Wistful Remembrances

Scrolling down my, now, all-too-ridiculously-lengthy  key word index to “Westport”  there is a score of entries, a testimony to the strong feelings I have towards where I worked and lived for some thirty years of my life, receding with the speed of light into the forgotten past.  The essence of this blog is a written record of remembering.  I speak not of major events, but the nuances of fleeting feelings.  I was reminded of this today by an entry from more than six years ago.  Although it is a review of Happy Days by Samuel Beckett, bravely produced by the Westport Country Playhouse, it evoked surreal feelings of place and time.  I quote the first and last paragraphs of that piece.  It could almost be read as a stand-alone (without the details of the theatre production) as it says as much about time, and wistful remembrances.

  

What a cynical title for Samuel Beckett’s brilliant play, courageously presented by the Westport Country Playhouse to celebrate its 80th anniversary. It is not the kind of light fare one might expect on a languid summer’s night at a country theatre far off Broadway, and it was a brave choice by the Theatre’s Artistic Director, Mark Lamos. But this is Westport, Ct - a bedroom community of NYC where we lived for so many years. In fact, we were there during the celebration of the Playhouse’s 40th anniversary – half of its lifetime ago -- so although we are now only summertime visitors, its byways are subliminally imprinted on us.

It was a night of powerful theatre. We exited to the parking lot. It had just rained and the humidity hung in the air, also rising off the steaming macadam and fogging our glasses. So we drove the back roads of Westport, returning to our boat, passing landmarks indelibly imprinted and always remembered such as the location of the old Westport National Bank (gone) turning left onto the only road that runs west and parallel to Riverside Avenue, along the southern side of the Saugatuck River, passing homes where we had partied in our youth (including one Christmas eve where guests in an alcoholic induced stupor set a couch on fire and it had to be dragged out to the snow to extinguish the flames), the building our first Internist once occupied (who later died in the same nursing home as Ann’s mother), the Westport Women’s Club where my publishing company held our annual Xmas party for so many years, my old office itself across the river where I worked for the first ten years in Westport, now the Westport Arts Center, past the street where Ann and I went for Lamaze classes when she was pregnant, over the old bridge crossing the Saugatuck, turning left then right under the Turnpike past the structure which used to be The Arrow Restaurant (long gone) where Ann reminded me they made her favorite dinner, crispy fried chicken, and then further west to Norwalk, all fragments of our own earth mound, being earth bound, trying to understand. Theatre to think about. Oh, happy days.

View of Westport, CT from my office circa 1972

Summer Comings and Goings

The last weekend of July we drove up to Boston to see our son, Chris. The plan was to check into the Downtown Doubletree, leave our car, and eventually meet up with Chris at his new apartment in the gentrified Seaport district. We used my new Uber account there for the first time. Had we known how easy and inexpensive it would be we could've stayed further outside the center of the city. After having lunch with him we enjoyed a long walk around the Rowes Wharf, only steps from his home, with a beautiful view of tall ships and small fleets of pleasure boats and pedestrian bridges overflowing with visitors.  Chris’ new apartment is in a completely redesigned building from 1899, his huge window facing directly into the Federal Reserve building with incredible views of downtown Boston, a professional building in every way.  This makes his life much easier, being able to walk to work as a data systems supervisor for an investment firm, a job he loves (how many people can say that nowadays?).  We capped off the visit with a great dinner at Smith and Wollensky.

The next morning we drove to Amherst to visit our friends Art and Sydelle who are renting a house near their daughter and her family. After meeting them for lunch at Atkins Farms, they took us to the Yiddish Book Center which houses the largest collection of Yiddish books in North America on the campus of Hampshire College.   

It was one man’s remarkable vision to preserve over one million of these treasured books.  It was truly amazing to see this literature being reclaimed and now digitized by a team of volunteers.  I had no idea that there was such an extensive trove of Yiddish literature.  When we departed from our friends, Ann and I decided to revisit The Emily Dickinson Museum, one of my favorite places in Amherst and once again signed up for their 60 minutes tour.  Since we were last there some of the rooms have been further restored, particularly Emily’s bedroom where she spent her days writing in a bright corner overlooking much of downtown Amherst.

