The Gazette is 45 years old this year. In its first few years of publication, we paid tribute to our World War I veterans with their passing, people who lived here for nearly a century. For this year’s Memorial Day commemoration, we developed the speech comprised of the words of World War II veterans as we said farewell this last year to the last veterans of “the greatest generation”.

We’re getting older, too. We enter a new era now, a new reality. This is us — these heroes, these neighbors, these life-long friends — this is us now. And in every sense of the word, Scott Johnson was “us”.

As we chronicle the history of the village and the longevity of its institutions, colonial Main Street and the summer homes of a hundred years ago, there is no one who could tell us tales of the “magic mile” of the fifties and sixties like Scott Johnson, who grew up here and never forgot his good fortune in doing so.

Here we have remembrances of Scott from his friends and family – our condolences to Kaye, to Liz and Mary and their families, to Scott’s sister Sue and his brother Todd, and to his many, many friends.

Scott’s family arrived here when most of our generation did, in the late 1950’s. Main Street was transitioning from an enclave of summer homes to a neighborhood of young families. This was a special time when there were over 60 kids of the same general age in the one-mile stretch and many more in the surrounding hills and valleys who would make their way to our cultural ground zero, Fran Wade’s general store, by bicycle and horseback. Most families had at least one horse and it wasn’t uncommon to see a few tied to the porch railing as we socialized over popsicles, penny candy and soda. Mr. Wade’s tolerance, kindness and generosity knew no bounds.

It was a safe and quiet neighborhood where kids could roam freely from morning until dinner time. Older kids always looked after the younger ones.

Many adults back then smoked so the general store was always well stocked. One time Scott got ahold of a pack of “luxury” smokes, a box of fine tobacco miniature cigars that were soaked in Port wine. He and a couple of friends had a secret club in a barn where they would enjoy these sophisticated smokes. Unable to finish one between them they would stash the stub in a screw top jar for their next meeting. I wanted desperately to join in but Scott being the responsible 12- year-old would not allow a 7-year-old down the dark road of such sin, so he offered me an alternative. He said, “you know you can smoke grapevines don’t you?” I didn’t, but it seemed perfectly plausible so my peers and I ran down into the woods behind the store where Bob Cote built us a grapevine swing and the place was loaded with these potential treats. With our jackknives we carved out some excellent smokes, hard to keep lit, impossible to draw, but very rewarding and age affirming.

I remember the day Scott opened the door to me joining the older boys. He was organizing a football game and they were one short of having even teams so Scott looked at me and said “do you want to play?” Well the clouds parted, the angels sang, and I gave thanks to baby Jesus as I crossed the threshold of opportunity to hang with the big dogs.

Scott Johnson personified Hampton. There is an unmatched quality about the town that most people recognize but it’s tough to put into words. Scott recognized it and we would talk at length spinning old stories, and about how lucky we all were to be in such a special place at a special time with a close-knit group of childhood friends.

Louis Chatey

He first stepped into our 4th grade at the Consolidated School, lean and lanky. For some of us we may have thought, what can we show this guy? It seems there’s an unwritten code to test new additions to the class, to see what kind of “stuff” they’re made of. It wasn’t what we call “bullying” today, but more observing, checking things out. Are they smart, athletic, how will they measure up? It didn’t take long before Scott’s nature and intelligence revealed his unique character. He quickly became a team player and a game changer to the class. Affable and inquisitive, he wanted to know how things worked and was quick to share what he knew. I became a fast friend and admirer.

Scott joined Boy Scouts and we did many projects together, rode bikes everywhere, hiked in the woods, collected insects for biology. As time passed there were the inside games on hot sultry or rainy days. All things involving strategy, planning and outsmarting your opponent were favored. Scott liked to think and in doing so he would inspire you to think deeper about whatever you were working on. When you spent personal time with Scott he was engaging, focused and listening. As we grew into young adults and Scott began his bicycle business, it was his character and very nature that helped make him a successful entrepreneur.

A few years ago I stopped by Scott’s cycle shop before the busy season and he gave me the grand tour. The smells, music and atmosphere were most engaging. It was like touring a historical, working museum. The rows of different bikes, the “office” where the girls studied after high school — all made me want to blend in and observe this incredible working mechanism.

