My Hometown Lefsetz Letter
“Son take a good look around
This is your hometown”
Jill said she doesn’t have a reason to come back here. And that’s when it occurred to me, this could be my last time visiting Fairfield, CT. I used to tell Felice to bury me here, but I’ve been in California for nearly fifty years now, that doesn’t make sense, but we were here for the unveiling of my mother’s headstone, normally done a year after burial, but because of Covid…
The first thing I noticed was the humidity. I’m not complaining about it, just saying you don’t need a jacket at night. Even in the San Fernando Valley you need a jacket at night during the summer, a sweatshirt last week at the Neil Young concert in the Cahuenga Pass. Furthermore, it just turned summer in L.A., June had gloom, there was no sun for at least half the day and the temperatures never climbed out of the seventies, but on the east coast, summer has already begun.
That’s what I realized driving on the CT Turnpike. It was summer now, and then it would be fall, winter, spring and then summer again. There are seasons in Southern California, no one goes to the beach in December except for hard core surfers, but on the east coast it’s different. You can feel summer coming and you want to make the most of it, because it won’t be long before it’s gone.
Hot town, summer in the city, you forget if you don’t live back here anymore. I’ll let you in on another secret, you don’t feel like you’ll ever get old, ever die on the west coast. Life is endless, until it’s over. But in Connecticut…
Yesterday we went out for Pepe’s pizza. It’s a tradition. And then I drove around in the rental car to my old haunts. First the beach in Fairfield, and then to Seaside Park in Bridgeport. And that’s where I saw the field where we used to play softball every Sunday, for years and years, it was organized by the JCC. After Sunday school, I’d get my glove and my father would ferry me down there and… Even though I’d driven around Seaside Park with my mother not that long ago, somehow I hadn’t been in exactly the same spot. We played the game over fifty years ago. I’m not sure the younger generation is dedicated to the ball and the bat, but that was everything to us back in the sixties.
And then I went in search of my father’s liquor store. He’d sold it in the late seventies or early eighties. But the guy didn’t make the payments and my dad repossessed the building and it sat empty until my mother donated it to the church.
Not that I was sure exactly where it was. The problem is the greenery. You can’t see anything anymore, everything is hidden. And I got off at the wrong exit and decided to go one more…
And there it was.
The church had sold it to the automotive repair shop next door, and now it was their office. And the owners came out and interrogated me, what was I doing there on a Saturday afternoon? And then I explained and they left me alone with my thoughts and…
My father wanted to be in commercial real estate. But he had no money. So he decided to open a liquor store. The first one lasted only a couple of years, his mother worked there, before she lost both legs to diabetes, and then he opened the Bay Package Store right by the Lordship exit on I-95 and…
I was stunned how little the building was. And my mind drifted back. And I thought about how my dad brought up three kids on that store. How he bought an ice machine and had to refill it during holidays because it couldn’t make ice quickly enough. That was my father’s job.
Until he became a real estate appraiser and broke into the next economic class when they condemned property for the Route 8 connector, affectionately called “The Morris Lefsetz Memorial Highway,” and not only by our family. My dad made a lot of money for lawyers and their clients, a lot more than he made, and they were grateful.
And I drove up to Aspetuck Farms for an apple. And then down Black Rock Turnpike across the lake and up the hill to my first alma mater, Fairfield Woods. Now a middle school, but in my day an elementary and junior high school. It was opened in 1951. Brand new back then. And it doesn’t look like they’ve put in a dollar since. The concrete has faded, as have the bricks, what was once young is now old, just like me.
And then I drove down Farist Road to our old house and…
I just about missed it.
It was confusing. The greenery. And then I saw the street sign for Coral Drive and I realized I’d just passed our old house, how could that be?
And I looked up and there was a huge tree in the front yard that I don’t even remember and the hill I hid behind in the front yard when I ran away looked so short and on one hand I wanted to knock on the door and go inside, but I didn’t think I could handle it. Meanwhile, the residents were unloading groceries and I was afraid they would see me staring so…
I drove around the block.
