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contents. issue 50
58 Firenze in the Footsteps oF Dante...anD Dan Brown by Dan
Burstein / photos by Julie O’Connor
70 oJ in the Morning, g&t at night Late life limbo. by A. E.
Hotchner
82 MoDern Day Darwin Richard Wiese is Born to Explore™ by Erin
Levi
94 thirD eye Central Park bench scenes. by Tod Papageorge
104 Fiction: can i have a Million Dollars? What’s a million between
friends? by Alan Zweibel
114 Fiction: weDDing party The nuptials of the season. by Aurelie
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features
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departments 24 train oF thought The innocent joys of girls and
horses.. by Priscilla Whitley
33 the local scene School plays, summer festivals, area fairs and
frolics.
124 rural palates New marketplaces, bistros and bars.
134 i’ll take Manhattan Hot yoga and hot tix..
144 Da Mo Da Merrier by Simone
154 like a rolling stone Tropical pleasures and mountain
getaways.
168 vacation hoMe Destination: Telluride and Costa Rica.
180 acts oF kinDness The Hole in the Wall Gang Camp.
192 in the Driver’s seat The Maserati convertible! by Charles
Moseley
204 appraiseD anD approveD Tips and tools for living right.
215 inDepenDent school guiDe Three Keys to a Compelling College
Essay. By Hillary Frank
272 coMMunity rooM A homeless man lived in my backyard. by Robert
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TRAIN OF THOUGHT
ANY TIME THE PHONE RINGS at 6:30 am the news can’t be good.
When the phone wakes me I pretend I’ve been up for hours with that
“of course I’m awake” tone. I doubt I’m fooling anyone. That was my
intention as I fumbled with the receiver, but this time was
different. This time I couldn’t grasp who was calling or understand
as the voice, agitated, alarmed, kept saying over and over,
“There’s been a fi re.”
Barn Life Lessons by Priscilla Whitley
CENTRALPARK WEST TRiBeCa m a g a z i n e
greenwich Westport New Canaan hamptons Long island COUNTRY
CAPITALISTRye
UPPEREASTSIDETHE
ALPiNE Westchester
Editor Celia R. Meadow
Art Director Tim Hussey
Executive Editor Debbie Silver
Travel Editor Susan Engel
Editors at Large Paula Koff sky, Simone Meadow, Rich Silver
General Counsel Bruce Koff sky, Esq.
Contributors Dan Burstein, Hillary Frank, A.E. Hotchner, Geoff
Kalish M.D., Erin Levi, Jarret Liotta, Bob Marrow, Rich
Monetti,
Charles Moseley, Daniel Rothberg, Samantha Rothenberg, Debra Scott,
Aurelie Sheehan, Carly Silver, Elizabeth
Spaulding, Elizabeth Titus, Vanessa Voltolina, Priscilla Whitley,
Robert Steven Williams, Alan Zweibel
Contributing Photographers Mary Bar, Joel And Anne Darelius, Kerry
Long,
Julie O’Connor, Tod Papageorge, Nicole Salamons, Debra Somerville,
Christine Sweeney
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50 train of thought.indd 2 7/19/13 10:47 AM
which always came as the day went on. I sat her down within the
deep sofa in our cozy den, my arm tightly around her as if I could
some- how hold together the heart which I was now about to
break.
“Something bad has happened.” I didn’t know how to say it, though
like a plunge into icy water it needed to be done swiftly. “The
barn, honey… the barn is gone. There was a fire last night and it’s
gone.”
“Donner?” She couldn’t understand. “No, sweetie.” I held her as if
my body could
protect every piece of her. Of course it couldn’t. “Blue? Brando?”
“No one, honey.” A whisper, for all thirty-
one were gone. Oh, dear God, you’re tearing your child into
little pieces, hold it together. Curled up within each other, with
more tears than I ever thought possible, we eventually settled into
that gentle sway of her baby years I remember so well as hours went
by.
Holding her, it seemed her childhood float- ed down her back to
disappear before it even reached the floor. Now neither little girl
nor adult, she didn’t know how to react. To see my child’s
innocence swept away as quickly as sand at the water’s edge took me
to the brink of helplessness. I couldn’t fix this. Couldn’t change
what the storm’s lightning of the night before had done. All I
could do was watch her cry, her sweet little face in so much pain.
There was nothing else to do, except cry to- gether. She for her
own losses, me for the pain, but also for her youth, which I knew
would never return.
When the world is dark and frightening, where do you look for hope?
We began by coming together, the barn girls and their par- ents.
The girls clung to one another, all twen- ty or so of them staying
at one girl’s home for the next week. Mothers on their watch we sat
quietly downstairs, sometimes wandering out into the summer light
or sneaking a peek into the room upstairs, littered with sleeping
bags and stuffed animals, which they kept dark. We waited. Then
waited some more.
We didn’t know how to begin either. Our first steps were a caravan
of cars with
headlights on in that tradition of solidarity, parking at the foot
of the drive which once took us to the top of the hill where that
red barn used to hold the sweet smell of hay and horses and
laughter. Up there nothing now but blackened, charred wood. But it
was the fence along the road which offered our first glimpse of
promise. It overflowed, the entire length, with a vast bountiful
garden of flowers left by unknown others. Bouquets of summer
colors, chipper yellow daisies and fragrant ros- es, some still
wrapped, others casually strewn about among bunches of horse-loving
carrots, so many carrots, wrapped carefully with color- ful
ribbons… and handwritten signs of love
for these beautiful animals and the girls who had been so young a
few days ago.
They walked slowly along the fence, hand in hand, touching and
taking in the hope others offered them. Cars began to stop,
strangers got out, and without a word began directing traffic
behind us, keeping the many television crews at bay across the
street. Grief shared in so many small, grateful ways.
Summer passed as if we were in one of those movies where the clock
hands swiftly sweep the hours and days away. Confusion accompanies
sudden tragedies. All those unanswerable ques- tions of “why?”
would arrive without warning. Now the crying didn’t help and the
sorrow and anger wouldn’t go away. She became sullen and
unresponsive, like a little shroud of sadness, go- ing through the
motions.
We all deal with grief differently. But oh, my daughter; I couldn’t
bear for her to travel that dark road, though it didn’t matter what
I wanted. She needed to go step by step like ev- erybody else and
there were no detours either one of us could take. And that’s what
she did, as slowly I began to see the shift.
She read of others’ grief, which at first I thought only reinforced
her own. I was wrong. She learned she wasn’t alone. Not only did
this come as a relief to her, but her reading choices changed. No
longer did she crave the
Saddle Club books, but instead began choos- ing themes which
challenged her perspective. She began questioning the high school
petti- ness and girly competitions, which seemed so important
before. Her journal, which once held the scribbles of horses
getting married, now took a more serious line as she began to
understand the ramifications which come from experience. All this
swirled around her for a year, as she tried to make sense of what
will never be understood. Eventually, she learned it was all right
to cry, to feel sad, be confused, for the months were going to go
on in all their sparkling glory. And then she be- gan to talk to me
again.
“I want to leave here, Mommy. I want to leave and go away to
school. I think it’ll be good for
me to be able to start out with something new to look forward
to.”
She’d looked into herself and decided what would be best for her,
one of the many revela- tions to come out of this tragedy. As
difficult as that was for me, that’s what we did. She went away to
finish high school, college, then gradu- ate school, discovering
her focus was to help those less fortunate than she.
Fourteen isn’t the age to learn the cruel les- sons that will
surely come our way, though a friend did remark, “Your daughter is
a lucky girl. My children haven’t had to overcome hardship, then
learn that life goes on. When a tragedy happens, will being older
make it more difficult?” Loss and all that it entails allowed her
to understand you can’t stop changes from occurring, but it didn’t
mean happiness, joy, love… and horses… would never again be a part
of her life. Wonderful things would come again. Wonderful things
have come again. Again and again and again. Now, years later, she’s
saving to buy a horse. I can’t wait to meet him.
