Today — just hours after yesterday’s “06880” discussion of Metro-North trains missing stops — alert reader Geoff Smith heard this announcement on the 2:04 p.m. train out of Grand Central:
“Once again, we apologize but somehow we missed the Westport stop. Once again,…”.
Geoff adds: “I thought it had to be a joke.”
Nope.
“Wishful thinking,” he says. “Let the complaints begin.”
Among the many handsome beach-area homes, 9 Danbury Avenue often stands out.
It’s architecturally intriguing, and lovingly landscaped.
Now there’s one more reason to stop and stare:
It might not be the tallest sunflower in the world.
But at 14 feet tall — and still growing — it might be the most intriguing.
Tommy Greenwald is a multi-talented guy.
He’s the executive creative director at Spotco, an ad agency for Broadway shows.
He’s written the Charlie Joe Jackson book series (for reluctant readers), and john & jen (for musical theater-goers).
Tommy Greenwald
He’s also a Staples grad — married to a fellow alum — and the father of 3 teenage boys.
Tommy’s blog (tagline: “A Shrine to Everything Me”) is usually light-hearted. On Wednesday, though, he turned misty-eyed. He and Cathy had just left Charlie — their oldest — at college.
Tommy wrote:
I had to wait a day or two to write this post to make sure I could handle it.
On Monday we dropped our oldest son, Charlie, at Emerson for his freshman year. It was a memorable day, in every sense of the word.
I’m going to sound like a typical parent here, but Charlie is a remarkable person. Incredibly kind and extremely funny, he lights up any room he’s in. He’s a great son and a great friend.
So I knew it would be hard letting him go. But I didn’t quite realize how hard.
It first hit me about a week before he left. We’d had a great summer, he was in a fantastic mood, but one night I suddenly realized that in a week’s time, he’d be gone.
That was the first night I cried.
We had a great week after that, though. A lot of fun events, including my book launch events and a commercial shoot with Paul Rudd, kept us occupied and distracted.
But then came Sunday night.
Charlie, Joe and Jack Greenwald, two years ago.
Charlie hunkered down with his brothers Joe and Jack to watch the season finale of True Blood. They watched the show together religiously, every week. It was fortuitous that the season finale was broadcast the night before Charlie left for college and Joe and Jack had their first day of school.
I was watching Charlie as the show ended. He was completely wrapped up in the episode, but the second it ended, his face changed. It was as if he knew summer was officially over, and tomorrow he would be leaving. For the first time, I saw a hint of doubt and nervousness creep into his expression.
It was getting real.
We did a little packing and a lot of hugging that night, and I’m not gonna lie (one of Charlie’s favorite expressions), sleep was a little tough to come by.
The next morning, Monday, we sprung into action. Charlie and I took Moose and Coco for one last walk – his relationship with the dogs is a thing of beauty – and Cathy helped him with his last-minute packing (or should I say stuffing, since his suitcases were garbage bags. A great space-saving technique, btw.)
We hit the road about 11, and had a great drive up. Good conversation, a little nosh, easy traffic. We talked about a lot of things that made us feel good, including that fact that when you add it all up, he’s basically only at college 6 ½ months of the year, and home the other 5 ½ months. At these prices! Never have I been so grateful for being ripped off so royally.
Charlie Greenwald
We pulled into Boston around 2 and turned the corner onto Boylston Street, where we were immediately greeted by the uniquely Emersonian brand of happiness. Adorable students gave us our parking instructions while dancing in the streets; incredibly nice people all over the place got us checked in and situated while music blasted through the halls; we found Charlie’s room, which has a view of the Boston Common that rivals anything on Central Park West.
The hole in my heart was being nicely obscured by all the good vibes around us. But it was still there.
Cathy was a rock; Charlie seemed nervous but excited; and we were running out of excuses to stay by his side.
Finally, with the bed made, the clothes put away and the laundry lesson over, we all took the elevator to the lobby one last time. We contemplated going over to the campus store to take a look around, but Cathy said, “You know what? It’s time to go.” And she was absolutely right.