And the same thing happened. I’d drive right by houses my friends lived in. I’d be looking for them and I’d already passed them. It was like someone shrunk the neighborhood down to 3/4 size. I saw where the Levys lived. And the Gallaghers. And the Romes. And the people who hosted a first grade birthday party and had a relative perform tricks and I called out the black thread, it was easily visible, and I was creeped out. Because it was me. And I’m still me, yet different. If you don’t change as you grow up your life will be very tough. You need to gain insight, self-knowledge, or else you’re an adolescent buffoon repeating the mistakes of the past, not realizing everybody is rolling their eyes when you speak.
And after passing by my house again I drove down Coral to Bobby Hickey’s house, where we used to ski in the backyard. If there was a vertical drop of ten feet I’d be amazed, certainly not fifteen, the hill was so short, but that’s where it all began.
And then by my high school, which looks pretty similar but is different, they changed mascots, wiped out all of that history. But it was so long ago.
And on the drive back to the hotel I passed houses I wouldn’t want to live in and…
Almost all of the buildings were still there, but the businesses were different. I guess I expected them to be the same, to be passed down through the generations, but really they were all just toeholds, a way to get ahead for those who’d survived the war. That was the generation. It built my town. Every neighborhood had kids. We’d ride our bikes and roam in packs and our parents wouldn’t know where we were and they wouldn’t care. Not that anybody remembers.
And today we went to the cemetery. My mother never went to visit my father there, but now she’s lying right next to him. And as I looked around, I saw the parents of my old friends. That generation is almost fully done.
Bridgeport, CT is heavily populated by Italians. So I saw more pizza joints than I’ve ever seen before, more than I grew up with. And there’s an arena and an amphitheater and you can even take the train to the show but downtown Bridgeport, adjacent to the venues, is still bombed out. My father kept saying it would come back, but it hasn’t.
So tomorrow I’m out of here. Not a minute too soon. I understand the east coast, I lived it, but I escaped it.
Kind of like the Cantor who performed the ceremony. He’d been an engineer, his father told him religion was not a good way to pay the bills. But after twenty years he pivoted and has never been happier, even though he’s now not that far from retirement. And he would have talked to me all day, I could have talked to him all day. That’s the difference between the east coast and the west, the people. East coast people are verbal. Sure, what you own is important. But not as much as where you went to school and whether you can hold up your end of a conversation. It’s the intelligentsia. But ultimately it’s emotional death. You’ve got your place in the firmament and can’t try to be something different, you’ll be denigrated, you have to go somewhere else for that.
No one cares who I am in Southern California. And no one asks me where I went to college, never mind what I got on my SATs. That’s all irrelevant. You make your own life. And you can ring a bell that can’t be rung on the east coast, at least not in the suburbs. The goal isn’t to set the world on fire back here. You find your place in the landscape and stay there. I want no part of that.
So I’m not holding on to yesterday.
Then again, my generation will be the next one in the ground.
It’s the way of the world.
But it’s very weird.
My parents’ parents were born in the old country. They came to America for a better life. It wasn’t about emotional fulfillment, it was about putting bread on the table. And they paved the way for us. Drove us hard to achieve. So we could live out our dreams, be who we wanted to be. But that turned out to be who they wanted us to be. And it was totally different from today. Everybody didn’t plan on going to graduate school, people drifted and found their place in society. They figured they’d have enough money to make it work and then the eighties came along and either you partook in the greed or were left behind. And now our kids are straighter than we were. They know how hard life is. They want a good job. They want what our parents wanted for us.
The world has changed since I grew up. Now nobody dominates, there is no center, all we’ve got is little groups. No one is in control. Facts don’t matter. And when you leave home and are too busy to read the news you realize there’s a whole ‘nother life out there. Like the one in Fairfield.
That’s not the life I want.
I want a bigger playing field. I need to be at the center. I want to make a difference, put a dent in the universe. And for that you have to leave the suburbs. And I did.
On Jul 11, 2023, at 6:30 PM, Bob Lefsetz <
bo*@le*****.com
> wrote:
Hey Bob,
As a fellow suburban escapee, I share your sentiments regarding the life from which I escaped. When Irving Azoff called and told John Baruck, and told him to “Grab the REO guys, and come to LA.”, I semi-reluctantly packed up the smallest U-haul trailer available, and headed west. California was freedom, fun, and the center of the rock ‘n roll universe. And I knew deep down that was where I needed to be.
