Category Archives: Looking back

Attention All Seaplane Pilots!

Don’t ask me how, but spectacularly alert reader Mary Gai spotted this ad, from the Norwalk Hour of October 27, 1948:

Westport Seaplane Base

That’s it. I had never heard of a seaplane base — or a Sea Wings Club — ever.

A fairly thorough search did not turn up any photos, either.

Pretty amazing for an organization that was around for at least 10 years.

Inquiring minds want to know more. If you have any information about seaplanes in Westport — or can find photos — click “Comments” below. Or email dwoog@optonline.net.

Our seaplane story — with the lowest rates “in the history of aviation” — deserves to be told.

Musical Memories: The Sequel

Wednesday’s “06880” post about Bo Diddley‘s appearances in Westport sent Mike James scrambling for his scrapbook.

Sure enough, there it was: a ticket to one of the rock ‘n’ roll pioneer’s local shows. With an actual autograph from the star. (He apparently called himself “The Man.”)

Bo Diddley ticket - Michael James

St. Anthony’s Hall was on Franklin Street (you can read all about that history here.)

Meanwhile, Michael Friedman — the Staples grad who inspired that “06880” story — e-mailed me a few of the many photos he’s taken over his long musical career.

From Bo Diddley to Janis Joplin, Mick Jagger and Johnny Winter, he’s seen it all.

Janis Joplin (Photo/Michael Friedman)

Janis Joplin (Photo/Michael Friedman)

Edgar Winter and Janis Joplin (Photo/Michael Friedman)

Johnny Winter and Janis Joplin (Photo/Michael Friedman)

The Rolling Stones perform at a Hell's Angels concert in California. No, it wasn't Altamont. (Photo/Michael Friedman)

The Rolling Stones. (Photo/Michael Friedman)

Hello, it's Todd Rundgren. (Photo/Michael Friedman)

Hello, it’s Todd Rundgren. (Photo/Michael Friedman)

Mr. Toquet’s Opera House

Alert “0688o” reader Seth Schachter spotted this gem for sale on eBay:

Toquet ticket

It’s an invitation to an informal reception at the Westport Opera House on December 29 — of 1892.

Smythe’s Orchestra was going to play. The cost for gentlemen was $1. Apparently, women were free.

The most interesting part of the invitation is the 3rd name on the “Committee.” Besides Gould Jelliff and Arthur Jelliff, there was B. Louis Toquet.

Here’s the back story (thanks to Woody Klein’s history of Westport):

Benjamin H. Toquet was born in Paris in 1834, and came to America in 1845. He served in the Civil War, then returned to Westport.

His son — the B(enjamin) Louis Toquet on the invitation — was born in 1864.

Toward the end of the century the younger Toquet — now a respected businessman — built an opera house on Post Road property inherited by his wife, Nellie Bradley. The first town meeting was held there on April 2, 1892.

For the next 17 years, all town meetings and assemblies were held there.

Toquet's opera house, today.

Toquet’s opera house, today.

The older Toquet died in 1913, a successful entrepreneur. He headed up the Toquet Motor Company, which developed carburetors for Fords.

B. Lewis Toquet had a daughter, Vivienne. His family — and his father — lived at 10 Avery Place. As of 1946, he was still living there.

In 2016, of course, the 2nd floor Post Road/Jesup Road alley space is not an opera house. It’s a teen center — and it’s named for Toquet.

Rock bands play there. Hip hop artists, comedians and magicians perform. Teenagers put on plays.

No opera, though.

Go figure.

PS: The eBay invitation sold this morning. The price was $9 — 9 times more than admission to the opera house, 124 years ago.

Fighting Static, live at Toquet Hall.

Fighting Static, live at Toquet Hall.

Bo Did Westport

Westport’s musical history is well noted.

Mark Smollin wrote a book about all the 1960s bands that played at Staples: the Doors, Cream, Yardbirds, Animals and many, many more.

Linda Eastman — before she was McCartney — photographed Jeff Beck in the high school choral room.

A video of Steve Tallerico — before he was Steve Tyler — plays in an endless loop at the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame. In it, he talks about the incredible influence this town had on his musical career.

But before the Byrds, Peter Frampton and Sly and the Family Stone played here — and all the rest — there was a different kind of teenage music. And Westport was at the center of it then, too.

Michael Friedman today, in his Weston home.

