Sachem’s Head Associat ion

Dear Association Members, Welcome to 2011 with a special welcome to our new residents. We are certainly looking forward to this summer after a snowy, cold winter that never seemed to end. Our yearly Annual Sunset Picnic at Uncas Point in June is always an opportunity for us to acquaint ourselves with our neighbors new and old and to enjoy the Sunset over the water. The variety of appetizers and sweets along with the wine and beer is a wonderful beginning to the season. This year the Association replaced the ramp and float at the Colonial Road Landing to provide for improved access for Association members. The Children‟s parade at Chimney Corner Circle scheduled for July 4

th

brings together the young children of Sachem‟s Head with their parents and grandparents to celebrate Independence Day with colorfully

decorated bikes, wagons, and costumes. The children are awarded small prizes for answering questions about American History and current events as well as for the most creatively decorated costumes or bikes/wagons. The history questions asked have been the same ones for about 20 years so we suspect that Grandparents are a great help in coaching their grandchildren. Everyone lines up a few minutes before 10:00 am at the bridge. The annual picnic in September at the Sachem‟s Head Yacht Club is a great end to the summer with a buffet supplemented with all appetizers and desserts that our members can provide. Information about Sachem‟s Head Association and its Board and Committees can be found at http://sachemsheadassociation.com. The Charter and By-Laws, SHA and Zoning Ordinances, information on your Board Members, minutes of our

M e e t i n g s , Calendar, and past Tide Lines are available. There is also some information on an evacuation were that to be necessary. This year our a l l vo lunteer Board is as terrific as the previous Boards have been. Carolyn Matthes is our Vice President; she coordinates the picnics as well as the C h i l d r e n ‟ s

parade. She has also been instrumental in finding ways to slow down the cars and making SHA safer for our children, walkers and pets. Jim English, our Treasurer, keeps a close watch on our budget; Bill Wallner, Public Works, has been keeping our parklands safe and clean for more than ten years. He clears brush, fills holes in the pier, sprays for poison ivy and performs a myriad of tasks for which he deserves a big thank you. Bill also coordinates Clean-Up Day. Those that came out in May to help to weed, plant flowers, pour cement, reset the posts at the tennis courts, and perform other maintenance tasks were greatly appreciated. Andrew Fisher, Public Service/Tennis and Paddle, oversees the Staff Assistants at the tennis courts. He is in charge of kayaks, dinghies and beach parking stickers as well. Bob Davidson is our Zoning Officer. Zoning rules are available on our web site. KJ Lee, our past President coordinates Tide Lines. Additional Board members who assist all of us are Marie Fourteau, Phil Hamrock, and David Johnson. I along with all your Board members am available to discuss any issues you may have. If you are interested in helping us with the picnics or public works, please let one of us know. If we do not have your e-mail address or if you are not getting our e-mails, please send your address to info@sachemsheadassociation.com We wish you all a happy and healthy 2011.

—Barbara Henningson President

Volume 13

PRESIDENT ’S REPORT JU LY 2011

Number 1

President: Barbara Henningson

Vice President: Carolyn Matthes

Immediate Past President: K. J. Lee

Treasurer: Jim English

Secretary: Philip Hamrock

Public Service: Andrew Fisher

Public Works: Bill Wallner

Zoning: Bob Davidson

ZBA: Jeff Cooper

Traffic & Safety: Carolyn Matthes

Board Members at Large: Marie Fourteu

David Johnson

Assistant Treasurer & Clerk: Robin Sogge

TIDELINES

Editor: K.J. Lee

T H E T I D E L I N E S

ACT ONE

The stage hands have completed their transforming work. The small cast is milling about in the wings, and the lead actors are just emerging from their dressing rooms. The off-Broadway production begins with a brief dramatic First Act, like a black and white movie flashback later switching into Technicolor production. The setting is the 100-year-old waterfront cottage in Sachem‟s Head of Philip and Emily Whitfield. Philip is dressed in black, Emily in white. This is opening night.

The house lights dim. The curtain goes up as the stage lights create their magic, and electric currents of anticipation radiate from the stage to the audience and back again. The show begins as Emily strides to center stage in an apparent dither.