*
Holding her, it seemed her childhood floated down her back to
disappear before it even reached the floor.
WESTONMAGAZINEGROUP.COM 27
50 train of thought.indd 5 7/19/13 10:47 AM
Down the hall my fourteen-year-old daugh- ter still slept soundly
in her little girl room, snug within a mountain of stuffed animals.
For her, this July was to be full of summer laziness and horses.
Her father and I had separated a year earlier. He immediately
bought her a horse, thinking Donner would make everything all
right. Now, after a dif- ficult year, she seemed to be accepting
the new life I was attempting to put together. But it was Donner,
with his soft white blaze nestled within chestnut hair, who became
the one she trusted, his deep brown eyes following her every move.
He was the one who nuzzled her with unconditional love as she
rested her head against his strong neck and the one who wouldn’t
suddenly go away one day. He was her love.
I panicked. Dumping an entire drawer on the kitchen counter I
scrambled to find a box of stale cigarettes, lit one, then lurched
out onto the deck and dry heaved over the side onto the dew of the
lawn. It wasn’t even 6:40 yet.
I admit I pushed horses on my daughter, though I didn’t have to
push very hard. I was that horse-crazy girl when I was young, so
why shouldn’t she be? Even on her first pony ride she held her back
straight as if she knew she’d eventually become one with her horse.
Les- sons started when she was seven, first on little Brando, a
buzz-cut heart on his grey rump, her skinny legs working to post to
a trot. Then on to the canter, loping around and around the ring,
mostly staying on, occasion- ally falling over his head when he
decided he’d
had enough. The falls didn’t bother her, only me. I’d grip the
fence, she’d glance over with that, “I’m fine, Mommy” look and up
she’d climb again. Then came a trot over a pole on the ground, then
two poles, then three, and a first jump over a two-foot crossbar.
Unlike her stints on the soccer field, where she’d pick at the
grass or follow the flight of a bird into the sun, afraid the ball
might come to her, she worked hard on her riding. All it took was
for her trainer to yell, “Good job, he loves you when he knows
you’re working with him.” Then she became a barn girl.
The barn was full of little girls. They rode together, spent hours
braiding manes with multicolored ribbons, and learned how to
carefully pick up their horses’ hooves to clean the dirt from their
shoes. On Saturdays, with their brown bag lunches, they’d sit on
the tack boxes swinging their legs and talk only of horses.
“I’m going to marry Brando,” one an- nounced.
“I’m going to marry Blue,” another shot back.
“Maybe Blue and Brando should get mar- ried.” They agreed.
Happy, innocent, little-girl talk. Isn’t that what we all want for
our children? And we want that to last forever.
Growing up my friends didn’t ride, they knew nothing of this life I
had of mucking stalls, brushing tails, or the sweet smell of oiled
leather as I polished the saddles, the scent that became part of
me. They didn’t know the bliss of taking a horse out into a field
on a cool fall day, a special time between the animal and me. I
wanted this innocent joy for my little girl.
The previous year had been difficult for both of us, though I
assumed a merry face. Her first year in high school brought on an
unexpressed anxiety as she confronted the confusions of a
still-distant maturity. She became quiet. She didn’t seem to want
to hug and cuddle anymore. Her father came around for the fun
events, but even she knew that was barely good enough. She didn’t
trust
him and she didn’t trust me. I was told more than once you can’t
protect your child from their realities. But I couldn’t accept
that; I’d be different and protect her. “I can hide my hurt,” I
thought. “I’m a terrific actress. Here’s my greatest role.”
Barn life for her, though, was different. There’s nothing sad when
a horse’s ears prick up at the sound of your voice. And the girls
were close. They spoke a language most of the parents knew nothing
about and they were thrilled to keep it that way. Oxers, in-
and-outs, on the bit, hunters, jumpers; their
world, their words. But it was also at the barn where I caught
glimpses of a budding young woman. It showed in the responsibility
she took for Donner as well as her commitment to the repetitive
training they both needed; her tack box was always neat, his stall
soft with fresh hay, his blankets folded and clean. If you were
able to look very far into the fu- ture, you’d see the same kind of
care a mother has for her infant. Though I only see that now; I
didn’t then.
I let her sleep until 10 am. Such a little girl when she woke, none
of the teenage attitude
26 WESTONMAGAZINEGROUP.COM
All it took was for her trainer to yell, “Good job, he loves you
when he knows you’re working with him.” Then she became a barn
girl.
Holding her, it seemed her childhood floated down her back to
disappear before it even reached the floor.
50 train of thought.indd 4 7/19/13 10:47 AM
which always came as the day went on. I sat her down within the
deep sofa in our cozy den, my arm tightly around her as if I could
some- how hold together the heart which I was now about to
break.
“Something bad has happened.” I didn’t know how to say it, though
like a plunge into icy water it needed to be done swiftly. “The
barn, honey… the barn is gone. There was a fire last night and it’s
gone.”
“Donner?” She couldn’t understand. “No, sweetie.” I held her as if
my body could
protect every piece of her. Of course it couldn’t. “Blue? Brando?”
“No one, honey.” A whisper, for all thirty-
one were gone. Oh, dear God, you’re tearing your child into
little pieces, hold it together. Curled up within each other, with
more tears than I ever thought possible, we eventually settled into
that gentle sway of her baby years I remember so well as hours went
by.
Holding her, it seemed her childhood float- ed down her back to
disappear before it even reached the floor. Now neither little girl
nor adult, she didn’t know how to react. To see my child’s
innocence swept away as quickly as sand at the water’s edge took me
to the brink of helplessness. I couldn’t fix this. Couldn’t change
what the storm’s lightning of the night before had done. All I
could do was watch her cry, her sweet little face in so much pain.
There was nothing else to do, except cry to- gether. She for her
own losses, me for the pain, but also for her youth, which I knew
would never return.
When the world is dark and frightening, where do you look for hope?
We began by coming together, the barn girls and their par- ents.
The girls clung to one another, all twen- ty or so of them staying
at one girl’s home for the next week. Mothers on their watch we sat
quietly downstairs, sometimes wandering out into the summer light
or sneaking a peek into the room upstairs, littered with sleeping
bags and stuffed animals, which they kept dark. We waited. Then
waited some more.
We didn’t know how to begin either. Our first steps were a caravan
of cars with
headlights on in that tradition of solidarity, parking at the foot
of the drive which once took us to the top of the hill where that
red barn used to hold the sweet smell of hay and horses and
laughter. Up there nothing now but blackened, charred wood. But it
was the fence along the road which offered our first glimpse of
promise. It overflowed, the entire length, with a vast bountiful
garden of flowers left by unknown others. Bouquets of summer
colors, chipper yellow daisies and fragrant ros- es, some still
wrapped, others casually strewn about among bunches of horse-loving
carrots, so many carrots, wrapped carefully with color- ful
ribbons… and handwritten signs of love
for these beautiful animals and the girls who had been so young a
few days ago.
They walked slowly along the fence, hand in hand, touching and
taking in the hope others offered them. Cars began to stop,
strangers got out, and without a word began directing traffic
behind us, keeping the many television crews at bay across the
street. Grief shared in so many small, grateful ways.
Summer passed as if we were in one of those movies where the clock
hands swiftly sweep the hours and days away. Confusion accompanies
sudden tragedies. All those unanswerable ques- tions of “why?”
would arrive without warning. Now the crying didn’t help and the
sorrow and anger wouldn’t go away. She became sullen and
unresponsive, like a little shroud of sadness, go- ing through the
motions.
We all deal with grief differently. But oh, my daughter; I couldn’t
bear for her to travel that dark road, though it didn’t matter what
I wanted. She needed to go step by step like ev- erybody else and
there were no detours either one of us could take. And that’s what
she did, as slowly I began to see the shift.
