Ahh, Summer! All through the long, cold New England winters we wait, pining for the warm, lazy days we remember from youth. School’s out and kids are free to run, play, ride bikes or swim; all things that marked summer in the country. Of course, those days are, for many of us, long gone. Nonetheless, Hampton is still largely rural, and, for the most part, that’s the way we like it. In fact, at one time, being a “rural” area proved to be an economic boon to the town.

Between the early industrial days of mills and manufactories and today’s largely residential use, Hampton was a summer resort destination. Before the arrival of air conditioning, city dwellers looked for ways to escape the heat, bad air and general unpleasantness of summer.

In The History of Windham County, 1889, R.M. Bales writes, “One of the beautiful towns of this beautiful rural country is the town of Hampton. From a business point of view, it may be said that the town is declining. But it cannot be that a section of country possessing such loveliness of scenery in spring properties can long remain in obscure decay. Already the tide has turned in the direction of coming uses. The summer delights which are here offered to the overheated and weary citizens of the great centers of population and business are laying the foundations of a new system of culture, improvement and cultural use.”

Following on last month’s “Our Rural Heritage,” we’ll take a closer look at Hampton Hill as a summer destination.

Until the 1890s, Hampton was accessible only by horseback, stage or private carriage. Connecticut Governor Chauncy F. Cleveland, a Hampton native, was instrumental in bringing the railroad to Hampton. In addition to making it easier to get goods to and from city markets, the train made the town an easier and more desirable place to visit in summer.

From The Hartford Courant, August 23, 1900, “Hampton station is situated 44 miles east of Hartford on the Highland division of the New York, New Haven and Hartford Railroad. When one steps from the train at that station, he immediately suspects he is very much in the country, the only evidence of a settlement being two houses, a small barn and a freight car. A drive of two miles or so brings one to the “center.” “Center” is at the top of the hill, you can’t say it is “out of sight, exactly, for it is a very prominent feature as viewed from the deep valleys and the surrounding hills.”

It’s worth noting that in those days, most of the land in eastern Connecticut was under cultivation, and the white houses and churches of the town could be seen for miles atop Hampton Hill, unconcealed by today’s forestation.

The article continues, “Hampton has two churches, an inn, a store, a post office, a village blacksmith, a population of 600 souls and a Republican majority of 3 to 1. It is a no license town, has no rough characters, no “lockup” and no need for one. The visitor soon learns that it is a prosperous and genteel community. Its broad main street, large old dwellings with liberal grounds, well-kept lawns, an abundance of shade trees and flowers, give it a particularly attractive and park-like effect. While the village street is well kept and more or less modern in appearance, the country round about is wild and picturesque in the extreme. It is the real New England farming country. Just the place to please the lover of nature and to inspire him anew with the restful and peaceful influences of country life.” The article names no fewer than 43 bird species which may be seen regularly in Hampton and environs. Some of those being game birds, the area is also described as a huntsman’s paradise. It also chronicles over 100 local wild flowers…all in alphabetical order.

The “Inn” mentioned above was of course the Chelsea Inn or Chelsea House as it was called in 1900. We know that it was not the only lodging to be found in Hampton, but it was the largest and best known. Others included the elegant Prospect House on the corner of Main Street and Hammond Hill Road. The Burnham-Hibbard House, now the home of the Hampton Antiquarian and Historical Society, was run by Mary Estelle Burnham as a more modest lodging choice and catered to some of the less wealthy boarders.

Per Janice Trecker’s Discovering Hampton, published in 2000, “Across from the Chelsea Inn annex, the old Mosley House took in Jewish tourists and other private homes were open for boarders. One of those houses was at 245 Main Street, where Miss Ella Sharpe ran a guest house for ladies only. One summer she accepted a request for a room from a Leslie Mathews who turned out to be a Mr. Mathews.” There is no record of how the immediate conundrum was settled, but the story goes that Mr. Mathews eventually wed Miss Sharpe’s niece, Helen Hammond.

Summer visitors to Hampton didn’t just rest on the ample porches of the Inn and lodging houses, enjoying the pure, clean and comparatively cool air to be had at 800 feet above sea level. There were lots of activities to enjoy. They rode horseback, golfed, boated and bathed in Bigelow Pond, hiked, hunted and fished and played tennis at “Wise Acres”, yet another well-appointed inn on Main Street.

