Category Archives: Friday Flashback

Friday Flashback #510

A lot of people spent a lot of time stuck in yesterday’s fireworks traffic, heading to and from Compo Beach.

Even at non-holiday times, the light at the Compo Road South/Greens Farms Road/Bridge Street intersection can be long. There’s plenty of opportunity to look around.

What we see is the I-95 overpass. It seems like it — and Greens Farms Road — have always been there.

But for decades before the “turnpike” construction in the 1950s, the road came in at a different angle.

There, on the southwest corner, sat Ken Montgomery’s grocery store.

When the state of Connecticut planned the new route, his building was in the way.

He tried to relocate to a lot he owned on Bridge Street, across from what was then Saugatuck Elementary School (now The Saugatuck co-op housing), yet was rebuffed.

So one day in the mid-1950s, Ken’s store was demolished.

(Westport Town Crier photo courtesy of Mary Palmieri Gai)

Ken hoped to return with a new store in the same vicinity, once the highway was completed. In the meantime, he went to work at his mother’s (similar) grocery store, not far away by Old Mill Beach.

He never returned.

Instead, he took over from his mother. For many years, he operated “Ken’s” — aka “Grub’s” (IYKYK).

Today, it’s Old Mill Grocery & Deli by Romanacci.

And there is not a trace of Ken’s original store — or the original Greens Farms Road — underneath the I-95 overpass.

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Friday Flashback #509

All right kids: Sit down. You want to hear something crazy?

Back in the day — the last millennium — we did not have cellphones. 

If we were out somewhere — say, Compo Beach — we could not text our parents: “Pick me up.” 

We would have to use this device (below). It was called a pay phone.

Compo Beach, 1983. (Photo/Arthur Nager)

We would say — politely — “Mom, can you please come pick me up?”

Then we would wait. We had no screens to scroll through, until our mothers — not Uber — arrived.

I think we talked to each other. Or looked at the sky.

Somehow, we managed.

Phone calls cost a dime.

There was nothing more fun than walking by, sticking your hand in the coin return, and finding money.

Then again, that was when people still used cash.

A lot has changed. But look again at the photo.

Except for the long-gone pay phone — and the now-locked doors at the back of the bathhouse — a lot has not changed.

That’s part of the magic of Compo Beach. If you’re growing up here now: Enjoy it.

And maybe one day you’ll tell your grandchildren what it was like to text for a ride.

(NOTE: Click here for photographer Arthur Nager’s website. For archival prints, email artnager@gmail.com.)

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Friday Flashback #508

We posted these photos nearly a decade ago.

But xince this weekend the Yankee Doodle Fair entertains thousands of kids of all ages (mostly kids) (and their parents) — as it has since 1907 — we figure it’s a good time to give it another ride.

Pam Ehrenburg — Pam Blackburn, as she was known in her Yankee Doodle-going days — unearthed several fascinating old photos. All were taken by her father, famed magazine photographer George Barkentin.

They show the fair on what appears to be Jesup Green — or perhaps the topography of the sponsoring Westport Woman’s Club was different 60-plus yeas ago. (Pam believes the images were taken in 1952.)

Some of the fashions are different. But in many ways, the Yankee Doodle Fair is timeless too.

This looks like Jesup Green -- with National Hall (then Fairfield Furniture) in the background, across the river.

This looks like Jesup Green — with National Hall (then Fairfield Furniture) in the background, across the river.

A classic Ferris wheel.

A classic merry-go-round.

This is noted writer Parke Cummings. He may have walked over from his home on the corner of South Compo and Bridge Street. He owned a tennis court -- still there -- that was open to anyone who wanted to play or learn.

This is noted writer Parke Cummings. He may have walked over from his home on the corner of South Compo and Bridge Street. He owned a tennis court — still there — that was open to anyone who wanted to play or learn.

Marjorie Teuscher and her son Phil. Her husband -- a doctor -- owned real estate downtown, including the building that is now Tavern on Main. Phil -- now all grown up -- still lives in Westport.