She read of others’ grief, which at first I thought only reinforced
her own. I was wrong. She learned she wasn’t alone. Not only did
this come as a relief to her, but her reading choices changed. No
longer did she crave the
Saddle Club books, but instead began choos- ing themes which
challenged her perspective. She began questioning the high school
petti- ness and girly competitions, which seemed so important
before. Her journal, which once held the scribbles of horses
getting married, now took a more serious line as she began to
understand the ramifications which come from experience. All this
swirled around her for a year, as she tried to make sense of what
will never be understood. Eventually, she learned it was all right
to cry, to feel sad, be confused, for the months were going to go
on in all their sparkling glory. And then she be- gan to talk to me
again.
“I want to leave here, Mommy. I want to leave and go away to
school. I think it’ll be good for
me to be able to start out with something new to look forward
to.”
She’d looked into herself and decided what would be best for her,
one of the many revela- tions to come out of this tragedy. As
difficult as that was for me, that’s what we did. She went away to
finish high school, college, then gradu- ate school, discovering
her focus was to help those less fortunate than she.
Fourteen isn’t the age to learn the cruel les- sons that will
surely come our way, though a friend did remark, “Your daughter is
a lucky girl. My children haven’t had to overcome hardship, then
learn that life goes on. When a tragedy happens, will being older
make it more difficult?” Loss and all that it entails allowed her
to understand you can’t stop changes from occurring, but it didn’t
mean happiness, joy, love… and horses… would never again be a part
of her life. Wonderful things would come again. Wonderful things
have come again. Again and again and again. Now, years later, she’s
saving to buy a horse. I can’t wait to meet him.
*
Holding her, it seemed her childhood floated down her back to
disappear before it even reached the floor.
WESTONMAGAZINEGROUP.COM 27
50 train of thought.indd 5 7/19/13 10:47 AM
Down the hall my fourteen-year-old daugh- ter still slept soundly
in her little girl room, snug within a mountain of stuffed animals.
For her, this July was to be full of summer laziness and horses.
Her father and I had separated a year earlier. He immediately
bought her a horse, thinking Donner would make everything all
right. Now, after a dif- ficult year, she seemed to be accepting
the new life I was attempting to put together. But it was Donner,
with his soft white blaze nestled within chestnut hair, who became
the one she trusted, his deep brown eyes following her every move.
He was the one who nuzzled her with unconditional love as she
rested her head against his strong neck and the one who wouldn’t
suddenly go away one day. He was her love.
I panicked. Dumping an entire drawer on the kitchen counter I
scrambled to find a box of stale cigarettes, lit one, then lurched
out onto the deck and dry heaved over the side onto the dew of the
lawn. It wasn’t even 6:40 yet.
I admit I pushed horses on my daughter, though I didn’t have to
push very hard. I was that horse-crazy girl when I was young, so
why shouldn’t she be? Even on her first pony ride she held her back
straight as if she knew she’d eventually become one with her horse.
Les- sons started when she was seven, first on little Brando, a
buzz-cut heart on his grey rump, her skinny legs working to post to
a trot. Then on to the canter, loping around and around the ring,
mostly staying on, occasion- ally falling over his head when he
decided he’d
had enough. The falls didn’t bother her, only me. I’d grip the
fence, she’d glance over with that, “I’m fine, Mommy” look and up
she’d climb again. Then came a trot over a pole on the ground, then
two poles, then three, and a first jump over a two-foot crossbar.
Unlike her stints on the soccer field, where she’d pick at the
grass or follow the flight of a bird into the sun, afraid the ball
might come to her, she worked hard on her riding. All it took was
for her trainer to yell, “Good job, he loves you when he knows
you’re working with him.” Then she became a barn girl.
The barn was full of little girls. They rode together, spent hours
braiding manes with multicolored ribbons, and learned how to
carefully pick up their horses’ hooves to clean the dirt from their
shoes. On Saturdays, with their brown bag lunches, they’d sit on
the tack boxes swinging their legs and talk only of horses.
“I’m going to marry Brando,” one an- nounced.
“I’m going to marry Blue,” another shot back.
“Maybe Blue and Brando should get mar- ried.” They agreed.
Happy, innocent, little-girl talk. Isn’t that what we all want for
our children? And we want that to last forever.
Growing up my friends didn’t ride, they knew nothing of this life I
had of mucking stalls, brushing tails, or the sweet smell of oiled
leather as I polished the saddles, the scent that became part of
me. They didn’t know the bliss of taking a horse out into a field
on a cool fall day, a special time between the animal and me. I
wanted this innocent joy for my little girl.
The previous year had been difficult for both of us, though I
assumed a merry face. Her first year in high school brought on an
unexpressed anxiety as she confronted the confusions of a
still-distant maturity. She became quiet. She didn’t seem to want
to hug and cuddle anymore. Her father came around for the fun
events, but even she knew that was barely good enough. She didn’t
trust
him and she didn’t trust me. I was told more than once you can’t
protect your child from their realities. But I couldn’t accept
that; I’d be different and protect her. “I can hide my hurt,” I
thought. “I’m a terrific actress. Here’s my greatest role.”
Barn life for her, though, was different. There’s nothing sad when
a horse’s ears prick up at the sound of your voice. And the girls
were close. They spoke a language most of the parents knew nothing
about and they were thrilled to keep it that way. Oxers, in-
and-outs, on the bit, hunters, jumpers; their
world, their words. But it was also at the barn where I caught
glimpses of a budding young woman. It showed in the responsibility
she took for Donner as well as her commitment to the repetitive
training they both needed; her tack box was always neat, his stall
soft with fresh hay, his blankets folded and clean. If you were
able to look very far into the fu- ture, you’d see the same kind of
care a mother has for her infant. Though I only see that now; I
didn’t then.
I let her sleep until 10 am. Such a little girl when she woke, none
of the teenage attitude
26 WESTONMAGAZINEGROUP.COM
All it took was for her trainer to yell, “Good job, he loves you
when he knows you’re working with him.” Then she became a barn
girl.
Holding her, it seemed her childhood floated down her back to
disappear before it even reached the floor.
50 train of thought.indd 4 7/19/13 10:47 AM
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In Good Taste by Geoff Kalish, MD Westchester’s country club chefs
are out to impress.
Room with a View by Carly Silver Behold the Millionaires’
Magician!
School Road Rye Students in the Spotlight. South Pacific Rye High
School You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown Rye High School A Night at
the Oscars Rye Middle School
Speaker’s Corner by Bob Marrow Do you know who Al Cervi is?
The Arts Shakespeare in Westchester parks, concerts and
collages.
Gallery The Picture House Gala in Pelham; Baubles at the Rye Arts
Center.
34
36
38
44
45
46
50 rye.westchesterCC insert.indd 3 7/19/13 10:48 AM
as well as paella, ceviche and sweet empanadas, with a weekly
change in food themes for the club’s very well attended Sunday
evening fam- ily buffets. A very popular aspect of the dining
offerings at the Mt. Kisco Country Club, in Mt.Kisco, are the
sold-out theme nights such as “Food from Arthur Avenue,” and “Steak
Night,” reports long-time General Manager Hussein Ali. And as at
other clubs, Mr. Ali stresses the special care given to accommodate
the various dietary restrictions and food aller- gies of
members.
At Ardsley County Club, in Ardsley, Ex- ecutive Chef George Flay
changes his menu frequently, depending on what’s seasonally
available. “More and more, our members are eating healthier, and we
offer rather simple, flavorful fare made from the best ingredi-
ents, preferably sourced locally. We have also found a recent trend
towards gluten-free
fare, in many instances as a perceived healthy choice, rather than
because of any intoler- ance,” he comments. In fact, because of the
increased demand for gluten-free fare, the Club Chefs of
Westchester recently held a two-day hands-on seminar on the topic,
re- ports former President, Chef Phillips. And, in tune with many
area restaurants and other clubs, “local sourcing, particularly
from Hud- son Valley farmers, is an important aspect of our
offerings,” states Saul Schwartz, Execu- tive Chef at Westchester
Hills Golf Club, in White Plains.