Ten years ago our 8th grade class celebrated its 50th year reunion. Scott had begun treatment for the disease that had invaded his body. He attended and his focus was not on himself but on the event and celebration of the many friends he had made. For all who could attend it was a defining moment. Seize life, seize the moment and enjoy what the good Lord has given us… life itself.

Scott spent the final ten years of his life focusing not on the gain of material things but affirming the very qualities he always possessed, establishing and building relationships, first with family and then with many others who got to know him. Though he will be very much missed, his ideals of considering others and promoting others’ interests can live on in us – the community he leaves behind.

Alan Freeman

I have thought of how to start this eulogy countless times in the last eleven years, ever since Dad was diagnosed with an incurable disease. I have dreaded this day, as anyone does, when I will both want to stay small and take in such a sea of care, and yet hope to give one of the most poignant speeches of my life. A speech worthy of its subject.

I had imagined that Dad, with his abbreviated years, with his cruel death sentence and slow march, would now teach me one final thing: Dad would teach me how to die. I would walk with him, and I would not be afraid. This would be his final lesson.
My father was the greatest of teachers. From the very beginning he taught me a reverence for life, he called it, by taking me outside in the early morning to crouch down on the ground and look for the worms wiggling up. The man never squished an ant. These were al l “God’s creatures,” Dad taught me.

He tried to show us how to mix business with pleasure. At the bike shop, Mary and I would spend an afternoon with Dad. He took these moments to break out of the ordering and building and fixing to bring fun to us. My favorite was when he took bike boxes and cut them up to construct little villages for us. Dad built us doors that swung, windows cut with four squares to imitate panes, and room upon room for us to crawl through. From then on, I never walked into the shop without thinking of my bike box city and how my Dad made it for me. Amidst a busy work day, he stopped for fun, for us.

Dad showed me how to look at something from a new perspective. When I got my housing assignment for freshman year at UConn, I cried. I could not believe I would be so far from campus, in such run-down buildings. However, these buildings, it turns out, had been the very same that Dad inhabited. So Dad’s attitude burst through in a broad smile and characteristic enthusiasm. He expounded on beach parties in basements where some guys from the third floor had hauled in sand, or how he took a psychology course and couldn’t wait to try the next one, or that time he attended a yoga workshop and made the friendship with Swami that would glow in his heart his whole life. Dad taught me that there is more than meets the eye. You make your life with what you’ve got, and you’ve got a lot. He gave that to me.

Somewhere in the early years of his illness, he called and asked if I’d like to go for a bike ride. We had a smooth, slow rail trail a quarter mile away. We climbed on our bicycles and off we went, chatting along a flat and peaceful path. A little concerned, I had to ask, “Dad, isn’t it a little dangerous for you to be riding a bike, with your bones and all?” He replied, “You know, Elizabeth, I talked to the doctors about it, and they’re not thrilled, but I said to them, I’m going to go one way or another. So I told them that I’m going to enjoy what I’ve got while I’ve got it.” Indeed, he never really lost it; just two weeks before his death, he went with one granddaughter on their own bike ride. My dad showed me how to get it right until the end.

As time continued, and Dad kept on going for treatments upon treatments, being the star guinea pig for many clinical trials, and giving testimony for a new drug, I just couldn’t see how my Dad was teaching me to die. He wasn’t dying! Dad, my Dad, was living. He kept on living, he kept on visiting, fixing, chatting, philosophizing, advising, playing, watching, encouraging, sharing, laughing and riding.

And so my father’s final teaching to me, as I said goodbye to him for eleven years, was not how to die well, but how to live fully, unabashedly, without fear, with grace, grit humor and love.

Elizabeth Johnson Maurer

I could talk about Dad for hours. He’s not really a person I could “sum up.” He just had so many really cool things about him, and really amazing gifts that I continue to treasure.

He had a unique and independent spiritual life. He never fully belonged to any particular church, but when my sister and I were growing up in the Catholic Church he was a wholehearted participant. He always sang the hymns with gusto. I would look up at him and he would be smiling and singing loudly. Just seeing the enthusiasm was contagious.

