
Squad Chief Jacquie Rice, Rescue Chief Josh Allyn, and Barrett Prinz, one of the newest members of the team, talk business at the SVAS headquarters on Under Mountain Road.
Photo by Maud Doyle
SALISBURY — Whether a hiking accident at the top of Mount Riga, or a cardiac event at Lime Rock Park, the all-volunteer Salisbury ambulance squad has responded to emergency calls across all 57 square miles of Salisbury Town for over 50 years. Today, the Salisbury Volunteer Ambulance Service (SVAS) finds itself responding to a different kind of challenge: a dearth of new, younger volunteers ready to take their places on the team.
“Salisbury, as rural as we are, truly depends on the volunteer ambulance. People have come to rely on it in a way they may not even realize—they just know that when they call 911, the ambulance will show up,” said Barrie Prinz, who has been a board member of SVAS since 2019 and volunteered to join the ambulance squad last fall.
“They expect that somebody will respond and somebody does. And those somebodies are all volunteers.”
Beginning Monday, Sept 11, SVAS is hosting an EMR certification course at its headquarters on 17 Under Mountain Rd. in Salisbury. It’s free for those who intend to volunteer on completion, but the class is open to anyone, including non-residents, with an interest in becoming a first-level emergency responder (a nominal fee of $250 will be charged to non-volunteers). SVAS is also encouraging people to join as ambulance drivers (which requires less training), or just to reach out and talk about what volunteering for the squad might look like.
Volunteer Emergency Services
In 1971, emergency responders from Sharon Hospital were delayed in reaching a car accident in Falls Village. In response to the tragedy, a group of concerned citizens led by Rees Harris formed SVAS—they bought a car to refurbish as an ambulance, and the garage that still houses the squad on Under Mountain Road.
Until recently, it was the norm in rural Connecticut communities to have their own, all-volunteer emergency services—neighbors taking care of neighbors when called upon, rather than having tax dollars support a paid staff waiting for an emergency. SVAS estimated that a paid emergency medical staff would add at least $300,000 to the town budget, triggering a tax increase for residents.
Meanwhile, the need for personnel has increased. While just five years ago, SVAS responded to some 400 calls in a year; last year they had about 650 calls, and this year the squad is on track to hit 700.
“I think there are a lot of people who don’t realize that not one of their tax dollars goes to paying for their ambulance service,” said Prinz. “People sometimes don’t believe us that we’re not going to charge them for the ambulance ride and the care, but we don’t. We are totally free we can be that way because we are a nonprofit, and all volunteer.”
There’s value there of course, she said. But more than that, there’s an invaluable intimacy to medical care administered by neighbors—especially in emergent situations.
“When you call, you get get people who know you or they know of you. On one of my first calls, I was with a more senior EMT who knew where the key to the caller’s door was, knew her son’s names, knew something about her condition, knew where stuff was in her house, knew what obstacles we would face getting in and out of the house. When you get people who know you, who know the area, I think you get a better level of care.
“And we want to carry on that tradition, because that’s the kind of community we’re trying to live in and build here.”
Decreasing Volunteerism
New volunteers are getting harder to find, however. Small-town cultures of volunteerism have weakened nationally, and in the Northwest Corner, traditionally volunteer services have been forced to switch to at least part-paid staff models in recent years.
In North Canaan, emergency medical services are now a line item in the town budget, and the volunteer ambulance is filled out with paid staff, full time paramedics, and at times, some contractors.
Thanks to the gifts of local patrons, said Salisbury ambulance squad chief Jacquie Rice, SVAS is well-funded and well-equipped. But the squad is aging—members who still regularly take calls are celebrating 25, 30, even 45 years with the squad. The majority of squad members are in their 60s and 70s, and even with high-school and college students volunteering to drive the ambulances, squad members’ average age still hovers around 58
“We’re looking for volunteers who are—perhaps a little less than 58,” Rice laughed.
After 30, 40 years on the squad, said Bob Rinninsland—who, along with his wife Rhonda, has himself served on the squad for 17 years—some members who want to retire are still holding off, in part because “they don’t want to leave the organization in the lurch.”