That said, every time we play Chicago, we stay on the familiar Near North Side. I hit the streets and stroll down memory lane past all the little clubs where I used to perform pre-REO. I usually rent rent a car and drive out to the southwest suburb where I grew up, slow down as I roll through the neighborhood where I got my first kiss, the sports fields where we played pick-up games, (I was usually picked last.) Feelings flood my bloodstream as I retrace the steps from my old house, where both my parents lived to the end, along 52nd Ave to Rossi Music, where I learned to play the guitar. When the Beatles played Ed Sullivan, and I was the only kid in town who knew some chords, I went from dork to hero …overnight!
But I too had a sense that life had more for me than the white-bread suburbs of Chicago had to offer. Oak Lawn was a nice place to visit, but Californy was the place I oughta be. Still those trips to the old neighborhood have a way of grounding and resetting me like nowhere else.
Your stories always stir up my soul, and I thank you for that, Bob. Much love, kc
Kevin Cronin
____________________________________
There’s a line in one of the last episodes of The Wonder Years when Kevin Arnold is sent to the liquor store for ice or soda, while his parents were giving a Christmas Eve party. As he walked down the block, he remarked that he no longer knew who lived in each house. And he remembered that there was a time when he new the last name of each home owner, each kid’s name, every dog’s name and every cat’s name. And he knew it would never be the same as that again.
Thanks,
James Starace
____________________________________
Bob, I liked your post on the east coast. I grew up in LA and always wondered why people who were not from there loved it so much. I went on the road with Eddie Kendricks in 1975. 23 year old kid from Burbank, playing with the Detroit session musicians, the Funk Brothers, Uriel Jones and Eddie Willis. We did a week at Paul’s Mall in Boston. I fell in love with the place, the city was so alive, to me Burbank could not even come close to the vibe of Boston.
Then in 1996 I moved to Massachusetts, I’m in the burbs and I know EXACTLY what you are talking about. I have been a stranger in a strange land ever since. Don’t get me wrong I do like living here but it’s in spite of the life around me, I look around sometimes at the neighbors and think that I am so glad I did not grow up here. Growing up in LA gave you a sense that anything was possible. It’s a mind set that Californians have, east coasters have to conform and to dream outside the box? Fuhgeddaboudit! That’s why everyone moves to LA! (and the weather of course haha)
Marty Walsh
____________________________________
“It was like someone shrunk the neighborhood down to 3/4 size.”
I just recently did a lecture at my Alma mater Oswego State University in upstate New York, and I took the time to visit my old neighborhood. My experience was exactly like yours. My grandparents even had a convenience store called Maloney’s Superette, which is such a Syracuse landmark that the new Middle-Eastern owners haven’t changed that name in nearly 40 years. My grandparents raised four kids on selling beer and penny candy at that place.
…and you were dead-on about the calcification of dreams in your hometown. Had I been able to have the music career I wanted in the ‘Cuse, I probably wouldn’t have ever left. But like you, I heard So Cal calling and needed to up my game at Musicians Institute in Hollywood. I packed up my bass and my dreams and never looked back.
-Christopher Maloney (US)
____________________________________
I’m often moved by your letters, I find them smart, informative, and deeply considered. You have a gift. You make a dent in the universe.
I was moved by your visit to Fairfield, but honestly can’t figure out why.
Maybe it’s because I left Long Island for South Florida and on my rare trips “home” the place feels alien to me, like a cover of a favorite song that doesn’t quite hit me like the original.
I miss the seasons, hate the heat, feel menaced by the tropics but don’t miss the grayness of the northeast winters which made me long for either Southern California or Florida when I was a kid, and the world was all in front of me.
But like you, I long for a “center.” I miss when facts mattered, when we had standards of behavior and it felt like we were at least loosely unified despite our differences.
I too long to make a difference, but your piece made my realize I traded one suburb for another. Mine is just hotter, more humid and now deeply red.