Michael Friedman today, in his Weston home.

Michael Friedman was there. Now 72, he’s had several intriguing careers. He’s been an antiques dealer, and a restaurant owner.

He produced “Hello, It’s Me,” and managed Todd Rundgren and Kris Kristofferson — as well as (with Albert Grossman) the careers of Bob Dylan, Janis Joplin, The Band, Odetta, and Peter Paul & Mary. He did publicity for the Dave Clark 5 and Herman’s Hermits.

But even before that — when he was a student at Long Lots Junior High, and a member of Staples High’s Class of 1961 — Friedman was part of Westport’s thriving music scene.

In 1958 — as a “self-taught, left-handed, not-so-great drummer” — he joined saxophonist Rick Del Vecchio and guitarist/singer Mike Youngman in a group called the Schemers. Friedman calls them “Westport’s 1st garage band.”

They were young. But the 4th member was even younger. Barry Tashian brought great guitar chops — and an amazing voice, and plenty of showmanship — to the foursome.

Bo Diddley was heard in Westport.

Bo Diddley was heard in Westport.

The Schemers covered songs by hot artists like Chuck Berry and Bo Diddley. They knew Diddley especially well: He played in Westport “a number of times,” Friedman says. They were dance shows, at places like the YMCA.

Once, Diddley’s drummer was too drunk to perform. Friedman took his spot.

Another act that came to Westport was Harvey and the Moonglows (“Sincerely”). Once again, the drummer drank too much. Once again, Friedman stepped in.

Only one local band was bigger than the Schemers. Bridgeport’s Dick Grass and the Hoppers — featuring 350-pound lead singer Bobby Lindsay — had a regional hit with “Mr. John Law.”

A few years later, Tashian went on to far great fame. With fellow Westporter Bill Briggs — and 2 Boston University classmates — the Remains took Boston by storm. They toured with the Beatles, appeared on “Ed Sullivan” and “Hullabaloo,” and were (in the words of Jon Landau) “how you told a stranger about rock ‘n’ roll.”

Unfortunately, the Remains broke up. But that’s another story.

Westporters and Remains Barry Tashian (left) and Bill Briggs flank Staples music director John Ohanian in 1966.

Westporters Barry Tashian (left) and Bill Briggs of the Remains flank Staples music director John Ohanian in 1966.

Tashian was not the only Friedman-era Stapleite to go on to musical fame. Mike Borchetta brought musical acts to Westport while still in high school. One was Dave Baby Cortez (“The Happy Organ”).

Borchetta later became a noted music promoter — first in Los Angeles, then Nashville. He went on to start his own label — and discovered a 16-year-old Taylor Swift.

Don Law was another Staples musical mover and shaker. His father — also named Don — was “Mr. Nashville.” He produced Johnny Horton’s “Battle of New Orleans,”Marty Robbins’ “El Paso” and Jimmy Dean’s “Big Bad John,” as well as many Johnny Cash records.

His son — Friedman’s friend — was a Boston-based promoter. The Boston Globe says Law “virtually controlled the live music scene throughout New England for almost four decades.”

And who can forget Rusty Ford, who went on to play bass with the psychedelic, theremin-heavy, influential but now forgotten Lothar and the Hand People? Ford and his wife Karen have lived in Westport since 1992.

Lothar and the Hand People. i'm not sure which one is Rusty Ford.

Lothar and the Hand People. Rusty Ford is 2nd from left in this photo by Richard Avedon.

Friedman’s own career took a couple of detours. He sold Americana and folk art, and owned the Ash Creek Saloons in Fairfield and Norwalk, along with Darien’s Goose restaurant.

But music was always his first love.

“I’ve had a fun life,” he says, sitting in his Weston home. He’s surrounded by memorabilia, like an acetate from the Beatles’ recording of “Help!”, a 1948 snare drum head signed by Levon Helm, and a photo he took of Janis Joplin just before she performed for a few thousand Hell’s Angels.

Yet of everything he’s done — including dating Linda Eastman — “the Barry and Bo Diddley years were the best. There’s nothing better than playing in a rock ‘n’ roll band.”

Michael Friedman knew Levon Helm when he was in the Hawks -- the band that preceded The Band. The drum head says: "Michael. You & me brother. They wouldn't believe us if we told it. Love & respect, Levon. Sept. '09."