Accommodating Service As to service, “The kitchen staff at our club
works as a family to try to never let a mem- ber have a bad service
experience,” comments Westchester Hills Chef Schwartz. “Like most
clubs, we have a monthly dining minimum for members, so we have to
remember that this is not a restaurant where if someone has a bad
experience he just doesn’t come back,” he notes. Cary Stephan,
General Manager of the
Trump National Club, states that “we expend a lot of effort on
hiring, training and main- taining excellent kitchen and dining
service staff and find it quite worthwhile because we have a very
high degree of expectation from our members that must be met if
we’re to stay successful.”
Winning Wine While outstanding wine selections like those offered
by highly regarded area restaurants such as X2O on the Hudson in
Yonkers and Crabtree’s Kittle House in Chappaqua are out of the
range of even the most upscale clubs, many club lists feature upper
echelon brands from highly acclaimed domestic and inter- national
producers. “We find that many of our members are interested in
learning more about wine and we usually have forty to fifty people
attend our monthly educational wine dinners,” comments Francesco
Feola, Bever- age Manager at Brynwood. “This increasing
sophistication has led us to expand our wine selection with many
more premium brand
choices. Also, because we have a rather young membership, who very
frequently dine with their families and then drive home, we find
that wine-by-the-glass is more popular here than by the bottle,
obliging us to offer a num- ber of sensibly-priced, top-shelf
by-the-glass choices,” he adds. General Manager Stephan, of the
Trump Club proclaims, “many of our members are quite knowledgeable
and expect that in keeping with the quality of the food and other
offerings here, our wine offerings be top-of-the-line, so in
addition to the award- winning Trump wines from Virginia, boutique
bottles like Zinfandels from Turley and Mar- tinelli, rarely found
on area wine lists dot the selection here.”
And so it goes at many other area clubs, where wine selection, like
service and food choices and preparation, are at the forefront of
the amenities important to today’s members. “There’s been a great
impact of all the food shows on TV to heighten the demands of our
members regarding what they want in terms of food and wine,”
comments Romeo Stivaletti, Executive Chef at the Trump National
Golf Club, in Briarcliff Manor. “So, we’ve all had to step up our
game to meet the expectations of our members.”
Geoff Kalish, MD, a Bedford resident, is co-
author of “Wining & Dining in Westchester” and former wine
columnist for Wine Spectator and The Westchester weekly section of
The New York Times.
WESTONMAGAZINEGROUP.COM 35
*
Across Westchester County, chefs, general managers, and members of
private clubs agree that in the past decade there’s been a
renaissance in the dining experience at their facilities.
top:
50 rye.westchesterCC insert.indd 5 7/19/13 10:48 AM
onCe upon a time dining at private golf and country clubs in
Westchester County consisted of a regularly scheduled formal family
extravaganza on a weekend evening or Sunday af- ternoon or a
lengthy luncheon of “the guys” or “ladies,” follow- ing a round of
golf. But with life-styles becoming more casual and people having
less time for meals, club dining became an afterthought – with a
marked decline in the quality of offerings and the level of
service. However, across Westchester County, chefs, general
managers and members of private clubs agree that in the past decade
there’s been a renaissance in the dining experi- ence at their
facilities.
Reasons for Improvement “Improvements started once country clubs
realized the impor- tance of dining in meeting the needs of their
members, who are increasingly sophisticated in their knowledge of
food and wine,” relates Leonard Phillips, Executive Chef at the
Shenorock Shore Club, in Rye, and former two-term president of the
Club Chefs of Westchester professional organization. This is
especially im- portant since dining revenue is a crucial source of
income for many clubs, and the competition for new members – as
well as retaining old members – remains quite keen at area clubs.
“So to better meet the needs of their constituencies, clubs had to
compete with restaurants in the quality of their offerings,” notes
Chef Phillips.
Now, what’s being offered at a growing number of private clubs in
Westchester County meets and in many instances ex- ceeds the level
of fare available at local eateries. This is not your father’s club
dining with gloppy, steam-table selections and over-or-undercooked
burgers only available with generic wine. An increasingly wide
selection of au courant items are on the menu, like freshly made
sushi and sashimi, crisp salads chopped à la minute, juicy,
char-grilled seafood, flavorful prime beef and lamb served at
carving stations, all available with glasses and/or bottles of red
and white wine from top-tier producers.
A Variety of Updated Fare A range of offerings is increasingly
important since many mem- bers dine quite regularly at their clubs.
For example, at Bryn- wood Golf and Country Club, in Armonk,
Executive Chef Caesar Guaraca – with fifteen years of experience at
the Cipriani properties in Manhattan – cooks up the likes of
Italian classics
CLUB DINING IN WESTCHESTER NOT JUST AN AFTERTHOUGHT ANYMORE
By Geoff Kalish, MD
50 rye.westchesterCC insert.indd 4 7/19/13 10:48 AM
as well as paella, ceviche and sweet empanadas, with a weekly
change in food themes for the club’s very well attended Sunday
evening fam- ily buffets. A very popular aspect of the dining
offerings at the Mt. Kisco Country Club, in Mt.Kisco, are the
sold-out theme nights such as “Food from Arthur Avenue,” and “Steak
Night,” reports long-time General Manager Hussein Ali. And as at
other clubs, Mr. Ali stresses the special care given to accommodate
the various dietary restrictions and food aller- gies of
members.
At Ardsley County Club, in Ardsley, Ex- ecutive Chef George Flay
changes his menu frequently, depending on what’s seasonally
available. “More and more, our members are eating healthier, and we
offer rather simple, flavorful fare made from the best ingredi-
ents, preferably sourced locally. We have also found a recent trend
towards gluten-free
fare, in many instances as a perceived healthy choice, rather than
because of any intoler- ance,” he comments. In fact, because of the
increased demand for gluten-free fare, the Club Chefs of
Westchester recently held a two-day hands-on seminar on the topic,
re- ports former President, Chef Phillips. And, in tune with many
area restaurants and other clubs, “local sourcing, particularly
from Hud- son Valley farmers, is an important aspect of our
offerings,” states Saul Schwartz, Execu- tive Chef at Westchester
Hills Golf Club, in White Plains.
Accommodating Service As to service, “The kitchen staff at our club
works as a family to try to never let a mem- ber have a bad service
experience,” comments Westchester Hills Chef Schwartz. “Like most
clubs, we have a monthly dining minimum for members, so we have to
remember that this is not a restaurant where if someone has a bad
experience he just doesn’t come back,” he notes. Cary Stephan,
General Manager of the
Trump National Club, states that “we expend a lot of effort on
hiring, training and main- taining excellent kitchen and dining
service staff and find it quite worthwhile because we have a very
high degree of expectation from our members that must be met if
we’re to stay successful.”
Winning Wine While outstanding wine selections like those offered
by highly regarded area restaurants such as X2O on the Hudson in
Yonkers and Crabtree’s Kittle House in Chappaqua are out of the
range of even the most upscale clubs, many club lists feature upper
echelon brands from highly acclaimed domestic and inter- national
producers. “We find that many of our members are interested in
learning more about wine and we usually have forty to fifty people
attend our monthly educational wine dinners,” comments Francesco
Feola, Bever- age Manager at Brynwood. “This increasing
sophistication has led us to expand our wine selection with many
more premium brand
choices. Also, because we have a rather young membership, who very
frequently dine with their families and then drive home, we find
that wine-by-the-glass is more popular here than by the bottle,
obliging us to offer a num- ber of sensibly-priced, top-shelf
by-the-glass choices,” he adds. General Manager Stephan, of the
Trump Club proclaims, “many of our members are quite knowledgeable
and expect that in keeping with the quality of the food and other
offerings here, our wine offerings be top-of-the-line, so in
addition to the award- winning Trump wines from Virginia, boutique
bottles like Zinfandels from Turley and Mar- tinelli, rarely found
on area wine lists dot the selection here.”
And so it goes at many other area clubs, where wine selection, like
service and food choices and preparation, are at the forefront of
the amenities important to today’s members. “There’s been a great
impact of all the food shows on TV to heighten the demands of our
members regarding what they want in terms of food and wine,”
comments Romeo Stivaletti, Executive Chef at the Trump National
Golf Club, in Briarcliff Manor. “So, we’ve all had to step up our
game to meet the expectations of our members.”