Before the tour I had some fun reciting some of the poems I know by heart in unison with one of the docents.  I also chatted with a Chinese woman who had breathlessly arrived, fearing she was late for the last tour of the day, having driven three hours with her husband and child.  She was no stranger to Emily Dickinson’s poems, having translating many into Chinese for publication there.  We chatted about the similarities between Dickinson’s and Chinese poetry, which on their surfaces boast simplicity, with deep, meaningful undercurrents.

We returned to our hotel to freshen up for dinner with Art and Sydelle, their daughter Maddy, and her young and precocious son, Eli.  Unfortunately there was a massive thunderstorm on the way and the restaurant where we were to meet for dinner was closed that night.  Serendipitously, we ended up meeting everyone at a wonderful Chinese restaurant where we ate family style, happily sharing several delicious platters of food!

Bright and early the following day, we were on our way to The Clark Art Institute in Williamstown situated on a 140 acre campus, surrounded by the Taconic, Green Mountain and Berkshire ranges.  This was our first visit and we were very interested in seeing the new very modern entrance addition and 1 acre reflecting pool set amid expansive lawns.   

But in truth we made this special trip because they have just installed the first ever exhibit on “ Van Gogh and Nature”, using works on loan from some of the most noted van Gogh Collections in the world.  These paintings were primarily from the last 10 years of his life and were showcased in five rooms in the new wing of the Museum. 

Getting there proved more difficult than we could have imagined. It was all back roads to Williamstown from Amherst, roads I normally love to travel, but the bitter winter had left its mark on New England.  It seems every other turn was blocked with detours because of roadwork and at one point we were having difficulty getting there.  So we arrived about an hour later than we had hoped but luckily got one of the last parking spaces within walking distance to the museum.  The entrance reminds me of the monolith from the film 2001 – a granite enigma – trying to figure out how to get in!

Then there was the permanent collection of priceless French Impressionists, artwork and sculptures.  As moving as the Van Gogh exhibit was, I liked the permanent collection as much, painters I personally relate to, particularly the powerful seascapes of Winslow Homer and the scenes of the American West by Frederick Remington.  Ann, predictably and understandably was enthralled by the French Impressionist paintings, the Renoir collection in the permanent collection in particular and lingered there.

Perhaps the high point for me, though, was the display of the grandest Steinway ever made, the Model D Pianoforte Steinway which was commissioned by financier Henry Marquand in 1885.

In between seeing the Van Gogh and the permanent collection, we paused for a wonderful lunch at one of the Clark Institute restaurants.  By mid afternoon we started to think about the long ride back to Norwalk, half the distance on local roads and again we had to zig and zag, making it a long and grueling four hour trip home.

Only two nights later we had tickets to the Westport Country Playhouse to see A R Gurney’ s Love and Money, a world premiere.

I’ve written about the Westport Country Playhouse before, a venerable landmark in Westport since the early 1930’s.  Just one look at some of the old billboards and memorabilia in the lobby evokes deep and fond memories. We’ve been going there for some 45 years now, and while it has changed, it has changed to stay the same, to present plays of meaning to the community.

For many years Paul Newman’s restaurant, The Changing Room, stood adjacent to the playhouse (both Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward were active in the theater’s success).  Now Positano -- which had been near the beach -- moved into that space and Ann and I had dinner there before the show, an enjoyable dining experience.

What better place to premier A.R. Gurney’s Love and Money than the Westport Country Playhouse, near the center of the universe of the play’s subject, the enigma of the WASP?  Cheever had defined the very species and Gurney has now attempted to dramatize its fading years of glory.

Gurney has been heavily influenced by Cheever and in fact as a tribute to the great short story writer he created a dramatization of some of his stories some twenty years ago, A Cheever Evening, one that I read when I was working on my own dramatization of some Raymond Carver stories.

Gurney used more than a dozen Cheever short stories to create his vision of what Cheever might have composed himself if he were a dramatist.  I’ve never seen the play performed but maybe it will be revived on the heels of Gurney’s new play.  Cheever and Gurney are students of this privileged, melancholic, frequently inebriated class, one to which it is time to say goodbye.

