Category Archives: Beach

Elvira’s Gets What It Deserves

Alert “06880″ reader Tom Feeley was in Elvira’s yesterday.

He’s a regular at the Old Mill deli/grocery store/community center.

So are plenty of other Westporters.

But — no matter how often we get our coffee, pizza, a salad or wrap at a regular place — how many of us think to send it a Christmas card?

Plenty, apparently.

This season, Elvira’s is exhibiting dozens of cards from grateful customers.

They even crowd out the school photos of local kids that Niki, Stacy, Nick, Harry and the crew proudly display on the front counter.

Elvira’s is that kind of place.

So — as they say back in Elvira’s homeland — Καλά Χριστούγεννα!

Sunday In Elvira’s With Joe

You never know who you’ll run into in Westport.  I’ve seen Diana Ross, Brian Williams and Manute Bol, to name 3 random famous folks.

Last Sunday at Elvira’s, Sef Brody saw Joe Lieberman.

The 1990 Staples graduate did more than just say, “Good morning, Senator.”  Here’s his story, direct from his Tumblr, “Brody Post.”

He was wearing a baseball cap in front of the deli counter, standing with his wife and 2 friends, wondering out loud what kind of egg sandwich to order.  I had just rolled out of bed but there was no way I could miss that face.

Half-hidden under my green hoodie, I told the former vice president-elect that they make delicious spinach and feta at this place.  He wanted to make sure it was vegetarian.

He asked me my name and what I did. We talked about our shared Hebrew name and its origins.  He told me a related story about his wife.  I told him I grew up in the neighborhood and that I got my first job in this same deli when I was 15, they put me to work integrating the various sections of The New York Times in the back garage before dawn on weekends, that now I’m a clinical psychologist living in Paris.

He said that sounded pretty great, how’d I manage that?  Not wanting to get into it, I said, “It seems you’re not doing too bad yourself.”  He introduced me to his Westport friends.  For a man who I’ve come to see as a total disgrace, whose politics I detest, I found this guy very charming in person.  I imagine he must share this trait with most successful politicians.

Joe Lieberman, the senior senator from Connecticut.

Itching to talk politics, after we both ordered I started asking him questions.  I shared my concern with him that the next financial crisis will be worse than the last one, asking him how realistic our chances were to break up the mega-banks before it’s too late.  He said that funnily enough someone just asked him the same question— as if “too big to fail” was a new concept— and went on to blame Republicans for blocking reform.

I said, mistakenly, “You’re caucusing with them now, right?” He looked down and away sheepishly, replied that he’s still caucusing with the Democrats.  I responded, “But you can understand why I could make that mistake, right? Everybody’s like, ‘What happened to Lieberman?’”

Wondering about the best way to broach US-Israeli injustices towards Palestinians, a topic of deep personal concern to me and one in which he holds unique power, I asked the chairman of the US Senate Committee on Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs another crucial question:  “Don’t you wonder whether we’re endangering both US and Israeli security by lending full support to Israeli aggressions?”

He responded that “it’s not a blank check” we’re giving Israel.  He claimed that Israel has so few discussion partners in the region that they’ve become “paranoid”— he puffed his chest out and balled his fists to demonstrate what he meant.

When I bemoaned the lack of real public debate on such a serious issue in the US compared to the relatively vibrant debate happening in Israel, he corrected me that there’s actually plenty of debate happening in the US — “just not in public.”

Sef Brody, the clinical psychologist from Paris.

I very much wanted that conversation to continue but he eluded further clarification, and left to join his wife and friends at the picnic tables outside.  I stood there thinking that despite the mysteriousness of that last response, it was very revealing about how he views American democracy, about how he understands the way it’s supposed to work.

What would you say or do, given a surprise opportunity to face a contemptible politician mano-a-mano?  Throw your shoe?  Spit in his general direction?  Curse him out?

It might have felt good to let out some real anger, to at least remind Lieberman of his deep betrayal of Connecticut voters, or about how profoundly he has shamed himself and the United States.  I might have liked also to ask him which country he wants to invade next.  Or about how many civilian deaths he thinks he might be personally responsible for across the Middle East and Central Asia.