Geoff Kalish, MD, a Bedford resident, is co-
author of “Wining & Dining in Westchester” and former wine
columnist for Wine Spectator and The Westchester weekly section of
The New York Times.
WESTONMAGAZINEGROUP.COM 35
*
Across Westchester County, chefs, general managers, and members of
private clubs agree that in the past decade there’s been a
renaissance in the dining experience at their facilities.
top:
50 rye.westchesterCC insert.indd 5 7/19/13 10:48 AM
onCe upon a time dining at private golf and country clubs in
Westchester County consisted of a regularly scheduled formal family
extravaganza on a weekend evening or Sunday af- ternoon or a
lengthy luncheon of “the guys” or “ladies,” follow- ing a round of
golf. But with life-styles becoming more casual and people having
less time for meals, club dining became an afterthought – with a
marked decline in the quality of offerings and the level of
service. However, across Westchester County, chefs, general
managers and members of private clubs agree that in the past decade
there’s been a renaissance in the dining experi- ence at their
facilities.
Reasons for Improvement “Improvements started once country clubs
realized the impor- tance of dining in meeting the needs of their
members, who are increasingly sophisticated in their knowledge of
food and wine,” relates Leonard Phillips, Executive Chef at the
Shenorock Shore Club, in Rye, and former two-term president of the
Club Chefs of Westchester professional organization. This is
especially im- portant since dining revenue is a crucial source of
income for many clubs, and the competition for new members – as
well as retaining old members – remains quite keen at area clubs.
“So to better meet the needs of their constituencies, clubs had to
compete with restaurants in the quality of their offerings,” notes
Chef Phillips.
Now, what’s being offered at a growing number of private clubs in
Westchester County meets and in many instances ex- ceeds the level
of fare available at local eateries. This is not your father’s club
dining with gloppy, steam-table selections and over-or-undercooked
burgers only available with generic wine. An increasingly wide
selection of au courant items are on the menu, like freshly made
sushi and sashimi, crisp salads chopped à la minute, juicy,
char-grilled seafood, flavorful prime beef and lamb served at
carving stations, all available with glasses and/or bottles of red
and white wine from top-tier producers.
A Variety of Updated Fare A range of offerings is increasingly
important since many mem- bers dine quite regularly at their clubs.
For example, at Bryn- wood Golf and Country Club, in Armonk,
Executive Chef Caesar Guaraca – with fifteen years of experience at
the Cipriani properties in Manhattan – cooks up the likes of
Italian classics
CLUB DINING IN WESTCHESTER NOT JUST AN AFTERTHOUGHT ANYMORE
By Geoff Kalish, MD
WESTONMAGAZINEGROUP.COM 37
updates them to make them suitable for a modern audience. After
perfecting tricks—which can take years—Cohen works them into his
act with the help of his creative collaborator, Mark Levy. “I bring
the magic skills, he creates the story that illuminates them, and
to- gether we create something unique and amazing,” says
Cohen.
Cohen has performed for some of the most celebrated minds and per-
formers of our generation, from War- ren Buffett—who couldn’t
figure out his tricks—to fellow magicians like David Copperfield.
While he treats all guests with respect, Cohen admitted to getting
“cotton balls in the mouth” when he saw Woody Allen in his audi-
ence, as he had idolized the filmmaker when he was growing
up.
When he’s not working at the Wal- dorf, Cohen performs private
shows for patrons in the U.S. and abroad. They en- list him as a
performer, he says, because he provides them with something “even
the most jaded guest hasn’t seen before.”
Every magician strives to create a rapport with the audience.
Guests be- come engrossed in Cohen’s routine because, he explains,
“There’s no stage. The front row is a foot away from me, so there’s
a level of trust that develops between me and the audience. It’s
not
like a Las Vegas show, where you get a big flashy production with
smoke and dancing girls and all that.”
Instead, he says, “The show is intentionally low-tech, so it’s all
about the personal relationship between me and the audience, which
is some- thing that we, especially the younger generation, have
moved away from.” And “people who are attracted to this type of
show are usually ‘thinking people,’ smart people, who want to see
something that’s a little beyond their scope of understanding.”
Those guests, he believes, regard magic as a mental challenge—even
“the smartest guys in the room... are going to walk away with their
jaws hanging.”
BEHOlD THE MILLIoNAIRES’ MAGICIAN
Chamber Magic derives its inspiration from centuries-old
traditions. In nineteenth-century Paris and Vienna, magicians would
host “magic salons,” which were considered intellectual gatherings.
In that envi- ronment, magicians would show off their latest
tricks. Cohen strives to recreate such an atmosphere in his
performance, down to the look of the audience itself, who are
decked out in cocktail attire that suits both the salon atmosphere
of the show and the Waldorf Astoria’s own timeless elegance.
Steve Cohen’s routine is mystifying—his famous “Think a Drink”
trick leaves the audience stunned and delighted. Yet he is humble
in discussing his magical abilities. “Magic is my profession,” he
explains. “Doing magic is about learning and practicing technique.
There’s no God-given gift, except maybe the satisfaction that comes
from bringing joy and wonder into people’s lives.”
How does he choose his tricks? ”I know which type of magic I like
personally and I think, Would an audience like this, also? I’ve
done so many shows that I know what gets an audience going and what
makes them think, This is extraordinary! So that’s what I strive
for—giving the audience a memorable and happy experience.”
To purchase tickets for Chamber Magic, and to learn more about
Steve Cohen and his magical world, visit
www.chambermagic.com.
Carly Silver is a native of Weston, Connecticut. An editorial
assistant at Harlequin, she graduated summa cum laude from Barnard
College, Columbia University, in 2012.
scHweninGer paintinG
36 WESTONMAGAZINEGROUP.COM
W ithout a single alakazam, master close-up magician Steve Cohen
manages
to turn even the most skeptical group of spectators into an
awestruck audience. Dubbed The “Millionaires’ Magician” by Forbes
magazine, Cohen performs his highly acclaimed show, “Chamber Mag-
ic,” five times a week in a private suite at New York’s Waldorf
Astoria Hotel.
A native of Chappaqua, New York, Cohen began practicing magic at an
early age, inspired by his great-uncle, an amateur magician. He
studied psycholo- gy at Cornell University and applied the lessons
he learned in class to his rather unorthodox profession. More than
a de- cade ago, Cohen began performing an evening magic show in a
friend’s West Village apartment before moving to the National Arts
Club on Gramercy Park. When that space closed for the summer, his
manager, Holly Peppe, introduced him to executives at the Waldorf
Astoria, and soon after he started performing a weekly show,
Chamber Magic, in a suite in the exclusive Waldorf Towers. At first
he struggled to find an audience, but af- ter the website Daily
Candy sent out an informational blast about Cohen, cus- tomers
began pouring in. Since then, he has been featured in major media
outlets including the New York Times and Late Night with David
Letterman. Last year he was the star of a one-man show at Carnegie
Hall and a two-hour History Channel special, Lost Magic De- coded.
His book, Win the Crowd, has been translated into eight languages.
He is also active on Facebook and Twitter, to the delight of his
thousands of fans.
When creating a routine, Cohen digs deep into magic archives. No,
not the library at Hogwarts, but centuries-old magician’s Bibles,
including The Expert at the Card Table, a book on card magic that
he carries with him ev- erywhere. He researches how tricks were
done in the past, utilizing his own home library and the Conjuring
Arts Research Center in Manhattan, and
updates them to make them suitable for a modern audience. After
perfecting tricks—which can take years—Cohen works them into his
act with the help of his creative collaborator, Mark Levy. “I bring
the magic skills, he creates the story that illuminates them, and
to- gether we create something unique and amazing,” says
Cohen.
Cohen has performed for some of the most celebrated minds and per-
formers of our generation, from War- ren Buffett—who couldn’t
figure out his tricks—to fellow magicians like David Copperfield.