She is wringing her hands in wretched anxiety, as if she had seen a ghost, and indeed, she may have. Philip, her husband, is reading the newspaper in a nearby easy chair. “Phil, Darling,” she cries out, “Get the rifle. I was in the attic sorting out Mother‟s memorabilia when I was startled by a muffled noise. It chilled me to the bone. When I turned around I saw a smoky form duck behind the eaves in the oldest part of the attic. I‟m sure it wasn‟t my imagination this time. I think you should

get the gun and call the police.”

“Emily, dear,” he replied reassuring her, “I‟m sure it was no more than a mouse rustling a paper bag and the shadow from the bare light bulb swinging above your head, or some other simple explanation. What good would a gun do, anyway? Do calm yourself.”

“No Phil, this is the second time this week and I know it was more than that. I was afraid to tell you or you would say it was „the change‟ working me over again.

“All right then Emily, Sweetheart, if it will bring you comfort, or satisfaction of any sort, why don‟t you call my friend, Tom Chittenden, and tell him all about it. You know he was a very good detective in his day and he listens to the police radio just for the fun of it. He‟ll take you seriously and give you some good advice. It‟s time for me to hit the hay, my dear,” he said with a lifted palm to cover his exaggerated yawn. “As for the phantom, if it‟s the second time this week that you‟ve seen it, at least you c a n a s s u m e i t ‟ s harmless.” (Phil exits stage left.)

(Emily crosses center right to the kitchen wall telephone and consults a computer for a phone number . She meticulously pantomimes the dialing of a seven digit number and talks animatedly into the phone.)

“Yes, Tom, can you come over? I know it‟s late but I‟m very frightened and Philip has just gone to bed with a shrug of his shoulders. What‟s that? Well, we have a ghost, that‟s all, and Phil doesn‟t believe me. No, we didn‟t see any strangers around this week. Did you hear of any incidents? Oh, well I wouldn‟t know anything about that. And I don‟t see what difference it could make.

What did I do today? The Benton twins came

over this morning to play Monopoly the way they sometimes do, and I had my bridge club this afternoon. Yes, including the Barkers and Edith Dudley. Philip doesn‟t play. No, we had cheese and nuts and sipped wine. That‟s all.

Do we have to talk about this now?

There‟s one other thing. This isn‟t the first time I‟ve seen it…and heard it. Philip thinks it‟s my nerves, but I‟m sure I‟m not mistaken. Please, Tom, just come over, and come armed just in case you need to defend yourself….

(Suddenly, a hooded and cloaked apparition in a pair of red rubber boots steps menacingly out of the nearby closet, evoking a piercing scream from Emily…and the stage goes dark.)

~ End of Act One

Emily Whitfield Act One by Carol V. C. Schaller

writer and creator of the 2010 SHA creative competition An SHA creative competition

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Emily Whitfield Act Two by Eleanor Epler

winner of the 2010 SHA CREATIVE COMPETITION

ACT TWO (Lights: Emily seen holding on k i t chen tab le, te lephone dangling): “Emily!—are you alright?” (Emily) “TOM! Come!-Phil! (facing figure) “Oh, aren‟t you the famous recluse of Faulkner‟s Island? I saw your photo and story in “The Post” a while ago; your “run-about” had washed ashore empty on the beach at “Bloody Cove” after a strong Nor' Easter. You were presumed drowned. We don‟t usually come down to the Cottage for opening until late April; We came earlier this year, and wondered about the missing provisions.” (Figure staring at Emily) “MMMM” “What WERE you doing up in our attic?” “MMMMMMM” (Emily) “Oh, Tom, NO! (Tom, from behind, whacks figure on head with shovel, Emily, bending over) “This isn‟t a ghost. This IS the Recluse from Faulkner‟s —How can it be?” (Fallen Man revives, rises, shaking) “Who are you folks? I‟m a bit woozy, but remembering.” (Emily) “I‟m Emily Whitfield and this is my husband, Phil. What ARE you doing in our Cottage? You really scared me. I t h o u g h y o u w e r e a ghost!” (Figure) “Please, can I sit d o w n a n d h a v e s o m e water?” (Emily hands him a glass) (Figure sips, talking slowly) It‟s beginning to come back now—the storm—but I must tell you MY story. Back to 1962—I was 16 that summer and had fallen in love with Elizabeth Whitehead, whom I‟d known since we were kids over at Vineyard Point: clamming on the

