A Wish For A New Year


The Avalon Preserve in Stony Brook.

“So this is ChristmasAnd what have you doneAnother year overAnd a new one just begun” – John Lennon from the song “Happy Christmas (War is Over).

Well here we are, the end of another year.
Can you believe we are on the cusp of 2023?
We are almost a quarter of a way through another century and I don’t know about you but time sure feels different these days.
In the 20th century, the decades had personalities. When we think of the 50s we instantly think of the hairstyles, Elvis, Eisenhower and some great American cars.
The 60s were monumental and the 70s had its own distinct flavor too.
But these days, we don’t seem to be talking much about the personalities of decades. We are in the 20s I suppose, but nobody is talking about it and there’s no distinct cultural markers that seem to embrace the moment we are in.
Time just seems to fly by.
As a result, it feels like we are adrift. After all, children of the 50s, 60s, 70s and 80s identity strongly with the decade of their youth.
I’m a 70s kid, and the music of that era still resonates for me 50 years later. Many of my friends feel the same way.
Of course, that doesn’t mean we don’t listen to new music, we do, but that 70s sound…well…it feels like home.
And so I wonder if that anchor of nostalgia applies to places as well.
Do we prefer the towns of our youth to what they are today?
Maybe. I’m not sure.
Last year I went back to Long Island for a reunion with a group of childhood friends. We grew up in and around Stony Brook in the 70s and early 80s. We’ve been gone a long time although a few of the guys still live in the area.
I loved the Stony Brook of my youth. The “three villages” as the area is known, was and is an idyllic place to grow up. It felt safe, there were beaches galore and downtown Port Jeff was a fun place to hang out.
It wasn’t the most exciting place, but “the city” was a short train ride away and we took the Long Island Railroad to Penn Station fairly often to see shows, visit museums, attend games and see the big acts who played the Garden. Sometimes we just went and wandered around, visiting record  stores and experimenting with food in Chinatown.
It was magical but the city itself was a mess. Times Square was not exactly family friendly, the city’s finances were a basket case and the subways were dirty and a tad forbidding.
So maybe what we liked and missed about that time was the fact that we were young, life was ahead of us and every experience was a new one.
But when I went back home last year, I saw my hometown through different eyes. There were tons of changes to the physical landscape, but enough stayed the same that it still felt familiar.
It still felt like home.
And I really liked what I saw. Eastern Long Island is beautiful and the public spaces that I took for granted as a child, stopped me in my tracks. The old grist mill is still there and now part of Avalon, a new preserve  that is just  breathtaking in its ambition.
The village green in Stony Brook retained its charm, which is considerable. It all looked and felt good.
I know you can never go home again, but I could sure see  spending some time in that zip code.
The other important place in my life is Delray Beach, which has been home for almost 35 years now, just about my entire adult life.
I came here in the 80s and it was love at first sight.
Delray was a different place in those days. Not much going on, especially compared to today. But the potential for improvement was always there. The city had good bones; a grid system and a Main Street that led directly to the ocean.
The 90s was when the seeds that were planted in the late 80s began to bloom. I got swept up in the Delray story. This town wanted to improve and something about the city’s aspiration touched me.
At first, I wanted to tell that story (and I did as a reporter) and then I wanted to help write it (as an elected official).
This place became very special to me and to my friends; I met remarkable people who did remarkable work. Love at first sight turned into something more; a life here. I felt immense pride in this special town that strived to be a good place for all to live, work and play.
As we near 2023, I see Delray Beach at a crossroads.
We’ve had success, and we’ve had problems, but do we still aspire?
Of the many questions I have, that’s the most important one in my mind.
Do we want to take things to the next level or will we rest on our laurels or worse continue to look backwards instead of forward?
I have always felt our city had limitless potential; we have so many assets: a beautiful downtown, a pristine beach, historic neighborhoods, the ability to add workforce housing and industry to the Congress Avenue corridor.  And there’s more.
A downtown tennis stadium, excellent cultural facilities, diversity and a geographic location that puts us square in the middle of the action in a dynamic region.
It’s all there for us, if we want it.
As we celebrate the season and look toward a near year, my wish is that we will embrace our potential and move forward with ambition and resolve.
Change is inevitable. The best cities shape that change.
Wishing you the best now and in the new year. Thank you for reading.

Where Everybody Knows Your Name…

Delray Lakes has been home for more than 20 years.

