My parents’ Woodstock store, Twine’s Catskill Bookshop, a.k.a. Twine’s Books, Records and Art Supplies, was a social center for artists and writers.. Donald and Elise Twine made it so, from the time they purchased the business from Harry Dordick in 1955 until they sold it to Paul Solis-Cohen in 1978. It was cozy at the store, which always smelled like paint, linseed oil and turpentine. Dogs were welcomed and offered biscuits. Agnes Ridgeway, who wrote scripts for the Dr. Kildare TV show, lived in the upstairs apartment.
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| Twine's Catskill Bookshop |
The Twines were publishers, too. Enamored of Woodstock and proud of its history, they reprinted Will Rose’s bittersweet memoir about life in turn-of-the-century Woodstock, The Vanishing Village, in 1970. And they revived classics of the public domain, Picturesque Ulster and Enjoying the Catskills.
Authors Parties
Watching Donald (father, a W.C. Fields fan) prepare his stealthy planter’s punch for authors’ parties was a study in opulence. With a quart of Meyer’s dark rum in one hand and a half-gallon of pineapple juice in the other, ceremoniously he’d pour same over a mountain of ice cubes in a huge cut glass bowl. There were other ingredients, like champagne, a jar of maraschino cherries, two quarts of ginger ale, triple sec, sprigs of fresh mint, and god-knows-what-all. “Ambrosia!” he’d exclaim, tasting it.
The guests - friends of the author and anyone else who walked in - apparently agreed. The beverage looked and tasted precious, like refreshment for a ladies’ bridge circle; its effects were profound.
Ma kept me busy preparing pickles wrapped in slices of salami secured with toothpicks. Cheese and crackers. Sliced cucumbers on buttered triangles of de-crusted white bread…Hors d’oeuvres least likely to cause damage when dropped on a book.
Along with the Twines, the events were presided over by James Gibson and generations of loyal employees who ranged over the years to include Nancy Summers, Cornelia Hartman, Dorothy LaCasse, Frances Dederick, Eric Angeloch, Sandy Merch, Mindy Dunham, Daisy Jansen and more. (Robert Angeloch, an instructor at the Art Student’s League and a customer who visited, coffee in hand, before his class most summer mornings, married Nancy; they produced Eric, who grew up to be a great landscape artist like his parents and his grandparents.) Frances, Cornelia, and Mindy were artists, too.
The book signing parties were historic occasions, as in 1970, when Howard and Martha Lewis were honored for their groundbreaking expose, The Medical Offenders, which became a best seller. Fortunately, photographer Milton Wagenfohr was present at most of these affairs, of which there were 26 altogether, starting in 1958 with honoree Robert Phelps. I loved Phelps’ novel, Heroes and Orators, which was set in Woodstock during the early 1950s and starred recognizable local characters hanging out at the storied Seahorse tavern. The last party was for Heywood Hale Broun (Woodie) in 1978, for his autobiography, Whose Little Boy Are You? It was a question posed to him as a child by Eleanor Roosevelt at a party hosted by his parents, columnist Heywood Broun and suffragist Ruth Hale., a founder of the Lucy Stone League.
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| Heywood Hale Broun signs book as Elsie Twine looks on. |
Fausto’s Keyhole author Jean Arnoldi (attractive wife of artist
Fletcher Martin, former wife of musician Frank Mele and mother of Andre Mele)
set the stage for one of Twine’s most successful parties in 1970. I remember it
even though I only heard about it second-hand. Donald was awed to have
witnessed a spontaneous pugilistic encounter between Fletcher Martin and
abstract painter Bud Plate, both macho he-men. The fight was over a woman;
through it wasn’t clear which woman. No one was hurt. Not much, anyway. The
scene was reminiscent of Martin’s artwork. One of his signature themes was the
prizefight.
The poet Loker Raley was feted for his literary journal, Bluestone, in 1965. John Pike signed his book of instruction Watercolor in 1966. In 1972, painter Frank Brockenshaw was photographed seated among four authors: Edgar Pangborn, writer of thrillers including Good Neighbors and Other Strangers; David Ballantine, who wrote Lobo, and Rick and Glory Brightfield, authors of Mazes. Woodstock Handmade Houses by Ballantine, Bob Haney and John Elliot, a big hit in the mid-1970s, has become a classic, and a source of inspiration for aspiring builders. Architects Jeffrey Milstein and Les Walker also published books that were toasted at Twine’s.
Holley Cantine and Dachine Rainer, outspoken conscientious objectors during World War II, made a striking couple. They were pictured at a party for Dachine, who had written the novel The Uncomfortable Inn in 1960. Holley was a famous character who in earlier days had published a pamphlet in Woodstock. His most famous headline was, “Tourists Go Home!”
Other writers who signed their books at Twine parties included Howard Koch, Alf Evers, Charles Boswell, Anthony Robinson, Nancy Klein, Helen Wolfert, Roland Van Zandt, Thom Roberts, Peter Lyon, Walter Kortrey, and Louise Ault.
