Wednesday, November 20, 2019

James M. MacKay, Greenwich Resident and WWII Veteran

Continuing to honor our veterans, guest blogger Joseph Campbell contributes this post on WW II veteran James M. Mackay.
During an Honor Flight to Washington D.C., James M. MacKay with Lt. Joshua Albright [Contributed photo] 
Greenwich resident James M. Mackay (born January 19, 1921) was interviewed for the Oral History Project on September 8, 2008, by volunteer Harriet Feldman. His interview offers a fascinating glimpse into his life growing up and living in Greenwich, amid the hardships of the depression, foreclosures, and then life on a working farm. He describes it as a “self-sustaining” farm where the family “grew corn, potatoes, raised chickens, rabbits, cows, horses, pigs.” They also had a root cellar for carrots and potatoes.Mr.MacKay says it was “a great life. Oh, it was just a fabulous life when I think back on it now.”

His idyllic boyhood would be cut short not long after graduating from Greenwich High School. He notes that there was no money for college, and World War II would begin shortly after his graduation. Mr. MacKay worked briefly at a local bank before being drafted into the Army in 1942.

Inducted at Camp Devens in Massachusetts, he then was sent to Fort McCullen in Alabama for infantry training. He arrived there, he tells us, having no particular specialized skillset that the Army needed at the time. Following his stint at Fort McCullen in Alabama, he was sent to Fort Leonard Wood in Missouri for more training and then to the California Desert, Yuma Arizona, and California along the Colorado River. He explains that they were training for combat in North Africa, but the North African campaign had ended by the time they were finished with training. As a result, they were sent to New Jersey and then to Ireland to prepare for the liberation of Europe, D-Day. 

 
Photo: “Into the Jaws of Death,” Public Domain 

And thus, James M. MacKay became part of the historic Normandy invasion. Just prior to the invasion, he was transferred from the Eighth Division to Army Signal Corps and placed in an intelligence unit. Mr. MacKay describes his job as locating where the enemy tanks and units were. He was assigned to General Patton’s Third Army. He fought across Normandy and past Paris, eventually crossing into Germany and meeting up with the Russians at Salzburg. 

As if the horrors of warfare itself were not enough, Mr. MacKay also tells of the liberation of Dachau, the infamous German concentration camp.  He relays what it was like to enter the camp and see the horrors of the German “Final Solution” and to live with the impact of that experience.

Mr. MacKay also speaks of his friends from Greenwich who died during the war: “One of my buddies I went to school with, Joe Bowowiec, went in the same Eighth Infantry Division that I went into, and he, unfortunately, was killed going over a hedgerow in Normandy. Several of the boys died. Adrian Atwood, who lived on Riversville Road, too, was on an aircraft carrier, and a Japanese kamikaze hit his aircraft carrier, and he was killed there. So we lost quite a few of them in this area. We lost Joe Balco; he was another one that got killed. I was lucky.”

James Mackay is part of what is known as the “Greatest Generation,” those who came through the Great Depression to fight Nazism and Japanese imperialism around the world. They fought the largest war in history, one that affected the entire planet. When the war was over, these soldiers came home and began rebuilding their lives. Mr. MacKay, like most of his generation, is humble when he speaks of his role in defeating the evil that was the Axis powers. That we have James M. MacKay’s story to read and to absorb and to use as a teaching tool is something that should not be overlooked. There are powerful and amazing stories of Greenwich citizens that are waiting to be discovered at the Greenwich Oral History Project. It is an admirable source of information for teaching our current generation of the everyday life, livelihood, and sacrifices made by those who came before us.

James M. MacKay’s interview, #2794, Life on Riversville Road, can be read in the reference section of the Greenwich Library, first floor, or by contacting the Greenwich Library Oral History Project office, 203- 622-7495. 

Wednesday, October 30, 2019

Two Indomitable Greenwich Women

Today we honor two women of Greenwich, one a fearless aviator and WASP during World War II, the other a woman who served in local government at a time when few women did or could. The timing seems right for both since this month we will be commemorating Veterans Day and also since this month we go to the polls to elect city officials.

At the Greenwich Library Oral History Project, we are thankful to our volunteers who make the Project possible. And our blog writers are among our valued volunteers. 

This month we recognize two of our writers, Joseph Campbell, who has been contributing blog posts for more than a year, and new to our members is Noor Rekhi of Greenwich Academy. She contributes her first post this month as our Oral History Project student blogger.

We are grateful to them both. Jean P. Moore, OHP blog editor

Noor Rekhi, student blogger
 We begin with Joseph Campbell’s post: 

Gloria Whitton Heath in uniform,
World War II
Greenwich has had many famous residents throughout its history. One of these was a woman named Gloria Whitton Heath(1922-2018). Ms. Heath became a pioneer in women in aviation and a leader in post World War II international aviation safety. Interviewed in 2012 by volunteer Janet T. Klion, Ms. Heath’s story begins in college, the literal start of her journey in aviation.