Our neighbors moved recently.

Whenever friends leave it’s a mixed bag; you’re happy for their new start but you’re sad to see them go. The special people in our lives make all the difference.

The special places also play a significant role in our happiness.

We live in a special place called Delray Lakes.

We’re blessed with a terrific location—close to so much but tucked away and quiet too.

If I can get across Lake Ida Road and make a left, I can be downtown in five minutes. My street has a tree canopy that is beautiful, the homes and lawns are well-kept and if you don’t pressure wash your driveway…well let’s just say you’ll hear about it from the management company.

But the true strength of our neighborhood are the neighbors themselves. We live alongside very nice people.

In a world that often feels crazy, there’s no underestimating the value of having good neighbors who care for each other. In short, we are lucky, and we know it.

When I was a kid, we moved around a little bit.

I went to four elementary schools and looking back it did me a world of good. As the perennial new kid in school, I learned to make friends and that has served me well. But I also think it has unconsciously made me want to be more rooted and truth be told, I’m sensitive to change.

We lived in suburbia— suburban Long Island to be precise, in tract housing built by Levitt Homes, the inventor of the burbs.

Suburbia takes a beating in some of the circles where I spend time– namely new urbanists and city lovers— many who think that the burbs are boring. Now, I love my urban oriented friends and share their passion for cities. But when it comes to suburbia a few of them are misguided.

While I embrace the concepts espoused by the new urbanists and am a fan of walkability, density done right and beautifully designed streets, I must admit that I had a great time in the suburban neighborhoods I’ve lived in.

Intellectually, I understand that the neighborhoods of my childhood weren’t the most efficient use of land. I recognize that subdivisions can be isolating and that they force you into a car for just about everything, but when I was a kid we spent our lives outdoors, we knew our neighbors well and every time I stepped out my door I could find a pickup game of basketball, baseball or football.

We were hardly ever lonely and hardly ever bored. And the Levitt Homes I lived in: Strathmore Village in what is now South Setauket and the “M” section (where every street started with the letter M) in Stony Brook were full of friendly neighbors who looked out for each other.

And we had plenty of interesting characters everywhere we roamed. The house just beyond my backyard was occupied briefly by the writer Sloan Wilson, who wrote “The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit” and “A Summer Place.” Both were made into movies. I knew his daughter well, but I don’t ever recall seeing the man himself, which made it even more romantic for me—a budding writer. Over in the “S” section, where my best friends lived (and where the streets all started with…you guessed it…the letter S) the future comedian Kevin James was a year behind us in school. He played football and was a good Little League pitcher. In fact, he once hit me with a pitch so hard that I was hurting for weeks.

There were others too…stickball legends, a kid who had a beard in the 6th grade and plenty of bushes where we used to stash warm cases of Tuborg beer that we somehow got our hands on.

We stayed outside late on summer evenings talking under the streetlights, shooting hoops in our friend’s driveways, and talking endlessly about girls, cars, sports, music and the future.

I wish I could go back to that sweet and innocent time for just a bit. To quote Andy Bernard from The Office: “I wish there was a way to know you’re in the good old days before you’ve actually left them.”

Our home in the M Section. Buyers used to be able to purchase a Levitt home for $500 down. Today, these homes are over $600,000 and over 50 years old.

Delray Lakes reminds me of those neighborhoods. The neighbors play Mah Jong together, take walks, know each other’s dogs, play pickleball, go to the pool and look out for each other.

We watch the local kids grow like weeds, we kvetch about neighborhood maintenance issues, and we wave to each other and sit at the end of our driveways at Halloween greeting the little ones.

The place just feels good.

In a world that often feels like it’s gone off its axis, you can’t put a price on feeling good.

So, when neighbors move it’s a big deal. And right now, there’s a mini transition occurring.

As time passes, our needs change. Some move to more affordable locations (South Florida has become an expensive place to live and our location east of 95 means ridiculously high property insurance rates). Others move because the kids are grown, or they need to be closer to family.

It all adds up to change and transitions, which while necessary and unavoidable, are almost always bittersweet.

I will miss my neighbors who moved and a few others whose homes are for sale. We will stay in touch with some, lose touch with others and we will embrace the new neighbors who move in, but it won’t be quite the same.

When I lived in Strathmore Village, I knew everyone on at least three streets near my house. I knew every kid, every dog, every basketball backboard. We knew each other’s parents and they knew us too.