While some wrote novels, others were historians. Alf Evers wrote two seminal books: The Catskills from Wilderness to Woodstock, and Woodstock, History of a Small Town. Louise Ault’s Artist in Woodstock described her late husband, George Ault, and their life here during the 1930s and 1940s. The Phelps book that I love, Heroes and Orators, blends fact and fiction about the town and its people. Howard Koch, the screenwriter famous for As Time Goes By, was feted at Twines for his book, The Panic Broadcast, about his believable but fictitious 1930s radio report of Martians landing in New Jersey.
The poet Loker Raley was feted for his literary journal, Bluestone, in 1965. John Pike signed his book of instruction Watercolor in 1966. In 1972, painter Frank Brockenshaw was photographed seated among four authors: Edgar Pangborn, writer of thrillers including Good Neighbors and Other Strangers; David Ballantine, who wrote Lobo, and Rick and Glory Brightfield, authors of Mazes. Woodstock Handmade Houses by Ballantine, Bob Haney and John Elliot, a big hit in the mid-1970s, has become a classic, and a source of inspiration for aspiring builders. Architects Jeffrey Milstein and Les Walker also published books that were toasted at Twine’s.
Holley Cantine and Dachine Rainer, outspoken conscientious objectors during World War II, made a striking couple. They were pictured at a party for Dachine, who had written the novel The Uncomfortable Inn in 1960. Holley was a famous character who in earlier days had published a pamphlet in Woodstock. His most famous headline was, “Tourists Go Home!”
Other writers who signed their books at Twine parties included Howard Koch, Alf Evers, Charles Boswell, Anthony Robinson, Nancy Klein, Helen Wolfert, Roland Van Zandt, Thom Roberts, Peter Lyon, Walter Kortrey, and Louise Ault.
While some wrote novels, others were historians. Alf Evers wrote two seminal books: The Catskills from Wilderness to Woodstock, and Woodstock, History of a Small Town. Louise Ault’s Artist in Woodstock described her late husband, George Ault, and their life here during the 1930s and 1940s. The Phelps book that I love, Heroes and Orators, blends fact and fiction about the town and its people. Howard Koch, the screenwriter famous for As Time Goes By, was feted at Twines for his book, The Panic Broadcast, about his believable but fictitious 1930s radio report of Martians landing in New Jersey.
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I recently come across a newspaper
article, Book Party Report written by
Peter Moscoso-Gongora in 1974 for The Woodstock Press. Here are some excerpts:
I was getting high on the radishes. Wherever did
Elise Twine get them? Each one was like a double martini. The occasion was
Donald Twine’s book party for Peter Lyon and his new book, Eisenhower,” so I
shouldn’t have to tell you what it was about….
Scholar-Sports Reporter Woody Broun was there
with his glamorous wife, Jane. I wanted to ask him whether Ali will beat
Foreman (I think he will), but he must get bored by questions like that. The
Kalishes were there. Irving was telling me about a time a mysterious lady
dropped her handkerchief on Madison Avenue, he picked it up and ran after her,
and it turned out to be Greta Garbo. I had an idea that the story continued,
but Mrs. Kalish was standing right there….
James Gibson, smiling came up to me and said, “I
read your story in Playgirl. “How did you like it? I asked. “I didn’t,” he
said, still smiling and walked off.
The Beginning
The Beginning
My earliest memories of the bookshop
(before we owned it) were free Candlelight Concerts held in the backyard on
summer evenings. Harry Dordic'k's young
son, Rowan, sold refreshments. Dick Burlingame (later the Twine’s partner until
1958) played classical long-playing albums--the technology was new--on a
phonograph set on a windowsill. The audience brought snacks and sat on
blankets. Citronella candles lent atmosphere and slightly discouraged
mosquitoes. Fireflies were abundant. My mother enjoyed the music and brought me
with her.
The Twines bought a share of the business a few years later. They had moved from Ellenville to Woodstock in 1949 and rented a Byrdcliffe house (Carniola) the first summer.
Elise was an actress and had performed at the Woodstock Playhouse during the 1940s. She and Jane Lloyd-Jones, from Los Angeles, and Lisa Downer, from Wheeling, West Virginia, had met and become friends in the Drama Department at Carnegie Tech in Pittsburgh in 1941. Later, Jane married Heywood Hale Broun; Lisa married artist Ken Downer. It seemed fateful that the three friends ended up in Woodstock.
Donald, originally from Yonkers, was going stir-crazy in Ellenville, my mother’s hometown, but he loved Woodstock right away. The store allowed him to stay with his family and to quit his career as a radio operator in the Merchant Marine, which had kept him at sea for months at a time.
The Twines’ business partner, Dick Burlingame was a suave, handsome gentleman who was more popular with the ladies than he cared to be. My parents noticed that when eager females were seen approaching the front door, Dick would climb out the back window. (It was a trick I emulated later as a Twine employee when certain customers revealed their grumpy sides.) Dick lunched regularly with John Pike across the street at Deanie’s. Lunch marked the end of Dick’s productivity for the day.
