FYI Llyn Clague
Photography Editors
Arthur Brady, Caroline Persell, Richard Schneeman Advertising Director
Pat Taylor Managing Editor
We begin this issue with a whimsical, charming story by Hubert B. Herring about a cat. Next is a profile of Deaz Banks, our Director of Environmental Services, followed by bookended opposites by a pair of long-time residents: a “retirement” by Gene DuBow and a boyhood story from Bill Lyons. Muriel Fox celebrates ping-pong at KoH and the patience of the pro who instructs all who wish to learn the game (or improve). Marianne Bloomfield describes the attractions of Rockland County across the river, home to her and her husband for over 50 years. Bob Kutscher shares some key moments in his life, and Norman Sissman gives us a mouth-watering tour of his favorite dining spots in nearby Westchester. Finally, from our diminishing but intrepid band of Founders I have collected a few reminiscences of “what it was like” in the beginning – during the first weeks and months as Kendal on Hudson came into existence. As to the photographs in this issue, on the front cover Arthur Brady has captured the cow atop Stone Barns as she was about to jump over the moon. For the inside front cover Ursula Hahn photographed some trees wrestling in Rockwood Hall. They might be giants. Reproduced on the inside back cover is that wonder of nature called Grand Canyon, photographed by Harry Bloomfeld in 1984. The back cover shows a view of “our bridge” from the Scenic Hudson Park in Irvington, as caught on camera by Arthur Brady. All inside photos are by Arthur Brady except the one on p. 6 of the young Bill Lyons. STAFF Editor
KENDAL VIEW
Llyn Clague Editorial Staff
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Peter McCuen
Eugene DuBow, Doris Eder, Muriel Fox, Hubert B. Herring, Carolyn Klinger, Edith Litt, Deborah O’Keefe, Norman Sissman
But early in our marriage, when we were living on West 85th Street in Manhattan, we had just three. The most regal was surely Mishka – I guess we’d decided he was Russian royalty, to give him that name. And he was indeed regal, with a coat of lustrous black and bright green eyes. This was over 50 years ago now, but I remember him fondly.
Prince Mishka Hubert B. Herring My first wife, Sally, was a cat person, to put it mildly. When we lived for a year or so in the Catskills, we probably had eight or nine cats. (Not to mention a dog, a horse, and chickens.)
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Mishka was an independent sort, and often ventured out onto the balcony of our apartment. After a few weeks of this, we gradually noticed that he wasn’t eating much, and when I finally figured out the cause, it was a marvelous tale indeed. The neighboring building had an identical balcony, facing the street, and a German couple in their 60s lived in the apartment. And Mishka had found that he could walk along the ledge to their balcony and be invited in and get some treats. He wasn’t invited in right away, though. When I met the couple later, they told me they were wary at first – they didn’t want a stray cat to become dependent on them, and were worried that the cat’s claws would damage their furniture. But gradually they softened (Mishka was, after all, a very lovable cat), and started inviting him in, and pretty soon there was a spot in their apartment designated as Mishka’s dining spot. They got a red ball, which could be pulled with a cord in front of him, and this became his favorite toy. The man, Erich, became so enamored of Mishka that he wrote an essay about him: “Mishka: A Story in Three Tales.” “Now,” it begins, “I really fell in love again.” In the first tale, he recounts seeing Mishka at his window for the first time, eventually letting him in, and having the cat gradually lodge himself in his heart. In the second, he writes from Mishka’s point of view. Venturing along the ledge, peering in the window, he sees a man “sitting in a chair at a big desk and hammering on a machine….
From time to time I hear a ringing sound.” Mishka looks around the room and sees many books, and sometimes watches when the man or woman takes a book from the shelf and “turns over one page after another – for hours! A boring game.” But from time to time “they remember me and softly scratch my head.”
Soon we and Mishka and the other cats moved away and didn’t see Erich and Liselotte again. And half a century later, with Erich, Liselotte, that wife, Mishka, and the other cats long gone, I pull out those pages once again, pages sitting in my filing cabinet all this time, and think back fondly on this touching tale.
Deaz joined Kendal’s staff fifteen years ago as a floor tech and worked his way up the ladder. Before coming to Kendal, he played semi-pro basketball. At six foot four, he says, he was one of the shorter members of the team. He studied computer repair at Westchester Community College, but found this was not for him. He had a close contact at Kendal, his mother, who worked here for eight years as a manager in the Clearwater kitchen.
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Deaz is proud of his workers, who, he says, “perform the impossible,” given that he is continually short-staffed. He trains them individually when they take on their jobs, going over each step of the cleaning process with them. He takes the maids, for example, to an empty apartment to show them how to clean walls, furniture, do vacuuming, and everything else; then they do it as he watches and corrects. For two weeks afterward, he checks to make sure the training has taken hold.
Big and Tall in Many Ways Peter Limburg Deaz Banks, Director of Environmental Services, is a busy man who came to my apartment for his biographical interview bearing a black folder full of tasks. He is responsible for keeping Kendal clean, functioning, and livable. Helping him to do this is a staff of twenty people (at the moment), including floor technicians (who clean our carpets, strip our floors, and take out the trash), and maids (who vacuum, dust, make beds, and clean bathrooms and kitchens).
