SALISBURY — Congresswoman Jahana Hayes (D-5) admired the kitchen cabinets, the sunlight streaming through the large windows and an airy room well suited for flexible living space.
She toured the new affordable home at 17 Perry St. on Thursday, Jan. 29. The house, recently completed by the Salisbury Housing Trust, is awaiting a family to call it home. The modular home is one of four erected in Salisbury through the Litchfield County Center for Housing Opportunity’s Affordable Homeownership Program for scattered sites. Houses were also built in Norfolk, Cornwall and Washington.
Jocelyn Ayer, director of the center, joined members of the housing trust and First Selectman Curtis Rand in welcoming Hayes and explaining how the project came together. Rand said the property was the site of a dry-cleaning establishment located in the center of a residential area. “It was owned by two people who walked away from it. It took 15 years before we took the initiative to do something. We didn’t want to foreclose until we were sure we had someone to share in the cleanup.”
That partner was the state Department of Economic and Community Development, which provided a grant. Once the contamination was abated, a process that took five years, the town gave the property to the trust.
Hayes commended the town, saying, “I’m surprised you took the risk.”
Ayer said the critical pieces in making the project happen were the town donating the land and the Planning and Zoning Commission approving two homes on the Perry Street lot. She also thanked Hayes for her support in securing some federal funding toward the project.
“Other towns are jealous of the support we have here,” Ayer told Hayes, which includes help from the town, state and federal government.
Jennifer Kronholm Clark, vice president of the Salisbury Housing Trust, shows Congresswoman Jahana Hayes the kitchen in the trust’s newly built affordable house on Perry Street during Hayes’s visit Thursday.Ruth Epstein
Each of the houses costs $250,000. The trust retains the land on which they sit. The cost to build each house was $500,000, said Ayer. So far, two of the four Salisbury homes are occupied. Those eligible must be first-time homeowners.
Heat is provided by mini-split units in each room. The houses run on electricity and Ayer said the trust is exploring solar options. “We have $40,000 for each house, but we’re having a hard time getting bids near that.”
Jennifer Kronholm Clark, vice president of the trust, described the families who are already occupying the two houses. Just next door at 19 Perry St. is a young family with two children, one born recently. The mother grew up in Salisbury and “this is a wonderful opportunity for her to raise her children where she was raised. It’s a beautiful story.”
The family in one of the Undermountain Road houses has three boys who are thrilled to have a playground practically in their front yard, said John Harney, president of the trust. When the town conveyed that parcel, it stipulated that the existing playground remain.
Even with the $250,000 price tag, which is considered affordable in today’s housing market, Ayer said there has been a lot of interest expressed, but many just cannot afford to buy because they are unable to secure a mortgage. Hayes noted the guidelines have to be adjusted, adding that while affordable housing has always been an issue, “it’s getting to the top of the priority list.”
She lauded Ayer for all the work she does to promote affordable housing, telling her “You have a great vision. I’ll keep going to bat for you. I’ll keep trying to get federal money.”
As she was about to leave, Hayes was presented by Harney with what he called “liquid gold” — maple syrup made by Dolores and Champ Perotti of East Canaan. He also had a bottle for Ayer.
Those who may be interested in applying for the homeownership program should contact Ayer at 203-579-3180.
The Edgewood Restaurant, a beloved Amenia roadside restaurant run by George and Anne Phillips, pictured during its peak years in the 1950s and ’60s.
It began as a former gas station and tavern called The Narrows, on the road to Sharon, around a switchback east of Troutbeck. It became a roadhouse restaurant for weddings, bar mitzvahs, proms, graduations, birthdays and holidays with relatives. At Easter, New Year’s and Christmas, George and Anne served the food free — customers only paid for drinks as a thank-you for another good year.
It was a different time. Amenia was an isolated dairy farming community, and two large state psychiatric hospitals employed 4,000 potential diners. People needed a friendly neighborhood restaurant run by a local couple who knew everybody. They offered special-occasion favorites: fried chicken, meatloaf, sliced turkey with gravy, pork chops from nearby farms, and fresh white bread baked at 4 a.m. by George.
There was no maître d’. Waitresses, many still teenagers, greeted guests and helped them find a table. Cloth napkins and sturdy white plates sat in a knotty pine dining room that felt more like a family home than a formal restaurant. Large tables down the center accommodated families. George and Anne fed the staff before opening, and everyone ate the same meals served to customers. Everything was homemade classics of the 1950s and ’60s: cold shrimp and cocktail sauce, stuffed mushrooms, veal parmesan, King crab, clams and oysters on the half shell, chopped hamburger steak, French onion soup, fried chicken and pumpkin pie.
George was a tough but fair boss with a quirky sense of humor. Former employee Kevin Rooney, who worked there as a teenager, recalled being served a hot fudge sundae on a sweltering day — only to discover the “ice cream” was Crisco. Revenge came later in the form of a Coke spiked with Tabasco sauce.
George also kept a series of German shepherds — Rinny, Schultz and Dooley — named after a Jonathan Winters routine featuring talking beer steins. The dogs were locked inside at night for security. Tony Robert, another former employee, remembered coming in one day to find Schultz with the seat of someone’s pants in her jaws. When kids tried to sneak into a dance through the bathroom window after the fire marshal had closed the overcrowded place, George put Rinny in the restroom. Problem solved.