We Sold Records, Too
The Twines bought a share of the business a few years later. They had moved from Ellenville to Woodstock in 1949 and rented a Byrdcliffe house (Carniola) the first summer.
Elise was an actress and had performed at the Woodstock Playhouse during the 1940s. She and Jane Lloyd-Jones, from Los Angeles, and Lisa Downer, from Wheeling, West Virginia, had met and become friends in the Drama Department at Carnegie Tech in Pittsburgh in 1941. Later, Jane married Heywood Hale Broun; Lisa married artist Ken Downer. It seemed fateful that the three friends ended up in Woodstock.
Donald, originally from Yonkers, was going stir-crazy in Ellenville, my mother’s hometown, but he loved Woodstock right away. The store allowed him to stay with his family and to quit his career as a radio operator in the Merchant Marine, which had kept him at sea for months at a time.
The Twines’ business partner, Dick Burlingame was a suave, handsome gentleman who was more popular with the ladies than he cared to be. My parents noticed that when eager females were seen approaching the front door, Dick would climb out the back window. (It was a trick I emulated later as a Twine employee when certain customers revealed their grumpy sides.) Dick lunched regularly with John Pike across the street at Deanie’s. Lunch marked the end of Dick’s productivity for the day.
We Sold Records, Too
We sold records for several years and
joked about one in particular, an album by Julie London called Misty. In a pre-adolescent attempt at
humor, I remarked to my mother, “Misty’s getting pretty dusty.” (Ma laughed, a
nice change of pace.) In addition to classical albums produced by Angel,
we sold Elvis’ early records and were in on the phenomenal emergence of Bob
Dylan, who spent several years in Woodstock, writing some of his best songs.
Cornelia Hartman drew our attention to his records. A hip and cosmopolitan
young woman, Cornelia told us he was becoming popular in the coffee houses of
Greenwich Village.
Soon Dylan was living in a rambling, rustic house on Byrdcliffe mountain, (former art colony founded in 1902 by Ralph Radcliffe Whitehead), and his kids were getting pony rides on my horse, Midnight. A bold female neighbor of ours (name forgotten) borrowed Midnight and rode him up to the Dylan’s on a regular basis. She told me Bob wanted to buy Midnight. (No dice was the message I sent back.)
One bright summer day I was riding the horse along Glasco Turnpike near the corner of Upper Byrdcliffe Road, when a motorcycle slowed alongside me. There was a striking brunette smiling broadly at Midnight and me. It was Joan Baez, riding behind Bob! I smiled back, of course,
Anyway, mother got rid of the records while father was laid up in Benedictine Hospital with a broken leg, having been kicked by Midnight.
The Children’s Corner
Soon Dylan was living in a rambling, rustic house on Byrdcliffe mountain, (former art colony founded in 1902 by Ralph Radcliffe Whitehead), and his kids were getting pony rides on my horse, Midnight. A bold female neighbor of ours (name forgotten) borrowed Midnight and rode him up to the Dylan’s on a regular basis. She told me Bob wanted to buy Midnight. (No dice was the message I sent back.)
One bright summer day I was riding the horse along Glasco Turnpike near the corner of Upper Byrdcliffe Road, when a motorcycle slowed alongside me. There was a striking brunette smiling broadly at Midnight and me. It was Joan Baez, riding behind Bob! I smiled back, of course,
Anyway, mother got rid of the records while father was laid up in Benedictine Hospital with a broken leg, having been kicked by Midnight.
The Children’s Corner
Elise liked kids a lot and set up a
cute area she called the children’s corner where they could sit around a little
table and read. She hung a portrait of Raggedy Ann, which she had painted herself.
(She was a student of Frank Brockenshaw, known as Brock, one of our regular
customers.) Pat the Bunny was a
favorite even then, as were all Dr. Seuss, a book I loved called Suzuki Bean, and we carried all the Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys books. And the classics, of course. She also stocked a
fascinating collection of Beatrix Potter post cards and miniature art supplies.
There was a little red-haired boy who lived in the neighborhood who spent a lot of time at the store. About 6 years old at first, Jamie would stop in after school, draw pictures and tell us about his daily experiences. This went on for several years. We were very fond of Jamie. I wonder what became of him?
Artists
There was a little red-haired boy who lived in the neighborhood who spent a lot of time at the store. About 6 years old at first, Jamie would stop in after school, draw pictures and tell us about his daily experiences. This went on for several years. We were very fond of Jamie. I wonder what became of him?