I instead asked myself, What approach is mostly likely to have a desirable effect? Looking into the sympathetic eyes of a man who has successfully mastered an enormous, complex and corrupt political system, I found myself taking the polite-but-critical tack.

Leaving the store, still groggy and hooded, I headed toward Compo Hill Road, coffee and egg sandwiches in hand.  He waved goodbye, and called out to me by name.  I swung around past his table, put my hand on his shoulder and reminded him of one short-term need that might possibly get through.  “Break up the mega-banks, Joe.”

He turned and called out, smiling:  “That’s the message of the day.”  

“Ship Of Dan” Sails On

Though town officials “strongly urged” that trick-or-treating be postponed until Saturday, November 5 — citing downed wires, branches and other safety hazards from the weekend storm — many parents and kids are disregarding the message.

There’s plenty of action already at always-crowded Compo Beach, where homes are close together and the candy-to-walking ratio is great.

This neighborhood house — on Danbury Avenue — is all decked out for Halloween:

I was very impressed that the home houseboat owners had named their decorative creation after me.

Until I learned that “Dan” is that guy’s name too.

Boo (hoo)!

Remembering Ralph Steinman

It was a riveting story:  Ralph Steinman won this year’s Nobel Prize for Medicine.  The Westport scientist was honored for discoveries about the immune system that led to new treatments for, and prevention of, cancer and infectious diseases.

Steinman used his discoveries to treat himself for pancreatic cancer.  But he lost his 4-year battle on September 30 — 3 days before he was announced as the Nobel winner.

Posthumous Nobels are not allowed.  But the Foundation determined this one had been awarded in good faith.  The honor stood.

Ralph Steinman, Nobel winner -- and Westporter.

Yes, an intriguing — probably even made-for-TV movie — story.  But in the swirl of publicity around Dr. Steinman the Nobel awardee, little was said about Ralph Steinman the husband, father and longtime resident.

Last weekend his twin daughters, Lesley and Alexis, talked about their dad.

He’d worked at Rockefeller since 1971, but he and his wife Claudia wanted to raise their family outside New York City.  They moved first to Sleepy Hollow, but the schools weren’t good enough.  Firm believers in public education, they heard about Westport from friends, investigated, and were sold — in large part because of the schools.

“It was the best of both worlds,” Lesley says.  “He loved the beach, he could commute to New York, and we could get a great education.”

The Steinmans moved here in 1983:  2nd-graders Lesley and Alexis, and their 5th-grade brother Adam.

Ralph Steinman with his 3 young kids, at their North Avenue home.

“Dad worked all the time,” Alexis says.  “He’d take stacks of journals to the beach.  Around the house he gardened, chopped firewood and barbecued.  He relished being ‘in the country,’ but his life was work.”

A world renowned scientist does plenty of traveling.  “He was away an insane amount,” Lesley says.  “There were meetings all over the planet.  But he never got to see any of the places.”

He spent years trying to convince skeptics that his dendritic cell immunology work had merit.

His world, Alexis says, “wasn’t Westport.  It was the scientific community.  That’s why he chilled out whenever he got back here.”

Steinman relished taking his children to to his Rockefeller lab.  “There were pipettes, centrifuges, and mice that he would touch and make them pee.  It was very cool,” Lesley laughs.

Steinman said he had no hobbies — though he skied and played tennis — and “he told all the kids we were way too multi-faceted to go into science,” Alexis says.  She and her sister both live on the West Coast, and are involved in artistic endeavors.  Adam has a law degree from Yale.

“It’s interesting:  Dad taught us to be good scientists without explicitly couching it as ‘science,’” Lesley says.

“He taught us to be critical thinkers, to make decisions based on sound data, to collaborate and not compete, and to work hard.  He never pressured us to go into the natural sciences, but he always encouraged us to be good scientists.”