Deaz is so modest and unassuming that it is hard to get him to talk about himself, but he told this interviewer that he is a quiet person who likes to have quiet time to himself. He has been married for eight years and has a seven-year-old daughter who loves to run, swim, draw, and read, and who is good at puzzles. His wife is a nurse at Presbyterian Hospital in New York City. What Deaz likes best about Kendal is how welcoming residents and staff are. In turn, residents realize that Deaz is always gracious, helpful, accommodating, and devoted to his job. The one thing he would like to change at Kendal would be to give residents more closet space. Amen to that!
Deaz encourges his staff to feel like members of a team. One problem is the language barrier. When Deaz began at KoH, most of the cleaning department spoke Spanish and very little English. Although Deaz did not speak Spanish, the staffers were welcoming and helpful. He has continued this tradition. The cleaners and floor techs like working together, he says, and enjoy coping with challenges such as carpet stains and leaks (and finding lost objects).
I have always been an actively involved person. After a long career with the American Jewish Committee, which gave me a deep connection with German–Jewish relations, I undertook, among other things, writing and publishing a twice-monthly newsletter on that very topic, the DuBow Digest. That took lots of reading, copying, editing, and getting it into shape to be e-mailed to over one thousand readers.
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I think of my decision as a transition, a move from one phase to another. For years I have felt that, as one ages, one should have what sports people call a “game plan.” Mine is simple. I did as much as I could to improve American Jewish-German relations. I will now devote myself more to an entity that more directly affects my life, namely Kendal on Hudson. What goes on in the White House or the Bundestag has much less to do with my remaining years than does what happens in the Gathering Room or the Residents Association Office. I participate in such things as the Contemporary Issue Discussion Group and the “Working Group.” There’s more to be done, and I hope I’ll be able to continue to participate for a long time. To my fellow residents, I remark that, if you are looking for things to do, you’re in the right place. Consider and find meaningful tasks to become involved in. Such a profound recommitment to life will keep you out of the graveyard.
And now, with the recent onset of a blood dysfunction (multiple myeloma), which initially required weekly visits to Phelps for treatments – plus my 90th birthday this June – I wrote to my Digest readers: “A wise man once said, ‘It’s not that you’re a quitter, it’s just that you’ve got the sense to know when enough is enough.’ That time has come for me, and I believe this is the appropriate time for me to bring DuBow Digest to a close.”
Having put it in writing, there is no turning back. That part of my life is over. The decision has been made. I let my readers know, mentioning age and illness, and surprisingly (actually shockingly), I received over one hundred e-mails and messages wishing me the best. Many of them said things like “Enjoy your retirement” or “Don’t feel bad about having to retire.” Somehow, I do not think of casting off one of my responsibilities as retirement. Although I left AJC 20 years ago, I kept on doing many of the things that I had worked on before retiring.
A Letter to My Kendal Friends Eugene DuBow Retirement has a bad reputation. I have decided not to retire again, but to change the course of the remaining years I have, to make them better, and keep myself out of the grave.
“Eagle Boy” Bill Lyons My first paying job was as a newspaper delivery boy. It was 1936. I was 12. I delivered the Brooklyn Daily Eagle to the economic extremes of my Bay Ridge neighborhood. From the richest big private homes with maids on elegant Shore Road overlooking all New York Harbor … to the inland tenements with families on Home Relief. Guess who gave the best tips? (Hint: it wasn’t the richest.) How different the route families were from each other, and from my family! I learned unexpected things, such as apartments that ran little businesses … and apartments where you heard yelling and hitting inside. Noisy apartments that went silent when I rang the bell to collect. And the apartment that smelled of perfume, with a colorfully bathrobed lady who gave a nice tip. My friend Andy Anderson, a seventh-grade classmate, had told me I could “make good money” by delivering the Eagle. I admired Andy. He was the only kid in the class who had a job. Andy explained that an Eagle Route boy gets 3/4 of a cent on the 3-cent daily and Saturday papers and 1½ cents on the big 5-cent Sunday edition. You got paid on Saturday, after collecting from customers and turning the money over to Mr. Parelli, the District Manager. He calculated on the spot how much was your share … to your disadvantage, if you didn’t immediately correct him. I figured that if I delivered 100 papers a day, I’d make 75 cents per day, times 6, or $4.50 for the daily and Saturday deliveries, plus $1.50 for Sunday – a total of $6 a week. A fortune! It was still the Depression. I knew from Mom and Dad’s night whisperings that we were tight for money. Dad had left Wall Street and was now a NYC School Teacher. Delivering the Eagle was the perfect way for me to help out. According to Andy, all I had to do was bring my bike, come with him, and ask Mr. Parelli for a Route job. Andy said Mr. Parelli was “always looking” for new route boys “because he’s always firing the worst ones.” Andy took me to a rundown storefront on 87th Street off 3rd Avenue. A big “For Rent” sign was in the window. Outside were about 20 bicycles with wire carry baskets. Inside the store, behind a broken-down table, sat Mr. Parelli, a sour-looking, beefy man with slick black hair, heavy black eyebrows, and in between, a one-inch band of skin for a forehead. On both sides of the store were dozens of stacks of that day’s Daily Eagle. Teenage boys were busy counting out newspapers for their delivery routes.