Artists
A brief, random list of artists we
served includes Kurt Sluizer, Milton Avery, Gurdon Howe, Robert Orsini, Nick
Buhalis, Rollin Crampton, Richard Crist, Arnold Blanche, Lucille Blanche,
Milton Glazer, Manuel Bromberg, Rolph Scarlett, Julio De Diego, Marion
Greenwood, Nan Mason, Wilna Hervey (who portrayed Powerful Katrinka in the
Toonerville Trolley films of the 1920s), Georgina Klitgaard, Doris Lee, Walter
Plate, Anton Refregier, Bernard Steffen, John Taylor, Andre Ruellan, Richard
Pantell, Roman Wachtel, Thomas Penning, Charles Ruggles, Franklin Alexander,
Anthony Krauss, Calvin Grimm, Reginald Wilson, Carolyn Haeberlin, Ethel
Magafan, Bruce Currie, Joan Elliott, Anita Barbour and many more.
Philip Guston, a towering, taciturn figure, bought huge tubes of black paint and the widest brushes possible. Mindy Dunham and I would speculate about what Guston created with those tools, while we ate our lunch -- cheeseburgers from Duey’s across the street -- in front of the TV. (The Gong Show came on at noon. Jimmy Gibson teased us for watching it.) My father enjoyed talking to an artist named Bill Lubinsky, who arrived on a horse he tied up outside.
The poet Pearl Bond and artist John Ernst came in sometimes. Pearl remained seated while John shopped for paint. He’d bring his selections back to her for approval. “Oh, John, you don’t need that!” she’d say. Or, “That’s good.”
Paul Arndt, an elderly gentleman, escorted my mother to lunch in Kingston several times; she loved it. Dan Gottschalk was an interesting Thanksgiving guest. The Klitgaards were neighbors who had a second home in the hamlet of Wittenberg and migrated with the seasons. Gurdon Howe drew hilarious Christmas cards with poetry to match.
My father made personal deliveries of art supplies to Konrad Cramer, Elfriede Borkman, Anton Otto Fischer, Henry Mattson, and to beautiful, gracious Jane Keefe, who directed The Country Mouse pre-school up the hill from our home.
Jane called. “Donald, I need magenta,” she wailed, children at her feet. “Of course you do!,” he replied, and soon appeared at the door of The Country Mouse, magenta paint in hand.
Many of our customers were students or instructors at the Art Students League. When The League closed its summer school in Woodstock in the early 1970s, we were sad for more than one reason. The miasma soon lifted, however, when painters Bob Angeloch and Franklin Alexander opened the Woodstock School of Art to take its place. A few years later, Angeloch moved WSA to the historic Art Students League campus, where the school is well established today.
Passing the Torch
Philip Guston, a towering, taciturn figure, bought huge tubes of black paint and the widest brushes possible. Mindy Dunham and I would speculate about what Guston created with those tools, while we ate our lunch -- cheeseburgers from Duey’s across the street -- in front of the TV. (The Gong Show came on at noon. Jimmy Gibson teased us for watching it.) My father enjoyed talking to an artist named Bill Lubinsky, who arrived on a horse he tied up outside.
The poet Pearl Bond and artist John Ernst came in sometimes. Pearl remained seated while John shopped for paint. He’d bring his selections back to her for approval. “Oh, John, you don’t need that!” she’d say. Or, “That’s good.”
Paul Arndt, an elderly gentleman, escorted my mother to lunch in Kingston several times; she loved it. Dan Gottschalk was an interesting Thanksgiving guest. The Klitgaards were neighbors who had a second home in the hamlet of Wittenberg and migrated with the seasons. Gurdon Howe drew hilarious Christmas cards with poetry to match.
My father made personal deliveries of art supplies to Konrad Cramer, Elfriede Borkman, Anton Otto Fischer, Henry Mattson, and to beautiful, gracious Jane Keefe, who directed The Country Mouse pre-school up the hill from our home.
Jane called. “Donald, I need magenta,” she wailed, children at her feet. “Of course you do!,” he replied, and soon appeared at the door of The Country Mouse, magenta paint in hand.
Many of our customers were students or instructors at the Art Students League. When The League closed its summer school in Woodstock in the early 1970s, we were sad for more than one reason. The miasma soon lifted, however, when painters Bob Angeloch and Franklin Alexander opened the Woodstock School of Art to take its place. A few years later, Angeloch moved WSA to the historic Art Students League campus, where the school is well established today.
Passing the Torch
Having turned 70 in 1978, father was
weary of keeping inventory. Imagine the details of pen points, pencils, and all
the different kinds of brushes, not to mention paints and books! It was too
daunting for me to consider taking on, even with Jimmy Gibson’s help. And so
the business was sold.
Paul Solis-Cohen, who bought the store that year, changed its name to Catskill Art and Office. Paul expanded the building in Woodstock and opened new stores in Kingston, Newburgh, and Poughkeepsie.. Donald and Elise would have been amazed to see it.
Life on The Sawkill
Paul Solis-Cohen, who bought the store that year, changed its name to Catskill Art and Office. Paul expanded the building in Woodstock and opened new stores in Kingston, Newburgh, and Poughkeepsie.. Donald and Elise would have been amazed to see it.