“I’m 73 now and still a fairly active EMT,” he said. “And at the end of this year I’ll re-cert for another two years. And then”—he shivered—“I’ll be 76. The question is, what do you do then?”
Rice joined the squad in 1978, as soon as she turned 18; even when she was living and teaching in California, she said, she would volunteer when she returned for a month or two in the summer.
“Salisbury has always been a huge volunteer community,” said Rice. “Both of my parents were very active in the community. They taught us that we should give back by volunteering in town—in whatever town we lived in.” But times have changed, she said.
“Maybe people didn’t have as many commitments as they do now,” said Rice. Everything, she observed—work, school, even parenting—seems to take more time. Also, she said, “homes in Salisbury used to be much more affordable, which meant that more people lived here full time. Maybe that gave us a greater sense of community.”
There are many reasons for the national decrease in volunteerism. But in Salisbury, the cultural shift is exacerbated by demographics: in terms of resident age, Salisbury is one of the oldest towns in Connecticut (the average age in Salisbury was 57.1 years in 2021); housing prices prevent young people, particularly those young enough to not yet be time-burdened by young families, from moving to the town; the high occurrence of second homes means that many able-bodied residents do their volunteering elsewhere.
Meanwhile, as Salisbury’s population ages, the number of emergency calls received by SVAS—many of which are related to seniors’ falls—are only increasing.
The influx of new residents from other, less rural regions also means that there’s a lack of awareness around the community’s need for service. People who have moved to Salisbury from, say, New York City, where they are used to having paid services, might not understand the extent to which Salisbury—from the town government to emergency services to ecological conservation to affordable housing—runs on volunteerism.
“Here we have this old New England, you know, Connecticut Yankee volunteerism,” said Rinninsland. “So there’s a transition phase that we’re going through. People who are new to the area in the last 3 to 5 years—they have to realize that up here, you do a little bit more volunteering.”
“Many of the town volunteer services have, like they could benefit from the next generation taking the reins,” said Holly Leibrock, a real estate agent and the mother of two teens, who began volunteering with the squad as a driver in spring 2022. Among her peers, Leibrock said, “I’ve noticed that there’s a hesitancy to commit to something that they can’t fulfill—it’s a generation that wants to excel in whatever they do.”
Her experience on the squad, however, has tempered some of that instinct, she said. “The environment debunks that mentality. Everyone comes from a different background, and everyone brings something different to the table. If you’re committed to offering what you can, I think that’s what makes a difference.”
Volunteering for SVAS
As a board member, said Barrie Prinz, “I’d sit in on these meetings listening to the need of the community and the need of the squad, and finally I just thought, ‘Well, I’m a person. I could do this.’” She worried at first about having enough time to fit in another commitment.
“I have a full time job”—Prinz is a lawyer—“I have three children in high school this year, and I have aging parents. You know, we are all overly busy. But the truth is, if I really look at my schedule, I make time for the things that are important to me.
“If somebody had said to me, you need to do this 24 hours a day, once a week, I would have been like, No way, absolutely not. But do I have time to be on call from 6 to 12 p.m.? A couple nights a month? Yeah, I’ve got time to do that.”
SVAS has no minimum requirement for how much time a volunteer needs to give to be a squad member—the schedules are made to work within volunteers’ full lives.
Leibrock and her elder daughter, Mackenzie Casey, took the EMR course together in fall 2022; Leibrock qualified as an EMT this past spring.
“It was a whole family endeavor,” Leibrock said. “Hadley”—Leibrock’s younger daughter—“even learned a bit because she would quiz us as we were preparing for the tests.”
Leibrock has also been impressed by watching Casey, now 18, grow and explore her own interests through her work with the squad (she is studying conservation biology at Amherst, and pursuing her wilderness rescue certification with SVAS).
“Mackenzie sees herself as a member of the community, and not just a kid living here,” said Leibrock. “She is she really has taken on more of a a leadership role—and recognizes the importance of being part of the community.”
At first, said Prinz, she also hesitated to join “because I was afraid that all of a sudden, on like 60 hours training, like somebody’s life would be placed in my hands. But that is not the way the squad works. The squad works in teams.