Michael Friedman knew Levon Helm when he was in the Hawks — the band that preceded The Band. The drum head says: “Michael. You & me brother. They wouldn’t believe us if we told it. Love & respects, Levon Helm. Sept. ’09.”

 

Bedford Hall Plans Big 150th Birthday Bash

Last year, “06880” honored the renovation of Bedford Hall. The Westport Woman’s Club had just spent $120,000 creating a bright new space for anyone in town to use for weddings, bar mitzvahs, art shows, memorial services and more.

I told the back story: how in 1945 Frederick Bedford bought an Imperial Avenue house for the civic improvement organization to use. Five years later, he put up half the money to add meeting space. It came from an unusual source: Part of Saugatuck Congregational Church was moved from its original site, several hundred feet up the Post Road.

When the building was reassembled and joined to the Imperial Avenue house, the clapboard matched perfectly.

Bedford Hall

Now — a year later after Bedford Hall opened – the Westport Woman’s Club is ready to celebrate.

A birthday party — celebrating 150 years since the original meetinghouse was built — is set for Saturday, April 16 (6-9 p.m.).

There’s comedy (with Jane Condon as emcee), live and silent auctions, wine, food and birthday cake. Bedford family members have been invited.

As is true with Bedford Hall itself: The entire town is invited.

See you there. Hey — you only turn 150 once!

(Tickets to Bedford Hall’s birthday bash are $75 each. Reservations are due by April 8. Checks made out to Westport Woman’s Club should be sent to 44 Imperial Avenue, Westport, CT 06880. Include “Birthday Bash Reservations” in the memo line, and include names of attendees. Tickets will be held at the door.)

 

Bedford Hall sign

 

 

Kerry Quinn, Pamela Anderson And That Famous Sex Tape

“06880” does not want to be the TMZ of hyperlocal blogs. Wednesday’s post about Staples High grad/porn king Mike Kulich’s defense of drug company owner/vile human being Martin Shkreli should have been our celebrity ration for the week.

But Kerry Quinn — a Staples 1992 alum — just published an intriguing story in Playboy.* It involves Pamela Anderson, Tommy Lee and their very infamous sex tape.

So here goes.

In February 1995, Kerry was a University of Michigan junior. She and 100 spring break friends got upgraded to a 4-star Cancun hotel. That was not good. They worried such a classy place would ruin their “binge drinking, hookups and general shenanigans.”

No problem.

Hung over, they saw Pamela Anderson — “in a white bikini and real sheer sarong” — walking by. (In 1995, Kerry reminds us, Anderson was “the second coming of Marilyn Monroe.”) A “rocker dude” was in tow.

Turns out, she and Tommy Lee were getting married.

Kerry Quinn's photos ended up in the Globe tabloid.

Kerry Quinn’s photos ended up in the Globe tabloid.

Kerry had only 10 shots left on her camera (“photography was hard in the 1990s”). Her film ran out before the ceremony, but she got a few good photos before that.

A lot more happened — Tommy Lee bought Kerry a piña colada, for example — and then a Globe tabloid photographer bought Kerry’s film for $275. He promised to send back her other photos, of a (drunken) winter formal.

He never did.

After the ceremony, Kerry asked Pamela Anderson for a photo with her. "Her mouth said, 'Yes,' while her eyes said, 'No,'" Kerry writes. "I gave zero fucks and smiled while my friend Rachel took a picture."

After the ceremony, Kerry asked Pamela Anderson for a photo with her. “Her mouth said, ‘Yes,’ while her eyes said, ‘No,'” Kerry writes. “I gave zero f–ks and smiled while my friend Rachel took a picture.”

But wait! There’s more!

The newlyweds checked out of their hotel (“spring breakers weren’t exactly honeymoon aphrodisiacs”). They headed to a private yacht, where they filmed their infamous sex tape. After being stolen from a safe, it became one of the best-selling porn videos ever.

As Kerry points out, “If I hadn’t been the spring break rep who negotiated a 4-star hotel for a bunch of college kids, then they might not have checked out and gone to a yacht. And maybe they wouldn’t have made that infamous sex tape. Who knows? You’re welcome, America.”

That’s the story. Now, “06880” promises not to run another Staples/porn-connection story.

Unless it’s a good one.

(To read Kerry Quinn’s entire story, click here.)

*Yes, it’s still around.

