Tag Archives: World War II

Merci, Marigny!

Posted on May 8, 2022 | 17 comments

Here in the US, it’s Mothers Day. Across the country, families gather to celebrate Mom.

1st Selectwoman Jen Tooker got up early this morning, and headed to her Town Hall office. She was there to honor a sibling — well, Westport’s sibling.

Very few residents here know, but we have a sister town in France: Marigny.

Right after D-Day in 1944, Westporter Bob Loomis — a gun sergeant — was there. It’s just 25 miles from Utah Beach.

A couple of weeks later another Westporter — heavy machine gunner Clay Chalfant — moved through Marigny with his company on their way to Belgium.

When the war ended, Charlotte MacLear — head of the French department at Staples High School, and a graduate of prestigious Sorbonne Université — sparked a campaign to “officially adopt Marigny” and help its recovery.

Our town sent clothes, money and Christmas gifts, thanks to fundraising that included selling toys and buckets with designs painted by Westport artists.

In return, Marigny created the “Westport School Canteen,” and named the town’s largest square “Place Westport.” Charlotte MacLear visited our sister town 3 times. Each time, she was honored and adored.

“Pharmacie Westport,” in Marigny.

We forgot the relationship. Marigny never did.

In June 1994 — as part of the 50th anniversary of the invasion of Normandy — town officials invited 3 Westport middle school students and 2 Westport veterans to stay in the homes of residents. They visited “Westport Gift Shop” and “Pharmacie Westport.”

The 2 veterans were, of course,  Loomis and Chalfant.

Marigny – c’est magnifique!

That was nearly 30 years ago. Once again, Westport has lost its connection with our sister town.

But still, Marigny remembers.

This morning — early afternoon in France — they dedicated a room in their Town Hall in Charlotte MacLear’s memory. It is now, and forever, “Salle Charlotte MacLear.”

For today’s event, Marigny officials put 1st Selectwoman Jen Tooker front and center. The other photos show members of the Marigny town government, and a photo from the 1940s.

Tooker participated via Zoom.

Mayor Fabrice Lemazurier explained that the room is where the Town council meets, making “all the important decisions concerning Marigny-Le-Luzon’s future.” It is a town “proud of its history, ready to face its future.”

He noted that “Mrs. MacLear and her fellow Americans gave our territory a helping hand and restored smiles, particularly to our younger citizens.”

He added:

War once again on European soil certainly reminds us of the darkest hours of our history. It is our duty today to do everything to restore and preserve peace. I believe that in a certain way this is what we are doing today – to remember and never forget.

Marigny Mayor Fabrice Lemazurier, via Zoom.

After “The Star-Spangled Banner” was played on trumpet, 1st Selectwoman Tooker spoke. Beginning and ending in flawless French, she described Westport’s location near the United Nations, and noted how many residents have lived and worked abroad.

She said that we understand our connection to the world, and are proud to participate as global citizens. She called this a “remarkable and heartwarming honor,” and said that we share “brotherhood and neighborliness in this volatile world.”

Then deputy mayor Adèle Hommet said that her town wants to ensure that the room “lives up to the spirit of Charlotte MacLear who, as a schoolteacher with a determination to promote international relations, as well as her receptiveness toward all of our citizens whom she met, marked her as an exceptional person.”

She added that she hopes Westport and Marigny students can meet and learn from each other.

… and 1st Selectwoman Jennifer Tooker.

Remarks came too from René Gautier, who as a child benefited from Westporters’ kindness; Gilles Quinquenel, who recalled the dark days of World War II, and Philippe Gosselin, who recounted Franco-American relations going back to 1776.

He included Charlotte MacLear’s name on his roster of great Americans, right there with President Roosevelt, and Generals Eisenhower and Patton.

“Long live La Manche! Long live Normandy! Long live France, and long live the United States!” he said.

The ceremony concluded with Mayor Lemazurier wishing that Americans and French, on both sides of the Atlantic, can “come to the aid of the Ukrainian people in their moment of need, as we were over 75 years ago,” and Marigny’s representative in Parliament expressing the hope of meeting Tooker in France.

Then, saying “It’s not really goodbye; we’ll meet again,” the mayor introduced the final piece of music: “Auld Lang Syne.”

I was involved in some of the emails and phone calls between Marigny officials, and the 1st Selectwomen’s office. French officials asked me if Charlotte MacLear is still remembered fondly in Westport.

Perhaps a few people here still recall her name. In our sister town, our French friends will never forget her.

Marigny and Westport were united today, in red, white and blue.

FUN FACT: Westport has 2 other sister cities, according to Wikipedia: St. Petersburg, Russia and Yangzhou, China. Read the back stories here.

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Posted in History, Local politics, Staples HS

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Ted Aldrich: A Commuter’s Tale Of How George Marshall And Henry Stimson Won The War

Posted on March 17, 2022 | 5 comments

As Metro-North trains grew progressively slower, Fairfield County commuters groaned.