Anne also ran a no-nonsense operation. She marked liquor bottles at night so no one would sneak a drink, though the cleanup crew found ways around it, sipping the blackberry liquer instead. Along with cooking and baking everything from scratch, she raised their children in a life closely tied to the restaurant. The bus dropped their daughters off there after school, and one recalled doing homework while the family spent more time in the restaurant than in their nearby home.
George Phillips bakes fresh bread in the early morning hours at the Edgewood Restaurant.Provided
After 23 years of long hours — often more than 100 a week — George began stepping back, at times closing the restaurant to recover. He later moved into real estate and Anne opened a successful craft store.
George sold the place in 1972. At one point, it became a lively beer joint and concert venue, featuring local bands, such as Random Concept, Little Village and Good Friend Coyote. When New York lowered its drinking age to 18 — while it remained 21 just across the state line — it drew crowds from Connecticut. Locals called them “Connecticut Rags,” kids with fancy cars who came to dance, drink and sometimes fight, rocking the floors so hard they bounced like a trampoline and shook dust from the rafters.
At closing time, they had to dodge police waiting across the state line. Sometimes Jack Rooney, Kevin’s father and the bartender, drove them home. One morning, Betty Rooney got a call from a worried mother asking if her son was there. “If he’s wearing red tennis shoes,” she said, “he’s asleep on my front lawn.”
The Edgewood also drew actors from the Sharon Playhouse and notable visitors, including Paul Newman, Cole Porter and even Supreme Court justices. George showed silent movies on a sheet in the dining room, and guests could dance to the Les Schulman Orchestra or to George and his brothers, who had their own band.
It served as a gathering place for groups such as the Eastern Artificial Insemination Cooperative and for events like the Knights of Columbus Communion breakfast. Families marked milestones there — including one that celebrated five birthdays at a Palm Sunday brunch in 1970.
Christmas dinner cost $3 and included stuffed olives, roast pig, prime rib, Virginia ham, deep-sea scallops, Long Island duck, creamed onions and, of course, crème de menthe parfait. On New Year’s Eve 1959, dinner was $15 a couple — $7.50 each for all the champagne you could drink.
The venue came to an end when the building burned to the ground in 1985.
The building is gone, but not the memories — the laughter, the music, the meals, and George carving steaks by hand. He lived a century, but the Edgewood, for those who knew it, was timeless.
Next time you’re driving to Sharon and pass the empty, weedy lot with a rusty electric meter, imagine calling George’s old number to make a reservation for a place that lives on in memory.
Minimalist works by Agnes Martin on display at Dia:Beacon.
Martin, the Canadian-born New York and New Mexico resident who died in 2004, made the kind of ambiguous abstract art that inspires countless imitators and interpreters.
At first glance, most of the pieces in the new show, “Painting Is Not the Act of Painting,” (on display until June 22) are variations on simple lines and grids painstakingly applied by the artist’s own hand using paint and pencil.
Despite their relative simplicity, it took Martin years of rejecting her own artwork to reach this level of pure abstraction. She would often take knives to paintings she didn’t like, literally slashing work that didn’t live up to her expectations. It wasn’t until she was in her 50s that she began making the work she would become known for.
That evolution is reflected in the exhibition’s 24 works.
Dia:Beacon seems like a perfect place for them. The museum is a monument to simplicity. Even the most complicated pieces are abstractions in their own ways. A straight, unpainted plywood wall with diagonal backing by Donald Judd suggests a room under construction. Michael Heizer’s singular ovoid boulder embedded into a gallery wall strikes unease into visitors.
Subtle grids and softly layered lines by Agnes Martin draw the eye at Dia:BeaconD.H. Callahan
Martin’s pieces feel at home here. In the context of such visual, if not conceptual, simplicity, her art seems louder than it might in almost any other setting. Faint blue and peach stripes gain vibrancy when compared with the all-white canvases of Robert Ryman or the large gray mirrors of Gerhard Richter, both a few rooms away. By comparison, the visibly human-drawn lines of pencil or etched-out paint seem almost complicated, and technically masterful.
It’s enough to make you ponder the name of the exhibition, “Painting Is Not the Act of Painting,” pulled from a quote by Martin: “Painting is not making paintings; it is a development of awareness. And with this awareness, your work changes, but very slowly.”
In a world where studio assistants and fabricators contribute to the output of many artists, Martin relished the act of painting. She painted nearly every day of her adult life. For her, the process was an integral part of the work, and it’s hard to look at these pieces without appreciating her hand.
This repetitive study is also demonstrated across the hall in a gallery dedicated to a single work by Andy Warhol. The piece, “Shadows,” is a study of variations on a single subject. Warhol took photos of shadows in his office and, using a silkscreen process, painted them 102 times on identically sized canvases.
Walking into the room, it may seem like the same image repeated. On closer inspection, the canvases vary widely in color and composition. The work suggests that repetition can produce unexpected forms.
Agnes Martin has become enshrined as one of the leaders of the minimalist movement of the 1960s and ’70s. Her work and artistic philosophies have inspired countless admirers. This exhibition displays a selection of important pieces from nearly 50 years of practice.
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