beach at the Pipe, boating, jumping off all the rocks from there to Bloody Cove, to the foot bridge at the head of the harbor. No boundaries or Grown-ups‟ rules except to be home by dark. Teenager—first love—I had. When I asked her to go steady, Elizabeth said she was “pinned” to someone else. I was crushed. Went back to High School upstate, graduated, and was drafted in „64 for Viet Nam. Returned in „66, bummed around and finally linked with a war buddy in car sales in LA. Never happy out there. Bought out in late „80s and went “on the road” alone. Came back to the Connecticut shore—where I had “left my heart” and went out to Faulkner‟s in „97, helping conservation folk, staying out there in an old building. I was toughened by the war—didn‟t like mixing with people ashore, and managed through winters, going “in” about once a month in my boat and hitching into town for supplies. Really on my own when the Light became automated, but loved being out there especially at night, when the lights twinkled ashore and up in the skies. On that stormy March night, six weeks ago, I ignored the weather warnings and decided to make a run in my Whaler to Guilford. The storm was stronger than I had anticipated. My engine and boat were swamped, and I was thrown out onto Potato Rock, fortunately at dropping tide...I hit hard, must have banged my head, blacking out. When I came to, on rocks, I made it into shore and into this cottage—couldn‟t recall much at all. Must have gotten in through

an unlocked door, found some canned goods. I dried out and just stayed. When I heard your car outside, I went up in the attic and hid. Had nowhere to go; no boat, no car, no plan. Did see you going through some trunks but had no idea who you were.” (Emily looks over) “I‟m Emily Whitfield. My Mother was Elizabeth Whitehead, and her Memorabilia are in that trunk in the attic. Are you really Billy Baccus? When I was little Mother told me about growing up over at Vineyard Point and playing together with all those kids. Mother and my Dad were killed in a bad “head-on,” driving back late. I was twenty. Now, YOU look as if YOU‟RE the one that‟s seen the ghost, Billy.” (Billy) “She‟s really gone—but YOU‟RE here. I realized part of Elizabeth was still here with me when I looked into the trunk later, after I watched you. I meant no harm. I can go to a homeless shelter somewhere.” (Emily goes over to Phil then Phil comes over to Billy) “You really scared Emily, and I should call the cops. I inherited this Cottage over here in Sachem‟s Head from my family—and it has been our special Summer getaway. It was being spoiled for Emily, when you scared her, but I can‟t make the call—WE can‟t! Say, I need help getting the place ready for summer. Our two boys are away. Would you like to stay here and help out? After Opening Day in June we can all decide next steps.” (Billy puts head in hands. After several moments he straightens out, lifts up his head and smiles at both of them…)

Curtain...

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They sat together on the warm rocks in their wet bathing suits like two barnacles grown together over time -- natural, comfortable in their wetness, innocent in their attachment to the rocks, to the world; basking together, they were warm in t h e m id - su m m e r s u n . Unfolding and moving about, exploring the tidal pools, looking for shiners and crabs, they were grown-ups wanting to be children again, they were egrets stalking at water‟s edge, a striking couple that captured the eye. But, Jeff and Jeannie were two years apart in age. He was taller. She was older. Their parents were life-long friends. Ten years from now Jeff mused, I‟ll be 27 and Jeannie will only be 29. Then, what difference will it make? I wonder if she ever thinks about that ... Jeff brushed his hand over Jeannie‟s shoulder pretending to wipe away a gnat, and she smiled vaguely in absent-minded camaraderie. It was still early in the day.

Time after time he tried to attract the young woman‟s interest in a new way, and time after time she responded with the warmth and affection of

their childhood. Oh well, he thought, I guess I should be happy for the time together. “What would you like to do this afternoon?” Jeff asked aloud. “Do you want to go for a sail? We can take the new sonar.”

“Really? Do you need to get permission?”

“No way. It‟s my boat. It was my graduation present.”

“Wow, I didn‟t realize you graduated this year. Where are you going to school next year?” Jeannie said. She spoke from beneath a pair of raised eyebrows that made Jeff think of a seagull taking flight.

“I didn‟t get into the Ivies,” he replied, “so I‟m taking a year off to decide what to do next. How was BU?”