The first steps of the journey were taken thanks to her brother, Royal Vale Heath, Jr., who had joined an aviation cadet program. He invited Ms. Heath to visit him at college for a flight with his instructor. She accepted—and became hooked on flying. When Ms. Heath went back to her school, she spoke with a pilot instructor about taking flying lessons. He told her to get together with her friends and buy a plane. He would then teach them to fly, so Ms. Heath and her friends did just that. They gathered the required contributions and assured the college they would not all die in a crash. They painted the plane in school colors to gain more support, and up they went learning to fly. Ms. Heath managed to earn her license and to graduate, no easy feat, she notes in her interview. 

Ms. Heath graduated in 1939. The war in Europe had begun, and on December 7, 1941, with the Japanese Empire attack on the US Naval Base at Pearl Harbor, America, too, was in it. 

England, having been at war for several years, saw women taking on a larger role in the military and civilian sectors. This included training women pilots to ferry aircraft from the factories to the airfields, freeing up male pilots for combat. Nancy Harkness Love, whose husband was the head of the US Military Air Transport Service, got a group of American women pilots together prior to American involvement in the war, and they went to England to help with transporting aircraft.  

When America entered the war, the idea of women flying warplanes was floated past commander of the Army Air Corps, General Hap Arnold, who was skeptical of women flying. Eventually, though, under the guidance of Jacqueline Cochran, the Women Air Force Service Pilots (WASP) was formed.

In her interview Ms. Heath discusses how training for these new women pilots began in Texas, where they took the same air cadet training program that the men took under the same conditions with only slight modifications. Ms. Heath points out, for example, a higher standard required for women: If a male cadet failed a flight check, he could still go on to fly as a bombardier or as a navigator. A woman cadet, however, was not given the same opportunity. One failed flight check, and she was out.

Under such conditions, with little support from the men and initially even without official military uniforms, these amazing women began their air cadet training. They may have been WASPs, but they were not technically part of the military. They may have held second lieutenant bars and were thus saluted, but they could not salute back. Ms. Heath talks about how they winked in response when enlisted men saluted them. 

But without doubt, they were committed to the serious business at hand. During the war there were 1,100 WASP members serving the country. Thirty-five of them died in service. 

In her interview Ms. Heath goes into detail about the problems they faced. In addition to the discrimination, there were also professional rivalry, jealousy, and fear, fear that these trained women would take jobs away from their male counterparts vying for jobs in aviation after the war. 

Ms. Heath describes the battles that were fought in Congress and the War Department for recognition of their wartime efforts as aviators. She points out that after the war the US government sealed the records of the WASPs. In an effort to counter the cover-up, the WASPs formed their own association to protect their interests. She notes that one of their alumnae groups made films to get the word out that WASPs indeed had flown planes during the war for the Air Force.  

The WASPs were in existence for a little more than a year, but it was an important one for women in aviation. During that time they overcame many hurdles and became role models for the women who would follow in their footsteps. In time their achievements were duly recognized: Gloria Heath and the WASP fliers were awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor, but not until 2010.

Ms. Heath’s contributions in aviation didn’t end with the disbanding of the WASPs. After the war, she became a leader in the field of aviation safety and search and rescue and wrote a manual on how to ditch an aircraft in water.

Gloria Whitton Heath died in 2018, leaving a lasting legacy. Her contributions in the field of aviation and to the women who followed are significant. It is with pride that we honor her on Veterans Day.
Gloria Whitton Heath
[Gloria Whitton Heath’s interview, Pioneer in Women’s Aviation and Flight Safety(2012), by Janet T. Klion, can be read on the first floor of the library in the reference area.]

Student blogger Noor Rekhi writes this month about Florence Cross, who worked for many years in Greenwich government as secretary and then as executive for the town’s selectmen. She was interviewed on two occasions in 1977 by OHP volunteerMarian Phillips.

Here is Noor Rekhi’s blog post based on these interviews:

Florence Cross started working as a secretary to the First Selectman in the 1950s and held that position for over two decades. During that time she built strong relationships with many first selectmen, learned valuable life lessons, and had a great impact on Greenwich. But any commentary on her years of public service would be incomplete without reference to her relationship with and admiration for Agnes Morley, another woman who was dedicated to Greenwich and who worked in government for many years to improve our town.
Florence Cross
 Ms. Cross entered government at a time when not only the number of women in the public sector was sparse, but also during a period when it was less common for women to work. Nevertheless, Ms. Cross pursued a career, and after meeting Jack Gleason, Greenwich’s first chief administrator, she set her sights on town government. While originally she was offered a job in the Department of Parks and Recreation, Ms. Cross was determined to be a part of the Office of the First Selectman.

It was in this office that she expanded her knowledge of politics and became well-versed in town affairs. In fact, on two occasions she was the acting chief administrator of Greenwich. Her dedication and commitment to local government are impressive and inspiring; she often left the office at night, working long hours without overtime.

One of the most prominent features of her interview is the friendship and fellowship she fostered during her tenure in the public sector. The closest of these relationships was with Agnes Morley, an engaged citizen and the Democratic selectman of Greenwich from 1965-1970. A Democrat in a Republican run administration, Ms. Morley already faced obstacles when entering public office, and being a female elected representative in a male-dominated era only exacerbated the doubts some held about her capabilities. 