Unfortunately the play is not primetime ready yet and although the cast includes the consummate actress Maureen Anderman, who not long ago we had seen at Dramaworks in A Delicate Balance, her presence is not enough to save what we thought was a very contrived plot intended to mark the passing of the WASP species. Unlike Cheever, whose characters mostly aspired to money or had the pretense of money, this is about real money and how it alters relationships.

Cornelia Cunningham (Maureen Anderman) feels tainted with loads of WASP money from her deceased husband.  Her two children had directly or indirectly been destroyed by their wealth and/or alcoholism, and she is determined to leave most of her money to charity.  Against the advice of her attorney, Harvey Abel (“ably” played by Joe Paulik), she has no intent to leave the money to her two "zombie" grandchildren and then, suddenly -- a young black man arrives on her doorstep claiming to be the child of her deceased daughter – and thus another grandchild has been added to the mix.  Let the drama and comedy begin! – or at least attempt to begin.   From there a number of non sequiturs that don’t seem to be organic to the plot are thrown at the audience, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Cole Porter, and a number of zingers at the encroaching political oligarchy and foibles of modern day life. 

Cole Porter of course is emblematic of the WASP culture and a couple of his songs are suddenly introduced as a young Julliard student, Jessica Worth (Kahyun Kim), comes to inspect Cornelia’s player piano which is programmed to play only Porter, Jessica bursting into song.  The young black man, Walter Williams (played by Gabriel Brown) who is after his own fortune, claims he is nicknamed “Scott” because of his love of Fitzgerald (who ironically lived in Westport briefly with Zelda) and in particular his affection for The Great Gatsby.  

While Love and Money is billed as a world premiere production, it is a play in development, gearing up for an off-Broadway run at the Signature Theatre.  It needs work -- an organic fluidity that seems to be lacking and a more believable plot.

In the program notes Gurney says at the age of 84, I assumed this play would probably be my last.  As its various characters leave the stage at the end, I felt I was figuratively going with them.  But now that the excitement of an actual production is taking place, I am reminded of an adage from the Jewish culture, which is in many was replacing us: “Wasps go without saying goodbye.  Jews say goodbye and won’t leave.” So now, in my golden years, with perhaps another play or two already churning around in my head, I’ve decided to be Jewish.   Let us hope one of our great social-comedic playwrights has a few more plays up his sleeve, and improves the present work.  Perhaps he should reread his own A Cheever Evening?

 

To conclude our busy week, Ann’s niece and nephew Regina and Angelo visited with their growing children, Forest and Serena last weekend.  We haven’t seen them in a year and a half – what a difference time makes when kids are approaching their early teens.  Jonathan and Anna were here as well, for lunch and then a boat ride on a beautiful day.

 

 

Coda

Our “vacation” on our boat in Connecticut wrapped up in a frenzy, meeting friends for dinner, saying our goodbyes, and spending our last night with Jonathan and Anna, first dinner at Westport’s lovely Blue Lemon, and then a night of splendid theatre at the Westport Country Playhouse.  We’ve been going to the WCP for some forty years and the one constant is the quality of their productions.  No wonder the Wall Street Journal named it one of the four leading regional theatres in the United States, along with our other favorite here in Florida, Dramaworks.  You could say we have the best of both worlds, having seasonal access to each.

The current production at WCP is Alan Ayckbourn’s Things We Do for Love, a typical Ayckbourn play exploring relationships with a comedic touch. Perhaps not as well known as his Absurd Person Singular, The Norman Conquests trilogy or Bedroom Farce, all of which we’ve seen over the years, either in London, Westport, or NY,  this play has that distinctive Ayckbourn signature, and as a later play, perhaps a bit more maturity.

