m angry with him or want to show off, I sit up tall and make clever comments. Most often, I sit in the back and imagine I am somewhere else and that I have my own life where old marriages could be forgotten. He has a girlfriend. But he says they are just friends and insists that the kids and I refer to her as his “best friend.” They’ve spent every weekend together for several years. She helps him with his green business and I’ve done my best to know as little about her as possible. She seems perfectly nice, the kids have no complaints, but I refuse to sit next to them at school plays or birthday parties. He hides things. He’s always had secrets, but now it seems he goes to more effort to conceal. When the kids were showing me their new sleds last winter they also revealed a Costco-sized bundle of Bounty paper towels, but it’s covered with an old tarp. He has bleach in there too, which doesn’t surprise me. He’s terrified of germs and I can’t imagine a gentle soap wipe-down would satisfy. He gave up beef after the British Mad Cow scare and as far as I know hasn’t had a burger since. Yet, he consumes pork and chicken. I want to be better than he is. There is something in me that hates competing with him and yet needs to win. I send the kids’ snacks to

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school in re-usable containers. They drink their water out of aluminum bottles. I bake my own whole grain bread. He gets a new hybrid Prius. I still have the SUV we bought when our daughter was born and so I ride my bicycle around town with the dog in the basket and my hair is sweaty and flat from the helmet. My butt doesn’t look good from behind. A vein runs down the outside of my left leg with a turquoise knot aside my knee. I struggle on hills and try to look straight ahead so that passersby don’t pity. We pick strawberries and make them into jam on the same weekend. He has the kids that weekend. We both give it to teachers at Christmas, not realizing. He is a member of River Keepers; I am a Friend of the Sound. He speaks at conferences about indoor air quality. I dry my laundry on a line. When the Green Village Initiative has a fund-raiser gala, neither of us goes. Though we both have tickets. He bought two. He is comfortable at my house, coming in when he drops off or picks up the kids. I am careful to put away the Cascade. It goes behind the wastebasket under the kitchen sink. I’ve tried all kinds of eco-friendly dishwasher detergents but none works well enough and so I use half as much Cascade. I’ve been nervous purchasing it, hoping not to run into anyone I know at the market. They print my picture next to my column. What if I am recognized? I realize it’s unlikely because I’ve gained a dozen pounds since the headshot and had (of course) brushed my hair that day. He gets his produce from a CSA farm. Last year the tomato crop failed and my own garden tomatoes escaped the blight. I didn’t do anything special to them but for some reason they flourished and my August glut brought me smug pleasure. His shoes are made from recycled materials; the soles are old tires. Mine are just old. I buy toothbrushes made from reclaimed plastic. He has a rechargeable electric lawn mower, mine is a rotary push mower. We both wear organic cotton and drink shade-grown coffee. He brings his used pizza box to the restaurant instead of having them waste another. Rattling around in the back of my car is a bag of number five yogurt containers that I mean to take to Whole Foods for recycling. He replaced his carpet after a small flood with flooring made from recycled plastic bottles. I painted my kitchen in zero VOC paint. It rains on my way home. I am wet and rashy. Mud has streaked my back. I can see it on the sides of my arms. When the wind blows, I shiver. It was warm an hour ago. My thighs hurt. A plastic bag that has been used a dozen times in the basket protects my library books. Cars splash as they drive by. No one stops. The bike slips in a sandy gutter and I fall. I am not hurt. I’m angry. Cars make a wide path around me, crossing the centerlines of Compo Road and staring. Laughing? One is a black Prius and my heart races and I try to straighten my back with dignity, assuming an elegant posture. It’s not him. I am safe. He hasn’t seen me lose. ❉ Krista Richards Mann lives and writes in Westport, Connecticut with two children and a dog.