In Alison Davis’s book Hampton Remembers, Bertha Burnham recalls, “One of the big events of the year at the inn was the annual field trials for hunters and their bird dogs. In late September and early October, the hunters came from Hartford, mostly, but other places too, and brought their dogs and dog houses and dog trainers. Early in the morning they’d have their warming up I guess you’d call it of the dogs out in front of the inn and then the men would drive in their cars down to the south end of town, to the farm beyond the Howard Valley Church and Jesse’d take the dogs in a high sided wagon. And they’d have their judging of the dogs. We’d put up a picnic lunch at the inn and take it down, and then at night there’d be the big dinner. They had a dance at the Grange Hall that night to end up with.”

Among other entertainments were sports. From the Hartford Courant, July 24, 1900, “The most interesting event in this summer resort so far this season was the golf contest which took place this afternoon on the Chelsea Inn golf links between the crack teams of Danielson and Hampton. Much interest was felt in the match, and for several days it had been looked forward to with great anticipation. The game was called for 2 o’clock and at that hour the splendid links, which are now in perfect condition, presented a most attractive spectacle. The towns-people as well as the scores of summer visitors at the Inn and cottages turned out in large numbers and Hampton’s club colors of blue and white were very much in evidence.

“The Hampton club won the match by a score of 7 up. After the game a procession was formed which with cheers, the blowing of horns, waving of flags and other evidences of satisfaction escorted the victors to the Inn, where the celebration was continued until a late hour. Members of the Danielson team took their defeat philosophically and a return game was arranged which will take place at Danielson Friday of this week.”

Danielson won the rematch.

Several forces contributed to the end of Hampton as a summer playground. Passenger service on the railroad ended in 1937. The dam that maintained Bigelow Pond burst in 1946, and increased mobility brought on by the automobile allowed city dwellers a greater range of travel destinations. Though it is no longer a sought-after resort Hampton remains “one of the beautiful towns of this beautiful rural area.”

Mary McMillen

The big occasions of the summer were large picnics of over a hundred people, on the Fourth of July or Labor Day when all the summer families brought their own food, spread out blankets on a lawn and had a sociable day. On the evening of the Fourth of July Mr. James Goodwin put on for the town a very elaborate fireworks display on his lawn just north of the church.

The adults in the summer colony spent a great deal of time growing large vegetable gardens and working around their places. They also hiked, for a while led by Clarence and Ellen Webster on special hikes when they took their lunches wrapped up in red bandanas. The literary people wrote books in the summer and the musical ones got on an eight-party line and sang together and the artistic ones painted trays under the expert guidance of Mrs. Adeline Farnum. Many of these beautiful trays grace the homes of Hampton today.

from Alison Davis’ Hampton Remembers

Peach Cobbler

An ever popular, old-fashioned favorite, this recipe was lovingly labeled “Gail’s Peach Pudding”.

Slice 3-4 cups ripe, juicy peaches in 8” X 10” X 9” square pan.
Mix ¾ cup sugar, ½ tsp. cinnamon and 2 tbs. flour. Sprinkle over peaches.
Sift together 1 cup flour, 1 ½ tsp. baking powder, ¼ tsp. salt.
Mix 3 tbs. milk, 1 egg, ½ cup melted butter. Mix into flour and drop spoonfuls onto fruit.
Bake at 375 for 30 minutes.

Kathy LaPointe

To the Editor:
I’d like to talk about my experiences, personally, with living in a small town. And coming from a small town. I grew up in a town of less than 2000 people. We lived next door to the farm where my Dad grew up. Mitch and I moved to our present house, in another small town, less than 2000 people, that borders my hometown. And I now live about 1/2 mile from where my Mom grew up. So, I can talk about MY experiences with small town living. But that’s all I can do. Not from a perspective of a person of color, growing up and living in these small towns. Not as a wealthy person, growing up and living in these small towns. Just as kind of a plain, lower middle income, white person.

After hearing and reading the lyrics to a country artist’s song about some things you don’t want to try in a small town, I figured I’d make a list of some things that one really SHOULD try in a small town. Or anywhere, for that matter.

When you hear it through the grapevine that a family lost their house in a fire, and everything they own. And you get together a group of people, as fast as you can. To find out what they need, and how to get it to them.

When a woman loses her husband suddenly, unexpectedly. You join a meal train and make sure she and her kids have meals for a month. So they don’t have to worry about cooking. You donate to a Gofundme so that she will have the money for final expenses. You take the time to go dig out the drainage ditch behind her garage, so it stops draining down the driveway. You reach out to her. And she never forgets that kindness.