When bad weather, aging infrastructure or acts of God turned delays of minutes into hours, men and women gnashed their teeth, or wished the windows opened so they could jump out.

Ted Aldrich was thrilled.

For 8 years, the banker used his time between Greens Farms and Grand Central not to try to answer emails, watch movies on a phone screen or wish he were anywhere else.

Aldrich read history books. He organized notes. Then he wrote a book.

Ted Aldrich

Not just any book. He wrote 800 pages — then edited it down to 500 — on the odd relationship, and amazing success, of George Marshall and Henry Stimson.

The general and diplomat, Aldrich says, are hugely responsible for America’s logistical success in World War II. It’s a fresh area of study, one no historian has previously examined.

Yet Aldrich is not a historian. He’s a banker.

And this is his first book ever.

The Rowayton native and former Brien McMahon High School all-state soccer player has been a history buff as long as he remembers. But after playing at Colgate University, living and working in Europe, then moving to Westport in 1999, that passion was limited to reading on trains.

In 2008 he realized he could put that commuting time to productive use, by writing a book he’d long thought about. He had a subject: the collaboration between the unlikely duo of the U.S. Army chief of staff and President Roosevelt’s Secretary of War.

From adjoining offices at the Pentagon, the career military man and the Wall Street lawyer — both from vastly different backgrounds — created and led a war machine that helped crush a powerful enemy.

Blending politics, diplomacy, bureaucracy and war fighting, they transformed an outdated, poorly equipped army into a modern fighting force.  They developed strategy and logistics, coordinated with allies, and planned for post-war peace.

General George Marshall, and Secretary of War Henry Stimson.

Aldrich had the idea for the story. But with Metro-North’s spotty cell service, conducting the all-important research — during the only time he had available — was impossible.

Then he stumbled on Stimson’s 10,000-page diary. Because the men occupied adjoining offices, most of their collaboration took place in conversations. Little was written down — except in the diary.

It was housed at Yale, but not digitized. Aldrich paid to have it converted, and put it on a thumb drive. Suddenly, the train became his office.

The longer the commute was, the more productive and happier he became. Research took 3 years. Writing took 5 more.

Adlrich looked forward to to long business flights to Asia too. While most passengers slept or watched movies, Aldrich wrote, edited, and wrote some more.

That was the easy part. Selling his work to publishers seemed impossible. Major houses were not interested in a long book by a non-historian who had never written anything before.

Neither were smaller publishers.

Finally, Stackpole Books responded to Aldrich’s cold call. Three days later, they offered him a contract.

The Partnership: George Marshall, Henry Stimson, and the Extraordinary Collaboration That Won World War II will be published April 15. Best-selling author Walter Isaacson calls it “a valuable addition to history.”

Noted writer Evan Thomas adds:

The contrast to the current day will pop out at readers. Aldrich writes with a confident, readable style that carries you along. Through these men we remember how America truly did become great. At the same time, Aldrich has a clear eye about their foibles and blind spots. Stimson and Marshall were Olympian figures, yet in Aldrich’s capable hands, human and relatable.

Unlike many writers who head out on book tours, Aldrich has a full-time job. His personal promotion will be limited to groups in the tri-state area, and Washington — talks he can give while still working his day job.

Meanwhile, he’d love to write another book. But he has to find the right subject — and make sure much of the material is available on a thumb drive.

On the other hand, at the rate Metro-North is going, Aldrich may have even more time to write than before.

(For more information and to order Ted Aldrich’s book, click here.) 

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Posted in Categories, History, Media, Transportation

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Remembering Nicholas Rossi

Posted on January 2, 2022 | 3 comments

Nicholas Rossi — the World War II veteran who won the hearts of Westporters after moving here 3 years ago, and served memorably as grand marshal of last May’s Memorial Day parade — died peacefully yesterday morning. He was 99 years old.

Nicholas Rossi

Before his Memorial Day honor, I had the privilege and joy of interviewing him. Here is the story I posted.

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Nicholas Rossi’s mother did not want him to join the military.

Her first-born son, with 3 brothers and 1 sister, had just graduated from Long Island’s Oyster Bay High School. But World War II was raging. Her father had fought in World War I. Nicholas ended up in the infantry.

If he was going to be in the service, his mother thought, at least get a different assignment. Thanks to someone his father knew — he worked as a caretaker on an estate — Rossi ended up in the Army Air Corps.

After training in Texas, his 305th Bombardment Group of the 364th Squadron was assigned to the 8th Air Force Bomber Command in England.

They flew B-17 “Flying Fortress” bombers in the European Theater. Rossi was a technical sergeant.

Technical sergeant Nicholas Rossi.

“I was not a professional engineer,” he recalls from his home in Westport, where — age 98 — he lives with his son Paul and daughter-in-law Marguerite. “But that aircraft was like a baby to me.”

