What is it with this town?
Bells ringing. Lots of them, all through the day and into the night. Westport, July 4, 1976. I’d come out for the summer with my friends, Johnny and Edgar. I had been living in New York since ’74, working at the Metropolitan Opera House, when the Winter brothers, along with Dan Hartman, decided Westport was the right move. I got the summer invite.
Yeah, I am name dropping, but that’s the kind of town this was and still is. And get this: I hadn’t been here but a day or two when I pulled into Palmieri’s Nursery for the first time and, without me even asking, Mrs. Palmieri pushes open her screen door, exclaiming, “You remember Marilyn? She used to come here with Mr. Green!” Cross my heart. It happened! And that’s the way it went and goes. More artists per square block than any town on the New Haven line. More star power than any of them.
Again I ask, what is it about this town? What’s the magic? What’s the attraction? And what is this energy? I felt it from the moment I moved here. Sure, Manhattan’s right over there, that explains some of it, but there’s all those previous overlooked stops before you get to Westport. Why here?
Not long after I opened my farmstand on Kings Highway, a tinted window Volvo rumbled to a stop. “I can’t find a good honeydew anywhere!” Wait a freaking minute. Paul Newman? Joanne, too! No kidding and you can bet I did oblige him with a darn good honeydew and some sweet corn. That summer Sandy Dennis was in a lot too. She lived up on Sylvan with her nineteen cats, and for the life of me I can’t remember why Esther Williams came in. Oh, and how about this: Larry Coryell invited me to chant with him and his wife. And thank you Patty Hansen for being polite and fun.
Summers passed. I’d always run into my friend Martha at P&Z over at Town Hall. We both tended to overlook or bend a few town ordinances every now and then. Why, Paul even had to go to City Hall once to petition in my favor for something or other. And I’m remembering one other summer Martha had me chase down cherries for President Bill Clinton. That same summer Michael Bolton moved up next to the waterfall behind me. Fans would come around and ask if I lived next to Mr. Bolton and I’d laugh and say, “No, I was here first. He actually lives next to me.”
That seems like only yesterday. Nowadays it’s the drummer from Talking Heads, a real sweetheart, or another musician from The National, or that sitcom star the girls swoon over or an actress or, well alright, 50 Cent loves our pies on his birthday, and Chris Sarandon always likes the gem lettuce!
But hold on. As I’m recalling all these memories I’m realizing what it is about this town. It’s us. Yep. You and me and how we make others feel. And how a movie star can come to town and well, be treated normally, feel right at home. Not feel. What’s the word? Conspicuous. Uncomfortable?
Listen. I’m just guessing. But we are a special bunch of people. Westport is a friendly town. Life moves fast, but we do find ourselves taking moments to acknowledge each other. Asking, “How are you?” Or, “What you been up to?” We are all friends. We care about each other.
Example? Not so long ago, I was carrying a customer and friend’s box out to her car when at the front door she turned to me and said, “I got this Lloyd, you go and help Anne.” That was then.
And now? “Anne” and her family have been coming in for years. We just know her as Annie, (now a customer and friend herself).
With Love,
Lloyd