When a woman loses her child in an accident. You find out what you can do for her, what she needs first. You donate to the GoFundMe, so she can bury her child. You go to fundraisers every year to raise funds for the college scholarship in that child’s name.

You go to the schools Empty Bowl fundraiser that raises money for the local soup kitchen/food pantry. Every year.

You drive by people’s homes, paying attention to what’s going on in their yards. Does anything look off? You offer to watch their place when they are away. And do it.

You be on the lookout for dogs or cows or chickens or horses that have escaped someone’s yard. And try to help them locate the missing critters, and even help herd them back home.

You donate used clothing to the local charity that helps families in need. You donate books to the library. For them to put on their shelves, or to sell at bookstores.

You buy some cookies from the Girl Scouts, because you love cookies. And, these girls are from your small town. And you know them, and want them to sell lots of cookies. Same thing with the Cub Scouts and their popcorn.

You try to do business with the people in your small town when you can, and recommend them to others as well.

You offer to get groceries for the elderly and disabled. Or bring them to doctor appointments. You offer them vegetables from your own garden because they can’t garden for themselves You share some of your venison when you go out hunting and get your deer.

You try to help move branches and stuff out of the road so people don’t hit them. You clean up the sides of the road if able.

You go to funerals for people in your small town. Even if you didn’t know them well. Because you know how much it means to the loved ones, to have people come show their respect and caring to the living.

When new folks move to your small town. You try to make contact. To welcome them. To find out if you can be of help in some way. Maybe they have questions about where to find stuff. And maybe they just want to see a smiling face and feel welcome.

Because that means so much! Right there. To feel welcome. To feel part of something. A small town, a community, a neighborhood, an apartment building, a tenement building, a church, a city, a street, a place. Where people get to know you, and you get to know them back. And you aren’t fearful if they don’t look or act like you. If they go to a different church, or no church. If they are married to someone of the same sex. Or if they were born with some of the wrong body parts. But have since had surgeries to correct that birth defect. If they have lots of kids, or no kids. If they like being social. Or prefer being alone.

And it really doesn’t take living in a small town to have these things. Or want to do these things. Or hope to be this way. And feel this way. Not if we all want it bad enough. Not if we all figure that we have to start somewhere. Because if not us, then who?

Those are some things you should try if you live in a small town, or a giant city. If you are a human being of the planet, Earth.

Becky Burelle Gagne

A wise man once told me “The most important ingredient of learning is curiosity.”

“Hibiscus: Genus of plant, commonly called rose mallows…native to warm temperate regions of the northern hemisphere…the large showy flowers have five petals, a column of fused stamens with kidney shaped antlers and several pistils….

Hickok, Wild Bill: Real name James Butler Hickok (1837-76) American frontiersman, stagecoach driver, Scout for many military leaders, law enforcement officer …U.S. Marshall, Fort Riley, Hayes City and Abilene, Kansas. These turbulent cattle towns were pacified through Hickok’s courage and marksmanship. He toured Eastern US in a play along with Buffalo Bill. He was shot to death in a saloon in Deadwood, Dakota Territory.

Hinduism: Religion practiced in India and still practiced by most of its inhabitants. The canon of Hinduism is defined with regard to what people do rather than what they think…. Hinduism is a major world religion, not merely by virtue of its many followers, but also because of its profound influence on many other religions during its long, unbroken history….The ultimate canonical authority for all Hindus is the Vedas….”

Just Google it. The key to learning is curiosity. What can’t you learn from Google or YouTube? Today we hold more computing power in the phones we stuff in our pockets than was contained in a building full of computers that sent John Glenn into orbit and put Neil Armstrong on the moon. At the beginning of the computer revolution we were told that they would make our life easier and free up more time to enjoy life. That promise has proven, over time, to be less than true. Rather than being at our service, computers have become our masters and we their slaves. Computers absolutely do provide us with many conveniences as, for example, the words that appear, and can easily be edited, on my screen as I create this article. Artificial intelligence is now creeping into our homes and our children’s classrooms. Just ask Alexa.

But here’s the rub: The more computers perform tasks formerly performed by humans the less human and the more like cogs in the machine we become. The more computers evolve the more humans seem to devolve – all too often, without our even realizing it. Computers, especially among the young, erode curiosity, inventiveness, and physical activity. Social media replaces social skills. This, of course, is all old news, but it need not be absorbed with a shrug of resignation.