Life on The Sawkill
While my parents were busy earning a
living, I was mostly free to explore the natural riches of Woodstock on
horseback and on foot, imagining I was Pocahontas. The heart of the town is the
Sawkill Creek. From its origin at Echo Lake until it enters the Town of
Kingston, some 20 meandering miles later, the Sawkill has always been the
lifeblood of Woodstock, the reason for its existence, a source of fun and
artistic inspiration.
Crystal clear rivulets and calm pools provided habitats for wondrous communities of dragon flies, turtles, frogs, fish butterflies, horse flies and much more than can be recounted here. To this day, I recognize the smell of turtles. Many an innocent babe has been imprinted with joy while playing on the Sawkill’s banks of vast bluestone rocks, a colorful variety of pebbles, and soft sandy silt. For eons, people, dogs and horses cooled themselves on hot summer days in its generous, cool water.
Looking back to the 1950s, when the town’s population was about 2,000, several swimming areas were available to the public. That was before the population burgeoned, houses sprang up in the way, and insurance requirements became the sole determinant of our quality of life. (No Trespassing signs were uncommon in Woodstock until the advent of the 1969 Woodstock Festival, which took place an hour-and-a-half away in Bethel.)
Shady
Crystal clear rivulets and calm pools provided habitats for wondrous communities of dragon flies, turtles, frogs, fish butterflies, horse flies and much more than can be recounted here. To this day, I recognize the smell of turtles. Many an innocent babe has been imprinted with joy while playing on the Sawkill’s banks of vast bluestone rocks, a colorful variety of pebbles, and soft sandy silt. For eons, people, dogs and horses cooled themselves on hot summer days in its generous, cool water.
Looking back to the 1950s, when the town’s population was about 2,000, several swimming areas were available to the public. That was before the population burgeoned, houses sprang up in the way, and insurance requirements became the sole determinant of our quality of life. (No Trespassing signs were uncommon in Woodstock until the advent of the 1969 Woodstock Festival, which took place an hour-and-a-half away in Bethel.)
Shady
Perhaps the most beautiful swimming
place was in the hamlet of Shady, where the stream emerged ice-cold from the
steepest slopes of Overlook and Indian Head mountains. Big rocks provided ample
room for picnics and sunbathing alongside shallow passages and deep pools where
teenagers perfected their dives and can-openers. Toddlers splashed before the
adoring eyes of beautiful young mothers who idled away halcyon days sharing
grapes and trading recipes for the ubiquitous zucchini, which flourished in
every garden.
Over millennia, the rocks of Shady were worn into huge parallel platforms separated by cascades of varying volume and intensity. One waterfall in particular was a popular place to sit while receiving a natural hydro-massage. There was also a waterfall like a flume you could slide down and land in a little “whirlpool.” The behinds of many a bathing suit were worn out on that slide!
In the evenings, families gathered for swimming and cookouts. Potatoes baked in hot ashes, barbecued swordfish, boiled sweet corn. The water was clean enough to drink, and skinny-dipping was a possibility. There was nothing quite like the feeling of the Sawkill flowing around one’s naked body.
On a hot summer afternoon, you knew you were in Shady when you scrambled down the road embankment and landed - hop! - on the rocks. The temperature changed, and the ions were soothingly negative. The atmosphere was a marketer’s dream. A violinist owned the property, and he didn’t object to friends enjoying the stream. One friend leads to another, of course, and soon everyone in town was there. Even then, it wasn’t unpleasant. There was room enough.
The boom was lowered in the 1960s, when new owners prohibited swimming. Today, I’d do the same. Still, it’s eerie to pass the place and hear no joyous shouts, no splashing, no barking dogs, no people.
Apple Rock
Over millennia, the rocks of Shady were worn into huge parallel platforms separated by cascades of varying volume and intensity. One waterfall in particular was a popular place to sit while receiving a natural hydro-massage. There was also a waterfall like a flume you could slide down and land in a little “whirlpool.” The behinds of many a bathing suit were worn out on that slide!
In the evenings, families gathered for swimming and cookouts. Potatoes baked in hot ashes, barbecued swordfish, boiled sweet corn. The water was clean enough to drink, and skinny-dipping was a possibility. There was nothing quite like the feeling of the Sawkill flowing around one’s naked body.
On a hot summer afternoon, you knew you were in Shady when you scrambled down the road embankment and landed - hop! - on the rocks. The temperature changed, and the ions were soothingly negative. The atmosphere was a marketer’s dream. A violinist owned the property, and he didn’t object to friends enjoying the stream. One friend leads to another, of course, and soon everyone in town was there. Even then, it wasn’t unpleasant. There was room enough.
The boom was lowered in the 1960s, when new owners prohibited swimming. Today, I’d do the same. Still, it’s eerie to pass the place and hear no joyous shouts, no splashing, no barking dogs, no people.
Apple Rock
The most accessible swimming hole of
my childhood, Apple Rock, exists no more. You can see its remains at the west
end of the town-owned Comeau property, where erosion from floods and human
intervention during the 1970s buried the rock we used to dive from. Now just
the top third of the boulder is visible through sand and pebbles. The rock is
identifiable by the many initials, hearts and dates that had been carved into
it for so many years.