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The Eagle boys lived in a different world from me. They were among the poorest. Most were 14 and up. They needed the job; I just wanted one. We barely spoke to one another. It was “get in, count, and get out to deliver ” as fast as you can.
Mrs. Fogarty was my favorite customer. An old, bent lady with a chubby face, always home, always alone, always wearing a spotless apron. And smiling! She lived on the fourth floor of an apartment house on Fourth Avenue. I wondered how she could afford anything since she didn’t seem to have a husband. She was a steady “25-cent tipper” – the paper cost 23 cents a week, delivered. She gave me the full quarter, saying. “Keep it, young man.” She always called me young man: I liked that she called me a man.
When I collected from her after my fourth week or so, she asked if I would “get her a 10 cent Silvercup Bread at the grocer’s downstairs” and bring it up to her. I said sure. When I came back up with the bread, she thanked me and I thought that was that. The next week she sent me down for a pint of milk. Fine. But when I collected from her, she gave me an extra dime tip – her usual 25 cents plus a dime extra! Wow! Great, but how could she? I saw her kitchen behind her, only one chair at the table. I tried to give her dime back. But she said, “Young man, every day you climb four flights, and sometimes twice when I need something. You deserve every cent. And tell your mother that I said you are a fine young man.” It was the most talk any customer ever directed at me.
Andy6 said to Mr. Parelli, “Here’s Lyons I told you about.” Mr. Parelli looked at me, angled his head and asked my age (I was a shrimp), and was my bike outside? I said “Yes,” and he said, “Okay. You get the 86th Street route. Andy, you do it with him today before yours.
ANDY, YOU HEAR ME? Here’s the list. Okay, get counting!” I was hired, just like that. The former route boy was fired when he came in. It happened as I was counting papers with Andy. Mr. Parelli said, “You’re fired,” and the boy turned and walked out. Just like that. But my route had only 36 customers. My dreamed-of $6 per week would be far less for a little 36-stops route. Still, I had my first real paying job. Great! But not great for Andy. He begged Mr. Parelli to send another boy with me, explaining that he had to mind his kid sister after he finished his route, and he wouldn’t be through with his route and mine until too late, etc. Mr. Parelli told Andy that he went with me today or his route would go to another boy… in other words, Andy would be fired! I felt terrible. Mr. Parelli was a bad man. He hired and fired as if it were nothing. Andy was upset as he showed me how to count out my measly 36 papers, how to combine “the national and local sections into one for throwing,” plus his own route of over 80 stops. (I was impressed as I helped him count). Andy said he’d “get hell ” if he wasn’t home by 6 p.m. to mind his kid sister. His mother worked nights at the Post Office from 6 on. I told Andy he could have the pay I would get for my route that day. He was elated! “That’ll make her feel really good!” Which gives you an idea of how much 27 cents meant in those days.
As I went down the stairs, I felt happy and worried at the same time. I told Mom and Dad at supper about Mrs. Fogarty’s dime and her apartment. Mom said it was “perfectly okay” to keep the dime. Dad nodded agreement. I knew by the look they exchanged they were pleased.
It became a regular thing for me to get something for Mrs. Fogarty on collection day. One day after I came out to continue my deliveries – NO BIKE! and my undelivered papers were scattered over the sidewalk and blowing into the street! My bike was GONE, which was terrible. What was worse, my remaining route customers wouldn’t get their papers and Mr. Parelli – he’d fire me for sure!
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I tried to pick up some papers and put them back in order, but the wind was blowing them away faster than I could collect them. I put together only a couple of full papers and gave up. Then, roaring around the corner on his motorcycle zoomed Petey Andreotis, the roughtalking older brother of the new Greek Andreotis boy at my school. They were immigrants, the only Greeks in all Bay Ridge, I think. Petey saw me and the papers flying around. He stopped. “What the f--- happened?” I told him that my bike was stolen. “Let’s get the bastid!” he said. “Hop on!” I hopped on in back of Petey, held tight, and we went zooming up and down the streets of Bay Ridge looking for the Bastid. No luck. Petey finally let me off at my house. Petey had the reputation of a nogood roughneck. But I’ll always remember how he tried to help me.