Marjorie Teuscher and her son Phil. Her husband — a doctor — owned real estate downtown, including the building that is now Nômade. Phil — all grown up — still lives in Westport. And he still owns that Main Street property.

Pam Blackburn -- who sent these photos from her father, George -- is shown here with her sister Perii and their mom, Jessica Patton Barkentin.

Pam Blackburn — who sent these photos from her father, George — is shown here with her sister Perii and their mom, Jessica Patton Barkentin.

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Friday Flashback #507

Last month, we flashed back to Chubby Lane’s. Readers commented rapturously about the fantastic burgers at his 2 locations: Compo Beach (where the volleyball courts are now), and Post Road East (current site of Willows Pediatrics).

There was another great burger spot in that 1960s and ’70s era too.

We’ve written several times about Big Top. Today it’s McDonald’s. For a while it was Roy Rogers.

But back in the day, it rivaled Chubby’s.

If Chubby’s was the Beatles, Big Top was the Rolling Stones. You know — scruffier, edgier.

This is not our first time honoring Big Top.

But we’ve got a great new photo to show:

(Photo courtesy of Jim Roderick)

As soon as you’ve finished salivating, click “Comments” to share your Big Top memories.

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Friday Flashback #506

Earlier this week, David Pogue took a large Westport Library crowd on an entertaining, instructive journey through Apple’s first 50 years.

Scott Brodie remembers those early technology days too.  The 1970 Staples High School graduate writes:

Early in the “Harry Potter” series, as Harry ships off to Hogwarts for the first time, he stops by Ollivanders to purchase his first magic wand (rather, it chooses him).

It was much the same as a student at Staples in the 1960s. During the first week of Chemistry class, students took a few days out of memorizing oxidation states and valences to learn how to use a “slide rule” – a 17th-century contrivance which facilitated multiplication and division, even trigonometry.

Like Harry’s wand it came in a long, thin, dusty box, and was considered a major purchase on the way to competence in math and science.

A Pickett Model N3-ES slide rule just like mine, bought in 1967, with its leather case. The rule is set to perform multiplications by a factor of 1.25 (for example, 4.00 x 1.25 = 5.00). Scales on this side of the rule provide for calculations of products, quotients, reciprocals, squares and square roots, cubes and cube roots, sines, cosines, tangents, and inverse trig functions. Logarithms and exponentials were available on the other side.  No batteries needed.

A slide rule was a major purchase – equivalent to several weeks of one’s weekly allowance. Many of us went downtown to buy one at Klein’s or Fine Arts with our dads.

A good slide rule was expected to carry a serious STEM student through high school, college, maybe even graduate school. We tracked our progress in math and physics as we learned to understand the various slide rule scales.

I still have mine. With no batteries to go dead or worries about holding a charge, it still works as perfectly as the day it was new.

Computation had made little progress since the invention of logarithms and the slide rule (based on them) in the 1600s. They were the mainstay of most routine calculations in the design of the Mercury, Gemini and Apollo spacecraft that took Americans to the moon by 1969.

Accountants used simple 10-key adding machines. A few mechanical “calculators” — noisy boxes full of whirring gears — could multiply and, with luck, perform division.

But these were frightfully expensive, and available only in laboratories like Los Alamos, where the first atomic bombs were built. So we made do with slide rules, and tables of the values of the trigonometric functions.

State-of-the-art calculation in the early 1960s: (left) a Gilbert 10-key adding machine. With tedious effort, it could also multiply. Right: This Marchant desktop calculator could add, subtract, multiply and divide. The “carriage” at the top shifted left and right to provide for place value.

The first whiff of digital computers for students’ use arrived at Staples around 1968, in the form of a noisy Model 33 Teletype.

(Staples had a room full of IBM “tabulating” machines, next to the typing classroom – large devices, about the size of a sofa, which could sort punched cards, and perform simple arithmetic and printouts. They were used for scheduling, and printing student schedules and report cards.  Students were not allowed anywhere near them.)

The Model 33 Teletype banged out 10 characters per second, and communicated with a time-sharing mainframe computer at the University of Bridgeport.