“You are empowered to treat people up to the level of your training, and no more,” said Prinz. “You are part of a system, which includes EMTs who have a greater level of training; on certain calls, there will also be paramedics who have an even greater level of training.”
Longtime squad members, Prinz said, “brought me into the fold in a the warmest, most welcoming way, and are so willing to share their knowledge. I’m trying to approach it as, ‘I’m new and I’m here to learn.’
“And I love learning new things, I love the training,” said Prinz, “but I really enjoy the direct patient contact.” A couple of weeks ago, Prinz responded to a two car accident, after which one of the riders had to be transferred to the hospital. “I took her vitals, made sure we were addressing what she was feeling physically, there was an EMT back there with me who was doing a bunch of things.
“But what she really needed was for somebody to hold her hand and talk to her and tell her she was going to be okay. To be that person for somebody in your community—it has such a direct and profound impact. It’s a great way to serve.”
EMR course offered at SVAS in Salisbury will begin September 11; it runs from 6:00 to 9:30pm on Mondays and Wednesdays through the fall. To sign up or learn more reach out to Barrett Prinz at 646-263-0568 or prinzbarrett@gmail.com
Sharon Hospital
Connecticut’s Office of Health Strategy approved a merger between Northwell Health, a large New York-based health system, and Nuvance Health, which owns Danbury, Norwalk, Sharon and New Milford hospitals in Connecticut, as well as three hospitals in New York, according to a Tuesday announcement by the agency.
The two systems now have to complete the step of formally joining the entities together under the Northwell Health banner, a spokesperson for Nuvance Health said.
Northwell isn’t directly paying to buy the Nuvance Hospitals, per se, resulting in a technical purchase price of $0. Instead, the New York-based health system has agreed to invest $1 billion in Nuvance’s Connecticut and New York hospitals over the next five years, with annual reporting on the progress of those investments.
Those investments will go toward a number of capital projects and the implementation of a new electronic medical recordkeeping system, according to Boyd Jackson, director of legislation and regulation at OHS.
“No money is being transferred directly within the affiliation deal,” Jackson wrote in an emailed statement, explaining that, instead, “Northwell has made promises of capital investment.”
Nuvance Health has been struggling financially for some time, posting a $99 million deficit in fiscal year 2024, which executives chalked up to, among other factors, increasing costs and the aftereffects of the COVID-19 pandemic.
John Murphy, a physician and the chief executive officer of Nuvance Health, said the merger will help improve health care for the system’s patients.
“By joining forces with Northwell Health, we can strengthen and enhance our ability to meet the needs of patients across Connecticut and the Hudson Valley for generations to come,” Murphy said.
During a public hearing on the merger in November, Murphy said Nuvance’s financial challenges had reached a point where the system could no longer survive without the support of a parent company.
“Nuvance Health today finds itself at an inflection point, where continuing its current course threatens the long-term viability of our facilities and programs and the future of health care in Western Connecticut,” stated Murphy in pre-filed testimony for the November hearing. “We firmly believe the time has come to join a larger health system.”
The combined health system will have 28 hospitals, over 1,000 care sites and a network of 14,500 providers across New York and Connecticut, according to the statement from Nuvance.
The state’s approval hinges on certain conditions, laid out in an agreed settlement. These conditions include the $1 billion investment in Nuvance hospitals. The agreement also prohibits, for five years, any real estate sale-leaseback transactions, the type of deal that many critics say drained the resources from the Prospect Medical Holdings-owned Connecticut hospitals while enriching the health system’s private equity backers.
Northwell also reached an agreement in August with Attorney General William Tong to maintain labor and delivery services at Sharon Hospital for the next five years.
Northwell Health is the largest private employer in New York state, according to the company’s website, and owns 21 hospitals and 900 ambulatory sites. The health system does not currently own any hospitals outside of New York.
Health care consolidation — the trend of big health systems buying up hospitals — has been shown to lead to cuts in critical services, as well as higher prices. But the proposed merger with Northwell received significant public support.