The rock is now located about ten yards from the current channel. Before the 1970s, however, it offered itself as an eight-foot high peninsula that jutted into a deep pool from the north bank of the stream. There was room for three people to stretch out and sunbathe, and for a steady stream of jumpers and divers to skid past on their way into the water. A rope dangled from an overhanging tree, so those inclined to play Tarzan were able to indulge their fantasies.
A bunch of us Woodstock kids rode our horses daily through the woods to Apple Rock, where we led our mounts into the water to cool off and escape the deer flies. Then we tied them to trees in the shade while we ate sandwiches and daydreamed about a future we assumed would be as idyllic as the present. “We” included Holly and Gail Green, Susie Perlman, Lloyd, Jimmy and Emmy Gibson, and some others. (Okay, it wasn’t perfect; there were a few fights, a few disagreements, a few insults, the usual developmental process.)
After the flood that changed the course of the Sawkill by Apple Rock, huge trees fell. They lie across the stream to this day. The problem was not helped by the attentions of CETA workers (Jimmy Carter’s Comprehensive Education and Training Act) who were dispatched, apparently, to clear the channel east of Yerry Hill Bridge. I saw them at work. Don’t drink while bulldozing the Sawkill. Better yet, don’t bulldoze the Sawkill!
Sully’s, Big Deep and Tannery Brook
The rock is now located about ten yards from the current channel. Before the 1970s, however, it offered itself as an eight-foot high peninsula that jutted into a deep pool from the north bank of the stream. There was room for three people to stretch out and sunbathe, and for a steady stream of jumpers and divers to skid past on their way into the water. A rope dangled from an overhanging tree, so those inclined to play Tarzan were able to indulge their fantasies.
A bunch of us Woodstock kids rode our horses daily through the woods to Apple Rock, where we led our mounts into the water to cool off and escape the deer flies. Then we tied them to trees in the shade while we ate sandwiches and daydreamed about a future we assumed would be as idyllic as the present. “We” included Holly and Gail Green, Susie Perlman, Lloyd, Jimmy and Emmy Gibson, and some others. (Okay, it wasn’t perfect; there were a few fights, a few disagreements, a few insults, the usual developmental process.)
After the flood that changed the course of the Sawkill by Apple Rock, huge trees fell. They lie across the stream to this day. The problem was not helped by the attentions of CETA workers (Jimmy Carter’s Comprehensive Education and Training Act) who were dispatched, apparently, to clear the channel east of Yerry Hill Bridge. I saw them at work. Don’t drink while bulldozing the Sawkill. Better yet, don’t bulldoze the Sawkill!
Sully’s, Big Deep and Tannery Brook
Everyone knows
Sully’s. It’s still there, still enjoyed by people, albeit mostly by guests of
the Woodstock Motel, which used to be called the Millstream. Dan Sully was a
theatrical producer of the early 20th century who owned the property long
before the Motel was built in the 1950s. The bridge that crosses the stream at
the corner of Tannery Brook and Millstream roads was known as Sully’s Bridge.
It was red and cute. Kids jumped off it into a pool to the south. Before the
motel was built, mothers brought their children, and other kids could walk to
Sully’s. Calm, with a deep pool that gradually becomes shallow, it was ripe for
children’s dam building projects, as it is today.
Big Deep, where movie star Lee Marvin and Pam Feeley (who were married many years later) met as teenagers, is owned by the Town and open to the public. For a swimming hole, it’s remarkably large. Sheltered by hemlocks, it has a sandy side and a flat rock side, with room for diving and splashing. Dogs abound there. Where else can a bow-wow catch a stick in the water these days? Sometimes it’s noisy, but that’s life. While an occasional nudist wanders about, no serious crime has been reported. Thank goodness the town had the foresight to preserve a place that’s so much a part of Woodstock’s history.
Tannery Brook, which joins the Sawkill about a tenth of a mile south of Sully’s Bridge, was also popular for swimming during the 1920s, 30s and 40s. Woodstock historian Alf Evers describes a protest one summer when the City of Kingston, which had purchased water rights, tried to ban swimming in the town. The response was a community meeting on the Village Green followed by a march to the stream. Everyone jumped in, clothes and all. The ban failed, but Tannery Brook, unfortunately, became too polluted for swimming. It’s better now that we have a sewer system, but property owners aren’t inclined to invite the public anymore. Too much liability.
Farther downstream in Zena, 1950’s kids rode horses into deep muddy water by the Red Bridge, where the Sawkill rounds the bend into a Kingston reservoir. They all loved it. The largest animals turned into graceful seahorses, swimming in slow motion in water over their heads. Nothing like it on a summer day.
Winter in Woodstock
Big Deep, where movie star Lee Marvin and Pam Feeley (who were married many years later) met as teenagers, is owned by the Town and open to the public. For a swimming hole, it’s remarkably large. Sheltered by hemlocks, it has a sandy side and a flat rock side, with room for diving and splashing. Dogs abound there. Where else can a bow-wow catch a stick in the water these days? Sometimes it’s noisy, but that’s life. While an occasional nudist wanders about, no serious crime has been reported. Thank goodness the town had the foresight to preserve a place that’s so much a part of Woodstock’s history.
