by Jeffrey Bingham Mead
Greenwich Time, Greenwich, Connecticut
May 12, 1989
Many of us from time to time thirst for new adventures and experiences to broaden our horizons, to be enriched and grow in renewal and reflection. The untraditional franticness and abrasiveness which has crept up on us over the years can easily necessitate such a move to cleanse the soul and enjoy life. If you don't know what I mean, just get in your car and drive the speed limit on I-95 during the Friday afternoon rush hour, and when you vacate your car you'll have a pretty close idea.
When I travel, those homogenized, prepackaged tours are not for me; after all, being bounced around hurriedly from place to place is just the kind of living I seek to escape from. I desired adventure to a less-traveled and out-of-the-way place in our world where I could taste, feel, listen and touch a new place and people on my own.
Recently I took such a trip to Australia, an immense land of many contrasts, of pristine seas, majestic landscapes, clean, safe, exciting cities, a youthful civilization of wholeness ageless traditions that reminded me fondly of life here years ago. It is said of Australia up that "more than anywhere, humanity had a chance to make a fresh start." I left behind the previous winter's coldness, the snobbery and smugness of this area of America and, with just a duffle bag in tow, I went off and on my merry way.
In this land of Oz, I enthusiastically greeted the fresh breezes that blew on those endless warm summer days. The exhilarating sunshine beamed its benevolent rays on my shoulders, a feeling that was reflected by the priceless congenial warmth and sincere hospitality Australians are so known for.
I have lived my life here in Greenwich as my forbearers have done for more than the last three centuries, and when I returned I realized that I had changed. My soul had been moved in so many ways as never before, my heart refreshed, and my character cleared and filled with a unique warmth I thought never before existed in me, a phenomenal a number of my friends have noticed. I feel a sense of homesickness now, for I love the land of Australia, and I miss her so.
The weeks I ventured with a sense of awe in Australia were by far the happiest days of my life, without equal anytime or anywhere. I have found upon returning how hard it is to let go of all of that for wife you're in Fairfield County, Connecticut. My eyes have been opened to something different, to new perceptions I find somewhat painful to admit. I have chosen, perhaps at some risk of offense, to share this with you, for with new perceptions one observes new realities about this bastion of affluence I now find tarnished, both in substance and in image. For it was upon my return that I experienced my greatest culture shock.
We landed at 6:17 a.m. at Kennedy Airport in New York City in mid-January. The dawn sky was cloudless and chilly a stark contrast to what I left behind in the land Down Under. The airport was stark, dirty and cold. I took the Connecticut Limo back to Greenwich. I noticed the skyline of New York, the tall apartment complexes which reminded me of lifeless forgotten tree stumps on the winter's frozen landscape. All sorts of litter and debris blew like sage brush in a desert. Burnt out and stripped-down cars sat along the roadways in grotesque decay that imposed itself as an eyesore on the onlooker. Around us cars and trucks darted relentlessly, cutting each other off, their driver shouting obscenities. Could you imagine the shock those visiting our nation for the first time would feel on seeing this? I thought it was repulsive and repugnant, making me feel ashamed – this was not the America I was brought up to believe in.
It's not that I don't love America. I love and respect the values and institutions of this nation very much. Our laws and values are sacred, our patriotism necessary channel in order to express that appreciation. Yet my return to this part of the nation has caused me to view things differently and, I think, more realistically. There is a lot of America to be glad about; yet there is much to to be mad about as well. When I returned home, I turn on the television and before my eyes and sensationalize fashion, I learned of the thoughtless murder of innocent children in Stockton, Calif., by a deranged man with an easily bought automatic weapon. Since that time I have seen more than our share of rapes, murders, drug busts, political scandals and much more. It all seems so alien to me these days. What kind of nation do we have when citizens prey upon each other like this? Throughout my time in Australia I encountered safe streets, stable families and a lifestyle rich in traditional values, a friendliness that left here long ago, indeed a land in so many ways content with itself. This was the case in the cities and towns of New South Wales in Queensland that I visited.
This part of America to me is today a strange place – so very typical of the rest of the country I feel almost like a stranger here, as I know many of you who have lived here your entire lives do as well. There is something about the personality of this area that has changed over the years, an inch or two at a time. Once upon a time Fairfield County was a place content with itself. It was a quiet refuge cultivating the classical Yankee New England Way of life – of quiet neighborhoods where all knew each other, and of the secluded byways of small farms and grand estates, which sadly have melted into history in favor of overdevelopment for the temporary rewards dollars can bring it. It was quiet and peaceful, and traffic snarls on the scale we have today were unthinkable. The richness of the heritage of Yankee Connecticut was a virtue symbolizing the continuity modern society here seems deprived of. Even the celebrities who came sought the sanctuary of privacy that most of us take for granted, and such wishes were given. Our natural landscape was admired like sacred heirlooms passed with care from previous generations. The old mom-and-pop stores, which for the most part exist only in the memories of older folks, were trusted institutions of a sort, all this constituting an extended family of community life that today has been replaced with something impersonal and alien to me.