(Hat tip: Evan Stein)

The Globe never gave Kerry her winter formal photos. But they did quote her.

The Globe never gave Kerry her winter formal photos. But they did quote her.

17 Soundview: The Sequel

A “notice of demolition” sits on the front of the house at 17 Soundview Drive. Such signs are common in Westport. But this home is special.

For one thing, every Westporter knows it. We pass it whenever we walk or drive on the beach exit road.

For another, it has an amazing musical history. Two years ago — when the house was up for sale — I recounted the story, as if its walls could talk.

—————————————————

Ginger Baker sent a drum set to the house. Peter Frampton lounged on the front deck. Carly Simon wanted to buy it.

Those are just a few of the musical memories associated with 17 Soundview Drive. It’s one of the most handsome homes lining the Compo exit road, drawing admiring glances from walkers and sunbathers for its beachside gracefulness.

If only they knew the musical history hidden throughout the property.

17 Soundview Drive.

17 Soundview Drive.

It was built — like the rest of the neighborhood — as a summer house in 1918. One of Frank Lloyd Wright’s students designed it, ensuring harmony with the beach environment.

Francis Bosco — current owner Gail Cunningham Coen’s grandfather — bought it in 1928. A Sicilian immigrant and lover of opera, he tuned in every Saturday to NBC Radio’s live Met broadcasts. For years the voices of Enrico Caruso, Maria Callas, Robert Merrill and others soared from the living room, under the awnings and onto the beach, thrilling neighbors and passersby.

In 1982 Gail and her husband Terry Coen bought the house. She’s a musician and music teacher; he’s a songwriter and music promoter. Over the past 32 years they’ve lavished love on it. It was one of the 1st Compo homes to be raised, to protect against storms. The Coens added a secluded rooftop deck, and flower and vegetable gardens.

You can see the water from nearly every room in the house. This is the living room.

You can see the water from nearly every room in the house. This is the living room.

But the professionally designed, fully soundproofed music studio is what really rocks.

It — and the chance to hang out privately, yet in the middle of all the beach action — has made 17 Soundview a home away from home for 3 decades of musical royalty.

Ginger Baker spent many evenings talking about the birth of British rock, touring with Eric Clapton, and his childhood in England during World War II. He also recited some very bawdy limericks. In return, he gave Ludwig drums to Soundview Studios.

Ginger Baker, and his drums. (Photo/Wikipedia)

Ginger Baker, and his drums. (Photo/Wikipedia)

Peter Frampton brought his young family. They loved the warm summer breeze, and being able to sit anonymously just a few feet from the hubbub of a beach afternoon.

One summer day, Carly Simon said she was thinking of buying a beach house. #17 was her favorite, because it reminded her so much of Martha’s Vineyard.

Meat Loaf played Sunday morning softball at Compo. After, he headed to the Coens’. One day, he played his next single on the roof deck. No one on the beach could see he was there — but they heard him. At the end, everyone applauded.

The Remains reunited for the 1st time in decades in the studio. (Full disclosure: I was there. It was one of the most magical moments of my life.)

Eric von Schmidt loved to sing by the fireplace, and joined jam sessions in the studio. One day, Ramblin’ Jack Elliott rambled over with him.

Other regulars included Jimi Hendrix’s bass player Noel Redding; Corky Laing and Leslie West of Mountain; former Buddy Miles Express front man Charlie Karp; Eric Schenkman of the Spin Doctors, and guitarist/producer/songwriter Danny Kortchmar.

17 Soundview - roof deck

The rooftop deck is a great place to watch fireworks. It’s also where Meat Loaf played his next single, to the unknowing delight of a Compo Beach crowd.

Some of those musicians — and plenty other great ones, though less known — were guests at the Coens’ annual July 4th fireworks parties. The food and drinks were fantastic, capped off by watching the passing parade on Soundview.

But the real action happened when the fireworks ended. Everyone piled into the studio, and jammed till the sun came up.

From Caruso to the Spin Doctors, 17 Soundview Drive has seen it all. If only those walls could talk (or sing).

(The new owners will replace the 98-year-old house with a handsome new one. They’re making sure it fits in well with the streetscape. We’ll continue to admire 17 Soundview Drive. We’ll just sing a different song.)

V. Louise Higgins: A Loving Tribute

As news of V. Louise Higgins’ death spread yesterday, former Staples High School English students from 4 decades posted their memories on “06880.