No long goodbyes, though. That was agreed upon well ahead of time. Cathy and I each gave Charlie a quick hug, kissed him, and sent him on his way. No looking back. Only looking ahead.
The ride home was not easy. Cathy and I cried. But we talked a lot, too, and managed to remind ourselves how blessed we are to have a son that we are going to miss so much.
Last night, Jack, the family computer whiz, hooked up our first video chat with Charlie. It was great to see him. He was funny and goofy. He seemed genuinely happy – although knowing him, even if he wasn’t, he’d pretend to be for our benefit. But I believed it. And since my happiness is in direct correlation with my children’s happiness, I was able to sleep a little better last night.
Time is a funny thing. Relentless, but forgiving. A stealer, and a healer. It’s also a paradox: I don’t want it to go fast, but yet I can’t wait to see my son again. In the meantime, we’ve got to sit our son Joe down this weekend and get down to business.
He’ll be applying to college this fall.
Posted in People, Staples HS, Teenagers
Tagged Charlie Greenwald, Charlie Joe Jackson, Tommy Greenwald
The other day, a Metro-North train blew past its scheduled 8:04 p.m. stop in Westport. A few dozen riders had to get off in Fairfield, then wait for the next westbound train to go home.
If you were on that train, you were probably pretty pissed.
If you’re a regular on Railroad.net, you’re upset too.
But some of the commenters there — a website for train geeks — are not mad at Metro-North.
They blame the victims: Westporters.
Noel Weaver writes:
A train blew a station stop, SO WHAT!!!! It is not the first time and it won’t be the last time. I suspect if it had been say Fordham on an evening train instead of Westport nothing would have been said…
I blew a couple of stops in my career and in both cases nothing further came of it. I am human like everybody else.
Another commenter (“Rear of Signal”) chimes in:
This happens often enough that it’s not unheard of, but still rare. You know how often trains blow Yankee Stadium, or FF-Metro or even blown Stamford?
This one makes the news because some influential people call the local media in a hypocritical attempt to negate their own vanity. Everyone needs to get off of their moral high-horse and get on with their lives.
A train crew blew past Westport earlier this month.
Not all the commenters are so black-and-white. (Or as harsh as those who demand the entire crew on that train be fired.)
“Secaucus Junction” says:
You know, if I was an engineer, I think this sort of thing would happen to me too. It’s got to be confusing out there remembering which stops you are supposed to make when you are on different trains all the time. Maybe a simple brain fart by the engineer.
Which brought this response:
It’s pretty hard to miss Westport. The track speed in the station is only 40 MPH. Both the engineer and conductor are responsible for ensuring that trains stop where they’re supposed to. But, do we know if the train was on a platform track? Or, could it have been misrouted? I’m sure (Metro-North) will investigate this incident, especially since it has hit the newspapers.
And this:
I was on that train. Leaving South Norwalk, conductor announced “Westport next.” We blew through Westport without the slightest speed reduction. No announcements, no attempt to stop in Greens Farm or Southport.
Maybe the train got hijacked?
At Fairfield the was almost a riot when we finally stopped. We were told that the next train back to Westport would be in 45 minutes. Nothing further, no apology, no real acknowledgment of a serious screw-up….
This was completely inexcusable. The fact that the train crew kinda sorta pretended it didn’t happen makes it worse.
Yeah, yeah, I know, I don’t work in the field so I don’t know what it’s like. Whatever. MNRR has a problem.
Part of that problem, it seems, is that a few employees don’t think too highly of their customers.
Tuesday’s accident — a Staples cross country runner was struck by a minivan driver on Long Lots Road — has caused quite a stir.
Drivers have to slow down! some Westporters say.
Joggers and bikers have to share the road! others counter.
Meanwhile, alert “06880” reader Kim Lake calls the accident “truly unsettling.”
But, she adds, “even more unsettling were the comments on WestportNow about kids and their attitudes about sharing the road. Wow!