Agnes Morley was frequently excluded from social gatherings thrown by her colleagues, who refused to take her or her policy plans seriously. Nevertheless, as Ms. Cross recollects, Agnes Morley persisted as a pivotal figure for the town and as a model citizen. A strong advocate for open communication and expression, she frequently took part in vigils promoting the causes she believed in. On many occasions, she stood as a role model for others to follow. Ms. Cross recollects how Ms. Morley insisted on going to the polls in a primary election, despite being sick, because she believed that everyone should take part in government. 

Ms. Cross includes another incident of Agnes Morley’s commendable character and integrity: While running for office, Ms. Morley and another man campaigned with an understanding that if they won, Morley would assume the position of the First Selectman, and he would be the other selectman. However, at a later time her running mate decided to backtrack on their agreement and attempted to take the position of First Selectman. He failed, but even so, most people would be appalled and angered if their running mate proved so untrustworthy, but not Agnes Morley. As Ms. Cross explains, “It never occurred to her to forgive him because she didn’t feel there was anyting to forgive. It was a matter of understanding.” Ms. Cross herself indicates she would not have been so understanding had she faced a similar situation. 

In the interview, Ms. Cross expresses her wish that the legacy of her friend would be remembered, saying, “I suppose in 50 years, somebody is going to say, ‘Who is Agnes Morley?’ I would hope that there will be somebody around who will know and remember.’”

Agnes Morley and Florence Cross stirred the status quo, enriched our town, and paved the path for more women in government. Thanks to the contributions of the Oral History Project, both their legacies of service and dedication can be preserved for our posterity. And as a result, they will both be remembered. 

[The Florence Cross interviews, later published as a book, Twenty-One Years at Town Hall: Oral History Interview with Florence Cross, 1978, by Marian Phillips, is available through the Greenwich Library, its branches, and the Perrot Memorial Library.]  












Friday, September 13, 2019

A Fateful Day on the Mianus River, Part Two

As summer draws to a close, we look back to two more interviews detailing the collapse of the Mianus River Bridge during the early morning of June 28, 1983. Earlier this summer, volunteer Joseph Campbell delved into two representative interviews from first-hand witnesses of events following the bridge collapse that fateful morning.  

As noted, in 1992 the Greenwich Oral History Project published interviews about the event. The resulting book, The Mianus River Bridge Collapseis a compilation of twenty-two interviews. Oral History Project volunteers conducted seventeen interviews, and the National Transportation Safety Board investigators conducted the remaining five.

In this entry, Mr. Campbell reports on two additional interviews from the Oral History Project book. The first is an interview with Mary Oldham, resident of a home near the bridge who stayed close to the disaster all night. The other is with Craig Baggott, a reporter at the time for the Hartford Courant who investigated the bridge inspection system then in place.
 
Recent photo of the Mianus Bridge
Leslie Yager, Greenwich Free Press
June 28, 1983 was a normal day for Mary Oldham. She woke up, went to work, she and her husband came home and made dinner, relaxed and went to bed. She, like all her neighbors, were awakened after midnight to the sounds of the Mianus Bridge collapsing.  

Mary and other residents had grown used to the bridge and its various sounds. Typical groans and creaks were ignored, but when she and her neighbors heard odd noises, they would call the transportation department and let them know about the stranges sounds emanating from the structure. Prior to the collapse, there were odd noises, and there were phone calls. What was different, though, this time no one got back to them before the bridge fell.  

The sound of the collapsing bridge woke Mary and her husband, but initially they thought it was just very loud thunder. When Mary went to the window, she realized immediately that the bridge was gone. She could not see much of the damage, but that would soon change as darkness bcame morning light. Eventually the rescue teams showed up, the press not far behind.

This was in a time without cell phones or internet. Many of the reporters were camped out in front of her house, and Mary allowed them to use her phone to call in their stories. She remembered, like most, the helicopters and the fire engines and rescue crews and then eventually the repair crews. It would be a long time before life would return to normal for Mary and her neighbors. 

While Mary was watching the collapse from her front yard, Craig Baggott was working for the Hartford Courant the night of the collapse. He remembers the night, not because he was on the scene but because the reports began coming in when he was working. Baggott explains in his interview how he did not report directly on the collapse itself. Rather, working on the projects desk at the Courant, he and others began looking into what led to the disaster.  

Baggott and the team at the Courant began poring over inspection reports of the bridge, and they made several discoveries. One revelation was that the bridge had not been inspected according to standards. After reviewing many reports, it became clear that inspecting a bridge like the Mianus involved a very hands-on process, physically looking at the bridge up close. It turned out that this was rarely done. Instead, the bridge had been inspected with men on the ground with binoculars. Worse, inspection reports had been falsified.  

Subsequent state reports revealed that many of Connecticut’s bridges were also in a state of disrepair. In the wake of the Mianus Bridge collapse, Connecticut eventually began funding inspections and repairs to the bridges to keep this tragedy from happening again, at least for a few years.  

Unfortunately, from a report in Greenwich Time several years ago, to name one such source, we learn that the state still grapples with faulty infrastructure, noting: “The poor condition of the state’s roads and bridges continues to be an issue. A national report earlier this year found that nearly four-fifths of major, locally and state-maintained roads are in poor or mediocre condition and eight percent of bridges are structurally deficient.”