Besides taking care of the planes on the ground, Rossi flew multiple missions. Seated behind the pilot and co-pilot, he handled fuel and any mechanical problems.

The Germans “shot the hell out of us,” Rossi says. But he was never shot down.

He survived the war. Now — over 75 years later — Nicholas Rossi is the grand marshal of Westport’s Memorial Day parade, on May 31.

When the war ended, Rossi’s mother hoped he’d come home. But superiors suggested he stay after his discharge, and help locate and identify the remains of military personnel.

He spent the next 4 years in Liege, Belgium as a civilian, employed by the government with the American Graves Registration Command.

Nick Rossi, during wintertime service.

“It was not a nice job,” he says simply. But it provided closure for families, particularly those that traveled to Europe to reclaim their sons and husbands.

After returning to Long Island in 1949, he entered Hofstra University on the GI Bill. “They treated soldiers well,” Rossi says. After graduation he earned a master’s degree in industrial engineering.

A successful career in the furniture industry followed, with Kroehler, Thomasville and Lexington. As a manufacturer’s representative and regional sales manager — and with an intuitive sense for sales and business — he earned accolades and awards.

After more than 40 years — by then in his 70s — Rossi retired. He had more time for hobbies like golf (he’d won the Brookville Country Club championship, and played into his 90s), gardening, Knights of Columbus, Oyster Bay Italian-American Citizens Club, and the country club board.

He especially enjoyed his many grandchildren.

Rossi first met Betty Braun on the Long Island Rail Road, heading home from work. Married for 60 years, they raised 5 children — Paul, Christine, Caren, Carla and Peter — in the house he built in Mill Neck.

When Betty died 3 years ago, Rossi moved to Paul’s house in Greens Farms. Almost instantly, he became a Senior Center regular. He had a regular lunch table group (ladies flocked to him), and enjoyed chair aerobics, bingo, conversation groups and Dr. Paul Epstein’s mind/body sessions. All that is now on hold, due to COVID.

“He’s taken full advantage of Westport,” his daughter-in-law — and ardent companion — says.

“The war made him resilient. He just picked up, came here and rolled with it.”

Nicholas Rossi in Westport. He and his grandson Nick built this model of the B-17 bomber Rossi serviced and flew in during World War II. (Photo/Dan Woog)

Rossi also got involved with St. Luke’s Church. He met fellow veterans at the VFW. He especially loved watching his grandchildren Caroline, Charlotte and Nick perform as actors, musicians and athletes at Staples High School.

Even before he moved here, Rossi attended the Memorial Day ceremony at Veterans Green, where his grandchildren performed.

Later this month, he’ll be back for another parade, wreath-laying and “Taps.”

This time, it will be in a well-deserved seat of honor.

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Nick Rossi — the grandson and namesake of last year’s Memorial Day grand marshal — delivered remarks for his grandfather. It was a remarkable speech, one that deserves to be read today as we honor our friend, neighbor, and member of the “Greatest Generation.” Click here to see. 

Grand marshal/grandfather Nicholas Rossi, and his grandson and namesake. (Photo/Dan Woog)

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Posted in History, Obituaries

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John Gould’s “Rusty Rainbow”

Posted on December 19, 2021 | 3 comments

Surviving the London Blitz taught John Gould perseverance and grit.

World War II was horrific. When John was 2 years old, his father was killed in the Royal Navy. Three uncles were wounded. Another became a prisoner of war.

At home in London, hundreds of planes dropped thousands of bombs, day and night. His mother, sister, grandparents, aunts and cousins sheltered with him in a cupboard under the basement stairs.

But they survived. Gould emigrated to the US. and settled in Westport. For nearly 3 decades he was a well-known arborist and piano player (including a stint with the Average White Band).

The war is now a long-ago memory. Yet it lives on in “Rusty Rainbow.” That’s a musical he wrote, and has worked on for over 2 decades.

John Gould, taking a break from work.

He’s still fine-tuning it — talk about perseverance! – but he’d love to be able to get it in front of people who can make things happen.

This would not be its premiere. Over 20 years ago —  on November 20, 2001 — it opened at the Ridgefield Playhouse. Westporter Louis Pietig directed; Paul Newman, Joanne Woodward and James Naughton, and Ritchie Blackmore of Deep Purple were in the audience. They loved it, Gould says.

Set in London in the aftermath of World War II, “Rusty Rainbow” tells the story of a little boy, found by air raid wardens on the roof of a bombed building.

Polly and Rusty dancing in the garden of Bluebirds Over Farm.
(Illustration by Dominique Gillain from John Gould’s “Rusty Rainbow” book)

“It’s the classic struggle of an innocent, pitted against a cynical world of greed and avarice,” Gould explains.

“But impossible odds and evil adversaries are no match for the musically gifted runaway orphan. Rusty — who thinks he fell off a rainbow — is assisted in his search to find the rainbow of his drams by the seeming magic of a ragman, his horse and a dog.”

