Support the Tarrytown Music Hall

I've written about the Tarrytown Music Hall in earlier posts. I have fond memories of going to many a movie there when I was a teenager in Tarrytown. Now the Music Hall hosts live events--concerts, shows and the like. They've had to cancel their bookings in 2020 due to the Covid-19 pandemic and have been closed for seven months. Here's a good way to support them during this tough time. I donated and hope you will too. 

https://tarrytownmusichall.org/save-our-stage/?fbclid=IwAR0QDa7aiPrSYIRXvTBl5wvfuHQcPT2qGN8Dm_js4B8pi4c9e7j6qwQiOvc

Visiting Tarrytown

On two separate occasions I had the chance to wander through the town where I was born on my recent trip to New York. I am always drawn back to this town—Tarrytown, and I’m not even completely sure why (my life remains a mystery to me in so many ways—why I do and feel the things I do and feel), since I have lived in two other places after I moved from Tarrytown in my early twenties before moving to Oslo Norway. I guess the main attraction is that I was born and grew up there, and from that perspective it is interesting to see the changes that the town has undergone in the years I have been away from it. My old neighborhood is no more; it has been replaced by a new generation of young people raising families. The old generation has passed on, and in truth the town is really a stranger to me now. I was discussing that recently with my friend Gisele who also grew up in Tarrytown; we agreed that as much as we think it is a lovely town, it could feel a bit strange to live there now because everyone we used to know is gone. But I remain fascinated by it just the same. If I am driving, I make the turn onto Tappan Landing Road where I used to live and just drive around and look at the apartment building where my mother lived (and where I grew up) and where I visited her on my annual trips to New York after I moved to Oslo. I drive around the corner to Henrik Lane to look at the houses that used to belong to friends and neighbors many years ago. Or I drive down Tappan Landing Road to its end, and stare out over the Hudson River, remembering what it was like to walk up from the Tarrytown railroad station when I was commuting to Manhattan to go to New York University for graduate school. When I went to Fordham College, I used to sometimes take the train to the Marble Hill station on the Hudson Line, and take the bus from there to Fordham. Being in Tarrytown is a trip down memory lane for me, and a real one at that, since I am witnessing the churches, schools, houses, libraries, parks and shops of my younger years. Some of these places still exist—like the Transfiguration Church and school, the Washington Irving (WI) junior high school, Sleepy Hollow high school, the Warner Library, the Music Hall and Patriot’s Park. But many of the shops of my youth have been replaced by newer shops, and Main Street is nearly unrecognizable. There are so many restaurants, antique stores, and small shops that line this street now; it used to be home to some bars, a pizza restaurant and some stores that I have forgotten about. I like the street now; in fact I prefer it now to the way it used to be. It has been spruced up, and the restaurants are trendy and quite good. There is a Seven Eleven on the corner of Broadway and Main Street. I don’t recall what used to be there before, but the fact that Seven Eleven is there now is fine with me. And why should I have an opinion, one might ask? I guess I still feel a bit territorial—I mean, it was my hometown once, and a part of me still wants to feel like a Tarrytowner, even though I am an Oslo-ite now.

While I was waiting one morning to be picked up by my friend Jean when I was in Tarrytown, I spent a couple of hours walking along Broadway from the Doubletree Hotel where I was staying all the way to Main Street, and then meandering my way back to the hotel through all the side streets dotted with pretty little houses with lovely gardens, some of them flying American flags. It felt good to see this—comforting, like coming home in a way. This is the town of my youth, when we had free from school during the summer, when we would hang out at the WI field on hot summer nights with friends, or sit in the bleachers at the same place watching the fireworks together with our parents and siblings on July 4^th, or spend a lot of time sitting in the darkness of the Music Hall theater on Main Street watching feature films or going to Baskin Robbins on Broadway for ice cream (Pink Bubble Gum comes to mind, as does Mint Chocolate Chip and Rum Raisin). Some of the memories are not so pleasant—boys who weren’t as interested in me as I was in them, or friendships that didn't last. But by and large, the bad memories have faded and have been replaced by more of a nostalgia for the past. I would not want to return to this past, to go back to that time. I am perfectly happy in the present. But I understand that by understanding where I came from, by turning my past over in my mind and carefully examining it, I am figuring out who I am—even at the age I am now—figuring out the person I was, the person I am now and the person who is yet to come. I am trying to integrate them all into one person, if that is at all possible. It may not be, but the considerations give me a perspective about myself that I find comforting and even enjoyable. Perhaps it is a way of bringing back loved ones who have passed on, even if just for a short time. I don’t wallow in the past memories. I respect them as things of value. I want to preserve them. They are part of my history. Perhaps this matters to me, to the woman who moved a long way away, because she cannot just return on a whim and visit her birth town. It is kind of cool to wander down memory lane as I visit the ‘old’ places and haunts. And as I am wont to do these days in most situations, I take lots of photos. Photos of houses, gardens, schools, churches. libraries. The list is endless. I am capturing the life and history around me on film. I started doing that when I was thirteen, and I’m still doing it. I have become a historian of sorts, and I have to smile, because my mother and father used to be quite interested in the local history of Tarrytown, and here I am, so many years later, interested in the same. Perhaps they are smiling at that as well.