The tragedy that unfolded in Greenwich in 1983 should have sent an urgent message, and yet it appears that message has gone largely unheeded. Will it take another tragedy to alert yet another generation?

[The Mianus River Bridge Collapse: June 28, 1983, An Oral History is available through the Greenwich Library, its branches, and the Perrot Memorial Library. Interview #2418, Mary Oldham, Greenwich resident, and #2471, Craig Baggott, a reporter for the Hartford Courant who investigated the bridge inspection system, can be found in the reference section of the first floor of the library.]


Wednesday, June 19, 2019

A Fateful Day on the Mianus River

On June 28, 1983, many lives were forever changed. Shortly after midnight a section of the Mianus River Bridge on Interstate 95 in Greenwich, Connecticut collapsed into the river, leaving three people dead and three more injured. The event was a tragedy for the families involved and traumatic for the Greenwich neighborhoods of Cos Cob and Riverside. Residents soon found their lives in turmoil over the scope of the event, not the least of which was massive disruption as traffic was diverted from I-95 to these neighborhoods.

In 1992 the Greenwich Oral History Project published interviews about the event. The resulting book, The Mianus River Bridge Collapse,is a compilation of twenty-two interviews. Oral History Project volunteers conducted seventeen interviews, and the National Transportation Safety Board investigators conducted the remaining five.

Recently, volunteer Joseph Campbell delved into four representative interviews. Two, from first-hand witnesses of events following the collapse that fateful morning, are presented below. The other two will be the subject of a future blog post, culminating in an in depth look at the bridge inspection system at the time.

Today, when the nation’s infrastructure is cause for serious concern, the story of the Mianus River Bridge collapse is more relevant than ever. 

Here is volunteer Joe Campbell’s report on two eyewitness interviews. The first narrator is Werner G. Albrecht, Greenwich resident at the time, who was on the river that night. He heard the collapse and saw vehicles fall into the water. The other is Thomas Brown of the Connecticut State Police, on the scene above the collapse within minutes of the event. 

. . . .

Mianus River Bridge Collapse with trailer portion of fallen truck
Greenwich Library Oral History Project
According to Werner Albrecht, the night of June 28, 1983 was “balmy” with lots of moonlight creating a bright night sky. Mr. Albrecht had been on his boat on the Cos Cob side of the Mianus River near the I-95 bridge at the marina. He had been working on his boat. Later, still on his boat and reading into the night, he realized how late is was. He reached to turn off the light when he heard what he described as a deep roar followed by a loud thump and the screeching of tires. Looking out the window, he watched as car lights began pouring off the I-95 bridge and into the Mianus River. Grabbing his flashlight, he joined others along the water’s edge to begin searching for survivors. At the scene, he couldn’t believe his eyes: “that actually a piece of the roadway was missing, had gone down. There were no lights.”

Thomas Brown, a Connecticut state trooper, was patrolling in the Stamford-Greenwich area at the same time as Werner Albrecht was watching traffic fall from I-95. Soon Brown received a call over his radio about an accident on the highway. Upon arriving at the scene, he noticed that a section of the bridge over the Mianus River had collapsed, creating a large gap where the highway had been. Leaving his vehicle, he heard the pleas for help from the river below. 

This would be the start of a very long heartbreaking next few days for many people. In their interviews Werner Albrecht and Trooper Brown tell stories of the bridge collapse from two different locations and from two different points of view. 

Mr. Albrecht focuses on the reactions of residents along the river, telling of those who previously had complained about the strange noises coming from the bridge—for as long as a month before the collapse. He also describes ordinary people who at 1:30 in the morning came out to help those who had fallen into the river when the road gave way.  

State Trooper Brown describes the accident from above, initially detailing his arrival on the scene. But then he tells of the unnamed hero from Atlanta who with his wife was on a New England vacation and returning from a Yankee’s game, crossing the bridge after midnight. He was driving behind a truck when suddenly the vehicle’s taillights disappeared directly in front him. That was the last truck to fall into the river that night. The Atlanta man managed to stop his car just in time—before he too would have plunged into the river. And then a story of heroism ensues: This unknown driver left the safety of his car after seeing what lay ahead and began to stop traffic before others would have plunged into the waters below. As a result of his actions, the fatality rate would remain at the tragic loss of three lives that night, rather than rising higher. As State Trooper Brown points out, even at that time of night there was considerable traffic on the highway.   

While Mr. Albrecht discusses the rescue and recovery as well as the cleanup that took place in the days and weeks after, primarily from the perspective of the residents, Trooper Brown stays close to the details the havoc created as traffic was diverted. He describes the long backups caused by the collapse. Fortunately, highway crews managed to empty the destroyed section of the highway. Redirecting resulting traffic, however, created it own issues, causing immense congestion through the side streets of Greenwich until the section was repaired. 

Through all the sorrow for lives lost and through all the disruption, there are also heartening stories of people pulling together that night to help those in distress. The community spirit continued in the days ahead as well. Surrounding towns mobilized immediately. Stamford sent its dive team for underwater search and investigation. Other town agencies sent officers to help with traffic control. The National Guard was on the scene with helicopters.