Today I find the lifestyle we have surrounds one like a vice slowly closing. I have to admit that the Greenwich I recall in particular when growing up does not exist anymore. I see many people all over the area frantically going about their business, driving in a hurry to be in line first at the red traffic light without concern for others around. I have seen more than my share of rudeness and snobbery since my return, and I feel ashamed. I am appalled that young people of my generation are primarily bent on clamoring to the top, requiring excessive materials and getting their names in the social register, as if their egos could not live without it. I see young people not able to live in their adult years independently in the town which is spent so much to educate them.
How strange it is that we nurture this vital resource at high expense, in effect, for export, without allowing them to reinvest the talents and hard-earned dollars to further nurture and sustain this area. No wonder the characters of Greenwich and towns like it have changed. Thoreau said it best more than 125 years ago on the banks of Walden Pond, where he warned his contemporaries that, "most men lead lives of quiet desperation." To see some elbow others in their quest to reach the illusion of the top of the heap is like watching spoiled children running against each other on a spinning carousel to see who gets to sit up front first.
President Bush, who so many call our own, some believing they deserve personal credit for his election, has eloquently and to my relief called for a kinder and gentler nation. The reputed snob appeal of this area of America does not and never has enthralled me; perhaps that is part of being a Yankee descendant who has not forgotten the humble beginnings and sacrifices made by his forbearers long ago.
I submit, especially about myself, that while we are busy people I don't think that the majority of us enjoy life very much. My time in Australia, though brief and covering only a small part of the nation, reminded me that life was meant to be enjoyed and that the goodness that dwells in our hearts should not be squandered away for some artificial or egotistical goals. The heroes I admire are those of you of wealthy and humble means who unselfishly give yourself to goals and projects of constructive and cooperative purposes -those of you who put the mission, purpose and goals ahead of your egos and public postures- those of you who care about the lives of your loved ones and neighbors, and who offer a helping hand for the sheer pleasure such an exchange can give to the heart.
I find myself both envious and sympathetic to the senior population of this area. You are living history of what was more traditional here, and you know firsthand of the dimensions of that type of contented and subtle life that once existed here. You have my sympathies, for you and seen the vast changes in the landscape of the area and the changes in the hearts and activities of many citizens. Some of you have conferred your frustration and grief at the changes of recent years. You must stand up and speak out – it is your duty and obligation, as it is for us all. Apathy is our greatest enemy within us – in a democracy, power does belong to the people, yet that power must be exercised without hesitation.
In the very near future, people must decide what kind of a society this area should be as a part of a cooperative consciousness for the future. With this town nearing its 350th anniversary, this might be a good time. Australians are not friendly, kinder and gentler people because a prime minister called for it. Why we should wait for a president to set this agenda for us is totally beyond me. I think in our hearts we know better.
For opening my heart to fresh breezes, I am grateful to the folks of Australia I met, and to you I send my deepest thanks. Since returning, I have found myself wondering whether history may be repeating itself. My ancestors came to New England in 1635 and up until now I never asked why they came. Were they discontented with life in England? Did the New World of America present a new opportunity to make a fresh start? Like the sirens of Greek mythology, I find a calling of the sort beckoning me to return to this newest of New Worlds.
To Australia and her find people, I thank you for allowing me to find something in myself I thought non-existent, for allowing me to touch your lives and enjoy the hospitality of your homes. Yours is the kinder and gentler place this nation could learn from, and where I now aspire to be, to discover and cherish happiness for me and my future descendants – happiness I find so elusive in this area of my homeland.
I love America. As a Yankee, this is the core of my soul, the preservation of this heritage here my calling. I have seen in America selfishly become carved up by special interests, a violent society that contradicts itself by inspiring the best the world has to offer. I grieve inside, for I find it not possible that our founders and those who fought and sacrificed to save our freedoms from tyranny and ignorance could in many ways be betrayed.
I looking enthusiastically forward to the day I return to Oz, perhaps to stay, and I hope she will have me. For Australia is now my home away from home, where I felt a wholesomeness lacking in America today.
If I leave, it is out of frustration and despair, and in quiet rebellion against the elites of this nation whose agendas are apart from the mainstream of this democracy. I leave to protest the contradiction between the visions of the Founding Fathers and what we have today. To the pretentious social climbers and seekers of superficial status, as well as the selfishly vindictive, I leave you to your misery. For me there is a place over the rainbow, where skies are blue when dreams I behold will come true. To my mates and friends in Australia, please just keep one more shrimp on the barbie, I'll consider it for dinkum of you. Cheers, and thanks!
Jeffrey Bingham Mead is a direct descendant of one of the founding families of the town. He is a free-lance writer and a member of the Greenwich Historical Society.
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