While he treats all guests with respect, Cohen admitted to getting
“cotton balls in the mouth” when he saw Woody Allen in his audi-
ence, as he had idolized the filmmaker when he was growing
up.
When he’s not working at the Wal- dorf, Cohen performs private
shows for patrons in the U.S. and abroad. They en- list him as a
performer, he says, because he provides them with something “even
the most jaded guest hasn’t seen before.”
Every magician strives to create a rapport with the audience.
Guests be- come engrossed in Cohen’s routine because, he explains,
“There’s no stage. The front row is a foot away from me, so there’s
a level of trust that develops between me and the audience. It’s
not
like a Las Vegas show, where you get a big flashy production with
smoke and dancing girls and all that.”
Instead, he says, “The show is intentionally low-tech, so it’s all
about the personal relationship between me and the audience, which
is some- thing that we, especially the younger generation, have
moved away from.” And “people who are attracted to this type of
show are usually ‘thinking people,’ smart people, who want to see
something that’s a little beyond their scope of understanding.”
Those guests, he believes, regard magic as a mental challenge—even
“the smartest guys in the room... are going to walk away with their
jaws hanging.”
room with a view
BEHOlD THE MILLIoNAIRES’ MAGICIAN
WESTONMAGAZINEGROUP.COM 37
updates them to make them suitable for a modern audience. After
perfecting tricks—which can take years—Cohen works them into his
act with the help of his creative collaborator, Mark Levy. “I bring
the magic skills, he creates the story that illuminates them, and
to- gether we create something unique and amazing,” says
Cohen.
Cohen has performed for some of the most celebrated minds and per-
formers of our generation, from War- ren Buffett—who couldn’t
figure out his tricks—to fellow magicians like David Copperfield.
While he treats all guests with respect, Cohen admitted to getting
“cotton balls in the mouth” when he saw Woody Allen in his audi-
ence, as he had idolized the filmmaker when he was growing
up.
When he’s not working at the Wal- dorf, Cohen performs private
shows for patrons in the U.S. and abroad. They en- list him as a
performer, he says, because he provides them with something “even
the most jaded guest hasn’t seen before.”
Every magician strives to create a rapport with the audience.
Guests be- come engrossed in Cohen’s routine because, he explains,
“There’s no stage. The front row is a foot away from me, so there’s
a level of trust that develops between me and the audience. It’s
not
like a Las Vegas show, where you get a big flashy production with
smoke and dancing girls and all that.”
Instead, he says, “The show is intentionally low-tech, so it’s all
about the personal relationship between me and the audience, which
is some- thing that we, especially the younger generation, have
moved away from.” And “people who are attracted to this type of
show are usually ‘thinking people,’ smart people, who want to see
something that’s a little beyond their scope of understanding.”
Those guests, he believes, regard magic as a mental challenge—even
“the smartest guys in the room... are going to walk away with their
jaws hanging.”
BEHOlD THE MILLIoNAIRES’ MAGICIAN
Chamber Magic derives its inspiration from centuries-old
traditions. In nineteenth-century Paris and Vienna, magicians would
host “magic salons,” which were considered intellectual gatherings.
In that envi- ronment, magicians would show off their latest
tricks. Cohen strives to recreate such an atmosphere in his
performance, down to the look of the audience itself, who are
decked out in cocktail attire that suits both the salon atmosphere
of the show and the Waldorf Astoria’s own timeless elegance.
Steve Cohen’s routine is mystifying—his famous “Think a Drink”
trick leaves the audience stunned and delighted. Yet he is humble
in discussing his magical abilities. “Magic is my profession,” he
explains. “Doing magic is about learning and practicing technique.
There’s no God-given gift, except maybe the satisfaction that comes
from bringing joy and wonder into people’s lives.”
How does he choose his tricks? ”I know which type of magic I like
personally and I think, Would an audience like this, also? I’ve
done so many shows that I know what gets an audience going and what
makes them think, This is extraordinary! So that’s what I strive
for—giving the audience a memorable and happy experience.”
To purchase tickets for Chamber Magic, and to learn more about
Steve Cohen and his magical world, visit
www.chambermagic.com.
Carly Silver is a native of Weston, Connecticut. An editorial
assistant at Harlequin, she graduated summa cum laude from Barnard
College, Columbia University, in 2012.
scHweninGer paintinG
36 WESTONMAGAZINEGROUP.COM
W ithout a single alakazam, master close-up magician Steve Cohen
manages
to turn even the most skeptical group of spectators into an
awestruck audience. Dubbed The “Millionaires’ Magician” by Forbes
magazine, Cohen performs his highly acclaimed show, “Chamber Mag-
ic,” five times a week in a private suite at New York’s Waldorf
Astoria Hotel.
A native of Chappaqua, New York, Cohen began practicing magic at an
early age, inspired by his great-uncle, an amateur magician. He
studied psycholo- gy at Cornell University and applied the lessons
he learned in class to his rather unorthodox profession. More than
a de- cade ago, Cohen began performing an evening magic show in a
friend’s West Village apartment before moving to the National Arts
Club on Gramercy Park. When that space closed for the summer, his
manager, Holly Peppe, introduced him to executives at the Waldorf
Astoria, and soon after he started performing a weekly show,
Chamber Magic, in a suite in the exclusive Waldorf Towers. At first
he struggled to find an audience, but af- ter the website Daily
Candy sent out an informational blast about Cohen, cus- tomers
began pouring in. Since then, he has been featured in major media
outlets including the New York Times and Late Night with David
Letterman. Last year he was the star of a one-man show at Carnegie
Hall and a two-hour History Channel special, Lost Magic De- coded.
His book, Win the Crowd, has been translated into eight languages.
He is also active on Facebook and Twitter, to the delight of his
thousands of fans.
When creating a routine, Cohen digs deep into magic archives. No,
not the library at Hogwarts, but centuries-old magician’s Bibles,
including The Expert at the Card Table, a book on card magic that
he carries with him ev- erywhere. He researches how tricks were
done in the past, utilizing his own home library and the Conjuring
Arts Research Center in Manhattan, and
updates them to make them suitable for a modern audience. After
perfecting tricks—which can take years—Cohen works them into his
act with the help of his creative collaborator, Mark Levy. “I bring
the magic skills, he creates the story that illuminates them, and
to- gether we create something unique and amazing,” says
Cohen.
Cohen has performed for some of the most celebrated minds and per-
formers of our generation, from War- ren Buffett—who couldn’t
figure out his tricks—to fellow magicians like David Copperfield.
While he treats all guests with respect, Cohen admitted to getting
“cotton balls in the mouth” when he saw Woody Allen in his audi-
ence, as he had idolized the filmmaker when he was growing
up.
When he’s not working at the Wal- dorf, Cohen performs private
shows for patrons in the U.S. and abroad. They en- list him as a
performer, he says, because he provides them with something “even
the most jaded guest hasn’t seen before.”
Every magician strives to create a rapport with the audience.
Guests be- come engrossed in Cohen’s routine because, he explains,
“There’s no stage. The front row is a foot away from me, so there’s
a level of trust that develops between me and the audience. It’s
not
like a Las Vegas show, where you get a big flashy production with
smoke and dancing girls and all that.”
Instead, he says, “The show is intentionally low-tech, so it’s all
about the personal relationship between me and the audience, which
is some- thing that we, especially the younger generation, have
moved away from.” And “people who are attracted to this type of
show are usually ‘thinking people,’ smart people, who want to see
something that’s a little beyond their scope of understanding.”