Transfiguration Church

The Warner Library

Washington Irving school

The Music Hall

You know you grew up in the Tarrytowns during the 1960s/1970s if......

I grew up in Tarrytown New York during the 1960s and 70s. I remember a lot of different things from my childhood and teenage life in that small town, and have already talked about some of them in this blog. It is funny what one remembers, and also what one forgets. When I write about my growing up there, I do so from a distance of a good number of years, in other words, I’ve gained perspective, and it is mostly the good memories that remain now. But it was not always so easy to grow up in a small town, especially if you wanted or needed a certain amount of anonymity to survive mentally or emotionally or both. But somehow as you get older, the anonymity is no longer so important. It becomes more important that people know the real you. One’s teenage years are about trying on many different coats to see if one of them fits. If you find one that fits, you hang onto it for a little while because it feels comfortable. The coat can be a clique of friends where you fit in, or doing well in school and winning praise from your teachers and parents, or being part of sports’ teams, or all of those things. Many of these coats are tried on in the context of small town life, where it is safe, even though you don’t really know that at the time. Looking back now, the ‘smallness’ of our lives then is appealing, but when we were young, some of us couldn’t wait to get out into the big world. In those intervening years, much has happened, both to those who stayed put and to those who traveled out. We now have the chance to know what happened in the lives of many of those people, thanks to Facebook. Facebook has closed the gap of those intervening years in a way that nothing else has before or will again in quite the same way.  

 ‘You know you grew up in the Tarrytowns during the 1960s/1970s if’ is a Facebook group that now has close to 670 members.  It is a fairly active group in the sense that there are new posts published regularly, not necessarily daily, but it doesn’t matter. I joined the group a couple of years ago, right after I joined Facebook. I don’t remember how I found the group but I'm glad I did. I know some of the members personally, others I’ve heard of, but most I have never met. What is appealing about the group is what they remember about the Tarrytowns--Tarrytown and North Tarrytown (renamed Sleepy Hollow in 1996); their posts reflect this. Some of the more recent posts have informed about the deaths of two Tarrytown women many people knew and loved, while others wonder about what happened to this or that person. The uploaded photos are priceless, literally a walk down memory lane as well as a walk into town history. Some of the photos are probably worth some money, taken as they were during the early 1960s and 70s. I think especially of the photos of the big fire on Main Street that destroyed a major portion of the building that faces onto Broadway, or of the old General Motors plant on the Hudson River in North Tarrytown. Some of the photos of the old Tarrytown Music Hall are just beautiful. I spent many a Friday night there at the movies. I saw one photo recently on the site of a long trailer truck packed with new cars--a standard sight in Tarrytown at that time--hauling new cars up from the General Motors factory, out onto Broadway where the road would take them out into the world at large to be sold elsewhere. Broadway was (and still is) the main thoroughfare through both towns. When I was a teenager you could visit the little hole-in-the-wall bookstore near Main Street, the Murray Franklin stationery store for cards and gifts, small stores like the Great California Earthquake with its penchant for hippie clothing, larger clothing stores like Genungs, the Baskin & Robbins ice cream store (with the great-tasting pink bubblegum ice cream with actual pieces of bubblegum—talk about chewing and trying not to swallow the gum at the same time as the ice cream, as well as the heavenly mint chocolate chip ice cream), the Pastry Chef (with its memorable cakes—lemon sponge, Boston cream pie, marzipan—all of which remind me of special family events that we always ended up celebrating with a cake of some kind from the Pastry Chef; Jean and I were talking about this recently when I was in NY), several funeral homes, supermarkets and finally the majestic Warner library with its late 19th century bronze sculpted front door http://www.warnerlibrary.org/node/888. I haven’t seen a more beautiful library building except possibly the New York Public Library in Manhattan. It is interesting to see from the newer photos posted on the site how the town has changed since then—Sleepy Hollow high school has undergone extensive renovations, gasoline stations have been replaced by diners, Patriot’s Park is now the site of the Farmer’s Market, the old Woolworth store is now a gourmet food store, supermarket fronts have been spruced up—just to name a few changes within the last decade or so. The riverfront areas of both towns are more or less unrecognizable compared to what I remember from my childhood, except for the train station in Tarrytown and of course the Tappan Zee bridge, which is unchanged and which remains the landmark that identifies that one has finally reached one’s destination on the east side of the river and the bridge—Tarrytown. The riverfront areas have been renovated and built up with apartment building complexes, among other things, and this I know just from my driving around the areas this past summer. I’ve written about these changes in some of my earlier blog posts.