Tannery Brook, which joins the Sawkill about a tenth of a mile south of Sully’s Bridge, was also popular for swimming during the 1920s, 30s and 40s. Woodstock historian Alf Evers describes a protest one summer when the City of Kingston, which had purchased water rights, tried to ban swimming in the town. The response was a community meeting on the Village Green followed by a march to the stream. Everyone jumped in, clothes and all. The ban failed, but Tannery Brook, unfortunately, became too polluted for swimming. It’s better now that we have a sewer system, but property owners aren’t inclined to invite the public anymore. Too much liability.
Farther downstream in Zena, 1950’s kids rode horses into deep muddy water by the Red Bridge, where the Sawkill rounds the bend into a Kingston reservoir. They all loved it. The largest animals turned into graceful seahorses, swimming in slow motion in water over their heads. Nothing like it on a summer day.
Winter in Woodstock
Since the beginning of time, the hill
on the Comeau property across from Woodstock Estates (a former picturesque
farm, habitat of swans, and current site of the Post Office) has been enjoyed
by children who sled or otherwise careen down its snow-covered slope. The
scenic promontory has also served as part of a cross-town horse trail that
extended from Byrdcliffe to the Riding Club. In the old days, Woodstock’s
landscape was dotted with skating ponds, cornfields and cows of the black and
white variety. As the fields, ponds and cows disappeared, we clung to the past.
Kids were outfitted in clothes from The Bonnie Shop (where Pegasus Shoes is today), or from London’s in Kingston. Speaking of London, we watched Queen Elizabeth II’s coronation on a grainy TV at the Maverick Inn, where a live crow presided as a pet.
Charlie’s Ice Cream Parlor
Teenagers and younger hung out after
school at Charlie’s Ice Cream Parlor - later occupied by the music venue Joyous
Lake - which had a juke box! That’s where we heard All Shook Up and Don’t be
Cruel for the first time. Sue Mellert was Charlie’s stepdaughter, and she could
dance. Woodstock librarian D.J. Stern, by the way, was a big fan of Elvis in
those days. Meanwhile, Libby Titus and I were enthusiastic consumers of
Charlie’s special “Pig’s Dinner,” a gooey concoction of sweets, a predilection
that was reflected in our physiques.
The heart went out of old Woodstock when The Seahorse Tavern closed in the 1960s, and the original Deanie’s Restaurant (which had started as a diner in a trolley) burned during the 1970s. Although Deanie’s reopened at another beautiful location, the ambience just wasn’t the same. And although the popular intellectual bartender John Brown made guest appearances now and then, the scene was less ribald than the Seahorse and less homey and the condiments more frugal than when Deanie’s was located on the corner of Deming and Mill Hill, in the renovated building now occupied by Fletcher Gallery.
The village (as we called it then) suffered another blow in the late 1970s when the State replaced our bluestone sidewalks with concrete and reconfigured the Village Green - creating an inconvenient protuberance at the intersection of Old Forge and Rock City roads. Shopkeeper “Just Alan” held his ground, however, so his was the only store that could still boast its durable native sidewalk.
Christmas Shopping
The heart went out of old Woodstock when The Seahorse Tavern closed in the 1960s, and the original Deanie’s Restaurant (which had started as a diner in a trolley) burned during the 1970s. Although Deanie’s reopened at another beautiful location, the ambience just wasn’t the same. And although the popular intellectual bartender John Brown made guest appearances now and then, the scene was less ribald than the Seahorse and less homey and the condiments more frugal than when Deanie’s was located on the corner of Deming and Mill Hill, in the renovated building now occupied by Fletcher Gallery.
The village (as we called it then) suffered another blow in the late 1970s when the State replaced our bluestone sidewalks with concrete and reconfigured the Village Green - creating an inconvenient protuberance at the intersection of Old Forge and Rock City roads. Shopkeeper “Just Alan” held his ground, however, so his was the only store that could still boast its durable native sidewalk.
Christmas Shopping
Back to the 1950s. Christmas shopping
was best accomplished in Kingston in those days, or so we felt at the age of
ten or eleven. Mary Elwyn (she lived in the blue house overlooking the Village
Green and had the best view of Santa on Christmas Eve) and I would make a day
of it. With great excitement, we’d board the bus for Kingston - unescorted by
burdensome parents - and get off at the Crown Street station. Woolworth’s was
right around the corner! I spent like a sailor on costume jewelry and figurines
for everyone on my list. Mary averted her eyes while I chose something for her.
Mary had more discerning taste and sometimes returned to Woodstock with nary a purchase. She had fun anyway. After shopping, we’d drop into a booth at Neko’s drugstore and indulge in milkshakes and grilled cheese sandwiches. Then back to Crown Street for a jolly ride home in the dark, hearts brimming with sugarplums and pride. To this day, we reserve one day a year to Christmas shop together. Only now we order cocktails instead of shakes.