I told Mom and Dad what had happened. Dad asked what I was going to do about the undelivered papers? I told him I’d explain to each customer what happened on collection day and not charge them for the lost day – but that I sure wasn’t going to tell Mr. Parelli anything, or I’d get fired. I saw Mom and Dad look at each other. Dad said, “Don’t worry about being fired.” Then he added: “I’ll make a cart for you. That won’t get stolen.” And the next day he came home on his lunch break from teaching with a wooden cart on two baby-carriage wheels and with a long handle so I could pull it, ready for me to make pickups for that day’s deliveries. I was in business again! If Mr. Parelli thought anything, “he din’t say nuttin.” That’s how he talked. And by the way, he knew I was building up my route. I was up to 50-plus stops. To build up our routes, Eagle boys, on our own initiative, solicited new customers mostly from adjacent apartments on the same floors. An easy throw to their doors. We simply counted out more copies than our route needed, placed them at prospective customer doors for a week or even two. About one in ten became a regular customer. I think every Eagle Boy did that. When I travelled to high school two years later, I no longer had afternoon time for delivering the Eagle. So I quit. By then my route had 110 customers. Mom had showed me how to open my own bank account for my Eagle earnings. She only allowed me to give her $2 a week. By the time I quit, I had saved $176! Huge! I found it amazing that the bank added extra money called “interest” – free money – to what I’d deposited. Why, who wouldn’t want to save?
I’m proud to boast that in 2018 I brought to KoH the teaching services of Rawle Alleyne, head pro of the Westchester Table Tennis Center. Rawle now drives to Kendal two days a week to instruct our residents. His students range in all levels of expertise from first-timers up to Wayne Richter, former winner of the Minnesota State Table Tennis championship. Wayne says he’s still learning “a lot” from Rawle. He now organizes Rawle’s busy schedule here. If you have any questions about joining the group, his e-mail is wayner@umn.edu.
The Hudson Room on Mary Powell’s Terrace level offers 24/7 access to a ping-pong table with free rackets and balls, plus a magical ball-retriever that requires no bending.
One easy diversion (an alternative to a walk in Rockwood Park or a swim during lifeguard hours or a harpsichord practice; KoH may be America’s only CCRC with its own harpsichord) is to invite your guest to a game of ping-pong.
Deena and others praise the expertise and patience of teacher Rawle Alleyne. Rawle was born and raised in Barbados, the son of a seaman and a seamstress. He coached the Barbados Olympic Table Tennis Team to several Caribbean championships. With a helpful scholarship from the International Olympic Committee, he studied physical training and exercise physiology at the Hungarian University of Physical Education in Budapest. He earned certificates in physical education from schools in England and Scotland. Then to Philadelphia for a four-year B.A. degree from Temple University, where he majored in human movement and kinesiology. Rawle has a grown son and daughter, and he commutes to Westchester from Middletown, New York.
Ping-Pong? It’s Easy at KoH Muriel Fox If a friend or relative visits you, how can you entertain them?
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There are 16 residents on Wayne’s current e-mail list for lessons. Many residents play one another during non-lesson hours. Our professional-quality ping-pong table is designed to accommodate players in wheelchairs, and several of Rawle’s students have taken lessons while using various forms of assistance. Deena La Motta started out in her battery-operated wheelchair and now stands up at the table with no assistance. Says Deena: “I had a new world opened up to me. It expanded my physical activity and confidence. I can’t imagine not having it in my life.”
The Westchester Table Tennis Center owes its origins to a deceased resident of Kendal, Steve Kanfer. In addition to being a best-selling author, Steve could brag that in 1999 he’d cofounded the club that later evolved into the Center. When the WTTC opened its doors in Pleasantville in 2009, its codirectors were Robert Roberts and Will Shortz. Yes, the same
Rockland was semi-rural with many farms, summer bungalow colonies, and hotels until the 1950’s when the Palisades Interstate Parkway and the Tappan Zee Bridge were built. The intention was to provide easy access for city dwellers to Hudson Valley’s parks, lakes, and
Rawle Alleyne says his pupils have ranged from a five-year-old girl to our own Myron Gordon, who was 97 when he started lessons. Rawle reports that the Westchester Table Tennis Center has begun a new program for players with Parkinson’s Disease. He says the sport strengthens our legs, improves our breathing, balance, and body control and gives us a helpful cardio workout. Table tennis, anyone?
In case you’re wondering, some sets of rules say there’s a technical difference between table tennis and ping-pong. In the former, only the serve must hit the table on each side of the net; in the latter, every shot must hit the table on both sides of the net. Although nearly all of us actually play table tennis, we still refer to our game affectionally as ping-pong. The sport has also been called Whiff Whaff (in India), Flim Flam, Gossima, and a variety of whimsical names. It was invented in England in the early days of the 20th century and was originally called Ping-Pong, a trade name. Today it’s increasingly popular in Europe, North America, Africa, and Asia. (A ping-pong match is credited with paving the way for President Richard Nixon’s historic visit to China.)
Will Shortz who edits crossword puzzles for the New York Times. Players from all over the world now flock to the 31-table Center for games, lessons, and international championship tournaments. It’s ranked as one of America’s foremost table tennis facilities.
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Over the Bridge and Under the Sunset Marianne Bloomfeld Facing west from Kendal-on-Hudson, one has a stunning view of the Hudson River and the volcanic cliffs of the Palisades and, in the evening, glorious sunsets. Our neighbor across the river, Rockland County, deserves a closer look. It was home to Harry and me for 55 years before we crossed the Tappan Zee Bridge (yes, I know that’s not its current name) for a oneway trip to Kendal in September 2021.