I love looking at many of the old photos of the Tarrytowns on the Tarrytown Facebook site. Recently I came across a paperback book that took me even further back than the 1960s and 70s. It is called Tarrytown and Sleepy Hollow (Images of America), and is by and large a collection of black and white photographs from the late 1800s up until 1947. The Introduction to the book states “Not intended to be a comprehensive history, this volume offers selected images of our community from 1609 (artistic renderings of specific areas) until 1947”. The book was written and put together by The Historical Society Inc. serving Sleepy Hollow and Tarrytown, and published by Arcadia Publishing. It can be purchased through different sellers via Amazon.com http://www.amazon.com/Tarrytown-Sleepy-Hollow-Images-America/dp/075240881X. It is not an expensive book; I don’t think I paid more than 15 dollars for it. But it is a must-have book if you are a history buff or if you are interested in rediscovering the town you grew up in. I wanted to rediscover Tarrytown, and in doing so I got in touch with those parts of myself that remember and appreciate this beautiful historic Hudson River town.  

Dark Shadows and Collinwood mansion

Long ago, before the current fascination with vampires--before True Blood, Twilight, and The Vampire Diaries, there was Dark Shadows, the afternoon TV horror soap opera that ran from 1966 until 1971, Monday to Friday. If I remember correctly it was a half hour soap opera that started at 4 pm, at least in New York. The series was created and produced by Dan Curtis, who also made the two Dark Shadows movies that came afterwards. A remake of the series appeared in 1991 starring Ben Cross as Barnabas, but nothing ever beat the original Dark Shadows. It was truly a creepy series, and one that we and our friends followed devotedly. I remember playing basketball after school when I was in the seventh grade and running home from practice after it was over in order not to miss it. When my father became ill in 1969 and was home on sick leave for a while, even he got interested in watching the series with us in the afternoon.

The opening music itself would draw you in (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XUuQK4CR5fM). It was spooky in its own right, accompanying the opening shots of the Collinwood mansion that sat atop a hill overlooking the sea, shrouded in mist during the early evening. I don’t recall all the plots and storylines, but I do remember the characters well: Barnabas Collins, the vampire, played by Jonathan Frid; Elizabeth Collins Stoddard, the Collins family matriarch, played by Joan Bennett; her daughter Carolyn, played by Nancy Barrett (with the beautiful long straight blond hair); Angelique, the witch, played by Lara Parker; Victoria Winters, the governess, played by Alexandra Moltke; Maggie Evans, a waitress, who resembled Josette du Pres, Barnabas’ love from long ago, both characters played by Kathryn Leigh Scott; Julia Hoffman, the doctor and friend of Barnabas, played by Grayson Hall; Quentin Collins, played by David Selby; Daphne Harridge played by Kate Jackson, and so many more. Barnabas could be quite evil at times and yet there was some sort of pity for him too- he was a vampire who wanted to be cured of his affliction. The stories were well-written for the most part, and quite strange. They were haunting--they got under your skin. Characters became identifiable with specific music as well; I remember Josette’s music box song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LItWENw8Plk&feature=related), and Angelique had her music as did Quentin. The stories revolved around different love relationships (past, present and future), betrayals, witchcraft, vampirism, ghosts, and numerous Collins family problems. At times overly dramatic, sometimes campy, sometimes funny, but always memorable and the acting was always mostly good. There’s a reason the series has the fan base that it has, so many years later.