Andrea Libresco’s were longer than most. They deserve their own story.

Today, Andrea — a 1976 Staples grad — is a professor of social studies education at Hofstra University. She spent 19 years as a high school social studies teacher, and is the author of 2 books on education. It’s clear Miss Higgins had quite an influence on her. Andrea writes:

When my son was in 1st grade, he told us, “I am learning so much, she is making my head explode!” I had my own version of his teacher.

V. Louise Higgins, my 12th grade AP English instructor, wrote 1-2 pages of single-spaced comments on our papers. Her personalized journal assignments were designed to make each of us wide awake in the world.

V Louise Higgins, in Andrea Libresco's 1976 Staples yearbook.

V Louise Higgins, in Andrea Libresco’s 1976 Staples yearbook.

Every 2 weeks, each student was charged with writing a response to a particular article that Ms. Higgins had picked out particularly for him or her. It was not until I became a teacher that I truly appreciated the volume of individualized preparation and grading that these assignments entailed, not to mention the assumption that members of our class were individuals with different interests and needs.

My first assignment was a “My Turn” piece in Newsweek. An  immigrant had written about immigration policy. I was tasked with writing a letter to the editor in response. I felt pretty good … until it was returned with a full page of comments.

Ms. Higgins wondered why my letter had been so impersonal; why I had not, amid my policy analyses, extended a welcome to this recent immigrant to America. Her comment reminded me that analytical thought is but one aspect of being a citizen in a democracy. Another is recognizing and valuing the individual experiences of the variety of citizens who make up our multicultural democracy, and greeting them with the humanity that they all deserve.

I also remember the comments she wrote on my senior author paper on Sinclair Lewis.  They began, “Andrea, dear, you’ve written your usual safe ‘A paper…” She detailed the directions I might have taken, had I chosen to think a bit more.  These comments burned in my mind every time I sat down to write a paper in college, and I never (not consciously, at least) wrote a “safe” paper again.

Andrea Libresco, in 1976.

Andrea Libresco, in 1976.

I would be remiss if I did not mention her wicked sense of humor. When she was teaching us about the meaning of “sardonic,” she invited us to try our hands at making a sardonic comment. One student took up her challenge. He directed his stinger, “Nice wig,” at Ms. Higgins.

We looked from him to her, aghast. She elected to take him down, not by explaining how his insult was childish; rather, with barely concealed glee, she commented on an aspect of his dress: “Lovely sweater – knit it yourself, dear?”  As usual, she had the last – wry – word.

Ten years ago, I re-connected with her when I was running a program at my university called The Teacher Who Shaped My Life. Students, alums and faculty talked about a teacher they felt had greatly influenced them. Although she could not attend, it began a 10-year correspondence with her that I have treasured.  There was not a letter or email that didn’t make me laugh.

V. Louise Higgins, in 2014. (Photo/Karl Decker)

V. Louise Higgins, in 2014. (Photo/Karl Decker)

For example, her comments on Teach For America: “My fragile bones stop me from slugging grandparents I overhear counseling their grandchildren that they should use the TFA as a way station while they figure out what to do with their always enormous talents. However, one must be content with hoping all with such TFA views are operated on by young surgeons who just dropped in to medicine to get background for the string of novels or TV scripts they intend to write as soon as they have enough info.”

Her observations on her escalating physical infirmities allowed me to picture her jauntily battling them: “I am still recovering from hip replacement surgery, a rite of passage for almost everyone over 85. (The only bonus which comes with surviving it all is that one is able to wield a black, silver-handled cane with authority and strike poses that intimidate even medical persons.)”

She ended every email with the exhortation, “Onward.” And we, who were lucky enough to have V. Louise as a teacher, mentor, or friend, have no choice but to obey!

Andrea Libresco today.

Andrea Libresco today.

 

Mike Koskoff Brings Thurgood Marshall To Hollywood

This is a story about a movie script.

But it reads like a movie script itself.

When he was 19, Mike Koskoff’s family moved to Westport. He’s 74 now, still here, working at his “day job”: trial lawyer. Clients have included the Black Panthers, black police officers and firefighters in Bridgeport, and Michael Jackson’s family.

His son Josh is a partner in the firm. Right now, he’s handling the Sandy Hook suit against gun manufacturers.