In Westport, runners often take to the roads.
“I’m appalled at the absolute absence of empathy on the part of some people in our community sometimes, at their sense of righteousness when all the facts are not even known.”
(From all indications the Staples runner was not at fault. Coaches and runners followed all proper procedures.)
For a long time, Kim has wanted more legal, clearly defined bike lanes in town. When Diane Farrell’s administration held their public hearings on her version of a Downtown Plan, Kim spoke about bike lanes and walking paths. “I was disappointed that all my comments fell on deaf ears,” she says.
On a recent trip to Washington, DC, she was impressed that a company named Spotcycle has successfully set up a system where people can, for a small fee, easily use bikes to get themselves anywhere. They pick up a bike at one station and and drop it off at their destination.
As soon as she saw how well it works, she thought: “If only in Westport…”
A couple years ago, when Kim chaired the Green Task Force, she spoke to a town employee about bike lanes. Though an avid biker himself, he was distraught.
“He would love to provide bike lanes throughout town,” she notes. “Stringent federal laws, however, prevent taking action (something about all streets having to be widened). Can you imagine the discussions that proposal would generate?”
The ideal — bicyclists in single file, all with helmets — even without a bike lane.
Kim continues: “In light of this recent incident, and especially in light of the insensitive comments, I think we should have a Town Meeting, with politicians and the Police Department, about how we drive in this town.
“Between texting, cellphones and the rush to get somewhere (wherever it is) FAST, it’s time we stop and reflect about civility and safety on the roads.”
Laws and tickets are not the only way to get people to slow down and pay attention, Kim says.
“Community consciousness can have a tremendous impact. I hope that out of this sad incident, something good will happen.”
Yeah, yeah, I know. You come to “06880” looking for Westport stories — something off-beat or little-known. A profile of someone famous, semi-famous or obscure. A dig at dingbat drivers.
Well, today is all about me.
This post is a pure plug.
I’ve just published a book — my 17th, but who’s counting? — and it may be my favorite.
We Kick Balls: True Stories From the Youth Soccer Wars is a romp through my over 30 years of coaching. From U-12 through high school, I’ve seen just about everything. Every type of player and parent imaginable. Funny, weird, fantastic, awful situations. And that’s just one day.
Soccer has been very, very good to me. I’ve taken teams around the world. I’ve been to Pele’s house, coached in front of 77,000 people, helped raise $25,000 at a carwash, and acted in a soccer movie.
I’ve made incredible friendships, forged lifelong bonds, and had them tested by too many deaths.
I’ve learned what makes teenagers tick. I’ve learned a lot about life — and myself — along the way.
Now you can read all this stuff too.
We Kick Balls has been called “funny, warm, courageous and edifying.” It ricochets from the World Cup to Dachau, from race and religion to 9/11. Somehow, soccer connects them all.
I always say, “There’s more to life than soccer. And there’s more to soccer than soccer.” We Kick Balls is a book about kids, life, and everything that happens to all of us, on and off the field.
It’s available in a variety of formats. Hard copy: Click here to order direct from the publisher. Click here to order from Amazon.
E-book: Click here to order Amazon Kindle. Click here to order downloadable e-book files for Nook, Apple iBooks, Sony Reader, Kobo, Stanza, Aldiko and Adobe Editions.
Here’s an excerpt:
———————————————
Planning a youth soccer trip takes time. There are forms to fill out, housing to book, transportation to arrange, information to relay to players and parents. D-Day took more organization, but not much.
Which is why a spur-of-the-moment, completely unorganized 2-day summer jaunt to Long Island several years ago was perhaps the greatest tournament of my youth soccer life.
This is not the team I took to Long Island. But that group was as tight as these former Staples players, whose bonds remain strong long after graduation.