Rehearsal for “Rusty Rainbow.” Paul Newman’s goddaughter, Keleigh Brockman, is the little girl sitting next to the snail at the extreme left.

Gould’s 25 songs weave the story together, in an uplifting, humorous way. Engaging and philosophical, they promote goodness and sensibility, harking back to an era when the world — having just defeated a great evil — struggles to become a better, safer place.

A few years after that Ridgefield Playhouse premiere, Jerry Bock — the composer and lyricist of “Fiddler on the Roof” — read the show, and heard the music. He told Gould it would make a great animated musical movie.

“Now, if only I knew how to do that,” Gould says.

Hey: He survived the bleakest days of World War II. It’s time for his “Rusty Rainbow” to shine.

He’ll find a way.

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Posted in Arts, Entertainment, History

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Memorial Day: We Remember

Posted on May 31, 2021 | 4 comments

The photo below shows the World War II memorial on Veterans Green, across from Westport Town Hall, where a ceremony takes place after today’s parade (approximately 10:30 a.m.). Other monuments there honor veterans of other wars.

If you’ve been to a Memorial Day ceremony on Veterans Green, you know how meaningful and powerful it is. If you’ve never been: make this the year.

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Posted in History, Westport life

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Memorial Day 2021: Tribute To A World War II Hero

Posted on May 30, 2021 | 20 comments

Jay Walshon is a longtime Westporter. As Memorial Day nears, he memorializes his father — a World War II veteran — with these loving words:

On May 8, 27 days shy of his 96th birthday, my father Abraham Milton Walshon took his final breath on earth.

Forever he will be my hero.

During my 35 years in emergency medicine I’ve impacted thousands of families and helped save numerous lives. But all that pales in comparison to what my dad did. He helped save civilization from tyranny.

Whereas I worked within controlled confines of safe facilities, using disinfectants and sutures, he practiced in the office of heroism, laboring in mud, muck and mire, foxholes and entrenchments, under duress of bullets, bombs, grenades, and the mortar shells that took too many of his comrades and violated his flesh in 2 separate battles, earning him Purple Hearts among other distinctions of valor: a Bronze Star, the Combat Infantryman’s Badge, Oak Leaf Cluster, 5 Combat Stars, Occupation and Victory Medals.

Abraham Walshon’s medals

It was unnerving to learn that in one Nazi assault a mere twist of fate or divine intervention permitted the perpetuation of his lineage. My father’s unpublished cathartic memoir’s final punctuation mark forever silenced the unspeakable events of those years.

Captioning his youthful image gazing from page, the June 1943 Jefferson High School yearbook notes that “Milty’s” graduation intentions were Brooklyn College and photography. But by its June publication, my dad knew all that must wait. Like for so many of his youth, World War II interrupted personal plans and desires. He turned 18 on the 4th of that month.

One brother enlisted in Army Air Corps bomber reconnaissance in the Pacific. The other served Coast Guard in the Philippines. For my dad, Army infantry under General Dwight Eisenhower awaited.

Abraham Walshon, on his 1943 enlistment.

Noted by their Thunderbird shoulder sleeve insignia with “Semper Anticus” their motto, his 45th Division battled across Africa, Italy, France and Germany. Sicily, Salerno, Anzio, and Rome represented places few tourists can comprehend. Asked later in life why not travel to Europe, he quipped there was no need. He’d seen enough on foot.

Educated under the GI Bill at Packard and Columbia for an unanticipated degree in accounting, my dad set a precedent: the first civilian promoted to deputy inspector general. Base commanders shivered upon his arrival to inspect accounting and procurement records. But any harsh veneer belied the tenderness that lay within.

Forgoing the power and prestige of position so many strive for, Dad prioritized his 68-year love affair with Dorothy and the family they created. He chose to resign the military, rather than uproot our lives to D.C. To my sister and me it never appeared a difficult or regretful decision.

Music filled our Brooklyn childhood home: Jolson, Dorsey, Ella, Satchmo, Steve & Edie, Judy, Barbra, Sammy and Sinatra (who my dad considered a personal friend, having once met him backstage). With his own “Sinatra-esque” vocals that brought him to clubs in NYC, accompanied by his untrained fingers caressing piano keys guided by his remarkable natural ear, our Bensonhurst dwelling was transformed in a fashion only music can do.

Strong, obstinate, sometimes impatient and abrasive (a byproduct of the Depression), proud to a fault, a king of the cha cha, Dad suffered no fools, and was intolerant of superficiality, frivolity, disloyalty or ostentation.  Despite his 5-9, 150-pound stature, he never backed down.

Abraham and Dorothy Walshon’s wedding.

Whereas many fathers emphasized popularity, power and fortune, the virtues of modesty, frugality tempered with generosity, and above all else family, became his guiding light – a wisdom obtained from his life being daily imperiled.

