She was a pretty 19-year-old girl with a shock of red hair living in Arlington, VT, a small New England town. Her mother ran the first telephone switchboard, there. Nearby was an artist’s studio. “That’s how I met Norman Rockwell,” Mary Doyle Keefe, told me, relating how she was chosen as his model for women working in factories all over the country fabricating weapons for the military. Japanese planes had savaged Pearl Harbor Dec. 7, 1941. America was at war. Men and women, in a display of unity, rushed to enlist in our various armed forces. America was both an industrial giant, and a rural country of small towns and family farms. Most of the farmers’ daughters — and their sons — had never been more than 40 miles from home. Mary Doyle was no exception. “I often stopped in to see my mother and would run into Mr. Rockwell. One day he asked me to pose for him.” He told Keefe he was painting a picture of a woman in a war plant holding a riveter. With so many men in the armed forces fighting on two fronts, we were running out of workers to make guns, tanks, and hundreds of other items needed by the military. So Roosevelt and his advisors decided to recruit women, despite naysayers who said you couldn’t train a woman to use a pair of pliers. They were wrong. Millions of women joined the work force and America produced weapons and tools and trucks. But I’m came getting ahead of myself. To attract women to the burgeoning work force, the administration needed to sell the idea. A painting by Norman Rockwell was just the ticket. His illustrations were featured regularly on the cover of The Saturday Evening Post, widely distributed throughout the country.Keefe told me that Rockwell typically paid a model he painted $5. “But he paid me $10,” she said triumphantly. Why? “Because the first time I showed up with saddle shoes and a white blouse. He sent me back to get my penny loafers and a blue work shirt!” The painting appeared on the May 29,1943, cover of the magazine and stirred thousands of women to action. It was used by the Treasury Department to sell war bonds.And the woman in the painting was immediately immediately dubbed “Rosie the Riveter.” “Did you ever use a riveter?” I asked the onetime war bond saleswoman.She held up one of the early copies of the painting. “As you can see,” she said, “the woman in the painting is holding an extra large riveter in her lap, eating a ham sandwich in the other, and has the muscles of a wrestler. My right foot is stamping on a copy of Hitler’s ‘Mein Kampf.’ ” What happened? “Rockwell fiddled and fiddled with my picture until he turned me into a girl that fit his description of a strong factory worker.” She paused for a moment before I could ask the inevitable question. “And I wasn’t happy about it, but I didn’t complain. Some years later he sent me a nice letter apologizing for changing my appearance so drastically but said it was necessary.” A short while later Rockwell painted four men, each symbolizing one of the four freedoms. The President praised the paintings, and they and “Rosie the Riveter” were posted all across the country helping to sell war bonds. And perhaps more important, they helped induce 18-million women to leave farms and homes and work in war industries. So what did our “Riveter” do next? “I married an Army captain, worked as a dental hygienist and raised a large family,” On the 50th anniversary of D-Day, she and her husband were invited to appear on the Jay Leno show. At the same time a “Rosie the Riveter /World War II Home Front National Park” was dedicated in Richmond, CA. It’s no surprise that the early posters become icons. “Did you receive any money from the sale of the posters?” I asked. “Not at all. I was happy the Rosie image helped the war effort.” Once, when Keefe was at the Big E honoring the Rosie image, “a woman took one look at the riveter in the poster and told me I was real strong to hold and use one of those machines. Fact is I never saw a riveter like that.” A few weeks back, a very large party was held in the banquet room of the McLean Retirement village in Simsbury, where Keefe now lives in an airy apartment. She moved to Connecticut eight years ago from her New Hampshire home to be close to a daughter, Mary Ellen Keefe, living in Granby. The party celebrated her 90th birthday. Four children, plus grandchildren and great grandchildren were there to wish her well. As an epilogue: Yes, the original poster painted by Norman Rockwell sold at a Sotheby’s auction for nearly $6 million. “I was invited to be at the auction house, and I was shocked someone would pay so much. But then I guess I really was glad.” Since then it has been sold again for even more. Freelance writer Barnett Laschever, longtime resident of Goshen, now lives with his wife, Dolores, in the McLean Retirement village and is a neighbor of Rosie the Riveter.