The actual mansion that was used (at least the exterior of it) as the fictional Collinwood mansion in the TV series is located in Rhode Island. When Dan Curtis decided to make his two Dark Shadows movies, he chose the Lyndhurst estate in Tarrytown New York (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lyndhurst_(house)) as the film location. The Lyndhurst mansion became Collinwood mansion. Both films, House of Dark Shadows followed by Night of Dark Shadows, came out in 1971. The actual filming at Lyndhurst was done during the early spring in 1970, and there were many people who hung around the gates of the estate waiting to get a glimpse of or an autograph from the actors and actresses after they were finished filming for the day. I remember doing that with some friends from grammar school; we waited for hours for them to be finished on the set. The actors and actresses were always very gracious and they would sign autographs and pose for pictures with us. I have photos from that time of two of my friends posing together with Jonathan Frid, and I have autographs from Jonathan Frid, David Selby and Kate Jackson. It was an exciting time, and even more exciting when the films were actually shown for the first time at the Music Hall in Tarrytown. It was fun to see the Lyndhurst mansion transformed on the screen into a house that was inhabited by vampires and witches, a real house of evil.

Lyndhurst mansion--back view

Lyndhurst mansion--front

Movie Nights

When we were teenagers, Friday and Saturday nights were often our movie nights. We would make our way to the Music Hall on Main Street in Tarrytown or to the Strand Theater on Beekman Avenue in North Tarrytown (now Sleepy Hollow). Both theaters catered to the horror movie crowd, and there was no dearth of horror films available for our viewing pleasure when we were growing up. The interesting thing was that the Music Hall showed a lot of foreign horror films, something that I have reflected on in later years because it was quite unusual. The films that come to mind are the Italian horror films directed by Dario Argento, with titles like ‘The Bird with the Crystal Plumage’ (from 1970) and ‘Four Flies on Grey Velvet’ (from 1971). They made quite an impression on an impressionable teenager. I was reminded of them recently because I happened to watch another of Argento’s films, ‘Tenebre (Unsane)’ on TV the other night, which was quite violent, and it struck me how violent the murders in the earlier films were, already at that time (the early 1970s), albeit done in typical Argento style. We also watched a lot of the Christopher Lee vampire horror films from the 1970s as well as a number of psychological horror films like ‘A Child’s Play’ (1972) and ‘You’ll Like My Mother’ (1972) with Richard Thomas of later Waltons fame. My sister might say that I dragged her rather unwillingly to some of them, which I probably did. And even though ‘Death Wish’ (from 1974) with Charles Bronson was not a horror film, it should actually be classified as such considering the subject matter. We had to sneak into the Music Hall to see the R-rated Alfred Hitchcock film ‘Frenzy’ (from 1972) since we were still underage. No one stopped us or caught us. There were many other types of films that we went to see besides horror. I remember keeping a list of the movies I had seen starting around the time I was thirteen and since it was not unusual for us to see about four movies a month, by the time I was nineteen I think I had seen several hundred movies. Going to the movies was part of our social life—we met friends and went to the movies, dated and went to the movies, and even now, I still meet friends for an occasional movie night. But I will often go to see a movie alone—I enjoy sitting in the theater with other people and experiencing the movie together.