Those guests, he believes, regard magic as a mental challenge—even
“the smartest guys in the room... are going to walk away with their
jaws hanging.”
room with a view
BEHOlD THE MILLIoNAIRES’ MAGICIAN
RHS PARSONS STREET PlAYERS PRESENTS
SOUTH PACiFiC
school road
RHS PARSONS STREET PlAYERS PRESENTS
SOUTH PACiFiC Directed by Michael Limone Photos by Joel and Anne
Darelius
50 rye.westchesterCC insert.indd 8 7/19/13 10:49 AM
RHS PARSONS STREET PlAYERS PRESENTS
SOUTH PACiFiC
school road
RHS PARSONS STREET PlAYERS PRESENTS
SOUTH PACiFiC Directed by Michael Limone Photos by Joel and Anne
Darelius
50 rye.westchesterCC insert.indd 8 7/19/13 10:49 AM
WESTONMAGAZINEGROUP.COM 41
YOU’RE A GOOD MAN, CHARliE BROwN
50 rye.westchesterCC insert.indd 11 7/19/13 10:49 AM
RHS PARSONS STREET PlAYERS PRESENTS
YOU’RE A GOOD MAN, CHARliE BROwN Directed by Peter Green Photos by
Joel and Anne Darelius
school road
40 WESTONMAGAZINEGROUP.COM
WESTONMAGAZINEGROUP.COM 41
YOU’RE A GOOD MAN, CHARliE BROwN
50 rye.westchesterCC insert.indd 11 7/19/13 10:49 AM
RHS PARSONS STREET PlAYERS PRESENTS
YOU’RE A GOOD MAN, CHARliE BROwN Directed by Peter Green Photos by
Joel and Anne Darelius
school road
40 WESTONMAGAZINEGROUP.COM
WESTONMAGAZINEGROUP.COM 43
50 rye.westchesterCC insert.indd 13 7/19/13 10:49 AM
42 WESTONMAGAZINEGROUP.COM
RYE MiDDlE SCHOOl PRESENTS
A NiGHT AT THE OSCARS Directed by Tom Snowden Photos by Joel and
Anne Darelius
school road
WESTONMAGAZINEGROUP.COM 43
50 rye.westchesterCC insert.indd 13 7/19/13 10:49 AM
42 WESTONMAGAZINEGROUP.COM
RYE MiDDlE SCHOOl PRESENTS
A NiGHT AT THE OSCARS Directed by Tom Snowden Photos by Joel and
Anne Darelius
school road
AL CERVI: ONE-ON-ONE
the arts
Katonah MuseuM of art Remix: Selections from the International
Collage Center In the Beitzel and Righter Galleries Through
October13, 2013 Remix weaves the narrative of collage through the
history of modern and contemporary art. Coined in the early 20th
century from the French word coller, meaning to glue or stick, the
term “collage” originally described a revolutionary method of
art-making. Over time its definition has expand- ed to represent an
approach to and perception of the modern world. The 100 artists
featured in the exhibition utilize collage’s core conceptual
traits—heterogeneity, fragmentation, and appro- priation—to address
with clarity and immediacy the circumstances of their times. Remix
explores the impact of collage on artistic and cultural expression
and gathers together the diverse frag- ments of a rich artistic
tradition.
www.katonahmuseum.org
LawnChair theatre in the westChester ParKs Peter and Carin Zakes
Green, founders of LawnChair Theatre, present Shakespeare’s The
Taming of the Shrew. Now in its 8th season, LawnChair Theatre began
in Lyon Park in Port Chester and in the past three years has
expanded to include shows in Rye, Rye Brook and Armonk.
Performance weekends: August 2 - Rye Town Park August 3 - Crawford
Park August 4 - Bedford Village August 8 - Lyon Park August 9 &
10 - TBD www.lawnchairtheatre.org
the neuberger MuseuM of art PurChase CoLLege Coney Night Maze–
Monumental-Scale Installation By New York Artist Donna Dennis
Through September 15, 2013 One of the most popular New York City
icons is the Coney Island Cyclone, a 1927 landmark wooden roller
coaster, whose jack-knife turns and precipitous drops have thrilled
hundreds of thousands of visitors since it opened in 1927. It also
is the inspiration for Coney Night Maze, a monumental sculptural
installation by artist Donna Dennis that is presented to the public
for the first time at the Neuberger Museum of Art, Purchase
College.
Thirteen years in the making, Coney Night Maze draws on the
labyrinth of fences, gates, and ramps nestled among the I-beams and
columns located beneath the actual Cyclone. Rising to a height of
twelve feet, the installa- tion includes an ascending
rollercoaster-like track which weaves in and out of the dark- ness,
then descends into the distance, skim- ming the edge of a rock wall
that runs the
work’s entire 27-foot length. The Museum is located at 735 Anderson
Hill
Road in Purchase, New York. www.neuberger.org.
CaraMoor Center for MusiC and the arts Audra McDonald Saturday,
August 3, 2013
Winner of five Tony Awards® and regularly ap- pearing on the great
stages of the world, Broadway legend Audra McDonald returns to the
Venetian Theater on Saturday, August 3 at 8pm. Joined by a jazz
ensemble, the two-time Grammy® Award-winner will perform an
intimate evening of fa- vorite show tunes, classic songs from the
movies, and original pieces written ex- pressly for her.
www.caramoor.org
collaGe Mounted to illustration board, 9 x
26 incHes. courtesy of tHe estate of nanette
bearden and dc Moore Gallery, new yorK.
A Taste of Westchester Summer Arts
donna dennis, Coney night Maze- 1997-2009,
Mixed Media, courtesy of tHe artist
audra Mcdonald
44 WESTONMAGAZINEGROUP.COM
*
I n 1975 I lived in an apartment house that faced Central Park
between 84th and 85th Streets. I had two dogs, Bogar and Phoebe,
both black and
medium sized. Every morning, evening and night I walked them in the
park. We crossed Central Park West near the entrance to our
building and walked north to the entrance at 86th Street. Most
mornings there was a young derelict, apparently homeless, sitting
on a park bench with a shopping cart full of his belongings.
He was young and white, about 30 years old, filthy- looking with a
straggly beard and long tangled hair. Something about him, maybe
his scent, spooked Phoe- be, who was the female and more gentle of
my two dogs, so that she refused to walk past him. I knew she
wouldn’t wander off, so I would let her off the leash and she would
walk carefully into the street and around a parked car before
coming back to the sidewalk to join Bogar and me, thus avoiding the
homeless man. I wasn’t as spooked by him as Phoebe, but I thought
it best to avoid eye contact or any contact whatsoever as we passed
him every day for weeks.
Years before, my father had given me a windbreaker jacket that fit
perfectly. It was light weight with comfortable sleeve cuffs and
nice deep pockets; it had snaps, not a zipper, that worked
perfectly; and the color was a non-descript blue or purple. I loved
that jacket and wore it a lot. The jacket had an insignia in the
area of the upper left chest which was a ball with curved stitching
(it could have been a baseball, a basketball or a soccer ball) and
the name “Al Cervi” printed in script over the ball.
One morning as I was walking past the bum on the bench and Phoe- be
was engaged in her avoidance technique (in fact, so was I) he said
something to me that stopped me in my tracks. “Do you know who Al
Cervi is?”
I had worn the jacket a thousand times. I always wondered who Al
Cervi was, and why he was so honored, but my curiosity (in those
pre-Google days) never rose to the level of doing research or
asking anyone. Then and there, at 7 in the morning on Central Park
West, this young homeless man held me and my attention as firmly as
if he were grasping my arm. I looked directly at him for the first
time and saw that his eyes were seemingly thoughtful and
intelligent. There was no choice, I had to have this
conversation.
“No, I don’t. Who is he?” “Al Cervi was a basketball player. He was
the player-coach for the
Syracuse Nationals.” That was all I needed to know about Al Cervi,
but as long as I was in
a conversation with this guy, there was something else I wanted to
know. “Why are you living on this bench?”
His answer was better than I could have imagined: “My psychiatrist
lives in your building and I like being near him.”
I paused for a moment and could think of nothing else to ask or
say, so I said, “Have a nice day,” and walked on to the park
entrance with my
dogs. I don’t remember ever seeing him again. In writing this tiny
story I finally decided to find out
about Al Cervi, and here it is from his 2009 Obitu- ary in The New
York Times. Al was born in Port Ches- ter. He was 92 at the time of
his death. (www.nytimes.
com/2009/11/11/sports/basketball/11cervi.html?_r=0)
Cervi (pronounced SUR-vee) was a 5-foot-11 guard and one of the
strongest of the 1940s and ’50s. His Hall of Fame biography calls
him “an intense competitor with superior defensive skills, an
explosive one-on-one offensive player.”