The bridge connects Westchester County with Rockland County at South Nyack. Compared with Westchester, Rockland is less than half the area with less than one third the population. Rockland is the smallest county in New York State, not counting the five boroughs of NYC. Rockland is shaped like a right triangle with the Hudson River as the hypotenuse, the northern leg bordering Orange County, NY, and the southern leg bordering Bergen County, NJ. At Rockland’s northern corner on the river, you can see the active smoke stacks of the fossil fuel-burning power plants supplying Rockland’s electricity; directly across the river is Buchanan’s decommissioned Indian Point nuclear power plant. Rockland’s southern corner is across from Hastings-on-Hudson.
There are no cities in Rockland County, only five towns containing incorporated villages and hamlets. Our former home was in New City, a name which reflects early grandiose plans for the county seat. New City is an old hamlet with an impressive court house, prison, and county office buildings. Pearl River is another misnomer, a hamlet with no river and no pearls -- the name was upgraded from its original “Muddy Creek.” There are five Nyacks: South Nyack, Nyack, Upper Nyack (directly across from Kendal), West Nyack, and Central Nyack. Each is distinct; don’t confuse them. Nyack is the only one with a downtown business One-thirddistrict.
campgrounds,10 but it also created a NYC suburb with a dramatically increasing population and an easy commute into the city.
of Rockland is parkland, with many hiking trails, including portions of the Appalachian Trail and The Long Path, and part of Harriman State Park. The Hudson shoreline is mostly accessible parkland (unlike Westchester, the railroad tracks are inland). A walking path in Nyack Beach (no longer a beach but a park) follows the shore and then turns uphill to Rockland Lake. The lake is surrounded by a flat 3-mile path and the remains of the Knickerbocker Ice Company, which, before refrigerators, supplied ice from the lake to NYC. A hiking trail on High Tor Mountain takes you to the northern end of the Palisades and to its highest point, 832 feet above the Hudson. Hook Mountain, the pointed peak above Nyack Beach, is the second highest and also has a hiking trail to the top. Bear Mountain State Park has trails, picnic groves, a lake with rowboats and pedal boats, a carousel, a zoo, and a rustic Adirondack-style inn built in 1905. Nyack and Piermont, both on the river, have interesting histories and walkable main streets with art galleries, boutiques, antique shops, restaurants, and old homes with interesting architectural features. The homes of Edward Hopper (now an art gallery) and Carson McCullers are on Broadway, Nyack’s main street. The mile-long pier in Piermont was an embarkation point for ships in World War II, notably soldiers heading for Normandy Beach. The pier is now popular for fishing, birding, cycling, and walking, and for its views.
Throughout Rockland there are Revolutionary battlefields and historic sites. British spy Major Andre was tried and hanged in Tappan. In Haverstraw, American traitor Benedict Arnold gave Andre the plans to West Point. George Washington met with the British commander in Piermont and in Tappan to negotiate the withdrawal of British troops; it’s possible that Washington had a sleepover, but that’s just a guess. The Stony Point Battlefield was the site of a battle in which a British fort was retaken by Americans. Fort Montgomery in Bear Mountain fell to the British—you win some, you lose some—and there’s an interesting visitor’s center at that site. Close by, just over the Rockland border, is the Bear Mountain Bridge (to Westchester) which has a walking path providing views of the Hudson Highlands.
Last, and arguably least, of Rockland’s attractions is the Palisades Mall in West Nyack, which claims to be the eighth largest shopping mall in the United States. Walking from end to end
In other words, he “belonged,” or at least was not “inferior” or “ineligible” – a key insight in his circumstances. He earned a BS in economics and – a major step for one from a family with no background in higher education – he applied to an MBA program at Columbia and was accepted. Again, in time, he realized he was the equal of his classmates, as worthy of his new status as they were. He had already gone a distance from his family. When his father called Bob (now not living at home) in the evenings, he was told repeatedly, “He’s at the library.” His father could hardly believe it, thinking Bob must be doing “something else.”
Bob Kutscher Llyn Clague For Bob Kutscher, a series of experiences in his life occurred over a number of years that were transformative, shaping him personally and professionally.
This, so-to-speak, “rolling” realization enlightened Bob’s career in finance, including senior positions at Goldman Sachs, where he joined the “elite” of Wall Street. He found he could “keep up,” be successful. That insight – and the confidence that informed it – was crucial in the transformation of boy to man, of the individual growing into his full potential. But it came not without certain personal cost. His mother, who, Bob says, was an anxious, insecure woman, once said she wished he had become “a pipe-fitter,” a remark that stung for years. It reflected less on his path than on how much she feared losing him as he moved into a different world. He only fully comprehended her anxieties years later, upon deeper reflection, as he moved into retirement and eventually came to Kendal.