The Music Hall and Strand theaters eventually closed for business as cinemas and were replaced by more modern multiplex cinemas in Yonkers and Ossining that we made good use of as we moved into our twenties and thirties. The new cinemas sold huge boxes of popcorn and giant-size candy packages, the theaters were huge and the sound systems were loud. We continued to see all kinds of films, from horror to romantic comedies to war films to costume dramas. We liked them all and still do, although our movie nights now are more geared toward romantic comedies rather than horror—we like to laugh and keep it light. Reality is tough enough sometimes and the violence around us is real enough without having to see it brutally re-enacted on screen in living HD color. But every now and then, I still enjoy being scared, even if I have to cover my eyes with my hands during the scary or violent parts. This was definitely the case a few years ago when I went to see ‘The Grudge’ (the American version from 2004) with a friend. Both of us had problems sleeping for a few days afterwards. Other people have seen the film and it did not have the same effect on them—who knows why it bothered us the way it did—but it definitely had something to do with the facial distortions and the sudden appearances of the female ghost and her creepy son who would silently rise up from the floor along the side of the bed.

When I first moved to Oslo, it was still possible to see many films at the older and grander theaters like Gimle and Soria Moria in addition to the cinemas that showed multiple films. Soria Moria is closed now, but Gimle is still in business. Modernized multiplex theaters dominate now. The theaters here have always shown the most popular American films so it has never been a problem to keep up with the new films. They do not dub films here as they do in other European countries except for the young children’s films, and even those are offered in two versions, the dubbed version and the original version.

Scandinavian films tend to be dark, melancholy, and a bit depressing, at least the ones I saw when I first moved to Norway, influenced no doubt by the dark winters, the coldness, grayness and long summer nights. My opinion of Finnish films (at least the ones I saw in the early 1990s) was that they were just plain crazy, with binge drinking, nudity, sex and sometimes violent behavior, and they often lacked a coherent storyline. Danish and Norwegian films from the 1980s and 1990s often dealt with drugs, addiction, prostitution and other depressing themes. Some of them were good, most of them were forgettable. Danish films that I enjoyed were ‘Pelle the Conqueror’ from 1987 and ‘Smilla’s Sense of Snow’ from 1997—both were directed by Bille August. Sweden had the internationally famous film-maker Ingmar Bergman who made such classic films as ‘Fanny and Alexander’, ‘Cries and Whispers’, and ‘Hour of the Wolf’. The late 1990s saw the re-emergence of Norwegian romantic comedies, some of them quite touching and funny; some of the comedies from the 1950s and 1960s were very funny as well. One of the best Norwegian comedy films I have seen is a film called ‘Mannen som ikke kunne le’ (The Man Who Could Not Laugh with Rolf Wesenlund from 1968)—you cannot watch it without thinking of Monty Python—it has that absurd humor that makes it stand out. Many of the recent Norwegian horror films are quite scary—‘Fritt Vilt’ (Cold Prey—a psycho slasher film from 2006) and ‘Død Snø’ (Dead Snow—a film about Nazi zombies from 2009) come to mind. But one of the best Norwegian psychological horror/thriller films is from 1958, called ‘De dødes tjern’ (Lake of the Dead or Lake of the Damned). I saw it on TV when I first moved to Norway and it was a ‘skummel’ (creepy) film about a group of people that spend their holiday at a cabin in the forest that holds many dark secrets, and how they deal with the disappearance of one of them.

As long as movies keep being made, I’ll always find my way to the cinema for my movie nights—American, Italian, Scandinavian, French, British, Spanish and many other international films. I will always prefer the cinema experience to the DVD/TV experience, but I must admit that it is good to have the opportunity to watch films I missed for some reason when they were first released.

The Old Neighborhood

I grew up in Tarrytown New York and lived there until I was twenty-three. Our family home was an apartment in a complex on Tappan Landing Road that was built shortly after WWII. My father was born in Tarrytown, and it was here that my parents settled when they married in 1955. After my mother’s death in 2001, it struck me that she had lived in the same neighborhood for over forty years. She knew all her neighbors and they knew her. Of course there were newcomers to the neighborhood, but it was a surprisingly stable community of neighbors who lived there, most of them older people, retired or like my mother, old-timers who had raised their children there and who stayed on as they watched their children grow up and leave.