It provided access to the BASIC programming language. Programs were stored on strips of punched paper tape, which could be re-read into the terminal for later use.

It was connected to the mainframe by an acoustic coupler modem. Users dialed the computer’s phone number, listened for the characteristic high-pitched sound of data coming down the phone lie, and placed the handset of the telephone on the connecting device.

Staples’ subscription provided for only a few hours of use each week – not nearly enough. Something else had to be found to address the growing interest in learning to use computers.

AT&T Model 33 Teletype computer terminal (left). The paper tape punch and reader is on the left side of the keyboard. Acoustic coupler modem (right). After dialing up a remote mainframe computer, the handset was placed on the device to pass signals back and forth, at a maximum rate of 10 characters per second.

The answer came in a new, state-of-the-art “programmable calculator”: the HP 9100A from Hewlett-Packard. A self-contained device, about the size of an IBM Selectric typewriter with about 65 keys, it allowed for data entry, storage and retrieval of a handful of 10-digit numeric values.

Unlike other electronic calculators of the day, it could compute trig functions and their inverses, and – uniquely – it provided logic functions, permitting creation of programs that could make decisions depending on previous results.

In 1968 it cost about $4,900 (perhaps the equivalent of $45,000 today). But it was “ours” – available to any and all in math classes, during free periods and after school, without time limits.

The next year the HP 9125a flat-bed plotter became available, allowing creation of high-quality graphics output.

Hewlett-Packard programmable calculator, model HP 9100A (right); associated HP 9125a flat-bed plotter (left).

We tried to outdo each other devising new and engaging applications, including solving surveying problems, calculations of trajectories and orbits, plotting theoretical curves of interest, and studying convergence of infinite series.

In 1972 Hewlett-Packard introduced the HP-35, the first pocket-sized “scientific” calculator. It was a miniaturized version of the HP-9100a, but without the programmable logic.

It sold for $395, still an astronomical sum for most all students (equivalent to about $3,000 today).

By 1974 knock-offs became available for $100. Slide rules became obsolete almost overnight.

By 1976, the cost of a “scientific” calculator was down to $25. The last high-quality slide rules were made in the late 1970s.

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Friday Flashback #505

Westport does not lack for musical entertainment.

VersoFest turns the Library into a rockin’, rollin’ concert hall. Across the parking lot the Levitt Pavilion offers dozens of concerts, of all kinds, from spring to fall.

For a decade or so, the Levitt was the site of an annual Labor Day Blues, Views & BBQ Festival.

Before that though, Westport hosted another Blues Festival.

It ran for only 2 years: 1993 and ’94. But it some great local talent.

The Slo Leak band, for example, starred Charlie Karp (the guitar phenom who left Staples High School at 16 to play with Buddy Miles and a couple of years later, Jimi Hendrix); Harvey Brooks (the Westport bassist who played on Bob Dylan’s “Highway 61 Revisited” and the Doors’ “Touch Me,” and with Miles Davis and many others), and Danny Kortchmar (another Westport resident and session musician with Don Henley, Linda Ronstadt, James Taylor, David Crosby, Carole King, David Cassidy, Graham Nash, Neil Young, Steve Perry, Carly Simon and more).

The event was produced by Mark Naftalin, the Westporter inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame for his keyboard work with the Paul Butterfield Blues Band.

Eric von Schmidt — a musician muse for Bob Dylan, and a noted artist too — created the t-shirts and poster.

Naftalin’s wife Ellen helped him. She remembers the logo included Westport’s iconic Minute Man — but “with a guitar instead of a gun in his arms.”

She adds, “When Eric first drew it he had a tightly rolled joint in the Minute Man’s mouth. But I was worried that the powers that be in Westport would object, so I asked him to make it look more like a cigarette.

“Eric snipped off the rolled end. Now it looks more like a joint than it did in the first place.”

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Friday Flashback #504

22 Fillow Street just went on the market.

It’s listed for $999,999. That’s one of the least expensive properties in Westport today.

It was also one of the least expensive 70 years ago.

In 1956, it was a new build. Jerry Mande’s father wrote a check for $793.38. That covered his down payment.