When Steinman was diagnosed with cancer in 2007, he convinced doctors to harvest his dendritic cells, so he could grow his own and do his own therapy.  “They don’t let many people take their own tumors out of the hospital and work on them,” Lesley notes.

“Luckily he had success.  That, and chemotherapy, helped him live as long as he did.”

The Steinman family, in a recent photo.

Also in 2007 Steinman won the Lasker Award — the “American Nobel.”  He knew that might lead to a Nobel — which he hoped to get, because it would generate more support for his research — but when he did not win it in 2008 or 2009, Lesley says, “he just went back to work.”

He died this year without learning he’d won the Nobel Prize — though, Lesley says, “we like to think he knows he got it.”

In the days following his death, they’ve heard from hundreds of Steinman’s colleagues and former students.  As often happens, his wife and children have learned a lot they never knew.

“He was a matchmaker in the lab!” Alexis says with surprise.  “We found out about all these marriages he helped arrange, and all the kids that resulted.”

“We got a lot of emails from renowned scientists who came through his lab,” Lesley says.  “They talked about how inspired they were by him.  They said they carry his excitement with them, and now they use his lessons with their own students.”

His children also discovered “how proud he was of us,” says Alexis.  “I work in costumes in L.A.  I never knew he was so impressed with Lesley and my creativity, and that he knew how hard we work.”

At the same time, Alexis adds, “We told his colleagues and students how much he thought of them, because he always told us.  But they didn’t know.  I think that was how he kept all of us from being spoiled.”

Claudia and Ralph Steinman

While Steinman was a “father” to so many scientists — and was often away from home — Claudia did most of the child-rearing (while pursuing a full-time career in real estate).

“They complemented each other so well,” Lesley says.  “They were very different, but very much in love.  They were always so affectionate with each other.

“And he always said he would not have been as successful without her love and support.”

Doggin’ It

As anyone everyone who was down at the beach this past weekend can attest, the scene was straight out of midsummer.

That’s what 85-degree weather, brilliant sunshine and a holiday will do.

Only one things was different:  dogs.

An alert “06880″ reader emailed to say how delightful the scene was — except for so many Spots, Fidos and Rovers “peeing and pooping” (to use the technical terms).

Another equally alert reader wrote:

After a glorious weekend, I wonder if you can provide some background as to how October 1 became the “let everyone enjoy Compo — no permits necessary” date.

While I’m all for letting everyone enjoy our gorgeous beach, why doesn’t the town doesn’t follow Greenwich and have a November 1 date so that we locals can enjoy the beach with our Westport neighbors a little longer…  especially on magical weekends like we just had.

Dogs could still come as of Oct 1 — but only Westport resident dogs!

I’m guessing that the October 1 date for all dogs was selected semi-arbitrarily, and semi-because no one expects huge crowds during leaf-peeping season.

But this is a community blog.  Click “Comments” to weigh in on the date, the regulations, and anything else dog poop-and-pee related.

Pre- or post- peeing and pooping at Compo Beach.

Fred Cantor’s Fresh Meadows

Fred Cantor does not see the glass as half empty or half full.  In his eyes, it always overflows.

Fred finds joy wherever he lives.  A longtime Manhattan resident, he loves the city.

Fred Cantor, in his Fresh Meadows hat.

In his pre-teen years — the 1950s and early ’60s — he lived in Fresh Meadows.  That pocket of northeastern Queens — centered on a housing development built for World War II veterans, which Lewis Mumford described in the New Yorker as “perhaps the most positive and exhilarating example of large-scale community planning in this country” — is the focus of Fred’s new book.

He and co-author Debra Davidson have chronicled the history of their neighborhood in Fresh Meadows, a photo project that’s part of the “Images of America” series.

But this story is not about Queens or Manhattan.  It’s about Westport, and what Fred has learned growing up here, then returning to live full time.

(Full disclosure:  Fred is one of my oldest and best friends from high school.  He’s also a frequent commenter on “06880.”)

“I am fortunate to have grown up in 2 special hometowns,” Fred says.

“Each has given me an appreciation for the other that I might not otherwise have — especially regarding some things many people take for granted here in Westport.”