This was a tragedy that touched many lives, the effects continuing to this day. While the interviews were conducted throughout the 80s and into the early 90s, the events are not that far removed from the memories of those in the area who lived through it. While the subject matter is tragic, the interviews serve a purpose, to capture the voices and images of people who were there.  Their words serve as warning and as respectful remembrance of those lost on the night of June 28, 1983.  

The Mianus River Bridge Collapse: June 28, 1983, An Oral Historyis available through the Greenwich Library, its branches, and the Perrot Memorial Library. Interview #2395, Werner G. Albrecht, and #2402, Thomas Brown, Connecticut state trooper at the time of the bridge collapse, can be found in the reference section of the first floor of the library.

Thursday, May 16, 2019

Clementine Lockwood Peterson, Her Life and Extraordinary Legacy

At this time of year it is fitting that we honor Clementine Lockwood Peterson, born June 3, 1903. Her extraordinary legacy to the Greenwich Library is well worth remembering. The blog post reprinted below and taken from the Greenwich Library Oral Project’s book The Lady in the Portrait was first published September 24, 2013. The book, comprised of eleven interviews, tells the story of this remarkable woman whose multi-million dollar bequest to the library remains unparalleled.
   


Below is the original 2013 post: 

There are three portraits hanging in the Greenwich Library, two on the wall to the left of the main entrance and the third in the listening area of the music room on the second floor. Regular visitors will no doubt pass these portraits many times, perhaps glancing at them hurriedly, momentarily wondering why these almost “homey” images are on display in their town library. The two on the first floor are of Mr. and Mrs. J. Whitney Peterson, and the third is of their son, Jonathan. Their family story in many ways reads like a fairy tale of good fortune and graceful living, but it is also a tale of great sorrow. Ultimately though, it is a story of love and generosity. And the lady in the portrait on the first floor of the library, Clementine Lockwood Peterson, is the subject of the Oral History Project’s latest book fittingly entitled, The Lady in the PortraitClementine Lockwood Peterson.

Recently, the Oral History Project hosted a reception to launch the book about Mrs. Peterson’s, her life and her legacy to the Greenwich Library. The reception was not only in recognition of this accomplished and generous woman, but was also to honor those narrators who gave of their time to make this book a reality. 

Born June 3, 1903 in Greenwich, Clementine Lockwood Peterson spent her early life in Ridgefield, Connecticut. She attended prominent schools in the East before graduating from Bennett Junior College, a finishing school, in Millbrook, New York. Then, in 1925, she 
J. Whitney Peterson
married tobacco heir, J. Whitney Peterson, later settling into the Zaccheus Mead Estate in Greenwich where they lived for many years. Mr. Peterson later became president of the United States Tobacco Company. The couple had only one child, Jonathan, of the portrait on the second floor, who was known as Jay.

Mrs. Peterson, who in many ways led a charmed life, came to know tragedy and heartbreak. Jay died in an automobile accident in 1957 at the age of twenty-three and then, just two years later, her husband died. In 1992, after her death on the eleventh of April of that year, to honor her husband and son, Clementine Lockwood Peterson, through her attorneys, left a bequest of $25 million to the Greenwich Library. Her wish was for the funds to be distributed by trustees through a foundation established in her will. The Clementine Lockwood Peterson Foundation was created primarily to benefit two main areas in the library, business and music, in honor of her husband who had led one of the nation’s largest companies and in honor of their son whose great passion had been music. 

Jonathan "Jay" Peterson
The bequest remains the largest ever made to a local library in the United States.

After much deliberation and with deep commitment to honor the terms of the bequest, the Peterson Wing, which added 32,000 square feet to the library and would house, among other subjects, the library’s business and music collections, officially opened its doors on June 12, 1999.

Although she had been born in Greenwich and had spent many years in town, Mrs. Peterson was not a well-known presence at the library. In fact, when news of the bequest was announced, few among the library trustees knew who she was. Many of the narrators in the interviews that make up the book who did know her comment on her penchant for privacy, but she was at the same time an active member of the community. In fact, what emerges from the interviews is a woman with many sides. At various times during her years in Greenwich, she was an active volunteer in local organizations. She was an avid dog breeder and owner of show dogs, literally having written the book on Keeshonds, her favorite breed. In addition to writing, she was a skilled sculptor of animals, primarily of birds and dogs. 

In her personal life, she was the formal Mrs. Peterson, the informal Mrs. Pete, and the familiar Auntie Clem. There is the proper, businesslike mistress of a large estate and the fun-loving hostess with a playful sense of humor. But most poignantly perhaps, there is the observant and caring benefactor who sees need and intervenes to provide help. 

But the light must have gone out of the life of this accomplished and generous woman when she lost in quick succession her son and her husband. A year after her husband’s death, she sold the estate. She then lived for many years in a house on Taconic Road. Finally, she moved to a retirement home, Crosslands, in Kennett Square, Pennsylvania where she died in 1992, but not before she meticulously set up one last act of incredible generosity. And the town of Greenwich will forever be the beneficiary of her largess. 