My father wanted to make sure my sister and I knew about worldly matters, and one year he got a roulette wheel and set out to teach us poker and gambling games. He had a big jar of pennies that we would split up and he would coach us through the choices we could make. No matter how good we got though, he always said, “Remember girls, the House always wins.” He didn’t want anyone robbing his daughters of their hard-earned pennies.

I was fortunate enough to earn my pennies for a few summers in my dad’s bicycle shop. We would often get in before all the other employees to open up Scott’s Cyclery. There was a stereo in the center of the shop up high so that no matter where you were you could hear the music. We would usually put Bob Dylan on early in the morning. Once the shop opened up, we usually didn’t change the CD. It would be on Bob Dylan loop all day until closing. Never bothered the customers, but some of the other employees got a little weary of Bob Dylan’s melodious voice and easy-to-understand lyrics, and eventually Glen convinced Dad to play a radio program with Bob Dylan themed music, but not the same 20 songs over and over again. By then Dad had memorized all the important songs anyway.

I worked the floors during those summers, selling bicycles and taking in repairs. It was a rare week that I did not hear, “You must be Scott’s daughter!” What I really loved about that comment was that it gave me someone to look up to, someone to be proud of, a legacy to be part of. And I always hoped that it meant more than just looks, that it also meant that I had some of my father’s enthusiasm for life, some of his warmth and kindness, some of his big heart — quick to forgive and compassionate.

Another gift my father gave me was meditation. We would stop in a parking lot and he would turn on one of Swami’s tapes and we would close our eyes and forget about yesterday and tomorrow and even today’s tasks. His flexibility in spirituality and matters of faith, and his probing curiosity towards all of it, empowered me to lead my own independent spiritual life as a Muslim. I know sometimes that decision scared him, made him wonder how people might treat me, but he also knew it was my own path, and he let me journey it and explore it, and he let me sit there with it and just breathe. It was perhaps the greatest gift he could have given me: letting go and trusting me to walk my path.

I know how hard these past ten years were for my father, to keep enthusiasm and find joy through treatments and medications. Yet so much support kept him going: friends, family, Mom, and grandkids. The smile on his face when he held each of them for the first time: Mina, Josepha, Zakaria, Adam, and Anna. And as they grew, he always made sure that they had great bicycles.

I was listening to Bob Dylan’s “Mr. Tambourine Man” recently and I was immediately transported to the bike shop. I was also aware of right now, just this moment and the little places in my heart where I can feel my father. And I think about those Memorial Day parades that he loved being part of, right here in town, and how he is a part of a different parade now: that divine parade of peace that marches on and on. That maybe we have said goodbye, but it’s only because he has places to go, and his own parade to attend.

Hey Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me, I’m not sleepy and there is no place I’m going to.
Hey Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me, in the jingle jangle morning I’ll come following you.
I’m ready to go anywhere, I’m ready for to fade, Into my own parade
Cast your dancing spell my way, I promise to go under it.

Mary Johnson

The longest lasting and farthest reaching organization in town, the Little River Grange, was the social pulse of Hampton for nearly a century. The village facility we now know as the “Community Center” once housed this formidable institution and served as the premier gathering place for residents from 1906 to 2002 when it closed its doors, and an era.

The National Grange, or the Patrons of Husbandry, was founded in 1867. Its purpose was to create an organization to unite farmers socially, economically, and politically, and to improve agricultural methods and rural life. Eighteen years later, the concepts reached the far corners of New England. The minutes of the first meeting of Little River Grange #36 state: “On December 30, 1885, the citizens to the number of 22, 12 men and 10 women, of the Town of Hampton, Connecticut met according to previous agreement at the House of George M. Holt at 7 o’clock p.m. for the purpose of organizing a grange.” Thus, the local organization began before the building itself was constructed.

“It was started by my great-great grandfather George Holt in this room and the sofa that they sat on is upstairs,” George Fuller relayed in Hampton Remembers. “It was organized here in 1885 and named Little River Grange after the river goin’ by in back here. Great-grandfather was first master and I guess Grandmother was an officer, and nanny. But it started right in this room – they didn’t have any hall for a while, of course they took turns going around. For a good many years they met in the Town Hall.”