Seven years ago, before he died, Jack Zeldes — a Bridgeport attorney and legal historian — asked Mike if he knew there had a been a trial in that city involving Thurgood Marshall.

Mike did not. Apparently, no one else remembered it either.

More than 2 decades before he became a Supreme Court justice, Thurgood Marshall handled an explosive case in Bridgeport.

More than 2 decades before he became a Supreme Court justice, Thurgood Marshall handled an explosive case in Bridgeport.

Mike presented the idea to 2 of his other children, Jake and Sarah. Both are screenwriters. Neither had the time — or the interest.

But 7 years earlier, on Mike’s 60th birthday, Sarah had given him a book on screenwriting. Zeldes suggested Mike try writing something about Marshall himself.

Mike’s 1st draft focused on the courtroom drama. The case began in 1940. Greenwich socialite Eleanor Strubing was found near the Kensico Reservoir. She told a harrowing story of being raped by her black chauffeur, Joseph Spell.

Police quickly arrested the man. It was front-page news.

Sam Friedman

Sam Friedman

Frightened white people across the country began firing their domestic workers. The NAACP — despite its own dire financial straits — hired Bridgeport attorney Sam Friedman.

And they sent Thurgood Marshall to help.

“The image we have of Marshall today is chubby, jowly, good-natured,” Mike Koskoff says.

“But in 1941 he was 6-2, and extremely handsome. He drank bourbon at nightclubs, and hung out in Harlem with Langston Hughes and Joe Louis.”

Only 32, Marshall was a formidable attorney. He’d traveled around the South — alone — defending blacks in redneck towns. And he had already argued before the Supreme Court.

Thurgood Marshall, as a young man.

Thurgood Marshall, as a young man.

Koskoff’s script centered around the 2 men — Jewish Friedman, and black Marshall — joining forces to defend Spell. With the backdrop of the growing war in Europe, he had plenty of material.

The screenplay took a while to finish. Eventually Koskoff took it to his friend (and fellow attorney) Alan Neigher.

To Koskoff’s amazement, Neigher said that his father — a noted journalist named Harry — had covered that trial for the Bridgeport Herald.

And — after law school — Alan even shared office space with Friedman.

Neigher showed the script to Friedman’s family. Sam’s daughter Lauren — a therapist in New York, who had studied acting at Carnegie Mellon — passed it along to a producer friend in Los Angeles.

The friend liked it, and wanted to make it into a movie. Koskoff told his son Jake the news.

When Mike mentioned the producer’s name — Paula Wagner — Jake was stunned. “She’s the biggest female producer in Hollywood!” he said. She worked with Tom Cruise, producing the “Mission: Impossible” series, and Steven Spielberg’s “War of the Worlds.”

Wagner loved the script. But, she said, it needed better character development.

Koskoff realized he was in over his head. He called Jake. This time, his son was ready to help.

Michael and Jake Koskoff.

Mike and Jake Koskoff.

For the past 4 years, father and son have collaborated on new drafts. They’ve been helped by one of Wagner’s friends: Reginald Hudlin. A Harvard grad, producer of this year’s Oscars show and an African American, he’s been a lifelong admirer of Thurgood Marshall.

He loved the script too. But, he said — there’s always a “but” — there was just one thing. The 1st biopic about the 1st black Supreme Court justice could not be a “buddy film” about 1 Jewish and 1 black lawyer collaborating. Marshall had to be front and center.

It turned out to be an easy rewrite. “Thurgood was always there,” Koskoff says. “He was just waiting to jump out.”

Cahdwick Boseman

Chadwick Boseman

Chadwick Boseman (Jackie Robinson in “42,” James Brown in “Get On Up”) signed on as the star. Filming began before Christmas, but was interrupted by Hudlin’s Oscars gig. It resumes next month.

Koskoff hoped it would be shot in Bridgeport. But the Connecticut Film Office has a moratorium on tax credits, so shooting takes place in Buffalo.

“Marshall” is the right movie at the right time, Koskoff says.

“Five years ago, we were told no one would finance a ‘black’ movie because there were no overseas sales. But then came ‘The Butler,’ ’12 Years a Slave’ and ‘Selma.'”

Koskoff adds, “Now we’ve got Black Lives Matter, police abuses, and a focus on blacks and the criminal justice system — along with the Oscars controversy about black actors.”

