Monthly Archives: March 2009

First Selectman Fun

This fall’s election for first selectman will be “fun and enlightening.”

That’s the promise of Bob Zappi, chairman of Westport’s Republican Party. 

I get the enlightening part.  I know every candidate will talk about taxes, education, teardowns, affordable housing, sewers, zoning,  the baron’s south property and dog poop.

It’s the fun part I worry about.  Will John Izzo replace Johnny Maestro and the Brooklyn  Bridge at the Italian Festival?  Will Gordon Joseloff climb into a clown suit and work 4-year-old birthday parties?  Will Joe Arcudi start a Rap Night at his new restaurant (“Yo, the Dems be Socialist, but I am Joe, I am the sh–“)?

I love fun.  Fun is good.  But when I hear “first selectman election,” my first reaction is not:  “fun!”

Smart answers to our town’s tough problems will be good enough for me.

Snooping And The Baron

Are you weirded out by the term “the baron’s property”?

Newcomers to Westport probably think it’s a nickname for the land between South Compo and Imperial Avenue — some strange guy once owned it, he called himself “the baron,” and the title stuck.

Nein!

There really was a baron: Walter Langer, aka Baron von Langendorff.  A chemist who founded Evyan Perfumes, he bought the estate in 1967.  He called it “Golden Shadows” (whatever that means), and lived there until he died in 1983.  It was not his only residence — I’m thinking Park Avenue and the Alps  — but he was there often enough to create perfumes from the exotic flowers in his gardens and greenhouse.

The place was off-limits when we were kids. The dude was a baron; we figured he had moats and drawbridges, plus Maschinengewehr-wielding soldiers ready to blast intruders back to Prussia.

One day after the town bought the land, I walked the property.  There no castle; in fact, the baron’s house looked quite ordinary.  Had it sat on a Westport road, not in a hilly forest, it would have fallen in the first teardown wave.

Ah, but inside — it was worse.  Bad carpeting, fake wood panels, window air-conditioners — “Extreme Makeover” would throw up its hands in disgust.  Sure, it was big enough for the octuplet family, but their current house is probably nicer.

I digress.  I meant to talk about the name: “baron’s property.”  Though better than “von Langendorff estate” or “Das Perfumenhausen,” it’s still a bit Teutonic for me.

Fortunately, a move is afoot to rename the land.  I can’t give away secrets — the winner will be announced soon — but the leading contender sounds both historic and New Englandy.

It’s not baronial at all.  That’s fine.  We’re a Fairfield County town, not a Deutschland duchy.

Mary Gai PUSHes Housing

What does Mary Gai know that the rest of America doesn’t?

The veteran real estate broker — a self-described “political junkie” who took economics courses in college — has watched banks across the country drown in declining assets. It’s worse in places like Florida than here, but Mary knows we’re not immune.

While bankers dither — paralyzed by indecision — Mary has a solution.

She proposes that in exchange for receiving bailout bucks, banks should turn over a portion of their vacant, foreclosed property to people.

Not just any people, mind you, but the ever-growing number of unemployed and underemployed Americans. They’ll renovate those homes using green technology, make them handicap-accessible, then turn them over for use by “the greater good.”

The greater good, Mary says, includes sick, disabled and elderly Americans. Some homes could be shared by people with specific ailments, like diabetes. That could centralize — and improve — health care.

Others could go to the elderly. Looking down the pike, Mary sees that her (my) generation of baby boomers is “ready to clog up the system.”

Mary has already formed an organization, PUSH (People United to Secure Housing).  She’s started a website.  Now she wants to spread the word.

Congressman Jim Himes showed interest, she says, but lately “seems to be dragging his feet.” Gazillionaire former McCain economics advisor Steve Forbes told Mary, “I think you’re right,” though he has not offered to help.

“I think right now people are overwhelmed,” Mary says.

She’s looking for a champion. “When people buy a home, it stimulates so many parts of the economy: brokers, attorneys, paint companies, painters, you name it,” she says. “PUSH provides work, promotes business, and stimulates the real estate market by removing vacant inventory.”

In the words of the classic vaudeville routine: “It couldn’t hoit.”

Booming Business

An “06880” reader had a great idea.  He’d just come from a local shoe repair shop; the shelves were full.  “I bet lots of repair stores are doing fine ,” he said.  “You should do a story on Westport places that thrive in this economy.”