A series written for the Gazette by Frederick Pogmore and published in 2003 chronicled the history of Little River Grange #36. In the year following its inception, membership more than doubled, growing from 22 to 54, meetings were held twice a month in the Town Hall, which was housed in the upstairs of the Center School, and the first of several committees was formed to lobby the legislature to fund what was then known as the Storrs Agricultural School.

In 1902, the first Grange Fair, a tradition of decades, featured agricultural products, demonstrations, and exhibits of rural crafts. Receipts for admission, .15 for adults and a dime for children, totaled $17.83 and was deposited into the “Grange Hall Fund”. Donations and dinners and a mortgage secured by the organization contributed to an amount sufficient enough to start construction. W. H Burnham donated the building lot, and in May of 1906, residents Austin and Arthur Pearl began building the grange hall. In 1907, the first meeting was held there. A furnace was installed in 1911, and in 1912, “water was piped from a neighbor’s property to a tub in the back cellar.”

The Grange was in constant use. From Alison Davis’ Hampton Remembers:

The Grange was very important during the war years – that was World War II. I was Master at that time and Dot was lecturer. Because of gas rationing those were the days when nobody could get anyplace but you could get to Grange meetings. Other things were cut down and that gave the Grange an opportunity to emerge. It became more of a social organization than a farming fraternity in those years and everybody went. People from all different groups in town went – the Catholics and Protestants, the rich and the poor. Why I’ve seen Jim Goodwin who was a very wealthy man and who owned all of Pine Acres Farm here in town and gave it to the state for a State Forest – I’ve seen him with a dishtowel around his waist wiping dishes – and he was happy doing it! We all made our own fun and I always thought it was very important to help us get through those war years.

John Holt

For quite a number of years I used to go to the dances every Sat’dy night up to the Grange Hall. They always used to serve cake and coffee. Mother’d bake me a cake and I’d take the cake up and that’s how I got into the dance – by taking the cake for them to have with their coffee. I got my admission for the cake.

Robert Fitts

At the Grange we used to have Competitive Night in July. We had two teams, like the people who wore glasses against those who didn’t wear ‘em, or all the people from the north end of town against the ones from the south, or all the people that weighed over I forgotten what it was, against all those who weighed a-hundred-and-five or something, like I did then. Then you had just so long for your program and if you went overtime or undertime that took off points. And you used to have the judges usually from out of town, three Grange members from somewhere else. We had music, sketches and everything and why you know we’ve put on some programs that really, I tell ya’, they were really worth lookin’ at!

Cora Burdick

In 1939 or 1940 the Juvenile Grange put on “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” for the senior Grange and Evelyn Hughes supplied the seven little dwarfs from her first three grades at the Bell School.

Helene Stensland

Box Socials were held occasionally at the Grange. The ladies would put up sandwiches, cupcakes or cookies and fruit and they’d fix up a box or basket, decorate it more or less the way you would a May basket, fix it all up very fancy and pretty-looking. Then you’d have an auctioneer and this person would stand up and hold up one of these pretty little boxes or baskets and ask how much he was offered for it and the bidding would go on and whoever was the highest bidder would pay this money and take the box. And then after all of them had been sold, the man who had bought the box and the lady who had put it up would eat the contents together. It was a social thing, and a fund-raising affair, too, but it was really fun.

Ethel Jaworski

The Grange wasn’t only a social organization. Civic involvement was legendary, on a local, state and national level. Mr. Pogmore’s timeline includes: a speaker on the women’s suffrage in 1915; a 1918 vote in favor of prohibition; the adoption of the “Dirt Road Bill” in 1931. The Grange worked towards a Department of Agriculture, rural mail delivery, parcel post, improved highways, and vocational education, to name a few causes, and continuously raised funds for charitable donations, educational programs, holiday parties for children, and town projects, such as the Fire Department and the Ambulance Corps.

“I think their big slogan was, ‘Get Connecticut out of the mud’, and that was the impetus basically for state aid for town roads when it first started back there,” George Fuller recalled in Hampton Remembers. “It was a rural agricultural organization with a social life and an educational life, too. It was something the whole family went to y’know ,and we know from belonging that we had really good times. In later years it got to be more of a social function, as agriculture went on the wane, y’know. Its social side was interesting enough for survival.”