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Dick Hermans in the Oblong Bookstore on Millerton\u2019s Main Street in 1985.
Provided
For Hermans, the award has prompted some reflection about why he has spent so much of his life involved in community projects.
“I was thinking about it this morning: Why do I do what I do?” he said. “And I think no matter what I’ve done, whether it’s been school board or rail trail, I’m trying to be useful to the communities I’m associated with.”
Hermans is perhaps best known as the longtime co-founder and steward of Oblong Books in Millerton, a business that began almost by accident. He and his former partner, Holly Nelson, were living in Millerton and looking for something to do during the winter. They had been painting houses, including the Grange Hall in Millerton, a job Hermans got through his aunt, who belonged to the Grange.
At the time, Hermans was also working in insurance for his father, doing collections.
“It was fine except I was doing collections, and it really kind of left me cold,” he said.
He and Nelson began thinking about what they might do together. Nelson was an avid reader, while Hermans had studied journalism and had worked in a record store. They noticed a chain of book and record stores operating elsewhere in the Hudson Valley and decided to follow that model.
And so Oblong was born.
Dick Hermans in the Oblong Bookstore on Millerton’s Main Street in 1985.Provided
“We really learned it by the seat of our pants,” Hermans said.
The business would eventually become a beloved and integral part of Millerton’s commercial life. But although Hermans may have learned the book business as he went, his affinity for retail — and for the connections that happen across a counter — had begun much earlier.
As a child, his second-grade teacher operated a little cardboard pencil shop in the classroom, and Hermans still remembers the satisfaction of selling a pencil for a nickel.
“I really liked selling somebody a pencil for a nickel,” he recalled. “I can remember that experience, and it was so pleasant.”
Later, while living in Arizona, he helped establish a food co-op and worked at the counter.
“I kind of knew that I liked doing that kind of thing,” he said. “It’s a nice way to be pleasant with people, but without making too much commitment to them.”
His relationship with Millerton also predates Oblong. His grandparents lived in the village, and he first came to Millerton as a baby. Over the years, he has watched the town change through several generations.
He remembers a Millerton with a much broader array of businesses, when stores such as Delson’s, the Main Street department store that stood for nearly 40 years in what is now Millerton’s Antiques Center, seemed to carry almost everything a resident might need.
“You could find everything from a set of dishes to a shotgun,” he recalled.
The rise of shopping malls changed that kind of downtown retail, he said, but Millerton has remained a lively commercial village.
“For us, it’s been a great place to have business,” Hermans said. “It’s a busy village.”
For Hermans, running a store was never simply about selling books and records. It was a way of being part of a place.
Music has remained another constant. Hermans continues to sell music at Oblong and hosts the radio program “New Harmony” on WKZE. The business of selling music has changed dramatically over the years, particularly with the rise of streaming, but Hermans has adapted.
He was initially reluctant to bring vinyl records back into the store because of their expense. But about four or five years ago, he began stocking LPs again, and they have become the main form of music the store sells.
He finds that many of the customers buying them are reconnecting with music they loved years ago.
“I do best with classic albums that people may have had when they were young,” he said. “And now that they’re retired, they want to hear it again.”
Hermans still reviews between 700 and 1,200 new music releases each week through the store’s distributor, Alliance Entertainment, carefully deciding what belongs on Oblong’s shelves.
That same commitment to place has led Hermans into a wide range of community projects. His work with the Harlem Valley Rail Trail is among the efforts he mentions when reflecting on his years of civic involvement. He has also served on the school board and has been involved with the Millerton Business Alliance and the Irondale Schoolhouse. He is now involved with The New Pine Plains Herald, which he sees as complementary to the work of The Millerton News and The Lakeville Journal.