The Lady in the Portrait is a compendium of eleven interviews. They include interviews with three trustees of the Peterson Foundation, past members of the board of trustees of the Greenwich Library and of the Friends of Greenwich Library. Also included are interviews of former employees of the library and an interview with a daughter of a family who were employees of the Petersons at their Greenwich estate. The book is divided into three sections: “The Lady,” “The Bequest,” and “The Legacy.” 

The Lady in the Portrait is available through the Oral History Project office and can be purchased for $18. Call the project office at 203.622.7945 for further information. The book is also part of the library’s circulating collection. 




Wednesday, April 3, 2019

"Aunt Mary" of the Bush Family: Her life, the Bushes, and Her Nephew, President George H.W. Bush

The following is contributed by Greenwich Library Oral History Project volunteer Joseph Campbell.

This month we are taking a look at the interview of another member of the Bush family, Mary Carter Walker. Mary was married to George H. Walker, Jr., 
George H. Walker, Jr.
Photo: Wikipedia
brother of Dorothy Walker Bush, who was the mother of President George H.W. Bush.

It’s a long and complicated family tree, but suffice it to say, Mary Carter Walker was affectionately known in the Bush family as “Aunt Mary.” And that is who she was.

This interview was completed in 1991 by Greenwich Library Oral History Project volunteer Esther H. Smith.

Mary was born in St. Louis in 1905 and first met her future husband there when they were children. As she describes it, the meeting was not love at first sight. In fact it was not until later when they were in Maine as teenagers that things began to change. His mother came home one day and said, “I met the perfect girl for you today.” When he asked whom that might be, she replied, “Mary Carter,” to which he responded, “Oh Ma.” In spite of this rather inauspicious beginning, they met again soon thereafter at a dance, and their romance blossomed, mother vindicated.

After they married, they moved to Greenwich when her husband's father became the head of his brokerage firm, G.H Walker and Company. Prior to Greenwich, they lived for a short while on Long Island. Mary claims they eventually moved to Greenwich because of the Bush family. They built their own home in town and at the time of the interview had lived there for 55 years.

Mary also reminisces about their “baseball years.” Her husband was an owner of the Mets. While Mary initially disliked baseball, she eventually was introduced to the players and became a huge fan, even going on several road trips with them.

Mary also shares insights about living in Kennebunkport in Maine, remembering the future president when he was a child. She, as others have noted, mentions George Bush’s kindness toward others, especially toward his brother for whom he had great affection. She remembers fondly how the Bush brothers were close with their sister Nancy as well and how they played together, frequently getting into mischief. 
Bush Family Picnic
Photo: Wikipedia

In addition, she reminisces about the fabled Bush family athleticism, including that of George Bush’s mother, claiming it was Dorothy who spurred the boys’ interest in athletics. Mary also goes into George Bush’s years at Andover and then into his World War II experiences in the Navy, noting his becoming, at the time, the youngest Naval Aviator. She also recounts how nervous the family was when George was shot down and presumed to be missing—and how relieved they were to learn he had been rescued.

After coming came back from the war, the future president went to Yale. When Mary is asked about his marriage, she goes into detail about George and Barbara having been in love during the war. Their romance went back to their having first met when they were very young. Mary remembers their meeting at a dance in Rye, New York, but history has it they met at the Greenwich Country Club. She recounts how they were both very athletic, Barbara, a tomboy, and a good match for the handsome athlete, George. The young family flourished, but those early years were marred, tragically, by the loss of the their young daughter Robin to leukemia.

In addition to retelling family stories, Mary shares insights into the Bush family move to Texas to become involved in the oil business; she discusses President George H.W. Bush’s service at the United Nations and his political losses before winning the presidency. 

But what also makes the interview so engaging are Mary Walker’s insights into the more mundane problems coming with fame, such as the neighbors at Walker Point in Kennebunkport being both proud to have a president in their midst but also upset because of all the commotion and traffic caused by his visits. 
Bush Compound, Kennebunkport, Maine
Photo: Wikipedia

Much of the interview deals with the houses and family in Kennebunkport and about their lives there. All the details in this interview help to put the finishing touches on a portrait of a close and loving family, imbued with a deep sense of social responsibility to serve the country that had treated them so well.

Thanks to this interview, the accomplishments and the love inherent in this family are not lost to us.
Bush Family
Photo released by the White House
The Oral History Project interview “George Bush,” April 26,1991, can be found in the local history reference area on the first floor of the library and in the OHP office.




Tuesday, March 5, 2019

The Bush Family of Greenwich Remembered

George Herbert Walker Bush (June 12, 1924 – November 30, 2018), the 41st President of the United States from 1989 to 1993, was once a resident of Greenwich. His father and mother, Prescott Sheldon Bush and Dorothy Walker Bush, moved to Greenwich in 1924, the year George Herbert Walker was born. Prescott Bush Sr. lived here until he died in 1972. Once moderator of the Greenwich Representative Town Meeting, the elder Bush was buried at Putnam Cemetery in Greenwich. We at the Greenwich Library Oral History Project are fortunate enough to have several interviews with members of the Bush family, one, conducted in 1991(by OHP volunteer Esther H. Smith), is with Mary Walker, aunt to the Bush children, and the other, conducted in 1992 (by OHP volunteer Marian Phillips), is with Prescott Sheldon Jr., the eldest of the Bush children, brother to one former United States president and uncle to another. 
This interview summation is by Oral History Project volunteer Joseph Campbell. We begin with the Marian Phillips interview of Prescott Sheldon Jr., “Political Activity in the Bush Family.” 
The Bush family loomed large in Connecticut and in Greenwich. They lived here in town, conducted business here, and also famously became involved in local, state, and national politics while here. In January and February of 1992, Prescott Bush Sr., the elder brother of former President George H.W. Bush and the uncle to George W. Bush, sat down for an interview with Greenwich Oral History Project volunteer Marian Phillips. In two parts, the interview is a fascinating look into the Bush family, who we often hear about but rarely get to see up close. 