Like spontaneous combustion, this trip blossomed out of nowhere. One afternoon I was at the beach, talking with 2 former players who just graduated from high school. The next morning I, several of their buddies and a few more they had never played with but knew by reputation were packed into 3 cars headed through rush-hour traffic to an event we knew little about. Just that somebody had a college buddy who had a friend of a friend who said one of the registered teams had backed out, and could we come down to salvage the bracket?
Our ragtag bunch spanned high school through college. The players did all the organizing, which meant agreeing what color T-shirts to wear, tossing food and water into coolers, wrangling cars from their parents, and somehow finding a map of Long Island. I was invited along as the “coach,” though the guys promised they’d handle everything themselves. Substitutions were irrelevant; they mustered only 11 players.
“Expect the unexpected” was a great mantra for this trip. (Photo/Carl McNair)
For a control freak like me, this was a welcome change. Here was a chance to see whether all my theories about soccer being a Petri dish for maturity and responsibility were true, or crap. It was also an opportunity to enjoy a couple of days out of town, in the relaxed company of a group of players I truly liked, who themselves loved soccer yet had never been together as a team. I felt like an anthropologist about to study a newly discovered tribe.
The tournament organizers seemed as loosey-goosey as us. We breezed in, said, “Yo, we’re here – Westport,” and received a hand-written schedule. Directions to the field were drawn in pencil.
We played 3 games that day, and won them all. It hardly mattered that our guys had never played together. With absolutely no pressure, they relaxed and enjoyed themselves. It was soccer the way it ought to be. Damn good soccer, too.
There were a couple of hitches, of course. One boy had to go back to Connecticut; he was due in court in the morning, on an underage-possession-of-alcohol charge.
A second one suffered a huge gash above his eye. We had no medical kit, and this was not the type of tournament where doctors and nurses prowled the sidelines. So I sent him to the hospital, and prayed he’d find their way back. In those pre-cellphone days, that was no sure bet.
Unfortunately, our lodgings were not as luxurious as this.
We felt pretty good that evening, having launched ourselves, somehow, into the semifinals. That’s when we realized it had gotten late. No one had thought ahead to the possibility we would play the next day, so we improvised. We looked for a motel.
That was the hardest part of the trip. Every place was filled. Just as we were ready to give up and sleep in our cars – talk about your bonding experience! – we spotted a place that looked like it had been scouted as the Bates Motel in “Psycho,” but rejected as too scary-looking.
Excitedly, we checked in. The guys spread out their T-shirts and shorts to dry (which, happily, made the rooms smell better). A few remembered to call their parents to say they would not be home.
After a celebratory (and very cheap) dinner, we returned to the only motel in America without televisions. That fazed our boys not at all; they were having too much fun wrestling and airing out their rooms.
The next morning, heading into the semifinals, our low numbers caught up with us. With our underage drinker gone (he eventually beat the rap; obviously, he argued, the beer in the trunk of his car belonged to his father) we were down to 10 players.
The kid with stitches gave it his best shot, despite being unable to head. We wrapped his skull in a turban, moved him up front, told him to run around as a decoy and hoped he would not injure himself further. Five minutes in he got knocked to the ground, and bled like a stuck pig the rest of the match.
There’s nothing like a goal to make things right with the world. (Photo/Carl McNair)
The boys, meanwhile, had whipped themselves into a frenzy. They had created instant traditions – chants, celebrations, even a ritualistic group urination (don’t ask) – and rode the power of those emotions as far as they could. But our foes – an Austrian team, hosted by the Long Island club sponsoring the tournament – were excellent. The match remained deadlocked.
Suddenly, with seconds remaining, the referee called a penalty kick against us. I learned long ago that complaining about officials’ calls is useless. They all even out over time, and a team that doesn’t score has more things to worry about than one call against them.
However, I can say with complete honesty that this penalty kick was bullshit. The referee, who no doubt was a host father for the Austrian kid who took a dive in the box, had it in for the happy-go-lucky boys from just across Long Island Sound. Obviously he hated Westport’s chants, celebrations and ritualistic group urination.