The machine must be tamed. It can be tamed. We can take more control of our lives and save our children from its voracious jaws. There is no one solution but I offer one small possibility here.

It, Google, only works if you know what you’re looking for. If you know what you are looking for Google is an awesome tool. But limited. Look up any subject and you will find information on the subject as well as many links to related subjects. Where Google falls short — You cannot turn the page and make an all new-to-you discovery (As in the examples given above, drawn from Funk & Wagnalls New Encyclopedia, volume 13.) A new discovery that can spark and develop curiosity, lead to learning and an enthusiasm for learning perhaps not previously enjoyed.

After buying into the computer and Google phenomena for many years, its shortcoming became increasingly evident to me. I wanted a book I could hold in my hand, open to any random page and learn something new or re-learn something I’d forgotten I ever knew to start with. Fortunately for me there are many people out there looking to unload their “old” encyclopedias. I picked up my set from Facebook Marketplace — $45 for a complete set that probably cost in excess of $1000 originally. As an old person (some might say dinosaur) it is important to keep my brain active and curious as a buffer against inevitable cognitive decline. As a young person it is important to develop a curious mind and a passion for discovery and learning. For all persons it is critical not to be lulled into becoming a slave of the machine. As an added benefit physical books spare us the harmful lights of the computer screen that ultimately damage our eyesight.

I’m not ready to give up my computer, Google, or for that matter, my typewriter. They each have their unique benefit and go together like meat, potatoes and carrots. My encyclopedias sit on a shelf next to my recliner. When I’m having my coffee in the morning I like to grab a random volume, thumb through it until something sparks my interest then start reading. This morning it was Hibiscus, Wild Bill Hickok and Hinduism. How important was it to learn those things? It doesn’t have to be. But it doesn’t hurt to be just a little bit more knowledgeable about the world we live in.

If you don’t have a set of encyclopedias, what are you missing? If your kids don’t have easy access to encyclopedias, what might they be missing?

The chain that holds us in bondage to the machine can be broken one small link at a time without completely rejecting the modern world.

Try it. You never know what may develop from breaking one small link.

Uncle Grumpus

Music at the Fletch presents a free concert, Honky Tonk Moon, August 16th at 6PM. The group plays an eclectic mix of folk, blues, rock and more, aiming for a friendly “front-porch” feel.

The eastern Connecticut group features Peter Magrane on guitar and ukulele, Sherrill Owen Farkas on fiddle, Carl Garbe with bass, banjo, and mandolin, and Donna Tommelleo playing percussion. The group came together earlier this year through mutual friends and open mics, and each member contributes a different aspect to their music. The daughter of professional musicians, fiddler Farkas brings a deep musical background to the quartet. Magrane, a songwriter, likes to tell a good story musically. He teaches ukelele and has been playing in bands since his teen years. Garbe is master of several string instruments and is active in some Connecticut shoreline bands. Tommelleo, a relative latecomer to the music scene, took up drums in 2015. She says that she has been having a blast ever since.

Fans should bring lawn chairs or blankets for seating. In case of rain or excessive heat, the concert will be rescheduled for August 19th at 10:30AM.

Classical guitarist Mark Davis, who almost single-handedly kept Music at the Fletch alive during the early pandemic with his weekly ‘Bach in the Garden’ series of 2021, returns with a benefit garden concert Wednesday, August 30, at 6PM. The concert will close out this season’s Music at the Fletch series, and all donations will go toward supporting next year’s offerings. The Grammy-nominated guitarist will focus on works by Bach but will include well-loved works from Spanish, Latin-American and contemporary composers.

Although the baroque master never wrote a note for the guitar, Davis found many of J. S. Bach’s works for unaccompanied violin congenial for his own instrument. “I find that many of Bach’s original works for lute and unaccompanied violin work marvelously well on the modern guitar, which brings a freshness and intimacy to the sound of these pieces,” he said.

Local music fans will be familiar with Hampton native Davis thanks to his work with the Mark and Beverly Davis Duo (Fletcher Library Outdoor Series opener 2018), The Faux Nellies, and the Big Jump Band, as well as with The Providence Mandolin Orchestra.
This free concert will be held in the Butterfly Garden of the Fletcher Memorial Library. Fans should bring lawn chairs or blankets for seating. In case of rain or excessive heat, the concert will be rescheduled for July 29th at 10:30AM.