Bush Family portrait
George H.W. Bush, second from right. Prescott S. Bush Sr., to his  right
photo: Greenwich Oral History Project files
The interview is wide-ranging, covering Prescott Bush Jr.’s and the family’s involvement in politics. His own political career in Connecticut was brief, and he retired as an insurance executive before his death in 2010 at 87. In the interview, he tells about his father, Prescott Sr., a “Wonderful guy with a tremendous sense of humor,” a trait that appears to have filtered down to his children. He was a man who always made sure the family, though wealthy, managed to stay grounded in reality. He taught his children that though they had a comfortable life and even a life of privilege, they also had a duty to give back and look out for those who were less fortunate. This teaching may have motivated George H.W. Bush to leave school to join the Navy, where he become the youngest pilot during World War II. 

Bush Sr. was apparently well aware of the role good fortune played in their family’s circumstances. They had money because they worked hard, yes, but the elder Bush impressed upon the family the importance of not taking good fortune for granted.
Prescott S. Bush Sr.
Photo: Wiki Commons

Another significant point: In the interview, Bush Jr. addresses the issue of the family’s pursuing politics and makes it clear that the elder Bush never pushed politics—or any career for that matter. (Prescott Bush Sr. was himself a United States senator, representing Connecticut, for almost ten years.) According to his son, not only did he encourage his children to make their own career decisions, he also told them he was not going to offer them advice, unless asked. Prescott Bush Jr. paints a warm and glowing portrait of the Bush family, leaving the reader to conclude that this must have been a wonderful family in which to grow up. 

Bush Jr. spends ample time on his family’s foray into politics and what that was like for his father and the family. Politics, it seems, provided for them a way to serve, to work to help others. There is discussion about the view of the family as patrician. Bush Jr. makes it clear that this was a distinction the family did not want. They worked hard to keep that perception out of the minds of the electorate. Bush Jr. also discusses in detail his brother George H.W. Bush’s decision to seek the presidency and the role his family played in his final determination to run. In this and in other areas, the reader senses the importance of family. Prescott Bush Jr. describes the famous BBQs, the games of horseshoes, and the sense of togetherness that defined the family. 

Throughout, Prescott Bush Jr. impresses upon the reader the family’s love of country. The elder Bush, the son says, instilled in the family the belief that, rich or poor, we are all Americans. 

Food for thought then and now.

The Oral History Project interview, “Political Activity in the Bush Family,” January and February 1992, can be found in the local history reference area on the first floor of the library and in the OHP office on the lower level of the library.




Monday, February 4, 2019

Two years ago we ran this post on an interview narrated by Alver W. Napper. We are reposting it to pay tribute to Mr. Napper, who contributed to and served his community for many years. 

This month as we commemorate Black History Month, we turn our attention to an interview narrated by longtime Greenwich resident, Alver W. Napper, who was a member of the Board of Directors of the Lee Haven Beach Club. In operation from 1949 until 1952, the club was located on Shore Island, a small spit of land less than an acre large, off the coast of Byram, Connecticut. The Beach Club, a revolutionary space not without controversy, was established as a recreational club for professional Blacks from the area surrounding Greenwich.

“I like to think of this island, of this club, as being one of the milestones in the evolution of the recreational aspirations of the Black people of this area.” Alver W. Napper, June 6, 2010-February 7, 2002

The following, which details the club’s short duration, is from a 1975 Oral History Project interview conducted by volunteer R.W. Howell. Olivia Luntz, a Greenwich High School Senior and Oral History Project guest blogger, prepared this post.

Alver Napper was director of the Crispus Attucks Center and an active member of the NAACP in Greenwich. In the Lee Haven Beach Club interview, he notes that in the 1930s and 1940s Blacks could not belong to the YMCA, YWCA, or other clubs, so they had to create their own space. “Recreation for Blacks was confined principally to the church,” he says. There were clubs and groups that met in private homes, but there were no public spaces available to Blacks to rent.

In order to hold dances, for example, organizers had to look outside Greenwich. And the need for such space in town was lost on many people. Napper tells the story of a meeting held to discuss the topic. As he recalls, one woman present “spoke up in the meeting and said that she didn’t see why Blacks needed recreation; she thought that when they had their Thursday off from work, or their Sunday off, the proper thing for them to do was to go home and rest so that they would be more efficient for work the next day.” 

This may leave us stunned today, but in the early days, the town’s Black organizers were undeterred.