The first involved both a going-away and a failure. Growing up in a working-class family in Westchester and the first to attend college, he enrolled at Penn State, hundreds of miles away in central Pennsylvania. After a few months, he felt he couldn’t adapt, so quit, and went back home. Neither of his parents encouraged him to return to college, but the Vietnam draft loomed, so he persevered, enrolled in a “commuter college,” Fairleigh Dickinson, and continued to live at home. In time, he came to the realization, “I can do this. I can keep up with these people.”
11 on each of its four floors, you can cover two miles. Another option is The Shops at Nanuet, a small, outdoor mall with some high-end stores. If bread or cake is on your shopping list, or even if it isn’t, don’t miss Rockland Bakery in West Nyack, supplier of Kendal’s Sunday bagels. This large, mostly wholesale, commercial bakery has an enormous variety of breads and cakes. See the ovens, conveyers, and cooling racks while your bread is taken from a rack, still warm and crusty.
Somewhat surprisingly, the availability, near Kendal, of Chinese food is more restricted than Japanese. Tops is O Mandarin on Central Park Avenue in Hartsdale. Tables are in cubicles of filigreed wooden walls, affording some privacy and a warm welcoming feeling.
As the Covid pandemic finally wanes and restrictions are loosened, residents who are capable of travel are beginning to contemplate resuming some old pleasurable excursions. Among the most popular of these is dining out. Under these circumstances, I have found the temerity to offer my own restaurant guide to our area. Although the suburbs seem to discourage local restaurants from developing innovative specialties that characterize many dining spots in New York, the river towns host quite a few high-quality eating sites. After about 17 years of patronizing them, here are my recommendations, arranged in no particular order: For Japanese cuisine, the best is Sazan, a small but bright, immaculately clean spot in Ardsley. Its most admirable feature is a supplementary menu of more than 65 “appetizers,” with such delicacies as ground daikon radish topped with salmon roe and octopus mixed with vinegared soybean paste. Second in this trio of selections is Dai Sushi, located in a residential house in Pleasantville, across from the Key Foods supermarket; I’ve heard that Dai means “big” in Japanese. Closer to Kendal is Osaka, in a small mall near the Tarrytown railroad station. A special feature is its hibachi service: selections cooked at your table.
Norman J. Sissman
What’s Up for Dining Out
O Mandarin’s ingredients are uniformly fresh, their Peking Duck especially tasteful. Further south on Central Park Avenue is Fantasy Cuisine. Its quality is almost up to O Mandarin’s, although its ambience is less warm. The specialty of Fantasy Cuisine is its spicy Szechuanstyle dishes. To this group I add a small cheer for Taste of China, a tiny somewhat disorderly space on Main Street in Tarrytown. It now limits itself to take-out (and delivers to Kendal), but the food is good, in large portions and reasonably priced; my favorite for lunch is its egg noodle soup with seafood, which is loaded with shrimp, scallops, squid, and tasty fish balls.
Interested in Thai food? D Thai is a small family-run room: cozy, delicious, relaxing; unfortunately, it is in a hard-to-find location just south of Thornwood. In Mount Kisco, Thai Angels is an old establishment. During my many lunches there, I have rarely been joined by more than two or three other patrons. The manager, a small, chatty Thai woman will happily hover over you, anxious that you are happy with the service and food. Just south of Kendal, on Rte. 9 opposite the entrance to Philipsburg Manor, is Chuchok Thai. Run by a couple (she the cook, he the front man), it is now open only for dinner and takeout. The service is very slow, sometimes unreliable, but what you finally get is good.
Now for two Jewish-style delicatessens: I couldn’t be more enthusiastic than I am about The Bagel Emporium, in a small mall on Rte. 9 opposite the entrance to the Tappan Zee Bridge. It, too, now limits its offerings to shopping and take-out. It offers a large variety of bagels, baked daily on site; these are comparable, if not quite up to, the quality of the now
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defunct H&H Bakery or Zabar’s in Manhattan. Its accoutrements are outstanding, from scrumptiously rich cream cheese to lox and a flavorful white fish salad. They also have an impressive variety of sandwiches, made to order for take-out. Symbolic of the aura here is the presence, in its vitrine of bottled drinks, of Yoo-Hoos, the cherished chocolate libation of many of our childhoods. More traditional is Epstein’s Kosher Deli on Hartsdale’s Central Park Avenue. Settle in on its naugahyde upholstery and order from a long list of old favorites: gefilte fish, kreplach, latkes, knishes, stuffed cabbage, jaw-extending pastrami, and chopped chicken-liver sandwiches, then wallow in nostalgia. If Epstein’s had one or two disputatious waiters, you could be on the Lower East Side in days of yore.