The annual property tax was $36. Heating oil was $0.145 a gallon.

Those were the days.

Fillow Street was part of a new neighborhood. It sprouted near Fillow Flower Farm, off Clinton Avenue, and included nearby streets like Oak, Calumet, Loren and Sniffen (the latter 2 named for one man: Loren Sniffen).

Developers knew they were in the right place, at the right time. The baby boom was booming. Young families wanted the suburbs: a big home, space, good schools, amenities.

Westport sure offered amenities.

Compo Beach! Franklin Simon Shopping Center! A quick and pleasant drive on the Merritt!

And while some of those distances (2 minutes to Coleytown School, 5 minutes to the station) might be wishful thinking, the 58 minutes to Grand Central was not. Seven decades later, it takes at least 15 minutes longer. Ah, progress!

The marketing material did not hold back.

“The #1 location in the entire metropolitan area — perhaps in the entire country,” it said.

But, it added oddly, “With its awkward years of growth and inconvenience far behind, Westport stands today as the nation’s model suburban community.

“It boasts innumerable mansions in the $100,000 class and up. It abounds in many Fifth Avenue shops. It is famous for its art, theatrical and cultural centers.”

And beyond “incomparable Compo Beach … it’s endowed with priceless prestige — so vital in business and social success today.”

The homes themselves came in 2 models: “The Caddy” and “The New Englander.”

Features included finished recreation rooms, separate dining rooms, oversized garages, separate space for laundry, and leaders and gutters.

The neighborhood has stood the test of time. (The name — Flower Estates — is long forgotten, if it was ever used.)

The area is still one of the most family-friendly in Westport. It is walkable, bikeable, and filled with kids. (Especially, because of its compactness, at Halloween.)

Some original homes remain. (Though their number is dwindling.)

Jerry Mande hopes that the home he is selling is one of those. He’d like a family — not a developer — to treasure it, as his family has for 70 years.

Separate dining room, oversized garage and all.

(Click here for the full 22 Fillow Street listing.)

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Friday Flashback #503

New concessionaire Nikki Glekas will soon open “The Sandbar” at Compo Beach.

She replaces the much-reviled “Hook’d” (which in its final death throe year rebranded itself as something like “Bluestone”).

Hook’d was preceded by the much-loved Joey Romeo, whose “Joey’s by the Shore” spent about 3 decades as everything a beach food stand should be.

Before all those, of course, was “Chubby’s.”

Concessionaire Chubby Lane operated at the beach entrance, where the volleyball courts are now.

You could park in front, without a beach sticker.

The screen doors slammed. The smell of burgers and fries was intoxicating.

Throughout the 1960s and ’70s, this was summer in Westport.

Nikki Glekas stands on broad shoulders. She’s got big shoes to fill.

Here’s wishing her a warm, Chubby’s and Joey’s welcome to Compo.

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Friday Flashback #502

As we prepare for another beach season — and Old Mill Grocery & Deli gets ready for its busiest time of year — we’re reminded of the history of the 107-year-old market/community center.

We’ve posted many photos of past iterations — particularly when Ken Montgomery owned it. Here’s a rare photo of the man himself:

Here’s one of our favorites, from the very early days:

(Photos courtesy of Christopher Maroc)

It shows how much has changed on Compo Hill.

And how little has really changed, at one of Westport’s favorite institutions.

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Friday Flashback #501

What better Friday Flashback than a photo with 2 Westport icons: Ships, and Bill Cribari.

(Photo courtesy of Regina Kiska)

The downtown restaurant — now Tiffany — was a favorite meeting place. Lunch, dinner, before or after the movies (a few steps away) — Ships was where parents took kids, teenagers took dates, and everyone celebrated birthdays, anniversaries, graduations and everything else.

Officer Cribari is best known for his wizard-like hand gestures, and ballet-like footwork, as he kept traffic moving near and over the Saugatuck bridge that now bears his name.

But he was equally adept at the Post Road/Main Street intersection, as this image shows.

He was always smiling. He knew everyone.

And everyone knew — and loved — both Bill Cribari, and Ships.

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