At the Little River Grange’s 50th anniversary in 1935, 160 members were in attendance. Twenty years later, the Grange reached its peak, with 333 members. The Grange Scholarship was established in 1960 and continues to be awarded to Hampton students. The Annual Chicken Barbecue became a part of the Memorial Day commemoration starting in the 1970’s. The Annual Grange Fair, which was discontinued during the forties, was reinstituted in 1973, continuing until the turn of the century. Members teamed with the Ladies Aid Society to expand the Holiday Bazaar, and Dot Holt started the community calendar, “recording the birthdays of people in town,” she relayed in Hampton Remembers. “When any newcomer comes to town, I always take them a map of the town and a birthday calendar.”

As the 20th century came to a close, it became clear to its dwindling membership that the Little River Grange could no longer survive as a viable organization. As the granddaughter of a long-standing member put it, “Our world became larger and Hampton was no longer our focus.” At a July 12, 2002, meeting, members voted “to turn in its charter, and cease to exist after all of its assets were properly disposed.” Four months later, residents at a November 18, 2002, special town meeting voted to accept the facility for town use for the fee of one dollar with two conditions: that the sign over the front door be preserved; and that the hall continue to be used as a community center. A committee was formed, a STEAP grant was secured, and the renovated and modernized Community Center hosted its first event in September 2008.

Since then, the building has been in near constant use. Along with private parties and receptions, the space has been used for historical presentations, to host Mother’s Day teas, and for Game Night. It has been transformed into an art gallery and utilized for exhibits and demonstrations during the Fall Festival. The stage has been used for talent shows and political debates, concerts and plays, from local musicians and thespians to a Grammy winner and the acclaimed Flock Theater. The grange hall has been turned into a dance floor for local bands, and the kitchen has been used to serve the seniors’ luncheons and the Memorial Day Barbecue.

In all aspects, the Little River Grange retains the aura of rural life, of a timeless simplicity, of the importance of community so profound in a small town such as our Hampton.

We used to square dance there every Saturday night. Most of the time I walked to and from the grange four and a half miles. Walked home at midnight and got up at 4 o’clock in the morning to milk the cows.

Walt Stone

We put on a lot of plays. In one I remember “Murder in the Light House”. Marguitte was the one who was murdered. The light house was a pail with a lantern on top. Bob McDermott let us borrow the Hampton Hill Garage carts, the ones that go under the cars, for a stretcher. We ran around that light house nine times with that stretcher. People provided sound effects. Storms, wind. I remember “Murder in the Barber Shop”, too. We used catsup for the cut throat. There was catsup all over the place. We used to do a lot of that stuff in the old days. We had contests, people with glasses versus people without glasses, people living east of Route 97 versus people living west of 97. The Grange brought everyone out. We used to know everyone back then.

Henry Moon

The times I remember most were right after World War II. We used to have some great programs. A lot of work went into those programs. Everyone participated. There were competitions, and whist parties, and fairs…We had a good time.

Peggy Hoffman

I remember when it was THE action center of the community. Neither of the town’s churches had large halls as they do today. So many a wedding reception was held in the Grange Hall after the ceremony, including my own. There were weekly whist parties at the Grange enjoyed by the adults, and regularly scheduled square dances for the young and young at heart. Many different groups hired the hall for their activities. A drama club put on plays and local music groups put on concerts. The Grange itself put on suppers or chicken barbecues. It was a busy place. During the World War II years particularly the building saw heavy use. With gas rationing, residents couldn’t buy pleasure gas to go out of town, so business boomed for local facilities.

Pearl Scarpino

Those were the good old days. There were all sorts of things at the Grange. My son John won the State Price title. My oldest son Adolph was elected the National Prince of the Grange in 1968. He was the only one who came back with the title.

Minnie Halbach

Once we had a fashion show. The men were all dressed as women. I remember Jim Rodriguez sprawled on a settee dressed in pink satin. My father was dressed in a suit, and my mother nearly fainted when he came out in heels and a purse. We had women’s degree teams when we took on new members. Dorothy Holt had a lot to do with that. We all wore long black skirts and white blouses and had parts to say. Walt Stecko who was Chief of the State Police taught us how to march.

Peggy Fox.

