January 2011

I long thought that my husband, Forrest, should write his story for this column, but, since he passed away recently, the task falls to me. I’ll try to tell his story and a little bit of my own.

Forrest, an African-American, grew up in rural Alabama in a family of sharecroppers. He came of age in the late 1960s. I grew up in the same era, but in an affluent Northern suburb. I am white.

On the news, I heard about civil rights marches, freedom riders, and peace demonstrations. But my peers and I were too young to participate, so we protested the small injustices in our own lives. The boys grew their hair long. The girls held a sit-in protesting the rule that forbade us to wear pants to school. We showed up at our junior high in bell bottoms, sat down in the hallway, and waited for the camera crews to arrive. They didn’t.

In the 1950s and ’60s I had the good fortune to live in New York City, right across from Riverside Park. Our 325-acre back yard offered sledding in winter, and for the rest of the year I could race my Schwinn throughout the park. I was allowed to roam freely as long as I promised never to talk to strangers. If you obey no other rule, my mother used to say, obey this one. (I thought that was a good deal and obeyed no other rules.)

At West 79th Street, there was a marina, or “boat basin” as it was called. Not only were there beautiful yachts to look at, but a Good Humor wagon parked nearby. This was where my friends and I gathered to hatch plots and firm up daily itineraries.

In 1961, on an overcast day in early April, our gang met at the marina. A tall uniformed gentleman approached us. He had gold spaghetti on his cap, suggesting he was someone of importance, and he spoke with an accent. He asked if we would like to accompany him out to a large yacht anchored offshore. He’d be happy to give us a tour.

Saint-Pierre and Miquelon may be reached via the SPM Express ferry from Fortune, Newfoundland ( www.spmexpress.net / 800-563-2006) or on Air Saint-Pierre from Montreal, St. John’s, or Halifax, with additional departure cities in summer ( www.airsaintpierre.com / 877-277-7765).

Most accommodations are in the town of Saint-Pierre and within walking distance of the ferry. None is luxurious. Hôtel Île de France ( www.hoteliledefrance.net /011 508 41 03 50) has 24 no-frills guest rooms; the Hôtel Robert (709-832-2006) has 43 guest rooms divided between a motel-style structure and an older shingled building just off the harbor.

1741 Born in Norwich, Connecticut.

1758 Enlists in a New York company for service in the French and Indian War.

1759–73 Deserts and returns to Norwich to finish an apprenticeship as a druggist. In time becomes a successful trader and shipowner.

1774 Elected captain of militia.

1775 Arrives in Massachusetts 10 days after the fighting at Lexington and Concord. Captures Fort Ticonderoga with Ethan Allen. Leads expedition to Quebec.

1776 Builds a fleet and fights it at Valcour Island.

1777 Leads a raid on Danbury, Connecticut. Is promoted to major general and assigned to the Northern Department to oppose Gen. John Burgoyne. Serves gallantly in the First and Second Battles of Saratoga, where he is badly wounded.

1778 Given command of Philadelphia.

Some of the infuriating questions surrounding the great hero-traitor can be answered by visiting the fields where he fought. The trip will also take you to many of the most beautiful places in the Northeast. 

Right in the middle of Wildwood is an old Woolworth’s, locked up and closed. If you glance into the windows, you could mistake it for a storage space, though you might do a double take at the giant bear that waits, ready to attack, inside the door.

But if you stop and peer inside, you’ll see that it is packed with arcade games from the past century. It’s the result of a decades-long obsession of Randy Senna, a Jersey native who has devoted his life to preserving the midway games of his youth.

Senna runs Flipper’s Fascination on the boardwalk, rotating an item or two from his massive collection in and out to his Fascination parlor every summer. But the parlor is just the tip of his ambitions.

“I grew up as a kid on these boardwalks. We were all on here all the time,” he says. “As a kid I didn’t have a lot of friends, and I wasn’t into sports, so my friends became the machines in the arcade. They didn’t fight with you.”