“Great! Big, though!” she said, breaking into a warm smile. “I‟m not sure I‟ll stay for all four, but I‟m good for now.” “Let‟s go looking for treasure,” she said, tossing back her damp, long blonde hair and enthusiastically changing the subject. “…Like when we were kids!” she added. Decisively, they stood up and brushed off. They surveyed the vistas they had

been enjoying, as they got ready to champion them by sailboat. They stood high on the rocks near the Yacht Club flagpole, and heard the welcome sound of flapping flags above, as they looked around once more. To the east, Faulkner‟s Island was silhouetted against the clear blue sky, with its proud, faithful lighthouse poignantly alert. To the south ran the long, thin rim of Long Island, blue-gray and uneven with buildings, smoke stacks and cliffs etched dotting and distant against the horizon. Across the great expanse of sparkling green water an oil tanker inched toward New Haven, closer to shore, a tugboat effortlessly towed a string of barges; a few soaring seagulls and a sailboat race permeated as if it were all rare perfume. Next in panoramic view, the Thimble Islands, with their compelling shapes rising amidst the cluster of coasts gave shelter to power boats which, in turn, darted into the distant channels like ravenous creatures hoping to find and devour prey. And as the teenagers turned to face west,

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Naming the Boat

~Another SHA creative competition~ Here is the first chapter. YOU write the second.

By Carol V. C. Schaller You, the readers, children through professionals, are invited to write the second

chapter of the short story, resolving the unresolved issues. Limit: 750 words. No restrictions on style. Deadline August 1. Submit to Barry and Carol

Schaller, 453 Uncas Point Road, Guilford, CT 06437. The winning entry will be published in the next Tide Lines with an invitation to a casual dinner at the

Schallers for a story reading. Have fun with it!

right there stood the silvered Yacht Club. Perched on its rock island, stately and vulnerable, the long windows and wide veranda stood watch over the precious vessels in the green, bejeweled harbor; the harbor itself embraced on the far side by the undulating arms of Uncas Point. The handsome young couple headed there. But suddenly, they faced a commotion. An older couple with small children and some others were on the footbridge. The woman screamed, the man was calling for help, the children were being whisked away by yet another older child and some Club members were already running toward the middle of the bridge as the first man pointed into the water. Jeff looked out from the rocks they were descending and saw what might have been a body floating. He told Jeannie to look the other way and head for the Club. Panicked by the possibilities, Jeff used his cell phone to call the emergency number. He called out to everyone that he had done so and suggested to bystanders to wait for help. Never the less, he saw a man jump over the rail and into the water, swimming toward the object. As Jeff joined the retreating children and ushered Jeannie away, he could see and hear the high pitched motorboat of the police patrol approaching from Great Harbor. Grateful the patrol boat had been nearby and would arrive in two or three minutes, he tried to keep cur ios i ty seekers f rom

approaching the fearsome scene saying, “Stay back, people. It‟s not going to be pretty and it could ruin a child‟s summer. It could ruin anybody‟s summer.” “But what if it‟s nothing?” said a deep voice that trailed off as a dark haired man in shorts and sunglasses ran toward the bridge. And a few women joined in the protest, and a few others rushed to the scene. Many stood tense on the Yacht Club porch, waiting for the police to arrive.

~

Jeff showed Jeannie how to rig his boat. His strong arms moved deftly, he smiled as he talked with white teeth glistening and hazel eyes sparkling with energy. He was proud to know the nautical terms and play the instructor‟s role. She was a veteran sailor but this was her first time on a sonar. She could hardly bear to carry on with a tragedy in the offing, but then, as Jeff pointed out, it could be horrific, or it could be nothing at all, and the authorities were there to take charge. They didn‟t have to suffer potential trauma just to satisfy their curiosity and they would be sure to hear the story upon return. They set out of the harbor under full sail with bottles of water, fruit and a meal of packaged take-out from the snack bar. They brought their towels and nylon windbreakers. Jeff realized he had left his cell phone on the snack bar counter, but he knew it would be there for him later. The