During a hearing in November, several people from the hospitals’ surrounding communities expressed hope that Northwell could help strengthen the Connecticut hospitals. Those testifying included many Nuvance employees, as well as members of Save Sharon Hospital, a community group that has fought against service cuts at Sharon Hospital.
During the same hearing, Mark Solazzo, the chief operating officer at Northwell Health, said that the company intends to address financial challenges at Nuvance by, among other tactics, increasing staff retention, reducing reliance on outsourced contractors and driving down costs through collective purchasing.
“We have never closed a hospital, and we don’t intend to,” Solazzo said.
Katy Golvala is CT Mirror’s health reporter. This story was originally published by the CT Mirror.
To escape the cruelties of war, Katya finds solace in her imagination in “Sunflower Field”.
‘I can sum up the last year in three words: fear, love, hope,” said Oleksandr Hranyk, a Ukrainian school director in Kharkiv, in a February 2023 interview with the Associated Press. Fast forward to 2025, and not much has changed in his homeland. Even young children in Ukraine are echoing these same sentiments, as illustrated in two short films screened at The Moviehouse in Millerton on April 5, “Once Upon a Time in Ukraine” and “Sunflower Field.”
“Sunflower Field,” an animated short from Ukrainian filmmaker Polina Buchak, begins with a young girl, Katya, who embroiders as her world becomes unstitched with the progression of the war. To cope, Katya retreats into a vivid fantasy world, shielding herself from the brutal realities surrounding her life, all while desperately wanting her family to remain intact as she awaits a phone call from her father, one that may never come.
“Once Upon a Time in Ukraine,” a short documentary from directors Tetiana Khodakivska, Betsy West and Richard Blanshard, shares the stories of four children navigating war. Ivanna, a young girl in the Kherson region, reads from her a book as drawings of vegetables, which she has thoughtfully named, animatedly come to life on. As the film proceeds, Ivanna’s animated vegetables eventually go into defense mode against their Russian attackers.
Still from “Once Upon a Time in Ukraine” depicting a coffin designed for a child being lowered into the ground.Krista A. Briggs
Young Rusland from Moschun tells his story with an emotion not usually seen in school-age boys. He resides in a temporary home not far from his house, which was destroyed in a bombing. He speaks of time in the cellar, keeping busy canning food while his neighborhood was under attack. He misses his cat, Tima, another casualty of the conflict, and stays close to his dog throughout his time on camera while taking viewers on a tour of his neighbor’s former home, now a ruin from the devastation of the area. As Ruslan sadly observes, “It used to be a beauty.”
In Dnipro, eight year old Myroslava, likely a budding gymnast, is exhibiting her limberness. She speaks of formerly smooth roads in her hometown of Mariupol, which eventually caught fire. She explains, “Ukraine and Russia used to be friends until Russia got crazy.” Myroslava’s father has, in fact, perished in the conflict, but she remains in denial – or, as her mother explains, “She has gone into herself.” Myroslava finds comfort from multiple hugs from her mother, but continues to maintain her father is alive. “He will return,” she says. “He’s coming back.”
In Bucha, Maksym, 10, relates stories of explosions and bombings, as well as close encounters with missiles, which forced him and his family to evacuate. As with Myroslava, Maksym finds solace in his family, particularly his older brother. He can’t sleep in the dark and stays close to his favorite toy – a present from his mother. A pianist and a dancer, Maksym says, “I dream of peace so they don’t have to take up arms.”
Children are resilient, but the young people of Ukraine are clearly being tested to their emotional limits. When the internet cooperates, the children of war-torn Ukraine have, for the most part, been receiving educational instruction online for the past five years and despite their circumstances, are academically persevering with a strong academic focus on STEM and the arts.
But education, pets, toys and loving families are for those children who have not been killed since the war began. More than 2,000 young people have been injured or killed as a result of the conflict. Observed filmmaker Buchak, “We’re losing such a young generation now.”
The number of children who suffer from mental health challenges is much higher. Untold numbers of children are in need of psychological intervention. All of Ukraine’s children need to know the war is coming to an end, but until that day, they remain awake in a nightmare.