Ice Skating
Mary had more discerning taste and sometimes returned to Woodstock with nary a purchase. She had fun anyway. After shopping, we’d drop into a booth at Neko’s drugstore and indulge in milkshakes and grilled cheese sandwiches. Then back to Crown Street for a jolly ride home in the dark, hearts brimming with sugarplums and pride. To this day, we reserve one day a year to Christmas shop together. Only now we order cocktails instead of shakes.
Ice Skating
Four popular skating ponds spring to
mind: The one since filled in at Andy Lee recreation field, where a
kerosene-heated cabin offered respite and hot cocoa. When it snowed at night,
we shoveled pathways on the ice while we skated, staring into a dizzying
spotlight; there was also Yankee Town Pond in the hamlet of Wittenberg, which I
believe is still used by skaters. It was a wildly natural setting, punctuated
by beaver dams and shrubby coves. Its grand expanse exceeded the reach of the
bonfire that was kept burning on the frozen shore.
There was “Peter’s Pond” - Peter Whitehead, that is, son of the Byrdcliffe Art Colony founder Ralph Radcliffe Whitehead - which is now bordered by houses on the south side of Glasco Turnpike across from the western entrance to Upper Byrdcliffe. There were bonfires there, and hot chocolate, too. No spotlights. Finally, there was “Fairyland,” a small wooded wetland at Woodstock Estates. Tree trunks green with moss evoked at delicacy that rebuffed human interference. That little habitat is now traversed by a berme conveying sewer pipes to an affordable housing project.
The Broun family skated a lot, as did Virgil Van Wagonen, proprietor (with his wife, Louise) of the Bearsville Market and Feed Store. Virgil introduced me to Streuble Pond in Kinston, which has since been filled in for no good reason. Friends say desperate frogs were hopping down Chandler Drive when the backhoes and bulldozers evicted them from their pond.
The Bearsville Store
There was “Peter’s Pond” - Peter Whitehead, that is, son of the Byrdcliffe Art Colony founder Ralph Radcliffe Whitehead - which is now bordered by houses on the south side of Glasco Turnpike across from the western entrance to Upper Byrdcliffe. There were bonfires there, and hot chocolate, too. No spotlights. Finally, there was “Fairyland,” a small wooded wetland at Woodstock Estates. Tree trunks green with moss evoked at delicacy that rebuffed human interference. That little habitat is now traversed by a berme conveying sewer pipes to an affordable housing project.
The Broun family skated a lot, as did Virgil Van Wagonen, proprietor (with his wife, Louise) of the Bearsville Market and Feed Store. Virgil introduced me to Streuble Pond in Kinston, which has since been filled in for no good reason. Friends say desperate frogs were hopping down Chandler Drive when the backhoes and bulldozers evicted them from their pond.
The Bearsville Store
My parents were friends with Virgil
and Louise. Louise was the postmaster, who frequently emerged from behind the
mail counter to check out groceries at the cash register. My mother took me
with her when she did her weekly food shopping on Fridays. I looked forward to
it. Louise was beautiful and very nice to everyone, even kids. So was Virgil.
Best of all, they had horses and knew everything there was to know about the
noble beasts and lots of other country stuff.
The Van Wagonens accompanied us when we bought our first horse, (an oversized, rambunctious, loveable Morgan named Troubadour) and helped hitch him to a buggy for a rare jaunt. They showed us the trails that ran along the Sawkill from the Riding Club on Broadview Road to Bearsville.
Later we bought a sleigh, and my father drove Troubadour, with Mary and me aboard, to town one snowy day. There was no traffic to speak of. The horse stood still by the Village Green while I ran into the News Shop to buy a newspaper. Mary says she’ll never forget that day.
Christmas Eve
The Van Wagonens accompanied us when we bought our first horse, (an oversized, rambunctious, loveable Morgan named Troubadour) and helped hitch him to a buggy for a rare jaunt. They showed us the trails that ran along the Sawkill from the Riding Club on Broadview Road to Bearsville.
Later we bought a sleigh, and my father drove Troubadour, with Mary and me aboard, to town one snowy day. There was no traffic to speak of. The horse stood still by the Village Green while I ran into the News Shop to buy a newspaper. Mary says she’ll never forget that day.
Christmas Eve
Woodstock’s most popular tradition,
the arrival of the real Santa Claus on the Village Green, started in the 1930s,
according to Christmas Eve Committee chair Harry Castiglione. There’s live music,
caroling, and Santa distributes stockings filled with candy to all children who
wait in line. In the 1990s, a menorah was added to the green at the holiday
season. This is one Woodstock tradition that’s likely to last for a long, long
time.
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| Christmas Eve on the Village Green |
Author’s Note: This memoir includes revised, combined versions of articles that also appeared in Ed and Miriam Sanders’ periodical, The Woodstock Journal, 1995 - 2002.