The game ended with a heartbreaking one-goal loss. Suddenly the emotion of the previous 48 hours washed over our players – the same ones who, 2 days earlier, were lounging in Connecticut without a clue they’d soon play 4 intense matches with players they’d never taken the field with before. A few cried, something they had not done even after losing high school championships.
The field, the refereeing, even the ball, wasn’t the best in Long Island. But the tournament was.
The depth of their feelings stunned me. Clearly the two days had reached deep into their soccer-playing souls, and for that I was grateful. But when the boys started yapping about the injustice of it all, how’d they’d come “all that way” only to be robbed by a stupid friggin’ ref who favored Austrians over Americans, the reaction seemed to spiral out of hand.
Just as suddenly, reality intruded. A spectator – a girl who had cheered for the Austrian boys her family hosted – walked up to the most agitated of our many overwrought players. In a hideous Long Island accent coming straight out of a “Saturday Night Live” parody of “Saturday Night Fever,” she said, “Yaw just mad dat yoo lawst.”
The very upset boy stared at her. His eyes brimmed with tears but he said, calmly, clearly, and in tones usually reserved for particularly dim children: “No. I’m sorry. We didn’t ‘lawst.’ We ‘lost.’”
At which his 9 teammates guffawed, punched and high-fived him for his witty comeback.
In an instant, all was right with the world. We got in our cars, headed for home, passed by Shea Stadium, said what the hell and stopped off to watch the Mets.
They lawst too.
———————————————
We Kick Balls is available in a variety of formats. Hard copy: Click here to order direct from the publisher. Click here to order from Amazon.
E-book: Click here to order Amazon Kindle. Click here to order downloadable e-book files for Nook, Apple iBooks, Sony Reader, Kobo, Stanza, Aldiko and Adobe Editions.
Posted in People, Sports, Teenagers
Tagged "We Kick Balls: True Stores from the Youth Soccer Wars", Dan Woog
Change may be coming to downtown parking.
Change, as in “something new.”
And change, as in “nickles, dimes and quarters.”
Westport’s Downtown 2020 Committee is considering recommending paid parking, the Westport News reports. If so, a variety of town officials would then examine the issue.
Main Street — without traffic, or parking meters.
Revenues would help fund “beautification improvements and maintenance of the core downtown areas,” says Steve Desloge, president of the Downtown Merchants Association.
Charging for parking — either with coins or credit card-reading meters — could be the most controversial downtown issue since the Y announced plans to move.
It would alter longstanding habits of shoppers, store owners and employees. It might change the mix of Main Street stores, and affect the type of people who shop — or even move — here.
There are likely to be passionate opponents (“I’ll never shop downtown again!”) — and equally fervent supporters (“It’s the 21st century; get your head out of the sand!”).
Though “06880” readers are a notoriously unscientific sample, let’s start the conversation off here. Click “Comments,” and/or take a poll.
Stop the presses: Some Westport students waited until the last minute to do their summer reading assignments.
But the smart ones didn’t panic.
A few days before Zero Hour, they headed to the Westport Library.
And made a beeline for Jaina Lewis.
Jaina Lewis, always smiling.
The popular teen services librarian calmly recommended 2 books — the summer reading requirement — for dozens of procrastinating middle and high school students.
Each recommendation was personal. Jaina probed likes and dislikes, and found out what they’d enjoyed reading in the past. (If they enjoyed something. Or ever read a book.)
“Lots of kids haven’t been in the library since they were little kids,” she notes. “The ones who say they don’t like to read — they’re the fun ones for me.”
For them, Jaina recommends books with plenty of action, controversy and/or interest. “Slow books,” with lots of character development, are “not always fun for non-readers,” she says diplomatically.
The hottest young adult titles this summer are The Hunger Games, Divergent (about a dystopian Chicago), Dead to You (a kidnap victim returns to his family years later, and has difficulty acclimating), and the Matched trilogy.
Her encyclopedic knowledge of books wows teenagers. “I have to know a little bit about everything,” Jaina says. One girl asked, “Have you read every book in the library?”