Jeff Perlman
____________________________________
As a kid from a small town in upstate NY, this hits very close to home. When I left that small town for LA, I didn’t know a single person west of the Mississippi, much less anyone in the entertainment biz. However, I knew that staying put was never a viable option for me. As Wayne Gretzky famously put it, “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.”
Glad we each get to put our own unique “dent in the universe”…
Jason Miller
____________________________________
Good stuff again, Bob. I’m in the process of getting a place in California. My wife loves Carmel by the Sea.
I recently spent 5 weeks on Long Island looking at an opportunity there and I could feel the attitude about which you speak.
That wasn’t the coast for this hillbilly from the Ozark mountains of Arkansas either.
Have a great week and keep making dents in the universe.
Blaine Leeds
____________________________________
It can be an eerie haunting and uncomfortable feeling going back home if you’ve been away so long where you’ve made a life for yourself somewhere else. You’re a stranger to that physical place you knew so well.
I left Cincinnati with my first wife and we subsequently divorced. I went to college in the south, married a southern woman and became an engineer. I got into a “profession.” I have a son.
My family was merciless to me concerning my divorce and me getting into a profession. I have multiple college degrees and engineering licenses.
I actually own a home.
I stayed gone from my hometown, infrequently returning. My grandparents passed as did my parents.
My father’s hobby was magic. He was a magician. There was a magic shop in Cincinnati that recently closed but, it was where my Pop and his buddies would hang.
On one of my trips back home I went in there and saw all the pictures of my father and his magic crew on the walls of that place as a memorial. It hit me hard that they were all passed, my family members too, everything all at once. It’s like I experienced a huge painful shift in time. I began to cry and had to leave. It was very painful and uncomfortable.
Tim Pringle
____________________________________
Damn, Bob. This hits home. I’m only 53 and left Northeast Ohio for Nashville 15 years ago. I wrote a second lyric/poem for “My Hometown” for an English class in undergrad at Kent State but I’ll spare sharing it. I feel the same when I go back. No regrets. So many people I know there are living the same lives and it’s sad. I’m no one but I’m living a life I never could have back there. I’ve played on the Ryman stage and I have a book coming out next month. I love the place but I’m so grateful I got out.
Steve McClain
____________________________________
I left Stamford twice.Last time was 23 years ago.I want a pizza and a cannoli.But the west is the best.Stay well Bob,Ted Keane
____________________________________
I left Grand Rapids, Mi, my hometown, when I graduated from High School. I have been back a very few times since leaving. There still are hazy memories of the good times. But all in all it is a very small place where people want to be a big fish in a small pond or are just hanging by a thread. You see a huge percentage of high paying auto manufacturing jobs are gone.
I am glad I left, it was never the place for me!
Mike Busch
____________________________________
That was a beautifully told story of a return to your place. I could relate to every detail.
I grew up in Branford, CT. My parents are side by side at St Agnes Cemetery. All the names are different, but the experience of driving around and seeing the building fires the synapses of stories long forgotten.
We had one true love in common, on Wooster St in New Haven. Frank Pepe’s Neapolitan Pizza. To this day when we return East, Pepe’s is a must do. And perhaps like your first true love, no other pie has the same magic.
There are now numerous franchises of Frank Pepe throughout Connecticut and even near Boston.
We’ve also moved to the desert after a long radio career on both coasts. Seattle was home for 25 years.
And now that the literal final sunset looms near, life is all about meaningful moments with and for real people who care.
I’ve always appreciated what you do Bob. Thank you.
Bob Rivers
____________________________________
Hi Bob. Like you I grew up in Fairfield. My recent film, THE GREATEST RADIO STATION IN THE WORLD, is about WPKN in Bridgeport. The station has moved from their 55 year plus home on the campus of the University of Bridgeport to downtown Bridgeport. Across the street there is Trattoria ‘A Vucchella, a five star restaurant. Wish I could have taken you there for a knosh.
One block away is Miss Thelma’s, a world class soul food joint. Another couple of blocks away is Berlinetta Brewing, making some of the best pilsner you’ll ever taste. New artist lofts are being built. Positive things are happening to the city. Slow, yes, but definitely happening.