My mother played whist every week there. She wouldn’t have missed those whist parties for all the world.

Claire Winters

Hampton is proud to announce an unprecedented amount of events in our town for the walking weekends of autumn, some scheduled multiple times in the month. Below is a listing – there’s surely something for everyone!

September 30 (9AM – NOON) & 31 (1 — 4PM) Long Distance Black Spruce Pond Hike 23 Potter Road
Join naturalist Adam Drouin for a 5 mile hike from the Goodwin Conservation Center, along the Blue Trail, to Black Spruce Pond and returning along the Air Line Trail. Trails will be without much uphill. Hiking shoes, water and a snack are recommended. Sponsored by Goodwin Conservation Center, ctwoodlands.org.

October 1, 7, 15, 21 &29 (10:30AM – NOON) Create a Bond: Take a Rescue Horse for a Walk This Fall 78 Lewis Road
You’ll start by meeting all of our rescue horses and hearing their stories. Then you’ll get to know one a little more by brushing and giving lots of treat! Once you feel like you’ve made a connection, we’ll take the horses for a walk down the Air Line Trail, taking in the fall foliage and the sounds of nature, while giving a rescue horse the best day ever! Registration required. Sponsored by Hidden Springs Farm, hiddenspringshorsesct.com

October 4 (10:30AM – 12:30PM) Tales of Hampton Station Eleventh Section and Estabrooks Roads
Stroll back into time with the railroad lore of Hampton Station. This easy but steady walk along the Air Line Trail State Park will also feature beautiful views of swamps and their foliage. Sponsored by Connecticut Eastern Railroad Museum, cteastrmuseum.org

October 7 (9 –11:30AM) & 8 (2 – 4:30PM) Governor’s Island Hike 23 Potter Road
Celebrate Walktober with a little over a 3 mile hike from the Conservation Center, along the beautiful trails to scenic Governor’s Island. There is a lookout on the island which offers great views, so bring hiking shoes, binoculars, water and a snack. Sponsored by Goodwin Conservation Center, ctwoodland.org.

October 12 (1 –2PM) Air Line Trail Stroll 23 Potter Road
Take a leisurely walk starting at the Goodwin Conservation Center along the Air Line Trail through the state forest. The walk will be a maximum of 2 miles, but can be shorter. Sponsored by James L. Goodwin Conservation Center, ct.woodland.org.

October 14 (9:30AM — 12:30PM) Last Green Valley Adventure: Save the Trails – Family Friendly Forest Game 23 Potter Road
Join us for a series of immersive activities for all ages. Paint some pumpkins, clean and mark some trails, learn to identify plants and animals, navigate with a compass, go on a scavenger hunt, experience all the sounds of nature and much more – while leaving no trace! The whole family can experience sustainable outdoor practices that will build a lifetime of responsible fun in nature – drop in any time during the event to complete as many activities as you’d like. Sponsored by Project Imo, projectimo.org, and The Last Green Valley, thelastgreenvalley.org.

October 14 (10AM – 5PM) Heritage Day at the Organic Roots Farm at Popover Hill 147 East Old Route 6
Come to Organic Roots for our 4th Annual Heritage Day! It will be a fun time with the traditional farm crafts and demonstrations, retail vendors showcasing their wares, free refreshments and more. Sponsored by Organic Roots Farm at Popover Hill; find them on Facebook.

October 15 (1 – 3PM) Nature and the Little River, Hammond Hill
Enjoy a leisurely walk on a newly cleared trail along the Little River. The trail is located in the Hampton Conservation Commission’s most recent acquisition, the 52 acre Hammond Hill/Little River Preserve. Conservationists will be available to answer questions about area management and habitats. Sponsored by Hampton Antiquarian and Historical Society.

October 28 (9AM – NOON) Pine Acres Pond Loop 23 Potter Road
To celebrate Walktober, visit the Goodwin Conservation Center. Then depart on the almost 4 mile hike which will loop around Pine Acres Pond, pass Governor’s Island outlook, and return on over a mile of the Air Line Trail. Sponsored by Goodwin Conservation Center, ctwoodlands.org.