Napper points out that 1939 and 1940 were the first years in which the need for recreational space for Black citizens became recognized. “They organized some singing and some open-air theatrical kind of things…entertainment.” Next, the basement of the Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church on Lake Avenue was turned into a Black community center. Finally, arrangements were made to acquire the old Boys’ Club building, which was then at 33 Railroad Avenue, after the Boys’ Club moved into a new building. The Boys’ Club had never before rented their facilities for Black functions because “they were always afraid that we would have people whom we could not depend upon to observe the rules and regulations and thereby would…ruin the reputation.” 

The most important step toward having a space for Blacks in Greenwich to come together, however, was the creation of the Lee Haven Beach Club. 

The Lee Haven Beach Club was founded after a Black real estate broker from New York, Mr. J. Opie Hagans, came across the island and purchased it. The island had previously been used during prohibition as a bootlegger club, called the Pieces of Eight. Hagans was known for buying run-down properties, repairing them, and then reselling them. However, the Lee Haven Beach Club faced problems before it even opened its doors. According to Napper, “as soon as news got out that Blacks had bought the island, then the real old racist Greenwich spirit began to bubble over.”

The club was first challenged by zoning laws that prohibited new clubs being organized unless they were approved by Greenwich zoning. However, since the Pieces of Eight club had existed on the island beforehand, the challenge was moot. Next, once the club got started, there was a challenge of the club’s right to have a rope ferry that would allow people to access the island. The Lee Haven club was once again able to dodge that setback as the Pieces of Eight club had been granted a permit for a rope ferry.


But the club’s connection to the Pieces of Eight club also created problems. “During the time of the Pieces of Eight club there were people getting drunk, creating disturbances on the island, and annoying everybody around the neighborhood….The neighbors claimed that that was their main reason for trying to prevent this new club from starting.” Therefore it was important that during its existence the Lee Haven Beach Club was very quietly operated.

The greatest challenge the club had to face, Napper says, was the fight to obtain a liquor license. “Some of the people who lived around that area, people of means, paid several very prominent attorneys to block our efforts to secure a liquor license. This went on for several years until as Napper comments, they “were able to hire someone who had political clout.” Only then did they obtain the license—and not until the club paid a high price, spent to convince that lawyer to represent them. 

And the liquor license was not the only problem the Club faced. Napper adds that, “we had hearings—town hall packed hearings with the people who objected—and they had all of their lawyers there. They objected to the permittee, they objected on the basis that there were nuisances going to be created in the neighborhood, and so forth—all kinds of objections.” 

In spite of the controversy, the club prevailed and was successful—for a time.
Shore Island, Photographer: Didier Ciambra, www.ciambraphotography.com

The main clubhouse contained the bar and the restaurant, and four additional houses provided fifty to sixty rooms that could be rented out. The island also had “a very beautiful locker room, and we had a beach—a beautiful beach.” Finally, the island also had a dock where members would bring their boats. The club’s daytime activities included enjoying the beach, boating and playing games. Unlike the Pieces of Eight club, the Lee Haven Beach Club was more family-oriented. Napper notes that members from New York would “come down and rent several rooms and bring their families down for a week or two.” During the evenings there were dances and parties on the lawn and private parties in guests’ rooms. There was a jukebox “which we used to use every night,” says Napper. 

However, all the effort that went into creating the Lee Haven Beach Club couldn’t prevent its eventual demise. Napper recalls that the club lasted for four summers, those of 1949-1952. Dissension began to grow within the club because of the differing opinions among members about whom the club should be open to. Napper explains that the club was originally created as a space for professional Blacks from New York, Philadelphia, Washington, and other metropolitan areas to gather. “The general aim [was] to try and make the membership predominantly professional Black people.” 

When the club first started there were several hundred members, who mostly lived in New York and Washington. It soon became apparent that a club strictly limited to professionals could not earn enough revenue to stay open. Some members wanted the club to admit anybody who could pay their membership dues. 

“We had our Annual Meeting,” says Napper, “and the professional group had held an affair in New York City to raise money to make up the deficit for the club. When they came out, they wanted to change the constitution of the club so that you had to be professionals. There was a big floor debate about that, and they were out-voted by the people who wanted to keep it open to everybody. Then that group (the professionals) said that since you’re going to do that, you’re not going to get this money, which they raised in order to save the club. So that was the parting of ways then. Next season was an extremely lean season with most of these professionals staying away, and thereafter the club rapidly went down.” 

After that summer there was a hurricane that severely damaged the buildings on the island, and the captain/caretaker who lived on the island during the winter passed away. The island was eventually sold and remained deserted. “It’s “gone back to nature now,” Napper sadly notes.

Despite the demise of the Lee Haven Beach Club, Alver W. Napper’s interview is a compelling reminder of the contributions Greenwich’s Black residents have made to our rich and fascinating history. 

“The Lee Haven Beach Club,” 1975, is available through the Greenwich Oral History Project office located on the lower level of the library or on the first floor in the library’s reference section. 

A summary of the Greenwich Oral History Project interviews commemorating Black History Month can be found here: http://www.glohistory.org/uploads/2/5/3/1/25311459/2013_02_13.pdf