With tenderness at his core, and flowing creativity with generosity until his death, my dad gifted every single loved one a personalized poem recognizing each occasion. Each writing was unique, elegant, tender, permeated with love.  Going through his belongings, we discovered 4 binders titled “The Loving History of the Walshon Family in Poetry and Rhyme.” Each overflowed with every birthday, wedding, bar mitzvah and anniversary poem he wrote over 7 decades. That was my tough dad.

His photography aspiration ultimately “settled” for many “snapshots,” and a handful of 8mm reels capturing the joys of post-war family milestones – my first bath, a wedding, rides at Coney Island – all borne of one man’s personal celebration of survival, validation of freedom’s triumph, and perhaps a subconscious poke in Germany’s eye that we didn’t merely endure. We indeed prevailed.

Losing the love of his life, severing the 68-year earthly bond to my angelic mother Dorothy 4 years ago, irreparably damaged the spirit that ravages of war had only tarnished. Despite incredible strength for a nonagenarian, independence and a continued presence of mind, these past 4 were not easy or kind. The ravages of time ultimately succeeded where the Nazis had failed.

68 years of happy marriage.

As the Army buglers’s solemn melody embraced the mourners present, and I tearfully watched the flag-adorned coffin lowered beside his devoted love of 73 years, my only regret was not knowing them during their innocence of youth, predating the horrors and darkness that no child should witness, yet so many were forced to endure.

My dad was from a generation of boys who were steeled so that those who followed would not be forced to be. They embodied the true meaning of bravery, selflessness and sacrifice in order to make the world a place worth living for we who have followed. “Duty,” “valor,” a time when mere teenagers knew what was at stake and willingly offered the ultimate sacrifice – not one conscription amongst them. Their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren are forever indebted to role models like my dad.

On this Memorial Day we honor, salute and remember the many who have served in freedom’s highest calling – my dad now among them. As for so many others, life will go on, but never the same.

As years pass, our Memorial Day parades may become perfunctory – replete with dogs, burgers, barbecues and beer.  Conversely, they should become increasingly meaningful. In April it was estimated that of the 6.1 million WWII veterans, a mere 100,000 remain living. In 5 years perhaps, only a handful of scores; in 10, none. My dad’s passing lessens that 100,000 by only one – but for my family, as for every other, that is an enormous “one.”

Abraham Milton Walshon is not just my hero – he was ours. I pray that his kind are never again needed.

Abraham Walshon (center) with his family (from left): granddaughter Megan, wife Dorothy, Megan’s husband Jason, grandson Zak, daughter-in-law Caroline and son Jay.

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Posted in History

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Family Sacrifices: Making Meaning Of Memorial Day

Posted on May 28, 2021 | 18 comments

As Westport prepares to celebrate Memorial Day, it’s important to personalize all those who gave their lives for our country. Over 75 years ago, 2 local families did far more than their share.

It may be an American record.

During World War II, 8 of the 12 Cuseo sons left Westport, to enlist in the armed forces.

Fortunately, only one — James — was killed.

The Cuseo family in 1935 or ’36. Daughter Mildred is missing.  Father James and mother Lucy are in the middle.. (Photo courtesy of Woody Klein’s book “Westport, Connecticut.”)

But when the Cuseos’ mother, Lucy, died in 1943, her daughter said it was due to her “broken heart.”

Lucy was buried here with military honors. American Legion members served as pallbearers.

The Cuseos’ contributions to World War II were astonishing. But in terms of sacrifice, none made more than the Wassell family.

Four sons enlisted. All were pilots. Three were killed in action — all within 15 months of each other.

Charles P. “Pete” Wassell

Before the war, Harry — the oldest — helped design fighter planes in Stratford. He, his brother Bud and other Westport men started the Westport Defense Unit, to teach marksmanship.

He enlisted in the Army Air Force after Pearl Harbor. A 2nd lieutenant, he died in Iceland in 1943 while ferrying aircraft to the European Theater.

Frank L. “Bud” Wassell Jr.

Like Harry, Bud left college because of the Depression. The 2 sons worked with their father, Lloyd, in starting the Wassell Organization on Sylvan Road. A very successful businessman, he had worked as personal assistant to George Westinghouse, founder of Westinghouse Electric.

The company invented and sold production control equipment, becoming instrumental in expediting the efficiency of defense contractors. A 1st lieutenant flight commander, Bud was killed in 1943 in a midair collision, while a flight instructor in Florida.

Harry B. Wassell

Pete — a 1940 Staples High School graduate — left Middlebury College to train as a pilot in the Civil Air Patrol. He transferred to the Army Air Force, and was commissioned a 2nd lieutenant navigator.

He served in the China/ Burma/India Theater, and died in 1944 after his B-24 aircraft was hit by antiaircraft fire while attacking a Japanese cruiser.