The set itself (and the photograph fails to do it justice) is actually on three levels, the living room being the main one, in the home owned by Barbara, a professional woman, dedicated to her job as an executive assistant. The basement flat below is rented to a postman, Gilbert, who also serves as handyman plus having a crush on Barbara (of which she is unaware).  Barbara is 30-40 something, and being visited by her high school friend, Nikki, who is in love and in fact engaged to a Scotsman, Hamish.  Barbara has agreed to sublet the upper flat to them while their house is being renovated, and this level, too, can be seen by the audience.  Barbara and Hamish take an instant dislike to one another. Need I say more?  So the play takes place on multiple levels -- physically and metaphysically -- with interesting and entertaining twists. In the course of the evening, we learn much about the “things we do for love.”

Part of the success of the Westport Country Playhouse’s production is its fine casting; I think a hallmark of both WCP and Dramaworks.  I could single out Michael Mastro who plays Gilbert for special recognition, a difficult role to play.  But all – Geneva Carr as Barbara, Matthew Greer as Hamish, and Sarah Manton as Nikki – are first rate, and make this a memorable production, under the fine direction of John Tillinger.  And kudos to James Noone for his scenic design.

Ayckbourn once said “The joy of the English language is its infinite capacity for being misunderstood.”  Indeed, and how lucky we are to have a playwright of his stature still in our midst.  While viewing his plays, one has the impression one is experiencing a light farce, but his plays linger in one’s mind, a testament to the more substantive themes he weaves with his unique comedic touch.

By the way, I wrote this before a review appeared in yesterday’s Wall Street Journal.  Terry Teachout essentially agrees with me!

The following morning we were on the road returning to Florida.  At the last minute we decided to take a detour to Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello.  We had never seen this UNESCO World Heritage Site and it had been on our so-called bucket list.  We heard that they now conduct smaller tours of the home which, for the first time, includes the upstairs and the dome and decided that was for us. 

It was fascinating to see Jefferson’s use of octagonal forms in his designs such as the dome room and many of the bedrooms.  Unlike most of the home where photography was forbidden, we were able to photograph this part.  His use of a skylight was radical for the time.

We are glad we booked this “Behind the Scenes” tour, arriving early in the morning before the crowds, being able to more leisurely appreciate the genius of the man, a self trained architect as well as author of the Declaration of Independence.  Did he know no earthly bounds?  Surveying his land and buildings, one can say that indeed necessity was the mother of invention.  Jefferson knew how to produce what he needed from the land to transform his entire estate, using his imagination and stunning ingenuity. 

 

I suppose the only blemish on his reputation was his adherence to slavery, something he knew was wrong, but as it was such an ingrained part of the American south at the time, he felt powerless to change it.  Let another generation do it, he thought.  When one thinks that as recently as the 1960s we had segregated facilities in many parts of the US, one can appreciate the enormity of the conundrum.

Besides the grounds and his home (of course the focal point of the visit) we were impressed by The Thomas Jefferson Foundation’s wisdom in setting up the visitor’s center a short shuttle ride from the plantation, with a 20 minute introductory film, museum, a well stocked restaurant, and a beautiful shop.  From there it is but a 5 minute shuttle ride to an experience of a lifetime.  The small carefully timed tours were especially appreciated.

 

It reminded us of visiting The Biltmore in Asheville, and the neighboring Carl Sandburg home in Flatrock, NC.  The Jefferson plantation had the intimacy and livability of the Sandburg home and grounds, and, as a self sustaining home, a little of The Biltmore, but not the grandeur.  However, if one considers accomplishments of the intellect an element of grandeur, Monticello soars

Since we started out early for our tour of Monticello, and we were now continuing on our way to FL, we thought we’d push on setting a target for Florence, SC for the night.  We understood our friends, Harry and Susan, were on their way north and that’s where they normally stay for the night, so wouldn’t it be fun if we met there for dinner?  We knew where they were staying, so we called while on the road and booked a room there. We were driving some 475 miles from the northwest and they some 575 miles from the south.  We both arrived within a minute of each other!  If one had planned to meet that would have been impossible timing.  It makes one believe in serendipity.

It was fun to catch up with each other after being away for nearly two months.  The next morning we left the hotel at 5.30 am.  Great to get some miles under our belt at that time while I95 is nearly empty, except for the trucks of course.  By 3.00 PM we were home, sadly leaving our other life behind at the South Norwalk Boat Club in Connecticut.

But wait ‘till next year!