This is summer 2023. I looked at my driver’s license. It says State of Connecticut. I looked at the license plate on the back of my car. It says Connecticut. I drive by the Town Hall saying Hampton, CT. Then why are we getting Florida weather?

I was orphaned young, and my grandparents raised me. When Grandpa died at my age 14, Grandma and I had to move to Florida. Why? Because his teacher’s pension stopped when he died. Since he had a retirement plan from a city government, he was ineligible for social security, so there was no survivor social security for Grandma. She never worked a day outside the home her entire life, so she had no earned social security credits of her own. Property tax on Long Island was very expensive, so we left NY and moved to Florida, where she had built a tiny home on a lot she inherited from Grandpa in a giant subdivision. Once we moved into that Florida home, we were warned by neighbors about the weather. They told us that in summer every afternoon about 3PM there would be a big thunderstorm with lots of torrential rain and lots of lightening, and when that happened, we had to run around the interior of our house and unplug the TV, the radio, the fridge, the stove, the washer, i.e. everything we could unplug. Why we asked. The answer was that when lightening hit, it could kill anything still plugged in. Oh, they said, don’t bother getting a ladder and trying to unscrew your ceiling light bulbs. They’ll just explode. Which they did.

The part of Florida where we lived was tropical in climate. About 16 miles inland from Ft. Myers, which is on the west coast. On Long Island we had snow days and didn’t have to attend school. In Florida we had hurricane days, when we were sent home from school to help our families board up the house. By board up I mean, if you were rich enough to have a sort of metal awning over the windows, then you lower them and screw them in. If you weren’t rich enough to have that, you’d buy loads of masking tape and cover all windows with that so when the hurricane blows the window glass into your home, it will collapse onto your floor instead of spraying shattered glass into your body and furniture.

I remember shopping in Ft. Myers on a hot midsummer afternoon. All of a sudden, the thunderstorm started and dumped several inches of rain on the roads. I had to wade across the street to catch the bus home. My grandmother and I had a running bet going (not for money, just for fun). We would watch newcomers from the north move into this newly built subdivision and then guess if they would move back. Like us, none of them had ever been in Florida in the summer before. And guess what, all those family members and friends from up north did not come to Florida to visit you from April through October. Hotter than anything they had experienced before and humidity so thick you could cut it with a knife. The worse cold I ever got in my life I got in Florida. The doctor said that it wouldn’t go away until October, when we turn the air conditioning off. He was right. I inherited enough money from my father to pay for college, but I wanted some money for clothes and stuff, so after I graduated from high school, I got a job in a local motel cleaning rooms. They understood I was leaving in September to attend college. The doctor explained that the rooms I cleaned were 70 degrees, but when I stepped outside to fill the cart with the dirty laundry and move the cart to the next room, it was 95 degrees and very humid. Then I’m back into a 70-degree room again, and repeat the process along all the motel rooms. He explained that’s just too much strain on the lungs, so when you no longer have to do that, the cold will go away. He didn’t predict what happened when I got to Ohio for college. In October one day it was 50 degrees. I was the only person on a campus of 2,500 students who had to wear a winter coat to walk a mile to classes. Everyone else had a light fall jacket on!

Now here in Connecticut in summer, 2023, a lot of people have commented to me that they once lived in Florida, and this weather (too much heavy rain, high humidity and high temperatures) reminds them of Florida. My response has been that I feel that way too. If you follow the news, you know that the governor of Florida has been shipping immigrants he doesn’t want in his state to a northern state. I think that he managed to send us some Florida summer weather. We find that to be an immigrant we don’t want! How about this for revenge. We send the Florida weather back to him. Not in winter, but right now, when they are already suffering from heat and floods (and the four poisonous snakes in the U.S.). You can’t put weather on an airplane though. We would just need to funnel the governor’s own hot air behind the immigrant Florida weather. Invite him up here to CT, and he’s so full of hot air, that should move bad weather back there!

Angela Hawkins Fichter

Dear Auntie Mac,

I just finished watching the last episode of “Tiny Beautiful Things”, which I absolutely loved — so well written, I highly recommend it. The main character (who I adore) writes an advice column under the pseudonym, Sugar, so I wanted to pose her first question to you (who I also adore): What would you tell your 22-year-old self?