The 4th son — George — was a member of Staples’ Class of 1943. But he left high school in 1942, to enlist as an aviation cadet. Appointed a B-17 aircraft commander at the age of 18, he was recalled from overseas duty when his 3rd brother Pete was killed. He served as a B-17 pilot instructor through the war’s end.

George Wassell with his parents, Lloyd and Georgene, by the Westport train station on Railroad Place in 1943 or ’44.

George turned down a full engineering scholarship to Cornell in order to join his father in the Wassell Organization.

Pete left behind a child, born 2 months after his death. Harry had a daughter, Patty, who lived in Westport for many years. George married Betsy Schuyler in 1945. They raised 6 children in Westport.

George and Betsy Wassell at Longshore, not long after the war.

When Lloyd moved his family to Westport before the war, he and his wife Georgene bought several acres of land on Mayflower Parkway. He built a large house (by 1930s standards), and planned to give building lots to his 6 kids: the 4 boys, and daughters Pat and Betty.

World War II sabotaged all that. But George and Pat did build homes there after the war. George added a pool, 3-hole golf course and tree house. The property became a great attraction for lots of cousins, and tons of neighborhood kids.

Longtime Westporter Jono Walker — George’s nephew — remembers those times fondly.

“The Wassells never dwelled on their tragic history,” he says. “At least none of us kids ever felt it. The house was constantly filled with great joy and life.”

As for George and Betsy: They moved to New Hampshire in 1974. He died in 2010, age 85. Betsy Schuyler Wassell is now 95, healthy and sharp and living in Maine. She looks forward to hosting her annual Wassell reunion in Kennebunkport next month, greeting offspring from as far as the Netherlands.

Pat Wassell McAleenan lost her husband Peter 18 months ago. At last report she was well, and at 95 living in Estes Park, Colorado.

Betty Wassell Watts died just over a year ago, at 100. Her children were by her side.

The Wassell brothers and their parents are all buried at Willowbrook Cemetery.

(Hat tips: Eric Buchroeder, Jono Walker and Bud Wassell)

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Posted in History, Looking back

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Roundup: WWII Vet, Patagonia Mural, Oyster Boat, More

Posted on December 6, 2020 | 6 comments

Jimmy Izzo never knew his grandfather’s brother. Army Staff Sgt. Louis Doddo was 30 years old when he was killed at Saipan on July 7, 1945 — just 2 months before the Japanese surrendered, to end World War II.

His remains were not identified. “Unknown X-26” was buried in the Philippines in 1950.

But now Izzo — a 1983 Staples High School graduate, longtime RTM member and former owner of Crossroads Ace Hardware store — and his family have closure.

Izzo’s cousin, Kathy Bell Santarella, began searching for his remains 10 years ago. Thanks to her persistence, the work of the American Graves Registration Service, and DNA samples from various aunts and uncles, “Unknown X-26” has been positively identified as Doddo.

The 105th Infantry Regiment, 27th Infantry Division soldier will buried in May in his hometown of Norwalk.

His name, meanwhile, is recorded on the Courts of the Missing at the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific in Honolulu, along with others still missing. A rosette will be placed next to his name, indicating he has been accounted for.

Click here to read the full story, from the Defense POW/MIA Accounting Agency.

Staff Sgt. Louis S. Doddo

Some cool murals — dating back to its days as Westport Bank & Trust — hang inside Patagonia.

Now there’s a pretty cool one outside too.

Many years ago, the clothing store and Green Village Initiative had a strong relationship. GVI has evolved from a Westport-based, volunteer organization to a Bridgeport urban farming and gardening non-profit. Its mission is to grow food, knowledge, leadership and community, to create a more just food system.

But the connection with Patagonia continues, based on a shared commitment to food justice.

The mural is one example. Painted by Charlyne Alexis and Stephanie Gamrra Cretara, it promotes and supports local farming, and GVI.

Plus, it looks awesome. (Hat tip: Pippa Bell Ader)

Tammy Barry has often wondered about the oyster boat moored often in Long Island Sound.

The other day, through binoculars, she read the name: Catherine M. Wedmore.

(Photo/Tammy Barry)

Intrigued, she googled it. This came up on the Westport Museum of History & Culture page:

“Catherine M. Wedmore is a 56 foot wooden oyster boat built in in West Mystic, Connecticut in 1924. This 96 year old lady still works daily harvesting oysters from Norwalk to Westport for Norm Bloom & Son/Copps Island Oysters.”

Now you know!

Have you started planning for the Parks & Rec Department’s first-ever holiday house decorating contest?

Andrew Colabella spotted this interesting scene, on Dogwood Lane. Click here for contest details.

(Photo/Andrew Colabella)

It’s a dog-eat-dog world. Or, perhaps, a bird-eat-fish world.

Molly Alger spotted this scene recently at Sherwood Island State Park:

(Photo/Molly Alger)

And finally … on this day in 1969, the Rolling Stones were the featured band at the Altamont Free Concert. During “Sympathy for the Devil,” 18-year-old  Meredith Hunter was stabbed to death by Hell’s Angels security guards. It was not rock ‘n’ roll’s finest hour.