In Westport — where he moved in 1963 — Fred says that he immediately noticed “the beauty of the stone walls,” something notably missing from Fresh Meadows.  To this day, he still marvels at the sight.

Fred finds beauty too at Compo Beach.  “I was always taken with the sweeping crescent shape, leading out to the green expanse of Sherwood Island,” he says.

Long Beach– his beach in Queens — was “your typical straight line of sand facing the water.”

The view at Longshore — looking out on the marina to Cockenoe and beyond — was “so different than anything I had experienced in Queens,” he says.

“I still enjoy that view when I’m at the Longshore pool.  It’s like being at a great vacation resort.”

Fred wonders if people who grew up here appreciate that in the same way.

Sid, Pearl and Fred Cantor, at home in Westport.

He says he always thought of “the open area and architecture in the area of Toquet Hall and the old Westport Bank & Trust (now Patagonia) as quintessential small-town America, and an old-fashioned town square.”

That too is far different from what he had — and loved — in Queens.

Plus, Fred says, “when we moved here there was a corner drug store, Thompson’s, where Tiffany’s is now located.  It had a lunch counter that served milkshakes.” He felt like he’d walked onto the set of “Leave it to Beaver.”

Living in Westport gave Fred an appreciation of how he could walk to nearly  everything in Fresh Meadows — a direct result of the community’s site plan.  In Westport, he depended on his mother for rides.

In Fresh Meadows Fred lived in a small 2-bedroom, 1-bath apartment — and was quite happy.  That experience, he says, “taught me that you really don’t need a big home or a lot of possessions to truly enjoy life.”  To this day, he says, “I have never lived in a big house.”

Of course, Fred wonders what might have happened if his parents had not made the move.

“Chances are I wouldn’t have discovered soccer or The Remains” — 2 of his passions.

And, he says, “I probably would not have been accepted at Yale, since the local high school in Fresh Meadows had nowhere near the reputation that Staples did.”

The fact that Fred (an attorney) conceived and worked on a variety of diverse creative projects as an adult — producing a play and a movie, writing a book, co-writing a song paying tribute to former Red Sox pitcher Bill Monbouquette — “is probably in some way a reflection of having grown up in Westport, where there has always been such an emphasis on the arts,” Fred says.

“Obviously, the move to Westport as a kid enriched my life in so many ways.”

Fred concludes:  “This is probably way more info than you needed.  But all of this has gotten me to do a lot of reflecting on this lately.”

Actually, Fred’s insights are perfect.  All of us are a reflection of when and how we grew up — and where.

Not all of us are lucky enough to have both a Fresh Meadows, and a Westport, in our lives.

(Click here for a New York Daily News story on Fred Cantor’s new book.)

Finally, A New Seawall

After all the “sound and fury” after Hurricane Irene, it looks like the town has made its decision on a new seawall:

Now that ought to keep the floodwaters away from Soundview Drive!

Sound And Fury, Part II

Much to the chagrin of certain “06880″ commenters — who believe that the “rich” Compo Beach residents should repair the Hurricane Irene-damaged seawall at their own expense — the town has undertaken the project.

Just like the town should — and will — do any time there’s damage to public property.

No matter where in Westport it occurs.

Ashes And Asses At Compo

Today is the 1st day of fall.  But before we break out cider and carve up pumpkins, we should take one last look at summer.

The Compo Beach seawall, after trying to protect Soundview Avenue from Hurricane Irene.

A Compo Beach resident — and alert “06880″ reader — did just that the other day.  The occasion was a story here about the seawall — it was damaged by Hurricane Irene, and of course Westporters are divided over how to repair it, who should pay for it, and whether beach dwellers are actual human beings deserving of help, or over-entitled rich folks deserving of having their homes washed away.

The Compo resident lands squarely (and naturally) on the side of the seawall being every Westporter’s business.

“The blog comments were of course typical of non-understanding Westporters,” the resident says.