Thrilled you revisited Seaside Park, one of the most scenic park combos of beach, lighthouse and playing fields you’ll find on the East Coast. All ethnicities recreating on a daily basis.
Head west on US 1 and you’ll come to the Black Rock section of the city. Terrific restaurants and the new Park City Music Hall, which has just got the local music scene exploding. And the upcoming “Porch Fest” is an absolute delight with musicians of all ilks playing on neighborhood front porches.
I hope you drove around downtown Fairfield and the beach area. In the summer it is kinda like Cali, your turf. Folks are active…bicycling, walking, skating, scootering…there is a definite energetic buzz. And Sacred Heart University bought and renovated the old Community Theater where they showcase films, live theater, and live music. In the building behind the Community sits FTC, a two stage venue that presents national music acts every week.
So, like you, even though I got out of Fairfield, in my case to work in the world of documentary film in Boston, I’m considering moving back to the home turf. Really good artistic and cultural stuff is blooming there. And a great food scene with the best pizza in the world.
Peace…
Cob Carlson
____________________________________
Both my parents attended grad school at Brandeis, and my first home was down the street in Waltham, MA. We’d do Passover Seder in Queens and see the sights in NYC when I was growing up. So, I was up and down from Boston to NY frequently, and it never dawned on me how backward Connecticut was, stuck on I-95 in the middle. I lived in Burlington VT from 85-88, and by far the most broken, un-diverse place in New England is CT. I operated a business in Fairfield Center from 1990-2000, and I am forever grateful for that journey, I learned so much. But as you said, I also escaped, and I am even more thankful for that.
Micah Sheveloff
____________________________________
Bob—In 1959, when I was 13, my family moved from Woodmere, Long Island (just outside Queens) to Westport. To me, we might as well have moved to Iowa.
Still, I got used to it. Now, 60 years later when I occasionally journey back to Woodmere and walk around (Woodmere is small and walkable), it looks weird and I feel like you felt when revisiting Fairfield.
Anyway, when I was 16 in Westport, some friends and I fell in with some kids from Roger Ludlowe. Westport and Fairfield kids partied together, swimming in the river at Devil’s Den (Weston) and Falls Hole (Redding), and dancing at two Westchester roadhouses north of Stamford, the Hearth and the Three Pines.
We all hung out at Cindy’s, a diner in Fairfield on the Post Road at the corner of Unquowa Road. Made out in the Community Theater balcony, or at the two drive-in theaters on the Bridgeport line.
Although the two towns differed markedly (Westport a celebrity enclave and Fairfield semi-tough) we hit it off and had memorable times together.
Paul Lanning
____________________________________
Still miss CT this time of year.
Marth Winsch
____________________________________
Funny my wife has been visiting her fam and old haunts in westport last several days
We often talk about those who stay or move back home. It’s a different wiring I think than those who leave for LA (best choice by far) and NYC
If u see a 15yo who looks like me flying back to la w my wife tomorrow early morn on AA say hi
Evan Harrison
____________________________________
hi Bob…i always love these columns when you talk about Fairfield…like you, it was a town I couldn’t wait to leave when I was young but every now and then I have really good memories of friends, family and experiences…I hope you are well. Bob Dranoff
Dr. Robert Dranoff
Commissioner
East Coast Conference NCAA DIVISION II
____________________________________
I too am from Fairfield, and went to Fairfield Woods when it was a Jr. High (82-84) and then to Andrew Warde HS and in my senior year we were the first year of the new ‘history’ becoming Fairfield High School, and the Mustangs. (I lived near Lake Mohegan in a neighborhood that was built in 1973 when my parents bought the house.) I have continued to come back to Fairfield in the decades since I left, as my father lived down the street from another landmark liquor store, Harry’s Liquor Warehouse, just off of the Post Road as Fairfield becomes Southport becomes Westport. (He ended up there following my parents divorce).
I know exactly what you mean about the standards and expectations there. Had I followed the path that my parents suggested- I would have ended up at Pfizer or Met Life- they were both successful in those industries, and had connections I could have exploited to leap right into the upper middle class. Had I been very successful, I may have been lucky enough to purchase a home just like you describe, despite the fact that in Fairfield they are literally double or triple the cost of most places in the country.