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Posted in Arts, Environment, History, Local business, Organizations

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“Tomorrow … Just You Wait And See”

Posted on May 4, 2020 | 39 comments

The other day, longtime Westporter John Gould took this beautiful image of bluebirds in his dogwood tree.

(Photo/John Gould)

John moved to Westport in 1965. He played drums and sang in just about every bar in Westport. He played for Keith Richards’ birthday and anniversary — and Keith invited him to play with the Stones at Madison Square Garden. He also ran his own tree surgery company, was a commercial diver, and was a noted amateur soccer player.

John now entertains appreciative residents at nursing homes. He’s just completed his memoir. 

But back to the bluebirds. John writes:

I call this photo “Tomorrow … Just You Wait and See.” It’s from the song “(There’ll Be Bluebirds Over) The White Cliffs of Dover,” a song I remember from my childhood.

It looks to me like Mrs, Bluebird is asking Mr. Bluebird, as they look into the  future: “When is this going to end?”

It is a question on everyone’s mind today, as it has been many times in the past.

Bluebirds have always been special to me. I grew up in London during World War II. I’m lucky to have survived, including the London Blitz and the Battle of Britain.

My dad was killed in the Royal Navy when I was almost 3 years old.

Three of my uncles were wounded — two in Africa, one in Russia. Another became a prisoner of war.

At home in London, hundreds of planes came from over the sea to drop thousands of bombs on us day and by night. My mother, sister, grandmother, granddad, aunts, cousins and I would shelter in the cupboard under the basement stairs. There wasn’t much room, but we made sure we all fit.

The London Blitz.

For one nonstop spell, the London Blitz lasted 57 nights in a row. The noise from the exploding bombs was deafening and frightening.

The war lasted for 6 years. But we took Winston Churchill’s advice: “Keep calm and carry on.”

It’s strange. With food so scarce and strict rationing in force, there always seemed to be an empty tin can of Spam or corned beef lying around in the streets. I honed my soccer dribbling skills by kicking one all the way home from elementary school, over the ankle-twisting loose bricks and rubble of houses, some bombed as recently as the night before.

When the air raid sirens sounded, I broke into a sprint home.

The war seemed endless. The Nazis were massing in France, only 21 miles away, preparing to invade us. Yet we would never surrender!

And like Churchill said, there would be no end until each of us lay choking in his own blood upon the ground.

It was depressing, seemingly hopeless — even for a child, wondering how I could protect my own family.

Then, like a rainbow, suddenly appearing in the gray London skies: a miracle! America came into the war! God bless America!

An American soldier, with a new friend.

Suddenly there were Yanks with names like Hank, Chuck and Pinky in the streets. They had left their own homes and loved ones to come help us, and fight alongside us against the Nazis.

My memories of them are of their super-smart uniforms, and their generosity to me.

My mother would send me out to ask for a shilling coin for 2 sixpences for the gas meter. They never took my 2 sixpences, but always me a shilling for the meter, a fistful of their pocket change — and gum, just for me.

God bless America!

The war dragged on. Everyone longed for it to reach a happy conclusion.

Songs were played over the radio to lift our spirits, and give us something to look forward to.

One such song seems particularly appropriate for our challenging situation today. “The White Cliffs of Dover” was written in 1941 by Walter Kent (an Englishman), with lyrics by Nat Burton (an American). He did not know that bluebirds were not indigenous to England. But they are now — in our hearts.

It was beautifully sung by Vera Lynn. Now Dame Vera Lynn, she is 103 years old (and probably still singing).

When I came to America, I lived in Westport for 26 years. Though I no longer live there, I always try to attend the Memorial Day parade, to honor all our fallen heroes in all our wars.

It means a lot to me. Both my sons played in their schools’ marching bands, making stirring, heartwarming music. How sad that it’s not happening this year.

I love Westport, and the many friends I made there. I’m concerned for their welfare. But reading “06880,” I am reassured and proud of the positive response to these terrible times. So many wonderful Westporters endeavor to help each other out.

The Chucks, Hanks and Pinkys are still on the front lines. Thanks, guys and gals!

When World War II ended, a million of us went to Buckingham Palace to celebrate with the King and Queen, princesses Elizabeth and Margaret, and Winston Churchill.

All waved back at me and our welling sea of happy people, from their flag- bedecked balcony.

Together, as in the past, we can bring about an end to terrible times. My bluebirds can see it!

Here’s looking forward to rejoicing on that beautiful day.

And every day thereafter.

John Gould

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Eloise Reilly: The Centenarian’s Great Sequel

Posted on March 24, 2020 | 15 comments

I was so glad this morning to run an upbeat story. Westporter Eloise Reilly turned 100 on Sunday, and — from a safe distance — her neighbors helped her celebrate.