They don’t realize that if the wall is washed away Soundview Avenue gets washed out too, and they can’t get down to do their triathlons here, eat at Joey’s, party on South Beach, walk their dogs (and poop on our plants), see the fireworks (and try to crash our party), stroll on the boulevard (and snoop at our BBQs), or just drive by and gawk at storm damage.

But our Soundview reader was just getting started.

A follow-up email noted:

They also come catapulting over walls and fences, when not watching where they’re going on bicycles, skateboards, etc.

They leave all their litter on the beach — and often leave new $100 beach chairs with price tags attached.  And brand new toys galore.

They try to join our late-night, festively lit outside gatherings, assuming this is “Splash.”

They ask for diapers, Band-Aids, ice, corkscrews, bathrooms, warm clothes, mixer, water, booze, mustard , mayo, towels, rides home, parking spaces, and baby sitters.

Two families (sans nannies that weekend) have actually left the beach at dusk, and forgotten a child — for extended periods of time.

We probably can’t mention the obvious sex acts under blankets, or just plain parking on side streets, running into the water and “doing it” in the water with clothes on while folks are having early evening cocktails, or in the moon path on the shoreline (sans blanket).

Living on Soundview sounds pretty exciting!

But wait — there’s more!

A 3rd email added:

I forgot to mention people who drive by at dusk and drop their home garbage bags into beach cans, and think we don’t see them.

And those who come and take the plants we plant in our border gardens, thinking they are theirs for some reason, and pick all our blossoms that hang into the streets, and play thumping music so loud on their car radios that they bounces us out of bed.

Or unwanted church services set up in front of houses.

And someone’s ashes dumped where we sit to sunbathe, or that are blown by the wind onto our patio.

Without the seawall, Soundview Drive would be gone.

No more drivers.  No more ash-scatterers.  No more fornicators.

Just peace and quiet.

And the occasional house-destroying hurricane.

Not all beachgoers are this considerate and civil, Compo residents know.

Sound And Fury

Gail Cunningham Coen has lived most of her life on Soundview Drive — the Compo Beach exit road.

She’s acutely aware of the beauty of Long Island Sound — and the power of nature.

She knows when a storm is coming, and what to do when it hits.

And as a former president of the Compo Beach Improvement Association, she’s been intimately involved in the political process of protecting the beach — and the residents across the street.

Gail can recite the history of the retaining wall that runs from the boardwalk all the way to Schlaet’s Point jetty at Hillspoint Road.

In 1998 Gail Cunningham Coen -- a tall woman -- demonstrated how high the Compo Beach seawall had once been.

It was built over 70 years ago to retain the seawaters and protect the new community of homes at Compo Beach, stretching all the way to the Minuteman statue.

Since that time, sand has built up against the seawall.

A nor’easter in December 1992 caused memorable devastation on Soundview and side streets.  After that storm, many residents raised the heights of their homes.

In 1998 the CBIA staged a “Save the Seawall” event to show town officials how tall the wall had once been.

Last week — in the aftermath of Hurricane Irene — Gail was meeting with her insurance adjuster.  She saw a group of men at the roped-off site by the wall.

When she asked if they were going to take the opportunity to repair and restore the entire wall — “since Mother Nature had so kindly excavated it with surgeon-like precision along its entire length,” Gail notes — they said no.  They’d work only on the part that was roped off.

Hurricane Irene swept away plenty of Compo Beach sand -- and exposed long-lost footings for the seawall.

Gail is concerned that town officials will “do a patch job and then push sand back up against the wall to hide the cracks and crevices, leaving us with a weak little pie crust of a wall — poised and ready to find our homes and possessions in a bowl of seawater and sludge all over again.”

Town officials and the state Department of Environmental Protection have had many discussions about the seawall.  Their engineers say it’s not the height of the sand that affects whether water overtops the wall — it’s the height of the water.

In other words, if tides are 12 feet above normal, they’ll be 12 feet above the normal sound height — not 12 feet above the sand.  Water will flow over the wall regardless.

Water seeks its own level.  So too, apparently, do storms at Compo Beach.