A Fan

My Dear Neighbor:

Auntie Mac is certainly touched by your flattering words. One’s heart always gladdens when hearing that one is adored. As Tallulah Bankhead remarked, “To hell with criticism; praise is good enough for me.” But before Auntie Mac’s head swells rather too large for her own fascinator, she must address your question, and with no small amount of attention, for as some may have guessed, she has not been her 22-year-old self for what could possibly be millennia. She is aware that the protagonist of the series you mention became an advice columnist after a rather lengthy trek across certain western trails, journeys of which apparently do wonders for the soul. Auntie Mac is a great admirer of such feats of determination and fashion-free footwear; she will admit, however, that her soul’s excursions, in her youth, followed a different route, though I daresay one no less treacherous at times.

Auntie Mac is reminded of one of her favorite quotes, by the novelist Colette: “In those days I was a fabulous creature, wiry and rapacious, wracked by appetites as foreign to me now as the motivations of a remote ancestor.” If she were to give advice to the young woman who at times squandered her good fortune and bypassed what seem now to have been wonderful opportunities, the first word that comes to mind is discernment. One thinks at twenty-two that the world will end in moments, and so one acts rashly and impetuously. At times this takes the form of bellying up to the salad bar of life, pushing aside the sneeze guard and eating everything in sight; at other times it manifests itself as simply doing nothing at all. When given choices for travel, for education, for introductions to (if she may indeed say so) quite influential people, she so often let ennui rule the day. Whether from fear of change, reluctance to take any type of familial advice, or an inflated ego that conversely morphed into small-mindedness, she was not discerning in her choices. She was not brave. She was not adventurous. She did not stop to weigh the enormity of decisions that would torment her well into her later years.

Lest you think, dear, that Auntie Mac followed along this well-worn path into her thirties and forties, rest assured, she did not. Somehow she snapped out of it, and a world of wonders opened up to her, one assumes much like what the advice columnist discovered in the rocky lands through which she traversed. And as you know, when one takes that first risk, the rest become easier, until one day you find yourself in a Norwegian fire festival with a thousand Vikings and a sharp communal plunge into an icy bay.
We could all use a bit more discernment in our daily lives, I suspect. The careful weighing of options, the dipping of one’s emotional stick, are really what places us in touch with our truest selves. And from time to time it’s good to get re-acquainted with that fabulous creature.

Your Auntie Mac

Helen Zisk passed away peacefully at her home on April 12, 2023 in the 98th year of her life. We knew Helen as a shy, sweet person, quiet and gentle, who was kind to everyone she encountered, friend or stranger, and was always willing to help people. And we knew her for her smile, which she shared with everyone, and unfailingly, despite the significant hardships she endured in her life. Like so many of the “greatest generation” Helen kept her courage to herself. It’s an honor to share this slice of history with the neighbors of this remarkable person.

Born in Poland on February 17, 1925, the daughter of Martin and Katherine Lukashik, Helen was imprisoned in a concentration camp during her early life in World War II. This experience, however, and those that followed, never embittered her. Instead, she remembered, and would share, her personal triumph rather than her personal strife.

Contrary to her small stature, Helen was strong, and feisty. Even as she aged, one could sense a dynamic presence in her tiny frame. This manifested itself when displaced Europeans were selected to come to America after the war. The deportation process included examinations and interviews. Many people told Helen that the officials would never pick her, given that she was so small — Helen stood less than five feet tall and probably weighed all of eighty pounds soaking wet. There was one man in particular who continuously tried to convince her that she would never be chosen. However, Helen had a “secret weapon”; she could read and write. Helen remembered standing on the deck of the ship as it departed for the United States and waving to the crowds who came to watch, recalling specifically that man who insisted she wouldn‘t be selected, who remained behind.

Helen and her husband, Stanley, who predeceased her, lived in New Britain for many years where she worked in a factory. The Zisks moved to their home in Hampton in 1985 to distance themselves from the negative element in the city to raise their son, Richard, in a small, country environment. Helen and her husband also had a daughter, Christine, who died in infancy. Helen’s remaining family still lives in Poland, the children of her five siblings, who also predeceased her.

After moving to Hampton, in the home where Helen has lived ever since, the two houses the Zisks owned in New Britain, their residence and a rental property, were sold and proceeds from the sales were placed into stocks, accumulating sufficient funds for Helen to hire live-in caretakers for these last several years and fulfill her ultimate wish – to stay at her home for the remainder of her life.