I got a call yesterday from an older Westport woman. Her voice shook.
Around 11:20 the night before, she said, a flickering light bulb burst into flames. Panicked, she called 911.
Almost immediately, police officers and firefighters arrived — sirens blazing, lights blaring. The fire chief came too. All were wonderful. The fire was put out. They stayed to help her clean up, and calm her down.
But that’s not why she called me.
She’s lived on her private road for 51 years. She raised her kids here, in a friendly, social, tight-knit neighborhood.
But despite all the commotion Friday night, she said, no one came over to see what was going on.
And no one called Saturday, to see how she was.
Several years ago, her son gave her contact information to neighbors. He asked them to check in on her, from time time — and in an emergency, do what they could.
Of course, they said. We’re happy to do that.
This weekend though, no one did.
“Last night was very scary,” she said, hours after the fire.
“But now I’m more hurt than scared.”