To increase visibility, Jaina spends her afternoons at a desk in the teen section, across from the Maker Space.
“I catch a lot more people who wouldn’t go to the reference desk or ask for advice,” she explains.
After 6 years at the Westport Library, Jaina knows what makes teens tick.
She created a Zombie Club, for very enthusiastic middle schoolers. They meet once a month to play board games, watch zombie movies and socialize.
Teenagers feel welcome at the Westport Public Library.
Soon, Jaina will lead a “headband workshop” in the Maker Space. She’ll show kids how to create special headbands that glow with LED lights.
On November 2, Jaina and several high school volunteers will host a “Haunted Library” event. There’ll be a haunted labyrinth, a paranormal society, a band (and of course food).
She’s also organizing an Odyssey of the Mind team.
“I did it as a kid,” Jaina says of the international problem-solving competition. “It’s technical, but very creative.”
Almost as creative as finding the perfect 2 books for dozens of non-reading teenagers, an hour or two before they’re supposed to be finished.
Posted in Children, Library, People, Teenagers
Tagged Jaina Lewis, Maker Space, Westport Library, young adult literature
When it comes to community celebrations, Westport likes to think of itself as Anytown, USA.
But at the 4th of July fireworks, our picnics and cookouts look like they’ve been catered by Martha Stewart.
Half the Little League coaches marching in the Memorial Day parade yammer on cellphones, looking like they’re finalizing an M&A.
Thankfully, nothing is more Westport — and yet more un-Westport — than the Blues Views & BBQ Festival. It draws blues fans, barbeque cooks, partiers and families from all over town — and all over creation.
The very first year, a few big burly guys rode in on their motorcycles. Then they stood in line next to sweet little girls, waiting for their free Melissa & Doug toys.
If that don’t say “Blues Views and BBQ,” nothin’ will.
The 5th annual event is set for next weekend — September 1 and 2, at the Levitt Pavilion and library parking lot. (Only in Westport would you hold a blues festival next to the library.)
This year’s event features extended hours (till 11 p.m. on Saturday, 8 p.m. on Sunday); the return of Festival favorite James Montgomery; Sunday night closer Billy Squier (who actually has a blues background), and a dozen other bands.
Popa Chubby will be back. Supposedly last year he said, “Westport, Connecticut? I used to get arrested in places like this.” (Click below for his amazing version of “Over the Rainbow.”)
And who knew there’s a 12-year-old blues prodigy from Ridgefield — a place even less bluesy than Westport — who has performed with Buddy Guy?
But it ain’t the blues without no bbq. A Kansas City Barbeque Society competition will crown a king (or queen) of the backyard smokers (proceeds benefit the Westport Woman’s Club‘s food closet). Kids compete for the best hot dog, burger and “chef’s choice.”
There’s also a BBQ marketplace, and a food court filled with not only wood-fired, grilled and roasted goods, along with ice cream and pie, but also handcrafted beer. (This being Westport, there’s also premium liquor and wine.)
A happy scene from last year’s Blues, Views & BBQ Festival.
Other activities include cooking demonstrations by chefs sponsored by CTBites; pie and rib eating contests; performances by the School of Rock; street performers; educational events, and the Melissa & Doug Kids’ Corral with hands-on activities, arts and crafts, games, giveaways, bull riding, magicians, tattoos, karate and more.
On the first 2 days of September, Westport, Connecticut becomes the Blues Capital of the United States.
The press release promises a “foot stompin’, finger lickin’, down-home festival.” Yes, right next to the library.
(Blues, Views & BBQ runs Saturday, September 1 from 11 a.m. to 10 p.m., and Sunday, September 2 from 11 a.m. to 8 p.m. Tickets are $20 for adults, $10 for students and seniors; children under 5 are free. Click here for discount packages or more information. The event is sponsored by the Westport Downtown Merchants Association.)
Cuttin’ the rug (or Levitt Pavilion lawn) at least year’s event.
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