This was my experience, and it was a good one. The experience I had shaped my life.

I was six when we moved to Redwood Lane in Strathmore Village, and one day a little boy named David rode his bike to my street and saw me outside.

Dave had baseball cards to trade and that was all it took. We’ve been talking ever since that day, 52 years and counting. Through all those elementary schools, through the awkward junior high “wonder years”, through our rollicking high school years, through college, first jobs, marriage, kids and many more moves. Dave to Wisconsin, me to Delray Beach.

Through cancer and Covid, the death of parents and grandparents we know the ups and downs of each other’s lives.

We kept talking. (And I occasionally get a word in).

And it all started as neighbors in Strathmore Village.

When we moved to Stony Brook, that same neighborhood experience happened.

I’m afraid that the concept of neighborhood and neighbors that I knew and cherished may be heading to the dustbin of history.

Both the Financial Times and the New York Times had stories just last week about more and more people living alone.

Young people in their 20s and 30s who live by themselves and often work remotely, (my kids among them) and folks over 50 who have never married or are widowed or divorced.

Apparently, this takes a toll on our mental and physical health.

We are social creatures, not meant to be alone.

One town in the U.K. is experimenting with trained conversationalists. They have set up tables in cafes and designated park benches where if you sit down a trained “talker” will be there to engage you.

Apparently, it’s working. People who participate seem to respond.

But while that’s good news, I can’t help but feel a little sad that it has come to this.

But not in my neighborhood.

I’m not home a lot and when I am, I relish my couch time. But just outside my door, are neighbors I know, like and trust. They are living their lives too, but I’m pretty sure they know that what we have is  special and so when one of us leaves the Lakes…well…it’s a big deal.

As it should be…

Homeward Bound

Beautiful Port Jefferson, N.Y.

This is a hyperlocal blog focused primarily on Delray Beach and Boca Raton.
But we also focus on cities, leadership, entrepreneurship and the general notion of community; what it means and how to build it.

So in the spirit of exploration I wanted to share with you some thoughts after a recent and all too brief trip “home” to the Port Jefferson/Setauket/Stony Brook area.
It’s where I grew up on eastern Long Island after being born and spending a few years in Queens.

It’s a beautiful area, magical in so many ways.

The older areas are truly historic with buildings dating to the late 1690s and early 1700s.
The area played a key role in the Revolutionary War with George Washington’s Setauket spies doing important work to defeat the British. Those days were recently depicted in a TV series and information about the spy ring is written on plaques and available on apps that give an oral history of the area.

We never lived in the historic parts of these towns, although we appreciated the older homes, wooded environments and colonial architecture.

My family and most of my friends lived in Levitt Homes, tract housing developed by the builder who invented suburbia after World War II.

Today, those homes are 50 years old plus and when I drove to see  a few of our old house (we moved around a lot) I could see the age on what was once so new. I enjoyed seeing the mature trees and for the most part the Levitt “sections” –as they were called— have held up well.

They are lovely in their own way and each street is filled with memories of community back when neighbors knew each other and when kids played outside until dark.

It was a magical time and we lived in a magical place. And as I shared with a best friend who grew up there with me, I’m grateful for the time spent here and saddened by the time that has passed.
I’m not sure when I will come back to Stony Brook. But I’m pretty sure that I will.

I feel very connected to the place.

It is and will always be home. The place where I went to school, where I lived with my parents and sister, where my grandparents (long gone but never forgotten) visited and where I met the best friends I’ve ever had and we experienced life’s adventures for the first time.

School days and favorite teachers and first crushes.
Parties and bar mitzvahs.
Little League, pick up basketball, stickball and football.
First cars, first loves, first everything.
Then, one day it ends.

And you go off—as you should– to explore new places, new experiences and new people.
But you never completely leave home and the experiences and the people that shaped you.

These are the people who support you, challenge you, push you and pick you up when you stumble and fall—as we all do.
I felt compelled to come home when I turned 40 and wanted to show a new love where it was that I came from. I thought if she saw the places that accompanied the stories and the personal history that we would grow closer and I think we did. I was also anxious to visit her hometown, Clairton, PA., a hardscrabble kind of place that explains a lot about who she became.

Fourteen years later, almost to the day, I felt compelled to return to my hometown.
I’m not sure why. Maybe its just important to touch —albeit briefly—your roots.
Your roots are what center and ground you.

I guess I needed a dose of home.