He started playing pro basketball in 1937 with the Buf- falo Bisons
of the new National Basketball League after dropping out of high
school in his junior year. He never went to college. As a pro, he
initially earned $15 a game and acquired the nickname Digger for
his gritty, dogged ap- proach to the game.
After five years in the Army Air Forces, including service in World
War II, he joined the Rochester Royals, a new N.B.L. team, in 1946.
His teammates included the future Hall of Famers Bob Davies and Red
Holzman, who went on to coach the Knicks; Otto Gra- ham, a future
Hall of Fame quarterback; and Chuck Connors, who be- came a
television star as the title character on “The Rifleman.”
The Royals won the league championship in Cervi’s first season; in
his second, he was the league’s leading scorer and most valuable
player. In his third season —he was by then a player-coach — he was
an all-star and the coach of the year.
He moved to the Syracuse Nationals as player-coach in 1948, a year
before the N.B.L. and the Basketball Association of America merged
to become the National Basketball Association. He was player-coach
until 1953 and full-time coach until he was fired during the
1956-57 season, after the Nationals got off to a slow start. He
coached the Philadelphia Warriors in the 1958-59 season.
As a player in that low-scoring era, Cervi averaged 7.9 points a
game. His coaching record was 366-264, and his Nationals won the
1955 N.B.A. title by defeating the Fort Wayne Pistons in the
finals.
Cervi was inducted as a coach into the Naismith Memorial Basket-
ball Hall of Fame, in Springfield, Mass., in 1985. Recalling his
coaching years, The Syracuse Post-Standard wrote in 1997, “The
Nationals shot poorly but succeeded because they played Cervi-style
basketball: nasty, with an emphasis on defense.”
Cervi knew what he wanted on offense, too. “Al didn’t like plays,”
Dolph Schayes, one of his Hall of Fame players, told The New York
Times in an interview in 2007.“We played a lot of freelance ball,
Eastern style, good, aggressive, fundamental, high post, lot of
movement.”
Bob Marrow is a real estate lawyer who has lived in Rye for 36
years, where he sails a 23’ Alberg sloop moored in Greenhaven
Harbor.
speaker’s corner
the arts
AL CERVI: ONE-ON-ONE
the arts
Katonah MuseuM of art Remix: Selections from the International
Collage Center In the Beitzel and Righter Galleries Through
October13, 2013 Remix weaves the narrative of collage through the
history of modern and contemporary art. Coined in the early 20th
century from the French word coller, meaning to glue or stick, the
term “collage” originally described a revolutionary method of
art-making. Over time its definition has expand- ed to represent an
approach to and perception of the modern world. The 100 artists
featured in the exhibition utilize collage’s core conceptual
traits—heterogeneity, fragmentation, and appro- priation—to address
with clarity and immediacy the circumstances of their times. Remix
explores the impact of collage on artistic and cultural expression
and gathers together the diverse frag- ments of a rich artistic
tradition.
www.katonahmuseum.org
LawnChair theatre in the westChester ParKs Peter and Carin Zakes
Green, founders of LawnChair Theatre, present Shakespeare’s The
Taming of the Shrew. Now in its 8th season, LawnChair Theatre began
in Lyon Park in Port Chester and in the past three years has
expanded to include shows in Rye, Rye Brook and Armonk.
Performance weekends: August 2 - Rye Town Park August 3 - Crawford
Park August 4 - Bedford Village August 8 - Lyon Park August 9 &
10 - TBD www.lawnchairtheatre.org
the neuberger MuseuM of art PurChase CoLLege Coney Night Maze–
Monumental-Scale Installation By New York Artist Donna Dennis
Through September 15, 2013 One of the most popular New York City
icons is the Coney Island Cyclone, a 1927 landmark wooden roller
coaster, whose jack-knife turns and precipitous drops have thrilled
hundreds of thousands of visitors since it opened in 1927. It also
is the inspiration for Coney Night Maze, a monumental sculptural
installation by artist Donna Dennis that is presented to the public
for the first time at the Neuberger Museum of Art, Purchase
College.
Thirteen years in the making, Coney Night Maze draws on the
labyrinth of fences, gates, and ramps nestled among the I-beams and
columns located beneath the actual Cyclone. Rising to a height of
twelve feet, the installa- tion includes an ascending
rollercoaster-like track which weaves in and out of the dark- ness,
then descends into the distance, skim- ming the edge of a rock wall
that runs the
work’s entire 27-foot length. The Museum is located at 735 Anderson
Hill
Road in Purchase, New York. www.neuberger.org.
CaraMoor Center for MusiC and the arts Audra McDonald Saturday,
August 3, 2013
Winner of five Tony Awards® and regularly ap- pearing on the great
stages of the world, Broadway legend Audra McDonald returns to the
Venetian Theater on Saturday, August 3 at 8pm. Joined by a jazz
ensemble, the two-time Grammy® Award-winner will perform an
intimate evening of fa- vorite show tunes, classic songs from the
movies, and original pieces written ex- pressly for her.
www.caramoor.org
collaGe Mounted to illustration board, 9 x
26 incHes. courtesy of tHe estate of nanette
bearden and dc Moore Gallery, new yorK.
A Taste of Westchester Summer Arts
donna dennis, Coney night Maze- 1997-2009,
Mixed Media, courtesy of tHe artist
audra Mcdonald
44 WESTONMAGAZINEGROUP.COM
*
I n 1975 I lived in an apartment house that faced Central Park
between 84th and 85th Streets. I had two dogs, Bogar and Phoebe,
both black and
medium sized. Every morning, evening and night I walked them in the
park. We crossed Central Park West near the entrance to our
building and walked north to the entrance at 86th Street. Most
mornings there was a young derelict, apparently homeless, sitting
on a park bench with a shopping cart full of his belongings.
He was young and white, about 30 years old, filthy- looking with a
straggly beard and long tangled hair. Something about him, maybe
his scent, spooked Phoe- be, who was the female and more gentle of
my two dogs, so that she refused to walk past him. I knew she
wouldn’t wander off, so I would let her off the leash and she would
walk carefully into the street and around a parked car before
coming back to the sidewalk to join Bogar and me, thus avoiding the
homeless man. I wasn’t as spooked by him as Phoebe, but I thought
it best to avoid eye contact or any contact whatsoever as we passed
him every day for weeks.
Years before, my father had given me a windbreaker jacket that fit
perfectly. It was light weight with comfortable sleeve cuffs and
nice deep pockets; it had snaps, not a zipper, that worked
perfectly; and the color was a non-descript blue or purple. I loved
that jacket and wore it a lot. The jacket had an insignia in the
area of the upper left chest which was a ball with curved stitching
(it could have been a baseball, a basketball or a soccer ball) and
the name “Al Cervi” printed in script over the ball.
One morning as I was walking past the bum on the bench and Phoe- be
was engaged in her avoidance technique (in fact, so was I) he said
something to me that stopped me in my tracks. “Do you know who Al
Cervi is?”
I had worn the jacket a thousand times. I always wondered who Al
Cervi was, and why he was so honored, but my curiosity (in those
pre-Google days) never rose to the level of doing research or
asking anyone. Then and there, at 7 in the morning on Central Park
West, this young homeless man held me and my attention as firmly as
if he were grasping my arm. I looked directly at him for the first
time and saw that his eyes were seemingly thoughtful and
intelligent. There was no choice, I had to have this
conversation.
“No, I don’t. Who is he?” “Al Cervi was a basketball player. He was
the player-coach for the
Syracuse Nationals.” That was all I needed to know about Al Cervi,
but as long as I was in
a conversation with this guy, there was something else I wanted to
know. “Why are you living on this bench?”
His answer was bett