Anastasia Rab of Razom for Ukraine, a nonprofit advocacy organization, fields questions from the audience alongside filmmaker Polina Buchak. Anastasia and Polina are both Ukrainian natives now living and working in the United States.Krista A. Briggs
After the films, a Q&A featured Buchak, Anastasia Rab, chief advancement officer at the nonprofit, Razom for Ukraine, and Joshua Zeman, whose vocal talents were featured in the documentary, “Cropsey.”
“What’s going on in Ukraine is a travesty and truly undemocratic,” said Zeman, who reminded the audience that their participation in viewing these films is a form of protest against the Russian invasion, most appropriate on a day marked by protests by the Hands Off movement in support of American democracy.
Rab, whose organization supports a physically, politically and economically secure Ukraine, noted the trauma in young Ukrainians whose existence and identities are under attack. “This war is about erasing Ukraine,” said Rab, who pointed out another atrocity of war – the kidnapping, trafficking and forced illegal adoptions of young Ukrainians by Russian forces. In some instances, the young victims are “deprogrammed” by Russian forces and forced to fight against their own country – a war crime.
Despite the atrocities of war and its terrible consequences, Polina Buchak, while grounded firmly in the awful realities of the ongoing battle, remained optimistic for change. “My hope is for a peaceful sky over Ukraine without the fear of being invaded.”
Sam Tanenhaus, when speaking about William F. Buckley, Jr., said he was drawn to the man by the size of his personality, generosity and great temperament. That observation was among the reasons that led Tanenhaus to spend nearly 20 years working on his book, “Buckley: The Life and Revolution That Changed America,” which is due out in June. Buckley and his family had deep roots in Sharon, living in the house called Great Elm on South Main Street, which was built in 1812 and bought by Buckley’s father in 1923.
The author will give a talk on “The Buckleys of Sharon” at the Sharon Historical Society on Saturday, April 12, at 11 a.m. following the group’s annual meeting. The book has details on the family’s life in Sharon, which will, no doubt, be of interest to local residents.
Buckley, who came from a family of 10 children, including his brother Sen. James Buckley and his sister Priscilla Buckley, who were familiar faces in Sharon during their lifetimes, was a well-known conservative writer and political commentator.
“He was a true intellectual,” Tanenhaus said during a recent phone interview. “He would even talk to his dogs in that way.”
Buckley’s name was synonymous with the conservative movement back in the middle of the last century. He was the founder of the National Review magazine in 1955 and host of the public affairs television program, “Firing Line” that ran from 1966 to 1999. The key aspect of Buckley’s conservatism was a push against the tide of liberalism, said Tanenhaus. “It was more a negative than positive movement. He lived as a conservative, being highly patriotic, family-oriented and practicing civility and order.”
Tanenhaus said Bill Buckley was the first political writer/thinker to understand political controversy was really cultural controversy. When he was waging a cultural war, the stakes were about such things as the communists winning and Jim Crow.”
Tanenhaus relates his subject’s relationship with a variety of individuals, including the explosive encounters he had with writer Gore Vidal. “There are indications he had a large capacity and never held a grudge. He didn’t disparage Vidal as a writer and didn’t say he was a bad person. Nowadays that approach is really uncommon.”
Buckley was always interested in other people’s lives, including such figures as Huey Newton of the Black Panthers and Jesse Jackson, of whom he was very fond.
Tanenhaus spends time in the book delving into Buckley’s personality, noting he could talk with anyone and was always interested in those he met. “He wanted to maintain friendships. He never wanted politics to supersede relationships. He was just such an exciting person to be with.”
What he couldn’t tolerate, said Tanenhaus, was being bored. He enjoyed being in the company of others and was a great listener; not so great a talker. He was a great publicist and promoter of ideas and arguments.
Often asked what Buckley would think of today’s political scene, Tanenhaus said he really couldn’t say, but he said he did have lots to say about Donald Trump back in the 1990s. “He might say different things now. He never did have him on ‘Firing Line.’” They had one friend in common; attorney Roy Cohn.
Tanenhaus revealed his political leanings do not mirror those of Buckley’s, but took on the project to see how the world thinks of him.