I’ll do any story about Westport, but this sounded particularly peppy.  I called his shoe repair man, and asked a leading question: “How’s business?”

“Slower than ever!” the owner replied.  “I’m sitting here drinking coffee.  We’re not going to die, but we’re sure not doing well.”

Uh-oh — not good.  Scrambling for another type of repair, I called Cooper’s Auto Parts. Sandy said business was slow. “Cars don’t break every day.  What’s considered old here is 2004, 2005.  They don’t really need a lot of fixing.”

Sandy continued: “I’m not crying — just talking. It is what it is.  The more you complain about how much it hurts, the more it hurts.”

Then, channeling Kwai Chang Caine, he concluded: “Trees don’t grow to the sky.”

They sure don’t; some become wooden signs.  Remembering that the Planning and Zoning Commission recently agreed to temporarily stop enforcing regulations prohibiting free-standing advertising signs, I figured sign companies must have hopped on the new gravy train.

Man’s best friend, Google, provided three local numbers. I called the first; a recording said it was “not valid.”  Wow — did the company fold before the P&Z’s recent rule change?

The second number offered an odd recording: “Memory is full — enter remote access code.”  Hmmm — were they flooded with so much work they couldn’t keep up?

The third company turned out to be in Southport.  That would be okay if this blog was called “06890.”

But it’s not.  It’s “06880.”  And “06880” readers are very creative.  So how about it:  Think of a business or two that’s booming.  Then click the “Comments” button below to spread the good news.

Homework Hassles

I really wanted to have a root canal last night. I opted instead to watch the Board of Education meeting on Channel 78.

The first topic was homework. Several parents have raised concerns about the amount given in town.

I don’t know about the elementary and middle schools. I do know that at Staples — the number one public school in the state, a distinction hardly achievable by magic — homework does not consist of filling out worksheets and copying Spark Notes.

In 2009 homework includes online discussion threads, group collaboration and innovative research. The walls — literal and figurative — between classrooms and the real world have crumbled.  Students’ work habits mirror the real world, including the work world they will soon join.

I will not bore you with the board’s back-and-forth about homework, much of which could serve as anesthesia for my next root canal.  I did perk up when a few parents described their middle school children’s lives, in which they do homework 78 hours a day, 952 days a year.

At Staples, teachers and administrators seem to work hard making sure students are placed at appropriate levels — meaning they receive appropriate amounts of homework. 

That’s not my opinion alone, or other adults’.  Yesterday afternoon a group of Staples students discussed this very topic.

“We knew there’s a lot of homework in AP and honors courses,” one girl said without complaint.  “We knew what we were getting into.   We’re not stupid.”

I am sure some parents have valid concerns about homework.  I am also sure that — as is often the case — our kids are a lot smarter than we think.

Y’s Men and Women

Say what you will about the Westport Weston Family Y‘s decision to move to Mahackeno — and I will too, one day when I decide I want half the town to hate me — but you can’t dis the people who work there.

I’m a 6 a.m. regular.  No matter what the weather, latest crisis (no hot water seems to steam the members frequently) or Very Important Person  needing attention NOW!!!!!!, the front desk crew is unfailingly friendly, efficient and unflappable.

It’s that way all day long. The guys delivering towels to the Men’s Health Center; the women mopping the floors just as some bozo — okay, me — tracks in a ton of Church Lane slush; program supervisors like Patty Kondub, who relentlessly but joyfully tries to sign me up for spin classes (which will happen the same day I fly to the planet Zork) — you name it, the hard-working men and women show no signs of working in a bizarre building, buffeted by demanding members, for an organization battling belligerently in the town’s longest-running brouhaha.

The staff sets a standard of hard work, courtesy and enthusiasm that all service employees human beings in Westport should strive to follow.

Y not indeed?

Not So Fast, Bus-ter

Of all the useless signs in Westport, the uselessest is “School Bus Stop Ahead.”

Of course there’s a school bus stop ahead! In this town, there is ALWAYS a school bus stop ahead.

There is one here, here, herehereherehere and here.  I have seen buses actually go into children’s homes to pick them up, stopping twice in one room if there are bunk beds.

School bus officials measure distances using micrometers.  They then hire consultants to see how many more stops they can fit into each route.

Perhaps I exaggerate.  Occasionally a rogue bus travels three full Smart car lengths, allowing drivers behind to zoom up to old-person-hauling-boulders speed, before stopping once again.  This time for a ghost rider who never gets on (or, in the afternoon, off).