Like you, I fled Fairfield and New England- my landing place ended up being in Eugene OR instead of California, but not too far from your experience I’m guessing, and I’m a bit younger than you. I too felt the need to strike out from a corporate and conformist lifestyle- and was able to build a booking agency and now I spend my time producing shows and acquiring them for my clients.
I do feel pretty strongly that the very skills that I needed to be successful at not conforming to the Fairfield life path, were learned and earned right there in Fairfield. How did a kid Bar Mitzvah’d off of Stratfield Rd in Fairfield end up in rural New England, running a meshuggenah music agency? Likely because of the confidence that I gained there, and the quality education and bucolic yet civilized surroundings of that area.
I’m a little sad like you that I have lost a primary reason to visit Fairfield, my Mom moved from there around 1992 or so to Florida, and my father passed almost three years ago. I do still have a lot of friends in the area that are helping me to keep Fairfield in my peripheral vision.
I’m always amused at the similarity of our upbringing.
Phil Simon – Simon Says Booking
____________________________________
Good one, Bob.
I’ve had a similar experience but NJ to NYC.
Jack Morer
____________________________________
I think the old adage “You can’t go back” is incorrect.
You CAN go back.
It’s just maybe you shouldn’t.
Mark Hudson
____________________________________
Thanks for sharing — I can identify with a lot of what you wrote — very true. East vs. West —
R. Lowenstein
____________________________________
Did that trip back once… got to leave twice!
Keep giving,
Terry Gottschalk
____________________________________
This resonated with me Bob. All the same we never really leave the town we were born in.
Mike Howard
____________________________________
I grew up down 91 from you in Longmeadow, Massachusetts, first exit in Massachusetts north of Hartford. I’ll be 69 in a few weeks so we are of the same generation.
I am wondering if you remember the Shaperos of Fairfield? They were my cousins. Sanford Shapero was the rabbi in town until he took the pulpit of a major reform synagogue in Beverly Hills. My brothers and I were awestruck by the stories of our beautiful cousin Andy hanging with stars and especially musicians. We would drive down to Fairfield once a month as my grandmother relocated there to be near her daughter, the rabbi’s wife. As the years passed their family fell apart, Sandy left the rabbinate and became executive director of the City of Hope in LA.
In any case your musings often closely parallel my own experiences, family, cultural etc. We probably saw some shows together…..Mountain and Johnny Winter at Quininpiac College in High School? My first Dead show was July 1971 at Yale Bowl. The entire crowd was given spiked cool aide.
Bands like NRBQ, Clean Living, Fat…..those were the days.
I was the staff cartoonist for the Valley Advocate. Anyway, nice to trip down memory lane with you….even in 3/4 scale.
Best regards
Jonathan.
Jonathan Plotkin
Chief Imagination Officer
The Spontoonist
www.spontoonist.com
____________________________________
A similar story…
Last September, I returned to Massachusetts’ North Shore, where I grew up in the ‘60s. My favorite drive from Logan, up Rte 1A, through my hometown of Salem and on to Rte. 127 up through Rockport, where I used to titillate the coeds from Endicott Junior College, from my high school senior year until I left for the Navy after a fruitless freshman year at Colorado State. That was my turf. High school dances featuring Teddy & the Pandas – a killer cover band that had 2 top ten hits on WMEX radio in Boston in ’66 & opened for The Dave Clark Five at Boston Garden. We had Devereaux Beach in Marblehead & Singing Beach in Manchester. Woodman’s ‘eat in the rough’ in Essex for lobster rolls and fried clams, Treadwell’s Ice Cream for the best hot fudge sundaes.
In the summer of ’65, I ventured into Harvard Square to the well-known Club 47 to see and hear The Paul Butterfield Blues Band with Mike Bloomfield for the first time. This was before FM radio made its way into our consciousness. The folkies brought them to my attention from the Newport Folk Festival, the Bob Dylan connection and who could be more ‘in the know’. Bloomfield’s Les Paul & Butter’s blues harp blew me away – the seminal event in my passion for period rock. From August ’68 to February ’69, I saw Hendrix first, then Cream in October, followed by Led Zeppelin’s 1st tour in February and a week later, The Jeff Back Group with Rod Stewart. I’m still gobsmacked that I saw Jimi, EC, Page & Beck in a span of 6 months while stationed outside Chicago in the Navy.