beauty of the early afternoon calmed and seduced them. Despite the drama, maybe it would be the best day of the year. They sailed across the Sound and through the islands, encountering a man in a canoe dressed in Indian garb. They called out to him and Jeannie asked, “Are you a real Indian?” The sinewy, suntanned man called back from a finely chiseled face, “I am indeed. I‟m the grand nephew of Schampaschu and I live on the little island off Money Island in a tepee. I fish with a spear,” he claimed, as he smiled and held up two weakfish. They nodded and waved with a thumbs up in unison, as the Indian paddled on, his single headfeather fluttering in salute. As they approached Umbrella Island Jeannie pointed out the gazebo to Jeff and he said “Thanks, I have to sail clear of those nasty, attenuated rocks.” “Nasty what? And you couldn‟t get into the Ivies?” Smiling in reply he suddenly commented, “ Look there‟s a marooned Whaler on them now.” But they saw no one who needed help, as the boat was awkwardly pitched and empty. They sailed on all afternoon, tacking along the coast of Stony Creek, the artist colony; Pine Orchard, with its protective jetty of huge granite boulders; Indian Neck, with its big summer houses strung along the coast of Linden Avenue like rough, gray pearls. (continued)

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(continued from page 5) They came to Clam Island at high tide so they were free to cut right over the sandbar into Maltby Cove and rounding Jeffrey‟s Rock instead of risking the hidden danger due South at Holmes‟ Point, they sailed along Sunset Beach and Pawson Park, where the rambling green Hitchcock Estate had once graced the cliff top above the beach. Jeff had heard the legendary ghost stories and he shared them with Jeannie in his deepest stage voice. Branford Harbor sparkled with cacophonous terns lifting, circling and landing on and off, off and on, the Little Mermaid rock. They saw its picturesque harbor light blinking, and an assortment of pent -up pleasure boats, all heading out, stoically sticking to the channel until they were clear to speed away in all directions like kids at the sound of the bell on the last day of school. They sailed far beyond Johnson‟s Point where Winchester Bennett once built a mansion -- destroyed by a hurricane many years later, and Wally Foote had been ensconced nearby while building a bank and a fortune to leave in Trust for a Park he w i l l e d b u i l t f o r t h e townspeople. “It sits on the shore of the Branford River just up from the mouth of the harbor,” Jeannie noted. “He was my great-

grandfather‟s first cousin,” she said. They discussed it all as they sailed by. And they came to Killam‟s Point. “ My parents were married at Killam‟s Point in September a couple of decades ago,” said Jeff. “They decorated the garden peninsula by the caretaker‟s cottage with pastel cloths on the picnic tables and white chrysanthemums and they hung Japanese lanterns from tree to tree. It was in mid-September at sunset and during the ceremony all the guests got distracted by the bluefish leaping out of the water. The leaping and splashing lasted for the entire ceremony!” Jeannie laughed. “I‟d love a wedding like that,” she said. Jeff laughed, too, and then replied, “Well I‟m not so sure. Some of the guests got pretty skunked and broke the screen door to the cottage by forcing it the wrong way.” “Uh-oh,” she laughed. “ A n d t h e y s e e m s o conservative. Your parents I mean. Well, I‟m sure they handled it. Nothing‟s perfect.” They sailed on. She remembered the sonar transom had been blank when they climbed aboard. “Your sonar is fabulous. What are you going to name her?” she asked, bringing up a new subject. “You tell me,” he replied.

~ Before they came about for the return trip the sun had been low in the sky. They had chatted and laughed all afternoon and of late decided to visit Kidd Island for their supper destination. The water and some snacks were long gone but supper was intact. They would hunt for Captain Kidd‟s treasure in place of dessert -- unlike the days of their childhood, today they could only wish for watermelon and brownies. However, Jeff was suffering his unspoken devotion to Jeannie, and he had failed to notice the lateness of the day and the ominous change in the sky. He thought of the Mariner‟s Rhyme: “Red sun in the morning, Sailors take warning. Red sun at night, Sailors delight.” There was no red sun. Suddenly, there was no sun at all. The sky was an evil green behind sweeping, hostile, deep purple-black clouds. The catastrophe at the Yacht Club was out of mind, the treasure hunt was no longer a quest, even Jeannie‟s affection could not be pursued, for surviving the elements became the key focus. A powerful northeast wind… To be continued by …. You?