Which reminds me of a very important bus company rule:  Whenever you are behind a school bus, it is not allowed to turn in a direction you do not intend to go.  You must follow it — v-e-r-y, v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y — everywhere, including back to the bus ranch behind Westport Center Mobil on the Post Road.  Where you will wait in a spectacularly long line, never moving until your child enters the next grade.

Because there are definitely many School Buses Stopped Ahead.

Madoff’s List

The story that Westporter Rhea Schindler has lost everything — her husband entrusted his life savings to Bernie Madoff — devastated me like no other economic news, in this year of devastating economic news.

I know Rhea Schindler.

 According to the New York Daily News, as relayed by WestportNow.com, Rhea — whose late husband Alex was a rabbi, and former head of the world’s largest wing of Reform Judaism — is selling her most beloved possessions.  Included is a silver Torah crown, an antique Torah pointer from the 1700s — and the home where the couple lived for decades, and raised five children.

I’d heard similar stories, of course — some tied to Westport National Bank. But those tales involved boldface names like John Denver, Katherine Thalberg and John Malkovich. Their personal accounts or estates were managed by Harold Thau, whose company’s investments were unwittingly entangled in the largest Ponzi scheme in history.

Rhea and Alex were my parents’ friends.  I know their kids.  I’ve been to Rhea’s home — the one she must now sell.

The news that Rhea Schindler is a victim of Bernie Madoff is profoundly, achingly upsetting.  It puts a vivid human face on what had been to me an enormous, yet still abstract, tragedy.

I hope there will be no more news like this, in our town or our country.

But I know there will be.

Give It Up For Girl Scouts

I don’t like Girl Scout cookies.  Call me crazy, but they’ve always seemed small and tasteless.

I do, however, like the Girls Scouts.  They’re a strong, values-driven organization that does lots of good for lots of children.  And, to celebrate Girl Scout Week, here’s a shout-out to two special Scouts.

Staples seniors Michelle Finan and Bonnie Heller have been Girl Scouts in Westport since kindergarten.   In a country whose attention span is measured in micro-seconds — and a town where Scouting is decidedly uncool — Michelle and Bonnie worked their way up, from Daisy and Brownie through to  Ambassador.

Now they’re about to earn their Gold award.   Similar to Boy Scouts’ Eagle rank, it includes a huge community service project.  Like you, I’d never heard of the Gold until today.  But that just adds luster to the honor.  Michelle and Bonnie are not in this for the ink.

By 5th grade lots of girls drop out of Scouts, says Marguerite Rossi, a leader for her daughters’ Green’s Farms School troop.  In middle school some Scouts don’t tell their friends what they do, fearing ridicule.

The Gold awardees may have the last laugh.  As Bonnie applies to college, admissions officers love her involvement in Scouting — and her commitment to a cause.

Marguerite calls Bonnie and Michelle “great role models for Girl Scout leaders.”  But she worries not enough women and girls are following their lead.  The number of troops and troop leaders is dwindling.  “We meet right after school,” she says.  “That’s tough for some moms — or dads.”

So this week, if you see a Scout or leader, thank her (or him).  Give special praise to Michelle, Bonnie and Marguerite.

While you’re at it, have a Thin Mint on me.  Really, I insist.

A Modest Proposal

Shaw’s — like Gristede’s, Food Fair and Finast in Westport before it — is dead.

Customers have scattered east to Super Stop & Shop, where GPS is imperative for finding your way around, and west to Trader Joe’s, which proves that the only differences between a “supermarket” and a “grocery store” are a few minor items like a butcher shop, bakery and Drano.

A couple of nearby smaller tenants have also fled what used to be called (I think) Shaw’s Plaza.  While it is distressing to lose any retailer, the tumbleweed look of that strip mall provides a rare opportunity for Westport to do something bold, dynamic, perhaps unheard-of:

Eliminate a traffic light.

Why should hundreds of drivers each day slam to a stop in front of a nearly empty shopping center?  The only vehicles entering and exiting are construction trucks, and they make their own rules anyway.

Across the street, drivers enjoy many ways of fleeing with their Dunkin’ Donuts or pet food without stopping at that light.  It’s superfluous, vestigial — a vehicular version of the appendix.

Removal of the Shaw’s light:  One small step for a man, one giant leap for Lincoln Navigators.