I called her a “longtime Westporter, and still-very-active community member.” I didn’t know the half of it.

Today, alert and inspired “06880” reader Kristin McKinney sent along a profile of Eloise she wrote a couple of years ago, for the Westport Garden Club newsletter. In honor of Eloise, she graciously shares it with us.

She picked up her landline on the second ring, old school style, no email, no cell phone. Connecticut native and Westport Garden Club member since 1977, Eloise Reilly was cheerful, bright and as receptive as she could be, certainly she would meet with me tomorrow for a WGC newsletter profile.

She gave me directions; we agreed to meet at 10 a.m. Approaching her property and ascending the longish driveway I noticed the American flag hoisted proudly on a tall, metal flagpole. Ellen Greenberg tipped me off that Eloise served in some capacity during World War II, and seeing Old Glory so elegantly displayed convinced me that was indeed the case.

I parked, found the door after looping around the house which coincidentally afforded me a very nice glimpse of Eloise’s gardens, and gave a gentle knock. Two sets of beautiful eyes met me, Eloise’s piping blues and those of her two-year old rescue kitty who viewed me somewhat suspiciously.

Eloise Reilly, on her 100th birthday. (Photo/Darren and Sally Spencer)

I was invited in and led to a comfy chair near a large bay window where the next three hours passed like a New York City minute. Not having the advantage of searching a Facebook page or Linked In profile in advance of our interview, I proceeded conversationally, looking for common ground.

Eloise was charmingly forthcoming; our initial topic of discussion involved her very successful career as a human resources manager for advertising giant Young & Rubicam that began in 1953, and a second career after tiring of the NYC commute as a realtor with Helen Benson Real Estate.

Talk moved to her home, a beautiful structure designed and built by none other than Eloise herself in 1956, in a time and era where women “just weren’t doing those types of things.” I asked Eloise where she developed her fondness for gardening and asked if as a little girl, she spent time in her mother’s gardens.

The answer was not only yes, but it turns out that like Janet Wolgast, her mother knew the Latin names of every variety of plant, flower and shrub that is identified by the American Horticulture Society.

What is her passion? Growing from seed. Eloise shared that she loves watching things grow, geraniums in particular. As a curious seed novice, I asked about her method for obtaining them, her quick-witted response was, “Order them from Fark’s!”

Eloise Reilly, during World War II.

An interview with Eloise wouldn’t be remotely complete without going into detail about a period in her life which she describes as, “a fabulous experience. Never happened before, will never happen again.”

After reading an article in Life Magazine, Eloise discovered women could go overseas with the Red Cross. She applied unsuccessfully multiple times, each rejection letter specifying the same reason:  she didn’t meet the minimum age requirement of 25.

That year was 1943 and according to Eloise whose two brothers were in the Naval Air Corps, “1300 of Westport’s 7K residents were in active service, everybody and anybody enlisted.”

Not to be deterred, Eloise finally scored an interview in DC and in battling the age argument audaciously stated, “I’m not 25, the war is going to be over by the time I’m 25, but I’ll match my family against anybody you have in the Red Cross.” She was officially in.

Eloise Reilly became a member of the Clubmobilers, a unique unit of service recognized by U.S. Senate Resolution 471 dated May 23, 2012, for exemplary service during the Second World War. Clubmobiles, established in 1942 and conceived by Harvey Gibson, the Red Cross Commissioner to Great Britain, provided fresh coffee, doughnuts, entertainment and a listening ear to troops across Western Europe and eventually the Far East.

Eloise’s tour of duty took her through England, France, Germany, Luxembourg, Holland and Belgium, as she says, “zigzagging all over the place.” According to Eloise, “I learned to drive a six-wheel, two-ton truck with a double clutch and no power steering. We were assigned to a division, the 12th army group, and we had to meet them upon request in various towns or even countries. There were 8 trucks per group, 3 girls apiece, 24 in total. There was also a supply truck with two girls who could sing or play the piano.”

Eloise Reilly, as a Clubmobiler.

In the event of capture, the ladies were made second lieutenants and although this allowed them admittance into the officer’s club for a meal, they preferred to dine with the GI’s. The Clubmobilers found themselves living in tents, chateaus or even theoccasional, local bordello.

If they asked for directions to the powder room, most often the response was met with a nod toward the surrounding woods. Eloise remarked that in a world of men, the Clubmobiliers were placed on a pedestal, treated like sisters, aunts, mothers.  “They were protected,” said Eloise. “Nobody got out of line, the GI’s were self-policing.”

I asked Eloise if she was ever afraid and the answer was a resounding “no.”  While she admits to being apprehensive at times and despite some accidents and fatalities sustained by fellow Clubmobilers, she was never concerned for her own life.

In fact, her goal was to get to the Front.

FUN FACT: The Westport Garden Club is 96 years old. To Eloise, that’s almost a child.

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