Naming the Boat (continued)

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I am a native of Hartford, Connecticut but I have lived in Hamden for the past 36 years. I am the General Manager of Amphenol Spectra Strip based in Hamden with facilities in Hamden and Shanghai, China. My wife, Paula, is a sales manager for Clinique cosmetics. She has a great knack for interior design and is having a ball decorating our beach house. We have three grown children. Mike is a PGA golf professional based in Chicago. Cara is the head psychiatric nurse at Masonicare in Wallingford and our youngest son, Ryan, is starting a career as a sales engineer for an electrical maintenance company. He is also an avid fisherman with his 20 foot Grady White that is moored in Joshua Cove. We have a vacation home in Naples, Florida and our future retirement plans are to spend our summers in Sachem’s Head and winters in Naples. We loved our first season in Sachem’s Head and can’t wait for the summer of 2011 to spend more time here. We enjoy our walks to the harbor for the beautiful sunsets. We are looking forward to our second season at Sachem’s Head.

—Mike and Paula Carbray

Welcome to Sachem‟s Head Mike and Paula Carbray

We purchased the home in April 2010 and did some minor sprucing up with some plantings and changing the trim from forest green to the original white. We also painted the front and back porch ceiling robins egg blue which I am told is an old tradition for cottages.

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Sachem’s Head Ospreys Settling In!

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April, 2011—Finally, first residents are building a nest!

May, 2011—Backyard pleasures. Isn‟t he cute, sticking his head out of the nest? I wasn‟t quick enough to catch the air-bound fish arrival. Note an active sparrow news on the right front corner. These beasts get into every-thing, not only my Martin houses.

Tearing up the fish to feed the baby. It looked like a nice size Striper.

By Hans Flink

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Above—Fall Picnic 2010 Right—The President and Vice President

Left—Eleanor Epler, the winner of the writing contest, and Carol Schaller, the sponsor of the contest

Right—The Queen at Peter Johnson‟s Independence Day Party, 2010

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Photos by Jeanmarie and Colin Cooper

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This photo (r) was taken from the dock at 41 Chimney Corner Circle

—Mark Bailey

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Photos by Zeno Chicarilli

Sachem’s Head Ocean Views

Here are 3 photos of our view from 80 Prospect Avenue. We never cease to be amazed at the glori-ous show Long Island Sound puts on for us each day!

—Barbara and Jim DiPiazza

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They Graced Our Lives...

Mary Christiansen April 5, 1921 – August 27, 2010

A kind heart

with a helping hand and deserving a halo, too.

Hugo Dunhill 1932 – 2010

A bright and witty gentleman and contemplative

sailor.

―I must go down to the seas again‖

– John Mansfield

Thomas H. Mitchell

1922 – 2010 ?

Friendly and good natured

Yale man, sailor. Escorted Ann Staples to her Senior Prom at the

Waldorf Astoria.

Married Alice. Life long best friends.

Jean M. Handley August 28, 1926 – January 26, 2010

A caring neighbor,

devoted to the arts for the good of all.

Philip Turitz September 3, 1923 – August 30, 2010

A quiet and thoughtful man

with a generous heart.

—

Arlynne Turitz

September 30, 1925 – March 1, 2011 A spirited and vital woman,

an elegant hostess.

Robert Orrin Rawson April 1917 – December 2010

A genuine gentleman,

a ham radio aficionado with a PhD.

Ann ―Bushy‖ Taylor Doolittle February 13, 1932 – March 29, 2010—no photo available

Honest and direct, she always said what she thought.

Walden Hill to Prospect Street for 40 or more years.

Charles N. McClure June 1914 – February 2011—no photo available

Well-known and beloved, he aged with charm

and dignity.

Our thanks to Carol Schaller for

collecting photos and writings

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The Tide Lines

P.O. Box 219

Guilford, CT 06437

Sailboat Races

When the weather is nice and the

wind is good, the neighbors get

together for one design (Nirvanas)

racing. There is no tide to contend

with, but low hanging branches at the

edge of the pond make the course

challenging! The boards have

onshore operational support. The

starting line is between two wood

ducks (decoys). The race committee

is top notch!

Spectators are welcome!

If you‟d like to send a reporter to

the next regatta, let me know and I

will give you a call!

—Mary Alice Lee

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