My parents were on friendly terms with most of their neighbors. They were always willing to stop and chat briefly with the parents of our friends, who attended the same grammar school as we did. In that way, they shared their lives without becoming intimately involved. There were always borders that were not crossed—none of the neighbors as I remember ever invited the others to dinner or in for coffee. Or if it happened, it was very seldom. I do remember that the older women would sometimes sit out in the shade of one of the big trees on the front lawn and talk for a few hours during a summer afternoon, but that was also a seldom occurrence. Nevertheless, they were good to one another and supportive of each other in difficult times—sickness and death. When my father died in 1985, my mother’s neighbors made food for us and I will always remember their kindness. My mother, who loved the winter, was often out early to help the superintendent shovel the walkways and when she was done with that, she would clean off her elderly neighbor’s car. Sometimes she and another neighbor would go shopping together, and she and the same neighbor got their driver’s licenses together shortly after my father’s passing. They would visit sick neighbors in the hospital, and attend wakes and funerals for the same neighbors who passed on after one too many illnesses. They were charitable toward and respectful of one another and that was a valuable lesson in how to live life.

There were a lot of children in our neighborhood when we were growing up, and we hung out together. We played a lot of kickball and dodge ball, and did a lot of roller-skating, hurtling down the parking lot driveway at top speed and smashing into the garage doors at the end of the driveway. It surprises me now, thinking about it, that none of us ever really got injured (or that the garage doors never got damaged). We also hung out at each other’s houses, listening to rock music on WABC or WPLJ and talking. During summer vacation, after dinner, we would walk around the corner to Henrik Lane to hang out with friends who lived there. Sometimes we would walk to WI (Washington Irving junior high school) ball field and sit in the bleachers looking out over the Hudson River, and just talk. It was here that Tarrytowners would gather on July 4th in the evening to watch the fireworks that were sent up from barges on the river. The event was always crowded with people, and an orchestra would play until it got dark enough to send up the fireworks. They were always a spectacular sight and watching them together with family was always a special time. We also spent a good deal of time in the summer at Kingsland Point Park, which was a beach and picnic area on the Hudson River. And if we weren’t doing that, we were hanging around downtown, shopping at the local gift store, bookstore or clothing stores. We were also often at the movies at the Music Hall on Main Street.

I was restless when I was a teenager, as most teenagers are, and looked forward to leaving Tarrytown when I grew up. I wanted to leave because Tarrytown seemed too small to me when I was younger, and that meant lack of privacy. Everyone knew everyone else and everyone else’s business, or so it seemed. It was hard to be anything other than what people perceived you to be or assumed that you were from when you were a child. So if you were the smart one in the family, it felt as though you could not suddenly become an actress after years of talking to the neighbors about the biology courses you were taking. It wasn’t possible to ‘try on new selves’, if that makes any sense, without a whole lot of commenting and tongues wagging. Perhaps it is that way in most small towns. I wanted to immerse myself in the larger world. So I did leave Tarrytown after I finished college, trading it for the Bronx, thereafter New Jersey, Norway, California, and then Norway again. Throughout these moves and changes, my old neighborhood with my mother still living in it remained a point of stability on my mental map. I always knew she was there. The same phone number, the same street address--stability. I could pick up the telephone and dial her number, and she would always be there to answer it. While it seemed as though my life changed from year to year, hers remained fairly much the same. She seemed fine with that, never complaining, enjoying her daily routines of volunteering at the local library, walking to the store to buy groceries, chatting with her neighbors and going to mass. When we talked, she would fill me in on life in the neighborhood—who was doing what, whose daughter or son was getting married, who had become a grandparent, who had bought a house, who had graduated from college---and we would talk about now and the past and how things had changed. Her keeping me up-to-date kept me grounded and connected in a way that I never would have thought possible, and I am grateful for it, even though I didn’t appreciate it as much at the start. Her point of reference was always her children in relationship to the neighborhood families with their children.

That is what I miss, now that my parents and their neighbors are gone—most of them having passed on. The neighborhood as we knew it is gone. As long as our parents lived there, it was still our old neighborhood and we could always ‘go home’. I don’t really know anyone who lives there now. Yet an odd thing has happened, and that is that I now appreciate the smallness of Tarrytown. It is appealing to me now because of its smallness, because it is possible to get to know it due to its smallness. It is not overwhelming. Mostly, it is just a lovely town--a small quaint town on the Hudson River with a wonderful vibrant history, lovely estates, lakes, river parks and nature. I look forward to seeing it each year when I come to NY, because it has become my ‘hometown’ even though my old neighborhood is gone.