Throw in, for good measure, the current national focus on a Supreme Court vacancy. The stars have aligned for “Marshall.”

Release is scheduled for the end of this year. That seems like a long way off. Odds are though — without a 9th justice — the Supreme Court will still be in the news.

(For a Jewish Ledger interview with Mike Koskoff, click here. Hat tips: David Roth and Darcy Hicks)

Mike Koskoff (right) with Sam Friedman's daughter Lauren, and Thurgood Marshall's son John.

Mike Koskoff (right) with Sam Friedman’s daughter Lauren, and Thurgood Marshall’s son John.

Thurgood Marshall - quote

 

Remembering V. Louise Higgins

Anyone who attended Staples in the 1940s, ’50s, ’60s and ’70s knew V. Louise Higgins. The Radcliffe graduate influenced thousands of lives, as a revered English teacher and department chair.

That influence included fellow teachers and administrators, as well as students. Former colleague Karl Decker remembers V. Louise Higgins, who died last Friday at 92.

——————————————————

I came to the Staples English Department in September 1960, along with many other new young teachers. “V. Louise” — “Miss Higgins” of course to us unproven neophytes — had come to my classroom for my first observation.

V. Louise Higgins, in the 1956 Staples yearbook...

V. Louise Higgins, in the 1956 Staples yearbook…

I was ready with a  great lesson, the students were ready with pencils  poised for note-taking, and I did all the right things. Miss Higgins sat in back taking notes on a yellow legal pad. Class ended, students left, Miss Higgins rose with her yellow legal pad and approached me.

“Dear boy,” she said using her frequent form of address. “A fascinating class. Tell me, for I am curious — just where did you get your material?”

“My fine college notes, Miss Higgins,” I replied. “You see, I saved them in case–”

“I thought so,” she said and paused. Then: “Tell me, have you considered burning them?” And with that she left the room.

As she passed by the wastebasket, she tore off the top sheet of her yellow legal pad, crumpled it up and backboarded it off the wall into the garbage.

If VL had a supervisory, mentoring objective, it surely was to get us to develop our own expertise, to work towards our own mastery of content and teaching skills. As she put it once to me, “I want you to be able to teach that class with your hands tied behind your back and without the crutch of a lesson plan — of specious value anyway — before you.”

...and in 1969.

…and in 1969.

Three years later I held a minor administrative position at Staples and had my teaching schedule halved. VL was clearly not pleased. One day she came to my new office and asked, “Are you going to be an administrator or a teacher?” I leaned back in the arrogance of my swivel chair and said I’d give it some serious thought.

“I want that serious thought done and over with tonight and your answer on my desk tomorrow morning,” she replied. I chose teaching. “The correct choice,” she said later. “Now, about the Shakespeare selections for the sophomore classes…”

So the years at Staples passed and eventually we went our separate ways. VL retired and devoted her later years to study of the ships and seafaring days of Southport. In 1999 I quit after 43 years of teaching to become a photographer and writer for 6 years at Vermont Magazine.  Then by chance we re-met when she was in residence at the famed 3030 in Bridgeport. I had begun work on a novel.

“A novel? Dear boy, do let me read your drafts,” she said. And for the next 2 years, I’d send her the chapters as they came. Her critical skills were undiminished–sharp, perceptive, acerbic and yet supportive.

“On page 145 you have a paragraph that make no sense at all…Oh, yes, and here on page 166, you have a terrible mixed metaphor…ah, there is a nice turn of phrase somewhere here…just can’t seem to find it right now…”

In December 2014 -- as she read his manuscript -- Karl Decker took this photo of V. Louise Higgins. "Note the color in her world," he says.

In December 2014 — as she read his manuscript — Karl Decker took this photo of V. Louise Higgins. “Note the color in her world,” he says.

In one of my later calls she asked, “Where are Chapters 21 and 22?” I sent them, but no reply, no critique came. In my last call a few weeks ago, I had asked how she was doing. Prefaced with unguarded and easy laughter, she finally said, “Dear boy, I am 92 years old. At 92 you simply, don’t start getting better.”

As an ex-English teacher I suppose I should be able to end this encomium (she loved big, precise words) with some brilliant quote from the great literature. But nothing seems to come just now. All I can say is I feel as if the chain to one of my several anchors in the world has been severed and for a while, I may be somewhat adrift.

Well. I do hope she likes the metaphor.