November 4 (9 – 11:30AM) Orchard Hill Overlook Hike 23 Potter Road.
Join us for the scenic Orchard Hill Hike led by Adam Drouin. We’ll meet in front of the Conservation Center and then hike for around 3 miles, with the possibility to leave earlier. The trails are beautiful with some incline to conquer. Sponsored by James L. Goodwin Conservation Center, ctwoodlands. org.

Dear Auntie Mac,

A few months ago you gave advice to someone who keeps apologizing for a mistake they made whenever a friend reminds them of it. I have a similar situation with a friend I’ve known since kindergarten who always makes it a point to recount the stupid things I did when I was a teenager to whoever will listen. I would like some advice on a nice way to address this without drawing more attention to the errors of my former ways. He relays these tales in a jokey way, but,

(Sign Me),
I’m Not Laughing

My Dear Neighbor:

Judging from Auntie Mac’s mailbox, it seems that this is the Year of Living Callously—in Hampton and elsewhere. More and more often one finds instances where the feelings of others are not only disregarded, they are not even considered in the quest to place oneself firmly on center stage. This should not be surprising. After all, we now exist, whether we like it or not, in an age where any publicity is good publicity, and many will go out of their way to, as they say, grow a following. It is not enough to merely help an elderly person across the street, rescue a stray kitten, or leap into a steaming pile of rancid watermelons; one must film oneself in the act, as if the main object of living is to attract the most attention. Auntie Mac is still not certain what prize the winner of this competition will receive, but it seems to be drummed into our collective unconscious that being noticed, whatever the cost, is the highest life achievement possible. Those of us with a rather smallish death wish, or a lack of fetid watermelons, must compensate by imagining ourselves marvelous raconteurs, and nothing holds an audience’s attention more than a failure, a misstep, a humiliation. Of course we do not remind our classmates at a reunion of the time we ourselves urinated drunkenly on the soundboard of a Steinway grand at our cousin’s wedding in the Hamptons. Nor do we lean across the Thanksgiving table of a friend’s family and confess to sneaking into their house years ago and shaving the Pekingese. But our friends and loved ones are fair game, props for the true object of the faux-entertainment: the positioning of the teller as the focus of attention and praise. This oft-repeated scenario reminds Auntie Mac of the story of the actor who plays the part of the gravedigger in Hamlet, and at a bar one evening tells the person next to him he’s an actor. “What’s the play?” asks his companion. “Hamlet,” says the actor. “What’s it about?” The actor replies, “It’s about a gravedigger who meets a prince.”

The only way, dear, to address this situation is one I am certain you have already surmised: when next you see your friend you must tell him that you love him to pieces and that you so adore his stories of your collective youth, but those involving your mistakes and embarrassments are hurtful. You realize he certainly does not mean to harm, but you are asking him to please refrain from using your painful past as the vehicle by which he reinforces his own self-worth.

Hmmm. Auntie Mac found herself sliding towards a rather passive-aggressive mud-hole there; please forgive her. She is certain, however, that you will be ever more diplomatic and loving in your address.

Your Auntie Mac

Letter to the Editor and Open to Seniors Regarding Hampton Seniors Club

1. I paid and received my membership card but was never offered a renewal process over the years either by email, text, phone call or in a meeting (which this group hardly ever has openly for members who might have some wonderful suggestions for improvements of the luncheon operations and the club as a whole.) In spite of Covid there were alternate ways to accomplish this. How does one renew/update?

2. I feel Hampton seniors should be involved in the voting process for available positions which should have term limits. This could be brought up in a meeting if we had them publicly with advance notice. As a matter of fact, there are many decisions that should be made by members with a written vote. These meetings could be brief and after a lunch making it convenient for all seniors. When we started the membership card and wanted annual dues for it we had an open meeting after the lunch that was announced in the luncheon email.

3. I feel Hampton Seniors need more transparency with the functions and details, we should have a say in many things, after all, it is our club, and presently we are excluded from meetings. Why?

I’m sure others feel the way I do about transparency as well as I believe they could offer brilliant ideas. I also think we should include short local trips. The cost would be minimum, and folks would love gathering.

I have a couple of friends waiting to join if meetings are open, like most town meetings. So, can we hold an open meeting to review the by-laws and perhaps adjust, update, and make available to members with transparency?

Regards,
Pat Cascio