Prefer Indian cuisine? Go to Raasa in Elmsford. This lovely establishment is one of only a few in Westchester to receive a “Bib Gourmand” award from the Michelin Guide. Another Elmsford recipient of this Michelin designation is the Shiraz Kitchen; it lives up to the Guide’s description of it as “an ambitious and sophisticated Persian restaurant.” Its stews, yogurt-based side dishes, and finely cooked rare lamb chops were most satisfying. Interested in fine seafood? My top recommendation is the Eastchester Sea Food Market in Scarsdale. It serves a full variety of mollusks on the half shell, and simply prepared but immensely flavorful chowders, fish, crab, lobster, and seafood pasta. Craving some exceptional pizza (other than the Kendal kitchen’s Friday lunch offering)? None can equal that produced by Capri Pizza and Pasta, which has two locations, one in the mall on Rte. 9 near the Tappan Zee Bridge entrance (adjacent to the Bagel Emporium); the other in the Ossining Shopping Center. Here a variety of toppings are loaded onto tender chewy crusts (some Sicilian-style). When warm weather approaches, you may be interested in eating classical lunch fare on the banks of the Hudson River. You will be happy with any of these three destinations: Red Hat on the River in Irvington; 3 Waverly (its actual address) Bar and Grill, opposite the Ossining Railroad Station; or the RiverMarket Bar and Kitchen, just west of the Tarrytown Railroad Station. RiverMarket does not offer an actual view of the river (as do the other two), but its outdoor space is pleasant; its good, varied food and drinks are created by the extended staff of the venerable Kittle House (see below).
No evaluation of our area’s restaurants can omit Blue Hill at Stone Barns. Deemed by experts the finest restaurant in Westchester, it has been awarded two stars by Michelin. All of its food is grown and raised on site – a walking tour of its fruit and vegetable plots and the quarters of its own cattle, pigs, turkeys, and chickens is a pleasant postprandial pastime, especially for children. Situated in the lavish structures of the old Rockefeller farm, Blue Hill serves a series of tastings, selected by its staff. The main problem with dining there is its cost, currently listed as between $298 and $348 per person! Another venerable source of classic food and drink is Crabtree’s Kittle House, in an old inn in Chappaqua. Its dining room looks out on a pleasant rural landscape; its service is impeccable. Especially recommended is the Kittle House Sunday brunch. X20, housed in a site in Yonkers, built out from the shore of the Hudson, is a creation of well-known local chef Peter X. Kelly. Gazing out on the river while indulging in its rich classical entrées and artfully created drinks is a recipe for successful family special occasions.
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As a result of spending so many hours in the Gardens, I became friends with a few of the many talented gardeners. In the 50’s they had a long, unsuccessful strike for higher wages and they were locked out, most of them losing their jobs. With my awakening to economic injustices, the Botanic Garden lost its appeal as an idyllic retreat.
On sunny days in all seasons, my aunt Minnie would join the other elderly ladies who sat on benches on the overlook, crocheting and exchanging stories about their children’s and grandchildren’s accomplishments. One day she spotted Albert Einstein strolling past with a companion. She introduced herself to them and inquired whether he remembered her son-inlaw, Max, who had been his student in Berlin and was now working for the government on some project in Oak Ridge, Tennessee. Dr. Einstein graciously replied that he did, and asked to be remembered to Max. Aunt Minnie, elated, enjoyed enhanced status with “the ladies.”
I14will close with four locations close to home. Bistro 12, founded around the time of Kendal’s opening, is run by two restaurateurs who formerly worked in a now defunct Tarrytown Portuguese restaurant. Its small space on Main Street offers consistently satisfying meals, and its owners personally greet most customers and provide warm welcomes. On the corner of Rte. 9 and Main Street, a bistro called Lefteris Gyro (with branches in Ossining, Pleasantville, and Yonkers) serves up Greek specialties that make estimable lunches. By the river’s edge in Sleepy Hollow, the small Hudson Farmer and the Fish proffers a varied menu of good seafood and, if you can get one of its six outdoor tables during warm weather, a lovely river view. Finally, I have recently had several meals in an inconspicuous Peruvian restaurant on Valley Street called Mancora. Three large television sets blare soccer games narrated in Spanish; only cash is accepted for payment, but each dish I have ordered, unknown to me before, has been delicious. Yes, I know this is a subjective list. Yes, I strongly suspect that many of you have favorite local restaurants not mentioned here. Yes, probably some of you have had bad experiences in places I have endorsed. If my essay lures some of you to sample at least a few new culinary pleasures, I will have accomplished my goal. Bon appétit! Aunt Minnie and Professor Einstein Martin Smolin Growing up during the Forties and Fifties on Eastern Parkway across the street from the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens, it seemed I was in there almost every day walking my dog. I liked to pretend it was my personal estate, for there were very few other visitors during the week.
During the Second World War, we kids had victory gardens, raising vegetables in the section known as The Children’s Garden. Some misguided patriot burnt down the tea house in the Japanese Garden, and the trustees belatedly changed its name to The Oriental Garden.
