The goal of all these Concord trips is to meet new people and hear new stories. Sometimes it is difficult to find anyone to meet or to uncover an intriguing story. What is equally tricky is when I meet too many people and uncover too many stories to distill into one blog post. That was the case with our visit to Concord, New York. It’s a good-sized town (about 9000 people) with friendly civic-minded folks.
The village of Springville (population 4200) is as unified a community as I have met in my travels. So many people are dedicated to revitalizing the downtown and maintaining this close-knit community. The town’s history is rich, and they have done a terrific job telling the story of their local heroes such as Pop Warner, musician Jack Yellen ("Happy Days Are Here Again" and "Ain't She Sweet"), and Dr. Ralph Waite, inventor of Novacaine, but the story that captured our imagination was that of George Schuster who won the New York to Paris road race in 1907.
One last Concordian to talk with....
It was after dinner, and I wanted one last chance to take some pictures, so I choose to walk the 3+ miles back to our B+B. I was intrigued by the ambitious Victorian-era architecture. It seemed like every building was attractive, but there was something that was just a little off.
There was still I slight glow in the sky when I met Michael. He was wearing a tie and a speckled shirt, and gray trousers and was pushing a wheelchair down the sidewalk. As he emerged from the gloom, details emerged: his tie was down to his knees; his shirt was speckled with blood, his black trousers were covered in white powder, and in his wheelchair, he was pushing a case of Molson Gold.
“Hey, evening.”
“Evening.”
“How ya doing?”
“I fell down the stairs.”
“What happened to your pants?”
“Oh, that’s plaster. I’m a sculptor.”
That was the start of an hour-long conversation. We shared a couple of warm beers on the sidewalk as he heard about my travels, but mostly I just listened to his tales of woe. It had been a bad day - falling down the stairs can put anyone in a rough state. I asked about the scab on his face, and he said “That wasn’t today; that was another fall.” He was heading back from visiting a female friend. “She married and all, and it's early days, but it’s good to have some company.”
I hid the beer as a police car drove past. Michael did not.
He had attended Cornell. I can’t remember what he studied maybe engineering? but now, he painted, sculpted, and cared for his mother. He is on disability.
I started filming when I asked, “What do you like best about Concord, NY?”
“My family grew up here. I have fond memories. My brother is dead. He died at age 20, and no one would take him for a walk, and so everyone made fun of me for taking him for a walk… he was actually a very strong man, but as he grew older, he did a little drugs, a little drinking. He was friends with - you can Google this name - Brian Wells - yeah, Rik was intense. He was big. He was like your size, and he was a hell of a nice guy. I’m the middle of nine kids, and he was the youngest. It was tough.” ( I googled “Death of Brian Wells.” That’s a whole other story!)
“I’m a widower. My wife got the diagnosis - ovarian cancer - 46 years old - she was end-stage when she got diagnosed.” He paused. “Sometimes I’m not sure if she faked her death.”
I wish you could see some of my paintings and sculptures. It’s all life-size; it’s all figurative. They are representational. It’s all about women. I do portraits of women. Some day you have to see my work.
“Unfortunately, I’m out of time. We are heading back home to Concord, Massachusetts, tomorrow.”
“If you come back now, I’ll give you one of my paintings.”
Really?
Yeah?
Well, then I’m gonna have to go back with you.
The best part of living in Concord was “meeting cool guys like you.”
That’s Alicia when she died. Age 46.
Put that on the fucking internet!
“Unfortunately, I’m out of time. We are heading back home to Concord, Massachusetts, tomorrow.”
“If you come back now, I’ll give you one of my paintings.”
Really?
Yeah?
Well, then I’m gonna have to go back with you.
The best part of living in Concord was “meeting cool guys like you.”
That’s Alicia when she died. Age 46.
Put that on the fucking internet!
Michael invited me in to meet his mother, but after seeing the garage, I thought I’d rather not.
Lizzy called. She was worried and coming to pick me up. There was no sidewalk for the last mile, and by this time, it was dark. After Liz introduced herself, Michael broke out his British accent and regaled us with “The Philosopher’s Song” from Monty Python. Blocking my entrance to the car, Michael clearly didn’t want the evening to end. He had said that he was terribly lonely, but after another 10 minutes, I snuck past Michael with my painting and warm beer in hand and headed home.
Lizzy called. She was worried and coming to pick me up. There was no sidewalk for the last mile, and by this time, it was dark. After Liz introduced herself, Michael broke out his British accent and regaled us with “The Philosopher’s Song” from Monty Python. Blocking my entrance to the car, Michael clearly didn’t want the evening to end. He had said that he was terribly lonely, but after another 10 minutes, I snuck past Michael with my painting and warm beer in hand and headed home.