After college, I moved to San Francisco, launching a career in radio, tv and recording tech. Not long after, I moved to New York City to join ABC TV Network. Then back to the Bay Area, down to Calabasas and up to Portland, OR to follow the tech migration. The next 11 years I spent in Beijing, notching my 4th Olympics as a tech in ’08. Along the way, I saw The Stones’ and Clapton’s 1st shows in China – both in Shanghai – not to mention both acts separately in Japan multiple times.
I’ve lived in Las Vegas for the past 13 years, enjoying a more quiet life phase. But that recent trip to Boston’s North Shore struck a chord. All the old haunts have evolved – not for the better. People are less polite than I recall. Pretension abounds without foundation. Theirs is a smaller world, despite the hoopla of the New England tech corridor. They ain’t seen nothin’ until they witness a sunset at Malibu, or an Irish coffee at the Buena Vista in San Francisco. How homogenized our beautiful land has become.
These days, I yearn to return to Europe – one of my past sales territories. But these days, on my dime – my chosen destinations for whatever interval I determine. Burgundy and Tuscany in the past 14 months. Bordeaux, Spain and Portugal on tap, with a taste of Nova Scotia tossed in.
Through it all, there’s that soundtrack playing, from ‘East-West’, ‘Kind of Blue’, Derek & the Dominos, Little Feat to Chet Baker, Keith Jarrett and, most recently, Buddhattitude.
Thanks for the trip down New England’s memory lane…
Kevin Dauphinee
____________________________________
Just got off work, and having my Irish coffee at home (the surf sucks, it’s foggy, and I have all day to exercise). Anyway, an Irish coffee is my usual concoction that gets me in a writin mood.
Hometown.
Yeah. I used to look forward to going to my hometown every year around Christmas, even though my parents had moved away (late 90s, early 2000s). I had some really close friends there. It was always like a homecoming. I’d see people I knew in the bars. We would kick it and play music at a friend’s house. But then a lot of people also moved away. Now, if/when I connect with someone on Insta (I gave up FB in 2011) from home, they are all complete MAGA sheep. Hey man, I get it, we all got our tribes. But if your tribe can’t even acknowledge climate change, or that the leader is a crook/con man/liar, then I got no time for you. So, I never go back to my hometown any more. I don’t care where I’m buried, or if I’m buried. When you’re dead, you’re dead. I have some paintings and drawings I’ve made. And guitars. They will last longer and be more practical, as something my family can remember me by, than a plot of grass and a stone grave marker. Not to mention the funeral/casket biz is nothing but a racket anyway.
Chris Flesher
____________________________________
At some point I wanted to move away. But the thought of living on top or in between other people where I didn’t have a yard in a city was not negotiable.
I also played softball, hockey still make original music, write for the regional newspaper and had a family.
Maybe Mellencamp was right
“I was born in a small town , and I live in a small town, probably die in the small town, oh those small communities”
John Emms
____________________________________
Enjoyed reading that Bob. We were very lucky to have the era’s that we did. Not putting down the future and present, but it’s mind-blowing the talent that has flown through the years. I think in the future they will refer to the 60 years from 1950 to 2010 as a golden delicious apple for music, artists, actors and the arts. Steve Jobs included. I for one, born in ’59, would not have wanted to have missed it.
Simon & Garfunkel “America” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eo2ZsAOlvEM
Eddie Gordon
____________________________________
Good one!
I felt your disappointment.
Fact is NOTHING is the same. How could it be?
We grew up at the best of times. Best Music, sex didn’t kill you, drugs were weed and acid and beer and Boones Farm . haha NO one died and there was almost zero violence. You might get youir ass kicked at the flag pole after cschool. You HAD to show up no matter what
Have a good one my friend
Luke
(Steve Lukather)
____________________________________
From a reader:
Someone told me: If Columbus had landed on the West Coast of the United States, New England would still be uninhabited.
()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()