For Dot Bone and her husband, Bob, Pat arranged a sandwich lunch. Dot remembers people arriving in a steady stream, sometimes two couples a day, and people getting to know each other as they moved in. Plus Pat had a meeting every Friday where people became further acquainted. When it finally opened, the swimming pool was a welcome feature. There was no official lifeguard (which the county would have had to certify), but residents rotated as “volunteer life guards” (there was a big chart showing assignments). The first Residents Council was elected: meeting initially once a week, it set up and managed the resident-run activities – health and wellness (actually created before the move-in), music program, trips committee, talent show, bridge groups, and many more. People volunteered to drive others to airports and other destinations. Jackie Wilkie and others wanted to create a “non-institutional” atmosphere, one that was warm and inviting. They had visited several other retirement communities using “cookiecutter” or “corporate-looking” art in common areas that they found undesirable for KoH. Funds the committee received from Kendal were used instead for highly selective purchases, including the set of limited-edition prints of Hudson River vessels hung in the formal dining room. Also, and most important, they urged incoming residents – often downsizing from large houses – to consider donating some of their art to Kendal. The cultural value of using the art of residents – either pieces that had been collected or created by themselves – was greatly strengthened by the number of professional artists moving to Kendal. In addition to art, the committee asked for resident donations of suitable furniture that would supplement what was provided for the various public spaces by Kendal’s interior designers. This resulted in the welcome acquisition of items such as wall units, pianos, cabinets, grandfather clocks, tables, and chairs. So CAFA – the “Common Areas Furniture and Art” committee – was formed to foster an atmosphere of “warmth, attractiveness, individuality.” From the beginning it has helped to make Kendal on Hudson “unlike any other” retirement community.
Annette Leyden remembers having dinner that first day with Pat Doyle, the CEO. People were streaming in daily, and the steady influx fostered a milieu that promoted getting to know people easily. It was a very homey atmosphere. People introduced themselves eagerly; Pat was very concerned for the welfare of residents and staff; residents were cohesive as a group. Today, newcomers go through a series of established routines to settle into Kendal; back then, “We set all that up.”
“In at the Creation” Llyn Clague
For Suzanne Adel and her husband, coming to Kendal – to an apartment they had not actually seen – was “a leap of faith.” They had a short window of time to make the move,
Kendal View has published a good deal of material about the founding and history of Kendal on Hudson. For this essay I talked with a totally unscientific sample of the early residents, or “Founders,” in an effort to capture the mood or “ambience” of what it was like at the
beginning: during that first year or so when KoH was established.
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Bill Rakower sums up, “We were pioneers. There was a camaraderie among us, a completely different feel.” A common practice was to have drinks in someone’s apartment at 5 p.m., before going to dinner. There might be 4 people or 20 – it was very flexible, and friendships formed quickly. Sometimes there was even dancing. “I remember one couple,” he reminisces, “how gracefully they could dance! We had closer relationships with other residents in those days. We used to celebrate Hannukkah – not just Jews, anybody. Sometimes at those events we’d have “grab-bags” filled with anything under $5, and we’d each reach in and pull something out… There were a lot of couples then. And almost no walkers.”
Norman and Charlotte Sissman became members of a five-couple group that rotated dinners in each others’ apartments – not just cocktails and hors d’oeuvres, but full dinners – which they dubbed “movable feasts.” Such activities were representative of a vibrant and activist atmosphere, Norman recalls, in which everyone was eager to participate and get to know each other. There were many parties in individuals’ apartments, particularly around the holidays, and dinner in the FDR was frequently preceded by cocktails and hors d’oeuvres. Norman fondly remembers the woodshop (where the ping-pong table currently is) as wellstocked with tools, well-run, much enjoyed by fixer-uppers. (Pat Doyle scuppered it after one man fell off a ladder and broke his hip.)
immediately16 after which they took a trip of several weeks. When they returned and settled in, they were greatly impressed by the enthusiasm and energy of the residents. They were also struck by the amount of training of the staff by staffs of other Kendals. Suzanne’s husband, retired Westchester Country Commissioner of Health, helped check the credentials of new hires in our health care facility. Most of the residents were in their seventies: “with tweed elbow patches on their elbows, they almost looked like Oberlin students.” They were full of a spirit of “come-on, try-it, let’s-do-it.” A group of individuals with high intellect, not high wealth, unpretentious, willing to try new things.
This small sampling of Founders’ experiences in the early days could be multiplied many times, emphasizing similarities and variations. Perhaps the essence is the obvious: “We were pioneers,” in Bill Rakower’s words. Creating something out of nothing is, as we all know from personal experience, fundamentally different from fitting into an existing program or structure. Yet key values and principles remain and are intended to long outlast those giddy early events – as, indeed, the great friendliness that KoH demonstrates every day, to this day.
Betty Albertson and her husband, Bob, also found that people were very friendly and eager to meet and become acquainted. In the beginning there was no Formal Dining Room, so all meals were in the Bistro, which promoted easy interactions. People were physically mobile and active and many traveled a lot, both domestically and internationally, as did Betty and Bob. Bob, a birthright Quaker, with Gay Berger started the Quaker Meeting at KoH. After he died, Betty and two other single women, along with Norman Sissman, all in Clermont, organized a Christmas party every year in the third-floor lounge. Each of the four brought two bottles of wine (red and white), two hors d’oeuvres, and four friends.
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24 COME VISIT OUR STAFF in the resident Care offices for more information WORK WITH AN Award-Winning Home care business to ensure top-notch care for your loved one