“I really think that the important thing about this award is that people understand what a newspaper does to connect them to their community,” he said. “And if that means anything to their lives, they gotta support it.”
Hermans knew Mary Lou and Robert Estabrook and remembers them as people who were deeply conscious of their responsibilities to the community.
“They were really nice folks,” he said. “They were very conscious of what their role in the community was.”
There is, in fact, still plenty on his plate. Hermans admits he needs to scale back because he has taken on more than his current abilities can comfortably accommodate.
“To be given this award is very special,” he added. “But I don’t feel like I’m done.”
This article has been changed to reflect that Hermans and Nelson were partners. A prior version states that they were married.
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Adamah Farm crew members planning out the day’s tasks on a late September day.
Janna Siller
Over my 15 years of growing vegetables in Falls Village, I’ve exerted my will over all kinds of conditions, from drought to humidity to crows with a taste for cantaloupe. That’s what farming is all about. You zip around the field, hopping on and off tractors, moving hoses and chasing weeds, all in an effort to arrange conditions in favor of your crops. It is the crops’ job to gulp up sunlight and move water through their stems, to transform solar energy into your next pesto or ratatouille or butternut squash soup. It is the job of the farmer to irrigate just enough but not too much, to slice dandelion leaves without damaging delicate cabbage roots, to pander and pamper and stay in tune with what plants need to thrive.
The easy part of farming is trusting plants’ resilience. I have seen bright green shoots barrel ahead out of a plant torn to shreds by hail. I’ve watched wilty, heat-stressed seedlings turn rigid overnight and greet the next morning with vigor. The hard part is letting go of what you can’t control. As our crops lapped up Friday’s gentle sunshine and I considered the weekend forecast, I imagined roots holding tight to wet earth and branches supporting each other in sideways, pelting rain. I made sure all of our storage crops were already harvested and tucked away. I battened down the sides of our greenhouses and wished the remaining field crops good luck.
The nor’easter didn’t materialize too dramatically in our corner of New England. A few broken branches and debris blown about, nothing like the July Fourth storm that sent half a tree crashing onto the deer fence and left crates of fresh veggies in coolers without power.
Fall storage crop harvests amid soil building cover crops at Adamah Farm in Falls Village. Janna Siller
Farming is an exercise in acceptance. To do it well and return year after year, you have to balance hubris and humility. The prize can often be a certain equanimity, a training in the art of moving into the next day even when the last one scrambled all your plans.
Epic change is not always about the unexpected. It also comes like clockwork on the seasonal calendar. As I type, the last of summer’s watermelons wait naively on the vine for a few hot days to finish ripening. Broccoli are holding their leaves wide as they did in June and July, only to find that the hours of sunlight decrease with each earlier sunset. Plants can’t pick up and go south or call the manager to order a bonus round of sunshine. Their growth slows and they get a resigned look to the hue of their leaves, so different from the frenzied growth of summer.
The release of fall is not tragic or gloomy. It is not an ending because so many fall tasks are about setting up for the new beginnings in spring.
We turn the vines that yielded thousands of pounds of fruit into the soil, where healthy microbes feast on their rotting stems. Then we plant cover crops — a mix of cereal grains like rye and oats and legumes like peas, vetch and clover. Cover crops hold the soil and its nutrients in place over winter, feeding the soil food web and adding organic matter that next season’s crops will need to grow.
We sort sprinklers and repair hoses. We inventory tarps. We take notes about which plants did well where and how we might try a new approach for this or that. We stack crates of cured garlic and onions and winter squash in a cool, dark room.
We save seeds from tomatoes and beans and lettuce, carefully labeling each variety for next season’s long, sunny days.
Janna Siller is the farm director at Adamah, a community farm in Falls Village offering CSA shares, educational programs and a food access program.
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